Monday, April 30, 2007
Kids will say the funniest shit...
KIDS WRITE ABOUT THE SEA
1) This is a picture of an octopus. It has eight testicles.
(Kelly age 6)
2) Oysters' balls are called pearls. (James age 6)
3) If you are surrounded by sea you are an Island. If you don't have
sea all round you, you are incontinent. ( Wayne age 7)
4) Sharks are ugly and mean, and have big teeth, just like Emily
Richardson. She's not my friend no more. (Kylie age 6)
5) A dolphin breaths through an asshole on the top of its head.
(Billy age 8)
6) My uncle goes out in his boat with pots, and comes back with
crabs. (Millie age 6)
7) When ships had sails, they used to use the trade winds to cross
the ocean. Sometimes, when the wind didn't blow, the sailors would
whistle to make the wind come. My brother said they would have been
better off eating beans. (William age 7)
8) I like mermaids. They are beautiful, and I like their shiny
tails. And how on earth do mermaids get pregnant? Like, really?
(Helen age 6)
9) I'm not going to write about the sea. My baby brother is always
screaming and being sick, my Dad keeps shouting at my Mom, and my
big sister has just got pregnant, so I can't think what to write.
(Amy age 6)
10) Some fish are dangerous. Jellyfish can sting. Electric eels can
give you a shock. They have to live in caves under the sea where I
think they have to plug themselves into chargers. (Christopher age 7)
11) When you go swimming in the sea, it is very cold, and it makes
my willy small. (Kevin age 6)
12) Divers have to be safe when they go under the water. Two divers
can't go down alone, so they have to go down on each other.
(Becky age 8)
13) On holidays my Mom went water skiing. She fell off when she was
going very fast. She says she won't do it again because water fired
right up her fat ass. (Jule age 7)
1) This is a picture of an octopus. It has eight testicles.
(Kelly age 6)
2) Oysters' balls are called pearls. (James age 6)
3) If you are surrounded by sea you are an Island. If you don't have
sea all round you, you are incontinent. ( Wayne age 7)
4) Sharks are ugly and mean, and have big teeth, just like Emily
Richardson. She's not my friend no more. (Kylie age 6)
5) A dolphin breaths through an asshole on the top of its head.
(Billy age 8)
6) My uncle goes out in his boat with pots, and comes back with
crabs. (Millie age 6)
7) When ships had sails, they used to use the trade winds to cross
the ocean. Sometimes, when the wind didn't blow, the sailors would
whistle to make the wind come. My brother said they would have been
better off eating beans. (William age 7)
8) I like mermaids. They are beautiful, and I like their shiny
tails. And how on earth do mermaids get pregnant? Like, really?
(Helen age 6)
9) I'm not going to write about the sea. My baby brother is always
screaming and being sick, my Dad keeps shouting at my Mom, and my
big sister has just got pregnant, so I can't think what to write.
(Amy age 6)
10) Some fish are dangerous. Jellyfish can sting. Electric eels can
give you a shock. They have to live in caves under the sea where I
think they have to plug themselves into chargers. (Christopher age 7)
11) When you go swimming in the sea, it is very cold, and it makes
my willy small. (Kevin age 6)
12) Divers have to be safe when they go under the water. Two divers
can't go down alone, so they have to go down on each other.
(Becky age 8)
13) On holidays my Mom went water skiing. She fell off when she was
going very fast. She says she won't do it again because water fired
right up her fat ass. (Jule age 7)
Friday, April 27, 2007
Blast from the Past!
Last night I got a phone call from an old college roommate, whom I have had on numerous occasions to get falling down shitfaced drunk.
He started out the conversation with a really bad joke about how he was seeing a shrink about is unusual phobia concerning , nickels, dimes, pennys, and quarters. After the first session naturally the Dr. informed him there was nothing to worry about he just feared change.
BUH BUM BUM!
Yeah good one.
So then he tells me that he was reading a story to his little girls about “The Red Hen”. Since I haven’t seen this clown for 20 years, but do get to chat with him occasionally I didn’t make the connection right away. He told me that all that was running through his mind while reading this book was ;
“One red hen…”
I was thinking”…Go on…?”
Then he said the next line and I almost shit myself laughing.
“A couple of Ducks”
The drunken memories ofr a 20 year old living with a bunch of football players in the SF Bay area , washed over me in such a tumultuous roar, I couldn’t stop laughing. It was such a powerful memory, that I could taste the whiskey, smell the summer bay breeze, felt the bruising on my knees from stumbling face down on the sidewalk because I was too drunk.
For those 10 readers I know come round daily, I will let you know this is by far the most wonderful ice breaking, drinking game ever invented. The rules are simple;
1) One person, preferably the soberest one, starts the game, and he/she needs to know all of the phrases and should be able to recite them without slurring throughout the entire game. Beer is the drink of choice with this but for the hard core you may choose to play with shots…hell we did.
2) The Orator starts with the phrase “One Red Hen” and takes a drink, the next person at the table, in the circle, whatever, repeats the phrase and takes a drink. This goes on all the way around the table, until it reaches the Orator.
3) At this time the Orator adds to the phrase, saying One red hen and a couple of ducks. Repeat around the table.
4) This goes on for 10 rounds if you can make it that long, the phrase gets quite long and tongue twisty.
5) Here is the catch is you fuck up you must take a drink and start over, if you fuck up twice you take a drink and start over, on the third mistake you pound a FRESH drink and you’re out.
6) Last man standing wins.
I was contemplating not sharing the entire list of phrases, but that seems a tad harsh, after all a drinking game this good needs to be shared world wide! So here are the phrases, learn it, know it, practice them often and do it drunk, and you too will be a wonderful party guest.
1) One Red Hen
2) A couple of ducks
3) Three brown bears
4) Four horny hares
5) Five fat frolicking females
6) Six simple Simons sitting on a stump
7) Seven Sicilian sailors sailing on the seven seas
8) Eight egotistical egotist eagerly awaiting their egotistical ecstasies.
9) Nine nimble nymphs nibbling numbly on gnats, knuckles, and narcotics
10 Ten tumbling tumble weeds tumbling timberly through the timber.
To Drink is to LIVE.
ENJOY!
He started out the conversation with a really bad joke about how he was seeing a shrink about is unusual phobia concerning , nickels, dimes, pennys, and quarters. After the first session naturally the Dr. informed him there was nothing to worry about he just feared change.
BUH BUM BUM!
Yeah good one.
So then he tells me that he was reading a story to his little girls about “The Red Hen”. Since I haven’t seen this clown for 20 years, but do get to chat with him occasionally I didn’t make the connection right away. He told me that all that was running through his mind while reading this book was ;
“One red hen…”
I was thinking”…Go on…?”
Then he said the next line and I almost shit myself laughing.
“A couple of Ducks”
The drunken memories ofr a 20 year old living with a bunch of football players in the SF Bay area , washed over me in such a tumultuous roar, I couldn’t stop laughing. It was such a powerful memory, that I could taste the whiskey, smell the summer bay breeze, felt the bruising on my knees from stumbling face down on the sidewalk because I was too drunk.
For those 10 readers I know come round daily, I will let you know this is by far the most wonderful ice breaking, drinking game ever invented. The rules are simple;
1) One person, preferably the soberest one, starts the game, and he/she needs to know all of the phrases and should be able to recite them without slurring throughout the entire game. Beer is the drink of choice with this but for the hard core you may choose to play with shots…hell we did.
2) The Orator starts with the phrase “One Red Hen” and takes a drink, the next person at the table, in the circle, whatever, repeats the phrase and takes a drink. This goes on all the way around the table, until it reaches the Orator.
3) At this time the Orator adds to the phrase, saying One red hen and a couple of ducks. Repeat around the table.
4) This goes on for 10 rounds if you can make it that long, the phrase gets quite long and tongue twisty.
5) Here is the catch is you fuck up you must take a drink and start over, if you fuck up twice you take a drink and start over, on the third mistake you pound a FRESH drink and you’re out.
6) Last man standing wins.
I was contemplating not sharing the entire list of phrases, but that seems a tad harsh, after all a drinking game this good needs to be shared world wide! So here are the phrases, learn it, know it, practice them often and do it drunk, and you too will be a wonderful party guest.
1) One Red Hen
2) A couple of ducks
3) Three brown bears
4) Four horny hares
5) Five fat frolicking females
6) Six simple Simons sitting on a stump
7) Seven Sicilian sailors sailing on the seven seas
8) Eight egotistical egotist eagerly awaiting their egotistical ecstasies.
9) Nine nimble nymphs nibbling numbly on gnats, knuckles, and narcotics
10 Ten tumbling tumble weeds tumbling timberly through the timber.
To Drink is to LIVE.
ENJOY!
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
More Weekend stuff.....
My Dad was a pimp.
Well maybe not a pimp but a player, before player was a term. I found this out this past weekend in between hunting and napping. It was kind of funny to hear the 75 year old man talk about all of the girls he had on the line.
It seems that when Daddy-O got out of the navy in the mid 50’s the dying little town he lived in was quite robust and bustling. There was a nursing school there as well and since all of the young men in town had decided to take the government up on their GI Bill education after the Korean war, Daddy –O was the sole dance partner for about 30 chicks….and he told me he used to kiss’em all. Which is his old school way of saying he was banging them like a screen door in a hurricane.
No wonder he is so short, I think all that fucking wore him down to a nub.
That wasn’t the only interesting thing that I did last weekend, I also went to a cattle show. I have pictures to prove it too.
For those of you who don’t know what a cattle show is, it is where farm kids raise a heifer, or steer, and then they make it as perfect as possible and….. well fuck it is a dog show with fucking cows that’s all. But it is kind of cool watching these little bitty kids drag around 700lbs steers, knowing that if that steer really wanted to it could go berserk and kill everyone in the arena.
Not that, that happened, but it might. Kinda like those tigers in Vegas when they decided to eat that fruit, I don’t know if it was Siegfried or Roy, but yeah you never know when animals will attack..
Well maybe not a pimp but a player, before player was a term. I found this out this past weekend in between hunting and napping. It was kind of funny to hear the 75 year old man talk about all of the girls he had on the line.
It seems that when Daddy-O got out of the navy in the mid 50’s the dying little town he lived in was quite robust and bustling. There was a nursing school there as well and since all of the young men in town had decided to take the government up on their GI Bill education after the Korean war, Daddy –O was the sole dance partner for about 30 chicks….and he told me he used to kiss’em all. Which is his old school way of saying he was banging them like a screen door in a hurricane.
No wonder he is so short, I think all that fucking wore him down to a nub.
That wasn’t the only interesting thing that I did last weekend, I also went to a cattle show. I have pictures to prove it too.
For those of you who don’t know what a cattle show is, it is where farm kids raise a heifer, or steer, and then they make it as perfect as possible and….. well fuck it is a dog show with fucking cows that’s all. But it is kind of cool watching these little bitty kids drag around 700lbs steers, knowing that if that steer really wanted to it could go berserk and kill everyone in the arena.
Not that, that happened, but it might. Kinda like those tigers in Vegas when they decided to eat that fruit, I don’t know if it was Siegfried or Roy, but yeah you never know when animals will attack..
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
A 3 day weekend is never long enough even when you leave early on Friday...
Hunters 1 Turkeys 0;
This will have some killing and a picture of a dead turkey, so if that makes you squeamish, leave now.
All gone? Well good. This last weekend I drove up to my Dads place which is further in the middle of nowhere then any place else, I still use his place as my main address because I don’t want to pay full price for my hunting and fishing licenses, and my car registration….makes everything way easier. Anyway I LOVE my Sirius radio, nothing like never losing reception while driving across the farmland that Kansas is.
But on to the killing. My cousin and his step son came out Saturday morning for some early morning turkey slaying, and for the first time in 10 years he was early, which through my whole schedule off, since I wasn’t ready yet. So I hurriedly dressed in my camo, threw the boots on and rushed out to my truck, (can you call a Ford Explorer a truck?) And we drove to the field. Now for you non hunters mst game animals are early risers, and you need to be in place before they get up to have any shot at killing them and filling your bellies, so this is all taking place at 5:30 am-6:15 am. So we park the trucks and start gathering all of our gear, guns, blinds, sack of fake turkeys, etc. and start walking to wear I thought we should set up, which is about a ½ mile. As we approach the turn in the road, my cousin grabs my arm and whispers, “There are three turkeys in the trees!”
I wasn’t paying attention to the trees yet I was just trying to get where we needed to be, since when we got out of the trucks I could hear the turkeys already up and awake chatting to each other. So I glance up and sure enough there were three birds that we could see.
Shit.
So we decide that we would just set up and try to call them to us when they decide to come out of the roost and start their morning of turkey-dom. We hurriedly set up the decoys and the blinds, and crawled in them to wait. We started to “talk” to them as well, we would call, and they would answer then they would call and we would answer, it was really a lot of fun. Then they decide to come out of the roost, and naturally they fly away from us…because apparently when we were talking to them with our turkey calls we must have said “Jesus!! You look like NGD” and that pissed them off . so we wait a few minutes and then head off into the creek to stalk them, and as most of you know I’m not a petite flower so my stalking is more like “controlled rampaging bear walking”, but this was a pretty easy stalk so I made it without creating too much noise.
So there we are sitting in the trees watching the turkeys 300 yards away, as they ate their fill of Farmer Dave’s wheat crop, something that is a problem in the farming communities, the wildlife eating all of the people food. So we start calling to them and they are calling back, but for some reason the ones we were talking to didn’t want to become more intimate with us and opted for a long distance relationship.
About this time I see a different flock of turkeys, in the opposite corner of the field and I tell cuz that I was going to sneak back to the blinds just in case those birds saw the decoys and wanted to come in for a chat and some dew. So I make my way back through the underbrush and across the creek and back into the blind without being seen, or I guess heard. So, as I try and strike up a conversation with the birds so far away from me, I see that they are way to interested in chasing the bugs, and whatever it was they were looking for to pay me any attention.
About 15 mins pass as I sit there trying to grab the attention of a turkey, ANY turkey at this time, when I hear the distinct sound of a shotgun going off…well two different ones actually..Bang followed by BOOM BOOM BOOM, which tells me that Cuz’s step son got the first shot off and then Cuz took down one of the neighbors, so I start to put my stuff away, unload the gun, and get out the camera.
As they walked around the tree line I could see the bird slung on the back of Cuzzin, and it looked HUGE, but then again all turkeys look big, they are basically medicine balls with wings. So when they got up to me I made JR take a couple of pictures, as it turns out Cuz had to stop the bird from running because “I didn’t feel like chasing it” Cuz said. He also mentioned that it’s spurs were GIANT, and that the beard was close to the one he shot last week.
After driving back to my Dad’s place to show him the bird, we took measurements, and sure enough the kid had beaten Dad in the big bird shootout, and I got skunked for the entire weekend.
This will have some killing and a picture of a dead turkey, so if that makes you squeamish, leave now.
All gone? Well good. This last weekend I drove up to my Dads place which is further in the middle of nowhere then any place else, I still use his place as my main address because I don’t want to pay full price for my hunting and fishing licenses, and my car registration….makes everything way easier. Anyway I LOVE my Sirius radio, nothing like never losing reception while driving across the farmland that Kansas is.
But on to the killing. My cousin and his step son came out Saturday morning for some early morning turkey slaying, and for the first time in 10 years he was early, which through my whole schedule off, since I wasn’t ready yet. So I hurriedly dressed in my camo, threw the boots on and rushed out to my truck, (can you call a Ford Explorer a truck?) And we drove to the field. Now for you non hunters mst game animals are early risers, and you need to be in place before they get up to have any shot at killing them and filling your bellies, so this is all taking place at 5:30 am-6:15 am. So we park the trucks and start gathering all of our gear, guns, blinds, sack of fake turkeys, etc. and start walking to wear I thought we should set up, which is about a ½ mile. As we approach the turn in the road, my cousin grabs my arm and whispers, “There are three turkeys in the trees!”
I wasn’t paying attention to the trees yet I was just trying to get where we needed to be, since when we got out of the trucks I could hear the turkeys already up and awake chatting to each other. So I glance up and sure enough there were three birds that we could see.
Shit.
So we decide that we would just set up and try to call them to us when they decide to come out of the roost and start their morning of turkey-dom. We hurriedly set up the decoys and the blinds, and crawled in them to wait. We started to “talk” to them as well, we would call, and they would answer then they would call and we would answer, it was really a lot of fun. Then they decide to come out of the roost, and naturally they fly away from us…because apparently when we were talking to them with our turkey calls we must have said “Jesus!! You look like NGD” and that pissed them off . so we wait a few minutes and then head off into the creek to stalk them, and as most of you know I’m not a petite flower so my stalking is more like “controlled rampaging bear walking”, but this was a pretty easy stalk so I made it without creating too much noise.
So there we are sitting in the trees watching the turkeys 300 yards away, as they ate their fill of Farmer Dave’s wheat crop, something that is a problem in the farming communities, the wildlife eating all of the people food. So we start calling to them and they are calling back, but for some reason the ones we were talking to didn’t want to become more intimate with us and opted for a long distance relationship.
About this time I see a different flock of turkeys, in the opposite corner of the field and I tell cuz that I was going to sneak back to the blinds just in case those birds saw the decoys and wanted to come in for a chat and some dew. So I make my way back through the underbrush and across the creek and back into the blind without being seen, or I guess heard. So, as I try and strike up a conversation with the birds so far away from me, I see that they are way to interested in chasing the bugs, and whatever it was they were looking for to pay me any attention.
About 15 mins pass as I sit there trying to grab the attention of a turkey, ANY turkey at this time, when I hear the distinct sound of a shotgun going off…well two different ones actually..Bang followed by BOOM BOOM BOOM, which tells me that Cuz’s step son got the first shot off and then Cuz took down one of the neighbors, so I start to put my stuff away, unload the gun, and get out the camera.
As they walked around the tree line I could see the bird slung on the back of Cuzzin, and it looked HUGE, but then again all turkeys look big, they are basically medicine balls with wings. So when they got up to me I made JR take a couple of pictures, as it turns out Cuz had to stop the bird from running because “I didn’t feel like chasing it” Cuz said. He also mentioned that it’s spurs were GIANT, and that the beard was close to the one he shot last week.
After driving back to my Dad’s place to show him the bird, we took measurements, and sure enough the kid had beaten Dad in the big bird shootout, and I got skunked for the entire weekend.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
I am not a lawn guy.
I was doing my Bi-monthly outside step aerobics class night while pushing my 80LB 4 wheeled grass reducer and I figured out some very important shit. There are lawn guys and then there are non-lawn guys, I’m a non-lawn guy. I hate…NAY LOATHE cutting the grass. When I was a kid I had to mow the fucking grass every week, and if you have ever been to the Middle West you will know that most houses have decent sized yards, ¼-1/2 an acre. And when you’re low middle income that means a uncool hard to maneuver push mower. And if you’re me it meant a hand me down, beat up, oil drinking, smoke like mosquito abatement , pile of shit that you had to take the air cleaner sponge out every other time and clean it out with gasoline.
So I hate mowing. I caught a break when my family bought a house the summer after my freshman year in high school and moved to the middle class neighborhood, and we got a new mower….finally. I mowed the yard once, and my older brother threw a HISSY FIT, (kind of appropriate now that he is out of the closet), and we argued, it seem that cutting the grass in a circular pattern was not the middle class way of mowing the yard and I needed to cut it in lines like the outfield of some pro baseball team. Naturally this didn’t appeal to me at all since I hated the job anyway and going around in circles was the fastest way to finish the job.
So after much yelling at each other I walked into the house and told Mom, “I ain’t mowing that bitch again!” and went to take a shower.
I didn’t mow a yard for 15years…Well except my friends Grandma’s yard, who I would have killed…well maimed anyway, for. But she doesn’t count, because I got to go in circles.
But yesterday while mowing, I thought long and hard a (LOL I said long and hard!), about why some guys WANT to mow, and have a nice lawn, or one they perceive as nice anyway. Like my neighbor, fucking guy mows twice a week and waters it and fertilizes it, basically takes better care of the lawn then his wife. But I figured that he does that because of some weird transformation addiction. Like maybe the lawn guys have no order in anything else that they do so they have to obsess over their yard. It gives them peace. Or maybe they miss the glory days of competition. They were a super star in high school and need to fill the void by competing in a “only in their mind” game of “Fuck you my yard is the best on the block, so eat my cock”.
So I’m not a lawn guy because I gave up acting like a “guy” years ago. I don’t play the “squeeze the hand til someone yells uncle” handshake game, I don’t regale tails of my physical prowess, I don’t bluster and act cocky like a Bandy rooster. Itry to keep my personal stories to those where I look like an idiot, and call them learning experiences…like when I learned that one drunk football player cannot beat up an entire fraternity .
Hey I never said I didn’t USED to be a guy…just not anymore.
So I guess that I refuse to be a lawn guy because I would rather remember the glory days as they were and not transform that shit into a pissing contest with my neighbors. I don’t water, fertilize, seed, or cut (on time anyway) my grass. If you do all of that shit the fucking grass grows more and then you have to mow it… We have a saying in our house…it isn’t that we need to mow, we just believe that natural seeding is better then buying seed, so were letting nature take it’s course and as soon as the grass goes to seed, we’ll cut it.
From All Conference Offensive Center to Lawn Guy?
Fuck That.
I was doing my Bi-monthly outside step aerobics class night while pushing my 80LB 4 wheeled grass reducer and I figured out some very important shit. There are lawn guys and then there are non-lawn guys, I’m a non-lawn guy. I hate…NAY LOATHE cutting the grass. When I was a kid I had to mow the fucking grass every week, and if you have ever been to the Middle West you will know that most houses have decent sized yards, ¼-1/2 an acre. And when you’re low middle income that means a uncool hard to maneuver push mower. And if you’re me it meant a hand me down, beat up, oil drinking, smoke like mosquito abatement , pile of shit that you had to take the air cleaner sponge out every other time and clean it out with gasoline.
So I hate mowing. I caught a break when my family bought a house the summer after my freshman year in high school and moved to the middle class neighborhood, and we got a new mower….finally. I mowed the yard once, and my older brother threw a HISSY FIT, (kind of appropriate now that he is out of the closet), and we argued, it seem that cutting the grass in a circular pattern was not the middle class way of mowing the yard and I needed to cut it in lines like the outfield of some pro baseball team. Naturally this didn’t appeal to me at all since I hated the job anyway and going around in circles was the fastest way to finish the job.
So after much yelling at each other I walked into the house and told Mom, “I ain’t mowing that bitch again!” and went to take a shower.
I didn’t mow a yard for 15years…Well except my friends Grandma’s yard, who I would have killed…well maimed anyway, for. But she doesn’t count, because I got to go in circles.
But yesterday while mowing, I thought long and hard a (LOL I said long and hard!), about why some guys WANT to mow, and have a nice lawn, or one they perceive as nice anyway. Like my neighbor, fucking guy mows twice a week and waters it and fertilizes it, basically takes better care of the lawn then his wife. But I figured that he does that because of some weird transformation addiction. Like maybe the lawn guys have no order in anything else that they do so they have to obsess over their yard. It gives them peace. Or maybe they miss the glory days of competition. They were a super star in high school and need to fill the void by competing in a “only in their mind” game of “Fuck you my yard is the best on the block, so eat my cock”.
So I’m not a lawn guy because I gave up acting like a “guy” years ago. I don’t play the “squeeze the hand til someone yells uncle” handshake game, I don’t regale tails of my physical prowess, I don’t bluster and act cocky like a Bandy rooster. Itry to keep my personal stories to those where I look like an idiot, and call them learning experiences…like when I learned that one drunk football player cannot beat up an entire fraternity .
Hey I never said I didn’t USED to be a guy…just not anymore.
So I guess that I refuse to be a lawn guy because I would rather remember the glory days as they were and not transform that shit into a pissing contest with my neighbors. I don’t water, fertilize, seed, or cut (on time anyway) my grass. If you do all of that shit the fucking grass grows more and then you have to mow it… We have a saying in our house…it isn’t that we need to mow, we just believe that natural seeding is better then buying seed, so were letting nature take it’s course and as soon as the grass goes to seed, we’ll cut it.
From All Conference Offensive Center to Lawn Guy?
Fuck That.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
PARTY!!
Tonight, after working, there was a get together at Harry’s Country Club Bar and Grill, in the River Market area of KC. After missing so many of these I finally decided to go and meet with a few fellow bloggers.
Going with me was one of my favorite local, albeit not a regular writer (sorry E had to get the dig in!) The Hammer She and I share some of the same stomping grounds and then I got to meet some genuinely cool and interesting folk.
Like Mr Death himself,and his best friend Michelle and her Hubby And the The X Man I also met two of the
sweethearts that run The flogging of America, now Me and Bouby took off right when they showed up but I look forward to seeing them next time around. There were many many more local bloggers but unfortunately my gin addled mind and lack of a notebook, not to mention that I’m sorry but I haven’t been as actively reading my local bloggers like I should….
Important safety tip, ALWAYS support your local bloggers!!
I believe that I will get together with the Hammer and have some bumper stickers made up. So at the next party we’ll have favors to hand out. That and it will remind me that sometimes local is just as important as well… air.
I had a blast and I was very happy to meet everyone and if I didn’t throw you on the list, drop me a note and tell me how much I suck, and I’ll rectify the situation....
Going with me was one of my favorite local, albeit not a regular writer (sorry E had to get the dig in!) The Hammer She and I share some of the same stomping grounds and then I got to meet some genuinely cool and interesting folk.
Like Mr Death himself,and his best friend Michelle and her Hubby And the The X Man I also met two of the
sweethearts that run The flogging of America, now Me and Bouby took off right when they showed up but I look forward to seeing them next time around. There were many many more local bloggers but unfortunately my gin addled mind and lack of a notebook, not to mention that I’m sorry but I haven’t been as actively reading my local bloggers like I should….
Important safety tip, ALWAYS support your local bloggers!!
I believe that I will get together with the Hammer and have some bumper stickers made up. So at the next party we’ll have favors to hand out. That and it will remind me that sometimes local is just as important as well… air.
I had a blast and I was very happy to meet everyone and if I didn’t throw you on the list, drop me a note and tell me how much I suck, and I’ll rectify the situation....
yes I'll throw my $.02 in too
When I had heard that there had been a shooting at Virginia Tech yesterday my first thought was, “I hope my cousin is far away from that” my second thought was” why weren’t the students shooting back, or trying to take the gunman out?”
Pete reminded me why, guns are still prohibited on campuses. When I was in college I was a law breaker. I kept a shotgun under my dorm bed, behind the box of fireworks, both contraband, the fire works are pretty self explanatory. But why the shotgun?
I hunt.
That’s all. I like to spend my fall afternoons walking in fields and shooting birds…not for any hated or disdain for these birds, but because they taste good. Most people wouldn’t know fresh pheasant or quail if it landed on their face and started to wiggle. The shit you order in fancy restaurants is all farm raised just like chickens…probably on the same fucking ranch. My point is that is why I had a gun in my dorm room, in my truck /car(depending on which year and had I wrecked or blown it up) all through high school. It is why I have guns in my house today. And I have them loaded and scattered throughout the domicile waiting for some ass hammer to try and get passed the dogs…if they are successful there, I get to shoot them that is the rule.
So HAD I been a Virginia Techie yesterday, yes I may have been charged with having a prohibited weapon on campus, but if I was near, you know that there would have been some return fire and maybe, not as many causalities.
Again my heart and thoughts go out to those people who were gunned down in cold blood yesterday.
and lookie here!
I'm nominated for some stupid fucking award.
Pete reminded me why, guns are still prohibited on campuses. When I was in college I was a law breaker. I kept a shotgun under my dorm bed, behind the box of fireworks, both contraband, the fire works are pretty self explanatory. But why the shotgun?
I hunt.
That’s all. I like to spend my fall afternoons walking in fields and shooting birds…not for any hated or disdain for these birds, but because they taste good. Most people wouldn’t know fresh pheasant or quail if it landed on their face and started to wiggle. The shit you order in fancy restaurants is all farm raised just like chickens…probably on the same fucking ranch. My point is that is why I had a gun in my dorm room, in my truck /car(depending on which year and had I wrecked or blown it up) all through high school. It is why I have guns in my house today. And I have them loaded and scattered throughout the domicile waiting for some ass hammer to try and get passed the dogs…if they are successful there, I get to shoot them that is the rule.
So HAD I been a Virginia Techie yesterday, yes I may have been charged with having a prohibited weapon on campus, but if I was near, you know that there would have been some return fire and maybe, not as many causalities.
Again my heart and thoughts go out to those people who were gunned down in cold blood yesterday.
and lookie here!
I'm nominated for some stupid fucking award.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
When in Doubt...
I have been so uninspired lately, I’m tired of bitching about the same thing, I’m tired of doing the same thing, I’m basically tired. I am frustrated that people take so much time to make a decision regarding anything that has to do with their company, good, bad, or indifferent.
I’m thinking I need to change jobs even if I just go back to being a bartender . Maybe a janitor, hell I can run a mop.
On a side note Bouby and I are both down 15-18 lbs ½ way through our 4th week of our diet. So just 60 more pounds for me and I’m home free…well as long as I don’t start eating Ben and Jerry’s /burger king/starbucks mocha latte/ breakfasts again. But I’m pretty excited to have lost some pounds.
However, since I have been on this diet and have paid a shit bag of cash to have some twit tell me that I’m doing a great job 3 times a week, I have lost all of my energy. I used to pop out of bed and was ready to take on the world. Every since I was a tiny little kid I have been like this, I needed to get to where I was going and start my day…when I was 5, The same kid that was walking to his G-ma’s to show off a new pair of boots when he was 3, before Daddy and Mommy got up (see here) Anyway back on point, I have had no energy since starting this diet program, even with the sanctioned vitamins, and my normal fistful of vitaminny goodness that I take normally to try and stave off arthritis and old age, not that it is working but I do enjoy the placebo effect it has, and yet still no energy.
So I’m even more irritable and frustrated, and it shows. I have been a complete bastard at work, and I have been short and angry with most of the people around me.
Looks like I have some “Splainin’ to do”…..
I have no idea what I need to do, but I need to do it quick.
So how about that Imus guy huh? Did you know there was a War on?
I’m thinking I need to change jobs even if I just go back to being a bartender . Maybe a janitor, hell I can run a mop.
On a side note Bouby and I are both down 15-18 lbs ½ way through our 4th week of our diet. So just 60 more pounds for me and I’m home free…well as long as I don’t start eating Ben and Jerry’s /burger king/starbucks mocha latte/ breakfasts again. But I’m pretty excited to have lost some pounds.
However, since I have been on this diet and have paid a shit bag of cash to have some twit tell me that I’m doing a great job 3 times a week, I have lost all of my energy. I used to pop out of bed and was ready to take on the world. Every since I was a tiny little kid I have been like this, I needed to get to where I was going and start my day…when I was 5, The same kid that was walking to his G-ma’s to show off a new pair of boots when he was 3, before Daddy and Mommy got up (see here) Anyway back on point, I have had no energy since starting this diet program, even with the sanctioned vitamins, and my normal fistful of vitaminny goodness that I take normally to try and stave off arthritis and old age, not that it is working but I do enjoy the placebo effect it has, and yet still no energy.
So I’m even more irritable and frustrated, and it shows. I have been a complete bastard at work, and I have been short and angry with most of the people around me.
Looks like I have some “Splainin’ to do”…..
I have no idea what I need to do, but I need to do it quick.
So how about that Imus guy huh? Did you know there was a War on?
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Stolen...because I don't write this good...
Sorry Paul, I had to plagiarize, but you did a great job!
One of my favorite authors died last night, and I am sad.
Kurt Vonnegut dies aged 84
By Paul Sullivan
Published: April 12 2007 12:30 | Last updated: April 12 2007 12:30
Kurt Vonnegut, the great American satirical novelist, died on Wednesday at the age of 84 as a result of head injuries sustained in a fall at his home in New York last week.
“So it goes” is the catchphrase that runs throughout Slaughterhouse-Five, his best known work. It was a refrain that seems to sum up his long and varied life, and the ironic detachment with which he composed his masterly portraits of human folly. Best known for his novels of the 1960s and early 1970s Cat’s Cradle, God Bless You, Mr Rosewater, Slaughterhouse-Five, and Breakfast of Champions, Kurt Vonnegut believed that art was a way to make your soul grow”, a way to stave off television’s capacity to numb through repetition.
Kurt Vonnegut was born to German-American parents on November 11, 1922, in Indianapolis, Indiana, where he lived until he enrolled at Cornell University in 1940. At Cornell, he struggled academically, as a biochemistry student, but thrived as a columnist for the university’s newspaper. He left in 1942 without taking a degree. The following year he enlisted in the US army. He was captured at the Battle of the Bulge on December 22, 1944, and held prisoner in Dresden in Germany. When Allied planes bombed the city on February 22, 1945, Vonnegut sought shelter in an underground meat locker, the inspiration for Slaughterhouse-Five.
He was freed in May 1945. Later that year he married Jane Marie Cox, a childhood friend, and moved to Chicago. There he began working at the Chicago City News Bureau, the fabled training ground for the city’s reporters, and also enrolled at the University of Chicago. In 1947, however, his MA thesis “On the fluctuations between good and evil in simple tales” was roundly rejected by the anthropology department and he left the university.
His first short story was published in Collier’s magazine in 1950 but he had to struggle to earn a living as a freelance writer. His first novel, Player Piano, was published in 1952. Classified as science fiction, it was a limited success, as were The Sirens of Titan (1959) and Mother Night (1961). Then, in 1963, the publication of Cat’s Cradle drew the attention of Graham Greene, who called the book one of the best of the year. A comedy about the end of the world, the novel is about an author who originally intended to write a book entitled The Day the World Ended, about the inventor of the nuclear bomb, but ends up on an island with the inventor’s three children where the world’s end begins.
God Bless You, Mr Rosewater - a portrait of a man who decides to give away his fortune - followed the next year and was widely reviewed. On the strength of it, Vonnegut was invited to join the faculty of the University of Iowa’s Writers’ Workshop, where he lectured from 1965 to 1967. That year, he received a fellowship from the Guggenheim Foundation, which enabled him to return to Dresden and work on Slaughterhouse-Five, one of the great anti-war novels.
When it appeared in 1969, Slaughterhouse-Five was a tremendous success, reaching number one on the New York Times bestseller list and bringing Vonnegut national attention. The story follows Billy Pilgrim, a prisoner of war in Dresden, and a man who has become “unstuck in time”, as he travels back and forth across the years of his life. Published as the US was escalating its presence in Vietnam, Slaughterhouse-Five made a folk hero out of its wiry-haired, bushy-mustached 37-year-old author.
Vonnegut’s fame was sudden and accolades came quickly, including an award from the National Institute of Arts and Letters in 1970 and an appointment to teach creative writing at Harvard University. In 1971, the University of Chicago finally awarded him his MA, accepting Cat’s Cradle as his thesis. The same year, however, he separated from his wife, with whom he had had three children, and moved alone to New York City.
Sinking into a depression, he wrote Breakfast of Champions, which drew partly on his experience opening the second Saab dealership in the US. It was published in 1973 and became a commercial success, despite tepid reviews.
In 1973, Vonnegut was named Distinguished Professor of English at City College. New York, replacing Anthony Burgess, but he resigned the following year. For the first time, he had enough money to write full time, but he never equaled his earlier work. His later novels include Jailbird (1979), Deadeye Dick (1982), Galapagos (1985), Hocus Pocus (1990), and Timequake (1997) as well as several collections of essays and autobiographical writings. In 1999, his early short stories were collected in Bagombo Snuff Box. His last published book was God Bless You, Dr Kevorkian (2000), a collection of meditations on death and the afterlife that he originally read on New York public radio.In the autumn of 2000 he returned to teaching at Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts.
For him personally, the years after Slaughterhouse-Five were often marred by hardship. In 1979, Vonnegut divorced his first wife and married the photographer Jill Kremnentz and the couple had one child, Lily, in 1982. Three years later, however, Vonnegut’s depression returned and he attempted suicide. Nevertheless, Vonnegut continued to be a public figure, lobbying on behalf of young artists and speaking out against the debasement of American culture. In the final analysis, Perhaps the ironic epitaph he wrote for himself in Slaughterhouse-Five best shows his capacity to face the darker side of life: , probably best sums up his life: “Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.” So it goes.
Thank you Mr. Vonnegut, you will be missed.
One of my favorite authors died last night, and I am sad.
Kurt Vonnegut dies aged 84
By Paul Sullivan
Published: April 12 2007 12:30 | Last updated: April 12 2007 12:30
Kurt Vonnegut, the great American satirical novelist, died on Wednesday at the age of 84 as a result of head injuries sustained in a fall at his home in New York last week.
“So it goes” is the catchphrase that runs throughout Slaughterhouse-Five, his best known work. It was a refrain that seems to sum up his long and varied life, and the ironic detachment with which he composed his masterly portraits of human folly. Best known for his novels of the 1960s and early 1970s Cat’s Cradle, God Bless You, Mr Rosewater, Slaughterhouse-Five, and Breakfast of Champions, Kurt Vonnegut believed that art was a way to make your soul grow”, a way to stave off television’s capacity to numb through repetition.
Kurt Vonnegut was born to German-American parents on November 11, 1922, in Indianapolis, Indiana, where he lived until he enrolled at Cornell University in 1940. At Cornell, he struggled academically, as a biochemistry student, but thrived as a columnist for the university’s newspaper. He left in 1942 without taking a degree. The following year he enlisted in the US army. He was captured at the Battle of the Bulge on December 22, 1944, and held prisoner in Dresden in Germany. When Allied planes bombed the city on February 22, 1945, Vonnegut sought shelter in an underground meat locker, the inspiration for Slaughterhouse-Five.
He was freed in May 1945. Later that year he married Jane Marie Cox, a childhood friend, and moved to Chicago. There he began working at the Chicago City News Bureau, the fabled training ground for the city’s reporters, and also enrolled at the University of Chicago. In 1947, however, his MA thesis “On the fluctuations between good and evil in simple tales” was roundly rejected by the anthropology department and he left the university.
His first short story was published in Collier’s magazine in 1950 but he had to struggle to earn a living as a freelance writer. His first novel, Player Piano, was published in 1952. Classified as science fiction, it was a limited success, as were The Sirens of Titan (1959) and Mother Night (1961). Then, in 1963, the publication of Cat’s Cradle drew the attention of Graham Greene, who called the book one of the best of the year. A comedy about the end of the world, the novel is about an author who originally intended to write a book entitled The Day the World Ended, about the inventor of the nuclear bomb, but ends up on an island with the inventor’s three children where the world’s end begins.
God Bless You, Mr Rosewater - a portrait of a man who decides to give away his fortune - followed the next year and was widely reviewed. On the strength of it, Vonnegut was invited to join the faculty of the University of Iowa’s Writers’ Workshop, where he lectured from 1965 to 1967. That year, he received a fellowship from the Guggenheim Foundation, which enabled him to return to Dresden and work on Slaughterhouse-Five, one of the great anti-war novels.
When it appeared in 1969, Slaughterhouse-Five was a tremendous success, reaching number one on the New York Times bestseller list and bringing Vonnegut national attention. The story follows Billy Pilgrim, a prisoner of war in Dresden, and a man who has become “unstuck in time”, as he travels back and forth across the years of his life. Published as the US was escalating its presence in Vietnam, Slaughterhouse-Five made a folk hero out of its wiry-haired, bushy-mustached 37-year-old author.
Vonnegut’s fame was sudden and accolades came quickly, including an award from the National Institute of Arts and Letters in 1970 and an appointment to teach creative writing at Harvard University. In 1971, the University of Chicago finally awarded him his MA, accepting Cat’s Cradle as his thesis. The same year, however, he separated from his wife, with whom he had had three children, and moved alone to New York City.
Sinking into a depression, he wrote Breakfast of Champions, which drew partly on his experience opening the second Saab dealership in the US. It was published in 1973 and became a commercial success, despite tepid reviews.
In 1973, Vonnegut was named Distinguished Professor of English at City College. New York, replacing Anthony Burgess, but he resigned the following year. For the first time, he had enough money to write full time, but he never equaled his earlier work. His later novels include Jailbird (1979), Deadeye Dick (1982), Galapagos (1985), Hocus Pocus (1990), and Timequake (1997) as well as several collections of essays and autobiographical writings. In 1999, his early short stories were collected in Bagombo Snuff Box. His last published book was God Bless You, Dr Kevorkian (2000), a collection of meditations on death and the afterlife that he originally read on New York public radio.In the autumn of 2000 he returned to teaching at Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts.
For him personally, the years after Slaughterhouse-Five were often marred by hardship. In 1979, Vonnegut divorced his first wife and married the photographer Jill Kremnentz and the couple had one child, Lily, in 1982. Three years later, however, Vonnegut’s depression returned and he attempted suicide. Nevertheless, Vonnegut continued to be a public figure, lobbying on behalf of young artists and speaking out against the debasement of American culture. In the final analysis, Perhaps the ironic epitaph he wrote for himself in Slaughterhouse-Five best shows his capacity to face the darker side of life: , probably best sums up his life: “Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.” So it goes.
Thank you Mr. Vonnegut, you will be missed.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Georgie, We hardly knew Ye...
Dear George Foreman,
For the last two years I have enjoyed using your famous fat reducing grill, as a matter of fact up until last night I couldn’t remember a week that went by when I didn’t have a reason for not using it. I love your grill.
We, My girlfriend and I, got your grill for a Christmas present in 2004, so we have used it without fail for the last 2 years +/- a month or so. It was no surprise to us when last night the grill finally burned out. Not that we were expecting your product to die an early death, but we know that when you build consumer products to last you can’t make any money because if they last forever you don’t have any return customers. So we were a little disappointed but completely understanding.
In our effort to replace the wonderful grill that we had so lovingly used for the last two years, we ended up being quite shocked and dismayed. Apparently in an effort to save money, or make the grill more affordable to the shoppers at the local discount venues, such as Wal-Mart, K-Mart and Target, you took it upon yourselves to remove some features. Our past grill had a wonderful timer and heat setting slider that would allow the user to make the grill what ever temperature necessary to match what ever they were cooking. It was also the wonderfully JUMBO sized grill, where we could cook for an entire dinner party all at the same time.
Here is the shocking part.
When we went out to locate our new George Foreman Amazing Fat reducing grill, all that was readily available on the shelves were either to small, or had too many gadgets, or to our disbelief, had no timer or temperature setting. Now being a businessman also I completely understand the need for profit, and I’m sure that you personally didn’t have the final say in what features you need to keep or which ones are frivolous and need to be removed, but when cooking multiple items that all need to hit the table at the same time a timer is a quite handy thing to have.
Now I’m sure that I can hear the internal dialogue starting already, “But Mr. Nightmare, there is a model with a timer and a heat setting, we don’t know why you’re all up in our grill about that…”
Well let me tell you about that particular model. I firmly believe that this model was designed for the 18-23 yr old dorm dwelling foodie who makes extra cash by running a café out of their dorm room. It is entirely too small to cook a meal for a family of four, or even a family of two with multiple items on the grill at the same time. Regardless as to the graphic on the box showing what I feel is the smallest salmon steaks on the planet. And that if you were actually grilling these steaks you would be in violation for taking a salmon from the river that was under the proper size limit.
A piece of advice, that my Granny passed down to me. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
Please let me know if you have a supply of “George Foreman Amazing Fat Reducing Grills” in the JUMBO size, with timer and heat selector, I would like to stock up.
Yours in Grilling,
Nightmare
Sunday, April 08, 2007
HAPPY EASTER!
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Holy shit was I tickled!
So Bouby and I are lying in bed last night and she is trying to sleep and I was watching the "Family Guy" because it is fucking funny....like "All in the Family" was back in the 70's.
Fuck you I'm old.
Anyway Here is the clip on you tube that made me laugh until I couldn't breath, and am still laughing about today. At first I thought it was just because I was tired, now, I think I may have some sort of brain damage.
"It's Raining sideways!"
That shit totally threw me off guard.
Ollie Williams, you, my animated black friend, are a credit to the ink you're drawn with.
Fuck you I'm old.
Anyway Here is the clip on you tube that made me laugh until I couldn't breath, and am still laughing about today. At first I thought it was just because I was tired, now, I think I may have some sort of brain damage.
"It's Raining sideways!"
That shit totally threw me off guard.
Ollie Williams, you, my animated black friend, are a credit to the ink you're drawn with.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Rain makes Morons like Sex makes Babies
So I’m driving to work this morning and it is raining, not that I didn’t expect it to be because that was all they could talk about on TV this morning, LOTS OF RAIN… BLAH BLAH BLAH … EXPECT LOTS OF RAIN… BLAH BLAH BLAH….. so I’m driving like a usually do, only not 10MPH OVER the speed limit, just the speed limit, and naturally I’m cussing the insanely large amount of retards who are driving like they are in a funeral procession, but since I’m doing a good impersonation of a Navajo woman (I was weaving…see that is funny shit right there!) I’m only mostly enraged, not fully pissed like when it snows.
So I have to get over in the right hand lane to exit, to get to my place of employment, and lo- and behold the whole lane drops to around 45-50 MPH…WTF OVER? I bellow at no one. Then I notice that one by one, slowly each car in front of me gets into the middle lane…that’s weird, I think…why on earth would these people get into a lane that is getting increasingly slower due to the increased amount of people getting in it? Why dear lord why?
As I approach the truck in front of me it turns on the left indicator telling me that he too is joining the over crowded middle laners….I don’t see why, there doesn’t seem to be any one in front of him, nor do I see flashing lights of a wreck, or a tow truck, or your favorite emergency vehicle du jour…nothing, I see nothing. Finally this guy makes his move and I spot the irritation…
Wait for it.
It’s coming….
I couldn’t believe it either…
A Fucking ass hat on a motorcycle.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love the motorcycles, I have been riding, nor at least able to ride since I was 10, I understand the need to feel like a manly man and ride that fucker anywhere and every where, I really do…HOWEVER!!! If you cannot drive the fucking motorcycle at the proper speed that ALL OF FUCKING CREATION SEEMS TO BE DRIVING BUT YOU, maybe you should have drove your fucking car!
So naturally I ride his tail light…about 3 feet off of his tail light to be exact, and yes it did really piss him off, and he did give me a rude finger gesture, but you know…I don’t fucking care. If you own a motorcycle, and you wan to drive it, cool, just don’t cause traffic, if you can’t run with the pack, then pull the fuck off the road and wait out the goddamned weather….FUCKING CUM-DUMPSTERS!
So I have to get over in the right hand lane to exit, to get to my place of employment, and lo- and behold the whole lane drops to around 45-50 MPH…WTF OVER? I bellow at no one. Then I notice that one by one, slowly each car in front of me gets into the middle lane…that’s weird, I think…why on earth would these people get into a lane that is getting increasingly slower due to the increased amount of people getting in it? Why dear lord why?
As I approach the truck in front of me it turns on the left indicator telling me that he too is joining the over crowded middle laners….I don’t see why, there doesn’t seem to be any one in front of him, nor do I see flashing lights of a wreck, or a tow truck, or your favorite emergency vehicle du jour…nothing, I see nothing. Finally this guy makes his move and I spot the irritation…
Wait for it.
It’s coming….
I couldn’t believe it either…
A Fucking ass hat on a motorcycle.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love the motorcycles, I have been riding, nor at least able to ride since I was 10, I understand the need to feel like a manly man and ride that fucker anywhere and every where, I really do…HOWEVER!!! If you cannot drive the fucking motorcycle at the proper speed that ALL OF FUCKING CREATION SEEMS TO BE DRIVING BUT YOU, maybe you should have drove your fucking car!
So naturally I ride his tail light…about 3 feet off of his tail light to be exact, and yes it did really piss him off, and he did give me a rude finger gesture, but you know…I don’t fucking care. If you own a motorcycle, and you wan to drive it, cool, just don’t cause traffic, if you can’t run with the pack, then pull the fuck off the road and wait out the goddamned weather….FUCKING CUM-DUMPSTERS!
