"The Jump Off"
We get to LAX and I mean 10 min’s don’t pass after we clear security before we are drinking. And speaking of security…It’s bad enough that that they confiscated my fresh 1 liter bottle of Coca cola (just so I’d buy another one after I passed security – The TSA is a Racket…trust me on this!).. but then I have to get eyed up and down as my bag gets x-rayed. I mean how many times have we done this boys? You know me. I smoked all my weed before I got here and I hate guns…I should get to go right through on some weed smoking cinematic immunity-type shit ( props to Det. Budd for the reference) but as per usual I have to make inane small talk with TSA agents who are cross indexing questions (no, I don’t think he’s even seen Blade Runner) to try and trip me up to see if I am a terrorist (“So what’s the fastest way to the Valley from West LA?”). Why would anyone ever go to the valley?? No wonder I need a fucking drink.
We mosey up to the bar and here comes Ester. I mean this woman has to be in her 70’s..and she’s serving drinks. Now I’m no fuckin’ economist or anything, but I would wager to guess that Gertrude (or Bessie, or Emma…I got fucked up, I can’t remember her name– so shoot me) didn’t exactly have designs on spending her golden years serving wings and beer to the likes of me and Det. Budd. But hey, I’m thirsty and she’s wearing an apron. We can free the proletariat after I get a pint.
Well let me tell you, Edna got us ripped. She starts up-selling doubles to Det. Budd and reminding me that the two for one deal is only in my benefit if I drink twice as much beer. Fuck why can’t my grandma be like this… this chick is hella cool but those spider veins could make you toss your lunch.. 90 min’s later I am lit and so is Det. Budd. We stagger out of there (and I do mean stagger) and make our way to the gate. Det. Budd is giving me a play-by-play as we approach the gate...”nice ass” and “man that kid is ugly”.. I can’t stop laughing. Now he’s flirting with flight stewards (attendants...what ever the fuck you call them). I have to stay away because I have a uniform fetish…and a desire to be in the mile-high club (well not really anymore…I’d settle for being able to get the entire bottle of water and the right to poison any infants that are within two rows (like I’m the only one that wants children banned off of flights…get real!)). But I am really starting to hate to fly. I mean all the pushing and shoving to get into the line to get on the plane…only to stand in a longer line on the jet way…and then and even longer line as all the fat bastards have to play the age-old game “my favorite overhead bin” when all I really want to do is get in my seat and play a little PSP. But no, I can’t even do that when I get in my seat…I have to listen to these “in case we are about to die” directions….like I give a fuck. I mean let’s be honest, if this motherfucker suddenly begins to drop out of the sky and Johnny Sky Captain has to bring her in hard and fast…it’ll be a free for all. And me and Det. Budd have no qualms about stomping on old people and pregnant women to make to safety…we have a feature to shoot….where are your priorities people?
We show up right as they call our section to board ..we roll in like rock stars. Find our seats and pass the fuck out.
You’d be amazed how quickly 4 hours can pass when you are in a coma. My head is pounding, the hair of the dog is merciless and Det. Budd is chipper as ever (maybe I need to switch to hard alcohol). I remember how I lost about 50 fucking pounds last time I was in this airport so we take the train to baggage claim. Dr. M is hittin’ me up on the celli and I scramble to find her.
The first meeting is nice and polite…hugs and kisses (and lies…all I do is lie) and we adjourn to find Det. Budd whom I have left on his own (which is always asking for trouble). When I return with Dr. M in tow.. I see Det. Budd who is in a wheel chair attempting to panhandle…it’s a good gag.. but this is a tough crowd here at baggage claim (and the fact that it’s midnight and that we reek of alcohol is probably not helping the act …but whatever).
We make our way over to get the rental car. Of course since I want to use a check card I have to provide my whole flight itinerary and a sperm sample (when the fuck did that start?) So I do the deal and get the keys and we are off to pick up the car. It’s an Impala...and man do I fuckin’ hate this car. I mean who the fuck would buy this thing…the ergonomics are horrible unless you really don’t look through the windshield when you drive. And what is with this cluttered instrument cluster…and all these cup holders….is this a road trip or a nursing home? Here’s a tip for all you car designers at the big three. The AC Delco stereo system is the ugliest fuckin’ piece of technology I have ever had the unfortunate opportunity to come in contact with. I mean you still are rockin’ the red LED display. That went out of style with the Coleco gaming system (I know you had the Adam computer – don’t lie)…and it doesn’t play CD-R’s. What? Now I have to buy my music legally? (yeah.. that’ll happen).
So we pile into the car (we put Dr. M in the backseat...it’s probably safer for her during the initial meeting). We drive 600 yards out of the airport and promptly get totally fucking lost (no bullshit). What is it with this place? I mean yes.. I am a wee bit fucked up ( but I can still read a fuckin’ road sign) but this makes no sense. We bust like 40 fuckin u-turns before we get on the infamous 285 (more on this shitty highway later).
Traffic is moving at a brisk 13 miles and hour…I mean c’mon.. this is why I make fun of the south. I mean none of you have anything better to do than follow this 18 wheeler up the road…c’mon people… we could be getting high right now!. Speaking of weed. We have none. I mean this is the longest I have been straight since I tried to quit (that was the worst 18hrs of my life). I know…I know.. I should have like hella mad weed hook ups since I was just here. Well you know things move a little slower down here (I’ve already sent like 50 text messages)…so we have to be patient (I’ll wait till we get to the hotel before calling my hook up to confirm receipt of the text messages).
We drop Dr. M off as she says she’s looking forward to a full day of screening…yeah...we might see a few movies…after the bar opens.
COOPRDOG
We mosey up to the bar and here comes Ester. I mean this woman has to be in her 70’s..and she’s serving drinks. Now I’m no fuckin’ economist or anything, but I would wager to guess that Gertrude (or Bessie, or Emma…I got fucked up, I can’t remember her name– so shoot me) didn’t exactly have designs on spending her golden years serving wings and beer to the likes of me and Det. Budd. But hey, I’m thirsty and she’s wearing an apron. We can free the proletariat after I get a pint.
Well let me tell you, Edna got us ripped. She starts up-selling doubles to Det. Budd and reminding me that the two for one deal is only in my benefit if I drink twice as much beer. Fuck why can’t my grandma be like this… this chick is hella cool but those spider veins could make you toss your lunch.. 90 min’s later I am lit and so is Det. Budd. We stagger out of there (and I do mean stagger) and make our way to the gate. Det. Budd is giving me a play-by-play as we approach the gate...”nice ass” and “man that kid is ugly”.. I can’t stop laughing. Now he’s flirting with flight stewards (attendants...what ever the fuck you call them). I have to stay away because I have a uniform fetish…and a desire to be in the mile-high club (well not really anymore…I’d settle for being able to get the entire bottle of water and the right to poison any infants that are within two rows (like I’m the only one that wants children banned off of flights…get real!)). But I am really starting to hate to fly. I mean all the pushing and shoving to get into the line to get on the plane…only to stand in a longer line on the jet way…and then and even longer line as all the fat bastards have to play the age-old game “my favorite overhead bin” when all I really want to do is get in my seat and play a little PSP. But no, I can’t even do that when I get in my seat…I have to listen to these “in case we are about to die” directions….like I give a fuck. I mean let’s be honest, if this motherfucker suddenly begins to drop out of the sky and Johnny Sky Captain has to bring her in hard and fast…it’ll be a free for all. And me and Det. Budd have no qualms about stomping on old people and pregnant women to make to safety…we have a feature to shoot….where are your priorities people?
We show up right as they call our section to board ..we roll in like rock stars. Find our seats and pass the fuck out.
You’d be amazed how quickly 4 hours can pass when you are in a coma. My head is pounding, the hair of the dog is merciless and Det. Budd is chipper as ever (maybe I need to switch to hard alcohol). I remember how I lost about 50 fucking pounds last time I was in this airport so we take the train to baggage claim. Dr. M is hittin’ me up on the celli and I scramble to find her.
The first meeting is nice and polite…hugs and kisses (and lies…all I do is lie) and we adjourn to find Det. Budd whom I have left on his own (which is always asking for trouble). When I return with Dr. M in tow.. I see Det. Budd who is in a wheel chair attempting to panhandle…it’s a good gag.. but this is a tough crowd here at baggage claim (and the fact that it’s midnight and that we reek of alcohol is probably not helping the act …but whatever).
We make our way over to get the rental car. Of course since I want to use a check card I have to provide my whole flight itinerary and a sperm sample (when the fuck did that start?) So I do the deal and get the keys and we are off to pick up the car. It’s an Impala...and man do I fuckin’ hate this car. I mean who the fuck would buy this thing…the ergonomics are horrible unless you really don’t look through the windshield when you drive. And what is with this cluttered instrument cluster…and all these cup holders….is this a road trip or a nursing home? Here’s a tip for all you car designers at the big three. The AC Delco stereo system is the ugliest fuckin’ piece of technology I have ever had the unfortunate opportunity to come in contact with. I mean you still are rockin’ the red LED display. That went out of style with the Coleco gaming system (I know you had the Adam computer – don’t lie)…and it doesn’t play CD-R’s. What? Now I have to buy my music legally? (yeah.. that’ll happen).
So we pile into the car (we put Dr. M in the backseat...it’s probably safer for her during the initial meeting). We drive 600 yards out of the airport and promptly get totally fucking lost (no bullshit). What is it with this place? I mean yes.. I am a wee bit fucked up ( but I can still read a fuckin’ road sign) but this makes no sense. We bust like 40 fuckin u-turns before we get on the infamous 285 (more on this shitty highway later).
Traffic is moving at a brisk 13 miles and hour…I mean c’mon.. this is why I make fun of the south. I mean none of you have anything better to do than follow this 18 wheeler up the road…c’mon people… we could be getting high right now!. Speaking of weed. We have none. I mean this is the longest I have been straight since I tried to quit (that was the worst 18hrs of my life). I know…I know.. I should have like hella mad weed hook ups since I was just here. Well you know things move a little slower down here (I’ve already sent like 50 text messages)…so we have to be patient (I’ll wait till we get to the hotel before calling my hook up to confirm receipt of the text messages).
We drop Dr. M off as she says she’s looking forward to a full day of screening…yeah...we might see a few movies…after the bar opens.
COOPRDOG
posted by Cooprdog at 4:22 PM
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