Wednesday, March 29, 2006


Stolen from T-Shirt Hell newsletter....

This shit cracked me up and since I don't think any of you are as nasty and disgusting as I am you probably haven't visited this disgusting website...that I find highly humorous, here is the site, so read and enjoy.

T-shirt hell Mid MArch Newsletter:

There is big news from the world of Scientology. Scientology's most well-known face and its' biggest celebrity, Tom Cruise, has just become an OT VIII (Operating Thetan level 8), the highest OT level a Scientologist can reach. At this stage a Scientologist is capable of flying, can become invisible, read and control people's thoughts, move objects with his or her mind, and do virtually anything else that we mortals consider inconceivable. I wanted to talk to Cruise about this, so I decided to contact him. But before I could he called me up and said he'd be glad to do it. Then he told me to turn off the oven before cookies burned. Oh he's good. Anyway, Tom and I later met up at his compound. I'd give you a location, but Tom's compound is wherever his mind feels like creating it. So we met at a Dunkin' Donuts and I just let the beauty envelope me. Here is the conversation that took place.

T-SHIRT HELL: Thanks for joining me here Tom.

TOM CRUISE: You need not thank me, for we are all responsible for our own . . . things.

TSH: Our own things?

TC: Yes.

TSH: Alright. So, tell me a little about your path to becoming an OT level . . .

TC: An OT level 8? I knew you were going to say that. For Xenu has opened my mind's other mind. Now I can see that past, present and future are all intertwined.

TSH: Yeah. And plus I told you that's what we were going to talk about.

TC: Maybe Xenu has just made you think that you already told me, so that your mind is not blown by my awesome power.

TSH: Okay, I can see where this is going. So Tom . . .

TC: You may address me as Tom.

TSH: (sigh) So, TOM . . . what was it like going from OT I to OT VIII? Tell me a little abo-- Why are you taking your pants off?

TC: Xenu has willed it. Do not worry. I will blind your eyes to the power of a Level 8's body, so that you may not be blinded.

TSH: Keep your pants on, you weird fuck! We're in the middle of Dunkin' Donuts, for God's sake! Oh, that's just great. You just made that little girl cry.

TC: That little girl is being attacked by body thetans. I will sooth her by smearing her with Xenu's magical potion. (Tom begins masturbating near the little girl)

DUNKIN' DONUTS MANAGER: What the fuck are you doing, you sick asshole! Get the fuck out of my store! (Tom strips down to nothing and starts rolling around in the donut display)

TC: I'M FLYING! I'M FLYING! (With the help of two fellow employees, the Dunkin' Donuts manager pummels Tom Cruise and ejects him from the store. I go outside to finish the interview with a naked, bloody Tom Cruise)

TSH: Well . . . thanks for the interview Tom.

TC: No problem. You wanna come by the house later and tea-bag Katie?

TSH: Sure.

TC: See ya then.

So that was my evening with Tom Cruise. All in all I was very pleased with the meeting. And I'm proud to announce that Tom pulled some strings, and for the low price of $100,000, I became an OT III. I haven't yet found inner-peace, but I've become really good at parallel-parking. Bye for now (p.s. - Katie's a biter).

Saturday, March 25, 2006



Bouby and I made our bi-monthly trip to Costco today. She wanted to buy and try a new snack chip because she likes to take a small bag of crunchy stuff to gnaw on during the day. Last time we were there she got the “Soy Crisps” cheese flavor, and they were good, and good for you. So we were looking for something similar.

We found something called “Stacy’s Pita Chips” the “Simply Naked” variety, They sounded good, baked and with just a touch of sea salt, No Cholesterol, ALL NATURAL.

So she cracked open this bag while I was outside enjoying one of my many and diverse vices…I was smoking a cheap cigar…..and when I came in I saw the open bag and asked “SO how are they?”

She made a weird face and said “well…… “ and handed me one.

They need to re-name these “Stacy’s Beaver snacks”

They are like buying a big bag of wood chips.

Lightly salted wood chips.

I think I could use these things to line a gerbil cage. Or shingle a fucking house. I chipped a tooth just trying a get a snack.

I can see a whole family of beavers sitting around in the dam with a bag of these things looking at each other and going” Goddamned this motherfuckers are good! Pass the fucking sap! I could eat these motherfuckers all fucking day!!”

Yes my Beavers are from the Ghetto, so fucking what.

I get on an Airplane tomorrow headed to Orlando. Another trade show for the masses. I love these things. I get to act like a dork and talk to people like I know what the hell I’m talking about it is fun. (EDITED FOR CONTENT)

Sorry I went a little out abounds there and had to censor myself so if anyone reads this that I work with wouldn’t tell anyone and I wouldn’t get into a fist fight at work.

So Anyway I’m in Florida for 2 ½ days.

Just when the weather was getting nice enough to play golf here.

Thursday, March 23, 2006


Ornery VI

Ornery VI

I was going to tell you about the time me and my bestest friend in the whole world were showing anyone who wanted to see (the three girls in the back of the bus) our tiny 2nd grade wieners but hey who hasn’t done that right? There was also the time I pants Nancy and was sent to the principal’s office THE NEXT DAY!! So I went to school wearing 5 pairs of underwear so that when I got my ass whipping, which was the norm in Kansas in the 70’s, just so I wouldn’t feel the ass whipping…He didn’t spank me and I was incredibly uncomfortable all day.

But those are all just kids stuff next to a boy and his dog.

I got my very first dog and my best dog when I was 7. My dad had some men out to the house to build a hay barn on the back of the regular barn. For those of you who don’t know what a hay barn is think roof no walls 20-25 feet tall. So there were these guys out there and they were putting the tin on the roof and I was just getting up and around…yes I used to sleep almost 8 hours a night, and anyway as I walked outside to watch them work, I ran into a dog.

Now my dad didn’t raise no dummy and he had told me that a strange dog was nothing to mess with and never to pet a stray. So armed with this knowledge I did what any redneck boy in my situation would do…I ran out and started playing with him. I petted him and scratched his belly, and he was attached at my hip for most of the morning. I can remember running around the front yard with the smell of summer grass in the wind and the heat starting to rise while I ran and tumbled and played with this strange dog.

I ran to the back of the house and was playing near the construction and I hear this voice from above;
“Hey Kid! You like that dog?!”
I looked up into the morning sun, barely making out the man’s face, and I yelled back a resounding “YES!!”
“Well do you wanna keep him?”

I stood there dumbstruck.

“Well DO YA?!!
I yelled back “I hafta ask my Dad!!”

I ran for what seemed like forever, (I looked last time I visited my Dad it is really about 40 feet), into the house and yelling for my dad the whole way…DAD!! DAD!!! DAAAAADDDD!!!

He stuck his head out of his bedroom and yells back “WHAT!!! JEA-SUS CHRIST IS THE HOUSE ON FIRE??

I reply “themanoutsidewantstogivemehisdog!!!” “canikeephim?”

He naturally looked at me like I had just grown 3 heads and told him that Jello would make great wall supports, and said;
I replied “themanoutsidewantstogivemehisdog!!!” “canikeephim?”

He started laughing and told me to slow down.

I replied The Man outside wants to give me his dog…can I keep him??

Naturally all I thought all I needed was a yes or no answer but now that I’m older I know that there are a lot of variables like how big is this dog, what is wrong with this dog and why would someone give away a good dog?

Dad asked one question half to himself half out loud “Why would anyone give away a dog?”

See, back in those days in the middle of nowhere Kansas there were NO pets. If you owned a dog he better have a secondary skill and that skill had better not be sitting on someone’s lap and nipping at anyone’s hand that comes near it. If you had a dog in Kansas it better herd cattle, hunt pheasant, or be able to run down a coyote on the open plains. So my Dad’s question was more poignant then I knew at such a tender age.

Dad walked outside and told me to point out the man who wanted to give me a dog. I pointed at the man and the dog ran over and sat down next to me as if on cue and Dad looked at me and the dog and asked the man if what I had told him was true and the man yelled back down “yes” and then dad looked back at me and the dog…he looked back at the man and my heart sank.

I just knew he wasn’t going to let me keep this dog. He asked one more question “What’s wrong with him?”

The man explained that he had got this dog to herd cattle and he needed a “heeler” and this was a head dog..(a heeler is a dog that herds by nipping the heelers and a head dog drives by nipping at the nose of the cattle, this dog was a head dog) So he wasn’t what the guy was looking for…..little did I know.

So Dad looked down at me and back up at the guy gave a little smile and said “Your Mother is going to beat both of us”…….”Ask the man what his name is”

I could barely get the words out fast enough.

The man yelled down …..

“His name is Bruiser”

Bruiser and I were fast friends and I found out why he didn’t work for the old boss. He was a head dog and that instinct was built in through his DNA and this asshole had tried to change 300 years of built in instinct and beat Bruiser trying to get him to change his ways. Every time some one would raise their arm too quick Bruiser would cower and roll on his back in pure fear. The only thing that would get him to stop was love.

I mean it too we would have to get on our hands and knees and hug and pet on him every time we moved too fast, or accidentally scared him while trying to pet him. For the first year we had quite a time of fast handed kids and cowering dogs. But the make up scratching and petting was the best!

Bruiser was a Catahoula Leopard dog you can learn about them here he was a smaller dog, maybe 20 inches at the shoulder and 45 lbs tops. But he was also just like my dad (5’6” 140) small and tough as case hardened nuts.

My parents owned a livestock auction when I was a kid, my mother was the first licensed female auctioneer in the state of Kansas…EVER. She is a bad ass too, but anyway Mom and Dad owned a sale barn. Sale every Wednesday Horse sale every other Saturday. One day I asked if we could take Bruiser with us to the sale barn, Dad said he didn’t see why not and off we went. Dad, I , the older brother and our dog all packed into the front of the Ford Pick up.

As we pulled into the parking lot we were laughing and having a good time doing only God knows what. Dad put the truck in park , we open the door and jump out. The wind must have been blowing out of the west that day because we all heard a dog bark from behind the sale barn. We had forgot one detail.

There were a couple of old farmers who had a couple if dogs and they WERE BIG!! One was a black lab around 100 lbs, and the other one was a German Shepard again around 100 pounds. Dad had forgot there might be a problem with these two dogs and our one little one. Well Dad being Dad said “Get back in the truck boys”

We didn’t move because we were busy watching Bruiser. He was trotting in a circle and sniffing things and was completely oblivious to the impending fight. I can remember looking up and seeing one dog coming one way and the other one coming from the other way.

I also remember thinking


Then, the most incredible thing I have ever been a witness to in my life happened. It had never happened before and it still makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up 31 years later.

Bruiser growled.

Not a regular old “Hey knock it off! I’m doing something here, growl”

He made a noise completely unlike anything I had , and never wish to hear ever again. ALL of the hair on my body stood up. Dad froze in place. And the charging dogs stopped, the two GIANT dogs we had seen fight anything with legs and smelled like a dog for years, stopped charging. I don’t mean they quit running, I mean THEY STOPPED. Both dogs had heard Bruiser and their legs locked up and they slid to a stop within 3 feet of Bruiser and the three of us.

Tails up. ears up, frozen like statues. They stood completely still and didn’t move a single, solitary muscle.

My mouth hung slack and open.

Bruiser looked like he was the most playful dog on the planet and he almost “skipped” around the other two dogs smelled their asses and looked at their faces, licked his chops and then he dismissed them.

He didn’t stop looking at them or start ignoring them he DISMISSED them with a small woof.

Like a General who inspects the troops. He was done with this riff raff and he told them to beat it.

Dad looked at us and we looked back, we all looked at Bruiser who just cocked his head and asked;


There was a new Sheriff in town and his name was Bruiser. AND he was my best friend.


HNT and quiz time

Here is my donation! can you see why Bouby is so happy?

I also took a Quiz from Clarity....LOOKS Like We're Moving!!

Germany is the PERFECT place for you!
Germany is the PERFECT place for you!
Take Should you move to Germany? today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Personality Test Generator.

Willkommen in Deutschland!!

Germany seems to be the ideal place for you to live!

You need a thick skin, good cleaning skills and shouldn't have any subjects that you're not comfortable talking about.

In exchange you get good food, solid friendships, strong coffee and 6,000 different brands of excellent beer!

Bring warm clothing for the streets and your birthday suit for the house. Be prepared to party until 5 A.M., but don't expect to go shopping on a Sunday. Invest in a good pair of walking shoes and pull your old ten-speed out of the Garage.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006


Ornery V

I had a small flashback last night playing Darts and this is that tale....

Ornery V

From the last bit of writing you will remember that Snoopy was our first pony, and a better babysitter you couldn’t have asked for. Our mother used to help us saddle him when we were too young to do it ourselves (4-5yrs old) and then she would go back in the house make sure we didn’t need anything and then she would run to the store.

I know in today’s day and age that would get her in trouble, but if you had the choice of leaving your two demon spawns with a horse or taking them out in public and endangering the lives of good hard working citizens….what would you do?

Well Snoopy was the greatest horse ever. He would allow two little kids to treat him like a jungle gym. We could walk under his belly, and climb using his tail, and hang from his mane…all the stuff we later learned that you aren’t supposed to be able to do with out getting bit or kicked or stepped on. We loved that little horse. We ended up selling him to another farm family just down the way a bit ( see that is a colorful country colloquialism used to say “up the street” or “down the road” or even just “our neighbor”), Clayton was a boy about 6 and he needed a good horse for him and his sister to ride and Snoopy was the horse for the job. Snoopy was 28 when we sold him. As Clayton and his sister got older their need for a pony grew smaller and they eventually sold him to a family in Nebraska who had small kids and needed a good horse. Snoopy was 32. We later learned that Snoopy was being used as the rodeo horse he was destined to be by running barrels with tiny people holding on for dear life to an equally tiny saddle.

Snoopy died one winter when the owners turned him out to pasture and the weather turned icy and he froze in the Nebraska sand hills.

Snoopy was 38.

When my older brother and I still owned Snoopy, we had some city slicker cousins come for a visit one summer. They were from Virginia and they didn’t have any horses. Since we had our own big horses and they weren’t experienced enough to ride solo we decided that best course of action would be to hook up the pony cart.

Snoopy had his own chariot. It was a two wheeled two person (4 if your butts were small enough) bench buggy. Dad had a full harness for him and he looked sharp with his hames all polished up and the black leather glistening in the sun…..well he would have had Dad ever taught us to hook all that crap up. But since we didn’t learn we made our own harness. We were the rip old ages of 6 and 7 and our cousins were 5 and 6. Again this was a different time when parents were allowed to let their kids play outside and no one would bother them and EVERYONE would discipline them. (Believe me I got just as many ass whippings from friends and neighbors of the parents as I did from the parents!)

So back to the buggy, We decided that all we really needed was something to keep the rails of the buggy up and attached to the horse. So we saddled Snoopy and backed him into the rails and tied the rails to his saddle. We then made reigns long enough to drive the buggy with by tying bailing twine to his existing reigns. We tested out our buggy and it worked perfectly. So we hollered all aboard and took off down the road.

We were seriously enjoying our ingenuity, and all of us were laughing as we drove around the countryside in our horse drawn carriage. It was a blast. We spent the better part of an hour driving around and seeing the sights, when we figured we all needed a drink. So we headed back to the house to water Snoopy and ourselves.

Here is where our happy adventure takes a turn for the “not so good”. Since it was summer time we were all either barefoot or wearing sandals, the wheels of the buggy were made out of bicycle tires and rims. Wire spokes and bare feet are not a good combination.

We were almost back to the house and naturally Snoopy was feeling like any other horse who was tired of dealing with a whole raft of kids, so he was in a big hurry to get home and roll in the dirt and shake all of the days events off his back. Here is where we earn our daily ass whipping!

My cousin’s foot somehow slipped out of the foot resting area and got wedged in between the frame and the wheel. Before we could get stopped Snoopy had decided that he was in a hurry to get home and so all of our urgings and shouts of “WHOA” fell on selective pony hearing. So as we were entering the yard, Cuz’s foot was being peeled like a potato and there was much crying on the part of BOTH city slicker cousins. Well I jumped out of the buggy and ran in front of Snoopy, while the older brother was sawing on the reigns trying to get him to stop. We finally got the beast under control and Older Brother ran for the house.

We knew we should have told the parents BEFORE but we figured they’d say no, so we didn’t want to ruin our fun.

Well the Parents had saw us pull up in the yard and the panic ensue so they were somewhat prepared for the “running and screaming” that generally followed one of our adventures. They rushed outside and got Snoopy to back up enough to get cousins leg un stuck from the wheel and then assessed the damage. It was noted that he would live and a couple of squirts of *Bactine* would make him right as rain, and that WE knew better.

It was that little sentence “We knew Better” that ALWAYS followed one of our adventures and it was always true. We did know better, but in our world knowing better and having fun very seldom ran in the same company. I don’t think a day went by in the 3 years that we lived in that house that we didn’t get an ass whipping. The funny part about that is had the parents known EVERYTHING that we did…well they would still be spanking our asses.

Next up….a solo adventure involving me, my prepubescent boy parts and why you should never pants a girl in school, or on the bus.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006


The Saga Continues.....

Well it has been a long strange trip…to paraphrase Jerry Garcia, but it is finally over for a minute. Monday the 13th of March was when we figured out that yes it would cost us an arm and a leg to get from KC to Vegas with our trade show booth. So we made the decision to rent a van from Alamo and drive. It is 1360 miles from KC to Vegas and we did it twice in one week.

I’m not sure I will ever want to do that again unless I have all of the money in the world and lots of time for stopping and sightseeing.

By the time we got to the trade show floor, I smelled like a old cheese sandwich and looked even worse. There is nothing like sitting in a car for 23+ hours to give you a decidedly funky crotch.

Anyway the trade show was like most trade shows and there were plenty of assholes like me all there trying to get me to buy stuff the whole time I was trying to sell them stuff. But we were moderately successful and I am looking forward to raising the sales of our new toy. If anyone is looking for a video switching, digital signage unit let me know because I have a really cool one!

On the way home I was trying to sleep and that was a lost cause since I was jammed up in the front seat and couldn’t even extend my legs far enough to stretch them. And since we really wanted to get home we just drove straight through. It rained on us all the way from Utah to Wichita. Then it just turned gray and nasty…but the snow didn’t hit until Monday night and all the way to work this morning.

But since I am just doing data entry I’m very bored. And I need to think of some more crap to do so I won’t lose my mind and just start beating the stupid people, even if they so desperately need it. I know I know, that was a little bit of a train wreck but I think my ADD is kicking in and I need to try and focus here.

I swear the next free minute I get I’m going to continue my “Ornery” series, I really need to go ahead and get a publisher and a playwright so if ANYONE Knows SOMEONE who fits the bill let me know I think my kids stories would make a great movie like the “Sandlot” or “Ransom of Red Chief” Or a combination of “Old Yeller” meets “Lethal Weapon”.

I’ll see what I can do about getting the next installment done soon.

Monday, March 20, 2006


Tired and sore so here is some pics....

I took most of these while I was driving from KC to Las Vegas....enjoy!

Monday, March 13, 2006


Ornery IV....Snoopy and the tale of two ass whippings

Ornery part IV

When we last left off the adorable tykes of the Nightmare clan they were up to their eyeballs in trouble as usual.

After the babysitter beating we were good for what my parents thought was an eternity almost 3 weeks. It was a little had to sit down and twice as hard to remember why what we did was so fun. But soon enough that pain went away and our memories faded and we were back to rotten in no time.

As I mentioned before we lived in the middle of no where, and it wasn’t unheard of for us to be outdoors for 6-12 hours at a time with little to no parental supervision. It’s not that Mom was inattentive, we generally made enough racket that no matter what we were into she could still keep a well trained “Mom Ear” on the situation. It is surprising how smart we were and then again how dumb too, It took us a long time to figure out that if we wanted to not get caught we had to MAKE noise, not be quiet. As soon as we were quiet that was when the parents came looking for us because we were obviously doing evil. But eventually we did learn and it made our escape that much easier.

Since we were the products of Cowboys and Cowgirls we had horses and were raised with the fun of rodeo. Wore the boots, rode the horses and as I got bigger, tried to ride other things…NOT THAT! I waited until I was 18 to ride that! But steers and sheep and other mechanical objects like motorcycles and such. But since we had our own pony’s they were our best friends and our best baby sitters. Our first pony was a little Shetland pony named Snoopy. He was all of 3-4 feet high at the shoulder and was gentle enough that a 3and 4 year old could saddle him and ride him around the back yard which we did before we moved to the country.

One afternoon after we got our trusted steed saddled and were trotting around the back yard some of the older neighborhood boys came to the fence and wanted to know if they could go for a ride, at first we said no but then they talked us into it…Naturally the biggest of the boys was the leader because hey when your 9 and you can whip everyone in your age group you automatically qualify as the leader.

Well this boy had watched us for a good ½ an hour and we put on quite a show, galloping and trotting and crawling over and under the horse and generally doing things that most horses would never allow you to do, needless to say he was sure he could make this pony do all of the same things if he was just given the chance. So we let him. His ass wasn’t on the saddle more than a second when Snoopy laid his ears back and bulled up and wouldn’t do anything. Naturally this pissed the big kid off and he was mad as hell. But Older Brother being the consummate showman gets back on the horse and runs him around the yard showing everyone that the pony wasn’t broken. So this little jackass jumps back on and this time armed with a switch….for those of you who don’t know what a switch is, it is a small thin stick used to keep little boys and occasionally little horses in line.

Well jackass reared back and slapped Snoopy’s ass with the switch and his ears laid back and he bucked…and he bucked HARD! This kid flew through the air and landed with a resounding thud some 10 feet away from the horse. Who by the way was just calmly standing there doing nothing. Well Jackass started whimpering and grabbed his switch again and headed toward Snoopy and that is when Older Brother and myself stepped in and warned him that if he did that again Snoopy would kick him really hard!

The yard slowly cleared out and we were once again with our favorite baby sitter and imagining riding in the National Finals Rodeo.

When we finally moved out to the country we weren’t exactly isolated, there was a small gas station about 100 yards down the highway from our house, and when I say small I mean SM-ALL, two pumps, one diesel, one regular..very small. The land next to the filling station was owned by a guy named Bob. Bob scared the hell out of little kids, he was loud and gruff and 90% of the time angry about something, but he also had his own roping arena. Complete with a hitching post. This hitching post was about 4and ½ feet tall and 8-10 feet long.

Here is where the Orneriness comes into play once again..enter the younger brother. He is 3 years younger than I am and he was just barely old enough to hang on to Snoopy’s saddle horn. By this time both of us had outgrown little Snoop and we had much bigger horses. Mine was of course a big black gelding and my older brother had a even bigger buckskin mare. (actually that explains a lot now that I think about it, him being gay and all) But anyway where ever we went on our horses Snoopy was always close behind, little legs struggling to keep up with the big horses and running for all he was worth.

One day while planning a ride in Bob’s arena Mom told us to take Younger brother with us because he was under foot again. So we go saddle up and make sure Snoopy is ready to go and we put the 3 year old on the saddle and head across the highway to the arena. We started warming up our horses and trotting them in a growing circle. Snoopy was trying to keep up and younger brother was giggling with the thrill of trotting on a horse.

We did figure 8’s and ovals and big circles and small circles and then we found our funny bone. We were going to take a break and get a drink out of the hose and give the horses a drink as well so we galloped to the south end of the arena where the hitching post was and we each took a side and ran around the ends to tie up our horses. Snoopy was just following us and having a three year old on his back was much like nothing and since he was getting NO guidance from his invisible rider he did what he thought was right. He went right up the middle.

He had little brother pinned in his saddle under the hitching post. He stayed like that for a good three minutes or so while me and older brother laughed our asses off. It was then that the orneriness took over and we vaulted into our saddles and spent the next 20 minutes running from one end to the other and watching Snoopy pin or little brother under the hitching post. Needless to say the galloping was his favorite part, the pinning was his least favorite.

We also had an unknown audience and when she figured out what it was that we were doing and got everything off of the stove, or off of the phone AND found an appropriate switch for the two of us she paid us a visit!

Mom was MAD! We had a weeping willow tree in the back yard, and when we moved out of that house after 4 years I think it was close to dead due to the amount of ass whippings we took.

Friday, March 10, 2006


Ornery.....a revisit

Since visiting my Aunt early this week and spending 2 days cleaning out the house where so much of my early development started, not to mention all of my raucous nonsense, I felt the need to republish my tales of being Ornery...As God as my witness everything you are about to read is the gods honest truth, and also why I don't have any kids...I'm afraid. They always say "your kids will be worse than you were"

I don't think I could handle that. I know Bouby would go to jail for murder if our kids acted worse than me!

August 23, 2004-3:17 p.m.


adj. or•ner•i•er, or•ner•i•est

Mean-spirited, disagreeable, and contrary in disposition; cantankerous. stubborn: I can't do a thing with that ornery mule.

My earliest memory is about 1969, I think it was summer, My older brother and I were jumping off of a 8’ retaining wall onto a old couch, it seemed to be quite fun at the time, but for a 3 and 2 year old it was just a matter of time before the inevitable accident. I was doing just fine hitting the mark every time, but for some reason on the third or fourth jump I hesitated.

This I think was the first time divine guidance stepped in and made me try and see the error of my ways, not that I ever listened to that little voice but in every instance of stupidity I could look back and say “oh….Yeah, probably not the smartest thing to do”. But I get ahead of myself.

The forth jump off of the wall was a little traumatic. As I was standing on the edge of the wall looking down and anticipating the rush of childhood adrenaline, and the springiness of my landing on the old couch, I felt the hand of my brother tap me on the middle of my back just hard enough to make my heart jump out of my mouth and see for itself how far down the fall was going to be. I turned around to tell my fun loving brother to knock it off, when he did it again. With my feet together and my tiny upper body twisted around to look at him, my center of balance was non-existent, and all I could do was look surprised as I plummeted to the waiting couch below. However if this wasn’t a true story I would have landed on the couch and bounced safely to the waiting driveway, but since this is true, I missed the couch and landed with a satisfying crunch right next to it. Things get a little hazy at this point; a concussion can do that to a kid, not to mention the crack in my skull six inches long.

So as my terrified mother who was trying to corral the older one as well as keep me from coming completely unglued, sat in the ER, I got to meet my first real DR., one of several dozen I would meet by the time I was 35. I think that this man was partly responsible for my ornery-ness it was this man who played the first practical joke on me. The fine doctor asked me if I wanted to see what the inside of my head looked like; when I told him “sure that would be neat” he showed me a picture of a chimpanzee. Yeah, real funny.

End of part one please turn tape over for part 2......

August 24, 2004-11:30 a.m.

Ornery II

The next spring I was the recipient of a new pair of cowboy boots, they were the first pair of actual cowboy boots I remember owning. Dark brown uppers, fancy stitching, with a lighter brown lower, they even had a roping heel just like dads. Well to this day I am and early riser and hate to waste any sunlight, but since I was only 3 at the time no one expected that I would do what I did. Being the only early riser in the whole house it was really easy for me to get into quite a bit of trouble. That morning I got up and dressed myself and put on my new boots and started looking for people to show them to.

As I walked around the silent house it was painfully obvious that there was no one up yet to show my new boots too, and the only person I knew who was up at this time was my Grandma. So I put on my hat and started walking. I had and still have a real good sense of direction so I didn’t think anything of walking down to Grandmas taking the same route I remember Dad driving.

The only problem with this logic besides the obvious, was that we lived 3 miles from my Grandma and I had to cross a 4 lane interstate highway to get there. But being only 3 with a new pair of boots, I knew I had to get to Grandmas house right away. So I walked and walked and walked, made the right hand turn on to main street, cut over one more street and was knocking on Grandma’s door, a mere hour and ½ after I started my journey.

The look on my Grandma’s face was one of surprise, but all I could say was “ Grandma can I have a drink of water I sure am thirsty” She bustled me into the house and got me a drink, where she asked how I got there and I just replied “ The same way my daddy comes” and then I added “Do you like my new boots?” She said that they were fine boots and looked good on me. Well she thought that Dad just dropped me off, and was letting me walk a little way before he showed up. After a few minutes she asked my where my daddy was, and I told her “still in bed I think” and immediately asked if I could get some pancakes. She said of course and I hopped down from the bench and went it to turn on the TV. Grandma called up to the house and woke up my Dad and asked him “ Do you know where Mike is?” and he respond sleepily “in bed?” it was then she informed him that I was not in bed nor had I been there for some time and that I was alright but that I walked down to show her my new boots.

Needless to say he wasn’t real thrilled with my little journey but as usual, ecstatic that my adventure ended on a happy one and not a tragic one.

As a kid growing up in the semi-west, which I think is a better way to say Kansas, cause it was really part of the wild west, and yet no one really acknowledges that it is in the mid-west, so as I was saying the semi-west in the early 70’s and all the way through the 80’s was a great time to be a kid. There were no worries about strangers abducting you, the only drug addicts were in the cities, and the African proverb “it takes a whole village to raise a child” was very much alive and well. Our parents gave permission to just about anyone to “kick our asses up between our shoulder blades” if we got out of line. Now you might think that this is an exaggeration however I can assure you that it is not! For instance, dad owned and operated a livestock auction in Concordia Kansas, and we spent many an hour playing at the sale barn. However since the parents couldn’t keep us in their sight all the time we spent most of the summers and all of the weekends causing trouble for anyone who wasn’t paying attention to us. The local vet that Dad hired to test all of the animals, was a real good friend of us boys, Doc Gale was a big man almost 6 feet tall and was probably one of the most laid back easy going adults I ever knew. As a matter of fact it was Doc Gale who taught me to squish my hamburger. Since he was so personal, and liked kids we ate lunch together quite a bit, and I would watch him put together his daily hamburger, by adding ketchup and mustard and onion, pickles, and lettuce, he would then proceed to take this tall sandwich and make it small by placing his giant palm on it and slowly pressing down until it was small. I loved watching the transformation, huge burger…..flat and manageable burger, it was so cool I felt the need to emulate him and I guess the café ladies thought it was pretty cute because just as soon as I learned that’s how Doc ate his meal, they would all stand around and watch me do the exact same thing to my burger.

One afternoon while Doc was busy I got the opportunity to eat with my Dad, the first time in a long time, and when he saw me do that to my food, he was at first a little peeved, he kind of asked me “where in the hell did you learn that?”. Well I was only around four at this time and still wasn’t real tuned in on the old mans tones of voice and I just smiled and said “ That’s the way Doc Gale eats his”.

Dad then just tiled his head back and let loose with a tremendous bark of laughter followed by a lengthy belly laugh. I just sat there kind of confused, and then started laughing with him, I didn’t get the joke but his laugh is contagious. To this day I still smash my burgers.

October 23, 2004-9:28 a.m.

Ornery Part Trey,

I have written before stating that as children my older brother and my self were rotten kids. And I mean ROT-TEN! The next story as unbelieviable as it may seem actually happened. The names have only been altered because I burned a lot of brain cells and memory in the 80’s with recreational drug usage. Which is completely different then the reason I take drugs today.

The year was 1973 I was 6 my older brother Thom was 7. We were known through the whole tri-county area as the worst kids to baby sit ever, there were bawling teenagers, angry mothers and of course sore asses, (we got spanked on a regular basis, NOT that we didn’t deserve it, we did, but I digress). One of our favorite past times was messing with the mailman, to the point that he almost stopped delivering the mail to our house.

We would put stuff in the mail box. What can I say we were little kids, but we were smart little kids! We tipped it over once and filled it to the rim with gravel, and when he opened the box 5 lbs of gravel poured into his car. (See we lived in a very very very small community, I think when we lived there, there were 12-13 other families/old people, that lived out in the middle of no-where Kansas, so our mail was delivered by a “rural mail carrier” who was paid gas and mileage to drive his own car to deliver the mail.) See basically harmless stuff, but a lot of what we put in the box diddn’t really want to go in the box.

Our “Coup de Grace” was the time a beautiful black cat, a stray, wandered into our neck of the woods. We spent the morning stalking it and finally catching it and then after we were done petting it we decided it would be a fantastic idea to introduce it to our mailman. So we put the cat in the box. Now our mail didn’t arrive until around three in the afternoon, and it was around 10 in the morning when we put ol’ blackie in the box. We spent the next 5 hours playing and eating lunch and receiving ass whippings (we were bad no matter what!) so when it was almost time for the mailman to arrive we went out and hid in the ditch waiting. OOHH MY GOD!!! When he opened the box, there was only a tiny crack of light that appeared when the cat jumped! He hit that door with the forced of a coil spring! The look on the mailman’s face went from confusion, to shock to outright fear, as that fucking cat sprang right in his lap. I swear he almost shit himself! We spent the last 30 1 years still laughing about that!

But I was talking about babysitters.

To us as little kids too smart for our own good, babysitters were a constant source of humor, fun and just once torture. Yes I said torture, well not like in “the Passion of the Christ” kind of torture, more like sibling torture. Ok I’ll start from the beginning. “Babs” was our babysitter/victim for the evening, and she was sort of new to the Walker Boys, so we spent the better part of the evening just being pests. But then she started sining this little ditty…now remember this was in the middle of Kansas, in the early 70’s before MTV, cable TV, HBO, or even telecommunication conglomerates, so there was a very stiff religious background as well as a respect and fear your parents thing, we didn’t swear, or steal, or talk back, and if we were in the same room as the adults we were to be seen and not heard, (as it should be) and the only time we wanted our parents anywhere near us was when we were bleeding or stuck in the well ( that never happened, just a Lassie reference!) So it was a different time and we were like 6 and 7 years old, Sooooo anyway she was singing this ditty…”Mcdonald’s is the kind of place where they feed you rattle snakes, stuff hamburgers up your nose, put French fries between your toes, last time I went there……duh duh duh dah.” Babs wouldn’t finish the last line. No matter how many times we badgered her she wouldn’t tell us a thing. So we finally gave up on her.

Well that’s what we let her think. We waited almost 15 mins. Before we told her we wanted to play a new game, cowboys and Indians. We were to be the Indians, and she was our captured cowboy. This is where she made her mistake, she agreed to be the cowboy. So we quickly got out ALL of Dad’s belts and before she knew what had happened she was securely tied down to the chair as our captive. We proceeded to make the lie a little more believable by whooping and hollering like indiands and running around the chair. Babs actually got into it for a second and was begging for her cowboy life.

This in when we put the screws to her. We stopped hollering and just stood there grinning! When she noticed that we were just standing there she got kinda quiet and had a concerned look on her face. That’s when we decided to ask her to please finish the song.

Babs turned as white as a ghost and started struggling against the belts. She demanded to be let loose and we turned a deaf ear to her pleas, we had to find out the answer by any means necessary. So we started tickling her. And we only let up when she said she would tell us the answer. It took almost 15 mins of tickling, and 1 pair of soaking wet pants. We didn’t have much control over our torture techniques at such a young age and we couldn’t tell screams of panic from screams of forced laughter. So there we were with the anticlimactic ending to our song…”and the last time I went there they stole my underwear” Yeah I know stupid right? Anyway it was then we found ourselves in a major panic.

We had tickled our babysitter until she wet her pants, while tied to a chair. We also knew for a fact that if we untied her she would probably beat the shit out of us and we would deserve every minute of it. So we did all that we cared to do at that time. We went to bed.

Looking back on this whole evening I’m guessing we should have just untied the babysitter. Because when Mom and Dad got home and found our babysitter tied to a chair sitting in her own urine, and mad and crying, they went right by angry made a left at pissed off and wound up with a full head of steam standing right in the middle of rage! I will never forget the shock of being jerked out of bed and brought down to stand in front of the babysitter our feet never once touching the floor and not only being told to apologize, but also to get to see her face as the parents gave us the spanking of our lives.

My ass still hurts.

I hope that you with children will understand that they are times when kids just need to be kids.

*dedicated to all who were a witness to my buffoonery*

Wednesday, March 08, 2006


Back from the road...

Well my trip to clean up my Aunt's house was very productive. We hauled away 6 dumpsters full of trash from the ol' girls pl;ace and it was all trash too! Everyone I know who was born or lived during the depression has this "pack rat" mentality, they feel the need to keep everything because "you never know when you might need ______!".

I have resolved to stop my pack rat-edness, and I will be throwing away most of what I have collected over the last 20 years soon.

I know now what everything old people keep is good for, it gives the rest of the family something to do while they are waiting on the enevitable. Since I will more than likely not make it to that point, I will save all of the trauma for my loved ones, and start pitching shit out this weekend.

This will make Bouby EXTREMELY happy!

Also I got this fromTenshi

The Five Love Languages

My primary love language is probably
Physical Touch
with a secondary love language being
Words of Affirmation.

Complete set of results

Physical Touch: 9
Words of Affirmation: 8
Acts of Service: 7
Quality Time: 6
Receiving Gifts: 0


Unhappiness in relationships, according to Dr. Gary Chapman, is often due to the fact that we speak different love languages. Sometimes we don't understand our partner's requirements, or even our own. We all have a "love tank" that needs to be filled in order for us to express love to others, but there are different means by which our tank can be filled, and there are different ways that we can express love to others.

Take the quiz
Have a groovy week!

whats left of it!!

Sunday, March 05, 2006


You keep a knocking but you can't come in...come back tomorrow and try again!

Once again I sit here thinking about Death.

Tomorrow morning I will go to see my dying Aunt. She is 93, ninety three, 9 decades and 3 extra years.

Auntie was born in 1913, there wasn’t many cars around when she was a little girl in rural Kansas, so she was very familiar with horses and buggies when she was young. She only saw an airplane when the barn stormers flew through town, she saw 2 world wars, Korea, Viet Nam, Grenada (The movie lasted longer than the war) and of course desert storm and operation Iraqi Freedom. Cars and airplanes looked like this:

This woman married an man 3 times her age, with a pre-made family, something unheard of in the 40’s, she was my first baby sitter at the tender age of 55 I remember walking to her office when I was a little kid and she would give me lollipops, not the kind everyone has now but the old school kind where the handle was made out of a piece of string looped back into the candy. She loaned me the money for my class ring in high school, she loaned my younger brother the money to buy his Camero, (Shut up it was the 80’s) and that car went through both of my brothers before it was sold 15 years later. She baby sat her great grand kids up and until about 10 years ago.

She was a strong woman and will be missed when she decides to let go.

About 20 years ago she wasn’t feeling “right” and decided to go to the doctor. For the first time in 25 years she decided to go to the doctor. They found a golf ball size lump in her breast. They prepped her for emergency surgery. After the surgery she was a little disoriented and the Dr said that it was normal and she would return to her old self in a couple of weeks. She is in a nursing home right now, for last month or so and she still hasn’t got her senses back. Oh she has her good days but 90% of the time she is nutty as a fruit bar.

I love her like a second mother and I know in the last 20 years I haven’t been around as much as I should have been but I know she is proud of the way me and my two brothers turned out. I’m just happy that her soul will be recycled soon and some lucky baby will get her as a guide.

Here is who I was in a past life:

I don't know how you feel about it, but you were male in your last earthly incarnation.
You were born somewhere in the territory of modern Cyprus around the year 1850.
Your profession was that of a medic, surgeon or herbalist.

Your brief psychological profile in your past life:
Ruthless character, carefully weighing his decisions in critical situations, with excellent self-control and strong will. Such people are generally liked, but not always loved.

The lesson that your last past life brought to your present incarnation:
Magic is everywhere around you, even in the most usual, most ordinary situations. Your lesson is to understand this magic and to help other people to see it, too. You are a magician!

Do you remember now?

Check out the website here

Your past life diagnosis:

Thursday, March 02, 2006


Here's looking at you kid.....

I’ve once again found myself in a rut. I can’t seem to like doing my job at all. The people I have to deal with are all terrible, both morally and professionally, and I’m not sure how much longer I can take it. I used to love coming to work and talking to people, but now everyday is a new argument for late term abortions…really late term, as in the 372 month.

Reason #435 of why I don’t carry a gun.


When do you suppose bodily exploration becomes passé? I mean when you’re a kid it is a must. You’re new to the neighborhood and you want to see how all of the different parts work and what they look like. But when does it become socially unacceptable to squat over a mirror and look at your own butt?

I know some of you stood on the sink to get this view but remember I was the “big” kid and who knows if the sink would have held me? Butt (Squeeze squeeze) really, when was the last time you really took a minute and checked out your own butthole and compared and contrasted it from when you did it as a kid….and don’t say you didn’t everyone did, you have just blocked that memory from your mind.

So I propose to everyone to go home or if your adventurous, at work and get a mirror, something hand held and just take a glance at your butthole…just to say “HOWDY”!


Why do all of the computer generated voices in the movies all sound creepy and mellow? I would like to see just once a super computer, or a unmanned aircraft, or even just a talking car that was way more normal! I had and idea once to put a dilect choice in navagation systems. That way when you were traveing in New york and lived in Gah-Jah, you could understand the directions given to yoou when the talking nav system told you to turn right. It would actually say "Hey Junior, why dontcha hang a roger up yonder" or if you were in Atlanta and lived in Jersey " Yo "G" yo ass betta spin this hoopdee right yo!"

I'm just saying it would make traveling more know easy for the dummies.
Here is a little HNT for ya’ll

The Eye's have it.