The music is loud, the trash is white
So I have a computer and its my version of a hot rod. Lots of males are what they call car buffs, or motorcycles or something of that nature, but they have gadget type hobbies that they like. I'm not a car buff, I get bored listening to Kid Rock and Eminem standing around talking about tyres or fuel or displacement or fucking my crooked toothed sister in my trailer drunk on Coors and high on PCP.
I tweak out my computer though. Its got a silly amount of RAM, an overclocked pentium 3 chip, fucked up video cards that are half awesome and half junk. It also has 1 cd burner, 1 working hard drive, and 1 broken hard drive that converted all my old word documents into Jamaican, cause they're Jamaican me crazy! It also has the worst speakers in the world.
So I was working on my computer and I had just burned a CD so the tray had slid out with the CD sitting on it as an offering. I decided to put my feet up on my computer desk and in one clean motion kicked and broke the CD tray and booted the CD into the air. I'm clumsy.
So my CD burner tray was all fucked up, and it was worried it wouldn't work because of it, so was I. So I was trying to decide what kind of glue to use to repair it, then realized I have zero kinds of glue at home so after a few days I went to the hardware store.
You may not know this, but there are many different kinds of glue. I stood in the glue aisle for like an hour looking at the different kinds of glue trying to figure out which would be absolutely optimal for my little cd tray dilemna. After reading the back of 10 different glue packages only to turn the package over and on the front discover they were for wood, or shoes, or metal, I decided to buy super glue, of which there is now 2 brands and 10 different options, why? So I grab the super glue and on the way to the register I read this big warning BONDS SKIN INSTANTLY. Well that's all I needed to read, I know myself and glueing myself to my computer takes our relationship from a metaphorical to a physical level. Fuck that shit biyatch!
So I went back and after another 5 minutes of looking found model glue. Then I go to the cashier. She's looking at me like a total shitbag, and then it dawns on me. I look like a bum, I'm alone and all I'm buying is $1.88 tube of glue.
I wanted to say, "You got me all wrong baby, I'm not going to sniff it. I need it to fix an expensive piece of plastic technology." Instead I just stood there like a jerk and mentally stored the rage in the swollen razorwood brain cabinet for later access.
I actually couldn't give a shit that this girl thinks I'm going to sniff this glue, or that I undoubtably look like a guy who sniffs glue. But I just don't want to be white trash.
I went to see the band "Fear Factory" last nite cause I like metal and I heard a song that wasn't that bad. As the title reads, the music was loud, the trash was white. Don't get me wrong, I love all nationalities, ethnicities, colors, restaurants, you name it. Racism is fucking retarded, its the excuse of cowards too afraid to admit their life sucks because they're spineless morons. But I don't like white trash. I like making fun of everyone, its my style, but I mean it in good fun, except when it comes to white trash, them I actually don't like.
The Fear Factory crowd wasn't very good, and you can tell a lot about a band by their fans. What does Fear Factory have to do with shopping for glue? If you can't figure that out I won't tell you. The answer, nothing except that both occurred on the same day.
On a humorous note, I just checked my CD burner tray to see if the glue worked and I broke it again. Sniff sniff.