Lady Caggiano’s Wild Ride (Get Well Soon)

Before we get started on this  blog, I would like to publicly (kind of) wish Lady Caggiano to get well soon. She recently got into a serious car accident and had to be taken to the hospital. She is relatively OK; she broke her vagina-bones, but she seems pretty upbeat about not being dead, and she apparently enjoys peeing in a cup. To make her feel better, and to explain to all of you readers out there in internetland how she got into an accident, I decided to write a story around her harrowing tale:

The night was cold, wet. It was like that dead hooker that you had to bury in the rain on one autumn day. That is, it smelled kind of funky and it was still struggling a little. Damn corpses. Anyway, I got into my car, listened to the gentle growl emanate from under the hood as I turned the ignition. I didn’t want to head to Pataskala; I didn’t want to even leave my house, but damnit, Minigan guilt tripped me into leaving. “I really want to work on the TV show” he said. “I developed the characters a little more,” he said. What a cunt-stain.  And I never use the word “cunt.” Not unless I am talking about him. I don’t even know why I haven’t stolen this TV show idea and put it together on my own. I guess I like the fact that he immediately includes me on his projects. It makes me feel wanted.

He wouldn't let me go. Oh God, he smelled horrible!

Anyway, my car awoke from its slumber, and The Killers began to blast through the speaker. I smiled. At least the trip over would be a good one. And I could probably just tune Minigan out the entire time. He’ll won’t notice; all he does is rant anyway. God, do I hate him. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I never met him. I am pretty sure everything would be nothing but double rainbows and sex without judgment.

Why he exists is impossible to know for sure, but my guess is that he meant to bring death and sorrow to everything good and beatuiful.

Despite the good feelings The Killers put me in, I still looked back at my apartment building with longing. I normally had this feeling that something terrible was going to happen when I go meet Minigan, but this was different: I felt that my life was more at stake this time. Shaking off those feelings of foreboding, I began my trek to P-town.

My instincts were correct. Unknown to me, Pataskala actually contains the gates to Hell. Which, in hindsight makes perfect sense, seeing as though Minigan lives there. Well, as I was driving towards that town, I saw this red glowing light. It was pulsating, and as I giggled at how funny the word “pulsating” is, some winged, naked, bald man landed on my windshield. Figuring I just hit another gay stereotype who came prancing out of one of the many gay bars that litter The Short North, i was tempted to just continue driving. Grumbling (my conscience got the best of me), I climbed out of the comfort of my car into the cold, dead hooker of a night to examine the damage done.

The man was as muscular as a gay (or as Minigan, the meatheaded douchebag) but he was incredibly ugly. There is no way a gay man is that ugly. I took a second look, hoping that it was Doug that I hit, but sadly, no. The winged man was ugly, but not Minigan ugly, or what I like to call “Dougly” on account of Minigan’s middle name being Doug. Also, although the man and Minigan both smell like pure evil, this man smelled like putrid flesh as well, whereas Minigan also reeks of Axe body spray.   This dude lying in front of my car had a pig snout and a mouth full of brownish yellow fangs that pointed in different directions. The man’s skin tone was a sickly grey, and his bald, lumpy, and misshapen head sat on top of a long and oddly veiny neck . His leathery and taloned wings were bent awkwardly on the wet pavement. I began to wonder what man would wear leathery wings, and came to the conclusion that this guy had to be gay, but one of those rare fugly gay guys that show up every once and a while.

Fun Fact: Minigan can pass as an ugly gay guy.

I leaned over the assumed dead, assumed gay man’s body, wondering whether I should call the cops or roll him into the gutter like the rest of the hit pedestrians, when the man opened his black eyes. I do not mean that they were bruised, or that that his pupils were dilated, but that even the whites of his eyes were black. Sensing that I was looking at some really fucked up shit, I proceeded to get back into my car. I threw the man my insurance card at the man and apologized as I closed the door, but fugly dude let out an ear piercing screech- something that would have annoyed the shit out of a nazgul. The thing jumped onto the hood of my car, crumbling the metal like it was paper.  He then punched through my windshield, but got his massive talon stuck in the tempered glass. I looked around in a panic, but the only thing at my disposal was a copy of “Twilight: Breaking Dawn” that Minigan gave me for my Birthday (which I threw into my car, never to think about again). The Stupid asshole; he knew that I hated Twilight. That’s when I remembered- that dumbass didn’t give me the book, “Twilight,” he gave me a hollowed out copy of “Twilight” with a vampire slaying kit inside. I lunged past the writhing demon hand and reached for the book. As my fingers clasped around the book, the monster’s fingers grabbed a fistful of my hair.  My scalp burned as he thrashed me around the front of my car. Somehow, I was able to open the book and grab the Celtic (for some strange reason, vampires are from Eastern Europe after all) Crucifix. As best as I could, I beat the monster’s wrist with it. Hey- Don’t judge me, I was panicking. What would you have done? The stake Minigan made for me was as dull as one of his lame jokes. Anyway, to my surprise, the creature let out a angry cry, and let go of my hair. It’s long, grey, and taloned hand pulled out of my windshield.

Given the choice between saving Minigan's life and reading a Twilight novel, I would choose the Twilight novel before the person had time to complete the sentence.

At that moment, my foot instinctively pressed down on the accelerator, and my car lurched forward, throwing the winged man over the hood and back onto the pavement. I sped through town, dodging pedestians and other cars like a crazy person, all in an effort to get away from the thing that attacked me. I wasn’t even sure if I was going in the right direction (not that I really cared), I just wanted to get as far away from that monster as possible.

My mind slowly calmed and I found it drifting from the horrors of one monster to another: Minigan. I just knew that he would be sitting at the smoothie place, on his golden “Emperor of Awesome” throne he built for himself, shirtless and oiling up his abs, just waiting for me to show up so that he could put on his pathetic show of impotent masculinity.  Part of me always hopes that he ignites the oil on his body during his traditional fire dance to the Thunder God. And, sadly, everytime he completes the ceremony unscathed, I die a little bit more inside.

I hate him and every single one of his 8 abs.

My mind grew tired of the image of Minigan aflame, so I began to take notice of where I was heading. I was on the freeway, headed East. Fuck. I was still headed towards Pataskala. And not only that, the throbbing glow (I giggled again) was now an even deeper shade of red and took up more of the sky. Something told me that I was going to have to deal with a lot of shit tonight.

The next few minutes were relatively uneventful, the occasional zombie hoard pulling their victim out of a car, shadow creatures crumbling buildings like they were made of cards, sink holes forming in the middle of the road and spewing out thousands of little devil cherubs. You know, the things you normally see in Columbus Ohio. ( I am not even joking, these are all regular occurences here. If you are reading this and do not live in Ohio, keep it that way. Don’t even drive through Ohio. You will be putting yourself and your loved ones at risk.The fact that Minigan also lives within the Ohio borders is only a stronger argument of why you should never come here.) I approached my exit and sighed, knowing what horrors awaited me in the Over Latte Café. Unluckily for the world, but luckily for me, a two story tall shit monster formed at the exit. It wasn’t a solid shit either, it was closer to a thick diarehea shit. It moved around like it was the lava inside of the lamp. It didn’t have eyes so much as sunken pits where eyes supposed to go, but it did have teeth- giant fangs that looked eerily like corn. In fact, to me, it kind of looked like Minigan, probably because they are both huge pieces of shit. Anyway, I was kind of estatic at this new development. I cannot honestly say that it was the happiest I had ever been, since there was a giant shit monster lumbering towards me, but at least it wasn’t Minigan. Also, I remembered the comment I made about 300 words ago, and I let a short “ha” escape my lips.

Minigan thinks that this is what "Goth" looks like. Seriously, fuck this guy.

But due to this laugh, but mostly due to the giant shit monster  stealing my attention,  I was not paying full attention to the road or  the car in front of me slamming on their breaks. Once I noticed that the car in front of me was getting larger at an alarming rate, I in turn slammed on mine, not noticing the slick patch of road that I was careening towards. I hit said patch of slick road, my wheels locked up, and I found my self spinning at an orgasmically terrifying rate. The world outside my car was a blur of reds, blacks, and greys as the world inside my car was filled with my terrified screams. As I was spinning, all I could think about was how I was going to die here on the highway, and it was going to be all Minigan’s fault. That son of a bitch, I thought, I’m gonna haunt the shit out of him.  I skidded to a halt with the passenger side of my car only inches away from the person in front of me. I was about to take a sigh of relief when I looked out the driver’s side window and saw another car barreling towards me. I was paralized with fear, when I realized that it was going to hit me, and all that I was able to do was yell, “FUCK YOU MINIGAN!!!” The car hit my door. Metal crunched.  Glass shattered. Bones broke. Horns blared. Metallica started playing on the radio. I was in Hell.  My nether-regions were in intense pain. I just knew I broke my lady bits. I ended up having to be taken to the hospital because my pelvic bone was broken in 2 places, and that is why I did not come to our meeting on Friday, Minigan.

Minigan- Seriously, that is your excuse?

Ashley- What, you don’t believe me?

Minigan- Of course I don’t. You had demons and shit monsters in it. How could you expect me to believe something like that? But I’m not angry about that. What I want to know is if you realized that you were talking shit on me in your inner-monologues when you told this story to me?

Ashley- What do you mean?

Minigan- I mean that you called my a cunt-stain, and said that you regularly hope I set myself on fire.

Ashley- Well then, I guess you won’t want these cookies I made you.

Minigan- Cookies!?!? FUCK YES I DO!!!

Ashely- [to herself] Ha, ha, men are so easy to trick.

I got him to be the women in this picture. He is sooo my bitch.

Ok, now that I am done sucking Ashley’s metaphorical dick, Let’s get onto this week’s blog!

BLOGGING!!!!!

Just kidding- I’m done. Peace everybody, and Ashley, FEEL BETTER!!!!

Metallica: WTF Magnetic

Don’t you just love fall? All of the leaves start changing colors, The TV starts playing shows that actually don’t suck, Christmas season officially starts (just kidding, it started in August), And most importantly, the dead rise from their graves to feast on the flesh of the living. I am not sure why it always happens this time of year exactly, but there are always documentaries with terrible dialogue on TV this time of year; especially during October. I have decided that this probably due to the amount of candy that is in the stores these days. Seriously, there is a fuck ton of candy around right now.

1 fuck ton of candy

1 fuck ton of candy

So, as usual with my bliggity-blogs, it is time to tell you what interesting things have happened in my life since my last bliggity-blog. The most important thing is that I dead lifted 320 pounds two Mondays ago. For  the fraction of my readers who do not deadlift on a regular basis, dead lifting is when you keep the arc in your back and lift a weighted bar off the ground. That is probably a dangerously bad definition, so I’ll post a video.

Yea, I did that, with twice my bodyweight. I was so psyched about that accomplishment that the next day I decided to try to bench press 225 lbs. That attempt was not so successful.  I would call myself a woman, but that would be an insult to women, especially because the owners showed me a video of a woman who bench pressed 550. This is the conversation:

Me- Hey, can you spot me, I’m gonna try to bench 225.

Owner- Hell yea! You are finally gonna get on the board? Sure I’ll spot you right after this video is over. (while we are watching it) She is about to bench 550.

Me- Damn

Owner-yea, you are about to do half of what she is doing.

I am pretty sure the owner did not intend to figuratively kick me in the balls, but he did. Especially when I could not get 225 up. I was pissed mainly because my chest is strong enough, but my triceps (the back of you upper arm- you know, the part of the arm that if older women don’t work out, it sags and flops around) aren’t strong enough yet. Hopefully next week.

Now for something completely unrelated, here is my blog.

Oh Metallica, how your music entertains me. Whether it’s the fast paced music that helped jumpstart the thrash metal genre, the slow songs like Fade to Black which you can both hold a lighter up for, and head bang to, or even the songs from Load and ReLoad which were not the best, but who can deny that The Memory Remains is a great song. C’mon, they based it off of the movie “Sunset Blvd.” Even if you hate Metallica, you should at least admit that their music isn’t entirely thoughtless like other bands out there. I’m talking about you Papa Roach.

papa

What's Aragon doing in a Modern Rock band?

As some of you may know, I went to the Metallica concert this past Thursday, and I decided that I should share the experience with you. The concert, and the trip to and from Cleveland seemed to have a one word theme: clusterfuck. Thursday was a clusterfuck of events.

The day started out with me at the gym. Nothing too interesting other than me almost severely injuring my back doing squats. I won’t go into details, but I tried to squat 285, and failed. There is no joke here, I’m just a dumbass who decided that he did not need anyone to spot him. I could have seriously hurt myself.

After working out, I went home, showered, and visited my new favorite website (cracked.com) until my brother arrived at 4:00. We headed to Cleveland, while listening to Metallica’s latest album. It was the first time in- I don’t know how long- that he and I spent brotherly bonding time together that didn’t involve alcohol. I was actually kind of nice, come to think about it. We talked about girls, our family, and Grampa’s Cheese Barn. Somewhere on I-71, there was a billboard that said’ “Visit Grampa’s Cheese Barn.”

My brother took one look at the sign and said, “Ya, know what? Fuck Metallica, I want to go to Grampa’s Cheese Barn.”

To which I replied, “I don’t know, we already have the tickets. And I have a feeling that if we go to Grampa’s Cheese barn it won’t be what we are expecting and it may emotionally scar us for life.

My brother laughed at this, and we proceeded to have a conversation of a building shaped like an old man, bent over with his pants down and his butt cheeks spread apart, and the entrance is the anus. Try to get that mental picture out of your head.

grampa's cheese barn

We got to Cleveland, and headed to where the concert was. Neither of us knew where that was exactly (at all), so we decided to follow a guy wearing a Slayer T-shirt, because what bad has ever come of following a stranger that likes death Metal?

The guy is the slayer shirt got too far ahead of us, so we couldn’t follow him anymore, but by then we saw so many people with Metallica shirts on that we knew we were headed the right direction. Once we got inside the arena, I thought it was going to be smooth sailing from there on out; I was wrong. This one security guard, with a hair lip that looked good in comparison to the rest of her face, took one look at me and said “You can’t have that chain in here. You gonna need to take it off. At this point, my brother had his ticket scanned, and was on the other side of the metal detectors. Annoyed, I turned and left the building, and power walked back to my car. While I was on my way, I remembered that it was my dad’s birthday, and I promised that I would call him before the concert. Nothing very interesting came from our conversation, other than me finding out that my little sister ruined the surprise of what we got him(tickets to an OSU football game). She could not have done it in a more unsmooth way. She asked him, “Are you coming out for the game?”

And he replied, “What game?”

My sister then blurted out, “oh, never mind, just kidding.” Sigh, a great surprise ruined by my sister’s big mouth.

Anyway, I was walking back to my car as I talked to my dad and worried whether or not I was going to be let in if I was too late. As I walked passed an abandoned building with signs for the fire department or some shit and I decided that that place was a perfect hiding spot for my chain. I hastily and unceremoniously tossed my chain behind one of the signs and quickly turned back towards the arena. Other than me feeling like I was both littering and could be apprehended for suspected terrorism( I was dressed as a Muslim, it is typical garb for Metallica concerts) that plan went smoothly. At least until I realized that I still had my pocket knife on my keychain. Not wanting to waste more time or potentially get my knife stolen and used in a murder, which I would then get framed for, I decided to thow it out. Saying a solumn good bye to it, I dropped it into a nearby garbage can and headed towards the Arena.

I got in with no further problems, and my brother and I found our seats. Oh, and great seats they were. Directly in the middle, in the balcony. My brother said that he could throw a rock (aka his chapstick- ha what a girl) and hit Lars Ulrich in the balding head. I laughed, not so much at my brother, but at the thought of hitting Lars in the head with something. Don’t get me wrong, I love Metallica, but Lars is a bit of a wiener. If you don’t believe me, fuck a pinecone.

The show was already in progress when we found our seats, some French band named Gorrrorrorrorrurrrrrrrrr (the dude fucking growled it. That is probably pretty damn close to the actual name) was the opening act. I couldn’t understand a word the lead singer was saying, but since he is French, I’m assuming all the songs were about baguettes, hairy legged women, and surrendering to the Germans.

The Next band to play was Lamb of God, which when my brother realized that they were about to play, he had an orgasm. Don’t ask how I know. I could actually understand this band, and they were  pretty good, so hooray for them for being intelligible. Right after Lamb of God finished their set, these two hardcore metal heads sat down to my left. In what I assume must be 80’s heavy metal fashon, they both pulled out their cell phones, and started texting. Who can blame them, really? Texting is very hardcore. “Woo! Leather n metal lol!!! These guys were too hardcore for the new Metallica, and they left in the middle of Metallica’s set. What cock bags.

While we are on the subject of people I was sitting near, it was a good thing that I did not have my chain with me, otherwise I would have chocked the two fat bitches that were sitting behind us. They were louder than the music at times. They were like two fat white howler monkeys.

Finally, the main event, Metallica. The Arena goes black. What little light that is shining shows smoke drifting lazily over the stage. A recording of their song “Ecstasy In Gold” starts playing. The crowd starts cheering, and I feel goosebumps start climbing up my forarms. These goosebumbs sprint up the back of my neck and down my spine once the drums start. The song, like a war march, is strong, orchestral, and has a voice even without lyrics.

As that song finishes, another sound comes through the speakers: a heartbeat.  People begin to cheer, and I know that the band is approaching the stage. Suddenly, lasers kick on, and the band begins to play. The lasers danced like dozens of neon anorexic strippers on speed, dazzling me, blinding me, making me want to throw up a little. I wanted to sing along, but the song is so fast paced and I haven’t memorized the lyrics to the point where I can confidently sing along.  It would have been perfect if the douchebag next to me wouldn’t have been texting.

I won’t bore you with the details of the entire concert, but there were still more interesting things to come. During one of Metallica’s greatest hits(I mean this song is a “they play this at every concert,” hit This song is their “freebird”) more commonly known as One, the sound system blew out. At first I yelled, “What the fuck” which if you think about it, is a perfectly reasonable response. For a minute I seriously thought I went partially deaf. The worst part is, I thought that, and then just shrugged it off, because this concert was that important for me. The sound quality once the speaker blew out wasn’t terrible, but my side of the arena was getting the echo from the working speakers.  This caused every one of Kirk Hammet’s solos to be a clusterfuck of random sounds.

I really feel bad for Metallica in all of this. It wasn’t their fault the sound system went down, in fact, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that Lex Luthor had something to do with this. He hates Metallica almost as much as that dude from Megadeth that no one gives a shit about (look that joke up). Think about it. You haven’t been in Cleveland for five years, and the next time you go there, you’re being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Wouldn’t you want to put on an amazing concert for that city, even if it is home of the Browns? Fuck yes you would. But then, the new Roadie fuck up the sound system and you may have lost your fan base in an entire city. They did eventually get it fixed, but towards the end of the concert it went out again, and that sucked.

After the concert was over, my brother and I headed back to my car. I retrieved my chain from behind the sign, and said a silent prayer for my pocket knife. I really liked that knife; it had my name engraved on it, how could I not like it. It combines my two favorite things: Me and cutting things.

Anyway, it was about midnight when we left Cleveland, and headed back to my house. The trip was relatively uneventful, other than when I got pulled over for going 76 in a 65. That was the first time I have ever gotten pulled over, and luckily for me, the cop only gave me a warning.  We got to my house around 2:30 Friday morning, and I immediately went to bed, because I’m stupid and felt morally obligated to go to class the next day.

So that is my story of the Metallica Concert. If there is one thing that I learned from the whole experience, it is take all potential weapons off your person before leaving the car. Oh, and there are only 5 hot girls in Cleveland, and they were all at the Metallica concert.

good night and good…ummm… fuck?

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