Sorry New Bedford’s Classic Treasure, The Bookmobile.
You’ve Been Orientally Pwned!
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Helmets Required On Site. Or When Planning To Tolchock Some Old Veck In An Alley And Viddy Him Swim In His Blood.
Bangkok Construction: Real Horrorshow
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Hey Ladies! Saved You A Place. At The Back Of The Line.
In a crossover worthy of Allen Iverson himself, I am presenting here my latest contribution to my other most worthy endeavor: ClassicChad.com. What’s ClassicChad.com you ask? Better question: What isn’t ClassicChad.com? Next question.
Chad is a man. But so much more. Chad is anything and everything. Chad is… chad. He’s a likely body double for Robin Williams. He’s a wink and a smile. He’s a cardboard sign that attempts to say Bundaberg, but truly says possible rapist. He’s the fine line between love and hate. He’s a man who found the one thing, that once put in his mouth, is only rivaled by a man’s penis in ultimate gayness. He’s a man who refuses to wear a hat that can be described as a Kangol, or a beret, causing the creation of the fashion phenomenon, the Kangeret. He’s the glue that forever binds four roguish boys from England, and three of America’s finest bachelors, into a super-team reminiscent of The Justice League of America. The Seven Samurai. The seven coolest characters from Ocean’s 11. The Seven Deadly Sins. S Club 7. All rolled into one ragtag band of brothers, skating through life on a patch of ice called a dream. A true Flying V. He’s a man who proves eloquently, that you can let the passion pop, but you can never pop the passion. To Chad.
Random Pai thoughts while waiting for breakfast:
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The french toast at Pai Country is awesome. I got two orders.
UFC 110 on One leaves me longing somewhat for the corner chats. UFC isn’t pay per view overseas, thereby, commercial breaks.
Bader took Keith Jardine’s soul. Seeing as how Thiago Silva had already taken his soul however, was there any soul left for Bader to take? Has Keith Jardine split his soul into seven, He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named style? Looking further into the past, did Houston Alexander also puncture the Dean of Mean’s attempt at eternal life with his uppercuts of pure Baselisk venom?
More guys need to copy the Phil Davis knees. Vicious. (UFC 109)
Sure would have loved to hear Greg Jackson in the corner after Round 1 of Sotiropoulos-Stevenson.
Would have parlayed Bader, Wanderlei Silva, and Cain if I was a betting man. To be fair though, I did see Wade Gome’s Facebook status post-fight, which read, “Cain’s a beast.” before I came to this decision, so that may have influenced my thoughts a bit. Still haven’t seen the second half of the card yet, so I haven’t had a chance to see how gifted I am with predictions.
I just hit the play button on my computer to restart UFC, it un-paused the current song on iTunes instead, unleashing what may in fact be the greatest opening line of a song, in the history of opening lines and songs. “Now the midget jumps out of the cabinet, and stumps the policeman on his toe!” Thanks R. Kelly, thanks.
Glad to see Joe “Daddy” get Oi Oi Oi’d by Sotiropoulos. Something about his overt love for his children bothers me.
Couldn’t cut it. Seriously, two orders of french toast and somehow there is two extra pieces on both orders. That’s 16 pieces of eggy bread. I hit eleven and the wall at the same time.
If I ever have the need for an assistant, I insist that it be Jean Ralphio from Parks and Recreation. Daaaaaamn!
Bader. Silva. 2-0 at the moment.
Still a huge fan of Zane Ritt’s description on his Facebook page. Disappointing the ladies since 1986. Stay classy, Oregon.
Bandages are off the knee and hand now. Looks like I escaped infection. I felt a bit dicey about it when upon the third changing of bandages at the hospital, the nurse looked at my knee, and just said “Not good”. Followed by the word yellow. And that was the wound that I considered to be the good one. Go figure. Couple more days and I can start putting aloe on them. By the way, actual aloe in plant form is crazy. It doesn’t even make sense. It’s just a plant loaded with goo. Wild.
Visa runs out tomorrow. Bus was booked to Vang Vieng. Didn’t want to pay the 500 baht fine for staying a day late so I paid 850 baht to make a 15-day visa run to Mae Sai instead. No slow boat available now. The water level in the Mekong is too low. I seem to be seeing the same weather conditions with local vaginas.
Jean Ralphio’s judging regarding Cain Velasquez: Daaaaaaamn!
I’d like to see Bonnar win this fight right now. I don’t like Soszynski for some reason. I bet he loves his children.
That parlay was mine. Would have been paid in the shade. Maybe I’ll try 111. Feels pretty risky though, at the moment I’ve got a gut feeling about Dan Hardy but that might just be insane. Mir and Carwin, I’d probably shoot for Carwin.
Loved Christian Slater on The Office. Not loving Kathy Bates. Also, now a huge fan of the term bro-workers.
Total distance traveled by motorbike today: 138.5 kilometers (86.06 miles)
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Detailed Breakdown:
Distance from Pai to Chiang Mai: Approximately 135 kilometers (84 miles)
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Distance traveled around Pai main streets aimlessly: 0.5 kilometers (0.31 miles)
Distance from center of Pai to spot on 1095 across from the rickety shack where I dumped my bike super fancy digger style: 1 kilometer (0.621 miles)
Distance from the spot where I kneed the pavement Double Dragon II style to Pai Hospital: 1 kilometer (0.621 miles)
Hobbly steps from Super Cool Bike 97 to Emergency Room entrance: 90+
Time spent in Emergency Room: 20 minutes
Cost for visit: 372 baht ($12)
Amount of blood on Converse Jeans: Too much
Distance from Pai Hospital to Chiang Mai: 136 kilometers (84.5 miles)
Distance traveled unmarred by unnecessarily rad diggers: 136 kilometers (84.5 miles)
Times almost going off the road on one of the 762 curves along the slightly mountainous journey: 3
Times almost drifting head-on into a surprisingly huge silver pickup truck: 1
Distance collision was narrowly avoided by: Less than a meter (3.28 feet)
Number of skinny cows seen grazing along the side of the road: 8 or so
Number of ripped up knees: 1
Number of now badly bruised painful bitch wrists: 1
Number of cool looking bandaged left hands: 1
Top speed hit on a straight patch of road: 92 kilometers/hour (57.17 miles/hour) Number of crazy fresh Lil’ Miss Bossy T-Shirts: 1
Back in Sydney for New Year’s Eve. Took the 7 PM bus from Melbourne yesterday and arrived early this morning. Too early. We got in at 6 AM instead of 7. I wasn’t pleased. More time on the bus meant less time on the street. And it started to drizzle as we pulled up. And I checked the map and realized that the bus drop-off point was further away from my destination than I imagined. Nice combo. I tried to take a nap in the train station for a little while. I’m fairly certain that it was successful for a little while at least. Tough to judge. I was hoping that it would be warm out so I could take a nap in the park for a few hours. It isn’t. On the bright side, I’m no longer saddled with my hefty bags. I traveled down to King’s Cross to visit my old hostel and left my bags there under the staircase, Harry Potter style. They should be safe there until tomorrow. I will still have nowhere to sleep tonight after the fireworks, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. The weather definitely isn’t as nice as I was expecting so that will pose a problem, but things will sort themselves out I imagine.
Within the next 24 hours, Frank and Joe Hardy will have unraveled one of the greatest mysteries of them all: The Great Sydney Train Robbery. Once they’ve finally cracked the case, clicking the book below will make you an honorary Bayport detective, giving you exclusive access to the entire caper.
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It’s been cracked! The Hardys have done it again! Open the book to join the Bayort Police Department as a junior detective to wrap this case up for yourselves…
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Thank you to those who have requested my super secret post. I was going to send it to each person individually, but once Fenton Hardy was called in, my secret was bound to come out. As you know, the Hardys have never lost a case. And I have no illusions of being the first. So a compromise has been made, and it will appear on my site, it will just involve a bit of sleuthing.
If you need a reminder, read this: http://www.thomday.com/?p=725. Otherwise, at long last, I present to you: the video of Rosie the wallaby. See yah, wouldn’t wallaby yah!
This is the return of Gilly. (Notice, not Gully. Impossible to tell the difference when you’re hearing them say it. Very possible to tell the difference when it is written.) I will quote Joe here from the email he sent me explaining this picture. “This is Gilly. A friend and his family were walking along Rabbit Island and called to this bird overhead on the off chance it was Gilly. Next thing, they have company for their walk. He was with them for over an hour. At present he is on his box in the backyard, as I am working on a shelter for a baby Heron. From time to time he will walk over and inspect my work, say something, and go back to his box. He is only 10 months old and alot bigger than the little half drowned chick Mana got to save. He still comes back home most every day and will walk all over the farm with you and loves to watch any work, especially gardening. Last week he landed on my head, then shoulder as I rode the quad bike. He fell off, so flew along side at about 2m off the ground. Regards, Joe.” Pretty cool. That is one badass bird. I mean, I love the birds that fly into the McDonalds and Hungry Jack’s here, grab french fries off the ground, then fly upstairs to enjoy them in a more peaceful environment, but still. Gilly takes it to the limit.
Melbourne. October 30th. Impro Melbourne Halloween Classic. End of Act Two. The performers go off for a brief intermission before the final act of the night. The audience is notified that during this final act, an audience member will be needed to participate. If they dare. I sit in that audience. Alone. Daring. Dared. The performers reassemble. The stage creaks and groans beneath their feet. My feet steady. The fast twitch muscle fibers in my right arm ready themselves to be called upon at a moment’s notice. The moment comes. The word volunteer rings out and my arm explodes toward the night sky. I can touch the moon if I so choose. But not tonight. There is a job to do. I step on stage and disappear…
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This is the first half hour or so, of my time on stage. I recorded with my camera, but I was enjoying the show and didn’t want to be focusing on the filming aspect. So I just pulled the audio off. For those who are interested, this should be watched before the video to immerse yourselves in the full magical experience.
This is the climactic finale to the thom day saga. My character, thom, performs a beautiful solo, while the others dance around in wonder and amazement.
Right now, thomday.com is a little bit of everything. It's still in an early stage of development, but it's ready to be seen. Some of its purpose: part confessional, part blog, part travelogue, part notepad. The main goal: a forum for me to say whatever it is I have to say, to whoever it is I have to say it to. And if those intended ears remain closed, my words will echo in the ears of many. Those echoes will then carry far and wide until they are meant to be heard.
