Thursday, January 18, 2007
Funeral Dirge
Went to a funeral today. Or, as the religious types call it, "A Homegoing Celebration!"
This guy was universally loved, the church was overflowing, and as one speaker put it, "It's very rare indeed to meet a man who has no enemies."
Of course, the church has all these Saints and 99% of the congregation is saved.
So, guess what? I stand out like a sore thumb. I was telling one of the Deacons that I couldn't go into the Sanctuary because I would burst into flames, and we had a laugh, then he spent some of the afternoon trying to convert me. Dude, nothing personal, but I'm not even interested in The Men's Group Meeting.
I did the whole Meet & Greet thing, and that seemed to please Mrs. Dr. Speed, and oh yeah, hey young black girls, please get your hair done and do not wear jeans to a funeral. Sheesh.
And one more thing, I am sick to death of people saying that I look the Pastor.
And one more thing, I am sick to death of people saying that they know me. I just have that familiar kind of face, okay?
Moving on, the deceased died suddenly, no hint of illness, and people were saying, "That's how I want to go, no suffering, just go real quick."
Fuck that. I want to die fucking. I want to be balls deep in some tight-ass pussy, getting ready to cum. That's my dream. Bury me with a hard-on, bitches.
This guy was universally loved, the church was overflowing, and as one speaker put it, "It's very rare indeed to meet a man who has no enemies."
Of course, the church has all these Saints and 99% of the congregation is saved.
So, guess what? I stand out like a sore thumb. I was telling one of the Deacons that I couldn't go into the Sanctuary because I would burst into flames, and we had a laugh, then he spent some of the afternoon trying to convert me. Dude, nothing personal, but I'm not even interested in The Men's Group Meeting.
I did the whole Meet & Greet thing, and that seemed to please Mrs. Dr. Speed, and oh yeah, hey young black girls, please get your hair done and do not wear jeans to a funeral. Sheesh.
And one more thing, I am sick to death of people saying that I look the Pastor.
And one more thing, I am sick to death of people saying that they know me. I just have that familiar kind of face, okay?
Moving on, the deceased died suddenly, no hint of illness, and people were saying, "That's how I want to go, no suffering, just go real quick."
Fuck that. I want to die fucking. I want to be balls deep in some tight-ass pussy, getting ready to cum. That's my dream. Bury me with a hard-on, bitches.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Halfrican
Run Barack, Run!
I'm calling it now. I support the Edwards/Obama ticket.
Did you know that his full name is Barack Hussien Obama?
So, not only does he have to overcome the whole race thing to become President, he has to overcome the whole name thing. And don't think that racist fuckers aren't running around claiming that Barack is a Muslim. Sad.
These racist fuckers in Frisco called him a "Halfrican" saying that he can't claim to be an African-American, because his dad is from Kenya, and his mom is from Kansas. Hence, the term, "Halfrican".
In all my time on this planet, I had never heard the term Halfrican before. So, of course, I looked it up. Seems that the term has been around since at least 2003.
Who'da thunk it?
Years and years ago, the Great Richard Pryor performed a skit where he was the first black president. As Richard approaches the podium to make his speech, suddenly he started bobbing and weaving, while giving his speech, so that he could avoid the sniper.
That's what Barack has to look forward too.
I'm calling it now. I support the Edwards/Obama ticket.
Did you know that his full name is Barack Hussien Obama?
So, not only does he have to overcome the whole race thing to become President, he has to overcome the whole name thing. And don't think that racist fuckers aren't running around claiming that Barack is a Muslim. Sad.
These racist fuckers in Frisco called him a "Halfrican" saying that he can't claim to be an African-American, because his dad is from Kenya, and his mom is from Kansas. Hence, the term, "Halfrican".
In all my time on this planet, I had never heard the term Halfrican before. So, of course, I looked it up. Seems that the term has been around since at least 2003.
Who'da thunk it?
Years and years ago, the Great Richard Pryor performed a skit where he was the first black president. As Richard approaches the podium to make his speech, suddenly he started bobbing and weaving, while giving his speech, so that he could avoid the sniper.
That's what Barack has to look forward too.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
FUN With Dr. Speed!
This shit really happens . . .
So, Mrs. Dr. Speed drags me to this new boutique store she heard about. I'm mildly drunk, as usual. We walk into into the joint, and an attractive woman starts pointing at me and saying my name. She looked familiar, but in my state of mind, I didn't really care. I just wanted to get into the joint and get the fuck back out again.
Because shopping with women is only slightly more fun than getting kicked in the balls by Rosie 'O Donnell.
So, I'm walking in, and I'm trying to remember where I saw her sexy looking ass before, when she runs over to me and throws herself into my arms. I'm not shocked, but I still don't know who the fuck this curvy, Tyra Banks lookin' motherfucker is. I return the hug because, hell, her tits felt pretty good crushed against my chest. "Don't you remember me, Brian?", she cooed into my ear. I told the truth, "The face looks familiar, but I'm drawing a blank on the name." She told me her name. Turns out it was my Real Estate agent that had sold me my house.
Now, Mrs. Dr. Speed despises her because she always felt that my Real Estate agent dressed too slutty when we were looking at houses. I felt like she had worked damn hard for that body, and she should damn well show it off if she wanted too. Plus, she has these real long legs and perfect shaped tits with the bomb nipples. Anyway, back to the story. I have Tyra Banks Clone in my arms, and I turn around to look at Mrs. Dr. Speed, and she has this super-shitty look on her face. So, I disengaged myself, and Tyra Banks Clone goes over and gives Mrs. Dr. Speed a half-hug, you know, the kind that is not even attempted to be genuine.
A little back story here - When i was looking to buy my home, I spent a lot of time with Tyra Banks Clone, but it was strictly business. Despite her sending unmistakable signals, I was determined not to mix business with pleasure. I was focused on the home buying experience, and nothing was allowed to distract me, even if that nothing met me once in a braless spaghetti strap and daisy dukes. Out of all the opportunities, that was the one time I almost gave in. Looking back, I probably should have fucked her that day. She bent over to put the key in the lock, giving me a great view of her long, long, legs, and her shapely ass, while her 36 D's bobbled gently, begging for my lips. She wiggled her hips seductively, acting like she was having trouble with the lock. Goddamn, she was fine. I wanted to throw her on the carpet and rut like a pig in heat. But I didn't. Do not mix business and pleasure.
Back to present day - I hadn't seen her in a long time, a few years, at least. I ran into her at a gas station about 4 years ago, and we talked for a long time, until the camel jockey came out and started shouting at us to leave the gas station. "YOU BUY GAS! YOU PUMP GAS! YOU LEAVE!"
She had told me that she was single again (Divorced husband number 2 or 3, I don't remember), and I asked her if we could fuck. She wanted to know if I was still married. I told her yeah. She said, "No." We went our separate ways.
So, we are in this boutique store, now that I know Tyra Banks Clone's name, all the memories come flooding back. Mrs. Dr. Speed is suddenly no longer interested in shopping. And I'm eyeballing Tyra Banks Clone to see if everything is still the way I remember it. Yep. All the right curves, in all the right places. Tyra Banks Clone is trying to make small talk while she's looking at my cock in my pants, and I decide to ask for that shit that Mrs. Dr. Speed dragged me in the fucking store for, since we were there. Tyra Banks Clone takes us around the store, still talking, she still does real estate, she's managing the store for a friend, blah, blah, blah; the whole time, Mrs. Dr. Speed looks like a really angry cat. Hissing, fangs bared, ears flattened back, ready to rumble.
The store didn't have the shit Mrs. Dr. Speed wanted, so I turn my drunk ass around while Tyra Banks Clone is still talking and started heading for the exit. "Wait, wait, Brian!" , Tyra Banks Clone is shouting. I turn around, and she presses her card into my hand. "Call me." , she breathes at me. I'm like, "Sure." We head for the exit, and the next thing I know, Mrs. Dr. Speed is right next to me, and she literally snatches the card out of my hand with such force, that I got friction burns. She crumples the card up and puts it in her pocket. We go out to the Town Car, and Mrs. Dr. Speed is all like, "Bitch."
I'm laughing, because I'm drunk and that shit is funny, and she's all like, "DON'T BE LAUGHING!"
And that made me laugh even harder. Did she really think that snatching Tyra Banks Clone's business card could keep me from contacting her if I wanted to? Shit. An internet search of realtors in my area gave up her name and contact info in .08 seconds.
No, I haven't called her. Yet. But yeah, I do have some stories about looking for homes that should be on this blog.
Dr. Speed
So, Mrs. Dr. Speed drags me to this new boutique store she heard about. I'm mildly drunk, as usual. We walk into into the joint, and an attractive woman starts pointing at me and saying my name. She looked familiar, but in my state of mind, I didn't really care. I just wanted to get into the joint and get the fuck back out again.
Because shopping with women is only slightly more fun than getting kicked in the balls by Rosie 'O Donnell.
So, I'm walking in, and I'm trying to remember where I saw her sexy looking ass before, when she runs over to me and throws herself into my arms. I'm not shocked, but I still don't know who the fuck this curvy, Tyra Banks lookin' motherfucker is. I return the hug because, hell, her tits felt pretty good crushed against my chest. "Don't you remember me, Brian?", she cooed into my ear. I told the truth, "The face looks familiar, but I'm drawing a blank on the name." She told me her name. Turns out it was my Real Estate agent that had sold me my house.
Now, Mrs. Dr. Speed despises her because she always felt that my Real Estate agent dressed too slutty when we were looking at houses. I felt like she had worked damn hard for that body, and she should damn well show it off if she wanted too. Plus, she has these real long legs and perfect shaped tits with the bomb nipples. Anyway, back to the story. I have Tyra Banks Clone in my arms, and I turn around to look at Mrs. Dr. Speed, and she has this super-shitty look on her face. So, I disengaged myself, and Tyra Banks Clone goes over and gives Mrs. Dr. Speed a half-hug, you know, the kind that is not even attempted to be genuine.
A little back story here - When i was looking to buy my home, I spent a lot of time with Tyra Banks Clone, but it was strictly business. Despite her sending unmistakable signals, I was determined not to mix business with pleasure. I was focused on the home buying experience, and nothing was allowed to distract me, even if that nothing met me once in a braless spaghetti strap and daisy dukes. Out of all the opportunities, that was the one time I almost gave in. Looking back, I probably should have fucked her that day. She bent over to put the key in the lock, giving me a great view of her long, long, legs, and her shapely ass, while her 36 D's bobbled gently, begging for my lips. She wiggled her hips seductively, acting like she was having trouble with the lock. Goddamn, she was fine. I wanted to throw her on the carpet and rut like a pig in heat. But I didn't. Do not mix business and pleasure.
Back to present day - I hadn't seen her in a long time, a few years, at least. I ran into her at a gas station about 4 years ago, and we talked for a long time, until the camel jockey came out and started shouting at us to leave the gas station. "YOU BUY GAS! YOU PUMP GAS! YOU LEAVE!"
She had told me that she was single again (Divorced husband number 2 or 3, I don't remember), and I asked her if we could fuck. She wanted to know if I was still married. I told her yeah. She said, "No." We went our separate ways.
So, we are in this boutique store, now that I know Tyra Banks Clone's name, all the memories come flooding back. Mrs. Dr. Speed is suddenly no longer interested in shopping. And I'm eyeballing Tyra Banks Clone to see if everything is still the way I remember it. Yep. All the right curves, in all the right places. Tyra Banks Clone is trying to make small talk while she's looking at my cock in my pants, and I decide to ask for that shit that Mrs. Dr. Speed dragged me in the fucking store for, since we were there. Tyra Banks Clone takes us around the store, still talking, she still does real estate, she's managing the store for a friend, blah, blah, blah; the whole time, Mrs. Dr. Speed looks like a really angry cat. Hissing, fangs bared, ears flattened back, ready to rumble.
The store didn't have the shit Mrs. Dr. Speed wanted, so I turn my drunk ass around while Tyra Banks Clone is still talking and started heading for the exit. "Wait, wait, Brian!" , Tyra Banks Clone is shouting. I turn around, and she presses her card into my hand. "Call me." , she breathes at me. I'm like, "Sure." We head for the exit, and the next thing I know, Mrs. Dr. Speed is right next to me, and she literally snatches the card out of my hand with such force, that I got friction burns. She crumples the card up and puts it in her pocket. We go out to the Town Car, and Mrs. Dr. Speed is all like, "Bitch."
I'm laughing, because I'm drunk and that shit is funny, and she's all like, "DON'T BE LAUGHING!"
And that made me laugh even harder. Did she really think that snatching Tyra Banks Clone's business card could keep me from contacting her if I wanted to? Shit. An internet search of realtors in my area gave up her name and contact info in .08 seconds.
No, I haven't called her. Yet. But yeah, I do have some stories about looking for homes that should be on this blog.
Dr. Speed
Monday, January 08, 2007
Dr. Speed's List (Part 4)
Kiwi - The Rare Flower, as you like to call yourself, or, as I like to call you, The Common Weed, simply put; PEOPLE OUR AGE SHOULD NOT BE HAVING BABIES.
And the rest of what you're doing is just goddamn ghoulish.
>>>SHUDDER<<<
T. Rex - I can't believe that you got accepted into the program, no seriously, I can't believe that you got accepted into the program, no, I'm not kidding, I can't believe that you got accepted into the program, but, good luck, pal. You think that you're my rival, but I always get the best, chum.
Delicious - You just met me, slow the fuck down! Sheesh.
Trashy Blacque - On December 08th, 2006, I wrote about you. On December 30th, 2006, you proved me right. Fuck you, and the horse you rode in on.
And the rest of what you're doing is just goddamn ghoulish.
>>>SHUDDER<<<
T. Rex - I can't believe that you got accepted into the program, no seriously, I can't believe that you got accepted into the program, no, I'm not kidding, I can't believe that you got accepted into the program, but, good luck, pal. You think that you're my rival, but I always get the best, chum.
Delicious - You just met me, slow the fuck down! Sheesh.
Trashy Blacque - On December 08th, 2006, I wrote about you. On December 30th, 2006, you proved me right. Fuck you, and the horse you rode in on.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Christmas With The Speeds
Well, I haven't updated because, December always kicks my ass, and I don't have the emotional depths or capacity to blog daily.
However, in my quest to become a complete blogwhore, here is what you missed from the life of Dr. Speed . . .
Second Saturday in December, I (Mrs. Dr. Speed was shopping, The Princess Of Speed was working, and Dr. Speed Jr. was working) went to our town's Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony, which I found was covered in Wikipedia, what a surprise, and our dumbass Senator called the trees Oak trees. What an asshole. I did not see my neighbors Patrice Rushen or John C. Reilly, but I found out that my bulldagger looking neighbor worked on the Alien movies. My favorite neighbor, The Einstein, was working in Nebraska for the University. Did you know that the U of N issues "N" cards for identification? When I pointed that out to The Einstein, he wasn't amused. At all. See, it's a card with a picture of a black man, with a GIANT "N" on it. Made me suspicious, that's all.
Anyway, back to the Tree Lighting, a bunch of my neighbors were there, but I was quite drunk, and determined not to embarrass myself by speaking to them, so I found a spot off to the left of the stage, and observed the chaos. That group from Santa Monica was there, and they can really sing, then there were some church guys, and they sang some depressing shit, and the M.C. was some dizzy white lady who didn't have the foresight to read her cue cards before the acts were on stage, then the little kids came out to sing Jingle Bells, but the old lady with the bells couldn't keep the beat to save her life, so it fucked up the little kids, and amused the shit out my drunk ass. The stupid M.C. was whining about the possibility of rain, and I'm thinking, "Shut the fuck up and flip the switch, then, bitch!" So, she counted down, and someone flipped the switch, then we all gathered in the street and watched the pretty, pretty, lights in the trees. I grabbed some hot chocolate, and joined the throng. It was cool.
About a week later, I went to Susan's annual Christmas party and managed not to get thrown out. Major accomplishment. Susan is so hot when she's drunk. I really want to kiss her.
Christmas eve, we all got together at my uncles house in L.A. and I endured the whole "family togetherness" thing. My cousin was there with his stuck-up wife and his stuck-up kids. I'm happy that your business is successful, but can't you teach your wife and kids some fucking manners? I decided that I wasn't going to feed into their bullshit, and mingled with everyone except those stuck-up bitches. Libby, who is my other cousin's ex-wife (long story) was as hot as ever. My cousin was telling me how he just came back from Thailand and Macau, and he was trying to sneak away to Fiji, but he couldn't ditch his wife, and I'm thinking about how hot his wife is, but she has a goddamn attitude problem, so fuck it, I would have tried to sneak off to Fiji, also. We compared notes on traveling to Africa, and he was saying how much he wanted to go when we went, and I'm saying, "Hell, I wanted to go when you did!" So, we talked about going to France, but I doubt it'll happen. His wife is a bitch.
Well, we had dinner, opened the presents, and I made myself at home behind the bar, which was probably a mistake, as suddenly, I'm the world's best bartender. I made a bunch of drinks for folks, and few for myself, and got real toasty. At the end of the night, we said our goodbyes and I set the cruise control, and let the Town Car drive me home.
The Next Morning, also known as Christmas Day, we went over my dad's (The King Of Speed) house. I had a goddamn wicked hangover. I listened to him and his wife talk about their trip to Hong Kong until I couldn't take it anymore, then I went and puked my guts out in the guest bathroom, then I excused myself, drove back to my house, and went to sleep it off. It worked too.
When I returned to work on the 26th, I was informed that there was a "mandatory" luncheon for all managers on the 27th. I told my boss that I would be leaving for the day after the luncheon. The luncheon was a farce. It was supposedly to congratulate us on our successful year, and chart the direction of our business for the new year. I was so disgusted by the politicians giving the presentation, that I went ahead and ordered drinks, because what the fuck, I wasn't going back to work, so fuck these guys. Can we please get some guys that know how to run a business, instead of political hacks. Bah! At least we got gift bags, like the Academy Awards. After the presentation, one of the hacks said, "You guys can leave when you're ready." Needless to say, I was the first one out the door.
A few days later, I received the second best head that I had ever gotten in my life. I am seriously fond of freaks that know how to go for what they know. However, it's sad that I can count on one hand, the good head that I've gotten. It's a big turn off when chicks be gagging. Huge.
New Years Eve was quiet, I had to be in Santa Monica at midnight, and it wasn't so bad. (The crowds and traffic.) The dude with the cannon didn't do his thing this year. Which was too bad. Then, the last couple of days, we got raped by these super high winds, which conspired to rip the roof off of my patio. So, I spent the morning up on top of the patio repairing the roof, and the afternoon tinkering with Project: Hot Rod, which is running just too fucking hot, and I can't isolate why.
Tonight, I downloaded a bunch of obscure music, resolved to be a better father, update this blog more often, and lose 20 fucking pounds.
Love and kisses,
Dr. Speed
However, in my quest to become a complete blogwhore, here is what you missed from the life of Dr. Speed . . .
Second Saturday in December, I (Mrs. Dr. Speed was shopping, The Princess Of Speed was working, and Dr. Speed Jr. was working) went to our town's Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony, which I found was covered in Wikipedia, what a surprise, and our dumbass Senator called the trees Oak trees. What an asshole. I did not see my neighbors Patrice Rushen or John C. Reilly, but I found out that my bulldagger looking neighbor worked on the Alien movies. My favorite neighbor, The Einstein, was working in Nebraska for the University. Did you know that the U of N issues "N" cards for identification? When I pointed that out to The Einstein, he wasn't amused. At all. See, it's a card with a picture of a black man, with a GIANT "N" on it. Made me suspicious, that's all.
Anyway, back to the Tree Lighting, a bunch of my neighbors were there, but I was quite drunk, and determined not to embarrass myself by speaking to them, so I found a spot off to the left of the stage, and observed the chaos. That group from Santa Monica was there, and they can really sing, then there were some church guys, and they sang some depressing shit, and the M.C. was some dizzy white lady who didn't have the foresight to read her cue cards before the acts were on stage, then the little kids came out to sing Jingle Bells, but the old lady with the bells couldn't keep the beat to save her life, so it fucked up the little kids, and amused the shit out my drunk ass. The stupid M.C. was whining about the possibility of rain, and I'm thinking, "Shut the fuck up and flip the switch, then, bitch!" So, she counted down, and someone flipped the switch, then we all gathered in the street and watched the pretty, pretty, lights in the trees. I grabbed some hot chocolate, and joined the throng. It was cool.
About a week later, I went to Susan's annual Christmas party and managed not to get thrown out. Major accomplishment. Susan is so hot when she's drunk. I really want to kiss her.
Christmas eve, we all got together at my uncles house in L.A. and I endured the whole "family togetherness" thing. My cousin was there with his stuck-up wife and his stuck-up kids. I'm happy that your business is successful, but can't you teach your wife and kids some fucking manners? I decided that I wasn't going to feed into their bullshit, and mingled with everyone except those stuck-up bitches. Libby, who is my other cousin's ex-wife (long story) was as hot as ever. My cousin was telling me how he just came back from Thailand and Macau, and he was trying to sneak away to Fiji, but he couldn't ditch his wife, and I'm thinking about how hot his wife is, but she has a goddamn attitude problem, so fuck it, I would have tried to sneak off to Fiji, also. We compared notes on traveling to Africa, and he was saying how much he wanted to go when we went, and I'm saying, "Hell, I wanted to go when you did!" So, we talked about going to France, but I doubt it'll happen. His wife is a bitch.
Well, we had dinner, opened the presents, and I made myself at home behind the bar, which was probably a mistake, as suddenly, I'm the world's best bartender. I made a bunch of drinks for folks, and few for myself, and got real toasty. At the end of the night, we said our goodbyes and I set the cruise control, and let the Town Car drive me home.
The Next Morning, also known as Christmas Day, we went over my dad's (The King Of Speed) house. I had a goddamn wicked hangover. I listened to him and his wife talk about their trip to Hong Kong until I couldn't take it anymore, then I went and puked my guts out in the guest bathroom, then I excused myself, drove back to my house, and went to sleep it off. It worked too.
When I returned to work on the 26th, I was informed that there was a "mandatory" luncheon for all managers on the 27th. I told my boss that I would be leaving for the day after the luncheon. The luncheon was a farce. It was supposedly to congratulate us on our successful year, and chart the direction of our business for the new year. I was so disgusted by the politicians giving the presentation, that I went ahead and ordered drinks, because what the fuck, I wasn't going back to work, so fuck these guys. Can we please get some guys that know how to run a business, instead of political hacks. Bah! At least we got gift bags, like the Academy Awards. After the presentation, one of the hacks said, "You guys can leave when you're ready." Needless to say, I was the first one out the door.
A few days later, I received the second best head that I had ever gotten in my life. I am seriously fond of freaks that know how to go for what they know. However, it's sad that I can count on one hand, the good head that I've gotten. It's a big turn off when chicks be gagging. Huge.
New Years Eve was quiet, I had to be in Santa Monica at midnight, and it wasn't so bad. (The crowds and traffic.) The dude with the cannon didn't do his thing this year. Which was too bad. Then, the last couple of days, we got raped by these super high winds, which conspired to rip the roof off of my patio. So, I spent the morning up on top of the patio repairing the roof, and the afternoon tinkering with Project: Hot Rod, which is running just too fucking hot, and I can't isolate why.
Tonight, I downloaded a bunch of obscure music, resolved to be a better father, update this blog more often, and lose 20 fucking pounds.
Love and kisses,
Dr. Speed
