These Are the Days

The 1^st weekend in August is the annual Schwa family bang your sister marathon. We all roll down to the NASCAR race in Indianapolis &, to fit in, I say I bang my sister. Nothing actually happens, (Unfortunately?) but the NASCAR crowd is judgmental & it is a prerequisite to any sort of social relationship with the crowd. Unfortunately my sister wasn’t present this year as only my pops, bro, & I decided to roll down for the race. They attended the Packer game Saturday night so we left around 2 am for the great state of Indiana.

I decided to let my bro drive his new PT Cruiser down there. I know I have an aggressive rep with my rig, however my brother is 5 times as bad as I am & this was before I toned down the raged driver act. I have known a lot of bad drivers, everyone does. My girlfriend is admittedly a terrible driver. My sister almost knocked down our garage she hit it so hard. My brother eclipses all.

1^st of all, I drive fast, but no more than 10 over. My bro drives 15 to 20 over at all times. I’d say, “Dude, cops are always in this section of Milwaukee. I have been through here a 100 times.” He would then proceed to speed up & rip by a cop exactly where they always sit. I have no idea how we didn’t get hit.

He also struggles to pass people. If you have ever been out of Wisconsin, you know there is a thing called an interstate. These very often feature 4 or 5 lanes of traffic each way. It was about 5 in the morning by the time we hit Chicago so other cars were few & far between. Instead of jumping in another lane to pass another car, he would race up to them at about 80. He then would jam the brakes, down shift, & tailgate them until they got out of the way. I thought turn signal & the gas petal worked better, what do I know? I found myself actually praying, literally praying whenever I saw another car.

When he did go by someone in another lane, it was a whole different level of scary. For instance, we passed a car winding around a turn. He swerved at least half way into the other car’s lane. I could have reached out & unlocked dude’s door. When asked WTF he was doing, he stated, “You have to lean on people to pass.” Ummmmm….no you don’t. What is this, fucking Days of Thunder?

The worst part of the ride wasn’t the actual driving, it was his music selection. He decided to play some crappy R&B/rap/that crap that is ruining America. He said it kept him awake. No shit it did, how could anyone sleep with this BS playing. I do not know what kept me from ejecting the CD, breaking it in half, & cutting my wrists. I was close.

We finally got to Indy, picked up our tickets, & started rolling around. The NASCAR crowd is truly unique. I know stereotypes aren’t always accurate, but there is always a bit of truth to them. You can find just about every possible NASCAR stereotype in the flesh at a race.

Body hair is disgusting in general, these people wear it as a badge of honor. You could sheer half the crowd like sheep. It looks like the Munsters modeling Abercrombie sweaters. Tank tops (Stylish on men already.) literally disappear like Robin Hood into Sherwood Forest, absolutely disgusting. I was waiting for a miniature band of merry men to pop out of a guy’s back at anytime & rob me of schillings.

Apparently methamphetamine is a much bigger problem in the south than I ever knew because a NASCAR crowd’s teeth fall out like horses from a trailer with the gate unlocked (It happens, trust me.). Nearly half the crowd had summer teeth. Some were here, some were there, & most weren’t there at all. Maybe they are just hard up for cash & don’t understand that the tooth fairy stops coming after the age of 6 or whenever you lose that only set of teeth you are supposed to lose.

Races are really living brochures on why it is a bad idea to pick up a date at a family reunion. :cough: MIAH :cough: Honestly, it is like going to a renaissance fair to figure out why we don’t live in squalor anymore. Or like when your high school stages that car wreck & have the emergency helicopter come in to show everyone why drinking & driving is a bad idea. There are those of us that think it’s a bad idea to sleep with a family member & then there are those that know all to well why it is a bad idea. NASCAR fans know all to well. My only question…Miah…Who is your driver & why didn’t I see you at the race?

NASCAR fans are testaments to the fact it may not be that bad of an idea to let your kids play in the middle of busy streets. Throwing your radio plugged into the wall to your kids in the tub wouldn’t hurt. Hell putting your kids to bed face down in that tub with a few inches of water in it isn’t that bad of an idea. Possibly playing hide & seek with the kids with a running wood chipper in the back yard marked “Hide here!” is acceptable. I may just be a bad person.

After sight seeing & mixing with the culture, we made our way to our seats. As Kelly Rowland sang a beautiful rendition national anthem, my nightmare bulled her way into our row. 2 enormous women plus their enormous significant others slammed into each person they passed as they attempted to reach their seats. It would be way too common. At Indianapolis, you are allowed to bring coolers into the stands. Considering it was supposed to be in the high 90’s & beer costs about $10 a shot…It is a hell of a good idea to bring your own refreshments. It is an even better idea if your party averages the same weight as the Packer’s O-line & you are going to sweat gallons of fluid. These gems didn’t get the memo.

In the 1^st 50 laps of the race…they got up 6 times for beer…annoying enough. Every time, every time, both got up. 4 out of the six times she kicked over my soda. Once over, it began to pour on her foot, she kicked it up splashing Coke all over the lady next to me, looked at me, & kept going without an apology. Really, it was like going bowling with a Mack truck, we were going down regardless of the circumstances. Had I been carrying a box cutter, she would have looked like a wind sock when I was done (A very big one at that.).

The guys in front of us weren’t any better. If you need a definition of typical NASCAR fan, read the above a 2^nd time. They were typical NASCAR fans. Their eyes were quite close together & their teeth were few & far between. What little space existed between the eyes of the kid directly in front of me was covered by a hedge-like uni-brow. He had this high pitched squeal to his voice that was almost incomprehensible &, without the fence surrounding the track, was sure to call in a pack of wild dogs. I at moments thought he was retarded…however the lack of prevalent drool made a diagnosis (& thus me feeling bad now for making fun of him.) virtually impossible.

My issue with him started here. I am 6’2”, when I sat in my seat, my knees touched the back rest of the seat in from of me. When I would sit down, the kid would put his damn elbows on the back of the seat & jack me. I understand once, or twice, but not 18 god damn times. He would then turn around & give me a dirty look. It was one of those uncomfortable situations like when you have sex with your girlfriend a day or 2 before she is supposed to go on the rag & you come up looking like you used her pelvis as a sacrificial alter for Dracula. You just don’t know where to start conversation from there. I have never come so close to standing on my seat & giving someone a flying elbow drop. Had there been folding chairs readily available, Vince McMahon would have been charging $39.99 for the show.

As much as I talk about the goofy crap that goes on, it was seriously a great time. After Running 35^th the whole race, Jr. took the lead with 10 laps to go & ended up 6^th. Clint Bowyer ended up 4^th, & after looking like he was going to win, Kevin Harvick finished 3^rd. Overall it was a great day at the races & I can’t wait for next May & the 500.

I am gearing up for school so there are going to be an increasing amount of blogs to get me into writing shape…Also, an FYI… There are snakes on the MF plane!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Currently Playing…
“Want To”
By Sugarland

(I've packed a cooler & a change of clothes / Let's jump and see how far it goes / You got my heart & your daddy's boat / We got all night to make it float / We could sit on the shore, we could just be friends / Or we could jump in.)

Posted by D. Schwa at 6:37 PM | Permalink | Comments

This past Saturday we rolled up to Mikey’s cabin for some drinking with Mikey, Danny, Luke, Bender, & all the guys. I’ll approach the experience DYK style (Did you know for the confused out there.).

• DYK that a cabin the cabin that was supposedly under an hour away was actually over 2 hours away on our MapQuest print out?

• DYK said print out stated we needed to turn onto County Road B outside of Antigo? The problem…There are 5 County Road B’s between Antigo & the actual B we needed to turn onto.

• DYK that we passed through the Menominee Reservation? I always bring blankets to trade for goods when I know I am going to be on a reservation, like fur traders of the past. For some reason they are never accepted (Don’t ask me if you need that joke explained.).

• DYK that the average property on the reservation contains more 40 ounce liquor bottles than teeth in the resident’s mouth? This is far less than the 32 teeth an adult human is supposed to have though….

• DYK a 2 hour trip can take 3 hours when you are completely lost in the northern wilderness? In retrospect I would have rather taken on the task of riding the mule train to the bottom of Paris Hilton’s vagina to find her G-spot, at least that would have resembled sperlunking.

• DYK 5 beers in the 1^st half hour leaves me inebriated & obnoxious? Strangely this has been known to endear me to people. I call it the Timmy effect…They think I have Down syndrome or struggle to color inside of the lines (I actually mastered that skill a couple years ago, a big panty dropper among the age group I typically date.) & feel bad for me.

• DYK all my friends present at the cabin agreed I use too many big words? I will now be physically counting my syllables about (By clapping of course.) to avoid using anything more than 2 syllables in their presence.

• DYK if you piss on your friends brand new Impala all night, he will not be pleased when it is visible the next morning? You also end up fearing retaliation involving fecal matter the next few months of your life…It’s only fair.

• DYK a crab apple tree provides plenty of ammunition to hammer your friends with? They are great for knocking glasses of beer onto people or just plain leaving welts. Thos same crab apples do not taste all that well when grilled or even ungrilled for that matter.

• DYK if you it is a terrible idea to try to pass out on a wooden swing? There is a lot of additional motion involved.

• DYK that if you do not chew your food, after trying to pass out on a wooden swing, you will vomit identifiable chunks of hotdog? (Seriously)

• DYK that just about every party we end up turns into Reading Rainbow story time for the former Pig Crew? We told stories for 2 or 3 hours the next morning. Those same stories generally are not looked highly upon by adults.

• DYK that given daylight & even a vague idea of our location, we were able to make it home in just under 2 hours, a full hour shorter than it took us to get there?

Thanks to Mikey for hosting us, it ended up being a great time. I have a lot of blog ideas & no motivation to type them. Eagerly anticipate.

Currently Playing…
“Once In A Lifetime”
By Keith Urban

Posted by D. Schwa at 2:58 AM | Permalink | Comments

There was a point where I believed in magic, I was 5 or 6 & undoubtedly still shit in my pants & sucked my thumb. These guys are freaking frauds who make money lying & misrepresenting themselves to people, it is a wonder more are not women.

How this crap is on TV, I will never figure out. Wait, I have. Who is worse than these bullshit idiot magicians. The idiots who watch this shit on a regular basis & believe it is real. They are out there in numbers far greater anyone woudl liek to admit. I unfortunately call some friends. These are the same people that believe that the bullshit Lord of the Rings crap are historical movies & waited in line to see that Star Wars crap on opening night. I would rather watch those ridiculous those Girls Gone Wild commercials over & over again with that terrible steal drum in the background & my screen filled with every whore you can meet on your average college campus.

I have a fantastic idea. I am filming a pilot TV show. Let me run it by you, Paint: Watch It Fucking Dry. Ok, I’ll put it on the air, & then do that media research where they call your house to see who is watching. If you admit to it, I am personally coming to your house to blow your face off. Why? Because you are the same fucks putting Criss Angel on my TV in the morning, screw you.

Then you have the asshole associates of his that “Can’t watch” because “He is too crazy.” To his managers, screw you for helping this glut onto my TV. His parents should be shot for bringing him into the world & his g/f should be beat in the face repeatedly for sleeping with him & creating even a remote chance he will reproduce.

Halfway through ranting to Miah about this, (& after having found Hoosiers, thankfully.) he let me know Criss had been struck by lightening & had been sent to the hospital. I prayed to god he died, I prayed, all unanswered. God must have thought it was too easy of the death for the bastard.

So how do I kill him? My 1^st choice would be to run him through a wood chipper. I would, but he ALREADY SURVIVED GOING THROUGH A WOOD CHIPPER! It must be magic. I can’t make this up, he really did that & people really believed he survived it. How about I give this a shot? How about I shoot him in the face with a 30 ott fucking whatever & take his entire head off. There will be statutes erected in my honor.

Sorry for this, especially to those who love Criss Angel. You can now go back to beating off every time he makes a beer bottle appear from a donkey’s ass. I also apologize for my language, I don’t normally curse in my writing. It should be Criss personally apologizing on here, he is the ass ruining America with his hokey bullshit magic crap. I hate you.

I’ll have another blog up about the county fair today…maybe…I'll be back to my positive self.

Currently Playing…
Your Man
By Josh Turner
“Would You Go With Me”

Posted by D. Schwa at 3:01 AM | Permalink | Comments

I have had a few people tell me to write more…I apologize, I have been incredibly busy as of late. When school starts I will start writing more as I won’t be drinking every night (Although drinking helps me on the creative end of the writing process.).

Tuesday night Rory & I decided to roll down to The Rave in Milwaukee to check out one of my favorite bands Breaking Benjamin. They have a new album dropping next Tuesday (Pick it up.) & I was anxious to hear a little of the new stuff.

We arrived in Milwaukee & parked a ways away from The Rave. We are talking a complete ghetto neighborhood. I have never been stared at more in my life. Anyway…I made sure my doors were locked we started our trek. After what seemed like a 6 hour walk (My bad.) we made it to the show.

The 1^st band, Dropping Daylight was on stage when we got there. I love these guys after seeing the show. They bring a ton of energy to the stage on top of just plain good song writing. Their lead singer is classically trained in piano bringing a whole different feel when they played. I would recommend a couple of their songs…Brace Yourself & Back To Nowhere, it’s all really good stuff.

In any event, I really didn’t set the stage well here. When we walked in The Rave, it was very apparent they did not have air. A 1,000 people packed into a small room with no air, genius. The smell of BO was pungent. I generally hate emo/goth/creepy people, but it never occurred to me they didn’t shower. It was disgusting.

To beat the heat, many decided to take their shirts off. For the men, a terrible idea. I won’t even get into that scenery. For the women, a great idea. It is always a bonus when I can see some 16 year old cans at a rock concert. Well worth the $20 entrance fee.

Anyway… the next band was Evans Blue…I can’t emphasize how much I like these guys. They brought a ton of energy to the show & rocked out. They just released Over to the radio & have previously had Cold (But I’m Still Here) on the radio. I am a huge fan of their song Beg. As usual, check it out.

After Evans Blue, we waited for Breaking Benjamin. I have been waiting for these guys to roll back around for awhile. The wait was worth it. BB opening with Polyamorous, jacking up the crowd immediately. They ripped through their huge songs while also covering Tool’s Sober.

The lead singer was absolutely trashed. From the time he walked on stage to the time he left, he was gripping the mic stand like a fat kid hangs on to a Dilly Bar. It kept him up & he made it so props to him. I will take one shot…To quote Rory, “He definitely is not from Wisconsin.” He struggled to even shotgun beers. He tried three times to get 1 down leaving half bottles twice & spitting the 3^rd half bottle all over himself…Weak.

Breaking Benjamin closed with the Deftones’ Bored (Finally some Deftones that didn’t kill my ears.) & we made our way out. Our adventure was not over yet.

On our way back to my rig we stopped at a gas station…Featuring bullet proof glass around the cashier & an Indian (The country) that spoke no English. Welcome to inner city America.

The gas station was simply an intro course to an inner city license. As we finished the walk we were bombarded with request after request for $2. Always $2…there were guys literally running after us. I wish I could have helped them get sandwiches, but somehow I felt they were being dishonest. It’s more likely my quarters would have been going towards a hypodermic needle (rusty of course) full or heroin or a 40 ounces malt beverage. Here’s an idea, instead of sitting on a street corner chasing my white ass down, try getting a j-o-b…just an idea.

Our final encounter was truly a 1^st for me. We were solicited by a gem of a woman for sex. You have to love prostitutes….The chick had a smoking hot body. You have to love a woman on heroin, it shows commitment to keeping the goods hot. You can try Jenny Craig or Weight Watchers or count calories…but nothing is a substitute for good old heroin…I am serious. The body may have been hot but her grill looked like Beetlejuice from Howard Stern, it scared the hell out of me.

I vaguely heard what she said trying to avoid airborne STD’s, however it was something to the effect that should would blow Rory & I. I didn’t quote any prices, though I wish I had, but I feel strongly $20 would have gotten me far. She then made sure we knew she would be on that corner all night & to make sure we informed our friends of that fact.
I wished I had gotten a price. I mean, I have never nailed a prostitute, although my dating record would lean one to feel otherwise. Think of what you could do to a prostitute…seriously…$20? What does that get you? There is absolutely no nice in the situation. I would work over a punching bag before I ever got near a hooker (On top of laminating my body.). You want to work out some aggression, get a hooker. I am guessing you can punch her in the face, make your elbow disappear, or even play a game of Missing Beer Bottle (I am still working on the rules.). It is just a guess or maybe a hypothesis, but one could ascertain if you are feeding your coke habit sleeping with fat sweaty men, you are game for above average sex. Anyway…just a PSA…

I love you all…I am working on a blog about my medical adventure a couple weeks ago & maybe my trip to the Dieks Bentley concert.

Currently Playing…
“Every Mile A Memory”
By Dierks Bentley

Posted by D. Schwa at 8:56 PM | Permalink | Comments