if my kids..

..want to play games with me, they better be prepared to bring it...cause i don't lay down to anyone.

Ric Flair knows what I mean...

Do you think...

....the Jesus ever got turned down ?

The Bible is filled with stories about how he put the band together. How he went around and called on guys and they dropped everything and started following him.

But do you think that the bible left out any parts where it might not have gone so well ?

I mean with all due respect, he was asking quite a bit. I could see him rolling up to some guys and saying, " Hi, I'm Jesus. What are you guys up to ?"

" We're going fishing."

" Well I am the fisher of men "

" You're going to be a fisher of kicks to the head if you don't stop bugging us !"

Then again Jesus was a charasmatic dude, so if anyone would bat 100% I suspect it would be him.

Dr. Flick

I once dated this girl who was a nursing student. She was mostly a pain in the ass, but she was really good at the sex thing, so of course I was smitten.

On one Thrusday evening I had designs on taking her out, getting her drunk, then doing my best to talk her into coming back to my place. It was really quite the plan. The only catch was that she had a project to do at the computer lab with the other students in her class, but that I could roll over around 9 pm and pick her up there.

At nine I strolled into the computer lab to find a gaggle of frantic nurses-to-be. They had been working on the project for hours and apparently it hadn't gone well. Worse yet, it also became apparent that whatever issues they were having were putting my chances of getting laid in jeopardy.

The project they were working on was a computer simulation that required them to move a sick patient from 11,000 feet in elevation to 3,000 feet without killing the poor guy. To this point, they had been unsuccessful. Desperate to help my own situation I asked if I could give it a try.

The way it worked was that you'd stabilize the patient then click a button that would move him down 1,000 feet. The computer would then indicate if the patient was alive, dead, or somewhere in between.

Seeing as I didn't really know what I was doing, I just started fill the dude up with everything in the medical kit. Vasodialators, vasosuppressors, morphine, whatever...the bastard was getting down the mountain and I was going to be sitting in a bar with a cold beer and then figuring out how to undo a front clasp bra, one way or another.

So I clicked the button...

11,000 feet...no problem.

10,000 feet things started to go screwy....I jacked him up again... clapideral, nitrogylcerine, some more morphine, a shot of wild turkey, whatever..

CLICK for 9,000 feet....alive !!!! Majorly fucked up...but alive.

And so it continued 8,000.....7,000....6,000 each step of the way and with each click the computer would respond that the patient was hanging on by a thread....

At 4,000 feet I had to use the paddles on him.

You could cut the tention with a knife and beads of sweat formed on my forehead....I GOT A HEATBEAT BACK...more drugs...something...anything...I was shaking...so close, yet so far away, but I pressed on powered by the cheers of the small crowd that had formed behind me and by the thought that I was surely due a blowjob if I could just pull this last bit off.

I reached out a nervous finger and clicked enter.

3,000 feet.....ALIVE !!!!!! The room went crazy with cheering nurses-to-be, there were hugs all around, and a got a kiss that, if indicative of things to come, promised a very bountenous evening ahead.

In the middle of the furvor , one mousey looking girl walked over and tore off the print-out of the entire exercise that they were to turn in to the professor. As she riffled through the pages of dot-matrix laden sheets her eyes got big and she started for clamor for everyone's attention.

"Wait, wait, wait, hang on.", she tried to speak over the din.

She looked like a little kid who came down the stairs at Christmas morning and suddenly realized that his family being Jewish meant that there'd be no presents. She turned her gaze directly at me, " When you started at 13,000 feet..what was the first thing you did ?"

" I dunno, I think i gave him some oxygen and a shot or something..you're the one with the shee.."

" NO !", she cut me off abruptly and the room when silent, " I don't mean what's the first treatment you game him. I mean what was the first thing that you did when you sat down at the computer ?"

" Ahhh, I dunno..whatever..I think I hit go."

A collective groan coincided with everyone stealing paniced glances at each other and then they all began dejectedly looking at the floor...on the far side of the room one girl started to cry. After a moment everyone started walking back to their computers.

" Wha ?", I was stunned. I looked to my girl, " Wha ?". It was all I could muster.

She had an expression that I'm not sure that I had every seen before or since. It was equal parts sadness, distain and embarassment, but with just a tad bit of sympathy. I also got the sense that the sympathy was the only thing holding her back from driving staples into my head.

" You see, " she spoke with great effort, " the first thing that you were supposed to do was make the patient sick."

" He wasn't sick to begin with?"

" No, you have to assign him an illness. He was heathy at the top. "

" Well then...how did he almost....but I had to.... the paddles", I was starting to catch up now, " Oh......OH !"

"yeah," at this point she wasn't even making eye contact anymore.

" So I guess this means-"

"-yeah."

" Um, oh ok. I guess I'll...well...you know", and I shuffled out the door. I'd have happily traded places with the sick guy...paddles and all.

I might actually pee my pants

Which reminds me of this post last July
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 be 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 were 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 then nervously reintegrate ourselves back into the family function. We were like the James Bonds of stoners.

In retrospect it 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 me the ragged remnants of a hand rolled “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 that 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 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 terrific.

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 ladle to stir the spaghetti. Remember I was a very infrequent user, a rank amateur if you will. In my frantic haste to get the job done, I may have...no make that I definitely 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 lay 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 as normal as usual.

The problem was that since I was laying on my back (having palpitations and trying to remember if I had made out a will) the tenor of my voice must have changed, bouncing 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 leapt from the couch and rushed to my side. “YOU’RE HAVING A HEART ATTACK? ARE YOU SERIOUS?"


"Yes,” I answered. The tears were starting to well up in my eyes...I was too young to die... “Honey, I love you."

"I'm calling the ambulance.” Now we were both panicked...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 marijuana in the garage."

She stopped dialing.

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

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

this guy has my vote

Brief Overview of Congressman Paul’s Record

He voted against the Patriot Act.
He voted against regulating the Internet.
He voted against the Iraq war.

He has never voted to raise taxes.
He has never voted for an unbalanced budget.
He has never voted for a federal restriction on gun ownership.
He has never voted to raise congressional pay.
He has never taken a government-paid junket.
He has never voted to increase the power of the executive branch.


He does not participate in the lucrative congressional pension program.
He returns a portion of his annual congressional office budget to the U.S. treasury every year.

Congressman Paul introduces numerous pieces of substantive legislation each year, probably more than any single member of Congress.

surprised that there's anything on the internet today besides this

From http://kevososlow.blogspot.com/

its all about the flow

Oh rickey you're so fine....

For all his accomplishments, you'd think snagging a foul ball in the stands would be small stuff for Rickey Henderson. Hardly the case.
Henderson, who caught a foul ball Monday at AT&T Park, where he was watching the Mets play the Giants, kept the ball instead of handing it to a young fan.

“Everybody was asking me for the ball,” Henderson said Tuesday, according to the Star-Ledger of Newark, N.J. “I said, 'You're not getting this ball. I always wanted to get a foul ball. This one's going on a shelf at home.' ”

The young fan didn't go home empty-handed, though, as Henderson signed another ball the kid already had.

Henderson, 48, joked that his catch in the stands shows he's still got the skills to play the game.

“Showing 'em I've still got good hands. The ball found me I was so quick.”

splain this

In the grocery store snack aisle why are the bags for the pretzels transparent, and the bags for the totilla chips tranparent, but you never see potato chip bag that you can actually see the contents ?

Do you think that made a traparent bag and what they ended up with was so hideous that they said, " We can never let the public see something so terrible " ? How bad can it be ?

I ask because I just opened a bag of Tostitos nacho chips and they came in a non-see-thru bag, which seemed odd.

It it possible that Totitos, after offering up nachos as a healthy alternative to the chip, has now switched gears and trying to make the nacho see more 'unhealthy'. Is this a portent that being a slob is coming back into style ? If so, does this make me a trendsetter ?

move over Bubb Rubb

hodgepodge....

....can't I can't spell potpourri.

In the last week or so I've...

- had a fat old man charge me like he was going to tackle me then pull up short and make threatening gestures. That conversation ended with me saying, " You can either leave or go to jail."

- Slept in my van for a couple of hours because I forgot my house key and didn't want to wake up my wife. For those keeping score at home, hypothermia beats out 'angry wife' 100% of the time.

- Mildred ( remember her ?) called up asking me, " what's up with the flying spheres that are zooming around in the sky at night. Is the government up to something ? " She also let me know she was concerned about some guy who was following her to the newspaper stand who, " walks like a gunfighter and has round hair where his forehead should be." Mildred son is out of town so she's a little lonely.

Here's a list of words that the guy across the hall from me uses instead of the regular English words that the rest of us use:

* AK LEAST for at least
* GEN-U-ER-LY for either generally or genuinely...we're not sure
* PICKS-T-CHURES for pictures
* I (pause) DRATHER for I'd rather
He's also fond of the words "caddyywhapus" and " rectallinear" the later which sends me into fits of laughter like a 5th grader.

You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around...

Groucho Marx said it best

Out of the blue I got a call last night, " Some of the teaching staff and parents were talking and we're wondering if you'd be interested in being Vice President of the PTA ?"

Given what you've read on the blog, you may find yourself sitting there with a bit of a surprised look on your face. IMAGINE HOW I FEEL !

I wrote PTA up above, but it might be PTO. If there is a difference I wouldn't know. Harper Valley had a PTA, I remember that from TV. I've also heard PTO thrown around from time to time. But the point is that it's not like I'm an active member of the organization. Why they selected me I have no idea...hell, I don't even know how they know who I am. Random draw perhaps ?

In any event, I immediately have to call into question the integrity of any organization that would choose me to be a member. What's wrong with those people ?

I was stunned enough to ask the guy for a day or two for me to think about it. On one hand, I always enjoy doing anything that's going the help out my kids. On the other hand, I'm really not sure that I'm capable of getting though a term without... shall we say...an incident. On the ....errrr...third hand, if I had a third hand, having me flip out on someone at an elementary school function would offer up some interesting stuff to write about.

This one I'm going to have to ponder for a while.

This morning's conversation

Mrs. Flick: What we need around here is a Libby Lu's.

Me: What's that ?

Mrs. Flick: It one of those places where you have a birthday party for little girls where they have makeovers and put on a fashion show.

Me: That's horrible. I can't imagine anything worse.

Mrs. Flick: You're ridiculous...name one little girls who doesn't like playing dress up ?

Me: JonBenet Ramsey ?