Conveniently Steve had no food in his fridge.

I rummage through his corner of snacks – Cheez-It’s, chips, jerky.  I barely touched my pho from the night prior and came to the conclusion I needed some protein to keep my ass moving. Chicken jerky it was. Steve’s dog was acting crazy fiendish as always though – grabbing the jerky from my hands, licking my fingers. After styming his attempts to jack my breakfast, I had put down about 6-7 good sized pieces of jerky. I felt better already.

After grabbing some Brodard’s we come back to Steve’s place and again I’m sort of hungry. I grab for the jerky again and offer some to Terry and Heing. Both decline. Heing jokes: “I don’t eat dog food.” I tell him to eat my penis and proceed to knock out for a hour.

Steve gets home from work later that night and we’re all chopping it up. We’re talking about what we all ate earlier – Brodard’s for lunch and how I mowed down some of Steve’s jerky for breakfast and as a snack.

Steve looks at me puzzled: “I don’t have any jerky.”

Me: “What? You have that Costco bag of chicken jerky in the corner.”

Steve: “You mean that Costco bag of chicken jerky for my dog in the corner.”

Me: “…”

“Fuck.”

[Family members gather around dining table. Some start to crack open the warm balut.]

(Somewhat intoxicated) Dad: “Do anyone know what they say about DUCK EGG?!?!?!?”

Various Family Members: “Um..no. Not really.”

[A natural pause occurs. Slowly the room fills with silence]

Dad: “Well…it is SAID…duck egg improve your….”

*Stops and lifts his half-exposed duck egg into the air*

Dad: “…..SEX!”

[Regurgitations of drinks can be heard throughout the room]

Random Cousin: “..wh- huh?”

Dad: *Vigorous shakes duck egg.*

“VIAGRA!”

*Laughs hysterically to himself*

[Dead. Silence.]

Me: “…Damn. Is it like extremely warm in here?.” *Slowly dies inside*

—

Sidenote: My dad isn’t a creeper. Just crazy and senile.  Promise.

——————-

Valentine’s Day is not a day for lovers…

…it’s a day for peers, for competition.

Don’t be fooled. All your shameless pandering is simply for her ego. Anything you do will not be an end in itself, but social capital in which to compare or more precisely flaunt to her contemporaries.

Back in school it was an intense competition among the hoes, you were merely a conduit, the pawn. For her it was a hand’s off, cross your fingers, and hope you come out a winner day of anxiety, that could go boom or bust. They couldn’t see the competition, and they couldn’t tell you what to get because that would be cheating, so I imagine it’s what farmers must feel when they submit their giant pumpkin to the fair hoping that no one in their right mind could have anything grander. Girls would be floating with 9 humongous balloons, 6 dozen flowers, cards, dragging a 5 foot teddy bear down the hall. That’s not a learning environment, why was this allowed? And what did they do, chat it up all fucking day. But only with the other girls with with balloons and trinkets. Sadly, the majority of the other girls were empty handed, ohhh the fucking contempt on their faces. That’s a horrible day for those young girls. They might get a reprieve if some lame got them a cheap little school sponsered rose stem  Shit would be surreal, all the giddy girls’ inane chatter reviewing their gifts to their clique during Beowulf was tempered by the whisperings of the ugly chicks backhanded whisperings 

Bertha: “She thinks she’s all that”
Samantha: “I know..She’s ugly anyway”.
Ethel: “It’s just flowers, whats the big deal anyway”

This built social bonds for female outcasts(and feelings of worthlessness), but they still held their breath when in 2nd period the door knocked and the guy was their to announce recipients for a cheap student council rose stem. “I got one for Sara…Dana..and wait one more….Samantha”
 the previous curmudgeon lights up. Now what bitch, let’s see you throw it away like John Kerry did his medals you previously scoff-prone hoe. No, she loves it. She goes back to Bertha and Ethel and now the whole tone has changed, they feint support. 
Bertha: “That’s great Sam!”
Ethel: ” Flowers are so pretty!”
Samantha: “:o “

Now this trio of miserable broads is now divided,resentment will last for years, Samantha is exposed as a faker, and all the pretty girls mentally rank their status by comparing whose balloons take up the entire hall. And we wonder why females are so testy with each other, it starts early. I honestly saw hoes with more elation on their faces from the truckload of valentines they were eager to hoard than they did on graduation. The whole valentine thing is not about you showing your love, appreciation for her, but a way for her to gain status and influence over competing girls, from Becky the Cheerleader down to Bertha and Ethel.

And it continues through adult life. You show your “love” for her by pubicly stroking her ego, sending 1,000 flowers to her cubicle so her female co-workers can gather round and gush over them, while they all secretly think “bitch “. Singing telegrams, skywriting whatever overtly makes her the target of other broads’ contempt is what shes after not a true showcase of your love. You can save that shit for someone who cares.

Even if you do something private and romantic away from the public eye, it’s all about telling other people, phoning her sister in Wisconsin, few broads can resist the urge to blather about how important they are. A chick that you can do something for and she has no urge to immediately email her entire rolodex about your kindness is a keeper.

1. As absurd as it may sound, I didn’t quite realize how not Asian I was until I went to UW. Being one of three (four if you count the Indian) Asian kids in your community can make one oblivious to such things. Seattle/UW was a trip for a young bosco to say the least. 

2. I have a mad ugly scar right below my belly button. I had a strange condition called diverticulum where a pouch formed over my large intestine resulting in much puking and the lovely feeling that someone was shanking me. As a result I had a surgery in the sixth grade to cut and remove a couple  inches from my large intestine.

3. A random influence in my life was a co-worker I had a few years back at an old internship. The best way I can describe him is a fusion of a crazy, mad scientist and the Hunchback of Notre Dame.  Interesting note: He named his two boys “Alexander” and “Caesar” because he wanted them to “rule the motherfucking world.” 

Anyways one random day he walked into my cube and straight up asked “What the fuck are you doing man?” I thought I was caught, again, fucking around on the interweb when I should have been pretending to do work I didn’t really have to do. But surprisingly he just followed with “Do you really like this shit? Are you waking up dreading the day or are you happy with this bullshit?”

“Don’t become me in 20 years. Figure out what you love to do and fucking do it.”

He also told me to only marry a crazy woman (redundant?) because they will keep you in check. 

4. I have the flattest feet in the world. 

5. I golfed all four years during high school (not saying too much since our team didn’t cut anyone). As a freshman I was told I was “Tiger Wood-ese” primarily because I was Asian and I golfed. 

6. I hold strong the belief that Andre 3000 is the greatest rapper alive (and dead) with Nasir Jones as a very close second. Overall I tend to gravitate towards more down-to-earth hip-hop and r&b but I cannot turn down an entertaining gun-toting, bitch-slapping, and i-have-more-sexual-intercourse-than-you song.  

7. “The Wire” is the greatest TV show ever. Bill Simmons and President Obama agree with me and you should too since Simmons is the blogging god and Barack is, well,  God himself. 

8. On a related note, I don’t really believe in God anymore.  Don’t tell my pops though. 

9. I think a lot about becoming too much like my parents and conversely becoming not enough like my parents. I need a job to pay for some therapy.  

10. I’m a shower in the morning type of guy. Not because it wakes me up or anything, but because I give off a not so pleasant odor after a long night of sleep. I may have just shared too much information. 

11. (Shorts, flip-flops, t-shirt, and hoodie) + (sunshine + freezing cold temperatures) = heaven 

12. My ears build a rather disgusting amount of excessive earwax.

If you did not know,  UW students are allowed one free check-up at Hall Health per quarter. Well I used that shit up every quarter to get my ears flushed. Essentially the nurse/doctor fills a large syringe with warm water and hydrogen peroxide, sticks it in your ear, and whammy. Your head fills with water, you get a strange bubbling sensation, and out come a large ball of ear wax. Greatest feeling ever.

13. My feet have more hair than you would probably guess.

14. My pops has a variety of different birds as “pets”:  peacocks, pheasants, doves, etc.  As a means of population control, we may have once or twice dined on some homegrown poultry though. 

15. I enjoy the nice, long walk.  Don’t judge me. 

16. I once locked my keys in my car…with the lights on and the engine running. Yeah…that was a shitty day.

17. In the first-grade we had square dancing lessons (One of many perks of growing up in the boonies). I was do-si-do-ing around with my partner and somehow tripped and landed on her.  Apparently a classmate with obviously liberal parents spotted us and yelled out “You guys are having the sex!”

And this was my first introduction to the pee and the vagee.

…but it is damn pretty. 

Oh yeah, our new president. Too much swag.

terrorist fist pump

One late summer evening we were at our high school, probably doing something scandalous like playing two-on-two and discussing which girls had “matured” the most over the summer. After a while we decided to pack it up for the evening and head over to the brown kid’s house for some orange drank and video games. For some reason we only had two bikes that evening and being the minorities of the group we obviously were the ones left out. So we made a bet: Dip and I would cut through the corn field which separated the school from the brown kid’s house and the white guys would bike all the way around. The terms of the bet were accepted by both parties and off we went.

After running through the maze of corn we arrived at the house and happily noticed we beat those biking motherfuckers. We started to walk into the house when I noticed a slight bump on my leg. Not thinking much of it, I continued inside. Five minutes later that bump turned into a few hills and ten minutes later those hills turned into the fucking Rocky Mountains. I panicked. I ran into the bathroom. I rubbed cold water on the bumps. Nothing. Warm water. Nothing. Not knowing what to do I left the bathroom and decided to chill and hope I returned to a normal shape. Wrong. The sitting did nothing as I watched my arms grow matching mountainous swells. The others kept looking at me like I was going to explode so I decided it was time to go home and tend to my ailments.

I ran home and right past my dad  knowing I am would much rather face this allergic reaction alone than deal with pops lecturing my ass about the virtues of staying home and reading the dictionary. I ran upstairs to the bathroom, found the bottle of pink allergy medicine, tossed off my clothes, and proceeded to pour every ounce of that bottle all over my body. And let me tell you, it was a sight to behold.

So I stood there until that shit dried and then I rolled into bed. Unfortunetely my therputic nap was soon interrupted by the screams of my mom who saw her youngest lying butt ass naked in a pool of pink blood.

Don Bosco …. apparently this somewhat disturbing picture of him didn’t nullify his chances of becoming a saint.

(my pops is real Catholic)

apparently as a kid Bosco would put on these elaborate magic and acrobat shows but instead of charging money, the price of entry was a prayer. i’m assuming this isn’t how it is done in Vegas.

http://www.fannation.com/si_blogs/points_after/posts/20181-a-poem-by-brent-barry

“A poem by Brent Barry”

When it rains…

I can’t help but sit here and think of what this means,
For the fans in the city of Seattle and what seemed to be routine.
Like a ferry ride to Bremerton or fresh salmon from old Pike Place,
A cup of joe while on the go, crossing bridges at a snails pace.
But this season there is silence, a reason not to cheer,
The balls have all stopped bouncing and the Sonics are not here.
Now life has more to offer us than just a doctor’s game,
But for most of you, and it includes me too, Let me remind you of some names…
It was “The Voice” Bob Blackburn who announced Spencer Haywood coming in,
Then Bill Russell coaching Slick and Spencer and Tommy Burleson.
It was basketball in the great Northwest, you could feel it all around,
And fans held tight and tuned in each night to see Downtown Freddie Brown.
They paved the way for some inspired play and Lenny Wilkens returned to lead,
But in ’78, while playing great, a title was not to be.
Lonnie Shelton and JJ had entered the mix, and the likes of Sikma too,
Then DJ and Gus, like the rest of us, saw the Green and Gold pull through.
From Alki to Pioneer Square, a celebration fans could not shirk,
As kids came down with phantom flus and dads skipped out on work.
The 80s had come, and with it some Magic, and a Bird that flew high in the East,
Still Chambers and Ellis, pretty nice fellas and X Man. Oh what a beast!
The 90s brought grunge, alternative stuff and everyone took the pill,
They brought in George Karl, and with wit and a snarl, he seemed to fit the bill.
Gary Payton took his rightful place, as the greatest to wear the fatigues,
And with alley-oops and spinning scoops the Glove was tearing through the league. (Did I mention that he liked to talk trash?)
The Reign Man was made immortal, ripping rims down coast to coast,
And the biggest treat to all those plays was Kevin Calabro as the host.
Squatch was waving Sonic flags with fans right by his side,
And KC was on that magic carpet and taking you for the ride.
There was Det and his mullet, Big Smoothe and the Hawk too,
And Mr. Sonic Nate McMillan, who gave his career to you.
Those teams were special for the Emerald City, it’s style was renown,
Sixty-four wins in a single season? And seeing Mutombo on the ground…
Then glimpses of a Baker, a Mason and a Rashard Lewis, Ray Allen tickled many twines but barely even knew us.
And here I sit in my office space and think of my career,
And what to say to my two sons, did the team just disappear? I played in Key Arena, I lived on Queen Anne hill, I played pinball at Shorty’s after games and ate burgers at Red Mill.
I would have some chowder down at Duke’s and watch the planes take flight And find myself in Fremont if I needed a beer that night.
I saw Star Wars at Cinerama, tossed a pitch at Safeco field, Drove all the way to Bellingham to see Pearl Jam perform Yield.
I ate at Belltown restaurants, I strolled all of Greenlake Park,
And loved to view the Christmas lights downtown when it got dark.
I lost golf balls at Snoqualmie but never got a chance to ski it,
I feel like kids who love pro ball and will never get a chance to see it.

A chapter left unwritten, a generation with a gap, Forty one years of NBA action and now no one can clap.

So what’s my wish? It’s simply this,

It’s when the city doesn’t face this plight.

And you hear it said, instead of bed,

I’m going to the Sonics game tonight.