Saturday, August 14, 2010

Rink Rants Vol 5

Two months ago, I obliterated my face at the rink.

What happened was, a bunch of kids were goofing around, and 3-4 of them charged behind the goal crease like they'd just won the Stanley Cup, just as I was swooping behind the goal area doing crossovers. In an effort not to kill the little shits, I twisted and weaved, lost my balance, and hit my head on the ice. Result: 11 stitches and a permanent scar above my right eye that itches like hell when I sweat.

Six days later, I was right back on the ice. I thought I suffered no ill effects, neither physical nor psychological. If anything, I felt more confident, even defiant. For the last two months, I've been flying on the ice, getting better at lunges, backward crossovers, and hockey stops very close to the boards.

Last night, I realized that I didn't escape completely psychologically unharmed.

The rink was crowded last night; crowded with a bad mix of skaters. There were good skaters flying, lots of mediocre teenaged skaters cocking off, kids skating every which way, and plenty of n00bs clinging to the wall (and taking that usually safe avenue away).

One group of teenagers was the worst. Four of them: a fat douchebag in shorts and a pink polo shirt, another idiot with a blond Jew-fro, and one I will call Heinrich von Chinpubes, who for some reason wore the kind of skintight sweats areobics girls wear. And of course, a hot chick. These fucktools were all over the ice, sliding traffic cones to each other and chasing, grabbing and throwing each other to the ice. Despite the crowd, and not even looking around to see if anyone was near them.

This is why I think I'm not unharmed -- for the first time in a long time, I was actually nervous on the ice. I did NO lunges. I didn't skate backwards AT ALL. I practiced no mohawks, no turns, and rarely did power-crossovers.

Here's what I texted to my friends last night:

"I can't fucking wait for high school fucking football to fucking start so these fucking teenage fucktools WON'T BE AT THE FUCKING RINK ON FUCKING FRIDAYS!"

I stand by that. Thankfully, school starts soon for the fucking kids.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

RC Goes Shopping

  • So I'm in the bookstore, and some ugly chick goes running up to her boyfriend (I assume) and says, "Guess what? They're screwing up Avatar even more!" My thought: That's even possible? I thought with its leftist plot, hack director, and one-note gimmicks the movie was already screwed up.
  • Still at the bookstore. People still pay for stuff in stores with checks? Seriously? Haven't the Visa Check Card commercials shamed them out of this? I swear tonight was the first time I saw someone write a check in a store in YEARS. If you're writing a check in a store today, you're a fossil. The store should charge admission for children to stare at you and talk about remnants of the dark ages.
  • Moving on to grocery shopping. How, without a hint of awareness of the irony, can a supermarket pharmacy employ a 300 pound woman where she'll have to stand under a sign that says "Diabetic Center?"
  • I've been losing weight. Do you want to know why I'm losing weight? Too bad, I'm going to tell you anyway. It's because all the good food is getting fucking expensive. I bought a large pack of cheap steaks TO COOK AND SNACK ON because they were cheaper than potato chips. By the pound, the steaks cost $3.99. A bag of Doritos cost $3.99 for 11.5 ounces -- over $5.50 a pound. What the fuck is going on in this country when a bag of low-grade processed corn and cheap powdered flavoring costs more per pound than a bred, fed, dead and butchered cow?
  • I'm really beginning to hate those little cars stores put on the front of shopping carts to keep kids entertained. It makes the carts twice as big and unweildy, and the goddamn foreigners who can't drive a real car can't handle these either. And it's ALWAYS a whole family of foreigners, too. ONE PERSON CAN DO THE SHOPPING. THE REST OF THE MOTHERFUCKERS CAN STAY HOME AND OUT THE MIDDLE OF THE GODDAMN AISLE. And learn some English while you're there.
  • Arby's Steakhouse Sub: I've had worse. I've also had better. I'm not exactly sure what's supposed to be "steakhouse-y" about it, though. It's just roast beef with cheese, onion straws, and some sort of nearly flavorless sauce. But at $3, it's cheaper than some of the other things on their menu.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Things I Hate About Summer

Things I Hate About Summer:
  1. It's hot outside
  2. There's no hockey
  3. The ice rinks cut back their public skating hours
  4. Seriously, it is fucking hot out there
  5. Kids are out roaming the street instead of in school, (not that the school system is worth a shit in this town, but it at least keeps the hoodlums-in-waiting off the goddamn streets)
  6. There's spiderwebs EVERYWHERE outside
  7. Do you know how uncomfortably goddamn hot it is out there? I'm sweating through my dress clothes just walking to work. AT 8:30 IN THE FUCKING MORNING
  8. It's wedding season, and seeing people a) throwing their lives away or b) being happier than me drives me nuts
  9. Trying to keep it cool in my apartment costs me a shitload of money in electric bills

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Rink rant with a moment of reflection

I went to the rink a few weeks ago and saw something that bothered me. (I realize that’s no surprise.) But this was something subtle. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

At the rink was a family of four: dad, mom, and two young daughters. The mom at one point was probably borderline attractive, but now that she’s married with kids and no longer has to put effort into her appearance, she’s fat, wears boyish glasses, has a butch haircut, and a perpetually has a bitchy sourpuss expression on her face. She was also wearing an expensive looking suede jacket.

The daughters were young and very close in age, and the parents (read: the mother) had them dressed identically: hot pink helmets, white vests, pink shirts underneath the vests, while pants, pink gloves, and white-and-pink skates.

The dad… oh the poor dad. He had on a pair of his own skates, and from what I saw, he clearly had some skill on them. But the skill was clearly going to waste as he had to stick close by to the wife and kids. He was dressed in a battered old grey sweatsuit, and was wearing a backpack – on the ice – with ancillary items for the daughters. (Camera, waters, etc.)

I finally figured out what was bothering me. This family, and the dad in particular, is the personification of the degraded state of masculinity, marriage and fatherhood in today’s society: drab and forced to sacrifice his own talents to the menial service a shrew wife and phony, saccharine-cutesy kids. While the wife and kids spend on colorful or expensive coats, he has to wear old clothes. While the wife and kids carried nothing, he bore their burden (the backpack that was filled with nothing important anyway). While the wife and kids stumbled around the ice, he had to stay with them instead of using his talent and skating free all over the ice. The man was a slave to three females, and I could tell by the way they interacted that they had no regard for him whatsoever.

And so it is in American society, from the smallest unit (the nuclear family) to the populace as a whole. In families, feminists write articles in womens' magazines and go on Oprah and teach women to ignore their husbands wishes and focus on their own, and to wantonly cheat on and leave husbands if that's what their whim -- and doing so is striking a blow for the sisterhood against the patriarchy. In society at large, there are scores of womens and children's programs that cost countless dollars out of the public treasury. Our pockets are picked and our talents wasted as taxpayers slave to pay for programs that promote feminite nonsense about all men being rapist oppressors.

Our lives are made smaller by people like this, whether in the corridors of our own homes or in the corridors of power. These tyrants -- and make no mistake, they are tyrants -- force upon us responsibilities that are not our own, and we accept them either to quell rancor (in the home), or at the point of a gun (from the state).

Men of the world, unite! All you have to lose is a sexless, frigid harpy who has no regard for you anyway. Keep you money and freedom and talents for yourself. You at least appreciate them.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

RC's Rink Rants Vol 3

Why am I awake this early on a Sunday? Well, mostly because I'm hung over and can't sleep. And since I haven't posted anything in a while, I thought I should at least get a rant up before my friends think I forgot about this blog.

The rink has actually been quite pleasant lately. I bought an mp3 player, so I've been able to drown out most of the crap on the rink's mix CDs or the local radio stations. Although I do still hear a few things. Can someone, ANYONE, tell me why the Black Eyed Peas have a career? "Imma Be" is one of the most mindless pieces of drek I've ever had the displeasure of hearing. (I'll deal with this topic in my next post. I have a rant/random thoughts post brewing in my mind.)

So, by and large, the aural assaults of the outside world are dealt with, so all I have to put up with are the visual assaults -- children, fat people, and hotties with tools.

And the couple I saw yesterday had one of the most lopsided cutie-to-dipshit ratio disparities I've ever seen. Not that the girl was completely smoking hot or anything, just very cute and wearing hockey skates (that's a bonus point for accessorizing) and doing pretty well on them. No, the disparity was pretty much all on the idiot she was with.

First of all, I'd put money down that this guy had at least 10 to 15 years on her. Plus his face looked like the scene in Army of Darkness where Ash gets his face stretched out by having to fight his way out of the fake Necronomicon. (Not quite the John Kerry look, but when Ash fixes his face slightly.)

He was dressed like an utter tool as well. He was wearing a windowpane dress shirt. TUCKED IN. Dark blue jeans that probably had a crease that David Brooks would love. And thick heavy gloves.

Plus the dude was a terrible skater that had no power whatsoever. Sometimes I try to time my skating motions to the beat of whatever song I'm listening to, and I'll rest and glide with easy strokes when something slower and mellower comes on. I was LAPPING this clown while listening to the trippy central part of Breadfan (starts at about 2:58) and the Black Label Society's Crazy or High. Dude was too timid to fucking drive his legs and get his ass around with any sort of speed or power.

And worst of all, this guy had pretty much ZERO stamina. He'd do two laps with his weak-ass motions then head for the bench and sit down. Then, when the cutie noticed him gone, SHE'D head for the bench and sit with him -- meaning I couldn't stare at her ass out on the ice.

HOW DOES A DUDE WHO OWNS HIS OWN SKATES HAVE NEITHER STAMINA NOR SKILL? I think the answer is clear -- he's an old poseur shitbag trying to demonstrate his youth for a younger girl way out of his league.

Honey, you deserve better. You saw me skate: two straight hours of me working with short breaks only for hydration. That's what I'm like in bed, too. Get the jerkoff to buy you an SUV and an XBox360 then bring them over to my place and I'll give you the unrelenting sexual pounding that he can't give you that you know your body is craving. Then you can make me spaghetti and meatballs while I play Mass Effect 2.

PS I don't like mushrooms, so don't get a sauce that has them in it.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Oh, for the love of Christ

Really? REALLY?

Fuck this fat bitch. I hope she gets to 998 pounds and drops of a fucking heart attack.

I'm going to be blunt. I hate fat people. Not people who aren't "perfect" by fashion standards, or people that are few pounds overweight, or people that struggle with their weight despite honestly watching what they eat and exercising. I mean the FAT FUCKS.

I see shit like "Inside Brookhaven Obesity Clinic" or "Fatass Teenager" or whatever the hell the shows are called and I want to put a goddamn chair through my TV. Stop giving these people both attention and food. They aren't contributing JACK SHIT to society. They don't produce goods or services; a good many are on the public dole; they get primo parking spaces just for being lardasses; and they ride around Walmart and Target on those little carts instead of walking and getting the exercise they need.

And you know what? Their kids are uniformly fatasses too. It's a goddamn viscous cycle. And it costs me money, ultimately. Starve these fuckers until they can walk, then put them to work out in the vineyards of California. All the healthy grapes they can eat, less demand for illegal immigrants, and the phonies and leftists will be forced to look at fat bastards all day.

And maybe the extra weight will cause the San Andreas to finally, mercifully make California slide into the ocean, and Nancy Pelosi and Henry Waxman will no longer have districts to represent.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

RC's Rink Rants Volume 2

Being around people, especially LARGE groups of people whom I don't know, is just absolutely draining to me.

The local ice rink was packed the last few days. Good for the rink's bottom line, not good for me.

It's impossible to really practice anything when it's crowded. I need to work on three-turns and skating backwards. I simply cannot do that when I have to watch out for masses of humanity, especially when a good portion of them are kids that don't bother looking where they're going and what's coming from that direction.

Plus, when it's busy, the ice degrades VERY quickly. What was a smooth sheet you could zip around starts to feel like a macadam road on a bad suspension. Except directly on your knees and back. And pushing off becomes much harder and you can't glide as easily.

So the workout becomes less fun, I can't do the things I need to practice, and I'm surrounded by a mix of douchebags and fuckwits. For example:
  • Shitass skaters who try to do the "YMCA" or the "Thriller" on the ice when they can't skate 20 feet without grabbing for the wall. Especially when they're fucking fatasses who think they're funny. The songs are bad enough, don't make my life any worse.
  • An attractive MILF with a walleyed greybeard who probably has to mainline Cialis to give her body even thirty seconds of the sex it deserves. (By the way, old dude, Keith Hernandez and Clyde Frazier would like a word. "RE-JECTED." And man up and put on hockey skates.)
  • An ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS MILF with an idiot wearing a flat cap. Dickhead, Brian Johnson can wear one. Payne Stewart could wear one. You aren't a Geordie heavy metal singer nor a dead professional golfer. I have NO idea how you landed someone so far out of your league. Especially someone who can skate circles around you.
  • A librarian-ish young hottie with a tall doof that could have passed for Qui-Gon Jinn if he Qui-Gon were 20 and had grown up with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.
  • An unattractive wannabe cougar with badly bleached hair, a tramp stamp (At your age? Seriously?), and a University of Pink track suit. A University of Pink track suit that had NO PINK ON IT. It was green and dingy tan.
  • As usual, more people taking pictures right in the flow of traffic.
  • And what would a trip to the rink be without a fat woman lording over a brood of ill-behaved brats? I mean FAT in this case. I didn't know Jordache made circus tent sized jeans in acid wash. How do these lardasses even wedge their corpulent feet into a pair of skates? (Hell, how do they even see their feet to try to put their skates on?) I know Darius Kasparaitis used peanut butter to lube his feet to get his skates on after breaking a bone in his foot, but I'd be afraid of women this size eating the whole jar.
I took up skating as a nice little escape from reality for a few hours. Reality is starting to creep in.

I seriously need to invest in an mp3 player so I can shut these fuckers out.