There's no limit when you're contantly winning. Part II

Read part 1 here

I'm out the door by 7:45, stomach full of a home made cure trying to kill the violent toxins that still resonate in my stomach from the night before, eager to get through the day without any hiccups.

Hailing a cab at 7:45am during rush hour, downtown, is a challenge to say the least. Hailing a cab with a massive hangover, tucking my shirt in with my coat hanging in my mouth, is a whole different level. The streets are filled with busy bodies shuffling to and from, I can smell the street venders pushing out their meals to the work force, and listening to the lines of traffic honking horns, squeeling tires, and loud engines are escalating the growing migraine. I pop another Advil in my mouth and it goes down with ease. The sky is drizzling rain, finishing up its morning shower. It brings out a pungent smell of the city; a mixture of exhaust fumes, food, coffee, cigarettes, and wet asphalt. The smell of home, not such a bad one after all.

Luck is on my side this morning apparently; an empty cab stops in front of me not after 5 minutes of standing on the sidewalk, thank god. Coat still in my mouth, I hop in. "I need to get to 7th and Grande as quick as possible." The cabby looks back at me, eyes blank with a look on his face that can only mean he's heard that from every fare before me this morning. "No problem buddy, 'ts all 'bout the movement of the herd, traffic's gotta get goin' here any minute", his accent is thick, not very distinct. All cabbies that don't have turbans on their head sound like they are from some where different each time.

Traffic drudges along slowly and my watch shows I am late, 8:00 now. This isn't the first time I am late, but that is just the issue. Enough tardiness and absences will lead up to negative attention, that's not something I can afford. I am strangely responsible when it comes to work, usually good about being on time and banging out the day with ease, but these days and in this job market I can't afford to have any attention other than occasional nods from piers and small talk about the progress in our department. 8:06.

8:13am: The cab pulls over, we have arrrived at 5th and Grande finally. I throw the cabby $20, tell him to keep it, and hustle my ass towards the doors of the Pier 9 building.

By 8:20 am I am clocked in and sitting at my chair, computer whizzing awake and waiting for me to bang at it's keys for the next 8 hours. Within a few minutes though my body reminds me about all the liquids I sloshed down my throat before I got to work. I get up and turn around to make my way to the bathroom when I see Jim barreling down the hallway, a very familiar act for the both of us indeed. Unlike him though I was dressed completely when I got to my desk. His ruffled up shirt and undone shoe laces showed lack of commitment. Amateur!

"How ya feeling?" I asked sarcastically, half expecting a middle finger or some sort of snide remark, instead he looked at me with a smirk like he just robbed a leprechaun of his precious treasure and then crippled him with a baseball bat. "Either you got laid, or the bonds that your grandmother got you when you were 14 just matured and you can buy that Walkman you always wanted."

Jim gives me a "Ha-Ha, Fuck you." as he throws himself into his chair. "But last night was inane! What happened to you? We were all sitting at the bar and then you just ducked out without a word, do tell."

To be continued...

And that's why Kanye is a gay fish.

Landlords suck a whole range of farm animal cock.

Allow me to pass along some fucking advice that you will never need: Don't ever rent an apartment that is also up for sale. Because in the lease agreement that you sign, there will be a part in fine print that states the renter has to allow people inside of said apartment to view it at any time, given a reasonable heads up.

Fuck that, what bullshit! I have to clean up the mess in order to hide the fact that I like to live like a homeless schmuck who drinks in excess and is lazy to the point of being borderline pathetic. Once a week, twice a week sometimes I have to go through this routine of "tiding up the apartment". That's an annoying chore that doesn't fit my life style, at all. That's what you get for having a redcoat as your landlord, those fuckers just want everything.

There's no limit when you're contantly winning.

RRRIIIIIIIINNNNGGG!!

RRRIIIIIIIINNNNGGG!!

"Gahh, FUCK!! Turn it off!!" I screamed as I woke in a violent rage that almost hulred my body out of my bed and on to hardwood floor. I quickly realized that I had to be at work, sitting in my oak wood chair, staring at the computer screen, in about 45 minutes.

"No sweat", I thought to myself as I rose up out of bed, only to come crashing back down in shear pain that would cripple even the strongest of the modern day Vikings. My head felt like it was about to explode. My vision resembled that of a camera man's live video feed during a battle in Iraq. My arms felt week and sore. When I moved, my back responded like I slept on top of a jagged steal sculpture of what an artist's rendition of an epileptic seizure is.

Let me tell you a little something about partying like I party. You see, it's not unusual that on a Tuesday night I decide that it's in my best interest to indulge in a little late night debauchery. The problem is, I get so caught up in having a great time that I forget about the evils of society and the horrible shit that makes its wheels turn... like jobs and having to get up early to keep them. The other problem is what I refer to late night debauchery, others might go as far as to call it a failed attempt at suicide by alcohol abuse, intravenous drug use, and sex with women that I do not know. Whatever... potato, patato.

45 Minutes? I got this. I just need to man up. And by "man up" I mean I need to go in to the kitchen and drop two Alkaseltzer in a tall glass of cold water, run the pot of coffee, take a shower, get dressed, down the fizzing white water with 2 Tylenol, B-12, 500mg of C, and proceed to drink the coffee... all in that exact order. This can be my daily routine numerous times a week. Silly, sick, and if you are dick about it, "suicidal", I know.



To be continued...

I've had worse days.

When I got home last night I went into the kitchen to make some food. I flipped the light switch and got no light. The switch didn't click or anything. Great. I made some food in the dark and went into the living room to eat and watch TV. I opened up the windows and when I pulled the blinds up, one came crashing down to the floor and broke into pieces. Great. I moved a set of blinds from a less important part of the window to replace the broken one because it gave an open view into my apartment and I don't like that. I finished my food and TV show and masturbation, then went to my room to fall asleep. 5 minutes later I hear a big crash I suspect came from my living room. Of course, there's always more. I stepped into the living room and sure enough, there was more. My new framed Muhammad Ali picture lay broken on the floor. Great.

The next morning I had to skip a shower and breakfast to get to work on time because I was busy cleaning up the trail of cat shit all over my apartment.

I've had worse days.

Coffee.

When will they create coffee that doesn't make you shit almost instantly after drinking it? That's the main reason I don't drink coffee- I hate having to shit at work.

10 Things You Need In Order To Be Recognized As a Taxi in Panama.

1. Do not under any circumstance drive a car with working lights both inside and out. If you need a working light inside, make sure it is not one that came from the manufacturer. Instead, use a neon cathode or a combination of bright ridiculous lights that make your car look like human's first contact with a fucking UFO.

2. Do not have a valid drivers license.

3. Do not pay any attention to road signs, traffic lights, oncoming traffic, cars in the lane next to you, pedestrians (unless it's a female of course; appearances don't apply), animals, crosswalks, police, speed bumps, or pot holes. You are a taxi; you are the king of the road. The only thing you need to pay attention to is hitting on the fat ugly bitch you have in the back seat.

4. Make sure the engine in your car is functional only for the day you are driving it. Try not to pay attention to any other part of the car. The floor has holes in it? So what, that's not a safety issue. No seat belts? Who cares, they are sitting in the back seat. Remember, being a taxi driver is all about not giving a shit about anything or anyone but your own pathetic existence (and even that is questionable).

5. Always have the mentality that driving someone to a destination is the equivalent of you carrying them on your back while sprinting through miles of broken glass naked.

6. Try to always be counting or holding your cash near your window in the off chance that a whore will look twice at you considering the fact that you have enough money to pay for a hand job in a back ally.

7. Flail your hands in a violent motion while in traffic. No matter the situation; be it a car accident or just heavy traffic. Complain and scream profanity at the fact that you can not move forward, and you need everyone to know about your unfortunate situation.

8. Green means go. Yellow means go. Red means go.

9. Before the light even turns green, honk your horn repeatedly to wake up fellow drivers that are obviously sleeping to alert them to the soon to be changing pace in traffic.

10. Whistle, honk, yell, and "psst" at anything walking that even closely resembles the form of a female body. Try to get its attention so that you can show you are obviously a success among success stories because you are driving a car.

Good luck in becoming another active member of the living breathing pieces of shit in this society,

-James.

Blind and careless zombie fucks who walk the city streets.

Picture this: I am walking on the sidewalk and there are two people walking towards me side by side, thus taking up the width of the cemented area that I am trying to walk on. You're next picture might be one of the two people moving behind or in front of the other in order to make room for the oncoming traffic (me, alone). Well... no, not going to happen.

I will need to either walk around them in the mud, walk on the street and risk getting ran over by a taxi or a fucking Jew in a BMW, throw a dollar on the ground towards the opposite side I want to walk on (causing a feeding frenzy event that mimics a pack of lions massacring their dinner; something one would only see on the national geographic channel), or stand and make like a light pole as they bump into me; forcing them to make room. I always choose the light pole stance.

Now, I have lived in many places and have walked many a sidewalk, but this is insanity and retardation in a mix and at it's peak. Every time I walk on the streets I feel like I just entered a sold out Jonas Brothers concert and I am trying to get front and center. Okay, maybe a bit of an exaggeration. Sold out U2 concert*.

Does the thought to move one foot to the side have an instant effect of down syndrome in your brain? Does a bomb go off in your empty head? It's funny because where I have lived there always seems to be a common sidewalk courtesy, and it goes as follows: make eye contact with the people coming towards you long before you pass each other, decide which side of the sidewalk you each will take, and get the hell out of the way. That pretty much provides a painless and easy passage for both parties.

Thanks and get the fuck out of the way you brainless idiotic monkeys,

-James.


To the readers: I know, it sounds like I am complaining about something small and you might want to tell me that it's no big deal to walk around a couple of people on your way to your destination. If that was the case, then you are right and it is in fact no burden. But this happens with 90% of the people walking on the streets, they either don't move or they make a fucking b-line right towards you. Move your fucking self one foot, I promise your heart won't rupture and you won't die.

Dear crazy screaming business woman in the office next to mine:

I am writing this to express my concern for my ear drums and potential outburst of violence towards you.

Yelling (in a foreign language to boot) can be annoying. You are not the most subtle sounding person on the phone. I am trying to work, but my brain feels like it's being force fucked by a jackhammer over and over the second you start "talking" on the phone. I don't suspect that you are doing this intentionally of course. Maybe it has something to do with your size- you know how they say obese women come packaged with a big voice and of course an even bigger appetite. Like your husband for example; you must have had a huge appetite when you met him because he is twice your size. I digress.

Thank you for your time and please shut the fuck up,

-James.

Dear scooter and motorcycle drivers of Panama.

Dear licensed riding, law abiding, traffic sensitive, pedestrian aware, fun loving scooter and motorcycle riders of Panama City, Panama,

GO FUCK YOURSELF. Can I please walk to work one day without fear of getting ran over like a small animal while I cross the street AT the crosswalk, UNDER the traffic light, WHILE said light shows red? When the light is red, and I know I don't have to remind you (because let us not forget you are licensed and law abiding), but let me say it anyway...it means STOP. Stop and let the people walk across the street. You people act like functioning retards when you ride motorcycles. TRAFFIC LAWS: TRY THEM, THEY WORK IN EVERYONE'S FAVOR IF ABIDE BY.

Thank you,

-James.