those tiny spaniards

{the following is in reference to a trip i'm taking to spain tomorrow.}

K: Bet you $3 you see A Giants shirt or cap in España.


b1: not even. you give me odds.


K: Even. It's fucking Spain.


b1: it's full of americans.


K: But I like even odds.


b1: i'll bet you even i don't see 3.


K: Ok. Done

{note: betting between myself and the K is *highly* unusual. he'll
often start some crazy sentence with "i betcha that blah, blah, blah,"
which he sometimes follows up on. i have no idea what my record is
relative to the K. you're either witnessing raw testosterone; or
possibly a combination of giants win crossed with crazed thoughts of his
pole dancing personal trainer and knowledge that i'd likely carry his
bravado up on this 'blog. in any event, you better believe that if i
see *2* giants caps i'm going to walk through the rest of spain
blindfolded. if there's a lot of people over there like mr. crypto, i'm

the things that happen when all saints' day ends

K: We're going to SFO to meet the giants' plane.


b1: when does it get in?


K: Trying to find out. Probably 2 - 3 AM.


b1: it'll be crazy out there.


K: It's already a madhouse at the ballpark. Watching on TV.


b1: will they go *to* the ballpark?


K: Unknown.

it's a good thing they didn't lose

it took 14 minutes for special K to send this to me: Jesus. My team won. Holy shit. {apparently winning breeds vulgarity AND blasphemy}

that's gonna be quite a shrine

special K (immediately after the SF giants hit a home run to lead a series winning game 3-0): Oh my fuck.

almost rhymes with "hateful"

b1: this will be the first time any of your teams ever won a "world"
championship while you were alive, right?


K: It would indeed be. Nuggets, Giants, Sharks.


b1: that's either the trail of tears ...

... or the path of a fool.


K: No team in any of 4 major US team sports has been in its city longer
without a championship than the Giants.


b1: and that makes you ... what?


K: Faithful.


b1: i knew it would start with the letter "f."

birds of a feather

b1: my dead roommate used to watch andy griffith and listen to devo.


K: That's just weird. I like it.

just HOW wrong is it?

b1: i'm in a video poker bar that's got 4 TVs on. only 1 has the world
series. tell me how wrong THAT is.


special K: Super wrong.

Study: Corn Syrup Actually Isn't the Same as Table Sugar - Marion Nestle - Food - The Atlantic

not a TXT message, but special K and i are deeply concerned about items
such as this high-priority alert he's just forwarded to me:


the nature of gas bags

special K: I literally laughed out loud at "what this is about".

b1: what made you LOL?
K: "...procrastinate from doing his day job. "
b1: oh what ... as if that's some kind of lie? like, "oh, when he's not
breeding more unicorns and fairies"?
you talk to me so fricken much more during work. at night you've got
important things like baseball games and re-learning algebra.
you're gonna get all theatrical now you know the microscope is on you.
i can feel it.
K: I laughed at the insightful truth.
b1: spooky.
i like that it implies that you try to procrastinate ... BUT MIGHT NOT
K: I might get Heidenberged now, but I hope not.
b1: by, what, the static tower that is your boss?
and what the hell's heidenberg anyway? some snooty (yet remarkably bad)
K: I meant Heisenberged. The observation changes the event.
b1: oh. that's different than being a gas bag that suddenly goes up
because americans refuse to sell you he.
K: Yes it is.

but i haven't even hit your head on the desk yet

b1: i'm starting "wisdom and the cereal guy" ... EVERYTHING you say in TXT *could* appear on there FROM NOW ON.

special K: Bully.

what this is about

i've known special K for years ... we're close enough that i sometimes spend countless hours in his house (or on public transport) doing mindless things.

special K and i will occasionally have sudden flurries of TXT messages ... typically the underlying context is i'm either trying to figure something out (or drive home a point) while he's trying to procrastinate from doing his day job.

because special K and i are close*, and because i've had a warped upbringing where i only save the highest forms of abuse for those that are closest to me, the conversations can quickly fly out of control.

i think the results are often funny and wanted to capture the prime pieces here (special K, "you have to be selective."  me, "you're telling ME that?").  i'll try my best to always give conversations context (i'm a big hater of in-jokes ... oh yeah, and i promise i won't yell "freebird!" during the quiet parts).

there'll be a small, but repeating, cast of characters.

b1-66er (b1): me
special K (K): him
b1-67er: my brother
momma K (momma): wife of special K, would be a saint if she weren't jewish
bigg knasty (biggy): muppet offspring of K and the momma
solid goldstein (solid G): cousin of special K
king feddy: former work colleague of myself and the K

i can post here in several ways: TXT, email and blogger.  when i post by TXT, there'll be no title and the formatting of hard returns gets stripped ... to combat this, i use a dialog separator of "***".  so a conversation that looks like this:
b1: you're an idiot.
K: I know.
on my hiptop screen, will look like this:
b1: you're an idiot. *** K: I know.
on this 'blog.

and i'm quick to admit that occasionally i'll TXT special K for no other reason than to be sure my "genius" shows up on here.  read at your own risk, or ignore.  i guarantee it'll be better than my KKK 'blog.

*i've told him that i love him more times than any other man in history.  he's told me that he likes me exactly once.