The devil’s playground…..
Feb
22
By: main_land | Discussion (0)

I try to shop on post as much as possible. The prices are better than they are in town. So while I was shopping a while back I took some time to look around for new meal ideas. It was in the dairy section that I saw this weird, loaf type substance. It resembled some sort of playdough creation you would likely find in the typical American kindergarten class. It was cylindrical, white in the middle with a hot pink outer shell, and served on a piece of wood. I know what you are thinking…. “I thought it was always pink in the middle.”

Upon closer inspection, I noticed the name of this product. It was called “Kamaboko.” Curious, I thought about buying some just to see what it was. I was in a hurry though, and the line was getting long. So I put the playdough thing back and went on my way. When I got home I couldn’t stop thinking about this crazy substance. I go on the Interwebs (thanks for the creation, Mr. Gore) and look it up. Poof! There it is! This “thing” that I almost wasted my money on was boiled fish.

I guess there is more to the process than boiling. The makers take white fish and grind it up. They then take the ground fish, mold it into a loaf form, and steam it until the fish is cooked. I can’t believe it is really possible, but they actually found a meat that was more disgusting than Spam.

kamboko.jpg



Feb
21
By: main_land | Discussion (0)

It is hard to describe the girth of most people on this island. Let’s just say that there is a reason why the Muumuu dress is from Hawaii. Never have I seen so many moobies or gunts on a population. What are moobies and gunts? Moobies and male boobies and gunts are guts that are so fat that the belly button becomes its own cunt. Moobies and gunts.

The family and I went to this flee market in AIEA a few weeks back. No, that is not a typo. The name of the city is Aiea; all vowels. I like to say it like a ninja breaking a piece of wood with his head. “Aaaaaaiiiieeeeaa!” As my husband and I walked hand in hand with our children, my eyes gazed upon the most horrifying site imaginable. It was so bad that it sent shivers down my spine and made my hair stand up. It was a super sized Polynesian man wearing cut off jean shorts, dollar fifty flip-flops, and nothing else. For this story, let us call him Spammy.
So here we were, a happy family being confronted by the biggest tits the world has ever seen. I have seen some big, naked tits in my time, but until that day, the biggest had been on women. With each thunderous step Spammy took, his moobies lunged closer to us. While holding back the vomit that I could feel rising in my throat, I couldn’t help but get a closer look. Surely, he could have had a small child hidden beneath the folds of fat dangling from his chest. I began to wonder what it was like for him to bathe. Would he lift each breast and scrub the smegma out with a loufa, or did he let the dead skin and lint build up until he could scrape it off putty knife.

Oh, but the image does get worse. Desperate to avert my eyes before the image burnt itself into my retina; I turned my gaze down only to find a hairy gunt looking back at me. Spammy’s belly wasn’t firm like a pregnant woman ready to pop her crotch fruit out at any moment. No, he looked like at one time he had been even larger, and the skin sagged just enough to create a fold where his belly button must have been. Spammy didn’t just have a gunt. No, what he had resembled the vagina of a Vegas prostitute who had been hooking for twenty years, and just got finished gang banging the NBA All Star team. It was surrounded by a nappy nest of hair, the skin dark and glistening from the Hawaiian sun.

Remembering my children’s presence, I quickly tried to focus their attention on some cheap trinkets being pawned off on tourists by local vendor. I feared that my oldest may see Spammy, and his chesticles, and hurl chunks all over her new shoes. I was fortunate to have gotten to them in time. They found interest in a shark tooth necklace, and didn’t see Spammy waddle past. I, however, was nauseated by the experience.

When I thought the coast was clear, I turned to see that Spammy was gone. All that was left behind was a disturbing memory, and the faint scent of Brut in the air.

Stimpy and Spammy



Feb
20
By: main_land | Discussion (0)

I haven’t updated this blog in a while, not that I have any regular readers who are chewing their nails, waiting to see what is going on in my little world. I have been finishing up on this quarter’s classes. I can proudly say that my money has not been completely wasted. I should be getting A’s in my classes again. Of course, that only means so much when you are getting a degree from a generic college. I guess a 4.0 at a small school is worth about as much as a 2.0 at Yale (way to go Mr. President!)

So here is what I have been up to lately. The family and I went to the Pro-Bowl. We had seats in the upper stratosphere, but I was thrilled to go to the game. We got in about an hour before the kick off because I wanted to watch the warm up. I was so excited to see my favorite players; Tony Romo, Carson Palmer, Chad Johnson, the Barber Brothers, and of course Payton Manning was there too. Being as far away from the field as we were, I couldn’t make out their faces, just their numbers. Didn’t matter! I sat there drinking my overpriced domestic beer, eating five dollar hot dogs with the kids and loving life. Then, about fifteen minutes into the game THEY arrived. The Barbies!

I am not going to claim that I am the biggest football fan in the world. My little brain can’t be troubled to remember a phone number, so there is no way that I can pull up stats like pass completion percentages or yards rushing. That’s not my bag. I need that space in my brain. But I am a fan of the game. I know what it means for a team to have a quarterback that is willing to leave the pocket and take a hit to get that last yard on a third and nine play. That is why I hate women who “like” football but don’t watch the game. Women like the Barbies that sat in front of me at the Pro-Bowl.

To start, they showed up late. Now, maybe they were getting parking, or having troubles finding their seats, but I am pretty sure they were busy doing their make-up. I knew that I was going to hate these women as soon as they took their seats. Their clothes reminded me of a “Sex and the City” re-run. Polyester halter tops in fluorescent colors and chubby midriffs. As they took their seats, one of the four got a call on her cell phone. “OH MY GOD, IT”S …….SHOULD I TAKE THE CALL?” They all cackled about it for a moment before the alpha of the group answered the phone. Now keep in mind, we are well into the first quarter at this point. Drew Brees just left the game with a dislocated elbow and the game is rolling on. I am trying to watch the game when the one with the phone stands up right in front of me and starts to wave to the Ken doll on the phone with her. What the fuck! The game goes on and the Barbies continue to chatter among themselves, completely oblivious to the game on the field. It was quite clear to me that they only went to the game so they could tell the guys “I like football.”

Just before half time I had quite the beer buzz going and I was beginning to phase out the sound of the hens. That was when Chad Johnson caught a massive pass from Palmer and ran it in for a touch down. I jumped from my seat and thrust my fists into the air, cheering with the crowd. The energy was amazing! Just then, one of the beta Barbies looked back at me in disgust. She then took one hand and covered her hook nosed face, rolled her eyes and began talking shit about me to the alpha Barbie seated directly in front of me. They all let out a giggle. I have never wanted to kick someone in the head as much as I did at that moment. I would have had the perfect position to do it too! I just imagined the sound of her hook nose breaking as my foot collided with her pretty little face. The thought alone brought me joy. I held back though. I didn’t want my family to have to bail me out of jail for pounding this girl’s ass.

At the half I switched seats with my husband. I knew that a few more calls and laughs and I would have acted on my desires to cause physical harm to one, if not more, of these idiots. They left with who I can only assume was the Ken doll on the phone with about five minutes left on the clock. With their absence, I was free to enjoy the AFC winning the game in the final minutes.

I hate Barbies!



Jan
26
By: main_land | Discussion (0)

Today, I rant not about my hate for this tiny, trivial rock I live on. No, today I will rant about my loathing of an old “friend.” Today I am going to tell the world about a woman so vile that my stomach turns every time I think about her now. This is a woman that would send naked pictures of herself to another man while her husband was deployed to Iraq. That other man just happens to be MY HUSBAND.

Let me set the picture for you. Prior to our current assignment as castaways on Gilligan’s Island, we had the honor of living in Hinesville, Georgia. Ahh Georgia, how I miss that boiled cabbage and stale fart smell. Being the ball of sunshine that I am, I didn’t open myself up to making many friends while we were there. It was about eight months before our reassignment when new neighbors moved into the formerly abandoned and foreclosed house across the street. They appeared to be a nice, young couple with two small children. After another three months of casing the joint from my living room window, I decided to take a chance and get to know these new folks. He was a tanker in the Army and she was a hometown girl.

For anyone not associated with the military, let me explain the “hometown girl” thing. Military bases are usually placed in areas where the population has an average I.Q. of 80. These trainables get jobs at the local factories, grocery stores, or fast food restaurants. With aspirations of something better, some of the women will try to “hook up” with a military man. These hook ups usually begin with a statement like “I’m late” or “It’s yours.” That’s why Uncle Sam offers help for soldiers that want to establish paternity prior to coughing up money for the crotch fruit of a local girl (Army Regulation 608-99, paragraph 3-7.) Think “Officer and a Gentleman” without Debra Winger’s witty banter and you have the idea. But I digress.

It turns out the hometown girls crotch fruit were from two different guys (noooooo, reeeeaaaaaalllllllyyyyyyy!?!?!?!?!?!), and the tanker was going to adopts at least one of them after the wedding. This should have been my first sign that she a little on the whorish side, but I turned a blind eye. I mean hell, everyone makes mistakes, right? Besides, I enjoyed having someone else to drink beer with on Friday nights. We even started to have weekly BBQ parties. The kids would run and play and we would burn some steaks and get liquored till the street lights came on. It was great! I had gotten so use to having someone to hang out with that I was actually sad when I had to move.

A short while after we arrived at the event horizon of hell, we got a phone call from one our old buddies back in Georgia. He told us how he ran into the hometown girl at a local watering hole and how she secretly passed him her cell phone number. Curious to see what she had in mind, he text messaged her one day. He said that what followed was a barrage of cock talk that would make even Linda Lovelace gag. I could no longer deny that my friend, the hometown girl, was indeed a slut. This minx hadn’t even waited for her new groom to leave for the war zone before she tried to one up him. I was saddened by this discovery, but didn’t shed a tear. She was there and I was here.

One day when there was a lack of activity at work, my husband started to go through the old text messages on his phone and who’s number pops up? Oh, its little miss your man is better than mine so I am going to stab you in the back and try to take him from you when you are not paying attention because I am just that narcissistic; I mean hometown girl. Jokingly he texts her and makes a request for naked pictures. If ever there was a test of her skankhood, this would be it. With little coercion, or concern for my own feelings, she began to send photos via cell phone. I could not believe my eyes when my husband came home and updated me on this new development. It turns out, her husband had left just days prior for a year long tour in Iraq and already she was shopping for a someone new to fill her ax wound. When the cat is away, the mouse will play.

Fast forward to today. I open my email to see a cheerful note from hometown girl. She boo hoo’s a little about her tanker being deployed and jokes about how I should come and visit her. Then she closes the note by asking me to say hello to my husband for her. She obviously has no idea that I have an in box stuffed full of naked pictures of her and an email address for her tanker in Iraq. Usually I would keep all of this information to myself. It is not my job to watch your spouse. I find it hard to stifle my personal feelings in this particular case though. The tanker is about to assume legal responsibility for one, possibly even both, of her little bastards out of the goodness of his own heart, and she is creeping on him. The money he is making down range is paying to feed and shelter this cunt and her illegitimate children, and all she can think about is MY HUSBANDS COCK.

I know this is a long post for a small blog and I know that I don’t have many active readers yet, but I would love to hear the opinion of others on this subject. Do I email the tanker in Iraq and let him know his woman is scamming him before he adopts those kids, or do I simply warn her to mind the home front before she is introduced to the Greek goddess Nemesis? Leave me a comment and tell me what you would do.



Jan
18
By: main_land | Discussion (0)

Well, it rained again today. For some reason it seems to rain here everyday. The odd thing is, it doesn’t rain on the entire island. It only rains within the two square mile radius of the island that my family lives in. I get up every morning and check the weather. If it says that there is as much as a 10% chance of scattered showers, it will rain here. As soon as I leave my micro suburbian paradise, it is like stepping out from under a waterfall. The clouds will part and the sun will shine. Sometimes I can look out the window upstairs and see the glory of a sunny day just outside of my reach. It is as if the island is taunting me.
Thanks to this wonderful meteorolgical phenomenon, we have nicknamed our private hell “Castle Fucking Grayskull.” For any children in the audience that were not born before 1981 I will explain. Castle Grayskull was the dark, desolate castle where He-Man’s nemesis, Skeletor, created his next devious plot to take over the universe. Every time his domicile was shown, it would be surrounded by shadowy, gray clouds. Thus the name, Grayskull.

My Humble Abode

I will say that for the most part, the rain is not heavy. There have been times that the sun was shining WHILE the rain fell on us. Those are the times we are treated to the sight of a huge rainbow. I guess that is why the Hawaiian license plates have a huge rainbow on them. I always thought that it was because the natives held a lottery and a local retard won the chance design the plates. I guess I was wrong.



Jan
16
By: main_land | Discussion (0)

When my family got word that the military was moving us to Hawaii, we were excited. People save all their lives to visit the tropical island of Oahu, and we were going to get paid to live there for the next three years or so. It was like hitting the lotto. Then we got here. Besides being hated by the “natives” for being mainlanders, this place is dirty and crowded. You heard me, DIRTY AND CROWDED!! The housing is overpriced and squeezed in so close that you can smell the neighbor cooking SPAM. Being a tropical climate, it rains every day. All that moisture in the atmosphere leads to mold and mildew. Lets not get into the stupid Hawaiian names on all of the streets here. We will save that for a later rant.

So basically, Hawaii sucks. Check in here and I will fill you in on just why I hate this stupid island over the course of the next few years. Maybe we can find some redeeming qualities along the way. I doubt it though……..