Went and saw "Men in Crap II." I’d heard the movie was pretty bad, but I went to see it anyway, thinking the awesome special effects would offset the mediocre elements of the film. Wrong.
The writing, directing and acting were so flat that the audience was dead silent throughout the entire movie, except for the part where a pug is singing along to "Who Let The Dogs Out." But then again, you can’t count scenes with a singing dog. Just wouldn’t be right.
The special effects were good, but like the story line and gags, it was all recycled from the original film … unless you count Lara Flynn Boyle’s enhanced breasts as a special effect. I think the top scientists at NASA were brought in to work on that one.
The day started out productively enough. Got a haircut. Got a new cell phone. Granted my old cell phone was only six months old, but I’d had it with Cingular and their crappy coverage, so I switched to Verizon. One of these days all of our grandkids will have telepathy and not have to worry about all this wireless shit, those lucky psychic bastards.
So I’ve been writing earlier about how I’ve been getting bored of partying, bored of the doing the same predictable activities over and over again. And this is precisely why I went to Karnak for the 37th time in the past two months.
THINGS I DID AT KARNAK:
3. Turned into Elephant Man.
Lord knows what I’m allergic to, but on the dance floor I suddenly felt my hands getting itchy. Then my scalp and chest. When I felt my throat starting to feel strange, I got mildly concerned because I’ve heard of people’s throats swelling up to the point where they can’t breath. But luckily it didn’t interfere with my puking. Man, what the hell did I eat?
My face also puffed up. I knew this because everybody said, "Dude, your face is all puffed up." It swelled to the point where I looked like either the Elephant Man or a male orangutan, whichever is sexier.
What I’m allergic to, I don’t know since I consumed a variety of things that night. Of the things I ingested, the allergen culprits are fish, pineapples, melons, and my black nemesis Johnny Walker. But I’d never had an allergic reaction to any of those things before, and the fish wasn’t undercooked. One possibility is that the allergy was exercise-induced with the exercise being my so-called dancing but … Ah screw all this WebMD.com research, I’m going to consult a doctor.
I woke up all Puffy like Combs, so as a last resort I popped some Benedryl. Those pink pills knocked me out cold. Never mind being unable to operate heavy machinery, my drugged ass couldn’t even operate the remote.
The bad part was I had to flake on dinner with the parents. This meant telling them why I couldn’t come, which entailed mentioning my allergy attack to my mom.
My mom loves it when I get sick, because it gives her an excuse to feed me the latest in Oriental medicine. This is why I had perfect attendance through high school. If you’ve ever been forced to take Taste-Like-Boiled-Ass Tea or Dried-Powdered-Donkey-Shit Soup, you’d know why.
I wasn’t even sick this time, but to my mom the allergic reaction was proof that something was wrong with my body. So this weekend, she’ll be making me drink Someone-Please-Cut-Off-My-Tongue Juice to flush the poison out of my system. There’s a bit of irony there, mixed in with the dried powdered donkey shit.