mike checks his shorts - volume 2

wtf...

so on monday, i bought a brand new silver Ford Explorer XLT. not super-pimp, but it's pretty nice. I drove it off the lot with 24 miles on it. last night, as the odometer ticked 81 miles, my troubles began. the transmission started slipping. i completed my errand and was on my way to take it in when BANG! something fell off the car and all the warning lights came on. i again pulled over and checked my shorts to ensure that i had not shit myself. i thought i had blown another rod. fortunately, the car kept running and got me to the dealer. seriously, 81 miles?!

now i'm sure you're saying, "hey dumbass, your old ford engine just blew up, and you bought a new one? retard." well, two things brought me back.

the first: i love how ford's handle and this is what got me to even consider them. i just wish they could build a damn engine/transmission that would work for a while. the second was that they sponsored the ironman. it's stupid, i know, but it worked on me. i was originally trying to find an ironman edition explorer but there were no new ones in the state of illinois.

ford tough...yea, tough as a the back of my nutbag.

i love the smell of 5w20 in the morning

Sunday is the day for my favorite outdoor soccer league. These guys are amazing. I look forward all week to playing with them. Sunday morning, I went for an oil change before my game. Normally, I do it myself, but I was running short of time and I was already pushing well into the better-do-it-now range. Upon getting out of the shop, I headed down I290. I keeping up with traffic (read: speeding my ass off) when there was an exceptionally loud bang, a whole bunch of smoke, and an engine that wouldn't go. As it turns out, I blew a rod (strait through the damn oilpan) and, long story short, my car is toast. A couple of buddies picked me up from the mechanic and we went downtown to the second of my double-header matches. The other team neglected to show up. WTF! Combine that with the fact that i fell down half a flight of stairs moving a friend on saturday and it makes for a pretty shitty weekend.

So why am I telling you this? I bought a new car last night. Pop quiz: which kind of car did mike buy?

how do you like them apples?

Having my manager quit has not been without it's share of rough patches. The past couple of weeks have been crazy hectic with real job projects and store emergencies.

Given that my priorities lie with my real job, I've screwed up a lot of things at the store. One of them was forgetting to order produce for this weekend.

I get the call friday afternoon that we only have 70 apples. The count for the day was 260. Well shit. I call up my boys at Testa produce and order up two boxes for pickup. I take the CTA bus down to their warehouse and pick up my order. As I'm signing the bill, they ask where my car is. I laugh, sigh, and tell them "Palatine. I'm taking the bus and train."

It was like a scene out of a movie. Eight guys just stopped what they were doing and stared at me like i was out of my mind. I don't know if you've ever seen a volume bushel of apples, but it weighs about 35lbs...and i had two...and i'm a pussy.

One of the guys grabs a box and helps me out to the bus stop. He puts it down and starts shaking his head. According to Eddie, who came out shortly after, as soon as I left, there was quite the discussion about how I was going to handle these things. As I stand on the street corner looking like an apple-pimp, Eddie comes out and yells that he's going to drive me up to the train station. Wow am I grateful.

I get to the train station and boy...it's a bitch to get through a revolving door with two cases of apples, a gym bag, and a laptop bag. How the hell do really fat people operate in this world? The looks through the train station were hysterical as i'm grunting and sweating and cursing getting these things to the train. The conductor of my train even tried to direct me towards the Union Pacific freight line.

I think he was drunk...seriously. His announcements for the different stops were odd at best ("next stop, Dee Road! Home of happy hounds doggy day care! Get off the train you dogs!"). needless to say, he is my kind of conductor.

Finally, arriving at my stop, I jump off the train and grab my apples. I'm about sick of carrying them so i leave them on the street corner to pull my car around. As I'm pulling up, a police car slows to inspect. Apparently, apples can be confused with bombs nowadays. What a sad world.

calling john t. crapper!

I have long held the belief that the handicapped stall is the mercedes-benz of crappers. spacious, a solid wall on one side, generally cleaner than the others, and handrails for the powerdump all combine to maximize the excremental experience.
On Saturday, having commandeered the handicap stall and comfortably situated myself atop the "cadillac of poopin' stools", i was greatly alarmed to discover that the toilet paper dispenser had been mounted on the opposite wall of the stool. i'm stuck. I can't reach the tp! i'm not about to just get up and mosey on over there so i start to get concerned.

By dumb luck, the bag that i had with me is also the bag i take to my races. And as anyone who has been in a large scale race before will tell you, you should always pack your own tp (there's never enough in the outhouses). Crisis averted. Now to track down the retarded architect who specified that one and beat him with a canoe paddle. Imagine if I were truly wheelchair bound. I'd be pissed!!