Working at a gas station, you notice weird things. Kevin Smith, the second best screenwriter of the nineties, career was based on it.
Working at a gas station in the Peoria area, the nation's test market (we get new stuff for three months, and have to wait 10 years for it's return) you see a lot of crappy products.
Today, Hershey's chocolate-flavored Bubble Yum.
I turn to my fellow associate to say, "This product won't sell. I hope they kill whoever came up with such a stupid idea in the name of natural selection."
After the disturbed chuckle of my coworker, I rethought my statement. It was not fair in terms of Darwinism.
"That guy shouldn't die. He should be commended for finding people dumb enough to fund it. The people who gave the product their approval should."
Makes me question which came first, the Nazis or Hitler? No Hitler, no War War through the efforts of dumb Germans. No dumb Germans, no Hitler. If that's not a shout out to my English pride, what is? I guess that's why the chicken or the egg is the universal, less offensive query.
I for one feel that no one deserves to die, but the world is over populated. The herd needs to be thinned. Trying to stay humorous, I think back to Family Guy's episode where Brian tells his therapist about his Logan's Run dream.
Read the conclusion of this blog at MainEventoftheDead.com and tell me if my opinionated nature can carry over into Pro-Wrestling and Zombie B-Movies.
Showing posts with label Gas Station Horror Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gas Station Horror Stories. Show all posts
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
The Hottest Blog Ever or an Incensitive Eulogy
Current mood: guilty
My apologies for the tacky bulletin, but I just gotta get some feedback about my attempt to make light of the man who burned himself to death despite my efforts to extiguish him at my gas station.
As the members of Monty Python sang, "Always look on the bright side of death." I won't continue the lyrics. It seems redundant.
Sorry to dissolve any of you who felt a sense of relief, but obviously the insanity of Russ Staley wasn't resolved through partial hospitalization.
I gotta get out of this funk, so I that I can get back to wrestling. Imagine the angst I was in when I went to Hobby Lobby. The telling myself that I couldn't buy anything shiny to accessorize my alter ego.
I feel worse than Nicholson about the "All work and no play." It's like that but add "No beer and no TV make Homer go something something."
On the topic of going crazy, there aren't many jokes that can be made about a guy on fire. Trying to come up with an inciteful, comedic blog is as difficult as finding a satisfying end to a trilogy (Revenge of the Sith excluded).
When wholesome, antiviolense, no vulgarity Mom said she had more fun watching Hot Fuzz than Shrek the Third, I think you know where I'm coming from.
And come on. Topher Grace as venom? And if there is no wine for Thomas Haden Church, I'd rather save my dough for Merlot from a box.
My therapist accused me of ADD, but blame Family Guy. We allow Seth McFarlane jump in and out of stories. But, allow me to get this giant chicken of my back and get back to the story at hand.
Gas can: $5.99
Enough 87 octane to get the job done: $1.55
A memorable exit and a headline: Priceless
Read the rest of this blog at Main Event of the Dead dot Com and determine if my experiences, satires and movie knowledge makes a great base to produce a Pro-Wrestling Zombie Comedy B-Movie.
My apologies for the tacky bulletin, but I just gotta get some feedback about my attempt to make light of the man who burned himself to death despite my efforts to extiguish him at my gas station.
As the members of Monty Python sang, "Always look on the bright side of death." I won't continue the lyrics. It seems redundant.
Sorry to dissolve any of you who felt a sense of relief, but obviously the insanity of Russ Staley wasn't resolved through partial hospitalization.
I gotta get out of this funk, so I that I can get back to wrestling. Imagine the angst I was in when I went to Hobby Lobby. The telling myself that I couldn't buy anything shiny to accessorize my alter ego.
I feel worse than Nicholson about the "All work and no play." It's like that but add "No beer and no TV make Homer go something something."
On the topic of going crazy, there aren't many jokes that can be made about a guy on fire. Trying to come up with an inciteful, comedic blog is as difficult as finding a satisfying end to a trilogy (Revenge of the Sith excluded).
When wholesome, antiviolense, no vulgarity Mom said she had more fun watching Hot Fuzz than Shrek the Third, I think you know where I'm coming from.
And come on. Topher Grace as venom? And if there is no wine for Thomas Haden Church, I'd rather save my dough for Merlot from a box.
My therapist accused me of ADD, but blame Family Guy. We allow Seth McFarlane jump in and out of stories. But, allow me to get this giant chicken of my back and get back to the story at hand.
Gas can: $5.99
Enough 87 octane to get the job done: $1.55
A memorable exit and a headline: Priceless
Read the rest of this blog at Main Event of the Dead dot Com and determine if my experiences, satires and movie knowledge makes a great base to produce a Pro-Wrestling Zombie Comedy B-Movie.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Gambling, Vegen, spokes persons. One weird Super Bowl (42)
You hear the weirdest stuff when you work at a truck stop.
"Hope the Pats win. Not because I got a team in the game, my father-in-law has a bet. If the Pats win, he gets a hundred bucks. Lose, and he has to go into the super market dressed as a woman."
The guy walks away from the desk, and I turn and ask my coworker what kind of idiot takes that bet.
"If it's a small town, being dressed as a woman would probably be embarrassing." Pause for a second, a gentleman (I say that because my coworker claimed he was trying to solicit the help) walked to up to the desk with an Arby's sack. I'm sure you've all seen it, unless you are one of those spineless vegans.
Look, it ain't livin' unless something has suffered for your nourishment. I say nourishment, not decadence. No breathing entity should die in the name of gluttony. Pride is mine to claim because nothing suffered for my Caramel Apple Empinadas.
Be sympathetic to the cows? Come on. All female mammals who have given birth inevitably get sore nipples.
Great. Now I can't help myself. I must get on the equality soap box.
Dare I claim (dare, dare), to understand women because I have my nipples pierced? It's the closest any guy can get to the pain of lactating (next to doing a lot of steroids and having testicular cancer, see "Fight Club"). Embrace the nipple and tame the vegan. Now with that said, let us return to the idiocy of the person who took that bet.
Read the rest of this blog at Main Event of the Dead dot Com and determine if my experiences, satires and movie knowledge makes a great base to produce a Pro-Wrestling Zombie Comedy B-Movie.
"Hope the Pats win. Not because I got a team in the game, my father-in-law has a bet. If the Pats win, he gets a hundred bucks. Lose, and he has to go into the super market dressed as a woman."
The guy walks away from the desk, and I turn and ask my coworker what kind of idiot takes that bet.
"If it's a small town, being dressed as a woman would probably be embarrassing." Pause for a second, a gentleman (I say that because my coworker claimed he was trying to solicit the help) walked to up to the desk with an Arby's sack. I'm sure you've all seen it, unless you are one of those spineless vegans.
Look, it ain't livin' unless something has suffered for your nourishment. I say nourishment, not decadence. No breathing entity should die in the name of gluttony. Pride is mine to claim because nothing suffered for my Caramel Apple Empinadas.
Be sympathetic to the cows? Come on. All female mammals who have given birth inevitably get sore nipples.
Great. Now I can't help myself. I must get on the equality soap box.
Dare I claim (dare, dare), to understand women because I have my nipples pierced? It's the closest any guy can get to the pain of lactating (next to doing a lot of steroids and having testicular cancer, see "Fight Club"). Embrace the nipple and tame the vegan. Now with that said, let us return to the idiocy of the person who took that bet.
Read the rest of this blog at Main Event of the Dead dot Com and determine if my experiences, satires and movie knowledge makes a great base to produce a Pro-Wrestling Zombie Comedy B-Movie.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Renaming the Friday after Turkey Day or Screw them Smurfs
Current mood: bitchy
I ask you, am I overly influenced by Kevin Smith's material? The psycho ex girlfriend would say no since I had not got around to reading the diary of his she bought me (in my defense, it is called "My Boring Ass Life"). Stef would say, "surprised you did not ask anyone to have sex with the corpse of Mr. Crispy," since that is the only box left unchecked on the list of what events have happened at both the Morton Travel Center and the Quick Stop.
Regardless of how much influence the Jersey boy has, Kevin Smith's latest film left me pondering something. A side from what happened in the four minutes I missed due to a flawed reel change.
With the election of Obama, should we still call Black Friday...Black Friday? Or is Obama not black enough to encourage such change?
In this politically correct world, some would say it's okay since it is not called Porch Monkey Friday (god I don't want to envision what dumb white people would do to celebrate it...it sounds like a good excuse for some fried ch...), but people do associate themselves with a color.
We know that to be true since whites do not want to be referred to as caucs. So if we are going to associate colors to negative days (discounts do not make the horrors positive), lets find one that a race does not take pride in their skin tone.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
12/25/2008 The Last Gas Station Christmas EVER
Perhaps it is my discontent towards the job. The extra long holiday shift and the double to follow it in 18 hours. The anxiety of wondering how much more abuse they'll lay on me before I devote the majority of my time to drinking and studying.
Whatever element or elements mentioned above, throw in the decadent customers, and for the first time, I feel the emotion of jealousy towards those who have Christmas off.
Out of principle, I would not mind working the holiday or any religious holiday for that matter. No, I did not sell God out for time and a half, but religious events should not justify a commercial shut down.
With that being said, I assume you understand my feeling towards Hobby Lobby, so I will not go into my rant that they close on Sundays because right wing Christians feel that they have to limit the days that we can truly be creative thus lessening independent thought and our Jewish friends from converting us.
All I have to say about Hobby Lobby is that Sunday was always my day off (work five days, wrestle Saturday), why must I be left feeling like the speaker of an Anne Plath poem because of it.
To protest the Hobby Lobbyists, I stood behind the fuel desk pleasantly on December 25, 2008, and treated the customers to the most courteous service I could offer. Sadly, this day was also the first day the shopping baskets at Super Pantry ever saw any use.
And I decided that if I was to run out of ink writing this blog, I will drag the next customer over the counter, slice off the top of their index finger, and deliver this Pulitzer hopeful in blood.
Gas stations need to be open on Christmas for four reasons: Gas, Smokes, Newspapers, and Batteries.
Read the rest of these stories at Main Event of the Dead.com and determine if this thought process can be translated into a B-movie comedy about pro-wrestling zombies.
Whatever element or elements mentioned above, throw in the decadent customers, and for the first time, I feel the emotion of jealousy towards those who have Christmas off.
Out of principle, I would not mind working the holiday or any religious holiday for that matter. No, I did not sell God out for time and a half, but religious events should not justify a commercial shut down.
With that being said, I assume you understand my feeling towards Hobby Lobby, so I will not go into my rant that they close on Sundays because right wing Christians feel that they have to limit the days that we can truly be creative thus lessening independent thought and our Jewish friends from converting us.
All I have to say about Hobby Lobby is that Sunday was always my day off (work five days, wrestle Saturday), why must I be left feeling like the speaker of an Anne Plath poem because of it.
To protest the Hobby Lobbyists, I stood behind the fuel desk pleasantly on December 25, 2008, and treated the customers to the most courteous service I could offer. Sadly, this day was also the first day the shopping baskets at Super Pantry ever saw any use.
And I decided that if I was to run out of ink writing this blog, I will drag the next customer over the counter, slice off the top of their index finger, and deliver this Pulitzer hopeful in blood.
Gas stations need to be open on Christmas for four reasons: Gas, Smokes, Newspapers, and Batteries.
Read the rest of these stories at Main Event of the Dead.com and determine if this thought process can be translated into a B-movie comedy about pro-wrestling zombies.
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Stacia was also a really smart person who kept her feet on the ground, and knew how to get the most out of life. Usually, that came out through some of the best rock of our generation, her wicked sense of humor, and her beaming smile that never seemed to fade.
