why the fuck won't they work?

i'm sorry if i wasn't around for a while. i got hit by a car.

and on that note, let's rant.

don't you just fucking hate things when they don't work on the time of day they're suppose to work. no, i'm not talking about complicated things that have complex circuit assemblies and shit. i'm talking about ordinary, mundane, every day things that seem to fuck up everytime we need them the most. what the fuck is up with that?!!

i mean, it's not like they have a mind of their own that they suddenly stop functioning at will and begin on an existential tirade of what the fuck life means or who gives a rat's ass about their existence. they are things! they don't have a brain! or do they?

:: calculator -- the most intelligent freak of the class of 2005 confidently enters the room full of nervous wrecks, cheaters, and dumbasses. they're about to begin what is the hardest and most important exam of their lives. the hardest and most important exam starts. mr. intelligent whips out his calculator. presses the power button. nothing happens. the calculator suddenly goes pfft.

the result: he finishes the exam 10 minutes before the alloted time expired. the goddamn virgin was so frustrated because he felt he didn't ace it. he goes home and hangs himself.

score: calculator - 1; geek who died a virgin - 0

:: shoelaces -- guy goes in the cafeteria. fills up his tray with every possible food offered in the menu. walks to his table. from the corner of his eye (left eye), he sees the new employee. a chick. a hot chick. all alone at her table. looking at him. as if inviting him to join her for lunch. and eventually shag in her apartment's couch after work. the guy senses the need. he slowly walks towards the new hot chick. he smiles. she smiles. his shoe laces get undone. he steps on it. he trips. he falls face flat on the bowl of peas. there's potato all over the place. and his pork chop just ruined his new calvin klien shirt.

the result: everybody laughed. the new hot chick laughed. his ex-girlfriend laughed. his bestfriend laughed. his boss laughed. even the toothless fat lady who cooks the peas laughed. everybody. he skipped lunch. quit work. and went home hungry and unemployed.

the score: shoelaces - 1; guy trying to be cute while holding a tray full of food - 0

:: fly zipper -- big party. lots of guests. top honchos of major tv networks. talent scouts. important bimbos and shit. he was the entertainment for the night. the newest stand up comedian on the rise. the buzz of the town. he was booking gigs left and right. and this, by far, was the biggest gig of 'em all. then the time came. he took center stage. everyone was quiet. he started off with his first joke. everyone was laughing. laughing real hard. second joke, everyone was still laughing. everyone laughed non-stop all throughout his set. he can't believe it. then he waves goodbye. he suddenly realizes, his fly was open. and he forgot to wear his boxers.

the result: his little pecker peeked at everyone in that important party. and it was the ugliest, funiest, and tiniest pecker anyone has ever seen. he gave up stand up comedy to work in a sweater factory.

score: fly zipper - 1; sienfeld wannabe with a small dick - 0

:: lighter -- was raining. hard. he just came out of the bar at 4 am, two hours past the last call. he can still hear her say those words: it will never work between us. again, he started to cry. like a sissy. really cry. like a 10-year old girl with pigtails who wanted ice cream. he walked. about four blocks. that became eight. that became twelve. he was looking for some cigarettes. at four in the morning. under the rain. he crosses the street. no cars, no cabs, no lights, no nothin'. then he remembered, he still has a stick left somewhere inside his jacket. he frisks himself. and there it was. the stick. and like heaven was on his side, the rain stopped as he took out his last stick for the night. it was like salvation. there, at the middle of the street, he put the stick in his mouth and took out his lighter. the damn lighter won't work. he kept trying. still, nothing. by now he's pretty pissed. at everything. the lighter, the cigarette, the wet road, the darkness. he was yelling out expletives like there was no tomorrow. then out of nowhere, a car came out of the darkness. he was hit in the leg, was tossed a good 15 feet in the air, and landed head first on the sidewalk.

the result: well, what the fuck do you think? of course the guy died. his skull was cracked open for chrissakes!

the score: the car - 1; heart-broken bosa nova - 0

***

now if these things don't work the way they're suppose to work when you need 'em and where you need 'em the most, then what makes you so sure that microsoft longhorn will?

i rest my fucking case!

i'm out.