I only have a few reoccurring dreams, two good ones and two bad ones.
The first bad one I haven't had in years, but is pretty straight forward...all my teeth fall out.
The other one is a shade more complicated. There are variations on the theme, but at some point I figure out that I haven't graduated college. That I missed some class someone along the way and I find out that I haven't graduated...AND that the class I need is only offered once every 10 years or something like that. That spawns a flood of bad thoughts like, " how am I going to get job ?", " my wife is going to be pissed ", " wait...when did I get a wife ?!"...then I wake in a panic and it usually takes me a few minutes to reassure myself as to what date it is, and that I have a job and a wife and kids.....not that that's entirely calming.
Anyway, those two things are offset by two nice dreams.
One takes place in my high school. That's weird in that I have almost no recollection of being in my high school during waking hours. If i think really hard, I can remember some aspects of the building, but by-and-large my long term memory is really really bad anymore ( see kids, don't drink or do drugs). Anyway, I'm back in my high school and the entire school is filled with 4 feet of water. I spend the whole dream swimming around my school. And it's fun ! The really weird thing is that I've had this dream for a long time...even before I knew how to swim. In fact, the dream played a large part in getting me to learn how to swim. I don't have the dream that often, probably because I found out that swimming in real life isn't really all that fun.
The other dream that has replaced the swimming dream is the ice skating dream, and that's the one I had last night. I can't remember any of the details other than I was ice skating and it was fun. So I think it's a cue for me to learn how to ice skate. My only fear is that I'll learn how and it will turn out to be like the swimming thing.
My limited experience with ice skating is that I once played goalie for an ice hockey team. When I was a professional drunk, I used to hang out at this neighborhood bar. I was only 23 years old, but all the other guys in the bar were in their 30s or 40s. The Pittsburgh Penguins had Mario Lemieux and hockey was getting really big in the area and these drunks all decided that they wanted to start playing hockey. They sent a messenger over to the bar across the way and challenged the drunks on the other side of the street to a game and in short order the town and a bar based hockey league.
I don't know much about hockey, or winter sports or Canadian history for that matter, but I'm pretty sure that this league would get a nomination if there was a category for worst hockey league in the history of sports. Almost everyone was fat and out of shape. Most guys hadn't been on skates in years. And at least 30% of the people on the ice at any time were over the legal limit for driving a car. My favorite part of the league was what were referred to as "the Tripods". These were dudes to had to use their stick on the ice in order to not fall down. They'd press their sticks to the ice and the shufffle to get around. Each team seemed to have one guy that could actually play and a slew of drunken tripods. The two guys who could really play would play a game of one-on one by bobbing and weaving and hiding from each other by using the tripods as interference. They'd fly around the rink with tremendous speed and grace while the tripods shuffled around looking like that vibrating football game that you used to have as a kid.
Anyway, the only rule for the league was that all the players had to be over 30 years old...except goalies. Goalies could be any age. Since nobody wanted to play goalie, almost all the goalies in the league were teenage sons of someone on the team. Except our team. I was the goalie for out team. They came to me one day and said, " you wanna play ?". Seeing as we got free wings and beer after each game I was in. The only problem was that I didn't know how to skate. " That's fine", they told me, " you can play in your sneakers." I did that the first game. In that game I spent the entire time on my knees. For the record, you can't play in sneakers without hitting your nads a dozen times. From that point on I wore skates. The first time I played in skates it went well....until I left the goal to go after a puck. I skated over to the puck, hit it, and kept going. I had no idea how to stop. So I fell down, slid for a while, then crawled on my hands and pads back to the goal. Of course the other team scored. After that I took a lesson with some 6 year olds and learned how to skate, stop, and return to the same spot....all provided I don't travel more than 12 feet. Not really the stuff of my dreams.
So anyway, this is rambling a bit, but the point is I think I may take some skating lessons. Skating looks like fun.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Friday, November 17, 2006
One good cop
I'm known for not having the highest opinion of the police.
I appreciate the work that they do. Its a tough, dangerous, shitty job. But sitting across this side of the bargaining table I have to say that I have never met such a group of dysfunctional and disingenuous people. And considering who my friends are, that's saying something.
But it wasn't always that way. When I was growing up, the best friend of my buddies father was a city cop and he was a pisser. Two stories about that guy stand out to me.
One day he came up and handed my a packet of tin foil. I opened it up and inside was tar hash. HOLY SHIT ! You have to admit that even though i knew the dude, having a cop hand you some hash is a mind blowing experience. He said that he pulled over a 17 year old kid driving too fast in his parent's sports car. He ran the kid's license and it was clean. When he went to give the license back the kid was completely pale and sweating. My buddy didn't know why, but he knew something was up. On a whim he said to the kid, " Come on. Give it to me...NOW !" Low and behold, the kid reached under the seat, burst into tears and handed the cop the tin foil. The cop was astonished....here he was going to let this kid off with a warning and how he's got the kid for speeding, for posession, and who knows what they're going to do with the car. This is far more than the cop wanted to be dealing with and you know that the kid is, at this point, considering suicide. My buddy looked at the kid and said, " Get lost. Don't ever let me see you around here ever again."....and let the kid go. In my opinion a hell of a nice move. I mean the kid is out his drugs, you know that fucker probably never smoked weed again ( at least not that week anyway), and my buddy get a check mark in the karma file. Justice served. Oh yeah, I got some really boss hash*.
* this of course is way back in the day before I knew better. Drugs are bad...don't do drugs.
The other story occurs on the high seas. This dude was a chain smoker. He woke with a cig and fell asleep the same way. One day we all went out deep sea fishing out into the Atlantic. Once we set out, this dude realized that he had forgotten his lighter but all he did is when he got 3/4th down on one he'd light another one up. Once we got a few miles out, the seas got a little choppy with 3-4 foot swells and between all the rocking and putting all the lines out he got distracted and let his cigarette run out.
" Shit !"
He was pissed, but what were we going to do. We kept fishing. About 20 minutes later.
" Goddamn I'm starting to get sea sick. I need a cigarette. You don't have a lighter anywhere in this fucking boat ?
10 minutes later
" OK, fuck it ! We gotta go in."
No way. We told him there was no way were were going in. We had just suffered through a 2 hour boat ride to get out there and we hadn't even been fishing an hour. We weren't going back. He'd have to just deal with it. Everyone turned their attention back to fishing off the back of the boat. A few minutes later....
BAM !
An explosion rocked the boat and scared the shit out of everyone. When we turned around there was the cop. He was sprawled out, spread eagle, on his belly, across the bow of the boat. In one hand was his 9 mm police issue handgun. In his other hand was a cigarette. Before we could say a word, he eyed up the tip of that cigarette and.....
BAM !
He fires and then started sucking on the cigarette like someone trying to get a milkshake through a straw. That maniac was trying to shoot the tip of cigarette in the hope that it would light.
We all started screaming.
With 3 foot waves rocking hte boat up and down he was going to blow his hand off...beside that there was no freaking way that he was going to get that thing lit by shooting it anyway.
" FINE !" , he shouted..." FINE!", then he stood up, " Then I'll light the thing off the barrel !"
With that he aimed into the water and emptied the clip
BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM !
He put the cig to the barrel and drew in...nothing.
He started to reload.
Finally the captain acqiessed. " OK OK OK, I'll take you back in." And after another 15 minutes of fishing we turn back to shore.
See. I like some cops. You know... the normal ones.
I appreciate the work that they do. Its a tough, dangerous, shitty job. But sitting across this side of the bargaining table I have to say that I have never met such a group of dysfunctional and disingenuous people. And considering who my friends are, that's saying something.
But it wasn't always that way. When I was growing up, the best friend of my buddies father was a city cop and he was a pisser. Two stories about that guy stand out to me.
One day he came up and handed my a packet of tin foil. I opened it up and inside was tar hash. HOLY SHIT ! You have to admit that even though i knew the dude, having a cop hand you some hash is a mind blowing experience. He said that he pulled over a 17 year old kid driving too fast in his parent's sports car. He ran the kid's license and it was clean. When he went to give the license back the kid was completely pale and sweating. My buddy didn't know why, but he knew something was up. On a whim he said to the kid, " Come on. Give it to me...NOW !" Low and behold, the kid reached under the seat, burst into tears and handed the cop the tin foil. The cop was astonished....here he was going to let this kid off with a warning and how he's got the kid for speeding, for posession, and who knows what they're going to do with the car. This is far more than the cop wanted to be dealing with and you know that the kid is, at this point, considering suicide. My buddy looked at the kid and said, " Get lost. Don't ever let me see you around here ever again."....and let the kid go. In my opinion a hell of a nice move. I mean the kid is out his drugs, you know that fucker probably never smoked weed again ( at least not that week anyway), and my buddy get a check mark in the karma file. Justice served. Oh yeah, I got some really boss hash*.
* this of course is way back in the day before I knew better. Drugs are bad...don't do drugs.
The other story occurs on the high seas. This dude was a chain smoker. He woke with a cig and fell asleep the same way. One day we all went out deep sea fishing out into the Atlantic. Once we set out, this dude realized that he had forgotten his lighter but all he did is when he got 3/4th down on one he'd light another one up. Once we got a few miles out, the seas got a little choppy with 3-4 foot swells and between all the rocking and putting all the lines out he got distracted and let his cigarette run out.
" Shit !"
He was pissed, but what were we going to do. We kept fishing. About 20 minutes later.
" Goddamn I'm starting to get sea sick. I need a cigarette. You don't have a lighter anywhere in this fucking boat ?
10 minutes later
" OK, fuck it ! We gotta go in."
No way. We told him there was no way were were going in. We had just suffered through a 2 hour boat ride to get out there and we hadn't even been fishing an hour. We weren't going back. He'd have to just deal with it. Everyone turned their attention back to fishing off the back of the boat. A few minutes later....
BAM !
An explosion rocked the boat and scared the shit out of everyone. When we turned around there was the cop. He was sprawled out, spread eagle, on his belly, across the bow of the boat. In one hand was his 9 mm police issue handgun. In his other hand was a cigarette. Before we could say a word, he eyed up the tip of that cigarette and.....
BAM !
He fires and then started sucking on the cigarette like someone trying to get a milkshake through a straw. That maniac was trying to shoot the tip of cigarette in the hope that it would light.
We all started screaming.
With 3 foot waves rocking hte boat up and down he was going to blow his hand off...beside that there was no freaking way that he was going to get that thing lit by shooting it anyway.
" FINE !" , he shouted..." FINE!", then he stood up, " Then I'll light the thing off the barrel !"
With that he aimed into the water and emptied the clip
BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM !
He put the cig to the barrel and drew in...nothing.
He started to reload.
Finally the captain acqiessed. " OK OK OK, I'll take you back in." And after another 15 minutes of fishing we turn back to shore.
See. I like some cops. You know... the normal ones.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
phonetards
its raining here......HARD.
The idiots have been calling non-stop.
Oh ? It's raining...thanks for calling to tell me.
The best call so far went like this ( verbatim)
phonetard: Hey, someone has to get out here and do something.
Flick: How can I help you sir ?
phonetard: Well they ought to be able to do something, cause everytime its like this I get everyone elses stuff at my place. Can't you do something up there about that ?
Flick: Ahhhhh, you're going to have to be a little more specific. Are you talking about stormwater ?
phonetard: YEAH ! OF COURSE I AM ! IT RAINING LIKE A SADDAMI OUT THERE !
......It's raining like a saddami out there.......
I don't want to hear anymore shit from any of you people about me being more sensative to the need of the taxpayer.
The idiots have been calling non-stop.
Oh ? It's raining...thanks for calling to tell me.
The best call so far went like this ( verbatim)
phonetard: Hey, someone has to get out here and do something.
Flick: How can I help you sir ?
phonetard: Well they ought to be able to do something, cause everytime its like this I get everyone elses stuff at my place. Can't you do something up there about that ?
Flick: Ahhhhh, you're going to have to be a little more specific. Are you talking about stormwater ?
phonetard: YEAH ! OF COURSE I AM ! IT RAINING LIKE A SADDAMI OUT THERE !
......It's raining like a saddami out there.......
I don't want to hear anymore shit from any of you people about me being more sensative to the need of the taxpayer.
OK
Now that I got that rant out of my system ( see below) I feel good enough to share a couple of anecdotes about my person emissions experiences.
The Pacer - I think I've written here before about the burgundy pacer that I drove around with...it rocked. I was so embarrased of it that when I had my first date with Mrs. Flick I made her drive AND I made her drop me on the corner a block away from my car for fear that she'd see what I drove and refuse to go out with me again. It almost backfired as she though that I the reason I wouldn't let her near my house was that I was married and hiding her from my wife. But that's not my point.
Jus before we got married, I moved in with Mrs. Flick for about a month. So one Saturday morning I loaded everything I owned into the Pacer and started to make the drive to her place about 30 miles away. I hadn't had the Pacer on a trip that far in quite a while so just before I left I popped the hood to add a little oil. When I looked into the manmoth V8 engine block I noticed that there were a bunch of hoses detached and a couple of feet of tubing shoved over to the side of the engine block. This modification must have been done, for some reason, by the previous owner as it was obvious by the placement of things that it wasn't a random happening.
So wanting to make sure that everything was going to run right for my big trip, I reattached all the tubing and set out along my way.
I got onto the highway and imagine that I was quite a sight. The fishbowl looking car was filled to the gills. Even the passenger seat was shoved full to the ceiling with shit...I literally had everything I had owned in the car and was barely able to carve out pigeon holes for both the side window and rear view mirror.
About 10 miles into the trip I started smelling something funny. 12 miles into the trip my windows started clouding up !?! 15 miles into the trip I started getting dizzy !!!??? Then a little voice in my head said to me, " Hi...this is the little voice in your head...how ya doin ?.....yeah you might want to pull over, you're about to die of carbon monoxide poisoning"
I yanked the steering wheel right and slammed on the brakes. As soon as the car stopped and the wind efect of traveling 55 mph stopped venting whatever was filling the car, the vehicle immediately filled with massive amounts of thick white smoke. Paniced I pulled the door handle and rolled out onto the tarmac.
As I tried to get my head about me and fill my lungs with fresh air, I watched smoke envelope the still running car. I laid there in dispair as my car, and everything I owned on the planet, was about to burn to a crisp.
Then something caught my eye.
From my position on the ground I could see under the car. And it looked like that was where most of the smoke was coming from. I crawled over and looked a little closer. When I got up next to the car I saw what was happening. Oil was pouring out of the car and directly onto the super-hot catalydic converter. As soon as the oil hit the cc, it bursth into a think smoke and filled the inside of the car. But why now ? Why me ? Then I remember hooking all those tubes up.
I hopped up, popped the hood, reached into the block and started pulling. Anything that was hooked up to the carborator or anything that looked like an emissions control had to go. I pulled, and I yanked, and I toss about 35 feet worth of rubber tubing into the woods. When I was done i walked around to the side of the car and looked underneath. No oil, no smoke, no problem.
I closed the hood, I got back in the car, and I drove the rest of the way to Mrs. Flicks house without incident. That car ran great for the next 3 months and I never had an oil or smoke problem again....although most of my shit did smell pretty stinky for a while.
The Pacer - I think I've written here before about the burgundy pacer that I drove around with...it rocked. I was so embarrased of it that when I had my first date with Mrs. Flick I made her drive AND I made her drop me on the corner a block away from my car for fear that she'd see what I drove and refuse to go out with me again. It almost backfired as she though that I the reason I wouldn't let her near my house was that I was married and hiding her from my wife. But that's not my point.
Jus before we got married, I moved in with Mrs. Flick for about a month. So one Saturday morning I loaded everything I owned into the Pacer and started to make the drive to her place about 30 miles away. I hadn't had the Pacer on a trip that far in quite a while so just before I left I popped the hood to add a little oil. When I looked into the manmoth V8 engine block I noticed that there were a bunch of hoses detached and a couple of feet of tubing shoved over to the side of the engine block. This modification must have been done, for some reason, by the previous owner as it was obvious by the placement of things that it wasn't a random happening.
So wanting to make sure that everything was going to run right for my big trip, I reattached all the tubing and set out along my way.
I got onto the highway and imagine that I was quite a sight. The fishbowl looking car was filled to the gills. Even the passenger seat was shoved full to the ceiling with shit...I literally had everything I had owned in the car and was barely able to carve out pigeon holes for both the side window and rear view mirror.
About 10 miles into the trip I started smelling something funny. 12 miles into the trip my windows started clouding up !?! 15 miles into the trip I started getting dizzy !!!??? Then a little voice in my head said to me, " Hi...this is the little voice in your head...how ya doin ?.....yeah you might want to pull over, you're about to die of carbon monoxide poisoning"
I yanked the steering wheel right and slammed on the brakes. As soon as the car stopped and the wind efect of traveling 55 mph stopped venting whatever was filling the car, the vehicle immediately filled with massive amounts of thick white smoke. Paniced I pulled the door handle and rolled out onto the tarmac.
As I tried to get my head about me and fill my lungs with fresh air, I watched smoke envelope the still running car. I laid there in dispair as my car, and everything I owned on the planet, was about to burn to a crisp.
Then something caught my eye.
From my position on the ground I could see under the car. And it looked like that was where most of the smoke was coming from. I crawled over and looked a little closer. When I got up next to the car I saw what was happening. Oil was pouring out of the car and directly onto the super-hot catalydic converter. As soon as the oil hit the cc, it bursth into a think smoke and filled the inside of the car. But why now ? Why me ? Then I remember hooking all those tubes up.
I hopped up, popped the hood, reached into the block and started pulling. Anything that was hooked up to the carborator or anything that looked like an emissions control had to go. I pulled, and I yanked, and I toss about 35 feet worth of rubber tubing into the woods. When I was done i walked around to the side of the car and looked underneath. No oil, no smoke, no problem.
I closed the hood, I got back in the car, and I drove the rest of the way to Mrs. Flicks house without incident. That car ran great for the next 3 months and I never had an oil or smoke problem again....although most of my shit did smell pretty stinky for a while.
emissions testing
Our county started emissions testing for vehicles last year.
( before I start ranting I'll convey this little ditty. I was going to college one time and had loaded up all my shit in this old Plymouth Astair Safari station wagon... it was resplendid with the seats down pimp style and shag rug stapled into the back. Anyway, the place I lived then had emissions testing and there was no way that this piece of shit was going to pass. My only hope, I figured, was that if I got there with all my shit in the car that the dude would have mercy on me. Luckily I was right. He ran the test...failed. I gave him the song and dance about how I was on my way to school and I was poor and that they didn't even have emission where I was going etc etc. He took the wand out of the tailpipe and held it over his head and ran the test. Well wouldn't you know that so much shit poured out of that stinky old car that it fogged up the entire garage and with the wand not even in the tailpipe that fucking thing failed. Finally, the dude turned on the computer, hit run, and walked to the edge of the garage and held the wand out the window. It passed. His last words to me were, " I never want to see you or this car in this garage ever again." But i got my sticker)
See ! What a load of bullshit.
Emissions testing is nothing more than another way to fuck the lower end of the middle class, and that's the truth...Ruth.
***** RANT TRUNCATED****
as you were.
( before I start ranting I'll convey this little ditty. I was going to college one time and had loaded up all my shit in this old Plymouth Astair Safari station wagon... it was resplendid with the seats down pimp style and shag rug stapled into the back. Anyway, the place I lived then had emissions testing and there was no way that this piece of shit was going to pass. My only hope, I figured, was that if I got there with all my shit in the car that the dude would have mercy on me. Luckily I was right. He ran the test...failed. I gave him the song and dance about how I was on my way to school and I was poor and that they didn't even have emission where I was going etc etc. He took the wand out of the tailpipe and held it over his head and ran the test. Well wouldn't you know that so much shit poured out of that stinky old car that it fogged up the entire garage and with the wand not even in the tailpipe that fucking thing failed. Finally, the dude turned on the computer, hit run, and walked to the edge of the garage and held the wand out the window. It passed. His last words to me were, " I never want to see you or this car in this garage ever again." But i got my sticker)
See ! What a load of bullshit.
Emissions testing is nothing more than another way to fuck the lower end of the middle class, and that's the truth...Ruth.
***** RANT TRUNCATED****
as you were.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
from an email discussion
--- Doucheblogcycling wrote:
> Of course he's a douche...douches become CYO
> basketball coaches (Flick coached a couple of
> seasons before he had to quit for yelling "jesus
> fucking christ" after some poor kid got taken out on
> a pick).
Flick responded:
I think you're mixed it up with the story where I
beaned the kid with a brushback pitch on my kids
little league team. And if that fucker didn't want
the heat, he shouldn't have been crowding my plate.
And I wasn't CYO, it was at a Christian High School. And I didn't say fucking.
I got in trouble twice...
Once in practice for yelling Jesus Christ. The entire gym stopped what they were doing and looked at me.
The other time was during a game against XXXX Christian when I yelled "GodDammit !" at my point guard who picked up his dribble for the 100th fucking time. That one got me called into the AthleticDirectors Office.
( I had briefly considered the arguement "Well if you could get JC to run the point for me maybe we'd win a few games" but thought better of it. Christians tend to take that whole blasphamy thing quite seriously)
I also got a talking to for playing secular music inthe team van during away games.
Doucheblog wrote:
>So what secular music were you playing?
> Was it Bell Biv DeVoe...?
Flick responded:
> Sadly..... yes.
> Of course he's a douche...douches become CYO
> basketball coaches (Flick coached a couple of
> seasons before he had to quit for yelling "jesus
> fucking christ" after some poor kid got taken out on
> a pick).
Flick responded:
I think you're mixed it up with the story where I
beaned the kid with a brushback pitch on my kids
little league team. And if that fucker didn't want
the heat, he shouldn't have been crowding my plate.
And I wasn't CYO, it was at a Christian High School. And I didn't say fucking.
I got in trouble twice...
Once in practice for yelling Jesus Christ. The entire gym stopped what they were doing and looked at me.
The other time was during a game against XXXX Christian when I yelled "GodDammit !" at my point guard who picked up his dribble for the 100th fucking time. That one got me called into the AthleticDirectors Office.
( I had briefly considered the arguement "Well if you could get JC to run the point for me maybe we'd win a few games" but thought better of it. Christians tend to take that whole blasphamy thing quite seriously)
I also got a talking to for playing secular music inthe team van during away games.
Doucheblog wrote:
>So what secular music were you playing?
> Was it Bell Biv DeVoe...?
Flick responded:
> Sadly..... yes.
Monday, November 13, 2006
damn blogger
Blogger made me move everything over to Google today. Actually they didn't 'make' me...but in any event shit's getting switched and it's affected my ability to post. Hopefully this will make it out to the net.
As you may have well figured out, I do my best to protect me idenity under the pen name Flick. While most of you still know who I am, it still leaves me enough plausible deniability should someone try to use this blog against me at work again...those bastards.
This leads to some confusion for those of you who don't know who I am. Occassionally I get emails at burthoovisalive@yahoo.com speculating who I might be. For the record I just wanted to clear the air and say, once and for all, and despite the resemblance, I am not this guy...
As you may have well figured out, I do my best to protect me idenity under the pen name Flick. While most of you still know who I am, it still leaves me enough plausible deniability should someone try to use this blog against me at work again...those bastards.
This leads to some confusion for those of you who don't know who I am. Occassionally I get emails at burthoovisalive@yahoo.com speculating who I might be. For the record I just wanted to clear the air and say, once and for all, and despite the resemblance, I am not this guy...
Thursday, November 09, 2006
SHOCKING
I just electrocuted my balls !
I was out doing an inspection of a stormwater culvert near a pasture. I stepped under a barbwire, down to the waters edge, did the inspection, and was done.
Then when I got done, instead of going under the wire again, I stepped over it. No big deal. I mean there were some barbs, but I gingerly stepped over them and just about cleared the wire. then when I lifted my back leg up I shifted slightly and tapped the wire....no problem. Then...
WHAM !
...a huge shock rocked me. I stood there stunned trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Then while my brain was trying to compute what was going on, my body decided " FUCK THIS" and took over. Before I could think about it, my legs jumped up and ran for the car. About half way there I realized what had happened...the barbwire was wrapped in a pulse wire that was periodically sending out a friggin whopper of a shock. When I slid to the side I got wolloped in the nads.
Now some people will tell you that they got shocked and afterwards it healed some ailment. They'll claim that it helped their arthritis or some shit like that. I'm here to tell you that as far as testicles go, none of that shit is true. In fact the only difference that I notice is that my pubes now look like this.
Other than that...nothing.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Monday, November 06, 2006
I can't tell
I can't tell if I'm still slightly retarded from Hollowen night or if I'm suffering from the pangs of withdraw of not having anything to drink in a week....or both.
In any case, I can't hold a thought for more than 2 minutes, I'm slurring my speech, and I'm irritable. I had started to suggest that maybe I was developing a brain tumor but when I mentioned it to my wife the conversation went the way of the heart attack.
Anyway, I was away all day at a converence and spent the entire time trying to think of something to write. Here is what I came up with....
DUH DUH DUH DUH DUHHHHH DUHH DUH DUH DUH DUHHHHHH.
That doesn't have any tune or anything that goes with it. That's pretty much the soundtrack in my head since Friday. Glad I could share it with you.
Meanwhile, Llama sex. Sort of.
In any case, I can't hold a thought for more than 2 minutes, I'm slurring my speech, and I'm irritable. I had started to suggest that maybe I was developing a brain tumor but when I mentioned it to my wife the conversation went the way of the heart attack.
Anyway, I was away all day at a converence and spent the entire time trying to think of something to write. Here is what I came up with....
DUH DUH DUH DUH DUHHHHH DUHH DUH DUH DUH DUHHHHHH.
That doesn't have any tune or anything that goes with it. That's pretty much the soundtrack in my head since Friday. Glad I could share it with you.
Meanwhile, Llama sex. Sort of.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Jacob Painter and the Mulberry Bow
The Gable family grew up in the foothills, where the Appalachian Mountains start to diminish as they spill into Pennsylvania.
As is/was the Gable family tradition, the clan that occupied those hills from 1945-1965 had eleventy-billion boys and a couple of girls. And that group, like all the Gable's before and after, had a hard earned reputation of...well how do we say this politely...ummmm, a hard earned reputation of terror.
They were a hard working people who lived in a hard environment. The boys not only had to deal with life in the mountains with no electricity, no plumbing, and Western Pa winters, but they also had to deal with the realities of living with 6 other brothers. So if you were another kid on the mountain, you did your best to steer clear of the Gable boys. A fight with a Gable was a lose-lose. You were probably going to get your ass kicked straight up. But if, by the grace of god, you happened to hold you own, then you were faced with the prospect of having to fight your way up the food chain. And at the top of that food chain were the biggest and most feared of the Gable boys, Buddy and Kevin Gable.
Buddy wasn't the oldest, he was second in line. The oldest boy was Kevin who, at over 6 foot tall and over 200 lbs was the largest of the clan. But what had in size he lacked in both quickness and brains. Buddy, while smaller was crafty, quick, and above all aggressive. These two would often test each other to see who was alpha dog with Buddy almost always winning out. Buddy's favorite move was to, just every once in a while and without warning, punch Kevin in the gut and then run for the barn. Because of his size and agility Buddy was able to climb up the barn rafters and drop between the wall of the main barn and the side of the horse barn. Kevin couldn't get up nor over the over the rafters and although Buddy was a foot away, he was on the other side of some 2x6's and untouchable. Kevin would stand there frustratedly screaming that one day he would catch Buddy and beat him to a pulp. Eventually Kevin would run out of steam, go away, and Buddy would climb out unscathed.
But the Gable boys were not without fear. There was one thing that they most definately feared....their father. No matter what hijinx were afoot, the site or sound of their father sent the boys running.
One day the boys were hanging out bored. When Kevin reached up to grab a limb of a tree he had interest in climbing, Buddy punched him square in the gut. He turned to run but Kevin grabbed a foot and a fierce battle ensued. The other boys watched in anticipation as Buddy was about to get what was coming to him. But before Kevin could really do any damage, Buddy squirreled away and the footrace to the barn was on. In a flash, Buddy was up and over the rafters. He stood there laughing right up until he felt a dull thud hit his lower back. He reached around to feel some wetness and when he looked at his hand it was blood red. Kevin, in his frustration, had picked up a sickle and not really thinking about the consequences, slammed the blade between two of the slats of wood. He had stabbed Buddy in the back.
The boys were so scared of their father, they didn't tell anyone. In fact, all the boys helped drag Buddy to the bedroom they shared and they all pretended that the boy was sick with the flu. He laid in bed for a week, somehow not dying of infection or the injury and soon returned to the mountainside games. I'm pretty sure that he never blasted Kevin in the gut again.
But I didn't write all that to tell you that story. All the corn being harvested this week locally reminded me of another story that involves this same family.
Every harvest season the boys would use the leftover corn cobs to play a game of cowboys and Indians. Actually, because they were smart enough not to shoot each other with guns, it was more like a game of Indians and Indians. What they would do is make bows and arrows. And I mean real bows and arrows that they would also use to hunt small game. Often this would take all summer. They'd find a good piece of wood, carve is out into a bow. They'd string it up. And in the end they'd have a bow decent enough to hunt rabbits and squirrels with. But when they weren't hunting. they'd take the left over corn cobs, shove an arrow into the cob and run around shooting each other. As insane as this might sound you have to remember that there wasn't a lot of cable TV on the mountain in the 1950's, so you really had to be creative to keep yourself busy. And despite how dangerous it might sound, the cobs were very effective at keeping everything safe. The game really caught on and over time all the kids on the mountain looked forward to the fall battles.
Understandably, everything in the Gable house became a contest. If one kid climbed a tree, the next kid had to climb a bigger tree. If one kid tossed a crab apple 100 feet, the next kid had to toss it 101. And so it was with the building of the bows. This came to a head in 1958, when Buddy found a huge limb broken off from a Red Mulberry tree. He spent all summer carving out a giant bow. When he was done it took four of the boys to string it. Only two Gable boys, Kevin and Buddy, could draw the finished bow. But even those two struggled and with their best efforts could only draw it a few inches. And there was not way to aim the thing with any accuracy. It was eventually put away for the rest of the summer and forgotten about in favor of other games and activities.
Finally the fall came and Indians and Indians began. After a pretty good drubbing one day by some boys who lived a little closer down toward town, the Gable boys decided that they would need some heavier artillery to help salvage the family name. They decided to break out the mulberry bow. Now since it wasn't going to be possible to use a huge gun like this as a mobile weapon, Buddy hatched a plan. What they would do is have Buddy and Kevin hide at the end of the orchard facing down a row of apple trees. The other Gable boys would, as best they could, drive the other neighborhood kids into the orchard. By working together from the seated position, Buddy and Kevin could put their feet on the bow and both pull the string all the way back. This, he concluded, would result in super high powered welt-inducing corn cob arrows. The impact of the cobs as well at the sight of the giant bow, would be enough to seal their reputation forever.
The next day everything seemed to go according to plan. As the two older boys laid in wait, the younger Gables did a fine job of luring the unsuspecting kids into the trap. Jacob Painter was the first unfortunate sole to walk into the crosshairs. The two oldest Gables drew the bow back as far as it would stretch and they unleashed, with great velocity and power, the biggest arrow on the biggest corn cob that they had. Victory was to be theirs !
Before Painter had any clue as to what was happening, the bunker busting corncob arrow nailed the kid and blew him off his feet. When he stood back up and went to dust himself off, they all realized that they had made one small miscalculation.
Corn cobs make _excellent_ bumpers when shot from a rabbit bow.
Corn cobs make _terrible_ bumpers when shot from a cannon.
Upon impact, the arrow split that corn cob in two, and was now firmly stuck in the side of a 12 year old boy. The same twelve year old boy who was now flailing, screaming and running back toward town to go tell his mother.
After some stunned silence all the boys suddenly came to the same frightening conclusion. No, it wasn't that they had shot a boy with an arrow. If he was running...and flailing....and screaming...then he wasn't dying. Getting shot was going to hurt like hell, but the cob had slowed the arrow down enough that it was only a couple inches into his side. The fear that coursed through the veins of the boys that day ran much deeper than that.
If Jacob Painter got to Mrs. Painter
...then Mrs. Painter was going tell their Dad
...and if their Dad just found out that they shot a boy with an arrow
...then the mulberry bow was going to become a mulberry ass beating stick.
In a rush, the boys headed down that mountain as their lives depended on it. They caught Jacob Painter at the end of the meadow on the towns edge. They smothered him until he quieted down, then the dragged him into the woods and yanked out the arrow. Just to make sure, they gave him a thumpin'...nothing bad, just a little something to get his attention. And they let him know if he said anything to anyone, there'd be a lot more thumpin'to follow.
In the end Painter was fine and Dad never found out.
Just another day on the mountain.
As is/was the Gable family tradition, the clan that occupied those hills from 1945-1965 had eleventy-billion boys and a couple of girls. And that group, like all the Gable's before and after, had a hard earned reputation of...well how do we say this politely...ummmm, a hard earned reputation of terror.
They were a hard working people who lived in a hard environment. The boys not only had to deal with life in the mountains with no electricity, no plumbing, and Western Pa winters, but they also had to deal with the realities of living with 6 other brothers. So if you were another kid on the mountain, you did your best to steer clear of the Gable boys. A fight with a Gable was a lose-lose. You were probably going to get your ass kicked straight up. But if, by the grace of god, you happened to hold you own, then you were faced with the prospect of having to fight your way up the food chain. And at the top of that food chain were the biggest and most feared of the Gable boys, Buddy and Kevin Gable.
Buddy wasn't the oldest, he was second in line. The oldest boy was Kevin who, at over 6 foot tall and over 200 lbs was the largest of the clan. But what had in size he lacked in both quickness and brains. Buddy, while smaller was crafty, quick, and above all aggressive. These two would often test each other to see who was alpha dog with Buddy almost always winning out. Buddy's favorite move was to, just every once in a while and without warning, punch Kevin in the gut and then run for the barn. Because of his size and agility Buddy was able to climb up the barn rafters and drop between the wall of the main barn and the side of the horse barn. Kevin couldn't get up nor over the over the rafters and although Buddy was a foot away, he was on the other side of some 2x6's and untouchable. Kevin would stand there frustratedly screaming that one day he would catch Buddy and beat him to a pulp. Eventually Kevin would run out of steam, go away, and Buddy would climb out unscathed.
But the Gable boys were not without fear. There was one thing that they most definately feared....their father. No matter what hijinx were afoot, the site or sound of their father sent the boys running.
One day the boys were hanging out bored. When Kevin reached up to grab a limb of a tree he had interest in climbing, Buddy punched him square in the gut. He turned to run but Kevin grabbed a foot and a fierce battle ensued. The other boys watched in anticipation as Buddy was about to get what was coming to him. But before Kevin could really do any damage, Buddy squirreled away and the footrace to the barn was on. In a flash, Buddy was up and over the rafters. He stood there laughing right up until he felt a dull thud hit his lower back. He reached around to feel some wetness and when he looked at his hand it was blood red. Kevin, in his frustration, had picked up a sickle and not really thinking about the consequences, slammed the blade between two of the slats of wood. He had stabbed Buddy in the back.
The boys were so scared of their father, they didn't tell anyone. In fact, all the boys helped drag Buddy to the bedroom they shared and they all pretended that the boy was sick with the flu. He laid in bed for a week, somehow not dying of infection or the injury and soon returned to the mountainside games. I'm pretty sure that he never blasted Kevin in the gut again.
But I didn't write all that to tell you that story. All the corn being harvested this week locally reminded me of another story that involves this same family.
Every harvest season the boys would use the leftover corn cobs to play a game of cowboys and Indians. Actually, because they were smart enough not to shoot each other with guns, it was more like a game of Indians and Indians. What they would do is make bows and arrows. And I mean real bows and arrows that they would also use to hunt small game. Often this would take all summer. They'd find a good piece of wood, carve is out into a bow. They'd string it up. And in the end they'd have a bow decent enough to hunt rabbits and squirrels with. But when they weren't hunting. they'd take the left over corn cobs, shove an arrow into the cob and run around shooting each other. As insane as this might sound you have to remember that there wasn't a lot of cable TV on the mountain in the 1950's, so you really had to be creative to keep yourself busy. And despite how dangerous it might sound, the cobs were very effective at keeping everything safe. The game really caught on and over time all the kids on the mountain looked forward to the fall battles.
Understandably, everything in the Gable house became a contest. If one kid climbed a tree, the next kid had to climb a bigger tree. If one kid tossed a crab apple 100 feet, the next kid had to toss it 101. And so it was with the building of the bows. This came to a head in 1958, when Buddy found a huge limb broken off from a Red Mulberry tree. He spent all summer carving out a giant bow. When he was done it took four of the boys to string it. Only two Gable boys, Kevin and Buddy, could draw the finished bow. But even those two struggled and with their best efforts could only draw it a few inches. And there was not way to aim the thing with any accuracy. It was eventually put away for the rest of the summer and forgotten about in favor of other games and activities.
Finally the fall came and Indians and Indians began. After a pretty good drubbing one day by some boys who lived a little closer down toward town, the Gable boys decided that they would need some heavier artillery to help salvage the family name. They decided to break out the mulberry bow. Now since it wasn't going to be possible to use a huge gun like this as a mobile weapon, Buddy hatched a plan. What they would do is have Buddy and Kevin hide at the end of the orchard facing down a row of apple trees. The other Gable boys would, as best they could, drive the other neighborhood kids into the orchard. By working together from the seated position, Buddy and Kevin could put their feet on the bow and both pull the string all the way back. This, he concluded, would result in super high powered welt-inducing corn cob arrows. The impact of the cobs as well at the sight of the giant bow, would be enough to seal their reputation forever.
The next day everything seemed to go according to plan. As the two older boys laid in wait, the younger Gables did a fine job of luring the unsuspecting kids into the trap. Jacob Painter was the first unfortunate sole to walk into the crosshairs. The two oldest Gables drew the bow back as far as it would stretch and they unleashed, with great velocity and power, the biggest arrow on the biggest corn cob that they had. Victory was to be theirs !
Before Painter had any clue as to what was happening, the bunker busting corncob arrow nailed the kid and blew him off his feet. When he stood back up and went to dust himself off, they all realized that they had made one small miscalculation.
Corn cobs make _excellent_ bumpers when shot from a rabbit bow.
Corn cobs make _terrible_ bumpers when shot from a cannon.
Upon impact, the arrow split that corn cob in two, and was now firmly stuck in the side of a 12 year old boy. The same twelve year old boy who was now flailing, screaming and running back toward town to go tell his mother.
After some stunned silence all the boys suddenly came to the same frightening conclusion. No, it wasn't that they had shot a boy with an arrow. If he was running...and flailing....and screaming...then he wasn't dying. Getting shot was going to hurt like hell, but the cob had slowed the arrow down enough that it was only a couple inches into his side. The fear that coursed through the veins of the boys that day ran much deeper than that.
If Jacob Painter got to Mrs. Painter
...then Mrs. Painter was going tell their Dad
...and if their Dad just found out that they shot a boy with an arrow
...then the mulberry bow was going to become a mulberry ass beating stick.
In a rush, the boys headed down that mountain as their lives depended on it. They caught Jacob Painter at the end of the meadow on the towns edge. They smothered him until he quieted down, then the dragged him into the woods and yanked out the arrow. Just to make sure, they gave him a thumpin'...nothing bad, just a little something to get his attention. And they let him know if he said anything to anyone, there'd be a lot more thumpin'to follow.
In the end Painter was fine and Dad never found out.
Just another day on the mountain.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
1:00 and I'm still alive
Coffee is the new manna from heaven
Here's a classic that never gets unfunny.
http://www.ebaumsworld.com/2006/07/cowboyslocker.html
And in case you thought I was kidding about the whoopie cussion
Here's a classic that never gets unfunny.
http://www.ebaumsworld.com/2006/07/cowboyslocker.html
And in case you thought I was kidding about the whoopie cussion
trick or hangover
I drank 15 beers and two shots of cognac while trick or treating last night.
10 years of behaving myself in front of the neighbors and building a good reputation down the tubes. Its tough to maintain that respect when you're a giant pink whoopie-cussion sleeping on your front lawn.
Today is going to be bad...but I guess not as bad as this guys day...
10 years of behaving myself in front of the neighbors and building a good reputation down the tubes. Its tough to maintain that respect when you're a giant pink whoopie-cussion sleeping on your front lawn.
Today is going to be bad...but I guess not as bad as this guys day...
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Last Holloween
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Trick or Treat
In what has become an annual tradition in our neighborhood, all the families get together for pizza before trick or treating. This year we introduced beer (for the parents) into the equation with good results. The trick or treating turned into a bar crawl.
We got about two blocks from my house and I really had to take a leak. With people everywhere and a local fire truck, light ablazin, parked and handing out candy to the kids, there was little opportunity to sneak into the bushes.
Add to that the fact that taking a leak in the bushes might be generally frowned upon by the neighbors AND having your weiner out while little kids are running around the town is a recipe for disaster no matter how legitimate the reason. " I was just taking a piss" doesn't sound believable when it's in print in the local paper.
But I couldn't take it anymore, so I lagged behind everyone else, and casually made my way over near the bushes. In one swift motion, I stepped between two bushes and moved behind them. Well to my surprise, I found out where the neighborhood stormwater culvert is. My step behind the bush turned into my 4 foot fall into the detention basin. I exacted a perfect dive roll back up to my feet and scrambled up the embankment and resumed my position in the parade...grass stained and freaked out. A couple of seconds I heard a voice behind me..." I thought I was going to have to send the firemen in there after you"...apparantly I wasn't the last person in line. Embarassed and slightly scathed I trudged on.
Another couple of blocks I couldn't take it anymore. I told T " I really gotta go !". She said that she'd take the kids, that I should run home and to take the video camera with me. I slipped the camera onto hand and started home.
I had to go so badly that I couldn't run...I had to do a fast shuffle/speed walk. I got back onto my street, which was now completely empty of people and started toward my house. It was touch and go as to whether I would make it without pissing my pants. Then I came up to the bushes again. Half out of severe need and half out to prove a point to that bastard bush I decided to piss right there. Carefully and quickly I slipped into the bushes and carefully perched myself on the ledge of the basin. I craned my neck around to look and see if anyone was coming and as quickly as possible, which at this point was easy, unzipped and let it rip. Ahhhhhhhhh. So I was standing there relieved, looking around for anyone coming and all of a sudden I realized I was getting wet. SWEET JESUS !
I looked down in the pitch dark and realized that the video camera strap was still around my hand. That hand that was holding my johnson and I was pissing directly INTO the video camera with the spashback spraying all over me.
After swearing, zipping up, and trying to dry off, I ran all the way back and rejoin everyone...making a meager attempt to dry off ( both myself and the camera) in the process.
When I got back, Mrs. Flick asked me to take a video of the kids. I picked up the piss stained camera, aimed it, turned it on. The video screen flickered, flickered again, then a message came up...DANGER DEW DETECTED.
Indeed.
Trick or Treat
In what has become an annual tradition in our neighborhood, all the families get together for pizza before trick or treating. This year we introduced beer (for the parents) into the equation with good results. The trick or treating turned into a bar crawl.
We got about two blocks from my house and I really had to take a leak. With people everywhere and a local fire truck, light ablazin, parked and handing out candy to the kids, there was little opportunity to sneak into the bushes.
Add to that the fact that taking a leak in the bushes might be generally frowned upon by the neighbors AND having your weiner out while little kids are running around the town is a recipe for disaster no matter how legitimate the reason. " I was just taking a piss" doesn't sound believable when it's in print in the local paper.
But I couldn't take it anymore, so I lagged behind everyone else, and casually made my way over near the bushes. In one swift motion, I stepped between two bushes and moved behind them. Well to my surprise, I found out where the neighborhood stormwater culvert is. My step behind the bush turned into my 4 foot fall into the detention basin. I exacted a perfect dive roll back up to my feet and scrambled up the embankment and resumed my position in the parade...grass stained and freaked out. A couple of seconds I heard a voice behind me..." I thought I was going to have to send the firemen in there after you"...apparantly I wasn't the last person in line. Embarassed and slightly scathed I trudged on.
Another couple of blocks I couldn't take it anymore. I told T " I really gotta go !". She said that she'd take the kids, that I should run home and to take the video camera with me. I slipped the camera onto hand and started home.
I had to go so badly that I couldn't run...I had to do a fast shuffle/speed walk. I got back onto my street, which was now completely empty of people and started toward my house. It was touch and go as to whether I would make it without pissing my pants. Then I came up to the bushes again. Half out of severe need and half out to prove a point to that bastard bush I decided to piss right there. Carefully and quickly I slipped into the bushes and carefully perched myself on the ledge of the basin. I craned my neck around to look and see if anyone was coming and as quickly as possible, which at this point was easy, unzipped and let it rip. Ahhhhhhhhh. So I was standing there relieved, looking around for anyone coming and all of a sudden I realized I was getting wet. SWEET JESUS !
I looked down in the pitch dark and realized that the video camera strap was still around my hand. That hand that was holding my johnson and I was pissing directly INTO the video camera with the spashback spraying all over me.
After swearing, zipping up, and trying to dry off, I ran all the way back and rejoin everyone...making a meager attempt to dry off ( both myself and the camera) in the process.
When I got back, Mrs. Flick asked me to take a video of the kids. I picked up the piss stained camera, aimed it, turned it on. The video screen flickered, flickered again, then a message came up...DANGER DEW DETECTED.
Indeed.
Monday, October 30, 2006
calling a spade a spade
Conversation while driving around the city hungover on Sunday morning.
B: Man I want some bacon. Where do you think that we can get some bacon around here.
R: Around here ? There only thing you're going to get in this neighborhood is a big plate of fucked in the ass.
B: Thats not going to work, I don't want a big plate of fucked in the ass, I want bacon.
R: What's the difference, it's all pork.
B: Man I want some bacon. Where do you think that we can get some bacon around here.
R: Around here ? There only thing you're going to get in this neighborhood is a big plate of fucked in the ass.
B: Thats not going to work, I don't want a big plate of fucked in the ass, I want bacon.
R: What's the difference, it's all pork.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Big Jonny Rules
If you've ever clicked on the link I set up to Drunk Cyclist, you know all about Big Jonny. And if you haven't been over there, I suggest you get off your ass and check it out now...you're missing out on the fun.
DRUNK CYCLIST LINK
In any case, around a month or so ago Big Jonny was hit by a car while out on a ride and he's been spending the better part of his time recovering. In the meantime he's been out of work.
He's not one for charity. But then again, I'm not one for taking shit for free. Point is...this guys been providing fun and porn since before fun and porn was cool. If you're someone who's been heading over and enjoying drunkcyclist.com it's time for you to step up and show your appreciation.
Get yourself a DC shirt, hat, or beer coozie. Everything is on sale and priced to go. This of this as an early version of the Jerry Lewis telethon...but with a drunk mountain biker instead of a kid in a little kid in a wheelchair.
GO HERE
www.drunkcyclist.com
And I'm out until Monday. Big family wedding this weekend. Should be good fodder for posts next week. I'm bringing the recorder with me and interviewing drunks.
Have a safe weekend.
DRUNK CYCLIST LINK
In any case, around a month or so ago Big Jonny was hit by a car while out on a ride and he's been spending the better part of his time recovering. In the meantime he's been out of work.
He's not one for charity. But then again, I'm not one for taking shit for free. Point is...this guys been providing fun and porn since before fun and porn was cool. If you're someone who's been heading over and enjoying drunkcyclist.com it's time for you to step up and show your appreciation.
Get yourself a DC shirt, hat, or beer coozie. Everything is on sale and priced to go. This of this as an early version of the Jerry Lewis telethon...but with a drunk mountain biker instead of a kid in a little kid in a wheelchair.
GO HERE
www.drunkcyclist.com
And I'm out until Monday. Big family wedding this weekend. Should be good fodder for posts next week. I'm bringing the recorder with me and interviewing drunks.
Have a safe weekend.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
problem solving
I've always been convinved that all the worlds problems* could be solved if you just had the right forum for dialogue. The UN is a nice effort, but they're lacking a few things...mainly beer and a big screen TV. If you put men in a room with booze and sports they can usually come to a mutually agreed upon conclussion. Last night's conversation is a perfect example...
B: I think more grand slams are hit per opportunity then home runs hit at bat, because pitchers don't have the option of walking the batter
R: Except for Bonds. I've seen them walk Bonds with the bases loaded just to limit the damage to one run.
B: You mean pitch to the outside or intentionally walk ?
R: Intentionally.
B: Get the fuck outta here.
R: Seriously. I think it's been done more than once.
B: Jeeze. If you're going to do that why not just bean him. I mean if you're going to give him the base why not throw at his giant head.
R: You should throw at his dick. That would get his attention.
B: With Bonds, if you threw it at his crotch, he'd probably just whip it out and hit a home run with his dick.
R: OK here's the deal ...if you hit a home run with you dick you go immediately into the Hall of Fame.
B: RIGHT ! You go around the bases and when you get to home, they're waiting for you there and you get innagurated right on the spot.
R: No, no, no...HERE is the deal. If you hit a home run with your dick you get to LIVE in the hall of fame.
B: So let me get this straight. Bonds is up. The pitcher throws at his dick. He whips it out and hits it out of the park with his penis...and he gets to LIVE in the Hall of Fame. I like it ! Perfect. I agree.
R: And if its a grand slam, they just rename the place from the Hall of Fame the Hall of Bond's Home Run Hitting Dick.
B: Word.
* ( by solving the worlds problems I mean, you know, the problems between men. You could have 100 big screen TV and 1000 cases of beer, and you're still not going to figure out why you get laid less when after marriage or any of the other crazy shit that women do)
B: I think more grand slams are hit per opportunity then home runs hit at bat, because pitchers don't have the option of walking the batter
R: Except for Bonds. I've seen them walk Bonds with the bases loaded just to limit the damage to one run.
B: You mean pitch to the outside or intentionally walk ?
R: Intentionally.
B: Get the fuck outta here.
R: Seriously. I think it's been done more than once.
B: Jeeze. If you're going to do that why not just bean him. I mean if you're going to give him the base why not throw at his giant head.
R: You should throw at his dick. That would get his attention.
B: With Bonds, if you threw it at his crotch, he'd probably just whip it out and hit a home run with his dick.
R: OK here's the deal ...if you hit a home run with you dick you go immediately into the Hall of Fame.
B: RIGHT ! You go around the bases and when you get to home, they're waiting for you there and you get innagurated right on the spot.
R: No, no, no...HERE is the deal. If you hit a home run with your dick you get to LIVE in the hall of fame.
B: So let me get this straight. Bonds is up. The pitcher throws at his dick. He whips it out and hits it out of the park with his penis...and he gets to LIVE in the Hall of Fame. I like it ! Perfect. I agree.
R: And if its a grand slam, they just rename the place from the Hall of Fame the Hall of Bond's Home Run Hitting Dick.
B: Word.
* ( by solving the worlds problems I mean, you know, the problems between men. You could have 100 big screen TV and 1000 cases of beer, and you're still not going to figure out why you get laid less when after marriage or any of the other crazy shit that women do)
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Sigmund and the Sea Monsters
When I drove in this morning a co-worked had a bunch of brush and plants in the back of his truck that gave me a total flashback. The stuff looked just like Sigmund from Sigmund and the Sea Monsters and I was thrown back to Saturday mornings as a little kid.
We were an ABC family. As most lower middle class families in the early 70's we had a black and white TV set with rabbit ears...you know the kind of TV where the plastic knob would eventually break off and you'd have to change the channels with a pair of pliars. So at the time, WPVI channel 6 out of Philadelpia put out the strongest signal and between the picture clarity and nobody wanting to go look for pliars, our TV was usually on channel 6..ABC.
As kids this meant a steady Saturday morning diet of Hong Kong Phooey, Buggs Bunny ( the cool unedited ones), Super Friends ( totally awesome), Captain Caveman, and of course the Scooby Doo Laff Olympics. You could rip through a box of Cherrios before American Bandstand would come on signaling that it was time for you to go outside to play and not return until the streetlights came on.
But the thing that struck me today was something completely different. Was I realized today, and what I suspect every one of our parents had to realize, was that Sid and Marty Krofft must have been smoking an enormous ammount of dope. Is it possible that Sid and Marty Krofft was the pen name of Cheech and Chong. I'm not saying it's true, I'm just posing the question.
Think about this line up.
H.R. Puff and Stuff.....PUFF !?!?! PUFF'N STUFF ?!?!? Maybe this stuff was just so obvious I saw right through it.
The Bugaloos
Don't know anything about these guys. I think they were on NBC which, until my dad finally sprung for a rooftop antenna, excluded them from my personal lineup.
Lidsville...only three things you need to know.
1) The title was Lidsville
2) The premise was some dude cruising around in a world of giant hat creatures
3) Charles Nelson Reilly
Can anyone say Magic Mushrooms ?
Then we hit the meat of the line-up. 1973 to 1975 were my main viewing years and they coincided with Sid and Marty's finest work.
Sigmund and the Sea Monster which brought a little bit of the California surf culture into the homes of east coast kids.
A little known fact is that Sigmund was played by the late great Billy Barty, who would go on to appear in numerous Krofft shows and become, perhaps, the best know little person actor ever.
Land of the Lost.
Sleestacks, T-Rex, Chocka...come on man. This goes in the Saturday morning hall of fame. Name one show on TV today that comes close.
And if there's a guy in his 30's who claims he never hand a impure thought about Holly as a young boy, he's lying. Word.
Far Out Space Nuts and the Lost Saucer
The next two offerings get increasingly less reflective of the 70's counter culture and most opportunistic of the outter space facination of the Star Wars boom. But while less trippy, they're no less bizarre. Both take place on a spaceship and share perhaps the cheesiest most poorly produced special effect of their day. If that wasn't enough the first show starred John Denver ( aka Gilligan) and the second starred Ruth Buzzi and Jim Nabors and some dude in a really really bad costume that had him half dog and half horse called "The Dorse". Talk about a bad trip.
* I was going to post a picture of The Dorse, but Sid and Marty were so embarassed that they've bought up all images and likenesses of the Dorse and there are non to be found on the internet or otherwise.
In general, I think the Krofft offerings were reflective of the transitional culture that was the 70's. Starting with the blatantly trippy Puff and Stuff in 1970....and slowly evolving, as did the culture of that time, into a more mainstream, conventional, and sadly, more corporate existance...but without ever completly losing its psychedelic lilt ( Ruth Buzzi and Jim Nabors...come on...you know that was hatched after someone found an old bag of something in a kitchen drawer).
Never was that transformation more reflective in their one last Saturday morning offering for kids. The sad but true
Bay City Rollers Show
We were an ABC family. As most lower middle class families in the early 70's we had a black and white TV set with rabbit ears...you know the kind of TV where the plastic knob would eventually break off and you'd have to change the channels with a pair of pliars. So at the time, WPVI channel 6 out of Philadelpia put out the strongest signal and between the picture clarity and nobody wanting to go look for pliars, our TV was usually on channel 6..ABC.
As kids this meant a steady Saturday morning diet of Hong Kong Phooey, Buggs Bunny ( the cool unedited ones), Super Friends ( totally awesome), Captain Caveman, and of course the Scooby Doo Laff Olympics. You could rip through a box of Cherrios before American Bandstand would come on signaling that it was time for you to go outside to play and not return until the streetlights came on.
But the thing that struck me today was something completely different. Was I realized today, and what I suspect every one of our parents had to realize, was that Sid and Marty Krofft must have been smoking an enormous ammount of dope. Is it possible that Sid and Marty Krofft was the pen name of Cheech and Chong. I'm not saying it's true, I'm just posing the question.
Think about this line up.
H.R. Puff and Stuff.....PUFF !?!?! PUFF'N STUFF ?!?!? Maybe this stuff was just so obvious I saw right through it.
The Bugaloos
Don't know anything about these guys. I think they were on NBC which, until my dad finally sprung for a rooftop antenna, excluded them from my personal lineup.
Lidsville...only three things you need to know.
1) The title was Lidsville
2) The premise was some dude cruising around in a world of giant hat creatures
3) Charles Nelson Reilly
Can anyone say Magic Mushrooms ?
Then we hit the meat of the line-up. 1973 to 1975 were my main viewing years and they coincided with Sid and Marty's finest work.
Sigmund and the Sea Monster which brought a little bit of the California surf culture into the homes of east coast kids.
A little known fact is that Sigmund was played by the late great Billy Barty, who would go on to appear in numerous Krofft shows and become, perhaps, the best know little person actor ever.
Land of the Lost.
Sleestacks, T-Rex, Chocka...come on man. This goes in the Saturday morning hall of fame. Name one show on TV today that comes close.
And if there's a guy in his 30's who claims he never hand a impure thought about Holly as a young boy, he's lying. Word.
Far Out Space Nuts and the Lost Saucer
The next two offerings get increasingly less reflective of the 70's counter culture and most opportunistic of the outter space facination of the Star Wars boom. But while less trippy, they're no less bizarre. Both take place on a spaceship and share perhaps the cheesiest most poorly produced special effect of their day. If that wasn't enough the first show starred John Denver ( aka Gilligan) and the second starred Ruth Buzzi and Jim Nabors and some dude in a really really bad costume that had him half dog and half horse called "The Dorse". Talk about a bad trip.
* I was going to post a picture of The Dorse, but Sid and Marty were so embarassed that they've bought up all images and likenesses of the Dorse and there are non to be found on the internet or otherwise.
In general, I think the Krofft offerings were reflective of the transitional culture that was the 70's. Starting with the blatantly trippy Puff and Stuff in 1970....and slowly evolving, as did the culture of that time, into a more mainstream, conventional, and sadly, more corporate existance...but without ever completly losing its psychedelic lilt ( Ruth Buzzi and Jim Nabors...come on...you know that was hatched after someone found an old bag of something in a kitchen drawer).
Never was that transformation more reflective in their one last Saturday morning offering for kids. The sad but true
Bay City Rollers Show
Monday, October 23, 2006
Write what you know
Having a bit of writer's block I asked a friend who understands such things what I should do.
" You should go back to the basics. Write about personal experiences.", he advised.
" But what if all your experiences are pretty much limited to tragic incidents with poop ?"
" Write what you know !"
So to that end I offer of the following story.
I had graduated college a year ahead of my friends and my girlfriend. So my typical week would entail getting off of work on Friday, driving the 5 hours back to college and getting there in time for last call. I'd stay all the way until the crack of dawn on Monday morning and then drive back in time to arrive for work Monday morning. It was a very tight timeframe, but I had an organized schedule and so long as I stayed on track I never had any problems. That was, until Superbowl Sunday.
On Superbowl Sunday, instead of the quiet dinner with my girlfriend and early to bed as was prescribed...I spent the night eating mexican food, drinking bucketsfull of cheap beer, and screaming at the television set. Instead of waking up early, having a nice breakfast, getting myself organized and being sent off with a kiss...I woke up 20 minutes late, still drunk, and ran out the door pulling on my pants.
I hopped into the car and set off as fast as I could, stopping just breifly on the edge of town to get myself some gas and a giant mug of coffee. I needed to make good time but to make matters worse, it was a particularly blustery January morning. Tempatures were in the teens and the wind was howling. This was pre-dawn so until the sun came up I was faced with icy roads. Sqinting through bloodshot eyes I nagivated the roads as best I could and the sun came up as I hit the Turnpike and headed east.
It's 34 miles between the exit where I would get onto the Turnpike and the next exit east. That's the longest stretch between any two exits on the Turnpike. I happen to know this little factoid because 1 mile into my trip the beer, the mexican food, the yelling, and the coffee all formed a perfect storm in my colon.
As many of you know, if you've spent any time drinking cheap beer and eating burritos, when those two items come in contact with coffee ( black no sugar) it's the gastrointestinal equivalent of fertilizer and deisel fuel. And the last 3 feet of your ass plumbing is the federal building parking garage.
I immediately went into DEFON 4 trying to come up with an escape plan. How long until the next exit. I checked the slip. Oh sweet Jesus 33 miles. No way. How long till the next rest stop...no rest stops for 50 miles. Maybe I can hold it.....the gurgling in my gut answer that question. OK, maybe if I can find a break in the median strip I can pull a U-turn and get back to the last toll house...great plan. For the next 5 miles....no break in the median strip. OK, that does it, I'm going to have to just pull off the side of the road and take a shit in the woods.
I drove another 3 miles before I could find a big enough shoulder on the side of the road at an emergency pull off. I dug around through the trash in the car and found myself a couple of old napkins and hopped out.
Outside of the car I realized that I may not have picked the greatest spot. At this emergency pull off there was plenty of paved area for a truck to park and there was a call box, but there really wasn't anything else. The were trees as far as the eye could see, but the road was elevated and all the woods were on the other side of the median strip and 30 feet down. There really wasn't any shelter.
This is close to what I'm talking about. The slope here isn't quite as steep..but you get the idea.
So with much embarassment I did the best I could. I climbed over the guiderail, grabbed onto the freezing cold steel with one hand and started undoing my pants with the other hand. My hope was that the guiderail would provide sort of a shelter to hide behind. I was wrong. No sooner did I step over the railing then people started beeping and pointing and laughing as the drove by. Dammit.
This is what I may have looked like if you drove by.
I looked around and found a solution. While all the trees were growing from 30 foot down the ravine, there was one small tree that had somehow, miraculously, was growing right out of the sloped mecadam about 5 feet down the hill. With my pants now half way around my thighs, I reached back and got a hand on the tree. With acrobatic prowess I swung around the tree, grasping the 4 in trunk in both hands, put both feet on either side of the stump, squated down extending my derieere out over the ledge, and took care of some very very nasty business down the slope 25 feet below. AHHHHHHHHHH !
This young lady demostrates my flawless technique.
With great dexterity and using one hand I cleaned myself up and while unable to button or zip, pulled my pants up around my waist.
It was then I realized that while my immediate problem was taken care of....I was now 5 feet below the road grade....8 feet below the guiderail...and standing on a frozen hunk of pavement tilted at 45 degrees.
I swung myself back around the tree so that my back was on the trunk and I was facing uphill. This got me a couple of feet closer. I reached out and stretched as far as I could. I was three feet short.
I worked up some courage and tentatively learched at the base of the guiderail. But because I flinched when I did it I only made it 2 and a half of the three feet and my hand feel 6 inches short. Like a dog on ice and in complete panic I started flailing around as I started slide back down the slope. AGGGGHHHHHHHHH !!!!!! I let out a premordial scream and I grabbed back onto the tree with a deathgrip hug.
When my time for death comes, I hope that I will bravely face it with courage and dignity. But there was no way that i was going to fall 30 to my death and be found half frozen, with my pants half down, laying in a pile of my own diarrhea. Even I have standards.
I stayed there for what seemed like an eternity until my heart rate came down and until I just couldn't stand the cold anymore. I swung back around the tree again and steadied myself. This time, with complete conviction and dedication to the effort, I leapt out and grabbed the guardrail.
I pulled myself over the top, got in the car, and continued on my way.
I got to work 30 mintues late. But with some lessons well learned.
" You should go back to the basics. Write about personal experiences.", he advised.
" But what if all your experiences are pretty much limited to tragic incidents with poop ?"
" Write what you know !"
So to that end I offer of the following story.
I had graduated college a year ahead of my friends and my girlfriend. So my typical week would entail getting off of work on Friday, driving the 5 hours back to college and getting there in time for last call. I'd stay all the way until the crack of dawn on Monday morning and then drive back in time to arrive for work Monday morning. It was a very tight timeframe, but I had an organized schedule and so long as I stayed on track I never had any problems. That was, until Superbowl Sunday.
On Superbowl Sunday, instead of the quiet dinner with my girlfriend and early to bed as was prescribed...I spent the night eating mexican food, drinking bucketsfull of cheap beer, and screaming at the television set. Instead of waking up early, having a nice breakfast, getting myself organized and being sent off with a kiss...I woke up 20 minutes late, still drunk, and ran out the door pulling on my pants.
I hopped into the car and set off as fast as I could, stopping just breifly on the edge of town to get myself some gas and a giant mug of coffee. I needed to make good time but to make matters worse, it was a particularly blustery January morning. Tempatures were in the teens and the wind was howling. This was pre-dawn so until the sun came up I was faced with icy roads. Sqinting through bloodshot eyes I nagivated the roads as best I could and the sun came up as I hit the Turnpike and headed east.
It's 34 miles between the exit where I would get onto the Turnpike and the next exit east. That's the longest stretch between any two exits on the Turnpike. I happen to know this little factoid because 1 mile into my trip the beer, the mexican food, the yelling, and the coffee all formed a perfect storm in my colon.
As many of you know, if you've spent any time drinking cheap beer and eating burritos, when those two items come in contact with coffee ( black no sugar) it's the gastrointestinal equivalent of fertilizer and deisel fuel. And the last 3 feet of your ass plumbing is the federal building parking garage.
I immediately went into DEFON 4 trying to come up with an escape plan. How long until the next exit. I checked the slip. Oh sweet Jesus 33 miles. No way. How long till the next rest stop...no rest stops for 50 miles. Maybe I can hold it.....the gurgling in my gut answer that question. OK, maybe if I can find a break in the median strip I can pull a U-turn and get back to the last toll house...great plan. For the next 5 miles....no break in the median strip. OK, that does it, I'm going to have to just pull off the side of the road and take a shit in the woods.
I drove another 3 miles before I could find a big enough shoulder on the side of the road at an emergency pull off. I dug around through the trash in the car and found myself a couple of old napkins and hopped out.
Outside of the car I realized that I may not have picked the greatest spot. At this emergency pull off there was plenty of paved area for a truck to park and there was a call box, but there really wasn't anything else. The were trees as far as the eye could see, but the road was elevated and all the woods were on the other side of the median strip and 30 feet down. There really wasn't any shelter.
This is close to what I'm talking about. The slope here isn't quite as steep..but you get the idea.
So with much embarassment I did the best I could. I climbed over the guiderail, grabbed onto the freezing cold steel with one hand and started undoing my pants with the other hand. My hope was that the guiderail would provide sort of a shelter to hide behind. I was wrong. No sooner did I step over the railing then people started beeping and pointing and laughing as the drove by. Dammit.
This is what I may have looked like if you drove by.
I looked around and found a solution. While all the trees were growing from 30 foot down the ravine, there was one small tree that had somehow, miraculously, was growing right out of the sloped mecadam about 5 feet down the hill. With my pants now half way around my thighs, I reached back and got a hand on the tree. With acrobatic prowess I swung around the tree, grasping the 4 in trunk in both hands, put both feet on either side of the stump, squated down extending my derieere out over the ledge, and took care of some very very nasty business down the slope 25 feet below. AHHHHHHHHHH !
This young lady demostrates my flawless technique.
With great dexterity and using one hand I cleaned myself up and while unable to button or zip, pulled my pants up around my waist.
It was then I realized that while my immediate problem was taken care of....I was now 5 feet below the road grade....8 feet below the guiderail...and standing on a frozen hunk of pavement tilted at 45 degrees.
I swung myself back around the tree so that my back was on the trunk and I was facing uphill. This got me a couple of feet closer. I reached out and stretched as far as I could. I was three feet short.
I worked up some courage and tentatively learched at the base of the guiderail. But because I flinched when I did it I only made it 2 and a half of the three feet and my hand feel 6 inches short. Like a dog on ice and in complete panic I started flailing around as I started slide back down the slope. AGGGGHHHHHHHHH !!!!!! I let out a premordial scream and I grabbed back onto the tree with a deathgrip hug.
When my time for death comes, I hope that I will bravely face it with courage and dignity. But there was no way that i was going to fall 30 to my death and be found half frozen, with my pants half down, laying in a pile of my own diarrhea. Even I have standards.
I stayed there for what seemed like an eternity until my heart rate came down and until I just couldn't stand the cold anymore. I swung back around the tree again and steadied myself. This time, with complete conviction and dedication to the effort, I leapt out and grabbed the guardrail.
I pulled myself over the top, got in the car, and continued on my way.
I got to work 30 mintues late. But with some lessons well learned.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Flick on Vacation
I'm off to Atlantic City then planning a solid 3 day drinking bender.
I will return Monday and have three stories ready already for next week.
So have a good weekend and I'll catch up with you on Monday.
I will return Monday and have three stories ready already for next week.
So have a good weekend and I'll catch up with you on Monday.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
not to get political
I saw this in the news this morning...
WEST PALM BEACH, Fla. - Mark Foley plans to reveal the name of a clergyman he says abused him as a teenager, a move his attorney said would deflate claims the former congressman fabricated the allegations as an excuse for sending sexually explicit e-mails to teenage pages.
The first thing that I thought was, "so fucking what".
Why does this douche keep talking ? Who's advising this guy ? I mean, isn't there any shame ? It would seem apparently obvious to me that if you get yourself in this situation, the best course of action is to shut up...and whereever possible hide. Be remorseful and then go away for a while.
The Gov. of NJ had it right. Say "I'm gay and I wuit", disappear, come back with a book deal, and rake in the cash.
I think most dudes can almost forgive having a belt or two and flirting with a young piece of ass ( not me of course, I'm appalled)...but this blathering on is intolerable.
Anyway, this post is going nowhere so I'll leave you with this.
WEST PALM BEACH, Fla. - Mark Foley plans to reveal the name of a clergyman he says abused him as a teenager, a move his attorney said would deflate claims the former congressman fabricated the allegations as an excuse for sending sexually explicit e-mails to teenage pages.
The first thing that I thought was, "so fucking what".
Why does this douche keep talking ? Who's advising this guy ? I mean, isn't there any shame ? It would seem apparently obvious to me that if you get yourself in this situation, the best course of action is to shut up...and whereever possible hide. Be remorseful and then go away for a while.
The Gov. of NJ had it right. Say "I'm gay and I wuit", disappear, come back with a book deal, and rake in the cash.
I think most dudes can almost forgive having a belt or two and flirting with a young piece of ass ( not me of course, I'm appalled)...but this blathering on is intolerable.
Anyway, this post is going nowhere so I'll leave you with this.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
ok, it might be a drag...
....but it's my blog and I think this is cool.
I can't slam my dick in a drawer ( did I post that story yet ?) or crap in my pants every day, so sometimes I just have to post fluff.
Anyway, I think this is cool.
I can't slam my dick in a drawer ( did I post that story yet ?) or crap in my pants every day, so sometimes I just have to post fluff.
Anyway, I think this is cool.
Monday, October 16, 2006
up late
I was up all night playing in the 30K HORSE tourney.
I didn't win.
But I am tired. No post until after lunch.
I didn't win.
But I am tired. No post until after lunch.
Friday, October 13, 2006
More El Doc-Tor
I don't know if you enjoyed the previously posted interview, but if you did I think you'll enjoy today's post. I didn't know exactly how to do this, but what I did was edit it down to four segments that you can listen to or download at your convenience. I'll also add a link on the right to the Bolt page where these are right now.
I have a little fun with the following descriptions, but please don't misinterpret that to be a mockery or any lack of respect. I'm blown away by these stories, by their person AND historical significance, and I find the Doc to be a fantastic story teller. I've made some edits to eliminate breaks and extraneous stuff, and to make the whole interview into smaller segments, but for the most parts it's "as recorded". I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.
I've also attached some photos and links that are relevant to each section.
Segment 1 - El Doc-Tor gets laid...and surprised. ( about 10 mins)
In this piece 17 year old Doc goes to Munich and meets a girl. I did a little research and the woman he talks about did exist. Here's some photos of both her and Ruby Keeler.
Get music codes at Bolt
Segment 2 - Was Hitler Jewish ( about 1 minute long)
This very short segment put this issue to rest
Get music codes at Bolt.
Segment 3 - My Grandfather was an anarchist ( about 10 mins)
Some of Doc's family history provides some insight into emmigration of Europeans at the turn of the century
Get music codes at Bolt
Segment 4 - Did a women write Genesis ( about 10 mins)
This provides an education on theology and the Higher Principle as well as a little bit of Homer...the other Homer.
Get music codes at Bolt.
Segment 5 - Winning the contest ( about 4 minutes)
This short little piece is actually how the interview started. It explains how Doc did a little flim-flim action to win himself a trip to Europe.
Get music codes at Bolt.
I have a little fun with the following descriptions, but please don't misinterpret that to be a mockery or any lack of respect. I'm blown away by these stories, by their person AND historical significance, and I find the Doc to be a fantastic story teller. I've made some edits to eliminate breaks and extraneous stuff, and to make the whole interview into smaller segments, but for the most parts it's "as recorded". I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.
I've also attached some photos and links that are relevant to each section.
Segment 1 - El Doc-Tor gets laid...and surprised. ( about 10 mins)
In this piece 17 year old Doc goes to Munich and meets a girl. I did a little research and the woman he talks about did exist. Here's some photos of both her and Ruby Keeler.
Get music codes at Bolt
Segment 2 - Was Hitler Jewish ( about 1 minute long)
This very short segment put this issue to rest
Get music codes at Bolt.
Segment 3 - My Grandfather was an anarchist ( about 10 mins)
Some of Doc's family history provides some insight into emmigration of Europeans at the turn of the century
Get music codes at Bolt
Segment 4 - Did a women write Genesis ( about 10 mins)
This provides an education on theology and the Higher Principle as well as a little bit of Homer...the other Homer.
Get music codes at Bolt.
Segment 5 - Winning the contest ( about 4 minutes)
This short little piece is actually how the interview started. It explains how Doc did a little flim-flim action to win himself a trip to Europe.
Get music codes at Bolt.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
interviewing El Doc-tor
For a while now I've been saying that I was going to interview a few people whom I find interesting. For one reason or another...laziness...awkwardness...whatever...I've just never done it.
Last night I figured, "why not". I threw a voice recorder in my pocket and I drove over to the chess club and sat down with El Doc-tor. An hour later I got more than I bargained for...and some of the best stories I've ever heard.
I'm trying to figure out how to edit and post this stuff and that going to take a while. In the meantime I did put together a 5 mintue clip that I think you'll get a kick out of.
For now, this is the only way that I can figure out how to post it.
Link fixed HERE
Get music codes at Bolt.
Last night I figured, "why not". I threw a voice recorder in my pocket and I drove over to the chess club and sat down with El Doc-tor. An hour later I got more than I bargained for...and some of the best stories I've ever heard.
I'm trying to figure out how to edit and post this stuff and that going to take a while. In the meantime I did put together a 5 mintue clip that I think you'll get a kick out of.
For now, this is the only way that I can figure out how to post it.
Link fixed HERE
Get music codes at Bolt.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
The shit heard round the world
Well that did it.
The dog dies this weekend.
I was just sitting here after a hard days work relaxing. The dog walked over between the back and me, looked up at me, then shit a huge pile of diarrhea all over the carpet.
I just spent the last 20 minutes cleaning up the smelliest pile of dog shit in the history of modern man. The fucking dog must have been eating squid or curry or something.
Anyway, this saturday I'm going to make the stupid thing a steak, walk it in the park, then take it over the the vets and have it put down.
And any of you bleeding heart PETA types have a problem with that, you can come get the dog and save it. Just drop me a note and I'll send you the address. You have 3 days.
The dog dies this weekend.
I was just sitting here after a hard days work relaxing. The dog walked over between the back and me, looked up at me, then shit a huge pile of diarrhea all over the carpet.
I just spent the last 20 minutes cleaning up the smelliest pile of dog shit in the history of modern man. The fucking dog must have been eating squid or curry or something.
Anyway, this saturday I'm going to make the stupid thing a steak, walk it in the park, then take it over the the vets and have it put down.
And any of you bleeding heart PETA types have a problem with that, you can come get the dog and save it. Just drop me a note and I'll send you the address. You have 3 days.
here is why my panties are in a wad
I get asked why I get so upset about the recent online gambling legislation.
Here's why.
2006
money into bank ( money out of bank)
Jan 25 ( 54.45)
Feb 0 ( 27.23)
Mar 231.53
Apr 0
May 50
June 191.88 (27.23)
July 277.85
Aug 449.10
Sep 688.84
Oct 414.35 (100)
2328.55 (208.92) for a tot of plus 2119.63 ytd
Yeah, it isn't going to make or break me. But my hobby is fun and it pays for my lunch and beer money. And you might note I seem to be getting either better or luckier or both as the year has gone on.
So I'm donating 10% of everything I make from this point on to whomever is running against Frist. That asshole.
Here's why.
2006
money into bank ( money out of bank)
Jan 25 ( 54.45)
Feb 0 ( 27.23)
Mar 231.53
Apr 0
May 50
June 191.88 (27.23)
July 277.85
Aug 449.10
Sep 688.84
Oct 414.35 (100)
2328.55 (208.92) for a tot of plus 2119.63 ytd
Yeah, it isn't going to make or break me. But my hobby is fun and it pays for my lunch and beer money. And you might note I seem to be getting either better or luckier or both as the year has gone on.
So I'm donating 10% of everything I make from this point on to whomever is running against Frist. That asshole.
Monday, October 09, 2006
a chill in the air
As the tempature drops and each day welcomes you with a brisk nip in the air, I get reminded of a story.
Mrs. Flick and I got married in November and that winter I started training more seriously on my bicycle than I ever had before. This meant doing a lot of long rides in winter weather.
One particular Decemmber Sunday I set out to meet some guys for a hard ride and the tempature dropped to below freezing. We ended up doing about 3 hours in the cold and when I got home I was a mess. I couldn't feel my hands nor my feet and whenever I tried to take a deep breath I'd cough as my lungs were filled down deep with the special kind of mucus you get from exercising in the cold.
I limped upstairs, disrobed and climbed into the shower. I turned on the shower as hot as I could tolerate and I stood there for what seemed like and hour suffering through the pins and needles as the feeling slowly returned to my extremidies.
After a while I started to return to normal except for the cough. By this time the bathroom has turned into a steam bath with the hot water running so long. The hot moist air actually helped my lungs and I started breathing in as deeply as I could.
Each breath would bring with it a little coughing fit that would clear some of the mucus. I soon realized that I could accelerate this process if, when I felt the cough coming on, I would exhale as quickly as I could and give a gutteral roar.
(inahale...then exhale) URRRRRRRGGHHHHHHHHHH...and then a series of grunting coughs HACK HACK HACK BLAHHHHHHH
( inhale..then exhale) URRRRGHHHHHHH.....HACK HACK BLAHHHHHH BLAHHHHH BLAHHH
thankfully the mucus was coming up in boatloads and I was feeling much better.
I also noticed that I could break the stuff up with a little smack of my chest with my fist.
inhale...exhale THUMP, SMACK....URGHHHHHHH....THUMP, SMACK, BLAHHHH BLAHHHH
inhale...exhale THUMP, SMACK....URGHHHHHHH....THUMP, SMACK, BLAHHHH BLAHHHH
inhale...exhale THUMP, SMACK....URGHHHHHHH....THUMP, SMACK, BLAHHHH BLAHHHH
It was totally working.
Then, in the middle of all this I heard a slight tapping on the bathroom door.
" Yes ?", I asked.
The door cracked open and Mrs. Flick peeked in, " Ummm..everything OK in there ?"
" OH YEAH ...GREAT !", I said enthusiastically.
" ummmm.....OK" and then the door started to close and then opened again, " hey, I hate to bother you, but can I ask you something ?"
" sure, what's up ?"
She stopped to choose her words carefully, " are you....ahhhh...are you masturbating in there ?"
" AM I WHAT ?!"
" I mean whatever is fine, but..."
" NO NO NO !!!!! NO I'm NOT I'M NOT. I SWEAR !!!"
" Hey fine, whatever, just want to make sure you were ok, that's all, nevermind"
" NO LISTEN ! SEE....."
click. and the door closed
I can't imagine what mental image should must have had of me in there...punching myself...screaming....wacking off....but I'm pretty sure, to this day, she doesn't quite buy my explination.
Mrs. Flick and I got married in November and that winter I started training more seriously on my bicycle than I ever had before. This meant doing a lot of long rides in winter weather.
One particular Decemmber Sunday I set out to meet some guys for a hard ride and the tempature dropped to below freezing. We ended up doing about 3 hours in the cold and when I got home I was a mess. I couldn't feel my hands nor my feet and whenever I tried to take a deep breath I'd cough as my lungs were filled down deep with the special kind of mucus you get from exercising in the cold.
I limped upstairs, disrobed and climbed into the shower. I turned on the shower as hot as I could tolerate and I stood there for what seemed like and hour suffering through the pins and needles as the feeling slowly returned to my extremidies.
After a while I started to return to normal except for the cough. By this time the bathroom has turned into a steam bath with the hot water running so long. The hot moist air actually helped my lungs and I started breathing in as deeply as I could.
Each breath would bring with it a little coughing fit that would clear some of the mucus. I soon realized that I could accelerate this process if, when I felt the cough coming on, I would exhale as quickly as I could and give a gutteral roar.
(inahale...then exhale) URRRRRRRGGHHHHHHHHHH...and then a series of grunting coughs HACK HACK HACK BLAHHHHHHH
( inhale..then exhale) URRRRGHHHHHHH.....HACK HACK BLAHHHHHH BLAHHHHH BLAHHH
thankfully the mucus was coming up in boatloads and I was feeling much better.
I also noticed that I could break the stuff up with a little smack of my chest with my fist.
inhale...exhale THUMP, SMACK....URGHHHHHHH....THUMP, SMACK, BLAHHHH BLAHHHH
inhale...exhale THUMP, SMACK....URGHHHHHHH....THUMP, SMACK, BLAHHHH BLAHHHH
inhale...exhale THUMP, SMACK....URGHHHHHHH....THUMP, SMACK, BLAHHHH BLAHHHH
It was totally working.
Then, in the middle of all this I heard a slight tapping on the bathroom door.
" Yes ?", I asked.
The door cracked open and Mrs. Flick peeked in, " Ummm..everything OK in there ?"
" OH YEAH ...GREAT !", I said enthusiastically.
" ummmm.....OK" and then the door started to close and then opened again, " hey, I hate to bother you, but can I ask you something ?"
" sure, what's up ?"
She stopped to choose her words carefully, " are you....ahhhh...are you masturbating in there ?"
" AM I WHAT ?!"
" I mean whatever is fine, but..."
" NO NO NO !!!!! NO I'm NOT I'M NOT. I SWEAR !!!"
" Hey fine, whatever, just want to make sure you were ok, that's all, nevermind"
" NO LISTEN ! SEE....."
click. and the door closed
I can't imagine what mental image should must have had of me in there...punching myself...screaming....wacking off....but I'm pretty sure, to this day, she doesn't quite buy my explination.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Rodney Mullen. Cooler than the other side of the pillow.
| I always see skateboard nimrods trying to do some basic trick over and over and over and over again...and they never hit it. They're always falling over and their boards fly all over the place. And it gets me wondering why the hell anyone would want to be a skateboarder longer than the 2 weeks that its novelty wears off...or until you get a drivers license? Well this goes a long way to explaining what the hell those guys are trying to do. I mean they're a long way off...but if this is where you eventually wind up, maybe all those hours in the Denny's parking lot are worth it. I also really dig how this guy hit these incredible sequences and you don't once see him celebrate or act surprised....he's cooler than the other side of the pillow. | |
yes, there are silly questions
" If I make a pot of coffee will anyone drink it ?"
Ok, let's get something straight, the answer to that question is always yes.
And not because people love coffee...they do. And will they drink it...they will.
The answer is yes because if you're asking.... YOU want coffee. So go ahead an make it. And I suspect it's because people don't want to 'waste' the coffee. Listen, coffee is water and grounds. Despite what Starbucks would lead you to believe, it aint that speical and it aint that expensive...espically the pencil shavings that serve as coffee in most office buildings.
You're at work, busting your ass...surfing porn..whatever. The least you can do is treat yourself to a cup-o-joe.
So if the question comes up in your head put it to the side, head back to the break room, and make yourself up a nice big pot.
Ok, let's get something straight, the answer to that question is always yes.
And not because people love coffee...they do. And will they drink it...they will.
The answer is yes because if you're asking.... YOU want coffee. So go ahead an make it. And I suspect it's because people don't want to 'waste' the coffee. Listen, coffee is water and grounds. Despite what Starbucks would lead you to believe, it aint that speical and it aint that expensive...espically the pencil shavings that serve as coffee in most office buildings.
You're at work, busting your ass...surfing porn..whatever. The least you can do is treat yourself to a cup-o-joe.
So if the question comes up in your head put it to the side, head back to the break room, and make yourself up a nice big pot.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
blando
It was nice of Foley to announce yesterday that he was gay. Frankly I wasn't that surprised...the having sex with young boys sorta tipped me off.
But I'm sharp like that.
Sorry for the lack of material lately. I'm in a bit of a funk...not depressed or anything, just bland....got no juice. Maybe it's the change of the season, maybe its current events, maybe it's coming off a 15 day hard core drunken bender...who knows ?
Mostly when I try to come up with something interestingto say...live or online... I get that test pattern that used to appear on the screen in the old days ( you know like 1985) when TV stations used to go off the air.
MY BRAIN
And Bill says, "Lottery: A tax on people who are bad at math."
But I'm sharp like that.
Sorry for the lack of material lately. I'm in a bit of a funk...not depressed or anything, just bland....got no juice. Maybe it's the change of the season, maybe its current events, maybe it's coming off a 15 day hard core drunken bender...who knows ?
Mostly when I try to come up with something interestingto say...live or online... I get that test pattern that used to appear on the screen in the old days ( you know like 1985) when TV stations used to go off the air.
MY BRAIN
And Bill says, "Lottery: A tax on people who are bad at math."
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
The news sucks
By now you've all heard of the horrible incident that occurred in Lancaster County.
My only comment on the matter is that the news outlets make me want to puke. They're almost excited about this occurring. Locally, nationally, internationally...they've decended on Lancaster County like sharks in a feeding frenzy.
Sadly the case has some ties to my place of employment and they've started calling here. They want to parse any fact, related or unrelated, in an attempt to get "news"...to have that latest exclusive bit of useless information...to feed into the grind of sorrow and misery.
So I couldn't take it. I told the last reporter what I thought. So if you hear on the news that XXXXX officials has no comment they're lying. I had a comment.....I told him to go fuck himself.
My only comment on the matter is that the news outlets make me want to puke. They're almost excited about this occurring. Locally, nationally, internationally...they've decended on Lancaster County like sharks in a feeding frenzy.
Sadly the case has some ties to my place of employment and they've started calling here. They want to parse any fact, related or unrelated, in an attempt to get "news"...to have that latest exclusive bit of useless information...to feed into the grind of sorrow and misery.
So I couldn't take it. I told the last reporter what I thought. So if you hear on the news that XXXXX officials has no comment they're lying. I had a comment.....I told him to go fuck himself.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Mrs. Frist, bolt down your TV
Thanks to Bill Frist being the biggest asshole in the world, internet poker just got thrown into termoil.
You can google your own news link, but the long and short is that he attached an unrelated ammendment to the Safe Ports Bill.
And Oh!, BT fucking W, the ammendment that WAS supposed to go on that bill to make raillines safer had to be bumped. I can't wait for a fucking train to blow up and land on top of Frist's SUV. ASSHOLE.
So I spend part of the day trying to get all my money out of the poker rooms before the whole thing falls apart. I'm been successful in all the accounts except one.
If I can't get my money out of that account I am driving over to Frist's house, walking in his front door, and walking out with his TV. And it better be a HDTV too, or I'm taking his TiVo too.
Hey Bill, go kill some more kittens.
ASSHOLE.
You can google your own news link, but the long and short is that he attached an unrelated ammendment to the Safe Ports Bill.
And Oh!, BT fucking W, the ammendment that WAS supposed to go on that bill to make raillines safer had to be bumped. I can't wait for a fucking train to blow up and land on top of Frist's SUV. ASSHOLE.
So I spend part of the day trying to get all my money out of the poker rooms before the whole thing falls apart. I'm been successful in all the accounts except one.
If I can't get my money out of that account I am driving over to Frist's house, walking in his front door, and walking out with his TV. And it better be a HDTV too, or I'm taking his TiVo too.
Hey Bill, go kill some more kittens.
ASSHOLE.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Gril Interrupted
As I cut the lawn last night, the kids were out playing in the front of the house.
The boy was running around falling over as he's apt to do. The girls had laid out a blanket and Hot Gril was doing the youngest girls hair. It was quite the suburban dream.
After a while in the back I came around the other side of the house. The boy was still tripping over his gigantic feet, but the girls had moved to the the edge of the road. In addition, they were standing there, facing the road, each holding a basket and a sign.
I turned off the mower and walked over.
The first girl was holding a sign that read " Buy Or Berries" and in the basket was a pile of crabapples that they had plucked from our tree.
The other girl had a sign that read " Look at the pretty girl. Give us money"
WTF !?!?!?
" What are you doing ?!"
" What's wrong dad ?"
" You can't ....I mean....you can't ask people to give you money because you are pretty."
" Why not ?"
" Because....well because people just aren't going to give you money because you're pretty."
" Sure they will."
" Yeah...but...well...take all this stuff down ! You'll distract the drivers and someone will crash into a tree"
" Oh OK. I didn't think of that. Thanks Daddy."
I am so dead.
The boy was running around falling over as he's apt to do. The girls had laid out a blanket and Hot Gril was doing the youngest girls hair. It was quite the suburban dream.
After a while in the back I came around the other side of the house. The boy was still tripping over his gigantic feet, but the girls had moved to the the edge of the road. In addition, they were standing there, facing the road, each holding a basket and a sign.
I turned off the mower and walked over.
The first girl was holding a sign that read " Buy Or Berries" and in the basket was a pile of crabapples that they had plucked from our tree.
The other girl had a sign that read " Look at the pretty girl. Give us money"
WTF !?!?!?
" What are you doing ?!"
" What's wrong dad ?"
" You can't ....I mean....you can't ask people to give you money because you are pretty."
" Why not ?"
" Because....well because people just aren't going to give you money because you're pretty."
" Sure they will."
" Yeah...but...well...take all this stuff down ! You'll distract the drivers and someone will crash into a tree"
" Oh OK. I didn't think of that. Thanks Daddy."
I am so dead.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
when you wish upon a star
For some reason I went back and read some stuff I wrote in June.
I used to be a lot funnier in June.
I've been catching a lot of flack in the online poker chat rooms for wishing diseases on people who beat me with some ridiculous play. I try to be civil but sometime I just need to get it out of my system. For those playing at home the hierarchy of diseases I wish on people go something like:
* syphillus
* leprosy
* AIDS
* cancer
* really bad cancer
There are different variants depending on the situation, but those are the stand-bys.
Not so surprisingly, when I launch into one of the volleys it's usually not well received. And I don't mean by the recipient...he's usually to busy counting all my money to care. It's usually other people at the table who get their panties in a wed.
Well today it occurred to me the silliness of it all ( I mean beyond my irrational behavior, that's a given). What I mean is....my wishing bad shit on people isn't going to make it happen. If I had some sort of super powers that allowed shit to happen because I wished it true...don't you think I would have wished pretty fucking hard that the idiot who called my AA with his 44 wouldn't hit his 4 on the river. I mean for $100, I probably would have busted out a special wish or two.
And nevermind that. If my wishes came true, do you think I'd be playing online poker in the first place. If I could wish shit true there wouldn't be much free time between beating Tiger on the PGA tour and lugging around my gigantic penis.
Some people.....dumb I tell you, just dumb.
I used to be a lot funnier in June.
I've been catching a lot of flack in the online poker chat rooms for wishing diseases on people who beat me with some ridiculous play. I try to be civil but sometime I just need to get it out of my system. For those playing at home the hierarchy of diseases I wish on people go something like:
* syphillus
* leprosy
* AIDS
* cancer
* really bad cancer
There are different variants depending on the situation, but those are the stand-bys.
Not so surprisingly, when I launch into one of the volleys it's usually not well received. And I don't mean by the recipient...he's usually to busy counting all my money to care. It's usually other people at the table who get their panties in a wed.
Well today it occurred to me the silliness of it all ( I mean beyond my irrational behavior, that's a given). What I mean is....my wishing bad shit on people isn't going to make it happen. If I had some sort of super powers that allowed shit to happen because I wished it true...don't you think I would have wished pretty fucking hard that the idiot who called my AA with his 44 wouldn't hit his 4 on the river. I mean for $100, I probably would have busted out a special wish or two.
And nevermind that. If my wishes came true, do you think I'd be playing online poker in the first place. If I could wish shit true there wouldn't be much free time between beating Tiger on the PGA tour and lugging around my gigantic penis.
Some people.....dumb I tell you, just dumb.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
type faster
If the previous post seems like it was type in a hurried manner, it's because the whole time I was writing it I had to poop very badly.
I'm all better now thanks.
I'm all better now thanks.
birds of a feather ( not a poker story, so hang in there)
Around 2:30 am everyone else had left. Ron was sleeping in the recliner and Uncle Walt was finishing up his third liter of wine while sizing me up. " Get the chips...we're playing heads up !"
" Come on Uncle Walt, I'm tired.", I implored, " We played for 6 hours, isn't that enough ?"
" I wasn't asking...get the chips.". He's 6 foot 2, 240 lbs, and had 3 liters of wine in him. I got the chips.
The next 15 minutes when pretty much like this....I'd come in, he'd bet something like $5 into a 50 cent pot, I'd fold, and he's yell, " AWWW COME ON.....DON'T YOU WANT TO PLAY ?"
" No, actually I don't want to play, I want to sleep.", I'd say.
" Now don't start getting weird on me !"
Finally, by the grace of god I got dealt AA. I raised, he went all in and flipped over 44. As he went to deal, I could see that the card on the bottom of the deck was a 4. Before he dealt I said, " Uncle Walt....before you deal the cards let me make you this offer...let's just split the money up evenly and go to bed."
" No way, I feel lucky, I have two 4's in the deck."
" Well maybe you should take a peek at the bottom of the deck then"
" OK," he conceeded, " Let's get some sleep"
We woke Ron up and went into the main house. Walt had a guest room set up for us. Just before he walked us into the room Uncle Walt whispered, " Shhhh, watch this." He opened the door and in his booming voice said, " HEY ! YOU FUCKER! GUESS WHO'S HERE ?"
And with that, all he'll broke loose in the darkened room....SKWALKKKKKKK SKWALLLLLK.
And a big smile came over Uncle Walt's face as he giggled like a schoolgirl, " ahahahahahahah YOU FUCKER ! I'M GONNA GUT YA AND PUT YOU ON THE DINNER TABLE !" and he approached what appeared to be a cage, but it was covered with a giant burlap sack.
Inside the giant sack was one freaked out bird having a caniption fit...flapping and flying into the sides of the cage. At first it sounded like the thing was frightened, then I realized it was much to aggressive for that....the thing was trying to get out of the cage to kill something. Some dudes raise Pit Bulls to fight, it appeared the Uncle Walt was raising a killer Cockatiel.
After working the bird into a lather, he started to walk out. " Thanks. Thanks a lot," I said, " The bird should stop freaking out just in time for us to leave. That's fantastic." The room was maybe 10x15 and now had two exhausted drunks and a freaked out killer bird. Uncle Walt just laughed.
Then as he was walking out the door, he paused...seeing one of his kids old toys ( I think this room was used as a storage room. " HEY ! Simon. You ever play this game ?"
" Yeah, I've played it. Good night.", I tried to hurry him out.
He started pushing the buttons trying to turn the thing on, " All the words are rubber off this old thing...which button turns this on ?"
" I don't know, come on...go to bed."
SIMON....LAST.....LONGER.....Simon came to life .
" WAHOO ! You played this huh ? How good are you at it ?", Uncle Walt asked as he started pushing the buttons....beep....beep...boop....boop.
" I dunno Unlce Walt. I just want to sleep."
Ron, who to this point was laying with his face in his pillow hoping in would all end couldn't help himself, " I know how long he can do it for..."
Uncle Walt took the bait, " how long is that ?"
No Ron, please don't say it.....but he had to, " One more beep than you."
Game on.
I went first and made it to level 7. Uncle Walt went second and made to to level 4 before he messed up the second move. " Dammit !"
Ron looked up from the pillow again, " you couldn't even get the second one ?"
" GET UP ! EVERYONE UP ! WE'RE PLAYING SIMON ! GET THE FUCK UP !"
Thankfully, and after getting my dollar for my victory, I convinced Uncle Walt to go to bed. Finally, at 3:30 am we were going to get some sleep.
And the bird was quiet, the lights were out, and I laid me head upon the pillow.
SIMON......LAST......LONGER.....
oh no
SIMON......LAST......LONGER.....
please sweet Jesus
SIMON......LAST......LONGER.....
does anyone know how to turn this thing off ?
" Come on Uncle Walt, I'm tired.", I implored, " We played for 6 hours, isn't that enough ?"
" I wasn't asking...get the chips.". He's 6 foot 2, 240 lbs, and had 3 liters of wine in him. I got the chips.
The next 15 minutes when pretty much like this....I'd come in, he'd bet something like $5 into a 50 cent pot, I'd fold, and he's yell, " AWWW COME ON.....DON'T YOU WANT TO PLAY ?"
" No, actually I don't want to play, I want to sleep.", I'd say.
" Now don't start getting weird on me !"
Finally, by the grace of god I got dealt AA. I raised, he went all in and flipped over 44. As he went to deal, I could see that the card on the bottom of the deck was a 4. Before he dealt I said, " Uncle Walt....before you deal the cards let me make you this offer...let's just split the money up evenly and go to bed."
" No way, I feel lucky, I have two 4's in the deck."
" Well maybe you should take a peek at the bottom of the deck then"
" OK," he conceeded, " Let's get some sleep"
We woke Ron up and went into the main house. Walt had a guest room set up for us. Just before he walked us into the room Uncle Walt whispered, " Shhhh, watch this." He opened the door and in his booming voice said, " HEY ! YOU FUCKER! GUESS WHO'S HERE ?"
And with that, all he'll broke loose in the darkened room....SKWALKKKKKKK SKWALLLLLK.
And a big smile came over Uncle Walt's face as he giggled like a schoolgirl, " ahahahahahahah YOU FUCKER ! I'M GONNA GUT YA AND PUT YOU ON THE DINNER TABLE !" and he approached what appeared to be a cage, but it was covered with a giant burlap sack.
Inside the giant sack was one freaked out bird having a caniption fit...flapping and flying into the sides of the cage. At first it sounded like the thing was frightened, then I realized it was much to aggressive for that....the thing was trying to get out of the cage to kill something. Some dudes raise Pit Bulls to fight, it appeared the Uncle Walt was raising a killer Cockatiel.
After working the bird into a lather, he started to walk out. " Thanks. Thanks a lot," I said, " The bird should stop freaking out just in time for us to leave. That's fantastic." The room was maybe 10x15 and now had two exhausted drunks and a freaked out killer bird. Uncle Walt just laughed.
Then as he was walking out the door, he paused...seeing one of his kids old toys ( I think this room was used as a storage room. " HEY ! Simon. You ever play this game ?"
" Yeah, I've played it. Good night.", I tried to hurry him out.
He started pushing the buttons trying to turn the thing on, " All the words are rubber off this old thing...which button turns this on ?"
" I don't know, come on...go to bed."
SIMON....LAST.....LONGER.....Simon came to life .
" WAHOO ! You played this huh ? How good are you at it ?", Uncle Walt asked as he started pushing the buttons....beep....beep...boop....boop.
" I dunno Unlce Walt. I just want to sleep."
Ron, who to this point was laying with his face in his pillow hoping in would all end couldn't help himself, " I know how long he can do it for..."
Uncle Walt took the bait, " how long is that ?"
No Ron, please don't say it.....but he had to, " One more beep than you."
Game on.
I went first and made it to level 7. Uncle Walt went second and made to to level 4 before he messed up the second move. " Dammit !"
Ron looked up from the pillow again, " you couldn't even get the second one ?"
" GET UP ! EVERYONE UP ! WE'RE PLAYING SIMON ! GET THE FUCK UP !"
Thankfully, and after getting my dollar for my victory, I convinced Uncle Walt to go to bed. Finally, at 3:30 am we were going to get some sleep.
And the bird was quiet, the lights were out, and I laid me head upon the pillow.
SIMON......LAST......LONGER.....
oh no
SIMON......LAST......LONGER.....
please sweet Jesus
SIMON......LAST......LONGER.....
does anyone know how to turn this thing off ?
Monday, September 25, 2006
what's a brother to do ?
I told myself I wasn't going to post anymore videos or links. That I was going to make an honest effort to start writing again.
But then I came across this. I mean, home am I going to beat a bear on a trampoline ?
But then I came across this. I mean, home am I going to beat a bear on a trampoline ?
Friday, September 22, 2006
HERE'S WHY
Why am I being lazy....why am I not posting as much as I should...why do they know me by name at the beer distributor...here's why.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
MORE !
I rode my bike last night in the training race and was so focused on not getting killed that I hadn't noticed I was sitting on the tip of my saddle and was wearing a hole through my nutsack.
Maybe that's an overstatement as I didn't fully breach the perimeter of the sackus nuttus but if my balls were my car tires I'd fail inspection for a lack of tread.
Yeah, bike racing is great.
If you like the previous post you'll like the first minute and a half of this.
The dude on the stilts fucks some people up.
Maybe that's an overstatement as I didn't fully breach the perimeter of the sackus nuttus but if my balls were my car tires I'd fail inspection for a lack of tread.
Yeah, bike racing is great.
If you like the previous post you'll like the first minute and a half of this.
The dude on the stilts fucks some people up.
Ye Ole Lightning Bolt
A friend owns a local Renascence Faire.
Its a great business. It contributes to the local economy. He does a great job.
That being said, it's a Renascence Faire dude...people are going to bust your balls about it. Plus you're making money, what do you care if you gotta if you gotta eat a little shit.
Hey, if it bugs you that much start spelling is FAIR instead of FAIRE...and oh yeah, stop having events like this...
Its a great business. It contributes to the local economy. He does a great job.
That being said, it's a Renascence Faire dude...people are going to bust your balls about it. Plus you're making money, what do you care if you gotta if you gotta eat a little shit.
Hey, if it bugs you that much start spelling is FAIR instead of FAIRE...and oh yeah, stop having events like this...
Monday, September 18, 2006
Friday, September 15, 2006
....what the heck....
If you find yourself at a poker table and a guy utters the phrase
" ...what the heck..."
as in " I shouldn't call, but what the heck"
or " I know I'm losing, but what the heck"
I suggest you cover your asshole and run.
" What the heck " really means
" I have a 1 in 50 chance of winning here but I'm going to go ahead and be a retarded, lead paint eating, head injury, labotomized, donkey....but what the heck....watch me hit two perfect cards in a row to go ahead and win "
and let's not forget...
" And then watch me pump my fist like I'm some sort of genius....and now watch me give all of those chips away in the next 5 hands making a similarly stupid play "
Yeah.......what the heck....
At least I'm not bitter.
Fuck that, I AM bitter.
This is almost exactly what I looked like last night.
" ...what the heck..."
as in " I shouldn't call, but what the heck"
or " I know I'm losing, but what the heck"
I suggest you cover your asshole and run.
" What the heck " really means
" I have a 1 in 50 chance of winning here but I'm going to go ahead and be a retarded, lead paint eating, head injury, labotomized, donkey....but what the heck....watch me hit two perfect cards in a row to go ahead and win "
and let's not forget...
" And then watch me pump my fist like I'm some sort of genius....and now watch me give all of those chips away in the next 5 hands making a similarly stupid play "
Yeah.......what the heck....
At least I'm not bitter.
Fuck that, I AM bitter.
This is almost exactly what I looked like last night.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
another good police story
Every once in a while the police do something that makes me think that I'm too harsh on them. Then just as I'm reconsidering my position I can usually count on them to fuck it up. For instance....
A few years back the police used some quick thinking and the heart attack paddles in their car to revive a guy and save his life. It was acutally pretty cool, so we decided to do a little story about it in our municipal newletter.
I asked the heart attack man to come in around the shift change so we could reunite him with the two officers and maybe take a picture. So around 5 pm heart attack man, his wife and his grandson came in and met with the two officers who were getting off of their shift.
Now I need to point out that almost all the officers are former football players and former military...usually army infantry. So we're talking about big...giant actually...macho...beefheads. And unbeknownst to me (and just about anyone else) they must get ready for their police shift like they used to get up for their high school football games....you know smacking each other around, screaming, smashing their heads into stuff...whatever.
So I'm upstairs in the meeting room having a heartfelt moment with the people upstairs. Tears are welling up in everyone's eyes as the old man thanks the officers, and the officers meet the wife...and the little boy thanks them for saving his grandpa...and then it begins.
As I'm starting to assemble everyone for the picture we could faintly hear the first volley of words
.....smash...crash....FAGGOT !.....smash....FAGGOT !.....
I tried to continue, we all tried to continue, awkwardly pretending like we hadn't hear anything.
...FAGGOT !......FAAAAGGGGGG........OOOOOTTTTT !!!!! and more smashing.
Now it was really really awkward and everyone was sitting quickly and smile so I could take the picture.
FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAG....OT...FAGGOTFAGGOTFAGGOT......FFFFFAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTTT !!!!!
I quickly took the damn picture and got the hell out of there.
A typical moment ruined.
A few years back the police used some quick thinking and the heart attack paddles in their car to revive a guy and save his life. It was acutally pretty cool, so we decided to do a little story about it in our municipal newletter.
I asked the heart attack man to come in around the shift change so we could reunite him with the two officers and maybe take a picture. So around 5 pm heart attack man, his wife and his grandson came in and met with the two officers who were getting off of their shift.
Now I need to point out that almost all the officers are former football players and former military...usually army infantry. So we're talking about big...giant actually...macho...beefheads. And unbeknownst to me (and just about anyone else) they must get ready for their police shift like they used to get up for their high school football games....you know smacking each other around, screaming, smashing their heads into stuff...whatever.
So I'm upstairs in the meeting room having a heartfelt moment with the people upstairs. Tears are welling up in everyone's eyes as the old man thanks the officers, and the officers meet the wife...and the little boy thanks them for saving his grandpa...and then it begins.
As I'm starting to assemble everyone for the picture we could faintly hear the first volley of words
.....smash...crash....FAGGOT !.....smash....FAGGOT !.....
I tried to continue, we all tried to continue, awkwardly pretending like we hadn't hear anything.
...FAGGOT !......FAAAAGGGGGG........OOOOOTTTTT !!!!! and more smashing.
Now it was really really awkward and everyone was sitting quickly and smile so I could take the picture.
FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAG....OT...FAGGOTFAGGOTFAGGOT......FFFFFAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTTT !!!!!
I quickly took the damn picture and got the hell out of there.
A typical moment ruined.
First Responders
Let me begin by saying that I appreciate the work that emergency personnel do. I acknowledge that without fire, police, and ambulance personel that we'd be in a lot of trouble. I wouldn't want their jobs and I'm glad that someone is doing it.
All that being said I feel it necessary to point out that, as a species, they tend to be complete assholes. There... I said it. In fact I'll expound...at least in terms of the police, they tend to be the most dysfunction and reprehensible people I've even has the displeasure of having to deal with. There...now it's out on the table.
If you think that's harsh, you've apparently never been pulled of for something like not coming to a "complete" stop at an intersection or some bullshit like that.
We had the fire company come in yesterday and make their annual request for funding. Last year they received $22,500 plus we made some capital purchases. This year that came in and, as usual, asked for more money. What was unexpected was the amount of this year's increase.
After the typical song and dance about how hard training is and how they put their lives on the line blah blah blah, they finally got around to a number...
" we'd like an increase for 2007"
" ok how much"
" ahhh....$250,000"
" pardon me ?"
" yeah, 250,000"
" Wait a second, last year we gave you 25,000 which was a third of your operating budget....has something changed ?"
" No, not really. Our operating budget is around $68,000"
" So ....ahhhh...where do you come up with $250,000"
" Well a Township your size should spend around a million on fire companies, and there are 4 fire companies...so that's around $250,000"
" Hey I know you're a fire man but are you pulling my hose ?"
And that type of entitlement is a thousand times worse with the unionized police.
We were discussing a merger with another local municipality. I informed the police that if we merged that they'd get the best of both contracts. This meant that if one place got 10 sick days and the other got 15...they'd all get the greater of the two ....15. If one started at $40,000 and the other at $38,0000...then $40,000 would be the mark.
Those douchebags somehow interpreted that to mean that you'd COMBINE the two benefit schedules. Seriously ! And you don't DARE question their assumptions or you're the asshole. That conversation went something like...
Me: So am I to understand that you guys think that we're going to combine benefits
Officer Dorkhead: Sure
Me: So how many holidays do you think you'll be entitled to ?
O.D: 21
Me: 21 holidays !?!?!? How many sickdays ?
O.D. 25
Me: Bahahahahaha......21 holidays, 25 sickdays, 6 weeks vacation, 4 personal days...bahahahhaha...and I suppose you're intending to start people at $80,000 ? Bahahaha, are you serious ?
O.D.: HEY MAN YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE...WE RISK OUR LIVES OUT THERE EVERYDAY !
Me: Bahahaha....when are you going to work...I think WE owe YOU days...bahahah....and risk your lives ?! The last time someone drew their gun in the Township was to put a sick pig out if it's misery and that was in like '92
O.D.: WE'RE OUT THERE ON THE FRONT LINES...WE'RE THE BLUE SHIELD
Me: Dude, seriously...did you really think that you were going to get 21 holidays
O.D: HOMELAND SECURITY !!!!
Me: Homeland...what ? I am asking..serious did you...
O.D: 9 - 11
Me: ...believe that you....
O.D. 9 - 11
Me: ...that you were going to...
O.D. NINE - ELEVEN !!!!
Me: .....get 21 holidays ?
O.D.: 9119119119919911919191919homelandsecurityOSAMNA BIN LADEN !!!!!
Osama indeed.
BTW I'm now known in local police circles as the guy who tried to take away half of the police holidays ! Now I have to drive everywhere 5 miles under the speed limit.
All that being said I feel it necessary to point out that, as a species, they tend to be complete assholes. There... I said it. In fact I'll expound...at least in terms of the police, they tend to be the most dysfunction and reprehensible people I've even has the displeasure of having to deal with. There...now it's out on the table.
If you think that's harsh, you've apparently never been pulled of for something like not coming to a "complete" stop at an intersection or some bullshit like that.
We had the fire company come in yesterday and make their annual request for funding. Last year they received $22,500 plus we made some capital purchases. This year that came in and, as usual, asked for more money. What was unexpected was the amount of this year's increase.
After the typical song and dance about how hard training is and how they put their lives on the line blah blah blah, they finally got around to a number...
" we'd like an increase for 2007"
" ok how much"
" ahhh....$250,000"
" pardon me ?"
" yeah, 250,000"
" Wait a second, last year we gave you 25,000 which was a third of your operating budget....has something changed ?"
" No, not really. Our operating budget is around $68,000"
" So ....ahhhh...where do you come up with $250,000"
" Well a Township your size should spend around a million on fire companies, and there are 4 fire companies...so that's around $250,000"
" Hey I know you're a fire man but are you pulling my hose ?"
And that type of entitlement is a thousand times worse with the unionized police.
We were discussing a merger with another local municipality. I informed the police that if we merged that they'd get the best of both contracts. This meant that if one place got 10 sick days and the other got 15...they'd all get the greater of the two ....15. If one started at $40,000 and the other at $38,0000...then $40,000 would be the mark.
Those douchebags somehow interpreted that to mean that you'd COMBINE the two benefit schedules. Seriously ! And you don't DARE question their assumptions or you're the asshole. That conversation went something like...
Me: So am I to understand that you guys think that we're going to combine benefits
Officer Dorkhead: Sure
Me: So how many holidays do you think you'll be entitled to ?
O.D: 21
Me: 21 holidays !?!?!? How many sickdays ?
O.D. 25
Me: Bahahahahaha......21 holidays, 25 sickdays, 6 weeks vacation, 4 personal days...bahahahhaha...and I suppose you're intending to start people at $80,000 ? Bahahaha, are you serious ?
O.D.: HEY MAN YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE...WE RISK OUR LIVES OUT THERE EVERYDAY !
Me: Bahahaha....when are you going to work...I think WE owe YOU days...bahahah....and risk your lives ?! The last time someone drew their gun in the Township was to put a sick pig out if it's misery and that was in like '92
O.D.: WE'RE OUT THERE ON THE FRONT LINES...WE'RE THE BLUE SHIELD
Me: Dude, seriously...did you really think that you were going to get 21 holidays
O.D: HOMELAND SECURITY !!!!
Me: Homeland...what ? I am asking..serious did you...
O.D: 9 - 11
Me: ...believe that you....
O.D. 9 - 11
Me: ...that you were going to...
O.D. NINE - ELEVEN !!!!
Me: .....get 21 holidays ?
O.D.: 9119119119919911919191919homelandsecurityOSAMNA BIN LADEN !!!!!
Osama indeed.
BTW I'm now known in local police circles as the guy who tried to take away half of the police holidays ! Now I have to drive everywhere 5 miles under the speed limit.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
My Job
People occassionally ask what my job is like.
The following pretty close to what I get to deal with on a daily basis is service to the community as a local government official.
Give this guy a minute to get warmed up, he finishes strong. They always do.
And for the record I believe the phrase he uses is " cowardly, lemonheaded, terrorist, pussy "
David Thompson's MySpace page. Jon Mark Karr is on his friends list.
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=88339141
People are freakin funny.
The following pretty close to what I get to deal with on a daily basis is service to the community as a local government official.
Give this guy a minute to get warmed up, he finishes strong. They always do.
And for the record I believe the phrase he uses is " cowardly, lemonheaded, terrorist, pussy "
David Thompson's MySpace page. Jon Mark Karr is on his friends list.
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=88339141
People are freakin funny.
Monday, September 11, 2006
day of mourning
I know that this date brings with it a lot of emotion for a lot of reasons. After hearing some news this morning, I'll have an additional reason to be reflective on this date.
Sadly, Douglas Foreman was killed in an automobile accident last evening. Doug was an enormously proud father, a husband who had great love for his wife, and a guy who's entusiasm for life was infectious. He'll be missed by anyone who had the pleasure of spending any time with him.
In rememberance, I'm reposting a story about him that ran previously in the blog:
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
rock garden
Occassionally I run into people who find my actions and reactions to be a bit excessive. So i find it a nice balance when I find someone on the other side of the line, someone who shares my sense of fairness and justice.
This weekend I met such a guy.
This guy was going through a bit of a tough patch. His wife was very sick with a protracted illness, and with 4 kids, work and all the other obligations of life, it was taking a lot of energy and strength of character to keep the ship upright. But the guy plodded along, sucking it up, and holding it all together.
The one day, out of the blue the town manager rang to tell him that his neighbor called in a complaint that this guys dogs were barking too much and disturbing the neighbors breakfast. " Disturbing his fucking breakfast ?". He're this guy was....four kids, sick wife, tough job.... a thousand plates all spinning in the air without one smashing to the ground. And some whiney-ass dick of a neighbor didn't have the decency to either deal with a little bit of barking or have enough balls to walk over and have a little face to face. This pussy had to call the town manager !?!?
So my new found friend and compatriot did what any reasonable person would do. He started a rock garden. A place of peaceful trainquility.
He started by getting a pile of big rocks. But to keep it simple he just got himself a handful of really big rocks. They were easier to move, and it would be easy enough to just go ahead and just make small rocks out of them.
Then he got himself a nice big flat-pan shovel.
Eevery morning woke up, got himself a cup of coffee, and went out back to work on his rock garden.
BAM........BAM...........BAM........every morning as the sun would come up, he'd bring that shovel up over his head and.....BAM.....He said he got pretty good at making rocks. And he learned pretty well which of the pointy rocks made the most noise.
I asked him how long he kept that up. He replied,
" Three months and two shovels"
ahahahahhahahahahahahah....that's still funny writing it.
I asked how it ended up. He replied, "ended up ?
Apparently he eventually weened off from seven days a week down to three days a week, then stopped doing it as regularly. But every once in a while he goes out back and gives it a couple of whacks, " just to keep him on his toes".
That's my kinda guy.
And his wife is doing much better thank God
Man I love karma.
Sadly, Douglas Foreman was killed in an automobile accident last evening. Doug was an enormously proud father, a husband who had great love for his wife, and a guy who's entusiasm for life was infectious. He'll be missed by anyone who had the pleasure of spending any time with him.
In rememberance, I'm reposting a story about him that ran previously in the blog:
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
rock garden
Occassionally I run into people who find my actions and reactions to be a bit excessive. So i find it a nice balance when I find someone on the other side of the line, someone who shares my sense of fairness and justice.
This weekend I met such a guy.
This guy was going through a bit of a tough patch. His wife was very sick with a protracted illness, and with 4 kids, work and all the other obligations of life, it was taking a lot of energy and strength of character to keep the ship upright. But the guy plodded along, sucking it up, and holding it all together.
The one day, out of the blue the town manager rang to tell him that his neighbor called in a complaint that this guys dogs were barking too much and disturbing the neighbors breakfast. " Disturbing his fucking breakfast ?". He're this guy was....four kids, sick wife, tough job.... a thousand plates all spinning in the air without one smashing to the ground. And some whiney-ass dick of a neighbor didn't have the decency to either deal with a little bit of barking or have enough balls to walk over and have a little face to face. This pussy had to call the town manager !?!?
So my new found friend and compatriot did what any reasonable person would do. He started a rock garden. A place of peaceful trainquility.
He started by getting a pile of big rocks. But to keep it simple he just got himself a handful of really big rocks. They were easier to move, and it would be easy enough to just go ahead and just make small rocks out of them.
Then he got himself a nice big flat-pan shovel.
Eevery morning woke up, got himself a cup of coffee, and went out back to work on his rock garden.
BAM........BAM...........BAM........every morning as the sun would come up, he'd bring that shovel up over his head and.....BAM.....He said he got pretty good at making rocks. And he learned pretty well which of the pointy rocks made the most noise.
I asked him how long he kept that up. He replied,
" Three months and two shovels"
ahahahahhahahahahahahah....that's still funny writing it.
I asked how it ended up. He replied, "ended up ?
Apparently he eventually weened off from seven days a week down to three days a week, then stopped doing it as regularly. But every once in a while he goes out back and gives it a couple of whacks, " just to keep him on his toes".
That's my kinda guy.
And his wife is doing much better thank God
Man I love karma.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
cracked
Borgata
After 5 hours of play
my flopped straight to the runner runner quads ( actually 6 outter fullhouse on the turn)
I was 85% - 15% favorite.
$15,000 Full Tilt Ironman
Down to 200 players from 1150 starters...me in the top 10.
My JJ to his A8 - board 10 10 8 3......and of course A
I was 80%-20% favorite
Live last night at teachers tourney - 15 players
My J6 to his A8
Flop gives me the J
The rest of the board runs
JQK......9.........10 giving him the straight on the final card.
Knocking me out in 3rd place.
Im 70%-30% favorite post flop.....and up to 85%-15% with on card to come.
So I came home withdrew all but $50 from my online account, and I had my wife change the password on my poker account so I don't know what it is.
1 week off until I stop shaking.
After 5 hours of play
my flopped straight to the runner runner quads ( actually 6 outter fullhouse on the turn)
I was 85% - 15% favorite.
$15,000 Full Tilt Ironman
Down to 200 players from 1150 starters...me in the top 10.
My JJ to his A8 - board 10 10 8 3......and of course A
I was 80%-20% favorite
Live last night at teachers tourney - 15 players
My J6 to his A8
Flop gives me the J
The rest of the board runs
JQK......9.........10 giving him the straight on the final card.
Knocking me out in 3rd place.
Im 70%-30% favorite post flop.....and up to 85%-15% with on card to come.
So I came home withdrew all but $50 from my online account, and I had my wife change the password on my poker account so I don't know what it is.
1 week off until I stop shaking.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Speed Stackers
The Boy just got these speed stackers and they're quickly cutting into my internet poker time. If you have obsessive-compulsive tendencies like I do, I strongly suggest that you stay away from these things. They're like crack cocaine.
And as for this chick...yeah she's good, but let me see her take me on after we've both had a half dozen Miller Lites.
And as for this chick...yeah she's good, but let me see her take me on after we've both had a half dozen Miller Lites.
nose coffee
I was cleaning out my computer and came across this. It made coffee come out of my nose.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
wha ?
So yesterday the sitter asked my youngest daughter what word rhymed with 'jungle'....she thought for a second with a furrowed brow and asked "ummmm, bunghole ?"
Nice.
And to prove that Hunter Thompson was right about reality being weirder than fiction, this is in today's news:
DEARBORN, Mich. (AP) -- A Detroit Lions assistant coach was arrested twice in the past two weeks -- once while police say he was driving nude and a week later on suspicion of drunken driving.
The DUI I understand...but driving nude ?
"I had no idea it was illegal officer. Had I known I would have thrown a pair of pants on."
Nice.
And to prove that Hunter Thompson was right about reality being weirder than fiction, this is in today's news:
DEARBORN, Mich. (AP) -- A Detroit Lions assistant coach was arrested twice in the past two weeks -- once while police say he was driving nude and a week later on suspicion of drunken driving.
The DUI I understand...but driving nude ?
"I had no idea it was illegal officer. Had I known I would have thrown a pair of pants on."
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
long night
The readers digest version of the game was that I flopped the nut straight.
I had KJ and the flop was 10 -Q - A. I got all of my money, all of his money, and some other money in the pot. I counted it up at $16,000 at least in the middle with the average stacks at 10K and 400 players to go.
Turn was and Ace..which beat me....and the river was an A just to add the requisite insult.
I was out.
But that was the good part of the story.
After busting out, I missed the last train out of AC. But all that was fine as my Uncle was meeting me at the Trop and had us a room. I go to the Trop. No Uncle. No room.
Now I had about $100 to my name. I had no car and no room. The next train out was at 4:45 am. A room was $100. I went to the poker room...
I mean WTF, I aint paying no $100 for a room for 8 hours. And I figured, If I got up $100 quickly in the poker room, I'd just get the room.
Now I only had $100 so I couldn't play No Limit. And my brain was pretty fried from 6 hours of concentrated play, so I couldn't get fancy. I sat at the $2/$4 limit table. Every hand had 6 players in the hand...unless there was a raise, then there would be 8 players in the hand. That wasn't going to work, I needed something else.
I got up and found a Stud game. Now stud is slow, which is exactly what I wanted. Nice and slow. There's 8 players at the table and if you're in Atlantic City you can assume that the average is of those 8 players is five-hundred and seventy years old. So I ordered me a whiskey sour and settled in.
After a little while I realized that everyone at the table knew each other, which isn't all that unusual. Then I also noticed that when I was in a pot, there seemed to be a lot of callers. Maybe they were just thinking that I didn't know how to play the game since I was under 80. I had a couple of strong draws blank out, which was frustrating, especially as my exposed cards were strong and people would not fold. But, hey !, when I hit I want as many people in as possible. Then, finally, I hit a hand...they all stayed in and some woman..the ringleader of the group, hit a full house on 7th street. I was steaming pretty bad.
A couple of hands later this same bitch gets into a hand heads up with one of the old dudes....again, I was getting 4 callers, but when I was out it seemed like everyone was steering clear of each other. So then the woman showed A A as her first two cards. The other guy showed K 9. They checked it down until the end !!!!
I totally flipped out! And I mean that in the wosrt of ways.
" IS THIS A POKER GAME OR A NEIGHBORHOOD FUCKING PICNIC ?!?!?!" and it went downhill from there. I may have slammed some stuff around as well.
After that the action at the table sort of died. I also noticed that some dude with a walkie-talkie was hanging around.
I sufferend through a stright-flush draw from 5th street that never hit and then got up from the table furious. Down my $100....plus another $50 that I had borrowed. This was quickly turning into a bad day. I made a couple of remarks about bringing back euthinasia,then I gave everyone the finger, got up, and walked out.
Thankfully, JHM and JW had showed up and were kind enough to lend me $150. I sat down in their game of NLHE 1-2 Texas Holdem. We had a fun time and for the first few hours I was able to win back the $150, hold onto the $150 that was lent to me, and get ahead another $100 plus.
Around 1:30 am the wheels started coming off....I was getting tired and couldn't focus. I usually follow the action pretty well and try to read hands. But by 2:00 I noticed blocks of time would go by and that the button would somehow have moved three spots.
At this point I had been up for 21 hours straight, on 4 hours sleep the night before. I had played like 12+ hours of poker, and I had about a dozen well drinks in me.
It also didn't help that the table had filled with knuckleheads. That's usually a good thing...and a profitable thing...but it's also a bit of a minefield if you're not on your A game. In the end, we stopped at 3 am with me down $20 for the entire night....and I'm fairly confident that was the $20 in whiskey sours that I drank.
Th blur that followed was being chased by a faux mugger, sleeping outside a closed train station, sleeping inside an open train station, taking two trains home, and collapsing. It's 3:00 pm and I just woke up.
I feel very healthy. A Chris Farley John Belushi kind of healthy.
I had KJ and the flop was 10 -Q - A. I got all of my money, all of his money, and some other money in the pot. I counted it up at $16,000 at least in the middle with the average stacks at 10K and 400 players to go.
Turn was and Ace..which beat me....and the river was an A just to add the requisite insult.
I was out.
But that was the good part of the story.
After busting out, I missed the last train out of AC. But all that was fine as my Uncle was meeting me at the Trop and had us a room. I go to the Trop. No Uncle. No room.
Now I had about $100 to my name. I had no car and no room. The next train out was at 4:45 am. A room was $100. I went to the poker room...
I mean WTF, I aint paying no $100 for a room for 8 hours. And I figured, If I got up $100 quickly in the poker room, I'd just get the room.
Now I only had $100 so I couldn't play No Limit. And my brain was pretty fried from 6 hours of concentrated play, so I couldn't get fancy. I sat at the $2/$4 limit table. Every hand had 6 players in the hand...unless there was a raise, then there would be 8 players in the hand. That wasn't going to work, I needed something else.
I got up and found a Stud game. Now stud is slow, which is exactly what I wanted. Nice and slow. There's 8 players at the table and if you're in Atlantic City you can assume that the average is of those 8 players is five-hundred and seventy years old. So I ordered me a whiskey sour and settled in.
After a little while I realized that everyone at the table knew each other, which isn't all that unusual. Then I also noticed that when I was in a pot, there seemed to be a lot of callers. Maybe they were just thinking that I didn't know how to play the game since I was under 80. I had a couple of strong draws blank out, which was frustrating, especially as my exposed cards were strong and people would not fold. But, hey !, when I hit I want as many people in as possible. Then, finally, I hit a hand...they all stayed in and some woman..the ringleader of the group, hit a full house on 7th street. I was steaming pretty bad.
A couple of hands later this same bitch gets into a hand heads up with one of the old dudes....again, I was getting 4 callers, but when I was out it seemed like everyone was steering clear of each other. So then the woman showed A A as her first two cards. The other guy showed K 9. They checked it down until the end !!!!
I totally flipped out! And I mean that in the wosrt of ways.
" IS THIS A POKER GAME OR A NEIGHBORHOOD FUCKING PICNIC ?!?!?!" and it went downhill from there. I may have slammed some stuff around as well.
After that the action at the table sort of died. I also noticed that some dude with a walkie-talkie was hanging around.
I sufferend through a stright-flush draw from 5th street that never hit and then got up from the table furious. Down my $100....plus another $50 that I had borrowed. This was quickly turning into a bad day. I made a couple of remarks about bringing back euthinasia,then I gave everyone the finger, got up, and walked out.
Thankfully, JHM and JW had showed up and were kind enough to lend me $150. I sat down in their game of NLHE 1-2 Texas Holdem. We had a fun time and for the first few hours I was able to win back the $150, hold onto the $150 that was lent to me, and get ahead another $100 plus.
Around 1:30 am the wheels started coming off....I was getting tired and couldn't focus. I usually follow the action pretty well and try to read hands. But by 2:00 I noticed blocks of time would go by and that the button would somehow have moved three spots.
At this point I had been up for 21 hours straight, on 4 hours sleep the night before. I had played like 12+ hours of poker, and I had about a dozen well drinks in me.
It also didn't help that the table had filled with knuckleheads. That's usually a good thing...and a profitable thing...but it's also a bit of a minefield if you're not on your A game. In the end, we stopped at 3 am with me down $20 for the entire night....and I'm fairly confident that was the $20 in whiskey sours that I drank.
Th blur that followed was being chased by a faux mugger, sleeping outside a closed train station, sleeping inside an open train station, taking two trains home, and collapsing. It's 3:00 pm and I just woke up.
I feel very healthy. A Chris Farley John Belushi kind of healthy.
Monday, September 04, 2006
sucka mc's
I'm off to Borgata for the tune up event for the World Poker Tour event.
I'll either be back Wednesday telling you about how I got drunk and tried to drag Phil Ivey out of the casino...or I'll be back Thursday telling you how I'm in Aruba chillin like a villian with my 200K in winnings.
In the mean time and in between time, check out this cat...
I'll either be back Wednesday telling you about how I got drunk and tried to drag Phil Ivey out of the casino...or I'll be back Thursday telling you how I'm in Aruba chillin like a villian with my 200K in winnings.
In the mean time and in between time, check out this cat...
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