Ball Cheese

I have a buddy who screens calls and it's a total pain in the ass.

I've been at his house and seen it in action. They turn the ringer all the way down so that you can barely hear it and they have the volume up on the answering machine speaker. So you'll be sitting around watching TV and suddenly you'll hear a BEEP and then some booming words, like the voice of God, reverberating through the house leaving an awkward message.

If they're not doing anything and want to talk to the caller, then one of the two of them picks up the phone. This isn't any less awkward because..
* This startles and confuses the person in the middle of leaving the message
* The person never knows whether to repeat what they've already said to just to continue
* The person had to go through the mental checklist wondering why they were getting screened and what made them unscreened-worthy

The situation, in my opinion, breeds inefficiency, distrust and bad feelings. Every time you call you never know if they're home or screening you... whether you should begin to leave a message or just wait for them to pick up. If they don't pick up...why not ? Are they sitting there chuckling at you ?

See what I mean ?

At some point I decided not to play the game any more. Actually that's not true. What I decided to do was to play my own game. When I called there I just started to leave annoying meaningless gibberish phone messages. I started making noises so annoying that if they were there, they'd be forced to pick up rather then endure. And if they weren't there, they could just turn off the message as soon as they realized it was me and could call me back to see what I really wanted. It was a foolproof plan, or so I thought.

One day I was pretty sure that they were home when I called to chat. Instead of the pick-up I got the usual machine message and readied myself for an onslaught of fart noises, snorts and clearing of my throat that had become my signature.

At the last moment something moved me and I decided to switch it up. Instead of the typical fare I thought I'd spice it up a bit. For reasons still unbeknownst to me the word "ballcheese" popped into my head.

Upon hearing the beep I let loose with a litany of ballcheeses.

BALLCHEESE.........BALLCHEESE...........BALLCHEESE.......

I started out slow and steady like the teacher from Ferris Beuller's day off saying Ferris' last name over and over.

BALLCHEESE.........BALLCHEESE...........BALLCHEESE.......

After I while,when they hadn't answered the phone I thought I'd pick up the pace a bit.

BALLCHEESE, BALLCHEESE, BALLCHEESE, BALLCHEESE ( and the finisher) BAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLCCCCCCCHHHHHHHEEEEEEESSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEEEEE !

The still hadn't answered and I figured that they just weren't home. I was going to stop there, but the words just kept flowing off my tongue...

BALLCHEESE

it was just so fun to say, so fun to play with..

BALLCHEESE

I messed with the inflection

ballCHEESE and BALLcheese

I went stucatto

BALCHE....BALCHEBALCHEBALCHEBALCHEBALCHEBALCHEBALCHEBLACHEBALCHEBALLLCHEEEEEZZZZZ

I giggled like a school girl and went on and on filling up the tape with every variation and twist imaginable.

BAZIZZLE my CHIZZIZLE

And then the coup d'gras. I did a rendition of Sinatra's "Fly me to the Moon" replacing every other word with either 'ball' or cheese'.

“ Fly me to the ballcheese, I want to ballcheese among the ballcheese…” etc, etc, etc

Finally, mercifully, and with tears of joy in my eyes I signed off, " ahhhhhhh, this is Flick, please give me a call".

About 6 hours later I got a call from my buddy.

" Hey, whassup", I answered.

He was whispering and got right to the point, " Listen man I only have a second, my wife is in the other room. DO NOT call here again."

There was some laughter in my voice as I thought he was kidding, " like my message eh ?"

He wasn't kidding, " no, I'm not talking about don't leave any messages, I mean you can't call here anymore. I've forbidden to talk to you for, well, forever. But I think if you lay low for like 6 months or so this might blow over. Just don't call. Call me at work. Here she comes..."



I sat in stunned silence and was baffled until I was finally able to get him at work and get the rest of the story.

He explained, " You know how my wife's mother thinks we're too immature and wants my wife to be more proper and all ? Well she took her Mom out shopping and to lunch on Saturday and for the first time in a long time they had a nice afternoon. So nice that she invited her mother back to the house for some tea. They were sitting conversing when the answering machine went off. At first they both tried to ignore it, figuring you'd hang up after a second. After a minute it was too distracting to they just stopped talking and waited for it to be over. After 5 minutes of you screaming ball cheese at the top of your lungs they just gave up. She said her Mother politely excused herself and went into the bathroom. A little while later, after the reign of terror had subsided, her mother came up with some sudden excuse and left."

" They didn't find anything funny about it ?” ,I hoped against all hope.

" No “

“ Not even the Sinatra part ?”

“ Not even. “

“ Oh. That’s bad then.”

“ Yeah…… Bad.”

To this day I remain on probation. I leave only very polite, very succinct messages on their machine. And I avoid, at all costs, say either the words 'ball' or 'cheese' in her presence.

smack down

My wife called me last week to tell me that the school called our home to say that our son was involved in some fisticuffs at school.

This was a surprise because, as I've mentioned before, the boy is pretty passive. I won't go so far as to say that he's a pushover, but more often than not he’s content to just go with the flow and follow whomever is being assertive.

I should also point out that the boy is gigantic. He's the biggest kid in 1st grade, and almost the biggest kid in second grade.

He can also pack a punch. When he was taking karate he had a board breaking class. When he was getting ready for his competition he put on hit get-up and took out some sort of modified boxing glove for breaking boards.

I said to him, " go ahead give me your best shot."

He laughed and gave me a tap.

" No, I'm serious", I said, " go ahead."

" My teacher says I should never hit anyone unless they're attacking me."

" No, its ok, its just for fun. Show me what you got."

And with that the boy shrugged his shoulders, wound up and cold clocked me right on the tip of the chin.

For the next half hour I was completely punch drunk and my left eye stuck out like Marty Feldman.


So, in short, he's a gentle giant. So when we heard he was in a fight, it took us by surprise.

The principal explained that no only did he get in a fight, but that the boy he hit had to be picked up by his parents and taken to a dentist because his lip was busted up and his teeth were a little loose. The school also called to say that our son was beside himself that he had hurt the boy.

My wife asked if anyone figured out what had happened and the principal said that the boy who was hurt told her, " I kept picking on the boy and he kept telling me to stop, and I kept teasing him anyway....and then he just leveled me."

So, surprisingly, the school was pretty cool about the whole thing. They were calling us to tell us, but considered the matter closed..."boy-will-be-boys and all".

Of course, the school was the least of my concerns. My bigger worry was going to be calling the parent of the other kid. In my job I see my share of unreasonable people. And when you're kid is involved, people can get real unreasonable, real quick.

I called over to the house and the father answered. I introduced myself and expressed our concern for their son and explained that I had a talk with the boy. I readied myself for whatever was going to come and then was pleasantly surprised by the response. The father said, " I appreciate your concern. From what my son told me he had been teasing your boy on the playground. And after your son asked him to stop of few times, he clocked him. I've told my son a dozen times that if he keeps running around teasing people sooner or later someone is going to clock him. He's fine. The dentist said everything was ok. This will be a good lesson for him, don't worry about it."

I about fell out of my chair. There's still a little bit of old school left in the world.

And you know what, the dude is 100% right.

The incident brought me back my own youth. I remember going to the high school dances in 8th grade. Despite knowing all about being polite, a gentleman, and all the other stuff they try and teach you in Catholic schools, 8th grade boys sometimes can't get past the intense desire to pinch an ass now and again. And copping a feel is exactly what me and my cohorts were doing on Friday night in the crowded dance hall when a older, scarier, and much bigger guy came up to me with his girlfriend standing behind him and pointing.

" So which one of you dipshits grabbed my girlfriends ass ?", the large scary dude asked, looking right at me.

" IT WAS HIM !", she said pointing at me.

And it might as well have been. I was definitely one of the ass-grabbing offenders that night, but that didn't stop me from trying to plead my case,

" Well, you see..."

That's as far as I got before everything went white.

The next thing I saw when I came to was the ceiling. Then a second later the big dude's face appeared over top of me, "Maybe that will help you to remember to keep your fucking hands to yourself." And with that, cool as the other side of the pillow, the dude strolled away.

And you know what ? That dude was also 100% right.

It took getting slugged in the face, but at that moment I came to the realization that you should always treat people with respect. And perhaps more importantly, it taught me that in life there are consequences for your actions. Anytime I start to forget that lesson I have a little scar over my left eyebrow to remind me.

As for the young kid on the playground, I'm glad he's ok and I hope he takes something from the incident. For my son, I think he'd bought himself a couple of years before anyone decides to give him any shit.

I can't stop playing

Max Dirt Bike

my record is 5:36

manic thoughts

On the drive home last night I saw a guy brushing his teeth while driving. If that wasn't weird enough in an of itself...he was brushing his teeth by holding his toothbrush still and then shaking his head "no" as fast as he could. I almost turned the car around to follow him. A guy like that has to be interesting.

One of my toes ( I'm thinking the second toe on my right foot) must be weird because I keep getting a little hole in my socks. Always in a bad spot and always only on one sock. It's really freaking annoying. It just happened to me again this morning and was making me crazy so I put 9 staples in my sock to close the hole. I'd rather deal with scraping my toe with metal than have it poking through the hole.

I think my co worker is coming in my office and fucking with my stapler. There's a little metal piece that the staple slams into the turns the points of the staple either in or out ( I'm serious, check it out) and it seems like my metal plate is always turned out. And I'm pretty sure that I keep turning it in. I was going to confront him about it but thought that if I'm wrong he's going to think that I'm totally insane..you know confronting him in a paranoid way like that...so I decided on a different course of action. I offered to buy the office donuts and gave him a $10 bill and sent him out to go buy the donuts. While he was out I went into his office and fucked with both of his staplers. If it was him, he'll get it. If it wasn't, then he probably won't think anything of it.

My wife never throws anything away. I throw everything away...except books. I was tossing out a gigantic pile of all my kids shit the other day and I came across a pile of stupid little kid books that no one will ever read and I couldn't bring myself to throw them away. It just felt wrong. I finally tossed out a couple of books that had ripped pages or torn covered, but I kinda felt bad about it. Sort of like killing a fly after you spent a couple of minutes after politely trying to shoosh it out the door without having to kill it. Finally you get tired of the moral conflict and say fuck it and start smashing shit.

Coloring books are the exception. I have no problem throwing out coloring books...i actually find them to be somewhat offensive. To run with the anology, think cockroaches.

A lesson poker has taught me: If you want people to be predictable, then you have to be predictable. If you act erraticly, then they'll act erraticly. People are much easier to deal with when not acting erraticly.

Poker lesson 2: Chicks are a lot more aware of the power of their breasts than they ever let on.

OK, I better stop there. The rest of the stuff in my head is a lot more disturbing...better to keep that under wraps.

St. Patrick's Day Miracle

Saturday I woke at 7 am, still drunk.

I went into the bathroom and as I was pulling down my pants noticed I had a small hole in the waistband of my underpants. After finishing up, instead of pulling up my pants I just pulled up my underwear and looked in the mirror to see how big of a hole RickRubin put in my drawers when giving me a wedgie.

Sure enough, right under the waistband, there was the dime sized hole that I could feel. What I hadn't noticed, but was now clearly visible in the mirror was that below the dime sized was a small swatch of cloth...below the cloth was my pimply white ass. The entire ass of my underpants was completely blown out.

I was so hung-over, and still drunk, and just couldn't deal with it. I pulled up my pants, threw on some boots, and went out front to shovel...blown out ass and all.

I came in about an hour later much worse for the ware. Mrs. Flick came downstairs and had no mercy. She immediately started outlining the activities for the day. The itinerary was as follows:
* Drive down to Conestoga
* Pick up 4 year old daughter
* drive daughter over to Wal_Mart
* shop for birthday presents
* Take kid to 4 year old birthday party

I started to protest then thought better. I was a dead man either way, I might as well take my lumps.

Due to the weather and my condition, it took me an hour to get to Conestoga. Up, Down, Left, Right, Swish, Swish, Swish. I had the mini-van rocking and by the time I got there I was green as a leprechaun. I tossed the girl in the car and started my way out of the river hills...Up, Down, Left, Right, Swish, Swish, Swish.

When we got to Wal-Mart I was done. There was absolutely no way I was going to make it. I was sick, I was tired, my head was ready to explode. I couldn't see any way to shop, let alone go to a party.

Now I'm not a religious person....generally speaking, I don't believe in miracles or divine intervention...but the series of events that occurred next have lead me to reconsider my position. What occurred next made me think that St. Patrick himself stepped up and directed the holy spirit to have mercy on my soul. They say that it takes 3 miracles to make a saint and as far as I'm concerned, St. Pat made his bones with me.

#1 - As we pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot I saw my daughters head slump forward and she fell asleep. I gingerly pulled into a spot so as not to disturb her. Her sleeping bag from her sleepover sat in the passengers seat next to me. I leaned over and placed my head on it and immediately went out. I think I only slept for about 15 minutes, but it was all the difference in the world. It gave me the boost I needed and I went in, bought some " My Little Pony" crap. Got some cards and gift bags and was on my way.

#2 - We got to the parking lot of the party. I put the gifts in the bag, stuffed it full of paper, and got the cards ready. The party was for twins, so I had to identify which present was for which kid. The problem was, when I left for the party my wife gave me explicit instructions which included the names of the girls who's party it was. Pretty much that was the ONLY thing I was supposed to remember. Now I was sitting outside of the party and had no idea.

I asked my daughter, " what are your friends names ?"...." they're twins daddy."..."yeah, but what are their names ?"..." um, I don't remember."...." how can you NOT remember...the girls in the class that are twins..come on"...." Daddy, you're being mean..you're going to make me cry"...." no, no, no.....don't cry...cause Daddy's going to start crying in about two seconds"

Just then the door of the party placed opened. Out walked a teenaged girl carrying a sandwich-board sign. She put the sign down, pulled out a big felt tipped marker, and wrote in giant letters that I could see from the parking lot. HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAGARETTE AND ISABELLA. Bingo !

Miracle #3 - I was doing a little better but I was not out of the woods. I still was going to have to endure 1 and 1/2 hours of screaming kids and birthday folly. We went into the party and the mother of the girls walked up to me...." Thanks for bringing your daughter, see you in a while."

Huh ?! I thought I might still be drunk and getting delusional.

She must have seen the confusion on my face... "You don't need to hang out with all us women, if you'd like to go, just come back in about an hour. We're good here."

Stunned, I walked out front into the cold air figuring I'd just sleep in the van for a while. Then I looked up and saw it....I don't know how I had missed it earlier...I was standing across the street from the off track betting parlor.

Instead of doing the hokey-pokey and singing "happy birthday" out of tune.....I spent the next hour eating a big lunch, drinking a gallon of coke, and resting quietly in a dark corner. I also hit the 3 - 5 - 8 trifecta for a dollar boxed in the 4th race at Tampa and walked out of the place with more money than I walked in with.

Like I said... a Saint Patrick’s Day Miracle.

St. Patty's Weekend Top 10

10 - Number of drinks I had, minus shots, between 1 pm and 5 pm on Friday.

9 - o'clock, when I mercifully passed out in my living room.

8 - as in inches...as in the size of the hole in my underpants after I lost a wrestling match that turned into a uber-weggie. And yes I'm almost 40 years old and yes, I'm probably gay, get over it.

7 - Time I woke up and shoveled the driveway...still drunk.

6 - Number of guys that we started with at the bar at noon.

5 - The number of those guys that did NOT end up in the hospital at the end of the night. ** tip to self - stop encouraging the diabetic to do shots.

4 - Number of times I called my buddies wife to tell her, " Don't worry I'll make sure he gets home safely."....which of course it came out, " doanworryboutit...imakedahomesabbly", which I'm sure was terribly reassuring.

3 - Number of irish car bombs I drank.

2 - Number of pairs of fat pants that I broke down and bought. That's right, size 38 waist.

1 - Number of times I begged my wife to not make me go to a little kids birthday party on Saturday afternoon. Coincidently, also the number of times she said, " You're going...idiot"

Thank goodness it only comes once a year.

Golf Story

I grew up near a 9 hole municipal golf course that was built, in part, as a recreational facility for the steel workers just outside of Levittown.



The course is affectionately referred to as ‘ the goat path’ and it lives up to it’s billing. It floods on a regular basis, the tees are just the regular grass cut a little shorter, and the fairways and the rough are indistinguishable except that the fairways seem to actually have grass in among the weeds. Perhaps the most troubling thing about the course at this time this story is told, is that a mild winter had encouraged a flock of Canadian snow geese to stop their migration and as we moved well into the summer the bird just never left. Between the feathers and the turds, the course was turning into the bottom of a parakeet cage.



Despite its limitations, for years the course has been the source of fun and camaraderie for people of the community and a great learning ground for youth players many of whom have gone on to play golf in college, or as is the case with my brother, onto the professional ranks.



About 10 years or so ago, a bunch of the regular players decided that the club should have a championship. They agreed upon a format and set at date. At my parent’s, that date was circled with a big red market and written in the box was “ the Club Championship”.



My Mom had taken on a part time job at the course and for my father, this was heaven. You see my father is a golfing addict, and my Mom had then become his dealer. Free golf from dawn till disk and my Dad took advantage of every opportunity. Dad had become obsessed and if beating the goat path had turned my father into Lancelot then this tournament was to be his Holy Grail.



For day after day that summer he toiled out in the open sun honing his game. He learned the nuance of every green on the course, he had yardage and club selection down pat, and in case of emergency he become one of the few, if not only, people to learn how to hit out of the hard packed dirt that occupied the bunkers.



Finally the tournament day came. Actually the tournament was to be held over two weekends. In the first weekend the golfers were to play two rounds (18 holes), then the top 8 scores would qualify for the finals. The finals would be the following weekend and were set up in brackets like the NCAA pool everyone got a seeding according their scores and 1 played 8 and 2 played 7 etc etc in 9 hole match play competition ….Until the final two players would contest a final 18 hole round head-to-head to determine the champion.



After the first day, things went as planned. My dad won the medal play and was seeded in first place. The other eight were an assortment of local blue collar regulars as well as an unknown outsider, James Woo who was seeded 4th. My Dad cruised through both and second round matches….the man was on fire. He was tee to green perfect and all the putting practice had paid off. The first match was over by the 6th hole when he was 4 up with 3 to play. And the second contestant made it 7 before going down 3 and 2. In an act that was more hopeful optimist than hubris a small area was cleared above the TV stand that night, and Dad went to bed on Saturday with only Mr. Woo and 18 holes of match play between him and the Cup.

The final match was epic. The two men chased each other all over the goat path matching each other stroke for stroke. Dad went up one with a great putt on 3 only to have Woo get back even on the next hole with a birdie. Back and forth it went and the tention of the game grew as did the size of the gallery of locals following the match.

After 18 hard fought holes to two men found themselves tied.

It was getting to be the end of the day and the sun was just beginning to settle and the air beginning to cool. The two men took a brief break at the clubhouse for a soda and a trip to the bathroom and then they headed out. It was agreed that they would go back out to the first hole and then play a sudden death format. The first player to win a hole would be declared champion.

By this time, most of the other groups had finished thier play for the day and lined up along the first tee to watch the playoff. The crowd was obviously partisan. When Mr. Woo hit his drive there was barely a murmur. My Dad lined up, and his tee shot down the middle of the fairway was met with thundreous applause. It seemed that the " you-da-mans!" were going to be reserved for the hometown guy.

1st hole - both players in the fairway...both on the green...and two putt pars put them off to hole number two.

As had been the case all day long, the tee shots on the 20th hole had both players within yards of each other, both in the fairway....neither conceeding a thing to their opponent. However, the second shot finally saw the pressure of the situation cause a small crack in the armor. Mr. Woo hit a shot that landed short, checked up and trickled onto the very edge of the green. It was on the dance floor but as far away from the hole as you could be. Instead of taking advantage of the mistep, Dad had a lapse of concentration and pulled the ball leaving it 30 yards right of the green.

The gallery formed around my father's ball with a reverent silence. Men who hadn't prayed in years quietly chanted in their heads..." please God, the trophy has to stay here at the club. I promise that I'll cut back on the drinkin' and blaspheming...just don't let the Chinaman take our Cup away."

Oblivious to the crowd, the world around him, and even to the geese running around freaked out by all comotion, my father stepped over his ball with the focused concentation of a spinal surgeon. He laid the face of his loft wedge open and made a big slow arching backswing. At the very top of the swing it seemed as if the whole world paused for the briefest of moments along with his club and then TWWWAACCCCKKKKKKK ...he came down across the ball sending it in a high arching orbit into the pinkish dusk sky and onto the green....... 2 inches from the hole.

The crowd went nuts.

Mr. Woo conceeded the putt and was going to need to make the hole in two putts in order to force another playoff hole. My dad went from danger to the driver seat in one miraculous shot. He trotted up to the green retrieved his ball and ran back to the group with a series of high fives and atta-boys as Mr. Woo stepped walked to his ball.

Mr. Woo was rattled. He grimaced and stepped over his putt nervously knowing that he had to get it close. The fluid putting style that he had shown all day was gone he took a stabbing jab at the ball that was too hard and obviously too wide and the ball careened off the putter at a queer angle. A sea of poorly hidden smiles broke out across the gallery as they tracked the ball now flying across the green.

Then the unthinkable happened.

As was customarily necessary at the goat-path, Mr. Woo had cleared a path of the goose dropping and feathers from his putting path. The gave him a clean line at the hole. His ball, however, was no longer heading toward the hole and therefore no longer on that cleared path.

The ball, which was on a path to end up a long 10 feet left and another 10 feet past its mark suddenly hit the biggest, fattest goose turd on the course. On making contact with the bird poo the ball hopped a foot in the air. The ball checked up, slowing down considerably, and ( skid mark and all) jutted back to the right. You could hear the collective gasp as the ball returned to the putting surface. It rolled another 4 feet, hesitated, and then disappeared into the hole for ( appropriately enough) a birdie...and the win.


Respectfully, if quietly, Mr. Woo was presented with his trophy at the clubhouse in a small ceremony. He loaded his stuff into his Honda and drove off into the evening with the Champions Cup and a satisfied smile. My Dad never let the situation break his spirit and I've never heard him complain about his bad fortune...that's not his style. He congratulated his opponent, moved on, and he's continued to improve his game shotting in the low 80's and into the 70's on a regular basis. But despite his stoic extrior, I sense there's exists a small spot on his heart, as spot just about the same size as the small area still cleared on the mantle above the TV stand.

why I drink

Why do I drink ? You see it's simple.

I'll give you Saturday night for an example.

I started a poker league. Its a year long series and Saturday was the first event for the year. I invited a bunch of players, had a couple of people coming from out of town, and was excited to get the thing started.

A couple of weeks after setting the whole thing up, two good friends decide to hold suprise birthday parties for their spouses at the same time, on the same night. Obviously bad timing for me. So I'm between a rock and a hard place and a week out I'm already stressed about how to try to fit in all in. So after some quick math, I work it out and tell the host that I can get to the first party and I'm good until 7:30...then I can get home in time for everyone to arrive at my place.

I got to the party early. Like 20 minutes early, which considering who I'm married to is understated. That's like saying that Doogie Houser graduated high school early. Unfortunately we sat at the bar for 25 minutes until everyone got there.

Now I was trying to enjoy myself and be polite but the clock was running and I realized that by the time that we got seated and got menus and people showed up, that I was going to have to leave just as everyone was getting settled in... and I was going to look like a douchebag. So by showing up, I'm a bigger asshole than if I didn't come.

I should note that I'm a socially manic person. Severely. Either I'm entirely comfortable ( rare and often facilitated by copious ammts of alcohol) or I'm disturbingly uncomfortable and paranoid, especially in groups. Let me just say that I wasn't drinking and you can derive your own conclussions as to my state of mind.

I tried to stay focused and make conversation where appropriate and then my phone started to ring off the hook. People were calling to cancel, calling to ask if they could come, or asking directions to my house. I self-consiously excused myself, handled the calls, finally turned off my phone. Then went to the bathroom, took a leak, washed my face and collected myself. "OK", I thought to myself " stop getting worked up, everything is fine...just go back out there, relax, enjoy myself, make some conversation and when you have to leave, politely excuse yourself and do what you have to do. No one will even notice that I'm there or that I've left"

Somewhat calmed I started back to the table.

Then I could see HIM. Wearing, of all things, a bright orange shirt, like the color of a DOT workman or a hunter. I could see him from the other side of the restaurant. And he was seated in the chair right next to me. It was the doucheblogcyclist , my arch-nemisis.

This guy has a PHd in fucking with people. He has a annoying tic. I don't mean he has a tic that I find annoying. I mean his tic is being annoying. He has super powers that allow him to find whatever thing makes you the most uncomfortable...then he focuses in on it, and keeps pushing that button until you crack.

And in this situation I was wearing I giant " fuck with me" button right in the center of my forehead.

I took a deep breath....this was going to be fine...I'm overreacting...we're all adults now...I'm sure he's going to be polite. As inconspiculously as possible I slid back into my seat and offered a polite hello.

" HEY FLICK ! I DON'T KNOW WHAT PEOPLE ARE TALKING ABOUT, YOU'RE NOT THAT FAT !!!"

Everyone stopped their conversation, turned to see what all the commotion was, stare at the two of us, and I suppose, assess just how fat I've gotten.

So much for people not knowing that I was there.

Of course my natural instinct was to find a snow shovel or a broom handle and start swinging. But out of respect for the birthday girl and out of a desire to be as invisible as possbile I just smiled, started eating a roll and didn't say shit for about 15 minutes.

After a while I started feeling awkward for not saying anything, so I tried to make idle conversation with the side of the table away from my tormentor. I mentioned that a mutual aquaintence had just won a poker tornament for $115,000. That prompted a joking comment about when I might win a tourament and make some money. As I began to explain that I play for pennies and for fun, a voiced bellowed from behind me..

" FLICK IS GOING TO WIN THE WORLD SERIES OF POKER ...HE'S ALMOST A SEMI-PROFESSIONAL !!!! HARDEE HAR HAR HAR !!!"

That was all I could take. I gathered up my shit, shaking with with self-conscious embarassment trumped only by rage, and got up to leave.

I looked over to Mrs. Flick who, for the first time all week was sitting there with a beer and a smile on her face. Just because I was on the verge of committing a felony, there was no reason for her to leave. I quietly told her, " I'm going, you should stay". Of course, she said, " No, I'll go with you." and her friends said, " no, stay stay" and then it all started up.

Instead of slinking off into the shadows, I was standing in the middle of the room engaged in 5 differnt conversations, " you should stay", "how will I get home ?"..." I'll get you"..." Where's he going ?"..." I think he's going to play poker"..." Do you think he has a gambling problem"..." You don't want you to come back and get me"..." I don't mind"..." gambling problem ? I hear he's a semi-professional hardee har har"

I finally said, " call me when you want to come home and I ran out of there. I went directly to the pizza shop across the street, ordered a large draft and chugged it.

You'd think the story would end here. You problably wish it would. Me too.

I got to my house and we started playing. Then my phone rang...the caller ID read 'doucheblogcyclist". In the middle of the hand I picked it up....no one there. Two minutes later it rang again...now the guys at the game started giving me shit, " dude, what's with the phone calls are you playing poker or what". Doucheblog again. Hang-up again.

Now I excused myself and called him, " WHAT ?"

" Heh heh heh. I didn't call you."

Two minutes later phone rings again. Now I'm pissed, " WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ?"

It was Mrs. Flick. Oops.

" I'm sorry to bother you" she said, " I'll take a cab." then I could hear everyone in the background saying " no, we'll drive you...he's not coming to get you ?", meanwhile, I hadn't said shit.

" NO, I'm coming to get you like I said I would, it's no problem I'll be there in a minute"

I excused myself from the tournament, costing myself some chips but no big deal, and set off to fetch my wife.

When I got to the restaurant it was pouring rain. The parking lot was not only full, but all the arrogant assholes who were too good that have to park and walk in the rain had parked in the fire lane, and all the other paved areas anywhere near the front doors. I was going to have to park a quarter mile away. " fuck this" I thought, " She's right there waiting for me."

I double parked in the middle of the parking lot and turned the flashers on and ran to atrium. No Mrs. Flick. I went inside to the sitting area. No Mrs. Flick. I walked trought the packed bar...nada. Finally I ran upstairs to where to party was and she was sitting there at the table drinking a beer. " Umm, hun we gotta go."

" Oh HI. Thanks for getting me. Let me finish my beer and say goodbye."...she was killing me. I was pretty sure that by this time I was either getting towed or someone I had parked in was tearing the wiper blades off my windshield.

" I am double parked, I have to go outside now. We have to leave", I started down the stairs and she soon followed.

So after all of that. After going when I really didn't have time to go, after doing my best to be polite while someone is riding my ass, after trying to be a decent guy and have my wife stay and enjoy herself, and after leaving my game to drive back and pick her up, I get this IM this morning....

GM: douchblog told us that you were rude at the party and inconsiderate to your wife on Saturday night.

That's what I got.

So there. That's why I drink. I drink to stay alive.

In fact, I think I'm going to have to stay a little bit alive a lunch this afternoon....and then stay a whole bunch of alive when I get home tonight.

The Grand Marnier Story

I took Mrs. Flick to Philadelphia last weekend and we treated ourselves to a couple of children-free days for food drink and merriment.

We ate at the finest steak restaurant in all of Philadelphia on Saturday night...Smith and Wollensky. It was, as it always is, supurb. But when I got the bill I was shocked to see that my Manhattan was $11, her Bud Light draft beer was $7.50, and adding some lobster tail to my steak left our dinner check at the same price as our car payment.

Getting away occurs once in a blue moon, so I'm not going to balk at a couple of bucks for a fun night out, but the situation reminded me of an old story that I don't think I've told here...the story of the Grand Marnier.

My buddy Charlie is one of the last Old School Gentlemen. And by Old School, I don't mean RUN-DMC...I mean in the all-class Cary Grant kinda way.

So when it was time to celebrate his mothers 65th birthday Charlie pulled out all the stops and made arrangements for private dining at Le Bec-Fin , one of more posh restaurants in the city.

Charlie saved up all his pennies for the dinner and they pulled out all the stops...H'Oderves, fine wine, a five course meal, private dining area, top shelf everything. Charlie's father had died a couple of years earlier and Charlie really want this to be a special day for his Mother. This was going to clean him out financially for a little while, but the smile on his mothers face made it all worth while.

At the end of the evening, the waiter came to the table and asked if anyone wanted a
degestif . Charlies wife declined as did his mother who was nursing her coffee. The idea of an after dinner drink appealed to Charlie and he requested a menu.

Charlie opened the drink menu and at the top of page one it read Cuvée Speciale Cent Cinquantenaire...which roughly translates to Susquecentennial Special. That refers to a special batch of Grand Marier made to commemorate the 150th anniversary of Alexandre Marnier-Lapostolle's first distilling the liquor. To provide you with some perspective, the drink has been marketed under the slogan, "Hard to find, impossible to pronounce, and prohibitively expensive."

This being the finest meal Charlie had ever eaten, knowing that he might not have another opportunity, and wanting to cap off a perfect evening, Charlie overlooked the $65 A GLASS price. Sure he'd have to work overtime or a couple of weekends, but when you're in this far...you're in all the way...he ordered the drink.

Well the waiter lit up, " What and excellent choice sir ! As you may know the Speciale was awarded a Gold Medal at the Salon des Arts Ménager. It is made with 50-year-old cognacs sealed within hand-finished frosted glass bottles. Its has a deep flavor with just a hint of organge. I'm sure that you will find it excellent." and with a big smile turn and started to walk away.

Just then Charlies mother, who had been sitting there attentively enjoying the floor show piped up. " Ummmm, that does sound yummy. I'll have one of those too."

Charlie didn't do a double take, he did a tripple take. Knowing full well the situation, the waiter paused and looked to Charlie for direction. Charlie struggled for an out " Ah, Mom, don't you think you'd like something a bit more tame than a cognac ? It's really strong...more like a whiskey. How about if I have him bring you a Sambuka or how about a nice Brandy ?"

She thought for a second, " No, that orangey thing sounded good. I'll have one of those too."

Defeated, Charlie glanced to the waiter and gave him the nod, " Ok, we'll have two."

Moments later the waiter brought the drinks out. Charlie swirreled the liquor in his glass to aerate and took a sniff. He took a small sip and let a drop sit on his tongue filling his mouth with the flavor. As he went to place his still full glass on the table to settle he saw some movement to his left. He turn to the side just in time to see his mother grab the glass off the waiters tray, kick her head back, and toss the 'shot' down in one gulp.

" Ahhhhhhhhh," she smacked her lips and broke out in a big smile, " that was pretty good."

Charlie could only sit and pray that she didn't ask for another.

Ernie is funny

Ernie's House of Whoop Ass

Sound Advice

nice to meet you

There was a guy who was working the local lecture circuit as a moderator with whom I got pretty friendly. I had been attending a number of his training seminars and after awhile we got to know each other on a first name basis. He was a charasmatic sort of guy. I believe had been a preacher at one time but was now using the skills that he learned at the pulpit for inspiring people to do good work in government.

I should note to those of you who don't know me personally...that I am not a Christian. My religious proclivity falls somewhere between 'I'm not sure' and 'I really try not to think about it'...both of which are unpopular positions here in the Bible Belt of the North.

Anyway, he always had these little icebreakers where attendees had to interact with other attendees. It was a bit of a pain in the ass, but in the end it was always effective. If the class muddled through whatever he had set up, the group would inevitably participate more and be more attentive.

So one class he opened by saying, " We are going to play a little game. You're going to get a partner. Then you are going to say something to your partner that you think you both have in common. If you both have that item in common then your partner is going to shake your hand and say ' nice to meet you'. I'll give you an example....Flick, can you come up here and help demostrate ?"

With that I hopped up to the front of the room to join him.

He continued, " OK, let's domonstrate.....I'm wearing a blue shirt !"

Since we were both wearing a blue shirt I extended my hand in an exaggerated way for effect and game him the old, " NICE TO MEET YOU !" with a toothy grin.

" Nice to meet you too !" said our speaker and then he turned to the crowd and said, " OK everyone pair up and give it a try. Flick...since your already up here, why don't you be my partner."

He and I moved to the side and grabbed a couple of chairs. He gestured that I should go first so I thought for a second and said, " HI ! I'm going to be stuck here for the next 2 1/2 hours !"

" Hahahha", our speaker chuckled, " I can only hope that you don't find me that boring....but NICE TO MEET YOU !" and he extended his hand with a hearty shake.

Now it was his turn, " I've accepted Jesus as my personal savior"

Yes, you read it right.

" Pardon me ?"

He tried again, this time with a little more enthusiasm, " I've accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior" and out went his hand with a big smile.

TH-TH-THAT !?!?!? THAT is what you're opening with ?"

I'm not sure of the exact meaning of the word incredulous, but if it includes 'totally fucking shocked' as part of it, then that's what I was.

The smile started to droop a bit, " ahhh, no good ?"

I winced in a bit of pain and shook my head like a rookie pitcher nervously shaking off the curve ball from a veteran catcher.

What followed was about the longest three seconds of dead air I've ever endured.

The smile was gone this time. His expression was that of a guy trying to solve a math problem...like something that involved two trains leaving two cities at different times. Then, suddenly he must have come to his answer. His eye lit up, shoved out his hand and stammered, " I...I...I'm wearing a blue shirt !"

I greatfully grabbed his hand which had gown just about as damp as mine

"Nice to meet you...", I offered almost appologetically, "...nice to meet you!"

cluck...that's what I'm talkin' bout !

It's official. Rabbits are pussies and chickens rule.

Still Funny

I had this on the old blog and its still funny now.

There are about a dozen funny quotes from this...what's your favorite ?

be careful what you wish for

Regular readers may recall my quest to go to the bathroom ( #2 of course) without having another living creature, be it child, dog, or wife, walk in on me. I remember the last time it happened foldly...it was the spring of 2004...I had just gotten a new National Grographic and had eaten calamari and penne pasta the night before....but I digress.

I came home today to a full house and ran upstairs for my evening constitution. I settled in, patiently did my business, and surprisingly noted that I had not been interrrupted.

The smirk on my face last just seconds as I reached over to toilet paper roll and found it empty.

OK, no problem, there had to be some in under the sink right ? I suffered through the indignity of ever so gngerly waddling around knock-kneed, pants around my ankles and hind quarters high in the air, as I rooted around under the sink.....NOTHING.

Frantic, I started looking around for anything else useful...no napkins, no paper towels, no baby wipes. There WERE a slew of poker magazines...however I said I was frantic...I didn't say I was hopeless.

So the most reasonable plan of action was to just wait it out. I mean it was amazing that someone or something hadn't run in to that point, it had to be only a matter of time before someone came to my rescue.

So I picked up a magazine and I read an article and waited....and waited...and waited. I stomped on the floop a couple of times...nothing. I could hear them down there...I wasn't alone. " Hellooooooooo ?!" Nothing.

Finally.....defeated....I just gave in. I decide to go to another location and all that entails ( I'm assuming most of you know what I mean). I stood , hiked up my pants, and made my way to the kids bathroom on the other side of the house.

I'm starting to think that they're all messing with me on purpose, I really am.

Sledding

The recent weather has been unusual. The snow, sleet rain, snow and refreeze has left the ground a solid block of ice. I'm 215 lbs and I can stand on the snow drift in my front yard, jump up and down, and not make a dent. While all of this has been terrible for shoveling and driving, it has made for some amazing sledding.

Across the street from my house is a big hill overlooking Meadows Edge's eponymous meadow. The land has been recently sold, but so popular is the sledding site that the agreement of sale was contingent on the new owners allowing local kids to continue sledding there. With the frozen conditions and with the face of the hill facing into the prevailing westerly wind, the sledding hill has become, at the least a luge run and more likely one of those thinks that the ski jumpers go down.

Anyway we went over there and had a fantastic time. Mrs. Flick always gives me the requisite warning, " be careful that the kids don't go near the pond", and I gave her the requisite rolling of the eyes. The pond is a good 500 yards from the top of the hill and probably 100-150 yards from the bottom. Kids sledding with boggie boards coated with Crisco baking grease down get within 50 of the pond, so my kids on their $8 plastic sled have nothing to worry about.....or so I thought.

When we first got there two teenage kids were getting ready for a run. One was on one of those hard shelled saucers and the other was digging in to push him like a bobsledder. Off they went. The kid PUSHING slid to the bottom of the hill on his belly. The kid on the saucer became a dot on the horizon. He went to the bottom...across the meadow....and not only to the pond, but PAST the pond and into the next farm field. He went at least a half mile !!!! At least !!!

I turned everyone around and went home for helmets.

Anyway, we went back to the hill and had a great time of it.

After a while the kids started getting tired and cold and we decided that they'd have a final run. I put them all into one sled and sent them down like a giant human cannonball.

I should mention at this point that one of the drawbacks to the situation was that as fun as it was to go down the hill, it was equally as difficult to get back up the hill. Many times the kids would make it half way up only to lose their footing and go sliding all the way back down or they'd lose grip on the sled and it would fly off into the distance. The only hope of getting up the slope was to act like a mountain climber...some kids had hacked holes into the ice at intervals and you could use the crags in the ice like a rock climber and make your way up.

After this final run my kids were trying to make their way up to me and not having any luck. At least one of them was falling down half way up and usually taking the rest down with them. It was turning into human bowling.

Finally I yelled down to them to go over to the big tree next to the road and that I'd come down to them and we could take the road back home. I picked up the camera, their two sleds, and whatever discarded helmets, hats and gloves were around and started to walk down/across the face of the hill to meet them. This turned out to be treacherous. After nearly falling off a few times I figured " screw it" and that the most reasonable thing to would be just to sled down to where they were. I dropped one of the sleds and plopped down in it. I put my feet down to control my speed, I only had to go about half-way down...and off I went.

Well HOLY POOP !...I immediately started going about 100 times faster than I thought I was going to go. I tried to dig my heels in...NOTHING ! I was actually starting to pick up speed. Panicked I reached out ahead with my free hand and tried to dig in into the solid ice face...nothing ! Then it happened....

My left hand which was at the end of my fully extended left arm went into one of the footholds that the kids dug into the ice. The full weight and momentum of my body went smashing into the last three fingers on my left hand. All I could see was a white flash as severe pain screamed up my left side. I believe I broke the ring finger and cannot get my wedding ring on it at all. The other two fingers are swollen and I can't bend them the whole way to make a fist.

The other effect of the impact on my hand was to change my trajectory. Instead of heading down the hill, I was kicked at a 45 degree angle...right at the kids. I was about to slam into my entire brood of children and we were all going to be spending the rest of the evening in the emergency room.

I've mentioned before that 'The Boy' might be the slowest kid I've ever seen. His feet are gigantic and he runs like he's wearing flippers. The kid might have some talents, but he isn't going to win any footraces. The Boy looked up to see me coming down the hill....I had my left arm straight out and an obtuse angle, my right arm was held high above me wielding a sled, a camera, and two helmets , and I was screaming a death wail while writhing and wriggling like an epileptic on fire...his eyes got big as saucers and The Boy made a run for the road with a burst of speed that was as impressive as it was unexpected.

I had just the briefest of moments to notice his burst of speed, before I took notice of the tree that he had been standing in front of. The tree that I was definitely going to hit. I rolled over and bailed out of the sled. That did nothing. I splayed myself out and readied for the impact. The sled hit the tree first and by the grace of God that helped made the difference. I hit the sled, which buckled under my weight, but helped absorb some of the impact. Also, instead of breaking a limb, I hit the trunk of the tree with my midsection. Luckily I didn't break a rib, but I did knock all the wind out of me with a mighty " URRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH".

I laid there for a few minutes with all the kids gathered around me saying stuff like, " I think your Dad is dead" and " That was totally cool, do it again, do it again.". After a little while I got myself together, set about gathering up all my things which were scattered around the hillside like wreckage from a plane crash, and took the kids home for some hot cocoa.

We're going back a little later today if anyone is interested in joining us.

The Greatest Moment in WWF History

Two guys at the bar

At pub poker on friday there were two very friendly, very likable, and very large guys playing at my table.

Charlie was the smaller of the two weighing in at, I'd guess, 265...maybe 5'9". Matt was much larger...maybe 6 feet and hell, I dunno, 350 ?!?!.

Anyway, they whole time they're playing they're both talking about how hungry they are and what they're going to order from the bar. Frankly, I think they both busted out, if not on purpose, then as a result of their hunger.

So both guys bust out then saddle up to the bar and order dinner.

A little while later I went up to get a beer and walked into this conversation.

Matt: We're going to have to get out of here and get something to eat.

Charlie: Just be patient, the food will be here soon. Relax.

Matt: No, I don't mean leave here without our food...I mean this isn't going to be enough food. We gotta leave here and get some more food after this.

Charlie: You're insane.

It was then I realized that all their talk about food was making me really hungry. Then Matt pulled out the big guns.

Matt: Hey man, I'm not just talkin about food. I'm talkin about Taco Bell. Taaaacccoooo Beeeeellllllll.

I coudn't take it anymore and injected myself into the conversation, " Damn ! That DOES sound good"

Matt: See ! Even this guy thinks so. Whatya say ?

Charlie( sternly with his arms crossed): I'm not going to Taco Bell

Matt: Come on man ?

Me: Mmmm, tacos.....burritos....CHIMMYCHANGA !?!?

Matt: YEAH !!!!

Charlie: I'm not going to fucking Taco Bell

Matt: Come on man.....wheres the Charie I know ?....where's my pal ?....where's Charlie ? ....what have you done with him....I know he's in there....come on out Charile....stop hiding....chimmychanga...come on out Charlie...come on out and play

Charlie: Ok ok....( sheepish grin breaking out across his face) fuck it, let's do it.

Matt: THATS WHAT IM TALKIN ABOUT !!!!

Lovin Spoonful

While drinking beers and shooting darts, the writer of doucheblogcycling posed this question, " Which would you rather watch, a WNBA playoff game or the NFL Pro Bowl ?". Now thats a hell of a question. That's the type of stuff Socrates would have come up with if he had been a sports fan...or a drunkard.

I spend a good portion of this mornings constitution trying to figure out if the group Lovin Spoonful got their name from a drug reference or a sex reference. I may have been wrong on both events according to this .

On Saturday I figured I'd give exercising another try and headed to the gym for a little run on the treadmill. I brought my earphones and was able to listen to the television programs that they had on the numerous televisions set up throughout the gym. I hate to run, but two of the channels were news programs covering both the Palastinian/Isreali situation at The Mount this weekend as well as an interesting piece on Iran, so I really got into the news and the time flew along.

Right at the end of my run, the news switched to the lighter side of things and they started talking about Valentines Day. The NewsBabe started telling the NewsDude about how she was looking forward to Valentines day because she had such a great marriage. She then started going on and on about the secrets as to why she had such a special marriage. I can't wait until the sex tapes of her husband in a three way wtih a playboy playmate and a cocker spaniel hit the internet. Anyway, on the heels of the serious and sad subject matter they had just covered, her enthusiasm for her husband and her marriage came across as smarmy, arrogant, and, frankly, contrived.

My reaction to this was typically expressive. I rolled my eyes, started making the jerking-off gesture with my hand, and made a rasberry/farty noise with my tongue

"ptttthuk-ptttthuk-ptttthuk".

It then occured to me that not everyone was watching what I was watching or listening to what I was listening to or hand any frame of reference to what I was doing or why....especially the cute woman jogging shoulder to shoulder with me on the adjoining treadmill. I did a quick assessment and realized that since she was right next to me, it was unlikely that she could see what I had done with me hand...whew. Uh-oh..that might be worse....if she heard the farty noise without the other stuff she might think that I actually...oh-no...passed gas right there on the treadmill. Nah, she didn't hear anything...everything is cool...I'm just bring paranoid...

Then she stopped, turned off the treadmill, and without giving me a glance quickly gathered up her stuff and walked off.

Stay warm this weekend

Name Change

You'll ofter run into a foreigner ( has that term been deemed inappropriate yet ?)...anyway " a person of alternate origin" and you'll introduce yourself and the person will say, " Hi, I'm Ernie Fanutzamuha". Now you KNOW the dude's names isn't Ernie...and if you look into it you'll find out that his name is really Ensahunamrkinya or some unpronouncable shit like that.

I say...whatever...I'll happily give the dudes name a shot if he wants to tell it to me...but I can also appreciate the dude not wanting every conversation to start awkwardly with some douchebag cracker butchering his name over and over..." Uh, nice to meet you Ensa...Ensa...Ensahun...nice to meet you sir."

I went through a similar thing with a Leboneese friend I invited over to my poker game. His name is Maher and the conversation went like this:

" Hi, I'm Maher"

" Nice to meet you Maher"

" No...it's Maher"

" Yeah...Maher. No ?"

"No ! Ma-Her"

" Ma-Her"

"no...Maaaaaaa-Heeeer"

urrrrgh " Maaaaaa-Heeeer ?"

" No, nevermind"

" Ok fair enough....I see you've brought your friend, what's his name"

" Oh, this is Maher"

" Oh...same name as you !"

" What ? What are you talking about....I am Maher...he is Maher...how is this the same?"

So fuck him. He's now " Buddy" and his partner is " Captain"..or occassionally "Pal".

Anyway, I mention this because I got a storm water report today from a guy. He's a foreign national. And instead of him involking the opportunity to Americanize his name he stood true to his family heritage. His report way proudly signed:

"Yong Fook Ho"

Extended weekend, from hell

Friday night I tripped and fell into a bottle of vodka.

I had seen a television program where a brewer or whatever the hell they call a dude who makes spirits said that premium vodka, super filtered and distilled, is so pure that it minimizes your chances for a hangover. He also said that despite that, if you drank enough of it that you'd still get sick.

I can attest to the fact that he's right on at least the second part.

Saturday was a wash. Other then repeated trips to McDonalds, I don't remember much.

I'm up to 215 lbs.

Superbowl Sunday I spent at the local fire hall in a poker tournament. Actually two poker tournaments. I finished 2nd and 1st....and I second hand smoked 3 packs of cigarettes. I think my real advantage was being the only one there who's blood alcohol level was lower than Rex Grossman's QB rating.

All I can say is thank God that there weren't any fires in the Boro Sunday night.

Yesterday was spent cleaning up vomit. But for once it wasn't my own.

Yes, I know, I live the life of a prince. Someone should do a reality TV show of my life. They could just film for a couple of days and then just run it as an endless loop...all they'd really need to do is have some special effects guys add 2 lbs a month to my character.

very sleepy this morning..because

Winner winner chicken dinner !!!

home today

Great weekend for me, but not for the kids.

Home sick looking after them.

Will write more when all the barf buckets are emptied.

caught red handed

SAN FRANCISCO (AP) -- Mayor Gavin Newsom apologized Thursday for having a sexual relationship with his former campaign manager's wife.

"I'm deeply sorry," Newsom said during a brief news conference at City Hall the day after the aide resigned. Newsom appeared poised but visibly emotional. He spoke for about a minute and left without taking questions.

--------------

I like how he doesn't expand on what he's sorry about. If he's getting emotional about it I suspect he's mostly sorry he wont be hitting that any more.


While lamenting the fact that I can no longer play online poker, I started considering all the other things that, as a "free" person in America that I'm unable to do...which got me thinking about some basic TRUTHS that we can all agree on but that remain fucked up. I really don't want to turn this into a rant, but how is it possible that everyone agrees that these things are fucked up, but nothing EVER gets done about them ?

1) INCOME TAX - the format is fucked, the rate is fucked, the process is fucked. There's not a person on the planet who doesn't think that the entire process is a complete and total cluster-fuck. How retarded is it that a normal, intelligent person, with an average source of income has to go to a professional to ensure that they are not violating the law. Did you read about the poor fucker who won the space ride...absurd.

I don't know what the answer is, but I suspect a flat tax is a step in the right direction. It seems to me the the current system exists to confuse people into realizing that they're being ripped off and that we are on the verge of turning into a socialist state. I say, set a flat tax, you pay that portion of your income, and that's it. And I'd say cap that shit at like 25%...theres no way that you should have to give up any more than 25% of what you earn...I mean religous titheing is only 10% and thats for God !

2) This is for Pennsylvania....How is it possible that I cannot go into a grocery store and buy a bottle of wine or a case of beer !?!?!?! I have to go to a STATE OWNED STORE to buy a bottle of wine ?!?! Why ? I'm not grown up enough to be able to have access to wine ? Fucking retarded up and down. And an unfair fucking monopoly. Then they pass a law that if you live on the border of the state...it's against the law to buy shit and bring it into the state !

PS there's a 25% TAX on all alcohol in the state. Your 6 pack just went from $6 to $7.50. That seems fair.

3) College Football playoff system - I mean come on....this is so obvious its just retarded that its not done already.

There's plenty of other stuff that I think is fairly obvious, but I understand that there are a fair number of kooks who will disagree because they're irrational, ignorant, and fearful...so we can leave legalized gambling, legalized pot, and getting the state out of the marriage business for another day.

Anyone wanna go to Md on Sat. ?

I gotta see this.

http://www.marylandnighthawks.com/

A new breed of scrabble

Since the demise of online poker I've found myself with large amounts of time on my hands.

Most of that time has been rerouted in very productive ways; I've been getting stuff done around the house, I'm spending a lot more time with the kids, hell I started exercising a little.

But sometimes I just want to sit there and veg.

I can't take the reality TV stuff, so that's not really an option. So what I've done is started playing online scrabble. Yeah...scrabble.

I'm sure this will come as great amusement to the regular readers who know I might be the most atroci...atroshou... terrible speller this side of the Susquehanna. Thankfully for me they have two types of games:
* The first type is the challenge game. You lose 20 points and a turn if you spell a word wrong and its challenged and you get to challenge other words. I think I'm the lowest ranked "English as a first language" player on the site. Every time I challenge they have some crazy ass real word...and you can imagine that a fair number of my words get tossed out.
* In the other version if you spell a word wrong the computer tells you that you have an illegal word and provides you with another chance. In this version I'm doing quite well. And it seems as if the game is steadily improving my spelling. For instance 'suede' is now part of my lexicon...as is 'lexicon'.

But my favorite part of the game is the fact that I think I've tapped into the last corner of the internet that hasn't been tainted or embittered by trolls, pricks, or bastards. Its a community of polite, pleasant, courteous players. This is the absolute opposite of online poker. Most are middle aged or older women and for many of the folks this is their social outlet.

And before you think I've gotten soft...or that my heart has been warmed by finding goodness in a wasteland of evil...I want to reassure you that my newfound joy is far more nefarious than that. I see the situation more like a gigantic landscape of new fallen snow that I now get to track the first footprints through.

Yesterday I lost two games from running out of time because I was too busy telling people how I way trying to get high by sniffing purple magic markers. I may have also mentioned that I was trying to get high because I really wanted to pleasure myself, but that I found me repulsive. I had all the blue hairs in a tizzy.

I'm setting the over/under for me getting kicked off at 9:43 pm tonight.

The trouble is

The trouble is that too many people I know read this thing.

I'd love to write about knocking my kids tooth out the other night. Or I'd love to write about how I tripped and fell into a case of Dogfishhead IPA 90 and that the only cure was to eat and entire pizza by myself. Or about a dozen other things...all of which would continue to have people at parties point at me and stare. I had a woman at a poker game the other night introduce herself by saying, "Please don't yell at me". Yell at her ??? I'm like the nicest guy you'll ever meet.

My gawd, you attack one guy with a snow shovel and all of a sudden you have a reputation !

ANYWAY.

I almost had an amazing moment yesterday. I almost got an entire dump in without someone running into the bathroom to ask me a question. Sadly, just before I reached for the toilet paper the youngest one burst throught the door.

" WHAT !?" , I yelled in my typically understanding style.

" I....ahhhhh.....ummmmm..", then she just stood there staring at me.

And then she ran off.

So the streak stays alive at 2 years, 3 months, and 11 days.


And if you've never heard Tuff_Fish then you've never experience the joy of defeatism:

Game ON

After the success of the first attempt, I'm bringing back the All Male Olympics...aka..the O-Him-Pics.

Dude the the inherantly sexist nature of the title, and due to the expressed interest from a number of woman wanting to participate, we are changing the title of the competition.

I welcome all suggestions for a catchy name for the contest.

Anyway...March 10th it's going down.

The contest is going to consist of

9 holes of golf ( weather permitting)
Darts - baseball format
Pool - 8 ball
bowling - one game
Basketball - foul shot contest
Poker - NL texas Holdem ( 1000 starting chips, plus whatever you earn throughout the day)

Once again, contestants can earn additional points for beers consumed.

The reigning winner in Marty F. who came into the final event with a chip deficit but used his card playing experience and moderate sobriety to outlast the other competitors.

I currently hold the points record, but that's vulnerable and Ron has the beer drinking point record which many consider to be untouchable at 210 points ( 21 drinks).

Anyone interested in participating should contact me as spot are limited. We could also use someone to drive the van.

Theoretically

Suppose a guy was up playing online poker and accidentally drank an entire bottle of wine. Then, for the sake of discussion, lets say that this guy had to pee really badly…with great urgency…but was sitting at the final table with the blinds at…say….500/1000 or something like that. If that guy decided to void his bladder into the empty water bottle rather than get up from the poker table and lose his blinds…would you say that guy had a gambling problem, a drinking problem or a bladder control problem ? Theoretically.

wha ?

DALLAS (AP) - Authorities at Tarleton State University said they plan to investigate a Martin Luther King Jr. Day party that mocked black stereotypes by featuring fried chicken, malt liquor and faux gang apparel.

...

Photographs posted on social networking Web site Facebook.com showed partygoers wearing Afro wigs and fake gold and silver teeth. One photo showed students "mocking how African-Americans do step shows," Elder said. In another picture, a student is dressed as Aunt Jemima and carries a gun.

I...ahhhh...nevermind...
-------------------------------------------------

Thought for the day "Funk is soul music with a boner"

Thought for today II " The age at which 24 year old guys start calling you 'sir' is the same age at which 24 year old chicks start calling you 'old and creepy' "

and yes, I just made both of those up.

Oopsy

E. Howard Hunt died today. He partnered with G. Gordon Liddy to screw up the Watergate break-in. E. Howard...G. Gordon...whatever happened to just using your first name ?

Anyway, E. Howard had two major jobs during his tenure at the CIA...Watergate and the Bay of Pigs. That's not a very good batting percentage.

He was accused of being involved with the Kennedy assasination, but his best defense was, " I couldn't have done that one, it actually worked."

But out of respect for the dead, I offer up an overview of his life

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/E._Howard_Hunt

urigro

really

i remember when I used to party like this

MINNEAPOLIS - A man crashed through a double-paned window in a hotel on Saturday and plummeted 16 floors — but survived when he was caught by a roof overhang.

Joshua S. Hanson, 29, of Blair, Wis., was taken to a hospital. Police and fire officials said he had multiple broken bones and internal injuries.

The man must have "an angel on his shoulder or something," said police Lt. Dale Barsness. "He's a lucky guy."

According to a police report, Hanson and two friends returned from a night of drinking at about 1:30 a.m Saturday. When the elevator reached the 17th floor, Hanson ran down a short hallway toward a floor-to-ceiling window, Barsness said.

He apparently lost his balance and crashed through the glass, then fell 300 feet, landing on the roof overhang one floor up from the street.

The window was double-paned and had a safety bar, said Tom Mason, general manager of the Hyatt.

Police said Hanson was conscious and communicating when he was taken off the overhang.

"This has never happened before," said Mason, who added that hotel officials will investigate and take whatever steps to ensure the hotel's safety.

The Day The Music Died

Netteller Gone.

I'm busy try to sort it all out.

Now I know how the crackheads feel.

Edited

Previous post has been de-"Samuel Jackson"ed down to a PG rating.

Lets Get It On

I must have listened to Marvin sing this song 100,000 times.

But I just realized what's happnin here. Marvin is the master.

He must have gone through women like other people go through air.

I can se Marvin about 19 years old, with some girl, on her Mamma couch. She's putting up a little resistance and Marvin laying this rap on her. Pushing the limit, pushing...then backing off a little...then hitting it again...

Pure genius.

" Hey baby....



I've been really tryin', baby
Tryin' to hold back this feeling for so long
And if you feel like I feel, baby
Then, c'mon, oh, c'mon
Let's get it on
Ah, baby, let's get it on
Let's love, baby
Let's get it on, sugar
Let's get it on
We're all sensitive people
With so much to give
Understand me, sugar
Since we've to be here
Let's live
I love you
There's nothing wrong with me
Loving you, baby no no
And giving yourself to me can never be wrong
If the love is true
Don't you know how sweet and wonderful life can be
I'm asking you baby to get it on with me
I ain't gonna worry
I ain't gonna push, won't push you baby
So c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, baby
Stop beatin' 'round the bush
Let's get it on
Let's get it on
You know what I'm talkin' 'bout
C'mon, baby
Let your love come out
If you believe in love
Let's get it on
Let's get it on, baby
This minute, oh yeah
Let's get it on
Please, let's get it on
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, baby
Stop beatin' 'round the bush
Oh, gonna get it on
Threaten' you, baby
I wanna get it on
You don't have to worry that it's wrong
If the spirit moves ya
Let me groove ya good
Let your come down
Oh, get it on
C'mon, baby
Do you know the meaning?
I've been sanctified
Girl, you give me good feeling

Screw Ferris Bueller

Yesterday was MY day.

I just took a day off yesterday. No reason, no notice, just decided...fuck it...I'm taking a day off.

And it was good.

Got some good coffee, spent some rare time with Mrs. Flick ( with no children around !!!), played a little online poker, went to the gym and hooped it up..

Then I came home and made myself a cheesesteak sandwich with
* cheese whiz
* steak sauce
* and a toasted bun with fresh roasted garlic

It may have been the greatest steak sandwich in the history of Chez Flick.

Then I basked in the afterglow of the sandwich for about 20 minutes.

By then it was only 2:00.

Played with the kids, hung with a friend, had a few beers, went to bed.

Caught a little of it on video...enjoy



I'm going to handle retirement just fine.

double dribble ? Get outta here !

90 minute I.P. Ass

I special ordered a case of Dogfishhead 90 minute IPA .

Yummy stuff. 9% alcohol, 300 calories per serving. It's the beer equivalent of doing a shot and eating a candy bar.

The last thing I remember with any clarity is saying to Ron, " OK....how about just one more round ?"

I'm so hungover and puffy this morning that I literally could NOT get my wedding ring on.

To make matters worse, I woke to this...

Mrs. Flick: You need to talk to the children.

Me: urgh

Mrs. Flick: The older ones were teasing the little one again last night and I heard a bunch of screaming.

Me: urgh

Mrs. Flick: When I walked in the room Hot Gril and The Boy were up on the to of the computer desk, screaming, and cowering in the corner, and defending themselves with pillows.

Me: urgh ?

Mrs. Flick: Because the 4 year old had a pair of scissors and was trying to 'shiv' them

Me: URGH !

Mrs: Flick: Well ? Are you going to address this ?

Me: KIDS !!!!! Stop teasing your little sister or she's going to cut you !

Mrs. Flick: You know you really are useless.

well no shit Sherlock

"Where mistakes have been made, the responsibility rests with me," Bush said.

I've never understood this modern phenomena of "accepting responsibility" as being absolution. I mean saying that you 'accept responsibility' but then don't actually suffer any consequences for your action is just about the definition of a hollow promise.

" Yeah, I fucked your sister when you were away with the kids at your mother's house....but you know what...I'm going to take ownership for that...I'm going to accept responsibility"....try selling that shit in the real world...the only thing you'll be accepting is a knife in your eye while you're sleeping.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I don't have a solution...and yeah, the Democrats are a giant bunch of douchebags....all that is a given. But forgive me for being a bit put-out for having to watch the President act like a fourth grader with a bad report card saying, " I'm sorry Mommy, I'll try harder this marking period"...all the while 23 year old kids are having their arms and legs blow off.

Yeah, we're spreading freedom and democracy....too bad it's first vestiges have come in the form of a kangaroo court leading to a 1800's style lynching of the dude who's crime was killing radicals to ensure the general safety and security of Iraq. Fuck hanging him, we should have given him a spot on the new commission announced last night.

Ok, you put up with just about enough of that. Here's some hot chicks:
( Ladies, In the spirit of equal time I was going to post a picture of some hot guys, but the first thing that turned up on my google search involved multiple penises and after I got done scrubbing my eyes with a brillo pad I just sort of lost interest)

kid poker

So the kids want to learn how to play poker.

" No" I told them, " that would be wrong."

So I taught them rummy, I taught them war, I taught them slap jack.

" These games suck", the boy said, " I want the poker."

" When do we use the chips ?" Hot Gril asked.

So after much badgering I figured I'd show them a game or two...I mean what could be the harm.

We started with the basics and I showed them "what beats what" first excluding the mention of flushes and straights and then added them in. We played 5 card stud, double draw. And I gave them each a dozen chips.

I thought my moral dilemma was going to be whether or not I should teach them to play. That turned out to be the least of my worries.

My real problem was that I was getting sick cards. I mean SICK ! I was getting dealt trips and two pair almost every time. If I needed an inside straight... POW I'd hit my 4 outter. I was killing the game !

All those hours online without shit, all those live games with bad beats, all those inside straight and flush draws that I blank out on...and here, with my 8 and 6 year old kids I suddenly turn into a card rack.

What's a brother to do ? I mean I could take a dive and make them excited to be winners. I could bring some joy to a child's life....but really, would that be the right thing to do ?

I mean wouldn't that be giving them false hope ? Wouldn't that be giving them a skewed perspective on the game....ON LIFE ? I mean they're already being set up with Stan Claus and the tooth fairy.

Plus, i mean really, IT'S A FULL HOUSE ! I can't lay down a full house.

I figured I'd settle for some middle ground and decided not to check raise the little scions.

The girl lasted longest. And she went down with a fight.

The boy cried when I busted him...jacks and 3s over 8's and 4's. CRIED ! OVER A CARD GAME !

Like father, like son.

Getting served

My server is overloaded like an Indonesian ferry boat.

Spending the entire day deleting stuff that I know people will eventually need. Hopefully my liver will fail before they find out and start yelling.

No one can yell at a dude on a transplant list.

How could this NOT still be on the air ?

The links withing the article will not work. Go to the original page at wiki to utilize the links.

Celebrity Boxing was a short-lived Fox television series, in which celebrities whose careers and/or notoriety had waned were pitted against each other in exhibition boxing matches. The contestants wore headgear during the fights, which were scheduled for three rounds apiece. Only two episodes of the show were aired, both in the spring of 2002.

[edit] First episode

The first episode aired on March 13, 2002. The fights featured were Danny Bonaduce vs. Barry Williams, Todd Bridges vs. Vanilla Ice, and Paula Jones vs. Tonya Harding.

Bonaduce vs. Williams: Bonaduce was introduced by ring announcer Michael Buffer as Danny "Boom Boom" Bonaduce. He had a GoldenPalace.com tattoo on his back. Williams was billed as "Barry Da Butcher." Bonaduce dominated the bout, knocking Williams down five times before referee Marty Denkin called a halt to the action in round two.

Bridges vs. Ice: Bridges was introduced as Todd "Mad Dog" Bridges. Meanwhile, Ice had Tank Abbott working in his corner. Bridges was in control throughout nearly the entire fight, flooring Ice in rounds one and two. All three judges scored the bout 30-27 in his favor.

Jones vs. Harding: Tonya Harding was billed as "TNT," and was also sponsored by GoldenPalace.com. Jones was presented as Paula "The Arkansas Pounder" Jones. Both contestants declined to have their weights disclosed. Jones reportedly took the bout as a late replacement for Amy Fisher [1], and she appeared extremely reluctant to fight. She frequently turned and ran away from Harding whenever she was hit, and at one point attempted to hide behind the referee. In the final round, she at last announced that she did not wish to continue with the bout. Harding was awarded the victory by technical knockout.

[edit] Second episode

The second episode aired on May 22, 2002. Darva Conger took on Olga Korbut in the opening bout. This fight was followed by Dustin "Screech" Diamond vs. Ron "Horshack" Palillo and Manute Bol vs. William "Refrigerator" Perry. Joey Buttafuoco took on Joanie "Chyna" Laurer in the main event.

Barry Williams also appeared in this episode, singing "The Star-Spangled Banner" before the first bout, and conducting interviews with some of the fighters.

Conger vs. Korbut: Korbut, who had been charged with shoplifting $19 worth of groceries just four months prior to this match [2], was rocked by Conger on several occasions, but was never knocked down, and managed to last until the final bell. Conger won via unanimous decision.

Diamond vs. Palillo: Palillo, who was introduced as "The Pulverizer," attempted to stare Diamond down, and even shoved him after the fighters had been given their pre-fight instructions. Once the bell rang, however, Diamond was in complete control. Palillo was knocked down twice in round two, and the fight was stopped at the time 1:23 in the same round. Palillo finished the bout with a pair of black eyes.

Bol vs. Perry: Bol utilized lateral movement and his 102-inch reach to outbox the nearly-immobile Perry, winning a decision by the scores of 30-27 on all cards. Bol stated in a post-fight interview that he would donate his purse to relief efforts for victims of the Second Sudanese Civil War.

Buttafuoco vs. Laurer: Laurer was a late substitute for John Wayne Bobbitt, who had been scratched from the bout after being charged with physically abusing his wife. [3] There were no knockdowns in the fight (although Buttafuoco twice pushed Laurer to the canvas), and the bout appeared to be competitive overall. Former lightweight champion Ray Mancini, calling the fight for Fox, expressed the opinion that the decision could conceivably go either way. In the end, though, Buttafuoco took a majority decision, with one judge scoring the match even, and the other two scoring it for Buttafuoco by the scores of 29-27 and 29-28.

This post was stolen completely from wikipedia. WIKI is awesome. If you use it, or you enjoyed this article, please support them with a donation.

I think the chick at the gym is into gay porn...

...and by gay I mean man-on-man stuff.

That can be the only explanation for why she continues to give me a locker right next to the only other guy at the gym.

324 freakin lockers in the place and she keeps putting me right next to naked man.

And while we're on it, what ever happened to humility. Humility is good. At the very least its better than some dude standing there for 20 minutes telling me about, AND DEMONSTRATING, his new golf swing while in the nude. Put some damn underwear on man !

There's one guy in particular who has a giant package who I don't think I've ever seen actually work out. NO NO NO, check that....I can't ever remember him having clothes on. Ok dude, you've got a giant apple hanging from a rope...congrats...now put some pants on and go see the world.

Maybe I gotta switch gyms.

Enough of that.

I hooked my laptop up to my TV last night. Now I'm shopping for a stereo to hook up to the both of them. My hope is to be able to use musicmatch jukebox as well as Vongo or some other online movie service to be able to have a virtually unlimited catalogue of music and movies.

I figure that if I'm going to be a big fat fuck, I might as well go pro.

And for the record, I broke 210lbs on New Years Day.

typical work conversation

My Dad is a professional pilot and has the following conversation on a regular basis.

Passenger: When can we leave ?

Pilot: When the storm passes

Passenger: When's that ?

Pilot: Looks like about 2 hours.

Passenger: TWO HOURS !!!! WE CAN'T WAIT THAT LONG. I HAVE BUSINESS !

Pilot: Well I'm not flying the plane in a lightning storm, so unless you plan on flying, we aren't going anywhere.

2 minutes later

Passengerr: Can we go yet ?

Pilot: No. If we go up now we will die in a firey crash.


2 minutes later

Passengerr: Can we go yet ?

Pilot: No.

2 minutes later

Passengerr: Can we go yet ?

Pilot: No.

1 minute later

Passenger: Can we go yet ?

Pilot: ( exasperated) You know what ? YEAH, FINE, YOU WANNA GO THAT BADLY. GET IN THE PLANE.

Passenger: Is it safe ?

Pilot: NO IT'S NOT SAFE, I JUST FUCKING TOLD YOU IT'S NOT SAFE.

Passenger: Oh. Um, OK maybe we should wait.

2 minutes later

Passenger: Is it safe yet ?



Which sadly reminds me of my job anymore.


Concerned Resident and/or elected officiail ..AKA CREO

Busy And Responsible Friendly Servent ( BARFS)...AKA Flick


CREO: The creek is getting flooded, it's because the catch basin is wrong.

BARFS: Hang on a second. Do you mean the catch basin or the construction dentention basin ?

CREO: Whatever. You know the thing with the water.

BARFS: Um, ok Im going to assume you mean the detention basin. Yeah, how is it wrong ?

CREO: The water runs out of it too slowly and it's causing flooding.

BARFS: Well if the water is running out too slowly...how is there flooding ?

CREO: Because the holes are too small.

BARFS: (confused, as usual, by this logic) So you'd want me to ....?

CREO: Fix it.

BARFS: Ok, so despite $10,000 of engineering being done to build the basin, a professional contractor building the basin, an inspector affirming that everything is working properly, and me telling you that the area floods LESS than it has over the last 20 years.....you're telling me that the basin is broke because the holes are too small.

CREO: You got it.

BARFS: And you'd like me to "make the holes bigger" so that the water leaves the basin FASTER.

CREO: Yes

BARFS: And then somehow, through voo-doo magic perhaps, that shoving MORE water...FASTER...into the creek will make the creek flood LESS ?

CREO: Well....whatever you think best.