Two weekends back, I went to the Houston Art Car Parade. For those of you unfamiliar with the Houston Art Car Parade, it’s pretty much exactly like it sounds. A bunch (a bunch is kind of generous) people paint their cars with goofy shit, and drive it down the road. There are some really cool creations, and a lot of people put a lot of work into it. But a large amount of people paint puzzle pieces on a Geo and call it good. (I’m looking at you, Art Institute.)

So getting there wasn’t too bad, despite the 1990’s-Samalia-war-zone-like construction. Although we did have to park a ways away, but fuck it, I can walk. It took us a little bit to find out where the damned parade was. But, after a winding walk through some unkempt park, we found it.

The parade was fairly good, a bit better than expected. I expected a lot more half-assed, bumbling hippies with venereal diseases. One of the entries was what appeared to be a Latino car club’s lowriders. Which in itself was kinda funny to me. Hippies and vatos. I wonder who’s winning that fight.

I skipped a portion of the story. Intentionally, it’s not just because I’m a bad writer. Before the parade started, we went to get a nice space to sit on in the grass. So we find this hill. It’s not to steep, and it has some people sitting on it. There nicely spread out, so we have some room.

So we choose where we are going to sit, and sit down. There was this old, frail looking hippy a bit above us and to the right. See, it’s a fucking hill. The beauty of a hill for sitting like that, is I can sit in front of you, but your higher, so you can still see the fucking parade. Right? Is that not kind of common sense?

But this goofy fuck, wearing his dirty Grateful Dead t-shirt has a fucking attitude about it. Not openly of course, because that would take courage, and hippies are cowards. So he mutters under his breath “I’ll guess I’ll move.” I didn’t say shit, because we were trying to have a good time. So I just thought to myself “Good, I’m glad I inconvenienced you, you good for nothing hippy.” So I was pretty happy with myself.

I was assuming he was by himself. Again, he’s a hippy. But somehow, he has a family. Some how he convinced (possibly through use of LSD) a women to have sex with him, and even more shocking, his weak fucking sperm somehow succeeded in creating offspring. So when all of his wife, and his kids sit down, he bends over and “whispers” about how we just sat down in front of him. I say whispered, but it was more of a faint lisp.

It was pretty funny to me. I also made sure to walk by them while some hippy, free-love float came by and said something like “Wouldn’t it be funny if they died” or something horrible like that.

He gave me what he may have considered a “mean” look, but I considered it literally laughable. So all in all, it was a good day. I saw some cool automotive creations, and I ruined a Grateful Dead fan’s day. That makes me feel great.

(Oh yeah, and I took that picture of that guy on the old timey bike. There fucking hilarious. He’s was doing stunts to.)

1. You buy brand new pre-ripped, pre-grass stained, $150 designer jeans from a top retail outlet, drive your $35,000 Ford Explorer to a party or bar, then bum cigarettes and beer all night "cause your broke."

2. Within 10 Minutes of meeting someone new, you mention the ivy league school you attended for a semester (or once passed in a car.) Make sure to throw in how much smarter you were than your professors. Your open-mind & creativity didn’t fit in. It wasn’t that your actually droolin’ stupid.

3. Your name is John Whatever "The Third", and you introduce yourself as such. No body gives a fuck how many John’s there were in your incest-filled upper class bloodline, fucko.

4. You insist on pronouncing certain words, "the proper way,"  opposed to the universally accepted pronociactions. Yes, we are very impressed that you took an college equivalency course at your local highschool, but the emphasis in advertisement is on the "tise", you prick. It’s not adVERtisment.

5. You declared war on Iraq, foolishly missed opportunities to kill Bin Laden, and tarnished our name in the World…..then your Bill Clinton. Ha. You were expecting a Bush joke. Sucker.

Granted, it’s more my stupid fucking internet connection. Nevertheless, complain I shall!

You see I work with computers everyday. When I’m not wamboozlin’ people by equipping their websites with three-versions old wordpress codex [yeah that’s a website coding joke, fuck off] I’m wasting time tweaking this God forsaken site. Needless to say, I rely on the, I must repeat, stupid fucking internet to accomplish my job/jobs.

If this damned connection bleeps out again, I’m going to have to go Mike Tyson on my computer, meaning I will beat and rape it until my eventual arrest. Also kinda thinking about a sweet face tattoo. But that can wait, for now, I would just like my internet connection back.

On a side note, while typing this in Word, it prompts me to capitalize ‘internet.’ Why should I capitalize internet? Who is internet? It’s not a brand name or person, it’s a tool for committing credit card fraud and masturbation. You don’t deserve capitalization, internet.

Now I digress to my original gripe. Stupid fucking internet. I’m at a loss. What did people do before the internet? Nothing, that’s what. They rode on their old-timey bicycles to malt shops and shit. Drinking one drink with two straws, that kind of thing.

With that being said, my stupid fucking internet STILL is not up, and I think it’s about time to call these ISP chuckleheads. I’d sure be nice if they had not fucked up one connection while attempting, bassackwards, to set up another. But who am I to tell them how to be incompetent.

Now if my internet is back up, I will post this rambling rant. If it is not, you might catch me wild-eyed on a rooftop near you.