Bss Enterprise

The crazy true stories of a kid from kansas

Of course it was grape juice

I sat at the table, minding my own business.  And by minding my own business i mean i was wrestling my friend Jeff down to the table’s surface with the intent to pummel him unmercifully.  Jeff struggled valiantly and managed to escape my grasp.  It was then i saw my next attempt to destroy The Meng.  A small container of grape juice, directly in front of his white shirt and boy band blonde hair.  With the strength of an angry god, and the passion of one thousand burning suns, i slammed my fist down on one side of the container.  The jet of forever purple stain would stream out and strike him at his heart.  But no, physics decided that it would be fun to not apply itself in this situation.  The juice squirted out from underneath my fist, curling and weaving through the air like a jet powered snake.  It splashed against the face of a young lady (who happened to be black) that was at the far end of the table.  She let out a shriek that could have shattered windows and toppled oppressive governments.  Her eyes turned to me and with a powerful hiss she proclaimed that i was a “funky ass bastard.”  I was immediately offended.  I am many things.  But i am not funky.


Being bipolar (at least for me) is like having an invisible person follow me around.  I cant see him, i just hear all these voices of every person i want to impress, or anyone i want to be proud of me.  Its like having a person follow you around and bicker about every detail of everything you do.

Or is that schizophrenia?  i get my disorders confused because of my dyslexia.  Either way I’m sure there is a pill somebody out there is just dying to feed me for 125$ an hour.  I’d go talk to them but my anxiety prevents me from doing so.  or maybe my adhd stops me from focusing on one thing at a time (my dog has pretty fur).  

Or, maybe, jusssssst maybe there isnt anything wrong with me at all.  maybe that is the worst disorder of them all.

Overheard at the PUB

I like to sit and watch people sometimes.  Not in the creepy stalker way, just as they come and go.  Sometimes i hear bits of conversations.  There are some real winners out there.  Here is the first of many entries; this one i heard less than 3 hours ago.

Girl: You know what i had for breakfast today?
Other Girl: What?
Girl: Cocaine.


The only easy day was yesterday.

How any other person uses a drill.  Step 1: find drill.  Step 2: Find screw.  Step 3: Drill.

How i use a drill.  Step 1: find drill.  Step 2: find screw.  Step 3: Wonder why the screw wont fit on the drill.  Step 4: grumble to myself as i cant figure out a way to see where im supposed to be drilling.  Step 5:  watch helplessly as the screw somehow jumps out of its hole.  Step 6: move screw over to the right.  Step 7:  Nope.  Step 8: move screw over to the left.  Step 9:  Make a strange face as the drill makes a strange noise.  Step 10:  grab a hammer as the drill no longer works.  Step 11:  Beat screw into submission.  Step 12: repeat steps 1-11.

The Dayman returns…and ruins everything.

I was sitting at the bar with my friends when i heard somebody exclaim  ”DAYMAN!!!” followed by a loud clap. Being the merry old soul that i am, i responded with “Defeater of The Nightman.”  This individual looked at me, our eyes locked, and we both said.


He laughed, i laughed, everyone at the table laughed.  That should have been the end of it, but Dayman had other plans.  He approached me slowly, like a tiger stalking a gazelle.  Before i knew that i was being hunted, he sprung.  He slammed his drink down on the table and proclaimed that i was the funniest individual at the table.  My tablemates looked at me in shock and horror.  There was no escape, Dayman had the only exit blocked.  Dayman put his arm around me and whispered “YOU SHOUDL COME OUTSSSIDE WITH MEH!” as loud as he could.  After my ears recovered from his Sonic Shock attack.  I did what any person would do under such pressure from a mighty superhero such as Dayman.  I said i didn’t smoke.

Dayman looked shocked, but the rebuff worked.  He backed away from me slowly.  Then, however, he turned to my friend Chris.  Before i could act he put his arm around Chris and said “YOU SHOULD TELL HIM TO COME OUTSIDE WITH MEH!”  Chris, much to his credit, retained his composure.  He simply wiped the saliva off his face and said “No.”  I thought for a brief moment he had a Rorshach mask on.  Dayman had just taken a blow to the chest, directly to his heart.  He slammed his drink down on the table and proclaimed


I dont think my friend Allison ever truly recovered.

Conversation with an incredibly high teenager.

I am not a perfect person, mostly because it takes to much work and i’m lazy.  My friends, at the time anyway, were less than reputable individuals and we were all settling in for a night of pill popping.  My friend TC (anyone who has ever done drugs ever will know one motherfucker named TC) handed me an empty bottle of Dramamine.  He had taken all 20 or 30 pills at once.  He ate them like a handful of skittles.  Everyone else was smoking on the couch, seemingly in unison, while TC slumped against the wall. He slid down slowly until he was laying flat on his back, watching the tv.  It was at this point he dropped the first gold nugget of his high.  ”There is a Mitsubishi on my foot.”  he said.  I looked at the tv.  Somebody was playing NFS Underground 2.  I shook my head and laughed.  ”Move it.” i suggested.  TC shook his head violently. “It’s fine there. I insissssst.” he said, apparently coming under the impression he was a snake.  ”I’m hungry.”  TC than shouted.  I told him he should get up and go grab something.  ”If i move, my arms and legs wont.”  He retorted.  I rolled my eyes and went to the kitchen.  i had some leftover Taquitos and salsa from my lunch.  I returned to TC and handed him his order.  he put the plate of Taquitos on his chest and took the can of salsa.  He looked the can over quizically before opening it, turning it upside down and dumping the whole thing onto the floor.  I managed to force out the word “why?”  TC shook his head again.  ”Its ok because its cheese.” he muttered, biting into one of the Taquitos.

TL;DR Dramamine turns you into an asshole.

Sports Cabaret seemed like a fun place.

I went to the strip club with my best friend, El Jefe (I’m not using his real name because if i do, he will just become even more popular than me, and i will murder him).  We were quickly met by a Russian girl who professed that her only rule was that “you cant stick a thumb in my ass.”

El Jefe and i were removed from Sports Cabaret mere moments later, to our surprise, after i had asked her “can i put the other four fingers in your ass?”

I don’t fly southwest anymore

i was sitting in the aisle seat of the plane.  The man next to me (i’ve blocked out his real name to save myself the PTSD) in the window seat turns to me, and very solemnly confesses

"When i was 15 i wrapped my cock in cellophane and tried to put it in my brothers butt."

I spent the rest of that flight toeing the line between bowel evacuating terror and unrelenting amusement.  After his confession, he spent the rest of the flight explaining how he was afraid that i was a secret agent.  He kept saying “your one of them, arnt you?”, which he always followed by pointing out there was just one blonde stewardess on the flight.  I wasn’t sure what he meant the first three times he said it, so i ignored it, until my curiosity got the better of me.  I asked “one of the flight attendants?”  His response will forever ring in my ears.  He stood up from his seat, thrust his hand into a Nazi salute, and screamed “A SECRET AGENT!”.  This was met with extreme turmoil from the rest of the passengers.  I have to complement the blonde stewardess though, she had a very practical and elegant solution to the problem.

Drown this man with Heineken.

She began bringing us cans of beer, which shut him right the hell up.  He also made a point that if i did not drink with him, he would be very upset.  So i was getting free beer, which is never a bad thing.  In the end we landed in Colorado and he was the only person who got off the plane.  After we landed at my destination, Kansas City, the blonde stewardess followed me off the plane softly singing to herself “Secret agent man, secret agent man. They’ve given you a number and taken away your name.”


Knight’s Diner today.

Knight’s Diner today.