D. Thoreson - Meter Maid

“Have you ever had a severe lapse in judgment?” I asked my coworkers when I stepped into the lunch room when I returned from Meals on Wheels yesterday.

Why is it that I have a knack for making an abrupt transition from the good guy to the jerk?

It all started back in December. I was making my rounds on the Meals on Wheels route that I do regularly. John and Peggy are also on the team and our office covers Mondays so each of us delivers every third week. This day in December was like any other except I had promised Ron a special sandwich from the best food cart in the city, Rip City Grill. You might remember Ron from my first ever blog post. If you don’t, you can and should read it by clicking THESE WORDS.

So I stopped at Rip City Grill (side note: I treated Jesse to Rip City Grill for his birthday back in September and received a parking ticket for my generosity) to buy a sandwich for Ron. I had never done this before. I’m sure it’s against the rules to go out and buy additional food for the seniors on the route, but you read the story about the giant turd…this guy is awesome. He deserves this sandwich (and there’s no telling what it might turn into).

Well, I buy the sandwich and drive the two blocks to Ron’s building. Like Peggy, John and I have done every week now for a year I park in the 15 minute slot, put the sign on my dashboard, add the magnetic sign the senior center gave us that reads “Meals on Wheels” to my door and head to the front of the building. When I get to the 6^th floor Ron is really touched that I would buy him this sandwich and we talk for quite a while. As you shouldknow, Ron’s a talker and we get to chatting for probably 25 minutes. Eventually I make my exit and when I get back to my car there it is: a $40 ticket from the City of Portland. All I can tell you about what I felt at that moment is pure emptiness. I just felt my stomach sink. I already had the previous parking ticket from this neighborhood and now a Meter Maid named “D. Thoreson” had taken it upon himself to ruin my day. And he did too…he ruined it. I felt victimized.

Well, I have probably told the story about this parking ticket aloud about a hundred times by now and I won’t bore you with the details, but here’s the short version. You have three options when you get a parking ticket in Portland: 1) Pay the ticket 2) Pay the ticket and submit a letter 3) Pay the ticket and request a hearing. I chose option 3 and have my day in court coming up on February 7^th.

So at this point in the story I’m the good guy. I’m the volunteer who has been wronged by a twerp Meter Maid that exercises the small amount of authority he has on everyone he can because he’s small. The problem is pretty much encapsulated by the previous sentence. What’s the tone of that sentence? It’s the same tone that I used to take with my sister before she finally splayed me open with a nearby cutting tool. It’s the tone that you take when you feel anger and you’re ready to tear someone down. One thing I’m not good at is letting things go. And D(ouche) Thoreson has really pissed me off.

So fast forward a couple months to Monday. I have my court hearing coming up in two weeks and I’m mentally preparing every day. I’m ready to go down the list of why I’m right and in the process casually mention what is wrong with Douche Thoreson from an ideological standpoint. My working bullet points are as follows:

·         Why should the City of Portland be taking a cut from the people who are spending their time and gas performing social services?

·         Meter Maids have the ability to discern when someone is truly deserving of a ticket and Douche obviously doesn’t understand that it’s not in the City of Portland’s best interest to deter volunteers.

·         If the City of Portland wants to fine me for bringing food to a disabled, terminally ill Vietnam Veteran who is slowly losing his bodily functions because of Agent Orange then perhaps this issue is bigger than I thought and KATU local news would be interested in it.

·         The parking spot I was in is located on a street that always has open parking…it’s not like parking downtown where the spaces are at a premium.

·         We’ve been doing this for over a year…why now?

Well, all this logic went out the window when I saw a meter maid on a bicycle as I was approaching Ron’s building. I parked the car and bought my 15 minute pass for $0.40 and was about to put it in the window when Satan jumped into my head and said “Douche Thoreson has wronged you…you need to punish him.” Now the obvious answer to this is “get out of my head, Beelzebub.” Unfortunately my answer was more of a question “how can I do that?” Well, it turns out the Devil is pretty stupid. He says “you need to write something on your parking receipt.” That’s stupid. So I did it. Here is what I wrote:

Alright, good, screw that guy.

So I made my way up to Ron’s and he was feeling pretty talkative. I can’t just leave his place while he’s telling me about his disease and his Christmas visitors and giving me a small piece of framed art that his brother loved and he hated and while he’s remembering my name because it rhymes with teeth. I’m about 5 minutes late getting back down to the car and you already know what I found.

Standing there, about to get back on his two wheeled chariot (aka bicycle) is none other than Douche Thoreson himself. I didn’t  know for certain that it was Douche, but I asked and sure enough it was him. Here is a picture I drew of Douche:

Did you just write me another ticket? “Yes.” Was I over time? “Yup, five minutes. I’d have given you a warning if it hadn’t been for the note you wrote.” I didn’t actually think you’d see that. “We see everything.” Of course you do. “And it’s going in the case log for the judge to see too.” Oh, that’s very frightening. Listen, I’m sorry I wrote what I did. It was obviously stupid and I regret it and I owe you an apology because it was uncalled for and, quite frankly, out of character for me. But here’s why I wrote it…do you remember writing me a ticket right here a couple of months ago? “No.” Seriously? “Yes.” Does this jog your memory at all? (At this point I went into my car, got the magnet out and slapped it on the door and then took out the other ‘Meals on Wheels’ sign and put it on my dash). You seriously don’t remember this? “Well, yes, I do remember seeing this in the case files for the court date that’s coming up.” Yeah, so tell me why you’re claiming that you would have given me a warning today, but you actually ticketed me last time when my car looked like this. “If I gave a pass to everyone who wrote a note then nobody would get a ticket.” Are you seriously giving me the slippery slope argument? As though everyone who writes a note has a legitimate claim that they are doing charitable work? You actually seem to think that it’s your job to hand out a forty dollar fine to the guy who is taking lunch to a service disable Vietnam veteran who is confined to a wheel chair in his 6^th floor condo and can’t get food for himself. “Yes, that is my job.” Then you just don’t get it. It’s too bad you can’t use rational logic because you’re deterring people from doing good. “Well, if you write ‘Meter Maid Bitch’ on a parking receipt you’re going to get a ticket.” Yeah, but let me tell you why I did that. I wrote that because the ticket you gave me last time was so egregiously unfair that I can’t quit being pissed about it long enough to have stopped myself from doing something so stupid. Do understand that? “You shouldn’t have argued with me. Now the judge will get the notes from this case when you come to your hearing for the other ticket.” How am I arguing? I’m simply laying out the facts from my perspective. I don’t expect you to change your mind. You don’t appear to be capable of that. For you to do be a meter maid you have to act as though punishing everyone you possibly can always puts you in the right. You’re basically a ticket robot (I didn’t say “ticket robot” but I wish I would have). “I’ll see you in court.” Oh, you’ll see me in court twice. I look forward to it.

And I do look forward to it. At this point I’ve written away any chance of getting any of my fine back. I’m just going in to get my money’s worth. The only thing I have to be really careful about is to keep it civil enough not to be found in contempt of court. I don’t think that’ll be an issue, but I obviously still haven’t let go of the anger I have toward this guy so anything’s possible.

You know, by the end of writing this I was supposed to have learned my lesson and calmed down but just thinking about it again makes me want to wring that Douche’s fat neck.

Now that the City of Portland/Multnomah County has fined me $80 during my Meals on Wheels delivery I have decided to quit doing the route after nearly 5 years of service. I figure I’ll make up that money in saved gas from not doing the route. So congratulations Douche, you truly did your job. At the time of this writing Peggy might decide to salvage the route, but it looks as though our company will discontinue our service for Meals on Wheels. “Officer” Thoreson, you have made the world a better place. Bravo.

Also, if you happen to know and like this Douche Thoreson, screw you too.

For some tips on how to avoid a ticket and how to eliminate any "need" for this idiots's public employment click here: Douche is a DOUCHE!

Censorship

There’s been a lot of talk about censorship the past couple days. I don’t really understand the legislative issue, but I think you’ll understand what I’m getting at despite what’s being censored:

Last night when I got home from work I had the urge to head straight upstairs and take a nice, hot, steaming ****.  I placed my **** directly above the water. Just before I lowered my **** down into the pool of water below I thought to myself “I don’t want to take a normal ****, I want this to be the best **** I’ve ever taken.” The thought crossed my mind: “I really need to light a candle!” So I rushed off quickly to find a scented candle to create the ambiance to take the perfect ****.

I threw my robe on so I wasn’t running around exposing my**** to everyone and I started digging around for a nicely scented candle. So I finally found a nice apple-spice candle and a matchbook. I lit a match and accidentally dropped it on my ****! “AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” Holy **** did that hurt! I started running around and my **** fell off! Now I was running around with no ****, my **** was getting cold and I still really needed to get in there and take a nice, long ****.

I made my way back into the bathroom and I looked in the mirror. “Man I wish my **** hadn’t fallen off.” Things aren’t looking as good as they used to. I figured that was probably something that eventually happens when you get old anyway.

It was then I realized that to take the ultimate **** I was going to need some peaceful music to coax the stress from my body. I went and found my iPod and turned on the perfect **** soundtrack. Piano music…listening to a master tickle the ivories while I’m taking a **** is so theraputic. You should try it some time.

 So finally I was ready. I took my ****, dropped it down into the water and instantly felt TOTAL relaxation. It was like an envelope of steaming **** washing over me. I breathed in deeply and let the vapors fill my lungs. “Now THIS is the life!” I thought to myself.

When I was nearly asleep from a wonderful **** coma, I dunked my head into the water covering my hair and face. Amazing!

Don’t you love taking a nice relaxing bath?

Censorship Key:               bath, body, body, bath, bath, bath

                                                self, foot, moly, robe, robe, body, bath

                                                robe

                                                bath, bath, bath

                                                body, heat

                                                bath

Fuzzy Wuzzy was a Bear...

Sometimes in life you’re just sitting there minding your own business when reality decides to broadside you right in the face. If you’re like me you live in this kind of bubble where you think you are pretty introspective but in reality you’re just a biased arse who doesn’t give a crap about perspective when it comes to you.

Back before I was cheated by Bodog (now Bovada) online poker (that’s another story altogether that 95% of you wouldn’t understand and 98% of you would find incredibly boring, but suffice it to say that I was truly cheated by someone who cracked the program and there’s no way I’m getting my $200 back!) I used to semi-watch a lot of TV shows. They were shows I considered second-tier. Not good enough to command my full attention, but good enough to put on the DVR and then give 30% of my attention to as I played poker in bed. Among these shows are House, Ghost Hunters, Bones, Leverage, Tosh.0 and Man vs. Wild. Most of these shows used to be on the A list, but they’ve grown tired and repetitive. Leverage is only on the list because it’s filmed locally and, despite the fact that I’ve never seen them filming, I constantly search the screen for shots of myself…just in case.

Well, now that I no longer play poker on Bodog (did I mention I was cheated and you shouldn’t ever play poker on there, ever?) I have to make some critical DVR management decisions. I have this weird OCD about the DVR. I never want to erase anything I haven’t watched even though that thing isn’t really worth watching. I don’t understand it, but I work within these confines.

So a few nights ago I was watching Man vs. Wild. This used to be one of my favorite shows of all time. I mean Bear Grylls is the manliest of men. He can climb anything, eat anything…really DO anything when you think about it. How many people have you seen kill a skunk with nothing but a knife, cook it then eat it and tell you it tastes like someone smeared your steak in dog’s droppings?

Well, I was watching Man vs. Wild with my undivided attention (because I had been cheated at Bodog/Bovada online poker last month, you should never EVER play there) and they flashed back to a couple of past scenes in which Bear gets naked. He does this sometimes when he’s in cold weather so he can keep his clothes dry or get his wet clothes away from his skin. And that’s when it hit me…

I couldn’t really follow what was going on because I was focusing 100% of my attention on Bear’s blurred out crotch. Not being a guy who tends to gaze at male genitals I tried to figure out what I was doing. It felt natural as though I made a habit of searching the blur in the past. What was I looking for? I asked myself. Well, I answered, I was looking for shapes…specific shapes…recognizable shapes in the blur. I was looking for Bear’s junk. Why? Why was I looking for Bear’s junk? I asked. Well, I answered, if I see Bear’s junk then I can be outraged that cable television subjected me to staring at a penis. Huh? I wondered. I don’t know, I replied.

That got me to thinking. I’ve stared pretty hard at countless blurs, studying, searching. When the blur is complete and unreconfigurable (I made that word up) I always feel a bit dissatisfied. I feel as though I’ve failed or that the show withheld something that it owed me. Conversely, when the blur is small enough to allow my imagination to fill in the details then I’m shocked and outraged that they would show that much genital (male, female, top, bottom…it makes no difference) on TV. How dare they show that much private part!

What am I getting at? Isn’t it obvious? I’m an a-hole. Not the kind of a-hole that gets blurred out on network television. I’m the kind of a-hole that wants to watch someone take a risk (show partial nudity) and then roots for them to fail (accidentally show full nudity). In fact, I’m not just rooting for the fail, I’m actually inspecting it with a magnifying glass to find the failure.

Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. I mean, let’s face it, genitals are funny looking.

Penis.

Feast with me

It’s always a melancholy time for me when the holidays end. No more Christmas to look forward to. No more gift buying. No more pretty lights. No more annual sentimental movie traditions. But worst of all, no more excuses for eating like a giant hog.

“Oink, oink…it’s the holidays. I have to eat like this,” I say over and over in November and December. “Of course my face is looking fat…I haven’t shaved in 3 hours AND it’s the holidays! What self-respecting American has only one chin anyway?”

Now it’s January and it’s time to start your workout routine. It’s time to reintroduce yourself to that personal trainer who offered you a free session back in July. It’s time to dust off those P90X DVDs you put away back when you were more active before the rain and cold sent you into a hibernation that has stretched the holes in your belt into some bizarre oblong shape. It’s time to buy the 2-year 24 Hour Fitness membership at Costco because if you make that big a financial commitment then you’ll HAVE to work out.

Well, fatty (and I’m talking to me)…I’m here to announce one more thing you have to train your body for. And this time it’s all about gluttony. What I’m about to tell you is going to make all those extra scoops of gravy and melted butter seem worth it all these weeks later.

Let me tell you a little story. I once organized a pickup baseball game for a bunch of has-been old-timers like myself. I actually did it twice, but this story is about the first time. With a great deal of help from a lot of people we were able to field two full teams of former baseball players. We went out there and pretended like we were teenagers again. It was a blast. Instead of having a 7th Inning Stretch I brought a barbeque and hot dogs. We fired it up and started cooking enough hot dogs to feed a small army. I ate one and it was fantastic. So I had another and it was pretty dang good too. Then I started thinking about having a third and this guy I had never met before came over to me and said “you’re thinking about having a third dog aren’t you?” Yes, should I? “Let me tell you something…you’re chasing that high and you can’t get it back.” Huh? “You’re chasing that high. Remember how you felt when you ate that first dog?” Yes…wonderful. “How did you feel when you ate the second?” I felt good, but not AS good as the first. “You see what I mean? You’re chasing that high. You need to stop at two because one was as good as it was gonna get. You’ve reached the point of diminishing returns and there’s no getting it back now.” Thanks weirdo.

Needless to say I ate that third dog and it made me feel pretty crappy for the last few innings. But it got me to thinking all philosophical and stuff and he really was right. Whoever that guy was he really knew what he was talking about. To this day that is the best advice I ever...I’m digressing here…the point is HOT DOGS!

Think about them for a minute. What a wonderful invention. So the meat industry finds it has all these by-products that are pretty foul and impossible to sell in their original form (think lips and a**holes here). So what do they do? They press them into the shape of a penis and tell you to slap it into a bun and then somehow convince you it’s manly to eat these things hot off the grill...and you buy it! You eat lip and butthole penises all the time because they're delicious!

I’m telling you all of this because I have an announcement to make. I haven’t yet come up with a location, date or format for it but…drumroll please… in the very near future keenkeith.blogspot.com is planning to host a hot dog eating contest paid for by revenue generated by the blog itself. All interested parties should contact me (Keith) at keithhattorijr@gmail.com so that I can get an idea of just how big an event I am planning. There are two local brewers who have agreed to make special brews dedicated to this amazing event.

My plan is to have this thing happen in early March. I’m hoping it takes on a life of its own. Because here’s the deal…I’m talking about hot dogs and beer. Please leave comments here or email and let’s go out and debauch ourselves with nitrates!