The Porterhouse Debacle

so I'm standing in the meat aisle at the reduced-for-quick sale section, examining each steak, searching for any visible traces of spoilage (e.g. magenta). the fucked up gangrene meats are culled from the original pile until only a few steaks remain. these proud steaks are what I call: the prime cuts.

but there can only be one, master steak. only one steak worthy of becoming my dinner. math is used to make the final decision. my focus is on value, not lowest cost.

this is the meat equation: 1 - (reduced price / normal price) = X

if X > .5
then meat is purchased

In the end, a porterhouse steak wins the meat tournament. I like to think of the Reduced-for-quick sale section as the grocery store equivalent of the Humane Society. Therefore, I saved this steak's life. My compassion will be rewarded someday.

At a stop light on the drive home, I close my eyes and fantasize about the steak. The sweet aroma as it's being cooked, the succulent flavor of every crew. Bliss. Soon as I get back to my place, I rip the plastic from the meat like a young child would tear open a christmas present. Unnecessarily, I slap the slab of steak onto the frying pan. It makes me feel macho.

When it's finished cooking, I figure that maybe I'll test out the new BBQ sauce.

The "Aussie Outback" style BBQ sauce is from Sam's Club. The jug of BBQ sauce comes equipped with a handle (for heavy lifting), a twist off cap and a wide-mouth opening. The wide-mouth opening would be convenient for a restaurant owner. For the casual using customer--it is not.

In my haste to hurry up and grind, I accidentally tip the BBQ sauce too much. Half the fucking bottle is dumped onto the plate. My poor steak was submerged. The taste wasn't exactly like I fantasized.

More of Grandma's Indignities

The day was doomed, even before I opened my eyes. I could hear the rain all night, muddying everything up, effectively ruining any hope of a football game in the afternoon. Outside, the sky looked gray and thunderous, like the end of the world was coming. The sun was a no-show and the clock was the only indication that it was day. But more than bad weather and no football, the real reason the day was damned: I had to go to my grandma's house today.

The drive to the windward side was horrible. The four-cylinder engine struggles up the mountain and makes old-main noises as it trudges along. The windshield wipers can barely keep up and all I see is quick glimpse of the road ahead. Basically, the trip was a conrad-esque voyage over the Pali and to my grandma's, the heart of darkness.

Grandma greets me at the door. She appears to be in one of her kooky moods, "J.M.K. has arrived! would J.M.K. like something to eat before he starts to work?"

FYI, "J.M.K." is me. I'm fucking serious; I could not make this shit up. my grandma now calls me, J.M.K. and yeah, it's pronounced just like you read it, "Jay.Em.Kay"

This is where the dehumanization begins. Dis some 'Roots' shit. She calling me by my slave name now. Time to fight the power.
"No. I, john, would not like anything to eat."
my name is kunta kente!
"well, I'll make you a plate anyway...JMK"
your name is TOBY!

As I sit and eat the food I didn't want, my grandma starts telling me about the work she wants done. shit like mow the lawn and trim the hedge. at first I thought she was joking. silly me. Stalin don't make no jokes. I tell her straight, "you're preposterous! you want me mow the lawn in this weather!"
"you can make a poncho"
"make a poncho? out of what?
"i have a whole box of garbage bags outside"
"i ain't wearing no Garbage bag"
"well, if you want to get wet, be my guest JMK"
This time I think before responding, "then the lawn mower will get wet with me"

Argument over. I play my cards like a professional.

instead of mowing the lawn, she has me vacuum the house and rearrange the living room. this is all in preparation for a party she's hosting. this isn't a real party though, it's a Melaluca "party". basically, it's like a tupperware party. it's a small gathering in which a company rep. (host) accommodates a bunch of bored housewives (guests) with cheap pupus and tales of how superior their products are to the competition. Melaluca is some piece of shit brand that makes environmentally safe cleaning products which smell like eucalyptus.

anyway--after washing the dishes--my grandma tells me to follow her outside, to bring the other umbrella. like an obedient slave, I do exactly as told. we walk through the pouring rain to the side of the street.
I ask, "what are we doing?"
"my friend just called and said she's almost here. we're waiting for her."
"uh, couldn't you have just waited out here by yourself?"
"shh! this is her car coming up." A white nissan sentra pulls over and parks on the street, "JMK, go run over there and give her the umbrella."
"huh? what about me?"
"what? how come you didn't just grab the extra umbrella and..."

I hand her friend my umbrella and sprint back to the house like a naked hermit crab. In the process, I'm drenched from the downpour. I got that incredulous look on my face. This is the bullshit of all bullshit.

Taco Bell Bitch

this happened awhile ago and...hell, I told most everybody who reads my blog in person already. still got some of that figurative gas-in-the-tank, so I thought I'd type it out.

for the past week or so, I'd been a regular at taco bell, always ordering the same thing: Bean Burritos. not only are they the cheapest item on the value menu, those muthafuckas taste goood. I don't know how they do it, with the no-meat. add more bonus points because there's beans--and beans are healthy. gotta be some chemistry or mexican wizardry or something.

anyway, the stomach starts growling and the clock reads lunchtime, so I grab keys/money fold/cell phone and shut the door behind me. I walk the short distance to taco bell and stand in back of the line. with it's my turn I approach the open cash register and tell the lady.

"can get two bean burritos, please?" all courteous and shit, I ain't no stranger to the struggle.

"which bean burrito?" the overweight aunty behind the counter is some chinese-local mix.

"the bean burrito on the menu" I point to the Big Bell value menu.

"well, there's two bean burritos on the menu"

"I only see one bean burrito"

"well, there's the old bean burrito. And then there's the cheesy bean and rice burrito" she gestures with her hand, left to right; one and two. condescending to boot.

"I dunno about no fucking secret burrito. I just want the two bean burritos I see on the menu. wtf?!" I point to the Big Bell value menu again.

"Sooo, what you actually want is two Cheesy Bean and Rice burritos?"

"yeah...the one on the menu"

She stares me down like she like scrap.


I count off three dollars, one by one, from my money fold. Then I look her straight in the eye, smack the money onto the counter and slide/fling the bills in her direction. one of the dollars falls to the ground. the lady snaps.

"oh the hell you didn't!"

Register lady bends down, grabs my money, crumples it all together and flies it back at me.

"I'm not helping you! Next!"

I start laughing uncontrollably at the absurdity of the situation. The guy behind me cautiously steps forward. I go eat at jack-in-a-box instead.

FOB Punani Slayers

It was Sheldon's birthday, which means it was an occasion to get wasted drunk. The whole maintenance crew was gonna meet up at The House at 9:something. I get there early and immediately proceed to drink. Soon enough, everybody is present: Sheldon, Thad, Kallan, Aron, Dave, and Me. I'm surprised at how quick the alcohol is affecting me. That's what playing a few hours of basketball prior will do to you. Pleased at the absorption rate of the liquor, I drink more. In no time, I'm all buss.

It's decided that Dave will ride with me and everyone else will ride with Thad. Dave asks if I'm okay to drive. Shee-it. I peal out of the driveway and hit the freeway. Now I done read this article somewhere that said speeding is not a indicator of drunk driving. Therefore, I deduce that driving as fast as traffic will allow is my best option. I tear down the freeway going 90 something mph. in my Nissan pickup truck with virtually no shocks, 90 mph seems like the speed of sound. Dave starts hollering at me to slow down. Fuck dat! I aint no coward on the road! Then I lose control of my truck, hop a curb and head straight toward a telephone pole. I swerve left with a full bodied twist of the steering wheel and into the oncoming lane. Fortunately, nobody was there.

Once in oceans, me and Dave order a round of beer and walk around the club, waiting for everyone else. Then we order another beer. I'm stupid drunk. Then everybody finally arrives and we find a table. Somebody orders me another beer. I get pissed off some reason and attempt to break ceramic plates with my bare hands. Frustrated at my weakness, I slam the table with my fist and spill all the drinks. Sheldon's friend Lisa bears most of the damage--I beer fell into her lap.

Everybody be calling my "fucking asshole" and shit so in forgiveness I offer to smash up a neighboring table in two. "Fuck dat table and fuck everyone at dat table!" I eye them all out, especially the table. Then Sheldon runs in between and says I'm fucking his shit up and convinces me other wise.

Ashamed of my wild antics, I want to drink more beer. I can't figure which beer on the table is mine. I grab the bottle with the most. Next thing I know, me and Dave roam the dance floor like the lions roam the plains of Africa. We find two girls. Mines wants to go dancing, so I dry hump her on the floor.

After awhile, the girls want to get a drink. Apprehension. Girls like expensive fruity drinks and I already spent my $45 bucks. The night could be bankrupt me if I bring out my Debit card and run a tab. I decide to hang back and wait for her to get her own drink, like the cheap bastard that I am. Instead, the girls come back with their drinks, plus beers for me and Dave. I tell my girl that Im in <3 love.

We sit down at a table and talk. Theyre from china and are on their second week of a one month vacation in Hawaii. They speak with an accent. For some reason, I start talking with an accent as well. A fake and terribly done, Japanese accent. "So pretty you. I so lucky be with beautiful girl like you" Imma smoooth operator. Then I lean in and start making out with her. Daves girl keeps touching my face and saying, "so cute". I hate having my face touched. Its a peeve of mine and it takes all my willpower not to whack her arms to the side after the second time she does this. Instead, I guzzle my beer then I grab her drink and finish it as well.

We hit the floor again. Everything, even the sound, is blurred like the club is underwater. A different girl comes dancing by me and my attention is averted, until the Chinese girl regains my focus when her hands keep --you know-- 'inadvertently' grazing my boto. Soon after, the two girls are dragging both me and Dave out of the club by the hands. We going run train is what I be thinking.

Instead, we go to the parking lot where we're joined by a whole crew their Chinese friends. I don't understand a word they're mandarin and I feel more bus trying to decipher it. Im lead to the backseat of an early 90's Camry. Theres dozens of little stuffed pokemon-type animals lining the back window and seat. This homo-looking Chinese guy hops into the drivers seat and my Chinese girl takes the shotgun position. He turns on the ignition and loud, German sounding techno music starts blasting from the speakers. We pull out of the parking structure. The drunken solitude allows for a moment of perspective to evaluate my life:

I don't know where i'm going
or who i'm with
or what's being said.

I feel like puking a la crackhead's car; the music and consistent jerking turns are not helping. to keep occupied, I try to grope the girl's tit from behind. She quickly intercepts my hand and guides it into hers. we pet each other's hands the rest of the way. It was kinda romantic.

We get to our destination. Its somewhere in Waikiki yet my alcohol addled mind can't discern the exact location. I'm ushered out of the car and follow the girl to the entrance of a club. My mind is eased a little when I see Dave again. From the look of him, he don't know what the fuck is happening too. At first, I'm thinking that they knows people because we bypass the line outside without paying. Then we walk upstairs where they pay for another round of drinks. The Chinese girls must be rich because this place seems more expensive than oceans. Then we head straight for the VIP section, enter the glass enclosed area and sit at a table. I survey the people around us. FOB city. Once again, I'm the only non-Asian person of the group. This makes me feel lonely in the world and I suckle on my beer like it was a teat.

I get up to take a piss and when I exit the bathroom, the Chinese girl is waiting for me outside. We hit the dance floor again, except this time, all we do is make out with each other. Then a slow song is played and the DJ says last call for alcohol. I tell the girl to come back to my place. She looks me in the eyes, smiles devilishly, then kisses me on the lips. yeeah boi! OOF! OOF! OOF!

K, fast-forward. We get dropped back off at oceans: me, Dave, and the two Chinese girls. It's a tight squeeze with four people in the small-assed truck cab but we all manage to fit because Daves girl don't mind sitting in his lap. I'm more fucked up than previously self-assessed. Just the circular motion of the rolling the window down makes me dizzy. They ask me if I'm alright to drive. Yeah right...like you're gonna get an honest answer.
"I can drive"
"Are you sure?"
"I'm positive. Positive like HIV"
It's right at this point where I run my first red-light. Stupid light was taking too long to turn green. Then I laugh mildly and press the gas down to maintain acceleration through a second red-light. Now I hear this hullabaloo about not wanting to die and shit. Fear has a stinky smell and I tone down the stupid driving.

so we coast down King street and stop off at 7-11 to buy condoms. Along the way back to my place, I make several unnecessary turns to confuse the chickenheads. This is where I knew there'd be a problem. See, Dave don't want (or Thinks he can't) go back to his room at the dorms because he's unsure how the new summer-semester roommate will handle the situation. Prior, I told him could use an extra futon in the living room at my place. He says okay, but ultimately, the futon plan is contingent on the girl's approval.

The futon is located in my attic. I can't jump higher than six inches in basketball but I vaulted like 40 inches to grab that fucking futon. Its ratty looking. Shit used to be black in color was originally the mattress for an early generation sofa/bed combination things that they sell at Wal-Mart for a hundred bucks. The futon is kinda heavy and I drag it into the living room like one would drag a corpse. I tell the girl "good yeah? good yeah?" while unfolding it on the ground and brushing off the clumps of dust. She got her arms crossed and look on her face that can only be described as, "oh hell no! Ain't no way Im getting on that....thing."

If Dave's girl don't bone him, then my girl don't bone me. We in the same boat. A light bulb goes off in my head: use the UH master key and open up an empty room to bone inside. Genius! I look in my bag for the key. Its not there. I check the pockets of the shorts I used during the day. Check in my other bag. Look on my dresser. Look in the desk. Recheck my first bag, all my laundry, the bathroom, the kitchen counter. I tear my place up whirlwind-style looking for my key and still can't find it. Doomed. I ask Dave what we gonna do when, all of a sudden, the girls suggest a motel. Hmm...where the hell the motels be at? They say they'll pay for the room. Shootz.

We all cram back into my truck and the girls tell me what directions to turn. Fifteen minutes later, we parked outside the pagoda. Nice. Now I thought we were gonna have to pay for a portion of the room but the girls hand Dave $200 dollars and wait in the car while we check-in. Since Dave got the Alaska ID, I figured it'd be better to use my name (and ID) to get a Kama'aina discount. The only unit available is a seven bedder, split between two rooms. It costs $150 plus a $50 deposit, which is returned once we checkout. The time is now 5 AM

Once at the room, the girls go to the bathroom at the same time. I can hear the shower running. Me and Dave be talking about the crazy night and how we going run train soon. Then both the girls come out with towels wrapped around their bodies. Dave gets up and leaves and closes the door behind him. My girl immediately drops her towel to the ground.

And we oof. Well, not immediately. Tell you the truth (sadly), I was still drunk and had a case of the whiskey dick, which meant that I had to go down on the girl first for like 20 minutes before I got hard enough to bone. It wasn't too bad though, because she had just taken a shower and my efforts paid dividends later when she gave me a long blowjob. Even though I don't believe him, Dave said I roared or something at some point during the night, I guess when I was busting my nut. hmmm....I really shouldn't be typing this out for everyone to see.

The morning later, Dave taps my shoulder and says we gotta leave for work already. I slid my arm from under her head, put my clothes back on, and creep on out of the room. Before closing the door, I contemplate pulling the sheets of the girl for no reason at all. That would've be plain ruthless.

We hit up some jack-in-a-box and stop off at my place so I can shower/piss/change. This is when I notice my balls hurt. Chinese girl be groping too hard. They'll continue to hurt for the better part of the day, along with my legs from dancing so much.

Later at maintenance, I told the story to anyone that asked. Because emotionally vacant, one night stands aren't nearly as fun if you can't brag about it to your friends :)

The next day, I went back to pagoda and picked up the $50 deposit. Since it was in my name, only I could collect the money. The $50 bucks was promptly used on beer for the night. Shee-it, I gets paid nigga! Man...I be thinking, when you oof a FOB girl, it's like you've conquered a small part of their home country. Quote me on that one.


1) Woke up this morning, crumpled in a ball under my desk. One could say I had a rough night of excessive drinking at the club. Pieces of my phone were scattered around my room and my truck wasn't in the parking lot. My right hand is swollen and my clothes were literally dirty with dirt. After washing out the taste of vomit from my mouth, I cut a block of spam in half and threw it on the frying pan. One minute later, impatient of the cooking time, I stick a fork into the middle of the two inch thick piece of spam at eat it like a corn dog. <--This is what I have to offer; no girl in her right mind will ever settle down with me.

2) Lately, I've been putting a lot of thought into harems and why nobody has them anymore. In my ideal world, I'd be filthy rich and have myself a massive harem. Like the old school chinese emperors and shit. I'd go around the world and handpick hot chicks from every country and have a warehouse choke full of girls. Actually, I think I'd buy the Halekulani and convert that into my harem. And then, instead of eunuchs, I'd have an entire staff of homos. That way, they won't breed any of the girls. Plus, the homos could groom'em and do stuff like make their hair pretty and do their nails and shit because homos like to do those sorts of things.

3) I like fried chicken. Would I go as far to say that I'm passionate about fried chicken or that I'm a fried chicken connoisseur? No. But I appreciate good fried chicken. So the debate is, who got the best fried chicken: KFC or Popeyes? Me? I really like the Popeyes fried chicken. I think they produce a superior product. The meat is so juicy, yet it's not as greasy as it's KFC nemesis. Kinda like the cajun thang too, being that I'm somedbody that enjoys spicy food. It's nice to see spicy food get some corporate mainstream recognition and shit.

But as a establishment as a whole, I gotta go with KFC. Sure, their chicken might be a little greasier, but their sides dishes make up for the chicken's shortcomings. The KFC gravy, the KFC biscuit, the KFC coleslaw (especially the coleslaw)--these are among the best there is. And when I say best, I'm not limiting my opinion to just the fast food market. I'm talking EVERYWHERE, homemade, restaurant...you name it. The KFC sides are just plain good. It's SO GOOOOD!

4) Hmm....I like to eat oatmeal in morning. Makes me feel like an old man for saying this, but it makes for better bowel movements. I can take an epic shit with absolutely no strain. Yup. On the oatmeal subject, I always thought that the Maple and Brown Sugar in the variety pack was always the most masculine of the flavor choices. And isn't it obvious that the Apple and Cinnimon is the fem flavor?

5) Everytime I see a dog, I imagine how it would feel to kick it. Satisfying I think. I hate when a little dog barks at me from behind a fence. Fucking punt that chiwawa. Rachel's dog is the perfect size to kick. Not too small but not too big so I still get some air time when I blast him. Buddy is a blonde lab mix, so it's a haole dog, which only increases the pleasure of the kick. I'd straight up kick him in the ribs like I was gonna kick a field goal.

6) I don't see the purpose of a tard. They're like high maintenance pets. If I ever had a tard, I'd put'em up for adoption. Straight up. I don't intend to be a bastard or sound inhumane but a tard kid is a marriage destroyer. I'm sure there's a white family on the mainland that wouldn't mind caring for a tard child. Special oympics came and went. Maintenance crew had to clean up the after math. Here's some horrible thoughts that might make people hate me. If ever I was in a plane crash and had to resort to cannibalism, I'd be apprehensive on eating the tard. I'd be thinking that I might catch the tard disease and start drooling. Plus, tards would probably taste funny. Too much macaroni & cheese in their diets. I'd imagine they'd be more gamey and stringy than how normal people taste. Tards would probably make good stew meat.

And what if they had a tard park, like jurrasic park? *play jurassic park theme song* Tards behind cages making weird dinosaur noises. And with their big ears, they'd look like that dinosaur that shoots the poison and killed the Seinfeld-Newman guy. Free-range tards running around like buffalo, all-hunched back. And people could shoot'em like the buffalos in Dances with Wolves.