Tag Archives: crack

Super Spooky Halloween Post

I went on a run the other day, and passed a house all decorated for Halloween: black cat cut outs, pumpkins, ghosts strung from a clothesline—classic shit, but not scary at all. The whole notion of Halloween is becoming too traditional; it’s lost its horrifying luster. I understand that at one point (in like the 50’s) the idea of a man who turns into a wolf might have scared the pants off people; literally, they’re scared so bad that they must remove their pants, because the pants have been shat-filled (off subject, but did you know “scared the pants off” is a direct descendent of “scared the shit out”? More on origins of sayings in another post.) Honestly though, ghouls, goblins, and monsters have never been scary in my lifetime. We need to get back to the roots of this spook festival, which is becoming too much of a happy-go-lucky holiday, and strike fear into the soul of people: especially children.

As mentioned, folklore and commerciality are not scary: not the Headless Horseman; not cotton spider webs; and surely not a damn vampire, or (worse) a bloody zombie. No, what’s scary are herpes; rape; Mormons; terrorists; nuclear war; cancer; a guy with a mustache, glasses, and pants pulled up to his chest, handing out candy (not from his doorstep, but) from inside his house; finally, a muscular man in a pretty pink dress. That shit is real. That shit is horrifying. That shit is disturbing, but it’s the shit that Halloween should be all about…shit!

What happened to scaring the hell out of people, namely children? Is it politically incorrect? Is it immoral? Will it hurt their feelings? Good. Good. Great. This time of year has become too much fun for kids, and I want to take away those precious moments; bring them into the real world, where candy and super heroes won’t solve problems. Leave them with non-repairable mental scars, rather than a fictitious happiness that they’ll never find in the real world. Here’s how I picture it going:

A child approaches the doorstep, and I’m dressed as I am above (the sexiest slut at the bar, which was so true, bitches). Gazing up my hairy legs, he looks at my menacing smile. Fear slowly sinks in, yet he’ll fight the piss running down his leg for that sweet treat. Little does he know, I don’t have any candy…I have steroids. That’s right, the intravenous type. I also have crack, but I’m keeping that for now. I drop a syringe, and vile into his stupid pumpkin container; the handle of which looks about ready to snap from the cheap Chinese plastic. (I hope it does, too; I always had to use a damn pillowcase, or grocery bag: neither of which were ever without large holes.) The child is lost in utter confusion. Sensing this, I say in my deepest voice, “Trick, or treat…” laughing ever so creepily as I shut the door, and get the hell out of my neighbor’s house. I leave the crack, and wait for the cops to roll up.

Now tell me, is that not the scariest shit you’ve ever heard? Well, I’m sure it’s at least close. With this country losing it’s ethics day by day, we need someone who will stand up, and make things right. This person would be me, except Dan Ray Sucks; so, if you don’t take it into your own hands to uphold the Halloween tradition by getting rid of those terrible scarecrows, rubber bats, and cans of spring worms, and (instead) re-introduce the idea of scaring the shit out of people by any means possible, then you suck, too.

Tips to suck less:
-Leave a comment.
-Follow.
-fb/tweet/just tell your friends, friends’ friends, random bums–I don’t care, just do it.
-Finally, smash some pumpkins, and TP some houses.

Interviewed


I have proven to myself how bad I suck plenty of times, and have yet another piece of evidence: Friday’s interview.  Before I delve into that fiasco, I would like to make say that I once had a great deal of directional awareness, common sense, and a personality to fit any type…these claims now hold absolutely no water.  I can still say that I do possess great determination.  If you wanted a job, would you not do anything to get it?  I agree: no.  Wouldn’t you do anything within your means and morals?  I would too, but sometimes you’re just overcome by an uncontrollable force I like to call, “Being a total f%&@ing idiot.”

Friday was supposed to be the day I leave my menial jobs, and start down a career path.  Nope.  It seems old Danny Boy doesn’t understand a GPS device, nor the address system.  If I were a mail carrier, people would be receiving their packages slower than before the Pony Express.  That’s not a joke: A. Because the comparison is not funny; and B. It’s true.  It’s as if my consciousness of the world went straight out the window on I-405…or, 110…or, I just left it in Ohio.  Hell, the more I think about it, maybe I was never granted the sixth sense: common sense.  (I wonder who to see about that?)

I’m not going to explain the ins and outs of my idiocy: I’ve gone in great depth on that before (danraysucks.wordpress.com), so doing it again would just be overkill.  I’m also more embarrassed about this instance than almost any other in my life; including the time I was caught having a sexually explicit conversation on ICQ (it was like AOL messenger, except no one has ever heard of it), or today when a table of pretty ladies pointed out, in a crowded restaurant, that my fly was down.  It’s also terribly hard having to put you through the pain, sweat, and anxiety of sharing my humiliation.  I don’t want to demand too much sympathy from you.

I’ll just sum up the day: I had an interview scheduled for three o’clock, and showed up at five o’clock, underdressed.  To give myself a little bit of redemption, I was told to dress casual; so, in my mind, I was simply following orders.  In hindsight, it would have been impressive to go above and beyond the call.  Lesson learned.  For a tiny bit more redemption, I worked later than expected; therefore, I left later than planned.  Still, I should have phoned ahead: lesson two learned.  For the last bit of redemption, my car wouldn’t start—all right, that one’s bull, but I should have mentioned it when I rolled into the office.  Why the interviewer still saw me two hours past the scheduled time is still a mystery to me.  Maybe he thought I’d really impress him.  He thought wrong.

I could not have been more off my rocker: late, frazzled, hopped up on coffee, and anxious to leave crappy jobs, in hopes of starting a real one; plus, I had not taken a relaxing pre-interview dump.  All of that was riding on me like all the girls had trouble juggling in college. (That one was a joke, because I rarely got laid; in fact, I was lucky if I could get an over the pants handy from a blacked out sorority girl who just got dumped by her boyfriend, and was looking for any reason to sleep with a guy.)  For a 23 year old trying to break into the showbiz, I could have had the opportunity of a lifetime!  I kid you not, I probably would have skipped over at least five years of belittling grunt work, and stepped into a professional position I could only have imagined.  It’s still not soaked in how bad I screwed up; just like the time I tried out for MTV’S The Real World, and impressed the hosts so much that they wanted me to stay and fill out the paperwork for highly potential candidates for show—okay, completely different, but in that scenario, I decided to (instead) head back to school (Ohio University) for the biggest party of the year…the point is that I had a great opportunity, and I blew it.

There’s really not much more to say on the subject, except that it gave me a blopic (blog, and topic combined into one term…it’ll catch on), and the chance to have others poke fun at me.  Although the interview did end up going all right, it’s impossible for an employer to get over the fact that I was two hours late!  Inexcusable.  My career is shot, and I need to pay bills.  Looks like I’ll have to take on whatever work I can find.  Maybe I’ll take on another bussing job.  Or, I can just hustle the kids of the neighborhood in some hardcore street ball.  I am pretty thug, and I do hate kids; so, I have no problem taking their money.  Anyway this is why Dan Ray Sucks, and if you ever showed up late to an interview that could have potentially started the rest of your life, then you suck, too.

Tips to suck less:
-Leave a comment.
-Follow.
-fb/tweet/just tell your friends, friends’ friends, random bums–I don’t care, just do it.
-Finally, don’t be a punk, be punctual.