I consolidated the stories about Fred.


...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. flipaul@yahoo.com

Sunday, June 22, 2014

Man, I Can Fight, Club.

I was in JC Penny's trying on Docker's. Some prissy model kept giving me the eye.
He just stared at me silently. Disapprovingly. Haughtily.
Dude, if you don't stop staring at me, I am going to pop you right in your vacant, stupid, too good looking, face.
Unfazed, he continued to watch me.
If you're looking for a date, I don't swing that way.
Silent glare.
Am I not good enough to shop in your store, is that it?
Unbroken eye contact. This jerk is looking down on me.
OK. That's it pretty boy. You asked for it. 
I stalk over and square up on him. He continues to mad dog me. I reach back as far as I can, to deliver a haymaker. He's a brave one, I'll give him that, 'cause he doesn't even flinch as I hurl all my weight behind one heavy fist.
I catch him right in on a chiseled cheek bone with a rewarding THONK!
His head snaps to the side looking off in an impossible angle, but he doesn't even whimper.
You brave magnificent bastard.
The store manager shouts at me so I have to run out of the store, but my life's mission is now clear. These stoic denizens of the retail world, demand an underground fight club.

Alright, first rule of the fight club is nobody talks about the fight club. Got it? No talking. Ever.
What was that? Did you say something? No? Good. Let's get to it.
Alright, Nike and Adidas, I'll fight you both at the same time. Nobody else jump in, got it? Stay out of it Polo Golf. Yes, I see you Ms. Lululemon, I'll be fine. Maybe later we can go strike a pose, if you know what I mean.
Oh crap, the security guard. Damnit, Active Wear, you were supposed to warn us if you saw him. EVERYBODY RUN! What's wrong with you guys? RUN! 

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Trip To Mars.

Congratulations are definitely in order for my latest accomplishment. I just received a letter from NASA informing me that I have been accepted for their upcoming mission to Mars. Apparently I will be on the maiden voyage that will seek to establish human life on another planet. I will travel seven months in a one man spacecraft and then land on Mars, in what I am told, is a revolutionary method that NASA scientists are almost positive will allow me to survive.

   Oddly enough, I don't really have any responsibilities once I get there, which is good because I don't really have any skills. I would've thought you would have to be an engineer or a scientist to be selected, but I guess not. I offered to take soil samples and perform experiments, but they told me not to touch anything. I'm just supposed to hang out. I guess they'll probably send me supplies or something.

   I'm told that I shouldn't expect immediate retrieval, or more accurately, don't count on ever leaving. The really weird thing is, I didn't even apply. When I questioned NASA about how my name got on the list, I was told that my wife, children, parents, boss, pastor, kindergarden teacher, cousins, grocery store clerks, former Marine Corps buddies, and… well basically everyone I've ever met, signed a petition to send me, on what kinda looks like a one way trip to Mars. It must be because I'm so awesome.

Friday, June 6, 2014

The Transformer Least Likely To Get A Movie.

Oh my God. We're being attacked by giant alien robots. What should I do?

Have no fear, human earthling, Señor Toast is here. A heroic Autobot.
WHA?! A robot? In my kitchen? 
Yes. It is me. A robot. And I am in you're kitchen.
What are you doing here?
I have come to fight evil. That's what Autobots do.
Great. But, where did you come from?
I was disguised in plain sight in the garage. That's what Autobots do.
There's only a bunch of boxes in the garage, but OK. Go do something heroic.
I will…
What do you think I should do?
Go out there and fight them with your lasers and blasters. 
Uhhh. I don't exactly have lasers or blasters. 
I never passed the lasers and blasters qualification course. 
OK… Well how about you transform into your alternate form.
Oh, that's a great idea. Thank you.
You're a toaster?! What good is that? What are you going to distract them with a full breakfast?
Are you going to attempt to electrocute them?
Are you some kind of death toaster?
So you're just a plain old ordinary toaster?
I wish.
But your box says you're a toaster.
The form you see, IS my alternate form. 
Yes human.
Can I get inside to hide from the evil space robots?
No. There isn't any room.
So... you transform from a lame, useless robot into a plain ordinary cardboard box?
Yes. I must seem a technological wonder to your human brain.
My human brain thinks you suck.

Monday, June 2, 2014

Super Secret Undercover Disguise.

My wife works at an upscale health food/grocery store. Sometimes I go in just to say hi, but she is worried that she is going to get in trouble because I am always hanging out, and her bosses think she should be working instead of talking. She also she claims that her work is getting tired of a plumber roaming around the aisles. I guess I don't fit in with the upscale clientele that they are hoping to attract. But I want to see her, so super secret undercover disguises are my only option.
    I need to go as somebody that has money, because those are the kind of clients her store is looking for. Who has more money than an Oil Sheik?

    Oops. I was too conspicuous. In the absence of a single person of Arabic descent in my entire city, my disguise had the opposite effect and drew attention to me and embarrassed my wife to tears. Also my full beard and rather distinctive face were visible to all. Back to the drawing board. 

Apparently ninjas aren't as invisible as one would think. In the desert. In the middle of the day. And swords are somewhat frowned upon in polite society. My wife is threatening to leave me if I ever wear a disguise into her store again. What to do? I can't bear to lose her, but I can't stand to be apart for eight hours either. I know. When are you ever in less of a disguise than when in your birthday suit? But it is verboten to walk around the city naked. Easily solved; I'll just wear an overcoat until I get inside.