damn dog

At this point my dog has turned into the Hellen Keller of canines.

But since she doesn't have any fingers with which to do sign language she's decided that her chosen form of communication will be shit and piss.

It's excrement morse code. A turd is a dash and a puddle is a dot. And she's running around my house rattling off Shakespearian sonnets.

Why is it that I have no problem eating a pasture full of hamburger but I can't bring myself to put this stupid dog down ?

Keeping it real-er

To clarify yesterday's post and with all the proper respect to LL Cool J

Around the Way Girl

I want a girl with extensions in her hair
Bamboo earrings
At least two pair
A fendi bag and a bad attitude
That's all I need to get me in a good mood

She can walk with a switch and talk with street slang
I love it when a woman ain't scared to do her thing
Standing at the bus stop sucking on a lollipop
Once she gets pumping it's hard to make the hottie stop

She likes to dance to the rap jam
She sweet as brown sugar with the candied yams
Honey coated complexion
Using camay
Lets hear it for the girl she's from around the way

Chorus

I need an around the way girl
Around the way girl
That's the one for me
She's the only one for me
I need an around the way girl

Silky, milky her smile is like sunshine
That's why I had to dedicate at least one rhyme
To all the cuties in the neighborhood
Cause if I didn't tell you then another brother would

Your sweet like sugar with your gangster talk
Want to eat you like a cookie when I see you walk
With your rayon, silk or maybe even denim
It really doesn't matter as long as you're in them

You can break hearts and manipulate minds
Or surrender act tender be gentle and kind
You always know what to say and do
Cold flip when you think your man is playing you

Not cheap but pettyY
ou're ready for loving
You're real independent so your parents be bugging
But if you ever need a place to stay(oooh you love me)
Come around my way

Chorus
I need an around the way girl
Around the way girl
That's the one for meS
he's the only one for me

Perm in your hair or even a curly weave
With that new edition bobby brown button on your sleeve
I tell you come here
You say meet me half way
Cause brothers been popping that game all day

Around the way you're like a neighborhood jewel
All the home boys sweat you so you're crazy cool
Wear your gold in the summer with your biking shorts
While you watching all the brothers on the basketball court

Going to the movies with your home girls crew
While the businessmen in suits be hawking you
Baby, hair pumping, lip gloss is shining
I think you in the mood for whining and dining
So we can go out and eat somewhereWe got a lot of private jokes to share

Lisa, angela, pamela, renee
I love youyou're from around the way

Chorus

I need an around the way girl
Around the way girl
That's the one for me

There you go

Spend a good potion of the night drinking cheap beer and a good portion of the morning with a cheap hangover. Perfect. Now I can think of lots of stuff to write. Too bad most of them might constitute a class two felony.

Mrs. Flick was in a fender bender last night, so I have to take care of that right now and not a lot of time to chit chat. I will pass along on conversation from last night that I though particularly funny.

The bar we play at is a bit of a roughneck place. Lot of bikers, lots of black and purto rican guys too old to go to the clubs but young enough to still go out, and generally speaking most of the women are around fifty and carry knives.

Around 11pm a gaggle of young "round the way" girls walked in. None of them could have been a day over 21. They were decked out in hoochie wear, showing their bellies, their asses, and their boobies. It was your typical round the way set-up. One really hot puerto rica chick, one skinny but kinda hot white girl trying really hard to be puerto rican, one chubby white chick with nice nails, and two roughneck black chicks with gigantic booties. In short....hot.

Their entrance brought the place to a standstill...especially when the put a bunch of dance music into the jukebox and started provactively dancing with each other.

The girls were of course doing all this to tease the guys in the place. They weren't looking to pick up, just to get a little attention from some middle aged farts. But that hardly ever stops a brother from trying right ? After a while one of the guys got up the courage to walk over and it the basis for the point of this post.

PR guy: Hey ladies, how you all doing tonight ?

Black girl ( not interested at all): fine.

PR Guy: What your name

BG: Sharone

pause of dead air

PR guy ( now getting annoyed at being shown up): Well dont you want to know MY name ?

BG: I already know your name.

PR guy ( suprised and hopeful) : You Do ?!

BG: Yeah...its either Angel or Hector.....you guys are always named Angel or Hector

PR guy: What the....? That's prejudice thing to say. Not every Puerto Rican guy is named Angel or Hector. Damn girl.

BG: Ok then what IS your name.

PR Guy: Ummm, Angel.

Black Girl ( turning back to her drink): Exactly.

i know i know

OK, I know I’ve been a little verbose. The small problem is that I didn’t write anything for 12 days. So it’s been like when you fire up the lawn mower for the first time in the spring and all that smoke and shit billows out of it. Sometimes you have to blow out the pipes to get the thing started.

The bigger problems are that I’ve been relatively sober and I’ve been winning like crazy at poker. I haven’t been drinking since losing a drinking contest to my mother over vacation. No need to go into great detail other than to say that Mom won. And although I may have vomited…making her sleep in until noon the next day was a (a)moral victory.

Anyway, seeing as DEJAZZ’s internet service has been intermittent and has fucked up my online game…AND my AA got cracked three times for $110 I think the poker thing is resolved….and seeing as it’s put me in a great fucking mood, I should be able to rectify the sobriety issue just as soon as I can get out of work.

Heckle and Jeckyl

In a previous post ( April 9th) I talked about the diabetic mom who we watched slam beer with a soda chaser.

The set-up is this. The older son live in a place two town away. Mom lives with wheel-chair bound Grandma so that they can help her out. When we've played poker, we've played at Grandma's house.

What I hadn't mentioned perviously is that there are two other boys in the picture....The Twins...who also live with Grandma. No so much to help her out, but because living with Grandma is better than living in the woods or in a refrigerator box.

The Twins, who I'll refer to as Heckle and Jekyl, are some interesting characters. The could not be nicer more sincere guys. That being said, they're kinda freaky. The look like the just stepped out of the Appalachian backwoods. They have....maye...a set of teeth between them. And I'm fiarly certain that they shave on a regular basis, but that they shave with a set of high powered hedge clippers.

The thing about these two is that I see the everywhere. And I mean EVERYWHERE. Every pub poker game I've been to....they're there. Every home game I've been to in the last two months...THEY'RE THERE ! So last Monday I was driving home from work and I knew there was a game at a local establishment that I had not been to. I wasn't going to play, but I wanted to see what it was like and how many people were there. As I walked into the place I thought to myself, " Well whatever it's like, at least I won't see the twins here." as this place is on the other side of the county and on the same night that I had seen the Twin at another game.

I strolled into the bar and the place was empty. There was a sea of poker tables set up but no people. As I walked further in I saw two barflys at the corner of the bar....but they are always there. I'm not sure that they even leave when the place closes up. And of course there was the bartender. Build it and they won't come...very odd. Then I noticed that there was one more table set up in the back and I heard some noise so I walked back. Sitting there were three people. The dude who runs the tournaments...and bookending him on either side.....The Twins.

Instinctively I screamed, well more like a YELP than a scream, which startled the three of them. The guy who runs the thing said, " hey we're starting late tonight that's why no one his here yet."

" Ababababababab," the Twin had be a little freaked, " ehhhh, Hi guys ahhhhh surprised to see you all the way over here."

Both twins looked at me with blank stares as if they've never seen me before. After ten seconds, which felt like two hours, they went back to playing cards without saying a word.

Now these aren't people who don't know me. I've been to their house. I've played with them for hours at the table. I've bought them drinks. These guys know me....or should I say two guys who look like them know me. I'm now convinced that this is some sort of government project or alien invasion. There's no way possible that these two can be everywhere at once ! I've cracked the code.

The bigger concern is that if aliens have invaded us and have sent spies that look like Heckle and Jeckyl into pub poker to learn a little bit about our civilization...well, frankly we're fucked. Either they're going to pass us by or they're going to blow us up....because if your assesment is based on pub poker....and mind you I've a huge fan...then I'm pretty sure that earth has little to offer.

But that's really not why I mentioned any of this.

The reason I mentioned this is that right before I went on vacation, the Twins invited me back to their Grandma's house to play in a game. They told me that they were playing every other Saturday, but I couldn't remember if the night wanted to play was an on or off night. So desperate for a game I drove over there to check it out. When I arrived there were 100 cars parked around the yard. Problem is, there are always 100 cars parked around the yard...most of them on blocks. The second noticeable thing was that all the blinds were drawn....which is typical when they are playing poker.

I hung outside and lurked in the shadows looking for any signs of life. I waited a while and didn't hear or see anything. Growing increasingly frustrated I figured that I need to peep in a window, or just knock on the door. I opted for the peep.

Slowly I crept up onto the porch and carefully and as silently as possible tip toed across the creaky boards to the back door. If I had to knock I would, but I saw that the there was space under the shade on the back door window...from memory I should be able to see through the kitchen back into the living room.

I honkered down on one knee and squinted through the slit...

And there...maybe a whole 6 feet away from me....in full view and all it's glory...was the 60 year old diabetic Mom, cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth....giving the 80 year old...wheelchair ridden....completely and totally butt naked grandma a spongebath at the kitchen sick.

Now boys spend a good part of their teenage years thinking about peeping in windows to see two women bathing each other. I can tell you from experience that it's not all it's cracked up to be.

Out of fear, in horror, and with great nausea, I turned, jumped off the porch and ran....I ran and ran.

The Fat Man

I thought I wrote this story once before on this blog, but I can't find it anywhere....so I'll give it another run.

The Fat Man

I used to serve on this community board that reviewed proposals and provided funding for economic revitalization projects. The committee was made up of a mix of municipal managers and interested members of the community ( that's code of old board crazy women). People would come in, present their situation to this group of 30 people, then at the end of the process we'd decide which projects got money and how much.

It was local government at it's best and worst. The community representatives who sat on the board tended to be people who were nutjobs in their own communities and who badgered their local manager about street trees, the local cat population, storm water issues, or problems with 'those people' moving into their neighborhoods. What the managers do is sympathetically listen to these ( usually widowed) women and then empower them to solve the worlds problems by getting them involved in this committee or ones like it. So while a lot of really good projects got funded, the engineers presenting the projects often get the pleasure of fielding questions such as;

( to the guy presenting a housing project)...." Do you have a plan on how this project might affect the local cat population "

( same lady to the guy on a street repair project)...." Do you have a plan on how this project might affect the local cat population "

( and to the the guy presenting a new train station)..." Do you own any cats ?"

But the point of this story revolves around the ringleader of this circus, Kevin...aka The Fat Man.

Although a really sincere and nice guy, Kevin was the epitome of a county government bureaucrat...which is to say that he was like the dude who works at the comic book store or the movie rental place, just a little more qualified. And in this particular instance, Kevin was like 10 people who work at the comic book store or movie rental place. He had to be AT LEAST 400 lbs...AT LEAST. But for a big man he was impeccably dress and groomed, which couldn't have been easy. He always had nice slacks, a dress shirt, and always wore a tie which made him look like he was in a constant state of strangulation.

The room was set up in the shape of the letter U and the 30 of us sat around the U with Kevin standing at a podium at the front of the room in the open part of the letter. In my typical passive-aggressive manner, I would always show up 15 minutes late and have to take the only available seat which would always be at the tip of the U....away from everyone else and slightly left and slightly behind Kevin. The got me out of having to talk with the cat lady, or anyone else really, and I got a front row seat in watching Kevin stand there sweating in his monkey suit.

One on particular day I arrived at my usual time only to find that Kevin wasn't there. I took my usual seat and 5 minutes later Kevin walked in looking terrible. His shirt tails were out, no tie, he was red as a beet, and he was sweating profusely.

" Pardon me ", he addressed the class in his usual overly formal way, " I apologize for being tardy but I'm not feeling well and it's caused me to run a little late. I believe I have a little stomach bug "

" Dude if YOU have a stomach bug, you can be sure that there's nothing little about it !", of course I didn't say that aloud because everyone else in the room had their tight-ass community do-gooder persona on...but I took pleasure in at least thinking shit like that.

So we began the process of debate with people reviewing cases, making arguments, and asking Kevin questions, mostly while I doodled and pretended to be listening intently and nodding every once in a while.

While two people were engaged in a particularly intense discussion and I was engaged in particularly intense boredom, something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. With everyone looking at the far side of the room, I look to my right and could see that Kevin was having an issue. The combination of the heat, him having to stand, and his stomach bug seemed to be catching up to him. As I stared at him I could see him start to go.....the sweat was pouring off of him...his breathing was shallow and fast....and his color was going from fire engine red directly to a sheet of white.

Holy fuck...he was going to pass out !

This was going to be awesome.

He starting swaying in place, like a giant sycamore being cut down...chop ...chop ....chop ....

" FALL !!! FAT MAN FALL !!!!", I screamed in my head, urging him on, " FALL FAT MAN !!!" I looked around the room and all eyes were the other other direction. I desperately wanted to catch someone's attention to share in this glorious moment...

Kevin let go of the podium and stumbled back a few steps, swaying, his arms making slight grabbing motions....

A better man may have jumped up and steadied him, but I am not a better man, " FALL FAT MAN FALL " I continued to chant silently. " Go down Fat Man, go down "

And just as he started to go, his left arm found the back wall. He steadied himself and took in a deep breath and exhaled 'woooooosh' the air escaping a giant flesh balloon. Miraculously, the color returned to his face and he leaned forward to the podium once again steadying himself just as the conversation and all the eyes returned to his direction.

Everyone was unaware of just how close we had all been to laying witness to a life changing event and someone asked him one of the typically benign questions, " Kevin, what percentages are we to use again ?"

I found myself a weird mix of euphoric at what had just occurred, but also saddened at what didn't and definitely disgusted with myself as a person when "it" happened.

Kevin began to answer, " You should use between 60 and .."

The evil that had built up inside of him...the evil that he had miraculously avoided...it hadn't gone away...the evil had just moved....

He stammered for a second, be-...be-...between 60 and ...."


PFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTFFFFFFFFFFFAAAAAAARRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTPFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

He let rip with the loudest, nastiest, most stomach buggiest fart you could imagine..

...then continued without missing a beat...... "...and 75 percent."

My eye bugged out of my head and it took all the strength in my body not to jump out of my chair screaming.

In total glee and astonishment, I popped up in my chair and looked out at the room with an ear to ear smile and a look to say , " HOLY FUCKING SHIT !!!! " and everyone looked straight down. No one would make eye contact with me. During a pregnant pause I got the feeling that collectively they were all against me...no one willing to dare look up at me and acknowledge the ...well..the 400 lbs farting gorilla.. that was staring us all in the face.

Come one people !!! Gimee a little something !!! A smirk , a knowing glance, a giggle. Gimme something to work with.

And then they continued, " Great so we can used those number and apply them...." on and on as if nothing happened.

So they can deny the truth, they can live in a fantasy world, but I'll always remember the day....the day I almost saw the Fat Man fall.

Flick is back, back again...

Flick is back, tell a friend.


Man am I exhausted. Vacations will mess you up. I'm definatly feeling the effects of having to get my ass out of bed this morning, and I'm not sure how I'm going to fare not seeing a 16 year old girl in a bikini today.

General Vacation Observations

Someone once told me that if you're at the beach or pool all the time, that the effect of seeing (young) girls in their bathing suit wears off a bit. That somehow you start to become a little numb to it. After spending 10 days on a South Carolina beach I can safely safe that the person who told me that must be 100% gay.

So I spent a good portion of my vacation coming up with a new theory on how to solve the energy crisis. Forget bio-fuel, solar and all that shit. The guy who will make a billion is the dude who figures out how to run a car off bad tattoos. Because I can attest to the fact that the world is filled with an endless supply of bad tatoos. At one point in my life I had just assumed that Yosemite Sam wearing a wizzard hat with his six guns a'blazing would have been the worst tat I would ever see....not it's not even in the top 10.

If Einstein came from the south, the theory of relativity would have never caught on. There's no way that anyone could ever take that shit serious spoken with a southern draw. " Theeeee hy-pot-o-nooze of ahhh rrr-iiiiigth tris-angle, eeeeees e-quail to the sk-ware root of the sum of eeeets side squared." I'm not saying southern people are dumb...they just sound that way. If you put a retarded english dude up against a southern professor in a debate you wouldn't be able to tell what either of them was saying but you'd be sure that the retard was ahead on points.

I watched almost no TV and didn't read the newspaper. I came back to see that an American won the Tour D France, Tiger Woods won the British Open, and Isreal is fucking with the Arabs. If the news is going to just stay the same, they could just write it ahead of time and give everyone the week off.

I came back today to 673 email messages. 14 of them were actual content, the rest were spam. If anyone needs a Rolex, stock times, or male enhancement pills gimme a ring, I got you covered.

I'll try ot sift through the crap and come up with something worth while.

at the beach

Mrs. Flick and I are at the beach this week.

14 people in a three bedroom house.

I've already seen my mother-in-law naked.*

This week should provide plenty of blog worth material.

* no, she's not hot

sickos

In the last week I've had a great deal of new traffic at this blog due to people searching two phrases.

1) "Hot Gril in the house". The weird thing here isn't that people are googling "hot grils" or that they can't type....it's that most of them are from the Middle East. Turkeys, Saudis, and even one from Iraq. Must be a lot of horney A-rabs with english as a second language.

2) This is the more odd one. " How to get vasoline out of your hair". There was one from the pacific northwest but the rest of them were in Texas...and there were a bunch of them. What sort of sick shit is going on at the parties in Texas ?

Busy day, more later.

felt philosophy

During poker games there's a lot of downtime. Between the shuffling and the folding, you spend a great deal of time just sitting there shooting the bull. Often this leads to some very odd, and often insightful exchanges.

Buster: Who won that tournament last week ?

Douglas: I forget the guys name. It was the dude who looks like Pee Wee Herman.

B: Oh right...yeah...I was that he had a big stack. I wonder if he's a pervert ?

D: What do you mean ?

B: Well he looks like Pee Wee Herman, I wonder if he's a pervert like Pee Wee Herman.

D: What the fuck are you talking about ? You shouldn't say things like that about people man. People overhear that shit and they might not know you're fucking around. Besides, Pee Wee Herman aint no pervert.

B: Aint no pervert ? They arrested his ass for jacking off in public.

D: First off all, it wasn't in public, it was in a porno joint. And what the fuck. If you go to a porno jont and you don't jack off you're a pervert. Secondly....Do you jerk off ?

B: Fuck you....only when I'm looking at a picture of your sister.

D: Yeah exactly. Everyone fucking beats their meat. Shit, I did it twice today. I might go into the bathroom during the next hand and do it.

some random dude: If you do that, I'd perfer you wash your hands afterwards. I don't want to touch your chips.

(laughter)

D: That's funny. My point is that every motherfucker on the planet is pounding his pud every night....INCLUDING the fucking cop who arrested Pee Wee. So I find it a little hypocritical that they arrest his ass and put his name in the paper and fuck the dudes life up.

B: Well I might spank it...but I don't go to no porno joint. That shit's creepy. And he was running a kids show. All I'm saying it that, AT LEAST, he should known better.

D: Well you gotta remember that this shit went down before the internet...before you could download some chick banging a horse or two chicks making out or whatever. Fuck, back then there was no Netflix or bullshit like that. And Pee Wee Herman aint walking into no West Coast Video and going into the room behind the curtain. The clerck and every fucking customer would be on the phone to the National Enquirer in two fucking seconds. Paparattzi and shit.

B: Papparattzi ? What the fuck are you talking about ?

D: I'm just saying that Pee Wee can't be walking into no video store and asking for Dickman and Throbin or Her-assic Park.

B: But he can walk into a porno house ?

D: Yeah man. Dudes who run the porno house have like.....a code of ethics or some shit. It's like a doctor or lawyer...what the fuck do they call that ? Confidentiality or whatever. Point is, they know how to keep their mouths shut.

B: My man, you are seriously out of your fucking mind.

D: Fine. Fuck you. I like Pee Wee Herman. I thought his movie was funny and shit and I think he got a raw deal. If I ever have my own movie I'd put his ass in...hook his ass up.

B: Yeah, what movie would that be ? Would it be called "Jacking off at the movies" ? Ahahahahahahahhahahahahahah......

D: Fuck you.....and it wouldn't matter what it was called...I wouldn't let your ass watch it anyway....your ass would be banned. Fuck it. You are now officially banned from any movie that Pee Wee Herman and I make.

B: .............aahhahahahahahahahahahaha... Me and Siskle would give that shit "two dicks down" ...ahahahahhaahahaha

D: Very funny motherfucker, deal the cards.

a little bit about me

some Saturday morning hangover ruminations...

* My happiness seems to be directly proportional to my fatness. And lately I find myself increasingly happy. Busting at the seems happy.

* I suffer from some very odd social anxiety. I might be the only guy comfortable around people I don't know and entirely uncomfortable around people that I know. The first thing that comes into my head when there is a pause in the conversation is " these people all hate me". I typically deal with that by drinking a lot and making sure that there's never a pause in the conversation. That leads me to thinking " I'm talking too much". I usually deal with that by drinking more and not talking at all. Then I think, " I'm creeping everyone out". I usually deal with that by drinking and running off into the woods. It used to be running into the arms a husky woman, but times change.

* I'm a ton of fun to party with ( see above)

* I have passive-aggressive trashmen. I'm not sure what they're mad about, but it's manifesting itself by them feathering their squeeky brakes and shaking the recycling bins at 5 a.m. But WTF....it's better than it manifesting itself by them shitting on the hood of my car. I say shake that bin brother and let it out.

* I just listened to 'Nightswimming' by REM and 'Make it Funky' by James Brown. Both Stipe and Brown are from the same town in Georgia. That's like finding out Micahel Moore and Rush Limbaugh went to the same first grade class...ok maybe it's not like that at all...I don't know what it's like...all I know is that it's some fucked up shit.

* I was in a wedding last night. In the minutes before the ceremony was to start, the groom, his father and I stood fidgeting and making nervous idle conversation. As we talked a big spider walked across the kneewall in front of us. Watching the spider gave us something to focus on besides the immediacy of the moment and, in a small way, allowed the three of us to relax in the moment. Then in a flash an assasin beetle flew into the scene and without warning stung the spider and flew off. I looked at the other two and they had the same expression as me...eyes bugged out and mouth hung open in astonishment. It was like being the cameraman for Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. Then before anyone could react, the assasin beetle was back. It scooped up the spider and scurried away with it. Against my better judgement I said, " Well that's an apt metaphor for what about to occur" My advice....instead of making me your best man, make me your usher. Ushers don't talk.

heart attack man

Long ago, before the flick children, before my current job, before I knew better, I may have sampled the weed now and again.

Typically what would happen is that I would meeting up with my younger brother, who was in college at the time, and he would go about helping me "take the edge off". As this was a prohibited activity as far as Mrs. Flick and my parents are concerned, this would often involve very complex and contrived scenarios to get us out of the house long enough to take care of business, get some gum, get some visine, and the nerviously reintegrate ourselves back into the family function. We were like the James Bonds of stoners.

In retrospect is was really far too much work, but at the same time i think that was half the fun.

After one particular escapade that was cut short, my brother said to me, " here take the rest of this and put it to good use " and handed my the ragged remnents of a handrolled 'cigarette'.

About a week later on a Friday evening after a particularly stressful week I thought that it was time to put the plan into action. The main problem was the Mrs. Flick was at home and does NOT in any way approve of said activities. So I immediately went into 007 mode. While she sat in the living room watching TV I offered to cook us up some dinner. I pulled out a big kettle and started boiling up the spag. As she watched TV and I stirred the spag the plan was put into motion....

Me: So how was your day dear

Mrs. Oh it was ... ( while she talked I ran out to the garage, busted out the J, lit it, sucked as hard as humanly possible, held...held...exhaled..ran back into the house)......<and she continued> ....and then we went out to lunch.

Me: OH WOW, that's great. ( stirring the spag). Where did you go for lunch ?

Mrs: Oh we went over to the Olive Garden, the wait wasn't.... ( out the door again...lighting and sucking like I was trying to get a milkshake through a cocktail straw...huge breath....hold it....hold it...getting light-headed...blow...run back inside...stir)..........and the desert was terriffic.

And this continued for like 10 minutes. Her talking, me running out to the garage, power smoking, and then rushing back in to pick up the conversation.

Finally, after a few minutes I realized that I was ripping high. I don't mean normal high, I mean that I was having a hard time figuring out how to use the ladel to stir the spaggetti. Remember I was a very infrequent users, a rank amateur if you will. In my frantic haste to get the job done, I may have...no make that I definately overdid it.

So as I'm standing there, trying to speak, trying to stir, and trying to keep my head together it started happening. The "IT" was my heart. It started going nuts....BOOM.............BOOM.....bababababababababababababab......long pause.....BOOM BOOM BOOM.....bababababab

In retrospect, it's no wonder. In a 5 minute period I had taken about 10 HUGE breaths and held it as long as I could AND I had run back and forth as fast as I could from the kitchen to the garage 10 times both way. Drugs or no drugs my body had to be wondering what the hell was going on.

And so it continued...babababababab....BOOM......BOOM BOOM....

I started to panic..." ok dude.... you're having a heart attack.....what did they tell you in boy scouts....hmmmmm....oh, I'm supposed to lay down and elevate my feet.....oh wait that's for shock....fuck....what do you do for a heart attack....ok check your left arms...that shit's cool.....ok....maybe if I lay down and put my feet in the air I can get all the blood to my heart. YEAH ! that shit will work, I'll get all the blood to my heart and that will chill it out"

So I laid on the kitchen floor and put my feet up on the counter...taking long and slow breaths.

The whole time this is going on Mrs. Flick has no idea. From her perspective we're having a nice conversation. And seeing as I don't want to draw attention to my stone-assed heart attack situation, I tried to carry on the conversation normal as usual.

The problem was that since i was laying on my back ( having palpatations and trying to remember if I had made out a will) the tenor of my voice must have change bounching off the ceiling and into the living room. This caused Mrs. Flick, who was relaxing on the couch, enjoying the beginning of her weekend, to look up curiously.

" Why are you laying on floor ?"

" Ummmm, because.....ahhhh....now don't over react...but I think I might be having a heart attack ."

" WHAT !?!?!??!?!?!??!" Mrs. Flick lept from the couch and rushed to my side, " YOU"RE HAVING A HEART ATTACK ? ARE YOU SERIOUS ?"


" Yes", I answered, the tears well starting to well up in my eyes...I was too young to die..." honey, I love you."

" I'm calling the amblulance", now were were both paniced...she grabbed the phone and held my hand.

" Honey...just in case I should black out..."

" Yes ?"

" well...one of the first things that they'll want to know..."

" Yes ?" She was dialing and trying to listen to me at the same time.

" Well they'll want to know if I've been on any medications."

" Right ?" she looked at me sort of puzzled/.

" Well you see....you have to tell them....for my own safety...you'll have to tell them that I may have just ...you know....smoked a bunch of marajuana in the garage."

She stopped dialing.

" YOU'RE NOT HAVING A HEART ATTACK YOU ASSHOLE. YOU'RE HIGH." and with that she stood up, threw the phone at me, and walked back into the living room leaving laying on the floor like the idiot I am.

A dozen years on and I'm still not allowed out of site with my brother, and we rarely have spaggetti without me getting at least one disgusted disapproving look.

Lawn Darts

Regular readers might recall my desire to own a set of lawn darts. Unfortunately since 1997 the FEDERAL government has decided that "free" Americans cannot be trusted with such deadly instruments of merriment.

From the Consumer Protection Agency:

" Effective December 19, 1988, all lawn darts are banned from sale in the United States. Lawn darts, used in an outdoor game, have been responsible for the deaths of 3 children. "

It should be noted that the specific incident that caused lawn darts to be made illegal also involved beer, and that, when engaged in responsibly, the recreational use of lawn darts is no more dangerous than baseball.

3 deaths since 19-fucking-70 ?!?!?! If their parents are running around drunk chucking giant darts at each other those kids were probably going to die or something sooner or later anyway.

So now if you get caught selling lawn darts in the United States...ship lawn darts in the United States....or facilitate the sale of lawn darts in these United States...it is a FEDERAL offense !!!

Not even ebay is messing with that shit...althought this dude is really pushing the envelope....empty box for $40....cha !

These guys crack me up. They're not selling lawn darts...that would be illegal. They are, however, selling lawn dart parts...which is perfectly on the up and up. What you do with the parts....like say...assemble them...is all on you.

I'm considering going into business myself. I'm going to start selling "ornate tent stakes" I mean most tents stakes are bland. If you're having some friends over for a cookout, you don't want to have the whole event ruined by a hum-drum post holding your tent aloft. Here's what you need.



Yeah, ornate tent stakes. Do NOT set 30 feet apart. Do NOT score3 points for a ringer.

Lemme know how many you'll need.

in tribute to our founding fathers

In celebration of the sacrafices that our founding fathers have made I did what any good American would do on this national holiday...I went gambling.

Yesterday was a good day.

I won an online tourney in the afternoon and headed up to the pub to give it a run.

As is worked out, the final table consisted of myself, some creepy guy, Poker Mike, his girlfriend ( and you could forget about those two colluding....if it's for poker chips she'd stab him with a rusty tent stake), and "The Chick"...our hero from the Tony Has A Meltdown Story.

When we got to three players the blinds were 20/40 and there were only 4000 chips on the table between the three of us. This meant that skill was secondary to luck. The prizes were $100 for first, a gift certificate for second, and a bucket for third...yeah a bucket. So I looked over and the chick had just a couple of chips left and I made the following proposal to the creepy guy, " How about you and I split the 100 50-50, and we'll give 'The Chick' the $20 and the bucket." I wasn't trying to insult anyone. I figured this was a fair deal. It would get The Chick a little more than she was probably going to get anyway...and would ensure that I'd walk out with a couple of bucks. He jumped at the idea immediately. The Chick looked at her cards and said, " No...who needs a fucking bucket. I'm playing to win".

Thats when I knew I was dead.

Sure enough...and just like in the basement, she doubled ...doubled...then finished off Mr. Creepy.

When we got to heads up I made a feeble attempt to negotiate another sort of chop and she shushed me....I don't mean figuratively either ..I mean she actually hip me with a full on libriarians " shushhhh". The Chick, it seems, has no time for chopping nonsense. The Chick is all about kicking ass.

It took about 3 hands heads up, and I was out.

At least she was kind enough to buy me a buckets worth of beer after the game. That gave her enoug time to explain the finer points of the game to me. While I drowned my losses in a seat of Labatts, she offered up some gems, my favorite of which was " There's really only one winner and everyone else is a loser........no offense".

Errrr, none taken ?

And then, her work done, she sent me stumbling home to sleep myself into a fine fourth of July hangover. For her just another tourney won and another man broken.

Lesson for the day: Don't corner 'The Chick'.

It only makes her angry...and you won't like it when she's angry.