Merry Christmas

Beginning Tonight at 8 pm TBS is running 24 hours of A Christmas Story.

Go ahead and watch it, I tripple dog dare ya !

I wish everyone a safe and Merry Christmas.

please please please watch this

I'm so dead

You remember that rap song from the 80's
"The Freaks Come Out At Night" - by Houdini



We'll for reasons even I don't understand I decided to teach my kids the song but I changed the words to " The Poops Come Out Your Butt".

And now they wont stop singing it.

I got a feeling the next time I hear this song it will be in divorce court.

eeeennnnn !

One time I went to visit some friends at their college. They were having a party and excited to introduce me to some new friends.

The party got going and I met one girl who was pretty interesting. She was cute and a bit of a smart ass, which is always a deadly combination. We hit it off and I were having a nice conversation when right in the middle of it she said

EEEENNNNNNNNNN !

She didn't scream it or anything, but right at the end of a sentence she punctuated with a noticeable but firm ...eeeeennnnnnnnnn. Then she kept right on talking as if nothing happened.

A few minutes later, same thing. She's yapping then all of a sudden, EEEEEEENNNNNN.

This time it was loud enough that in that small room is was clearly noticable to everyone standing around. Stunned, I looked around and no one reacted. Everyone just kept talking and drinking beers and going on business as usual.

WTF....I figured maybe this was some sort of local expression. Like a Deleware version of "fuhget-aboutit" or a twist on Fonzies legendary "AYYYY!".

So to try and fit in with the locals, a couple of minutes later after I finished a joke I was telling with "...holy water ? I better gargle with it....

............EEEEEENNNNNNNNNNN !"

And with my last noise the whole room stopped what they were doing and stared at me.

My two friends, pie-eye, started jumping around behind the girl giving me the 'cut-it-out' signs.

I thought maybe I had said it wrong somehow so I started to make another attempt,

" eeeeeennnnnn ?" I looked at the girl quizzingly and hopeful. Behind her my friends just shook their heads.

I gave it one last gasp, " ee-EE-ee ?"

She walked away.



Yeah.



Turrets.

I wish I could grow a white beard

DANBURY, Conn. - Santa Claus says that a woman who sat on his lap was naughty, not nice. A Santa at the Danbury Fair mall said the woman groped him.

"The security officer at the mall said Santa Claus has been sexually assaulted," police Detective Lt. Thomas Michael said of the complaint.

Sandrama Lamy, 33, of Danbury, was charged with sexual assault and breach of peace in the weekend incident. She was released on a promise to appear in court on Jan. 3.

Police quickly found and identified Lamy because the woman was described as being on crutches, said Capt. Bob Myles.

A call seeking comment from Lamy was answered by a recording Tuesday morning. A woman later called back and said: "It's a false report and I don't have any idea."

Police did not give the name of the disconcerted Santa, but they said he is 65 and felt badly because children were waiting to see him. "He was apparently shocked and embarrassed by the whole incident," Myles said.

A man who teaches hundreds of prospective Santas a year — "Santa Tim" Connaghan, president of RealSantas.com — said he's never heard of a similar incident, though it's not unusual for adults to want to pose with Santa.

"I've had some very nice ladies sit on my lap," said Connaghan, who did not train the Danbury Fair Santa. "Once in a while they'll say 'I hope Mrs. Claus isn't going to be upset.' You have to be discreet and kind and say 'Oh no, she'll be OK. You can sit here, but only for one photo.'"

More my speed

Last week i tried football.

This week I got a taste of something a little more my speed...Mountain Bike Polo.

It starts out, like any good athletic contest, with a warm up. In this case...



Before too long you're doing this...



Which naturally leads to some of this....



Which brings you around full circle to...



I think I might start training for the Olympic Team.

Cycling personna

Yes, consider me Flick's anti-cycling persona. I'm one of the little voices in his head that will call you a douchebag if you warrant it, something the real Flick couldn't do or didn't want do, so don't be a douchebag...ie. Don't be taking a piss at the start line right before a race (that's why promoters get porto-johns)

Michael Ball gets the award for world's smallest penis.

The Doctor is IN !

I'd like to welcome Dr. Flick Jones to the blog.

Dr. Jones will be handling Friday's installment of FlickLives for now on.

Flick Bathroom Reader

Last year I sent out a few copies of the Flick Lives Bathroom Reader.

I've recently received a couple of requests (God knows why) for a 2007 version with updated stories.

If you're interested in a copy you can drop me a note at flicklivesblog@gmail.com and I'll email you a copy. Be sure to let me know if you'd prefer the file in MS Word or PDF formats.

Man up

Yesterday was boys day.

I took the boy to his Cub Scout meeting and we built birdhouses. In some instances birdHOUSE is a bit of a stretch. They were more like bird shanties for homeless glue sniffing, paint huffing birds. But there nothing wrong with affordable housing.

Then we came home to a girl free house and got our "man" on.

I grabbed a couple of caffine free sodas and we busted out the darts. After that came x-box motocross, a game of cards, and a belching contest.

In the 70's came bowling, golf in the 80's, bass fishing in the 90's, and poker for the last half dozen years. Whatever leisure activity captivates American couch potatos of the next decade, I'm doing what I can to assure that my boy is on the cutting edge. I'm grooming the Tiger Woods of rec rooms.

After the boy went to bed, I settled in on the couch and had a glass of 16 year old scotch that had recently been given to me as a present. One glass, nice and slow with my feet up and my ass nessled in on a warm couch...a nice relaxing reward for a day well done.

Some days its really nice to come in and have nothing interesting to write about.

glug glug

Last night my youngest daughter spilled a large, full glass of water directly into the keyboard of my laptop and I learned two things.

#1 - you can't wring out a laptop

#2 - When properly motivated, my daughter has matrix like capabilities.

Kellen Boswell Winslow

So for reasons that I can't even understand I decided to play football on Sunday.

Yeah, football.

And handful of guys ranging in age from the early twenties to mid-thirties with a couple of hard-as-nails old timers gets together on Sundays to slop around in the mud and relive their glory days. For some reason they asked me to come.

It was billed to me as two hand touch, but on the first play from scrimmage I found out that you can't always believe what you read on the label. The first play I was told to fake a block then swing out wide into the flat. I ran the pattern, got open, caught my first pass and was crushed from both sides and slammed face first into the mud. I'm fairly certain that was my initiation as "nice catch" sounded a hell of a lot like " welcome to the club".

It went pretty well from there, but at one point I found myself, cartoon like, flying through the air backwards, curiously looking up at my feet. Everything was going really slowly and I thought, " hey wow, those are my feet up there". Suddenly everything got going really fast again and I simultaneously cracked my head and filled my pants with two pounds of mud.

Needless to say, yesterday morning was wretched. I was barely functional. Last night was the finals of our poker league, and had I not been hosting, I would have skipped it and forfeited my spot. Instead, as the host, I come home from work, fed the kids, and set up for the tournament. By 6:30 I was done, left virtually immobile.

As a last resort, I went up the the bathroom, filled the tub with scalding water and Epsom salts, and laid in there and prayed. After a half hour I rolled out of the tub, down the stairs, ate 750 mg of ibuprofen, drank two DogfishHead beers, and pulled a chair up to the table. In the end, neither the praying nor the dogfishhead could stop J2 from beating my KJ when a couple of deuces hit on the turn and river. The Championship eluded my grasp and I'm left only to dream about next season.

They say that the second day is always worse. Whoever the hell "THEY" are they're right ! I laid in bed until around 11 am when my wife wandered in to do get some laundry and found me laying there unable to sit up. After rolling me to the edge of the bed and helping me get my socks on she sent me off to work. I'm sitting here now feeling a little better, but seriously thinking about peeing in my coffee cup rather than trying to get out of my chair and make the long walk down the hallway.

Sometimes I just don't get me. Wouldn't a sports car, a tattoo or a girlfriend be easier than drinking all night or trying to beat the crap out of 25 year old meatheads ? Why can't I just be normal?

Monday Monday

"You know that feeling when you're leaning back in a chair, and then you lean back too far and start to fall and just at the last second you catch yourself? I feel like that all the time. " - Steven Wright

Every once in a while I start thinking that women are being ridiculously petty about about the whole toilet seat thing. That's about the same time I end up falling in the bowl.

Come on, I KNOW you've all been there at least once.

While terrifying and infuriating, there are a couple of things I do think are worth noting.

The first is the human ability to perceive even the slightest change in the environment instinctively. I mean without ever thinking about it, you KNOW the exact moment when your ass is supposed to be making contact with that seat and when contact isn't made immediate panic sets in.

Which leads up the point number two. While you immediately notice the seat is not where it should be, and you're sure that your ass is going to touch bowl, there virtually nothing that you can do about it. You see, the toilet seat is set at the absolutely perfect height to ensure that everyone is screwed. Black/white, tall/short, young and old. It's as if John Crapper himself invented the thing for the sole purpose of proving that a knee bent at that angle is incapable of straightening itself without first touching porcelain. The indoor plumbing thing was just an afterthought to pay for the entire operation.

Yet despite experience proving otherwise, its human nature to try and enact some sort of rescue operation. That noise you hear in the other room...the smashing and thuds just before all the swearing ? ..yeah that's what all that is. Magazines go flying and people grab for towels racks, door knobs, or my personal favorite..tearing the toilet paper roll off the wall. One technique I've been experimenting with is to shoot myself backwards as fast and hard as possible in an attempt to pin my back against the tank, perilously hanging my bottom over the abyss to buy myself some time to develop an exit strategy.

All and all I think the best method is to just take your lumps. You didn't look, it's ultimately your fault, at least go down with some dignity. Instead of fighting it and ending up in the worst possible scenario of 'cheeks-touching-water", just go with the flow do a very quick ass-tap on the top of the rim ( I've found that you can limit the tap to one cheek on one side with some practice) and then rebound to a standing position. Yeah, it's not the cleanest, but at least it prevents having to spend the afternoon drilling new holes to replace a towel holder.

Have a fun Monday.

You thought I'd have learned by now

On the way over to get a cup of coffee a friend made the following observation, " A girl who is pretty and wears glasses, usually has a surprisingly striking effect when you first see her with the glasses off."

So, like the idiot I am, when we walked into the Starbucks I said to the cute young girl behind the counter, " Hi, hey we were just talking about girls with glasses."

Naturally, she responded playfully, " Yeah ? Whatya say."

And it became one of those E.F. Hutton commercials where everyone stops what they're doing and leans in to hear what's said next.....adding to the awkwardness of it all.

" I....errrrr....well, its that....when a pretty girl wears glasses....", now I was in full blush, " ...she's even prettier when she takes her glasses off..."

And then for good measure I added a creepy old man sort of, "heh...heh...heh".

She just starred at me. Not a drop of expression. For what seemed like an eternity.

And this is where I never learn. Instead of just letting the awkward moment pass I always feel the need to say something...anything...and usually the worst thing.

And so I continued, "....I find the same effect applies to her pants...and shirt."

Now I have to get my coffee at Dunkin Donuts.

long hard road

When I was young and fit and ambitious I raced my bike around in circles. One of the longest, biggest funnest circles was a spring race held in Southern Deleware. I made it a point to go to the race as I was a always an excellent off-season trainer and at 100 miles long and it presented a me rare opportunity to compete against the best with an even chance.

One year harsh winter left me undertrained, but buoyed by previus results I decided to stick with tradition and head down south for the spring classic.

I woke that morning knowing that I had 10 laps of a 10 mile course, so I emptied the hotel buffet of eggs and hash browns and drank of pot of coffee with nervous excitement. We got to the race and without any notable fanfare and with a pack of just over a hundred riders set off on our journey.

10 miles in, I knew I was facing a long day. The speed wasn't anything I couldn't handle, but the winds that sweep across the barren sandy plains of the area and the distance of the race were eventually going to catch up to me. Additionally I usually trained alone and the accelerations of the group were a bit of a shock to my system.

20 miles and things started to look worse. As the pace increased my body was starting to get angry with me. My legs and lungs were hurting, but that I was used to. The problem was that the coffee, and the eggs, and hash browns were in a heated arguement with the sports drink, the sweating and the riding. And that arguement seemed to be taking place mostly in my colon.

Another 10 miles and I could no longer ignore it. It wasn't any longer a matter of IF I was going to lose my bowels, it was a matter of WHEN, and rapidly IN FRONT OF WHOM.

I franticly scanned the horizon for something to poop behind, but had no luck. Southern Deleware is an ocean pennisula offering little to no vegetation. Occassionally we'd come upon a residence, but another characteristic of Southern Deleware are rednecks who like to shoot cyclists for shitting behind their garages.

I pressed on in pain.

Finally, as we approached the finish area I could saw a chuch in the distance. As we got closer, I separated from the herd being and made a beeline to the back of the building. Franticly, I ripped off my jersey, yanked down my shorts and released my innards with a force so evil and powerful that it lifted me, in a bent over position, a full two inches off the ground.

My overwhelmening relief was interrupted by the practical need to clean myself up. I chose the most obvious means and pulled my race number off my jersey and used it as toilet paper, tossing it to the side before standing up and putting my clothes back on.

As most men do, I glanced back to see my handiwork and the vision, still burned into my memory today, stopped me dead in my tracks. I had desecrated that church in a vile and inhuman way. Behind me stood upon the wall a brown arch...6 feet tall and at least 4 feet across...and that was just the main impact zone. Around that, the wall was peppered with chunks of shrapnel and debris. What remained upon the ground should never be described out of respect for common human decency.

I felt equal parts disgust, humiliation and pride.

I also felt panic. Due to the nature of the crime I felt that, upon discovery, the church and local authorities would stop at no ends to find the perputrator of the crime. I was pretty sure that no one saw me sneak off behind the building, but there remained one piece of irrefuatble evidence...... horrified and gagging I retrieved the soiled number....carefully folded it.....and stuck it into my pocket for the ride back.

Not to completely switch gears....but have you ever had a friend who gets a new girlfriend and RIGHT AWAY the girlfriend starts giving you the evil eye ? You know what I mean, she's usually a possessive chick and she see's anything you do or say and a threat to her relationship with your buddy ?

Well you usually have two choices when you meet someone like that. The first is to just withdraw, be polite, say as little as possible and just hope that your buddy eventually breaks up with her. The other more risky proposition is to go the other way...to try and endear yourself to her. If you can engage and entertain her, you might be able to put her mind at ease and make the entire situation a lot less tense for you, for her, and more importantly for your buddy.

Those thoughts, as well as three pints of high octane beer, were flowing through my head as a searched for a story to tell Patricks's new girlfriend as we sat around getting to know each other at the local pub.

What came into my head....and out of my mouth...complete with "Kramer-like" animated demonstration....was the story I posted above.

We're back to hoping he breaks up with her.

smooth transition

As proof that the brass at CBS suffers from manic-depression I offer as evidence this evening's holiday line-up.

We start the evening with an old standard - Rudolph The Red Nose Reindeer. Burl Iveys....Yucon Cornelius....Hermy the elf who wants to be a dentist...a Christmas classis.

Once the kids have their heads filled with sugar-plums and such we move to adult hour with CBS's rip-off hybrid of CSI and JAG...one-upping both by adding a 4th letter for their very own NCIS.

Then, while FOX moves their republican right wing sensibilities to the news, CBS goes right to the heart of the remaining Godless audience with their soft porn standard Victoria Secret Fashion Show. GASP ! Imagine...the pleasure of seeing less skin than seen in most of the spam you deleted this morning, all in the convenience of one giant info-mertial ( replete with commercial breaks).

Yes that's right folks - animation, fornication, degregation...all in one solid three hour block. Now if they could figure out a way to mix all three shows together and threw in a midget, they'd be well on their way to catching up to the Spanish channel.

Cut me Mick

I feel like Rocky in round 12. I'm beaten, worn down, and in pain. And this is TWO DAYS AFTER going out drinking with young girls.

My neighbor was taking her duaghter and her friends from out of town drinking and asked Grib and I to come along and keep him company. " Go out drinking with you and 4 young girls. Sure I suppose I could do that", I coyly answered.

Little did I anticipate that the show would not be worth the price of admission.

" Here drink this." and " You can't urinate in our doorway" are only two clear memories fo the night. Everything else is haze of drunken blathering, hooting, and declarations of suddenly realized truths and revelations.

Yesterday I woke in a stuppor. I could function but with difficulty and much confusion. I wore the same expression as Charlton Heston when he sees the Apes talk for the first time, except in my situation I felt like I was the ape. Amazingly, and depressingly, the girls were unaffected by all of it. They were up the next morning drinking bloody mmarys, giggling, and making designs on their next assult against sobriety without of a care of the madness and destruction they left in their wake.

But like the good soldier I took my kid to his basketball game, played with the children during the day, I took everyone out an bought a Christmas tree and I made everyone I nice dinner. At 9 pm I was unconscious.

This moring has gone marginally better. I was able to drive without fear of flunking a breathelizer, which was a nice change from all of yesterday. The haze of hangover is slowly being replaced by a sense of normalcy...well if humiliation, stupor and an overwhelming sense that you're suddenly very old are all your normal sensabilities. Thankfully, I fit the bill.

Have a fun Monday and I'll try and come up with something a little more interesting to say for tomorrow.