Yes, Six Weeks.
Tuesday, March 09

February? Fuck February. February sucked so much dick it that scientists would have to come up with a graph and a type of measurement that specifically means "amount of cock" in order to determine that shit. Whatever with February. Spiny, cold, cackling bitch of a month that was. Shit.

My friend Ted's bachelor party was last Friday and Saturday. It was at a Dave and Buster's in GOD DAMNED MARYLAND and everyone was invited. And you better believe that the fact that Maryland was involved had me buying up on Nyquil to dump into my double Jack and Coke's. I have never had a decent experience in that god awful state as long as I've been alive. The people there are terrible, oblivious Democrats with savage-level standards about humor and politics. Most of Baltimore is a fucking hardcore ass ghetto, you can't visit Inner Harbor without being hounded for handouts, nobody in the entire state can drive, Michael Phelps. There's a reason why the welcome sign says "THANKS FOR VISITING!"; no intelligent person stays there for very long if they can help it. If our hotel wasn't in Rockville, I probably wouldn't have gone. I did get sick a couple days before hand and could've easily bailed on the whole deal. Rockville and Bethesda, shitty and loathsome as they are, are probably the only "decent" places to do anything in the entire fucking state.

Well, Emily and I drove up to Baltimore to see the aquarium and check out the jellyfish exhibit. I figured, whatever it's Inner Harbor, the place is at least clean and there's a ton of things to do there. The drive up wasn't bad, and neither was actually getting to and through the aquarium. That much was actually fun. It was the getting out and getting to Rockville that was the bitch. Baltimore doesn't want you to leave, it wants to keep you there so you can hang out with Tyrone and Prakesha and get mugged by Shauntel. It wants your nice car to get destroyed by the neanderthals that zip around in their beat up Chevy Malibu's. Baltimore thrives on your pain and suffering, it's prey is anyone with nerve endings and a thinking, feeling brain. It arranges events and systems, devices and mechanisms designed to thwart your escape at every means. Ever met anyone from Maryland? Ever met anyone, SPECIFICALLY, from Baltimore? Retards. Brain dead, humorless tree bark dirt people. Peasants, "people" that are satisfied with what they have with no desire to have anything more. And it's because Maryland is a leech, a constant siphon sapping energy from it's inhabitants and visitors so that the black hole can strengthen, grow larger in order to consume surrounding mass. SO, we leave the aquarium and decide we want to check out a local Best Buy so I can size up their Geek Squad and buy a DS charger when out of nowhere this black guy in a nice jacket starts yelling "Hey fellas! Hey! Hey fellas!" He's kinda jogging up to us so I decided to stop and see what the hell he wants, I already figure it's something about money just by the faux-generous plastic smile on his face. What ensued was one of the most inane, coked out babbling stupors I've ever seen in my life. He just rabbled incoherently, something about being a Marine and how his ship just came in and his girl is over there somewhere and he needs help getting a cab back to get up the street and no he doesn't want my girlfriend and can I hold his sunglasses. Eyes just darting every which way, constantly wiping his nose with his knuckles and repeating himself, what the hell. FInally he gets to the point where he's gonna ask for some money, now that he's done his buddy-buddy spiel. "I just need a DOLLAR EIGHTY-SEVEN so I can get up the street." Okay, finally, now I can get this fucker out of my face. I take out my wallet and immediately realize, "This asshole is gonna see me open this wallet and start asking for more money". Precisely what he did too, immediately the babbling turns into "Yeah, yeah, yeah, FIVE DOLLARS should be good enough. Yeah five dollars, or TEN DOLLARS should do it. Yeah-yeah-yeah, ten dollars." Too bad for this sloppy fuck, I only had four singles. I gave him the four, told him that it was all the cash I had on me, and sent him on his way. Well, by sent him on his way I meant watched him leap at this four high school looking dudes on the stairs in front of us and start calling them "good looking Marines".

Best Buy was an in and out. No story there.

Now only if Baltimore was an in and out. We were given the wrong address by one of my fucked up friends so our Garmin had no clue where the fuck we were trying to go was and in an attempt to not look like a tard I just started driving while Emily attempted to sort everything out. Well, nothing got sorted out and we ended up in the ghetto. If you've never seen a Baltimore fringe-ghetto then you won't really understand what was going through my mind every time I hit a red light on the neverending labyrinth that is "Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard". I was certain one of the awkward staring hood rats around me was going to try and wash my windshield with a an old t-shirt soaked in kerosene and wrapped around a rake. Half-way through the slum I watched, studied, observed, noted a roving band of youths kinda cross the street. When I say kinda, I mean about three or four of them crossed half-way, stopped, then turned to their screaming friend who was back on the curb and stared at him. Just stood there and stared. He's just screaming his head off and waving his hand in a "come-over" motion, actually a fay kinda "come-towards" motion which is a duller, more limp-wristred dangling flap than it is a wave, while his homies are standing in the middle of the street chewing on their drawstrings. Eventually the friends went on their way, every couple of feet stopping to turn around and stare some more at their friends, but the little shit back on the curb has now graduated from screaming and entered in the fine institution of staring at traffic. That greasy little hand of his still flapping for his friends to return, but instead of making contact with his friends, he's just staring into the cars with his mouth open. What the fuck is it with simple mud people staring? Are they thinking? Can they not think and keep their mouth closed at the same time? If they think and keep it closed do they run the risk of suffocating, because breathing carries with it so many obligations? I hate people who stare, well at least stare simply. And children who stare? Oh dear holy fuck, I'd rather have my skin peeled off my skull and force fed to me.

Saw a correctional facility that was once a school.

Some random piece of shit drove around me, nearly heading into oncoming traffic on his way. He also shrieked something out his window at me, but I can't understand hoots and grunts so, there wasn't much there.

Eventually we made our way into Rockville/Bethesda where we had a decent time at Dave and Buster's until we realized that I had lost the keys and they were nowhere to be found. Had to get a new one cut and everything.

Maryland. What a bitch.