October 31, 2004
What has changed?
I did not have any trick-or-treaters visit my house tonight. I was ready, with my porch light on a a big bowl of candy near the door. I kept waiting to hear giggles and running footsteps in the yard right before my doorbell rang, but that never happened.
Twice, I went outside to check the street and I never saw kids running from door-to-door anywhere. I had a good turnout last year, and I was looking forward to seeing all the costumes again this year. But they didn't show up. Not a single one.
I'm kinda depressed by that.
I think this a picture of one of the yankees at Blogtoberfest after he tasted some Home Made Wine.
I stole the picture from here.
If I wwere still working today, I don't know if I would have time to blog anymore. I spend AT LEAST one hour every day Blacklisting and deleting spam messages in my comments. They all come from the Usual Suspects (bob, top, angrygirrl, notspam) and when banned on one address, they just come right back with a new one.
Some people are shutting down their comments rather than deal with this shit-lanche and some people are getting off Movable Type because of it. The spammers suck, what they do sucks and they are the scum of the earth, worse than festering boils on a wino's ass.
I rant frequently that we have too many laws in this country, but what these assholes are doing to blogs should be illegal. Even better, just put a bounty on them and reward say, $10,000 per head (or $5,000 per ear if you're into taking kill-trophies) to whoever discovers their true identities and kills them. I'll gladly contribute to the reward fund.
If you emailed me and I didn't reply, your mail likely was deleted because it was buried in spam. Bejus! I HATE those fuckers!!!
I woke up feeling a lot better today. Maybe it was that extra hour I had added to my life last night that did the trick. I missed that extra hour, because I slept right through it, but it must have done me some good.
I felt well enough to drive into town to visit Mama, so I did. Catfish lives along the way, so I stopped by to see him, too. I didn't stay long, because he has three new kittens in the house, and those sharp-clawed little fucks kept trying to climb my legs. I HATE cats.
This last round of chemo did a number on Mama. She spent eight days in the hospital because of the reaction she had to it. She won't know whether or not it did any good until next Tuesday. She's tough, but NOBODY is that tough. I hate to see this crap happening to her.
I also went by to deliver an apology that I owed her for something very wrong, very mean and very shameful that I said to her right before she ended up in the hospital. I shouldn't have done what I did, and I regret it deeply. Mama knows that fact now.
I love you, Mama. And I always will.
a glimmer of sanity
I believe that any person who abuses a child--- either sexually, physically or emotionally--- is one sick sumbitch who should be staked out on a fire ant mound, right after a red-hot poker wrapped in barbed wire is shoved up the abuser's ass. Such people fill me with revulsion.
But the matter has gotten 'WAY out of hand once government decided to "fix" the problem. I submit that today, Child Protection Agencies commit more abuse on children than child abusers do. That's another government agency that looked good on paper, but quickly started to abuse POWER, which always happens when government gets involved in ANYTHING.
If you don't know at least one parent who has had a run-in with a Child Protection Agency, you don't get around much. Some people I know have real horror stories to tell.
It's also another example of the Constitution being turned upside-down, because THEY don't have to prove that you did anything wrong before they sieze your children. You have to prove your innocense to get your children back.
Maybe we can see a faint light, a glimmer of sanity in this case. The fact that it went to court in the first place proves my accusation that Child Protection agencies behave like Islamist goon-squads.
A battered woman's failure to prevent her children from witnessing her own abuse does not automatically give protective agencies license to remove the child, the New York Court of Appeals ruled Tuesday in a groundbreaking opinion.
Lemme get the logic straight... a battered woman should have found a way to prevent her children from witnessing her battering. Since she didn't, and was battered in front of her children, protective agencies should "automatically" have license to sieze the children.
What a crock, so typical of the way protective agencies think.
Tuesday's ruling in Nicholson v. Scoppetta, 113, appears to impose new burdens on both child welfare administrators and Family Court judges. It requires the assessment of individual cases and rejects a one-size-fits-all approach to the problem of domestic violence vis-à-vis its impact on children.
WHAT??? "One-size-fits-all" is the only thing government knows. Having actually to THINK and make decisions "imposes new burdens" on the agencies? Bejus! The HUMANITY!!!
I would much rather the agencies face those burdens than innocent parents, who have carried that load long enough.
Aw... ain't she CUTE! I sure would like to own one.
October 30, 2004
the curse is lifted!
My beloved Jawja Bulldogs beat the despicable Florida Gators this evening, 31-24. I am a happy man and much less ill than I was yesterday. I'm not well yet, but I'm better.
October 29, 2004
i told you I was sick
I finally went to the emergency room last night when the pain in my belly finally became more than I could stand. I felt like the character in the first Alien movie right before that creature came ripping through his guts to run wild on the ship. I couldn't take it anymore.
I didn't have to wait long in the emergency room before I was taken to an examination room, checked out by a doctor and given a saline IV, plus several injections of various medications, including one shot of morphene. That is good shit. The pain went away and I actually fell asleep on the examination table for a while.
They sent me home at 1:00 this afternoon. I didn't like the final diagnosis, but I suspected it on my way to the hospital last night. I was correct. The hospital sent me home today because they don't have any way to treat what I have. Now that they know my problem, they won't give me anything stronger than Darvocet for the pain.
I did receive a menacing lecture about "lifestyle changes," which basically said that I should stop doing everything I like to do, or I'll die. I won't get any better by living a good, clean, sober, smoke-free, well-nourished life, but I'll get worse if I keep doing what I'm doing.
I think that's a tough choice.
Some bloggers will talk about anything.
What's REALLY wrong with Yassir Arafat?
Speaking of media bias, here’s a question you won’t hear in our big papers or on network TV: Does Yasser Arafat have AIDS?
I report, you decide.
October 28, 2004
i hope he dies
That's not a very nice thing for me to say, but we're not talking about a very nice person here. I believe that Yassir Arafat is a lying, murdering, Jew-hating bastard who should have been killed years ago.
The world will be better off without him.
put up or shut up
I received a bad nasty-gram in the mail today. I am about to become a criminal. I've already said what I intended to do if the divorce bullshit reached this point, and now it has. Well... I said I would, and I will.
If this blog suddenly disappears, you can write me at the Effingham County Jail in Springfield, Georgia.
Human beings are gluttons for punishment. Due to some insane, primordial instinct, we INSIST on having children.
A woman spends nine months being pregnant and experiencing hormonal upheavals and the man spends nine months living with that crap. It's a bitch of an experience.
Then, when the precious little bundle of joy is born, it can't do a damn thing for itself. It shits its diaper, pisses all over itself, cries long and loud in the middle of the night and can't tell you what's the matter. YOU have to feed it, YOU have to clean it and YOU have to figure out what's wrong and FIX IT when the banshee howls start at 2:30 in the morning.
You teach the little fuckers to walk and then spend the next ten years yelling, "Sit DOWN! Hold STILL. Come BACK here!" You teach the little fuckers to talk, and you can't shut them up--- EVER again.
Little girls like to scream in a high-pitched voice that will shatter glass. Little boys like to do stupid things and get hurt. If you have a woman-child, buy a set of earplugs to soften those screams. If you have a boy-child, get a good first-aid kit and the phone number for the emergency room of the nearest hospital.
Later, they turn into teenagers and hate your guts for a few years. That's REALLY fun, especially after all the work you've put into raising them. Ungrateful shits.
Still... I wouldn't trade either one of my children for the world. That's flesh of MY flesh and blood of MY blood. That's my one tenuous hold on immortality. My children. I'd go back and do it again tomorrow, even KNOWING what I was getting into.
You'll never feel such overpowering love as when you smell the first breath that your child takes in this world.
If you blog, and if you ever mention where you work (although I never did before I was fired), you may face unpleasant consequences. That kind of crap happens frequently anymore.
I have no regrets. I knew the job was dangerous when I took it. And I would rather write about what's on my mind than work for a company who fires me for doing it. Fuck 'em. They got rid of me but they didn't shut me up.
In MY mind, I won.
I fully expect to see the Democrats eventually lose that headlock they've enjoyed on black voters for the past 40 years. Some polls indicate that the change may begin with this Presidential election.
It'll be a slow process, because old habits are hard to break. But the change will come. Too many black people are doing too well in America today for the trend of voting 92% Democrat to continue.
All of this does not presage a wholesale black realignment toward the Republican party. A significant portion of the black middle class, for example, consists of government workers unlikely to be weaned from the party of government. In addition, the 50-year black allegiance to the Democrat party has fostered a vague perception that to vote Republican renders a black voter "inauthentic." Voting Democrat is often something less than an expression of support for a particular candidate than it is a matter of racial validation and solidarity.
WIIFM will prevail in the end. Blacks will stop casting votes to be "authentic" and start asking, "What's In It For ME?" When that happens, the Democrats will be in real trouble. Their 40-year Tarzan movie is over once the natives get restless.
And they will, as they prosper. That's just human nature.
The kind of enemies a man makes tells a lot about the man's character. George Bush has some pretty sleazy enemies. When I cast my ballot for George Bush earlier this week, I didn't do it so much FOR Bush as AGAINST his enemies, and against John Kerry, a man I utterly despise and distrust.
I agree with this idea:
Above all, of course, Middle Eastern militants. If your bitterest enemies are the sort of people who hack the heads off unarmed, innocent civilians, then I would say you are probably doing something right. This may sound petty. It is not. This constellation of individuals, parties and institutions has very little in common other than the fact that it has contrived to be wrong on just about every important issue of my adult lifetime.
We have a saying down South: "Once burnt, twice learnt." That means when you fuck up one time, admit it and don't do that again.
Leftists never learn that lesson.
October 27, 2004
kids are tough
If you don't read this blog, you should. Kelley is a pretty woman with pretty feet. Oh, yeah... she writes well, too.
If you scroll down from the link above, you can read about how concerned she was for her little boy when he got sick. I know that feeling. But I also know something else from seeing my children become sick. Those young'uns are tougher than we think they are.
They can run higher fevers than we adults can and be okay. They'll appear to be at Death's Door one day and want to run and climb a tree the next. When they recover, they recover fast. Those little shits are as resiliant as a superball. They still have bounce in their legs and in their heads, which are things adults tend to forget about.
If you have a sick child past the age of three, unless it's a REALLY deadly disease, always remember one thing: that kid is probably tougher and more able to cope with the problem than YOU are, if the roles were reversed. It hurts to see them suffer, but they are built for it. That's why they keep growing up and producing children of their own.
I cannot tell any parent NOT to worry about a child. I did worry, and I will again. That's what parents do.
Just admit one fact. Those little fuckers are TOUGH!
that was dumb
I don't believe I did what I just did. I was hungry, so I went to my refrigerator to find something to eat. I looked in the freezer first, I didn't like what I saw there, so I looked in the bottom of the refrigerator, too. I also did not close the freezer door.
I found a big chuck of pineapple that looked pretty good, so I grabbed it and straightened up--- only to damn near knock myself out when my head hit the open freezer door. Bejus! That lick set me down right on my ass. I think I bent the freezer door.
I had a hand on my head and I was saying, "OW! That HURT!" as I watched the pineapple roll across my filthy kitchen floor. I struggled to my feet to close the freezer door. That's when I noticed all the blood on my hand. Oh, great moobley-goobley. I'm bleeding like a suck hog, all over one of my favorite tee-shirts.
Sure enough, I sustained one hell of a scalp wound from that encounter. I grabbed a wad of paper towels, put a compress on my laceration, then added an icepack once I got the bleeding stopped. I thought I might have to go to the hospital and get some stitches, but it doesn't look that bad to me in the mirror.
It's a nice cut, about 4" long, but it's not deep. Now that the bleeding has stopped, you really have to look for it to see it. I believe that I'll be fine with an icepack, a couple of Tylenols and a nap.
That was a stupid thing to do.
what if you have asymetrical hands?
I read this story and I decided to check myself. Yep. I got the results I expected.
I have one feminine hand and one masculine hand.
The ring finger on my left hand is 1/4" longer than my left-hand index finger, but both fingers on the right hand are exactly the same length. I don't suppose that years of playing stringed musical instruments have anything to do with this anomaly, nor does that music stuff apply to the fact that my right and left hands don't appear to belong to the same person.
I have the right hand of a blacksmith. I have the left hand of a guitar player. If you ever get the chance, just LOOK at my hands someday. They really don't match.
I'm no scientist, but I think this study is a bunch of bullshit.
i am not alone
I just KNEW IT!!! somebody else has been to the midnight screenings of "Rocky Horror Picture Show" with a squirt gun, rice, toast and an umbrella. Yeah... I yelled "asshole, slut, asshole, slut," too.
If you've never done that, you haven't lived a full life.
that ain't right
I've got a real problem with this story. What in the hell is a public school system doing using kids as campaigners? Is this a lesson in Civics that I don't understand, or is it a form of child slavery?
Either way, it turns my gut.
Young people in the program organized by the Wisconsin Citizen Action Fund take time from regular classes to go door to door in minority neighborhoods and areas with historically low voter turnout, urging people to cast ballots.
If the kids volunteered to do such things on THEIR OWN TIME, I wouldn't have a problem with this "project." But when the school system TAKES TIME FROM REGULAR CLASSES to perform this crap-dance, I'm calling bullshit. I sent my kids to public school so that they would learn to read and write, not become Democrat operatives. If I were a Wisconsin parent, I would be livid.
Larry Marx, co-executive director of Wisconsin Citizen Action, denied there is any partisanship to the effort, despite the fact the advocacy group supports Democratic Sen. John Kerry.
Nope. No partisanship here. Using taxpayer dollars and little kids to further a Democrat agenda is NEVER partisan. Let the Republicans pull a stunt like that and every leftist in the land would be screaming about the Bush "Hitler Youth Brigades."
Got-dam! Anybody THAT hungry for power shouldn't be given it.
do you own stock?
I own stock in several companies. I invested in those "evil corporations" with the hope of making some money. I want to see those businesses do well, because that's where my dividend checks come from. I don't follow the stocks closely, but I DO check my quarterly returns.
When they do well, I am happy. When they DON'T do well, I am sad.
And when ANY Presidential candidate says that he is determined to make it MORE difficult for American business to do business in America, he makes my blood run cold. WTF? I don't have any money in drug company stocks, but if I did, I'd pull it out right now. Those companies, who have saved thousands of lives through their research, are now villified by Democrat politicians who don't know what the hell they are talking about.
John Edwards knows how to sue 'em. John Kerry knows how to demonize them. The government know how to put them out of business. The flu vaccine shortage is no accident. Government did that.
In the early 1990's there were five companies that made flu vaccines. When Hillary Rodent tried to nationalize health care she failed, but she did have one success. She decided that the gummint should take over vaccinations "for the children". Y'see, she thought that every child rich or poor should be vaccinated and it was the gummint's job to do it.
You can listen to that anti-business horsehit all you want to, but you're a fool if you do. We'd have plenty of flu vaccine if government had stayed out of the fray. Government doesn't create anything and it doesn't deliver anything it didn't steal from somebody else first. Government is the PROBLEM, not the solution. Left alone, people do pretty well by themselves.
You decide. Do you want government to leave you alone, or would you prefer a "Plan" by a dickwit such as John Kerry?
Little children, and all ye others of dimwit understanding, gather around and let me tell you why large companies "outsource" jobs today. Two reasons: Unions and government.
Unions have mutated into a drag on EVERY company that has one, because the Union mentality is "Pay us MORE for doing LESS." The typical Bull Steward doesn't have the nickname "Coffee Break" for nothing. That "I get paid by the hour" bullshit won't fly anymore, either. You can't compete in the modern business world that way. Unions are tearing down their own temples and they don't see that fact.
The government makes it almost impossible to expand an industrial operation today. We have the EPA, the EPD, OSHA and hoarde of environmentalists with their lawyers in tow to scream "NO!" every time a company wants to build something new. I know what I'm talking about.
I once supervised an existing steam plant. We had old, inefficient, highly-polluting boilers there. We wanted to install a new unit, with the low-NOx burner and all the clean-air controls available at the time and the PERMITTING PROCESS cost more than the goddam boiler did, and it took five years to accomplish.
I could have gone to Mexico and built a brand-new steam plant for less money than that one boiler cost. I could have done it in less time, too. The company I once worked for spent $100 million every year for Superfund costs, for cleanups that never end, on land that they never polluted. What utter bullshit.
When a company has to spend $100 million a year jumping through hoops of government regulations, where do you think that money comes from? It damn sure didn't fall from the sky. It comes out of wages, medical benefits and head-counts. That's NOT free ice cream.
John Kerry is gonna fix THAT problem? Yeah, right.
We're cutting our own throats every day and Unions and government share the knife.
what did you expect?
I hope the Presidential election next week is not close, no matter who wins. It has all the signs of a complete fiasco already.
Democrats in Florida already are pursuing nine election-related lawsuits, accusing state election officials of conspiring to disenfranchise minority voters. Led by the Florida Democratic Party, the People for the American Way, the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees and the AFL-CIO, the lawsuits target, among others, Florida Secretary of State Glenda Hood, who was appointed by Republican Gov. Jeb Bush, President Bush's brother.
Pardon me while I puke.
First of all, "disenfranchisement" is not a real word. I believe that Jesse Jackson created it in one of his frequent fits of lunacy. Second, being unable to figure out a ballot is YOUR FAULT, not somebody else's. Third, look at who is behind the lawsuits--- liberals and unions.
That's the American Al-Qaeda today.
October 26, 2004
the world series
I went to the store and bought some beer and chips for the game tonight. I'm not really a big baseball fan--- I think the players are pussies, they spit too much and they dig at their crotches as if they have a case of crabs--- but I'll watch the game because it IS the World Series.
I don't have a dog in this fight, so I really don't care who wins. My Atlanta Braves went tits-up early in the playoffs (again) and that left me with no team to root for. I'd like to see Boston win just to break the Curse of The Bambino, but I can't find it in my heart to pull for such a yankee-assed team. Yes. I am regionally biased.
But I'm not fond of the Cardinals, either. I am in a dilemma here. I don't know which side I'm on. The Cards are down 2-0, so I suppose I'll root for them tonight. My heart won't break no matter which way the game goes.
As long as I don't run out of beer, I'll be happy.
I got another call from those bastards today. The bill I refused to pay months ago when I cancelled my service just keeps growing every month. I figure that I owe them about $15, and I've offered to pay that over and over again. No, that won't work. I now owe them $250 for charges on a service that I don't have.
I was as polite as I could be to the wench who gave me the strongarm call today. I didn't say "FUCK YOU!" one single time, although I DID mention something about wiping my Cracker ass on that bill. I might have thrown "you bunch of thieving cocksuckers" into the mix, too, but I don't really recall.
All I know is, I have offered to pay them what I ACTUALLY owe them and I have refused to pay this bullshit they keep throwing at me. What a company. If you have MCI, get rid of it RIGHT NOW, before it's too late.
I'll die and go to hell before I pay those pricks.
The notorious Red-Headed Slut is an alcoholic beverage that dax montana concocts when he's among the company of friends. Dax is a sadistic bastard and he enjoys watching people walk sideways like crabs on the beach. A couple of Red-Headed Sluts will do that to you.
I've never tasted one. I saw the devastation it did to others, so I steered clear of that lethal stuff. Rather than walk sideways, I preferred to crawl on my belly after a few doses of
But just thinking about the name of that drink made me wax philosophical. I believe that every woman in the world has a red-headed slut locked inside her, no matter what her hair color. She WANTS screaming, multi-orgasmic, wet, wanton, sweaty sex, but sometimes it's difficult to set that beast loose from its cage.
Some wimmen are extremely inhibited and have a strong guilt complex about doing what really comes natural to them. Breaking down those barriers and finding the red-headed slut behind the curtain has been one of my greatest pleasures in life. You ladies don't fool me. You ALL have a red-headed slut inside you.
And if you haven't found it yet, you're seeing the wrong men.
i fell down---again
Did you ever lean over to pick something up off the floor and just keep going down even though your mind was saying, "WHOA!" the entire time? I did that again yesterday. That's happening to me a lot anymore.
I fell on the carpet, so I wasn't hurt (I think I have a knot on the back of my head, nothing serious.) but I really was disturbed by the experience. I was dizzy as a prom queen and I couldn't get up right away. I had trouble deciding which way was up and which way was down until I got myself oriented.
This vertigo shit is a bitch.
I went to the courthouse and told the lady behind the counter that I would be in Costa Rica next week and I wanted an absentee ballot. I showed her a picture ID, she checked the voting roll, found my name and address on it and handed me a ballot. I filled it out right there and handed it in.
I'm NOT going to be in Costa Rica next week, but that was a damn good excuse not to have to stand in line to vote the way I did in the last election. I hate standing in line. My vote is cast now, and I didn't vote for John Kerry.
I didn't really want to vote at all.
rocky horror picture show
I was in an Irish pub in Atlanta a week ago and the place had music videos playing on a big-screen TV. Lo and behold, "Let's Do the Time Warp Again" came on and I was rocking out in my chair while singing along. People stared at me strangely. Nobody else sang along.
Maybe two dozen customers were in the bar. When the song was over, being the mild-mannered, shy guy that I am, I asked, "Didn't any of ya'll see that movie? That's from "Rocky Horror Picture Show," a genuine cult classic. Don't tell me that I'm in a room full of people so culturally challenged that nobody recognized that song."
I couldn't believe it. I thought EVERYBODY saw "Rocky Horror Picture Show" at least once in life, and then probably went back for one of those midnight screenings where everybody dresses in costumes and carries water pistols to make it rain in the theater.
Bejus! That was IDIOT NIGHT, and I had a blast. Once, I dressed as a transsexual in black leather and fish-net hose, with heavy eye make-up and bright red lipstick. I almost broke my ankles trying to walk in those 4" spiked-heel shoes I donned for the occasion. You know what? Nobody gave me a second glance in the theater. (I DID NOT wear that outfit to the Waffle House after the show.)
Oh, I was BEAUTIFUL, but I wasn't dressed nearly well enough to compete with the others there. I saw some... well, never mind.
If you've never seen "Rocky Horror Picture Show," you won't know what I'm talking about.
October 25, 2004
If you're bored and you want to know what operatring a blog is really like, read this. I am seriously thinking about shutting down Gut Rumbles for a while.
I offer free ice cream here, but my site has become spam headquarters, even with MT Blacklist. I spend more time stomping those cockroaches than I do blogging anymore. I suppose that all the spam should be a compliment, but I don't see it that way. I see those people as vandals, and I don't like vandals.
This shit was a lot more fun when I had 100 readers every day.
a debt I owe
I shamelessly stole a picture from this guy's site and I didn't give him credit for it. That's poor blog behavior and I seek to correct it now. He's a cool dude who can hold his
I was a shitass for stealing that picture from your site and not giving YOU credit for taking it. Will you please forgive me?
(Warning: I don't like the way his page is set up. You have to scroll down or you'll believe that nothing's there.)
my football card collection
I started buying football cards when I was SIX YEARS OLD. That was in 1958. In spite of all the things I've had and lost in my life, I've held on to those football cards. I didn't buy them for the bubble gum. I bought them for pictures of my heroes.
I have a team picture of the 1958 Baltimore Colts. I have Johnny Unitas when he was 26 years old. I have "Big Daddy" Libscom. I have "Night Train" Lane. I have Frank Gifford, Pat Summerall, Bobby Layne and Y.A. Tittle. I have a lot more, too.
I don't know what those cards are worth now and I don't care. They aren't for sale. I'd like to give them to Quinton when I die, but I don't believe that he is impressed by them. He never heard of those people.
I grew up with them. And I love my football cards.
I finally have permission from the Mother Ship to tell the story. Three years ago, I was playing my guitar on the back porch when I saw a strange light in the sky. The longer I watched it, the brighter it became and I finally realized that IT WAS A SPACESHIP! LANDING IN MY BACK YARD!!!
The craft resembled one of those take-out chicken fahita salad containers you get at Taco Bell. The see-through top popped open and a strange-looking creature emerged. He said, "Take me to your leader."
I gave him the Vulcan split-finger salute and replied, "Live long and prosper. You're in MY YARD, so I am Tall Dog here. I'm all the leader you need to know."
He pulled some kind of communication device from his pocket and spoke a strange language into it. I was about to go run for a gun, but two VERY ATTRACTIVE aliens, obviously of what passed for females of their species, emerged from the spaceship. They appeared quite sexy to me. I decided to forget about the gun for the moment. The spaceship became invisible.
While I was gawking at the females, that tricky bastard who was first off the ship shot me with some kind of dart. It hit me right in the meat of my shoulder. I don't know what was in that dart, but it made me collapse on my back porch and experience sleepless dreams.
Let me tell you something about alien wimmen. They are insatiable. They have green skin and only one breast, right in the middle of their chest. That one breast has a very large, sensitive nipple on it. I've been accustomed to dual steering in that kind of situation, but you'll be surprised at how easily you adapt to one large breast with one sensitive nipple on a green-skinned woman who has a prehensile tail. Especially if you have TWO of them at one time.
After they raped me and took tissue samples, they cleaned my kitchen, cut my grass and hung around for almost a month, until I had to run them off. Damn if those fuckers can't drink some beer! They like pizza, too.
I don't know where they came from or where they went, but you KNOW it's a true story. You read it on the internet.
Can you believe it? Rosie O'Donnell appeared to talk politics in Florida and almost nobody showed up to hear her rant. That had to hurt the fat rat's feelings (I mean... EVERYBODY LOVES ROSIE, right?). Still, she managed to speak in leftist tongues:
Rosie O'Donnell addressed a nearly vacant CLUB OVATION Saturday night in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida during a get-out-the-vote rally for Dem presidential hopeful John Kerry.
Like, you know, blah, blah, blah. Tap a keg and totally party. Get drunk and go trash a Bush campaign headquarters. Bejus! Do the Democrats really believe that people as stupid as Rosie O'Donnell will influence the vote this year? That woman is about as bright as a 15-watt light bulb.
But the 15-watt light bulbs of this country are the core Democrat base. No wonder they like to hear Cher and Rosie speak (when the audience bothers to show up). She's a CELEBRITY! She must be SMART!
On the news the other night, I saw a perfect example of how the leftist mind works. Some hippy-looking, bearded, John-Lennon glasses-wearing dipstick was mailing letters in support of John Kerry. The theme of his letters was the amazing cleanup of the Hudson River over the past 20 years.
When asked, "Why would any voter in a swing state care about the Hudson River?" the moonbat hippy replied, "Everybody has a river." The gleam in his eye, kinda like the mentor telling grasshoppah to take the pebble from his hand, explained everything to me.
See? That "river" is a symbolic thing that connects us all in the brotherhood of man. John Kerry knows a river when he sees one and George Bush wants to pollute it. If you vote Republican this year, you're against rivers. Plus, if we only could get the terrorists to gather at the river, they'd stop killing people and we could all live in peace. We'll get nekkid, skinny-dip, and have no more war.
I don't know what that fucker has been smoking, but I'd like to try some of it.
October 24, 2004
Democrats can't govern
After living more than half of 100 years, I believe that I have learned a few things about human nature. We have a lot of really shitty people in this world. These folks aren't shitty because of poverty, a lack of international coalitions or because WE are evil. They are just plain shitty people.
Democrats believe that we should "reach out" to shitty people. I don't. You're NEVER going to change a shitty person into a saint by groveling at his feet. If you do THAT, you just showed him that being shitty WORKS for him, and he'll be even MORE shitty after that.
Democrats seem to believe that if we all get together in a group-hug, sing "Kum-Ba-Yah" around a campfire and raise taxes, the world will be a better place. Their mindset is that there ARE no shitty people on the world... only people that we don't understand.
Oh, they'll vandalize Republican campaign headquarters and throw cream pies at Ann Coulter, but that's not shitty behavior, at least not to them. See... there ARE no shitty people in the world. And if you do really shitty things for THE CAUSE, it's not shitty anymore. It's just a natural reaction that any sane, logical person would take given the same circumstances (Yeah. I've been a vandal and pie-thrower all of my life). The shitty people take refuge in the excuse that the act was too deeply rooted in morality for most people to understand.
Democrats believe that we are stupid because we don't understand shitty people. We're not. THEY ARE. But they believe that behaving like a religious cult, forgiving shitty people for being shitty, and gazing at your own navel to understand why some people are shitty is a GOOD thing, for everybody. I don't.
Those mindless zealots scare the shit out of me.
my beloved jawja bulldogs
Georgia beat Arkansas 20-14 last night. That's good. Georgia also racked up over 500 yards in total offense and scored only 20 points. That's bad. My Dawgs worry me this year. They consistently are guilty of four things that championship teams can't do.
#1-- Turning the ball over. Bejus! How many fumbles have we lost in critical situations this year? You can't keep doing that and expect to win.
#2-- Dumbass penalties. I can understand holding penalties and pass interference, because sometimes committing that kind of foul is how you save the quarterback from injury or prevent a touchdown. But these dead-ball personal fouls and brain-dead illegal motion penalties are inexcusable. We can't win doing shit like that and I blame the coaches for not instilling discipline in the players.
#3-- Missed field goals. You cannot win consistently without a good field goal kicker, and ours seems to miss at crucial times.
#4-- No killer instinct. When you get inside the Red Zone, you're supposed to score. All those rushing and passing yards look good in the statistics, but they don't mean shit. The scoreboard is the only stat that counts, and Georgia HAS NOT been able to take it to the house consistently this year inside the opponents 20 yard-line.
That team has a lot of potential, but I don't believe that it'll be realized. I've seen too many teams with less talent do greater things. The Dawgs aren't cohesive and they don't play with the kind of sharp focus championship teams do.
I've never booed the Bulldawgs in my life and I don't intend to start now. The defense is playing well. But the offence is so hit-or-miss that I never know what's coming out of the box. You can't play that way in the SEC and expect to win every weekend.
I hate to say it, but I believe that Georgia will lose AGAIN before the end of the season.
I love to listen to celebrities speak when they don't have a script in front of them. Celebrities seem to believe that anything that flies out of their necks is automatically PROFOUND, because... well, because they are CELEBRITIES.
Take this quote from that noted philosopher, Cher.
"All the gay guys, all my friends, all my gay friends, you guys you have got to vote, alright? Because it would only be a matter of time before you guys would be so screwed, I cannot tell you. Because, you know, the people, like, in the very right wing of this party, of these Republicans, the very very right wing, the Jerry Falwell element, if they get any more power, you guys are going to be living in some state by yourselves. So, I hate scare tactics, but I really believe that that's true."
For someone who hates scare tactics, Cher managed to TRY scare tactics, but she sounded more like an idiot Chicken Little than someone who has a clue about what's going on in the world. That "speech" amounted to a sack of pure drivel.
It's not even worthy of Fisking, because it's just too stupid. If the Republicans win, all gay people will end up, like, y'know... in a SEPARATE STATE, one that's so terrible I can't even tell you about it. But you can see it coming if you go to the right aroma therapist. Use your imagination, the same way I did when I invented this horseshit. Can you see it now?
Cher, sing and get another tattoo or some more plastic surgery. That's what you're good at. When you venture into political discourse, you come across as a complete moron.
The kool-aid drinkers on the left don't notice, but I do.
October 23, 2004
if I'm lucky
I hope that some day one of my children writes something so eloquent and and so touching about me.
"I miss you Daddy, and I love you very much."
That's all I ask. You done good, Kate, and I'm sure that your father is proud of you. That eulogy is as good as it gets for a father.
Scents are known to trigger powerful memories. Which scent "sends you back", to certain events / times in your life?
I'll NEVER smell Old Spice after-shave without thinking of my father. He wore it all his life and to me that will ALWAYS be a Tall Dog scent. When he died and I took his burial clothes to the mortuary, I buried my face in them and cried like a baby before I took them inside.
They smelled of Old Spice.
road warrior, damn you for making me remember that day.
I don't believe in magic. I don't believe in telepathy, the supernatural, witchcraft or ghosts. But in college, I once saw an amazing show and I still don't know how the guy pulled off those impressive tricks.
I can't remember his name, but he billed himself as a "mentalist." The first thing he did when he came on stage was hold up an envelope that held his paycheck for the performance (or so he said). He told the audience that he would give the check to somebody, exit for five minutes and give us a chance to hide it. If he couldn't find it by the end of the performance, he would work for free.
About 500 people were in the room. The President of the Student Council took the check and finally placed it under the asscheeks of a good-looking woman somewhere in the middle of the crowd. "Don't put it in your pocketbook," he said. "Just sit on it." She did.
The performer came back on stage, announced that the FIRST thing he was gonna do was find his money, and he asked for two volunteers who knew where the check was hidden. A lot of hands went up and he picked one man and one woman from the group.
He grabbed their hands, went into some kind of cosmic trance and walked straight to where his check was hidden as if using a divining rod. "Honey, I believe that you're sitting on my money," he said. She stood up and he retreived the envelope. The crowd went wild.
I figured he had a spotter out there working for him that TOLD him where the check was hidden. That's the oldest trick in the book. But he did some other things that blew my mind.
He could add a series of ten four-digit numbers in his head and get the right answer every time. I KNOW that he didn't fake that stunt because I yelled out "1177" and my number went onto the list a person was keeping on a big marker-board behind him. When all ten numbers were recorded, he gave the answer without ever looking at the board. He did that trick five times. He was correct every time.
If he was wearing some kind of wire, I couldn't see it.
He also hyptonized some people and that was a hoot to watch. I tried to volunteer for THAT, but I never made it to the stage. The guy picked a few members of the basketball team and put them to sleep on stage. He told one guy that when he woke up, everybody in the auditorium would be nekkid. He told another one to take off his shoe, hold it over his head and be VERY ANXIOUS about where his shoe was when he woke up. He told another one that HE was nekkid and nobody else in the place was.
He brought them out of their trances and the reactions were incredible. The one who saw everybody nekkid was grinning like a goof-ball. The one with his shoe over his head was distraught about losing his shoe. The one who thought HE was nekkid, covered his private area and almost crawled under his chair.
I don't know if hypnotism really works, but it appeared to that day. I talked to two of those guys after the show and they confirmed that they weren't acting.
If you ever get the chance to see a good "mentalist," take it. You'll remember the experience 25 years later.
I'd lick it off
You can love Ann Coulter or hate her, but throwing cream pies at her is a really childish way to express your political opinions. Isn't that kind of spoiled, bratty behavior SO TYPICAL of Democrats today? The pathetic bastards couldn't even hit their target, either. Isn't THAT kind of behavior typical of Democrats today?
I LIKE Ann Coulter. If she ever gets hit with a cream pie, I'll lick the cream off with my genuine, southeast Jawja Cracker tongue and whisper sweet nothings in her ear while I do it. I would ask her to "talk conservative to me, baby."
She's just got to promise not to probe my "annual" with that long, bony finger. Bejus! If I walked into a urologist's office and saw something like that planning a docking maneuver with my poop-chute, I'd run screaming.
I'm sorry about that last paragraph. I've just become VERY wary of people wanting to enter the exit door of my poop-chute. Prostate cancer will do that to you.
October 22, 2004
what a language
English contains a lot of words that SOUND dirty, even though they aren't. Just roll these words around on your tongue and see if you don't feel dirty and want to brush your teeth afterward.
Ointment. I see that word and I think of pig sex.
Lucrative. I don't know if that's a secretion of bodily fluid or a brand of K-Y Jelly.
Unguent. That sounds like a really bad piece of ass.
Flit. That's a part of the female anatomy, somewhere around that mysterious G-Spot.
Annual. Go visit a urologist. He'll stick a finger up your annual.
Pedantry. If that doesn't sound like a sexual perversion, I don't know what does.
Caliper. That's something nasty that men do to wimmen, but I don't know exactly what it is. I think it involves spurs and a bullwhip.
Hormone. That's a fake orgasm.
Cicada. That's a deadly venereal disease.
Kudzu. That's what leaves a wet spot on the bed after you've performed a caliper.
Ooze. That word is too gross to talk about.
See what happens to me when I get bored?
works for me, too
I happen to like porno movies and I believe that the less plot they have, the better they are. I just like to watch people fuck.
Wimmen, of course, need their fantasies.
Did you hear about the blonde who got a Toy Poodle for her Birthday??
"I'm gonna rip your balls off!"
Have you ever had anyone threaten you with that kind of violence? I have. Usually, the person doing it was as shit-faced as a Boston drunk and couldn't have found my nuts with either hand, but the very idea of having my balls ripped off offended me. I once broke a cue-stick over someone's head for making that kind of comment to me when he owed me $5.00 for losing a game of nine-ball. He actually reached for my balls.
I have led a colorful life.
I'll give a couple of helpful hints to all you bad-asses out there. If you intend to rip somebody's balls off, don't ANNOUNCE it first. Just do it, right out of the blue, where you take everyone by surprise. I didn't warn that guy that I was gonna hit him in the head with a cue-stick. If I'd done that, he might have been ready for me, took the cue-stick from my hand and shoved it right up my ass before he ripped my balls off. Don't TELEGRAPH YOUR INTENTIONS.
Never underestimate your opponent. He may be smaller than you are and he may seem as if he doesn't want to fight, but beware angering a quiet man. You don't know what he has in his pocket. You can end up dead because of a big mouth.
That's just my advice. Take it or leave it.
Alcohol makes a lot of people do strange things. Get a woman tipsy and it's easier to get into her panties. Get lit-up with a friend and all the old stories are funnier than they ever were before, even though you've both heard them 100 times. Meet a bunch of strangers and Demon Rum can certainly be an icebreaker.
Some people do.
Fifteen other people, including a police officer, suffered minor injuries in Boston's Kenmore Square neighborhood near Fenway Park after thousands of baseball fans spilled onto the streets to celebrate the Red Sox triumph Wednesday night at New York's Yankee Stadium. Small fires were set and fights broke out. Boston police reported eight arrests, mostly for disorderly conduct.
That's right. Punish EVERYBODY for the actions of a few dimwits. You GO, daddy!
Government is good at that kind of thinking. Government finds it EASY to intimidate law-abiding citizens. Government is TOO LAZY to go after the actual lawbreakers. Besides, they're afraid to go after the shitheads in the crowd. One of them might be RODNEY FUCKING KING, and everybody knows that THAT thug bastard has a "Get out of Jail, Free," card for life.
What cop wants to take that kind of chance?
I'll confess now, since the statute of limitations has expired, that I once went three years of my life without paying income taxes on a pretty good income. I was a guitar player and I did most of my work for cash. You can't beat being paid in cash. No paper trail and no government finger in your pie. The money's all YOURS, which is like being paid almost 40% more than you actually receive, since you ain't having to pay all the leeches that suck on a normal paycheck.
Take a look at YOUR paycheck and tell me that I'm wrong.
I do a lot of business in cash today. I have friends in low places who don't want government's finger in THEIR pie, either, and a few crisp Ben Franklins laid on the table get me what I want at discount prices. I'm not talking about dope-dealing and illegal shit like that, either. I'm talking about buying a gun, getting my truck repaired or even dealing with a doctor. Greenback dollars talk in a loud voice that the government can't hear.
That money goes straight into somebody's pocket and it never sees a cash register. Oh--- we're ALL crooks for doing it, but who cares? The government is a bigger crook than WE are. Goddam thieves. Fuck 'em every chance you get.
A thriving underground economy exists in the USA today and the reason it will CONTINUE to thrive is because of stupid IRS regulations. I don't believe that income should be taxed at all. For 24 years, the IRS had me by the nutsack and squeezed all the juice it could out of me. All of my income was on a W-2 form and I had no loopholes to slither through. I was RAPED every year. I never took home HALF of what I earned in those days.
When my brakes went bad on my truck, I took it to a garage. The mechanic gave me a quote for the repair. I said, "What if I pay cash?" The quote immediately dropped by 25%. He did the job and I paid cash. Uncle Sam never knew about that transaction.
That's what you get when government tries to boss everybody and have a finger in every pie. It becomes a game. People are creative and inventive and they have NO respect for the government grab-apples who steal money that doesn't belong to them. So, they figure out ways to fuck the government before the government fucks them. And they are GOOD at it.
I submit that we abolish the IRS and go with a 10% national sales tax. If you tithe to GOD, he asks only 10% of your money. And he's GOD!!! What the fuck did the Federal Government ever do to deserve 40% of my money?
Nothing, that's what. And I'll cheat 'em every chance I get.
Jim wondered why he couldn't find a urinal in that bathroom.
i feel his pain
I know that's a cliche now, but I know EXACTLY how this guy feels. I've broken bones, been knocked unconscious, had teeth pulled and slammed my hand in the car door a few times, and all of that stuff hurt. But the pain was NOTHING compared to having my heart broken.
When you love and trust somebody only to have them betray you, the pain is PHYSICAL. You feel it in your gut and it hurts like hell-- it's just as real as a bullet wound. But the worst part is the PSYCHOLOGICAL pain that goes with it. That pain eats away at your mind day and night. You can't eat. You can't sleep. You feel as if you have a wild animal caged in your chest and it's trying to claw its way out.
You wonder "How could she do this to me?" but that's a waste of time and emotion. She did it. Period. There's no sense in wondering why. You can't change what happened.
She showed you a part of herself that you never saw before, and upon seeing that part, your logical mind tells you that you're better off WITHOUT such a bloodless cunt. But your heart just won't let go. A lot of time is required to heal that kind of wound, and even then--- that scar still bothers you from time to time and it probably will forever.
Don't even get me started on children in that situation. What effect will this crap have on THEIR lives? Daddy is out the door one day and some other asshole is in mama's bed the next.
Kids may not understand it at the time, but some fine day down the road, a child will look back on such crap and see it for what it was. Mama slutted on Daddy. Explain THAT away when your teenager gets in trouble and responds to your morality lecture with, "Don't get righteous on me. You did a hell of a lot worse, bitch."
Right now, Misha is stunned and reeling, but he's yet to experience the best part. I am not familiar with Texas divorce law, but if it's anything like that fool shit we have in Georgia, he'd better grease his asscrack, because the fucking is coming. He'll learn to despise lawyers, courtrooms and judges as much as I do.
If it's any consolation, Emperor, times passes and the pain lessens. It never goes away, but it gets better. You can do it.
October 21, 2004
Bloggers I've met
I think I have them all on the roll now, and I hope that the list gets longer. I've never had a bad experience meeting a fellow blogger. In fact, I've enjoyed some really good times doing that. But I'll tell you a few things that all of the people on my roll share in common:
*They ain't shy.
*They talk loudly and they talk a LOT.
*They sound articulate, coherent and intelligent even when they don't have a clue what they're talking about.
*They drink prolific amounts of alcohol and abuse tobacco products with big grins on their faces.
*They get LOUDER when they get drunk.
*If humility was measured on a scale of 1-to-10, most of those people would score 11.
* NONE OF THEM looked the way I thought he or she would before we met.
* But they ALL behaved the way I expected them to.
* Some of the wimmen are damn good-looking. They'll paint you toenails if you hold still for them.
* Some of the men are all mouth and no ass, but I like them anyway.
* I hope that some of those people remain my friends for the rest of my life. They are good folks.
If you blog, make an effort to meet a few other people who do the same thing. You won't regret the experience, even if your mama is the only person who reads you. You'll be accepted, made to feel right at home and probably drunk on your ass by the end of the night.
Try it. You'll LIKE it.
I think I do
Got any elvis in you?
i am ashamed
I can't BELIEVE that I agreed with Kerry 33% of the time. I thought that I was smarter than that.
(Shamelessly stolen from here.)
things I know
Here is a list of things that I KNOW, but I can't prove.
#1-- Osama Bin Laden is dead.
#2-- John Kerry would make a shitty President.
#3-- Dan Rather lied KNOWING that he was LYING and he thought he could get away with it.
#4-- Julia Roberts is not pretty nekkid, with no make-up.
#5-- Teresa Kerry may suck, but she doesn't swallow.
#6-- Barbra Streisand has a very high opinion of herself, but a low IQ.
#7-- Michael Moore wears drawers big enough to serve as a circus tent. He has racing stripes in the back and he never washes them. His idea of a shower is half a can of Right Guard sprayed on his stinking armpits.
#8-- We will win the war on terror, but we will lose the war on drugs.
#9-- I'm going to jail one of these days for Contempt of Court. I'll be guilty as hell, too. Actually, "contempt" is too kind a word to describe my feelings about our court system.
#10-- Democrats will cheat more than Republicans do in the next election, then they'll whine about "disenfranchisement" and other such shit the way poor losers do when they lose the election. Lawyers will come swarming out of the woodwork to sue everywhere.
I may be wrong, but I don't think so.
another new gun
I had a dream... I dreamed that I bought a revolver, a 5-shot .22 derringer in its own little belt holster. I also dreamed that I bought a box of magnum rounds for it, too. I dreamed that it cost me $225 for the whole kit and kaboodle, everything brand-new. I dream VERY vivdly sometimes.
That sure is a pretty little piece. I wish that I ACTUALLY owned one.
If you don't know what that term means, go read this. It's a beautiful post that tugs at my heartstrings.
The only difference between a lint-head and a coal miner is the color of what's in his hair at the end of a working day.
I am a natural-born flirt. I am NOT ashamed of that fact, either. I'll flirt with young girls, old ladies, fat wimmen, skinny wimmen, good-looking wimmen and plain Janes. I flirt with ALL wimmen.
What's wrong with just saying something nice to someone you don't know? One of the things I hated about my few brief sojourns up north was the fact that people don't SPEAK to each other or LOOK at each other the way we do down South.
I'm not talking about being a leering, braying jackass. That shit will get you shot where I live, and a woman might do it, too.
I'm talking about just being nice and outgoing and being polite to people when you can. I don't see anything wrong with telling a woman I don't know that she looks good, or that I really like her hair or that she has a beautiful daughter. Most Southern wimmen appreciate such attention. I've never been slapped for doing such things, but I have been kissed a couple of times.
Southern wimmen know how to flirt, too. In fact... I think they wrote the book on that subject. They know how to dangle that golden fruit just beyond your reach and laugh quietly when you fall on your ass going for it. They are heartless and incorrigable and I love 'em all.
I want to start a National Flirting Day, where every man, woman and child in this country MUST go out and FLIRT with somebody. Say something nice, complement somebody's looks, kiss a stranger. Be bold. Flirt your ass off.
We'd be a better country if we adopted my idea.
I am an adverturous guy. I'll try almost ANYTHING once, and if I like it, I'll do it again. One thing I'm always willing to do do is try new food, no matter how disgusting it may look or smell. I have eaten:
*Rattlesnake. Didn't like it. Too bony and it tasted like rotten fish.
*Armadillo. That wasn't bad. Tasted a lot like pork.
*Possum. I was drunk when I did that. I don't remember what it tasted like, but I ate it.
*Racoon. If you see one of those critters barbecued, it resembles a giant rat. I had to close my eyes before I could eat that shit, but I did. It really wasn't bad, especially with all the seasoning on it. I went back for a second helping.
*Alligator. A gator-tail steak is delicious when cooked properly. It's beautiful white meat that tastes like a strange combination of fish and chicken. I highly recommend that you try it if you ever get the chance.
*Duck. I agree with Catfish. Too dark and too greasy for my taste. I like shooting them better than eating them.
*Quail. That's a damn good-tasting bird, but there ain't much to 'em. I've never eaten anything other than the breast-meat, and even that is about the size of your two thumbs pressed together, even for a good-sized quail. Cleaning those fuckers is more work than it's worth.
*Squirrel. In a pot of dumplings, that tree-rat tastes pretty good. My grandfather liked the brains with his scrambled eggs. I never got a chance to try that delicacy because he always hogged them all. But I REALLY like shooting those things.
*Turtle. Fried, it sucks. But in a stew or soup, it is delicious.
*Goat. Tastes like beef. Those may be nasty-assed, horny critters, but they taste good. I just don't know if I could kill and butcher one today. I became too attached to my goats on the mini-farm. They had personalities.
*Rabbit. Tastes a lot like squirrel. Rabbit is better with dumplings or in a stew than it is straight-up, although I'll eat it either way.
*Frog. Frog legs are delicious. I LOVE 'em. Tastes like chicken, only the meat is more tender.
*Snails. Yeah, I know it's a French thing, but those rascals taste just like a beef steak. I can eat 'em 'till I pop when they are served with butter and garlic.
*Shark. If you cut out a good steak away from the asshole, a shark's tail makes excellent fodder for the grill. That's a nice chunk of fish meat, but I recommend marinating it overnight before you cook it. Fresh shark sometimes tastes gamey.
*Conch. Put it in a chowder or soup, and cut it up into small pieces. Trying to eat a chunk of conch meat is like chewing on a rubber ball. The more you chew, the bigger it gets. It's good, but you've got to tenderize it before you can eat it.
It's almost time for lunch. I wish you a hearty appetite.
October 20, 2004
Have you ever shot a live animal stone-cold dead? I have, many a time, and I never felt any guilt or hesitation about it. I saw the target in my sights, I squeezed the trigger and I was delighted when I laid that rascal low.
Some people can't do that.
We call it "buck fever" down South, when a good shot misses an easy target because he gets all tangled up in THINKING about the animal instead of shooting. I've seen it occur many a time. I don't know why that shit happens, but it does.
I've never shot at a human being. I've confined my killing to pelt-wearing, fuzzy-tailed critters, birds, or slimy reptiles that sometimes threatened ME first. But I really don't think I would hesitate to put a round or two through a person, if I was bound and determined to do it. I hope that I never find myself in that situation, but I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't flinch.
I've never had buck fever in my life.
I went to the IGA grocery store today and bought some fingernail polish remover. I didn't do it because I'm ashamed of my bright red fingernails. I kinda like 'em. But that polish is getting chipped and raggedy-looking now, and I have a choice--- either repaint my nails or take the polish off. Painting my nails all by myself would be no fun at all, so I opted for door #2.
The woman at the cash register in the store didn't give me a second look. I asked her, "How many times do guys with red fingernails come in here and buy polish remover? Is this like... something you see every day?"
She was a black woman, very attractive, and probably in her early 30s. She said, "Honey, I didn't notice your fingernails. I just ring up the purchase and give the right change. I remember very few customers I see every day."
I think that's sad.
I was determined that she was gonna remember ME, so I asked her what she thought of my red nails. "Looks like you fell asleep too early after drinking," she replied. "Them wimmen ganged up on you, didn't they?"
When I told her that I was awake and I CONSENTED to the paint job, she simply shook her head. "You're one of those CRAZY white boys, aren't you?"
I confirmed that I was, then I gathered up my purchase. As I was leaving, she said, "Your nails look GREAT! If you have another party like that one, invite ME. I'll do your toes."
I didn't have the heart to tell her that someone already beat her to that punch.
I have decided that I am one crazy mo-fo. The body doesn't work the way it once did, and a lot of that fact has to do with the crazy, mo-fo shit I did in my younger days. But there's very little of my past that I would swap for something else. I've enjoyed my life. I squeezed the juice out of it.
*I've made music with some famous people.
*I've been to bed with more wimmen than most men have.
*I've seen my writing published.
* I've been flat-assed broke.
* I've had a lot of money.
* I've owned more than I ever thought I would.
* I lost it all and I didn't die.
* I have known True Love. I also have known True Heartbreak.
* I trust very few people in this world, but the ones I DO trust, I trust deeply. I have never swallowed a more bitter pill than to have one of those people I trusted betray me.
* I like the mountains better than I do the beach.
* I don't want to live forever.
* I like guns. I once was an excellent marksman, but I'm not as good now as I once was. My eyesight has declined and I don't have the steady hands I once did. I can still shoot, but not like I could 25 years ago. Where did THAT boy go?
* I'm not done yet.
I became very excited today when I was attacked by the vengeful mockingbirds. I really thought those fuckers were setting me up to go for my eyes. I wasn't certain that I could escape. The old adrenalin pump kicked into high gear.
Even in that height of madness, I remember thinking--- "What if you can't get away? You can't call 911 and tell the Effingham County EMS that a bunch of BIRDS beat your ass and put your eyes out. They'll laugh their asses off at you. So will the birds."
By the hair of my teeth, I made it safely back inside and the mockingbirds seem to have simmered down now. I stuck my head out the back door a few minutes ago and I wasn't attacked immediately, so maybe I'm being forgiven.
But I gotta say one thing. Becoming very excited surely does make you feel alive for a few glorious moments, doesn't it? You feel a tingle in your body and all kinds of primitive instincts come bubbling up from the primordial swamp to give you the "fight or flight" impulse your simian ancestors had. You can FEEL it, and it feels GOOD.
Now I know for sure why people toss themselves out of perfectly good airplanes, ride roller-coasters, bunji-jump, haul-ass on motorcycles and like horror movies. Civilized life is pretty boring most of the time. I believe that human beings crave thrills, if they have any imagination at all. I know that I do.
And I had a good one this morning.
I really wish that I understood what this guy is talking about. I don't understand; therefore, he frightened me.
I'll bet you that John Kerry has a "plan" to fix this kind of crap.
how stupid are we?
The person who taught me most of what I know about steam generation and boiler operation was a water-treatment consultant. He started out working for TVA when he was eighteen years old, fired a lot of pulverized coal boilers, ran turbine generators and then became fascinated with water treatement. He ended up being a regional sales manager for a LARGE and well-known water-treatment corporation.
He quit his job and started his own company. He knew his shit and he was damn good at what he did. I didn't want anyone else handling MY water treatment for the boilers. He never let me down when I needed knowledge in a hurry, and he bailed me out of some serious fuck-ups with the softeners and demineralizers. I came to consider him my friend.
He was the first person ever to explain the "scare 'em, then save 'em" theory of salesmanship to me. You go into a place, tell them that there's a monster loose and you're the only person who can slay it. If you pitch the call right, it'll be like telling little kids a scary bedtime story.
That's how you sell ANYTHING, from water-treatment, to insurance--- and yes, a President.
Look at the rabbits Kerry is pulling out of his hat now. Bush is gonna cut Social Security. Bush is gonna take away your health care. Bush is gonna reinstate the draft. Vote for ME, and that horrible, booger-man stuff won't happen. I'll SAVE YOU!!! It's all pure bullshit, but it's EXACTLY the way the "scare 'em, then save 'em" plan goes.
Do we really have enough people in this country gullible enough to believe this crap? Do we not recognize a con-man when we see one?
I don't know anymore. Costa Rica is looking better and better to me.
i hate this
I was watching the news this morning when I heard a loud "THUMP" against my French window back door, followed by the pitiful chirping of a wounded bird. I KNEW what had happened, but I went to check anyway.
Sure enough. A young mockingbird thought that it could fly right into my kitchen and never realized that a window was in the way. It hammered itself against the glass and died on my patio amid a plethera of lost feathers. I went to get my shovel to bury the poor, dead thing and suddenly found myself in the middle of an Alfred Hitchcock movie.
I was ATTACKED by at least FOUR mockingbirds, who seemed to hold ME responsible for the young bird's death. They screeched. They hollered. In mockingbird language, they cussed my Cracker ass out. Then, they swooped down and pecked the shit out of me.
While one would occupy my attention from the front, another one would fly in from behind and snatch out a hank of hair from my head. If I turned to face THAT one, another one came in from behind and did the same thing. Bejus! I was outnumbered and they were too fast. I had to retreat back into the house.
I've had that family of mockers living in the woods behind my house since I moved into the Crackerbox. I know where the nest is and I've always left them alone. I like those aggressive, take-no-prisoners birds. They remind me of ME.
I thought I had a deal with the Big Daddy. He never liked hearing me play guitar on my back porch, but he seemed satisfied by landing on my phone line and trying to out-sing me. My music appeared to piss him off royally, but he didn't get a cherry there. I kinda liked pissing the old boy off.
And I didn't kill his young'un this morning. Honest. That bird augered into my window and killed itself. The young, dumb shit should have known better. But how to you explain that fact to a grieving, vengeful flock of mockingbirds?
I'm afraid to go outside now.
you had to look at it the right way
I stole this picture and the ones below from the supine one, Dax Montana. Gravity was a force to be reckoned with for several of us last weekend.
a second victim
jim fell into the clutches of kelley and got himself a paint-job, too. That's me whispering encouragement in his ear.
Hah! He LISTENED to me, too!!!
how it started
It seemed like a good idea at the time. I was whispering, "Please don't hurt me."
the end result
I'd let that woman do anything she wanted to with me.
October 19, 2004
what I want right now
#1-- A bottle of fingernail polish remover would be handy.
#2-- A good back-rub. I'd like that a lot.
#3-- Some Chinese food. Ho-ho! I'm having that delivered to my house. Never mind. I'm going to get this one.
#4-- Somebody to play guitar with. I broke out the twelve-string today and I really wish I had taken it to the Blogfest. That guitar would have added something to all those six-strings.
#5-- My son. I sure do miss that boy. What my ex-wife is doing to me just ain't right.
#6-- A reason to believe. Any reason about anything.
#7-- I'd like to talk to my father tonight. I have a lot on my mind and he was a wise man.
#8-- I wish that there was a football game on television tonight. I love football.
#9-- I wish I still had a good dog. I'd like to pet it right now. I love dogs.
#10-- A second chance. I want to call a "mulligan" on life and tee up another ball with no penalty strokes.
I get this way sometimes in the evenings.
yeah. that's me
I was attacked by Amazon wimmen who tied me to the bed, raped me mercilessly, over and over again, and then painted my fingernails and toenails red. Honest. That's what happened.
I wouldn't LIE to you about something like that.
the chatahoochie river
That water is cold!
I don't believe this crap. Any jackasses who elect Ted Kennedy and John Kerry over and over again can't be very smart.
My aching ass. I think a bunch of fucking yankees put that "survey" together.
don't offend anybody!
We have morphed into such a scare-wary nation that people can't make jokes anymore. Not even fucking COMEDY WRITERS!!!
I've got news for people who use the law to sue for their own neurotic phobias. THE SUN DOESN'T RISE AND SET IN YOUR ASS!!! Get over your delusions and accept the fact that you may be offended from time to time, because you aren't sealed in bubble-wrap and the world doesn't always go the way you want it to go. That's called "LIFE."
Buncha whining pussies.
That's what happens when Congress brain-farts ANY legislation that mentions "Fairness," "Equal" or "Children" in the title. It won't be fair, it won't be equal and it won't have a damn thing to do with children. What WILL happen is that the lowest, pea-brained, dip-shit, unable-to-cope, fucked-up people in the country will make THEIR STANDARD of behavior YOUR STANDARD of behavior.
If you don't believe me, just look at what the Americans With Disabilities Act, sexual harassment law, the EEOC, hate-crime law, the EPA, the Endangered Species Act (you know the species that's REALLY endangered? Free Americans.), "Civil Rights" that apply only to one group of people and a list of other such bullshit has done to America. That crap didn't make us a better nation. The laws enriched lawyers, and catered to the lowest common denominator among us.
If our goal as a nation is to make everybody immune from "hurt," we're barking up the wrong tree. Life ain't fair and no law will ever make it that way. If we're out to raise a generation of whining wimps, totally dependent on government, we're on the right track.
Why would government want to do that? If you don't know, I'd be wasting my time trying to explain.
Personally, I think a good dose of hurt is good for you, from time to time. It makes you stronger.
getting all worked up
I woke up with TWO ear-worms this morning. I had "Billy, Don't Be A Hero" and "Reason To Believe" BOTH running around my brain. Bejus! I didn't know which song to sing in the shower this morning, so I tried to run them both off by singing show tunes.
Yeah. I laid "Oklahoma" on them and I followed with "They Call the Wind Mariah." That plan didn't work. As soon as I got out of the shower, the ear-worms attacked again. If "Billy, Don't Be a Hero" isn't one of the most suck-ass songs ever written... well, I don't know a suck-ass song when I hear it.
I can understand having "Reason to Believe" stuck in my head. I believed that I would be in court today, until my lawyer called about the postponement. That was great news, because I really didn't want to go. I'm tired of being fucked by a system that operates like a got-dam meat-grinder. I am the meat, too.
"If I listen long enough to you
I once loved my ex-wife more than I loved anyone else in the world. Hell-- I didn't just LOVE her, I WORSHIPPED her. I thought she was everything I wanted in a partner, a lover and a friend. I was mistaken.
I learned to recognize enemies a long time ago, and I know how to dodge or defend against their attacks. I see them coming and I take counter-measures, or I launch counter-attacks. That stuff was easy to do.
But I've never known ANY pain so awful, so exquisite and so DEEP than being betrayed by someone I trusted. "Et tu, Brute?" I know full and well what that line means now. I've lived it.
"Someone like YOU
I am happy that I don't have to go to court today. I don't know how I managed to fall in love with the wrong woman, but I did. I don't understand why she treated me the way she did, but she did. That crap is all blood under the bridge now. I went there, I did that, and I am paying the price for my mistakes.
And... Bejus help me... a part of me still loves her today.
"If I gave you time to change my mind
That one is NOT a good worm for my ear.
Blogger incest is one of the topics we discussed before we all went apeshit late at night at Blogtoberfest. If you blog for a while (I'm coming up on my THIRD Birthday in December), you find a select few people that you read every day. You link to them and they link to you.
You read other blogs, too, but it's just not the same. I believe that I KNOW the ones in my incestuous family, whether I've met them or not. I LIKE those blogs, whether they have high traffic or not. Those are the folks that I am certain I could share a couple of beers with and enjoy lively conversation with no fist-fights afterward.
Do YOU have your own blog-network? If not, GET ONE!!!
he liked it
I enjoyed meeting jim and his bodyguard.
Welcome to a Southern party, bro.
damn! that's the way I feel
My only complaint with my blogfather's site is that he seldom says what he really thinks. I was surprised by this post.
2. I do, in fact, support the reelection of George W. Bush, for reasons that should be clear to long-term readers. While I'm not overjoyed with Bush (I'd prefer Lieberman/Cheney, or Cheney/Lieberman), I think that electing John F. Kerry at this juncture would be like electing the ugly bastard child of Jimmy Carter and Millard Fillmore -- in 1940. (I could be wrong, of course, and if Kerry should happen to be elected, I fervently hope to be proven so. But that's how it seems to me. I mean, Jesus, just look at the guy.)
I truly believe that John Kerry is the last person in the world we want running our country right now. That dickhead has been nothing but a self-aggrandizing, social-climber all his life and he's never done diddly-squat as a Senator for 20 years. If that Lurch-looking prick has any balls, Te-REH-sa has them locked in a vault along with her billions, and she doesn't let John play with them unless SHE says so.
I'm NOT a big fan of George Bush. But I see this election as a choice between the lesser of two evils and John Kerry loses hands-down when I use that "litmus test." Kerry doesn't have the starch to fight a war (yeah, yeah, yeah... he manufactured a lot of medals in Vietnam while Bush stayed home. BFD. Kerry is not a Tall Dog and he'll lick Koffi Anons' ass when push comes to shove.)
Give me a cowboy over a New England wimp anytime.
I don't WANT to make "friends" with our enemies. I want them dead before they kill any more of US.
Kerry doesn't see the world the way I do. He grew up pampered and rich. I scrapped for everything I have. I also know that bad guys will lie to you, and you're a fucking fool to believe those lies. You don't hold a Summit Conference with a liar. He'll simply lie to you some more.
If Kerry thinks the United Nations is where we need to go for a "global test" for what we NEED to do, he's out of his freaking mind. The UN is a corrupt, anti-American organization. Period. The UN WANTS US TO FAIL. Kerry can stick his "global test" right up his rich ass. If I were President, I wouldn't give a lovely fuck about what the UN said about ANYTHING I did.
If the President pisses the UN off, what are they gonna do? Pack their bags and go back to their Third World homelands in protest? I don't think so. They LIKE all the comforts and perks they get in the USA. You couldn't drag those envious bastards out of here with a back-hoe.
I don't trust John Kerry. He doesn't think about America the way I do. He doesn't know how to handle being Tall Dog. Bush, for all his shortcomings, KNOWS what being Tall Dog is about, especially in time of war.
Given the choice between those two, mine is simple.
lies! all lies!!!
You can believe this shit if you want to, but that ain't the way I saw it, and I saw all of it TWICE for most of the weekend.
Or I saw double. I don't remember....
All I know is that Geoffrey and Gordon DID stay up late at night--- after sleeping until 5:00 in the afternoon and crawling out of bed about the time everybody else was roaring drunk and had been partying since 9:00 that morning.
I STILL submit that they are a bunch of pussies.
October 18, 2004
Somebody laid this quote on me the other day and I've been thinking about it ever since. "All a poor person has is his word. If he loses THAT, he ain't worth nothin'."
Think about it. What is YOUR word worth to YOU? Even better, what is your word worth to OTHER people?
Honesty is NOT the best policy. I've learned that fact by paying for mistakes I made by being honest. You've got a whole bunch of crooks out there who PREY on honest people. Fuck. Just look at the U.S. Congress. Those soul-less asswipes are everywhere, and you'd better watch out for them.
Still, I keep my word.
That's important to me. I pay my bets when I lose and I do what I say I'm going to do. If I shake your hand and say, "It's a deal," we've got a deal. I don't need a lawyer to hand me a stack of paperwork for signatures and notorization if YOUR word is as good as mine.
I know a lot of people who are just like me in that regard. I also know many others who would steal the gold out of a dead man's dentures and lie their asses off about doing it, even if caught red-handed. YOU know people on both sides of that equation.
Wisdom is being able to tell the difference.
I've mentioned many times before that I dance like a fucktard. It's the truth. I've played all kinds of music most of my life and I KNOW that I have a sense of rhythm and tempo.
But I still dance like a fucktard.
I watched a line-dancing group perform when I was in Helen (all the yankees except Jim were still asleep-- Jim saw them, too) and that appeared to be a load of fun to me. The couples were good enough and made dancing look like such a hoot that several little kids got bugs in their feet and started dancing in front of the stage. The kids were better than I am. I loved watching that show, especially from the kids.
Maybe dancing is a natural human instinct. If so, I don't have it.
I dance like a fucktard.
If you want to know what it was REALLY like, just read this post. Cat worried about coming at first, because he said, "I don't know any of those people and I haven't been blogging very long. I'm big, loud and obnoxious."
I assured him that he would make friends and fit right in. He took me at my word and I don't believe that he was disappointed. Big, loud and obnoxious is NO PROBLEM at a blogfest. In fact, those qualities are assets.
Besides--- EVERYBODY there was loud and obnoxious.
I don't know whether I have a reprieve or if I'm simply postponing the inevitable. My lawyer called me today (finally!) and asked me to get in touch with the HR people in Oklahoma City to see if my retirement settlement would be on a W-2 form or a 1099 form. I called. Lo and Behold! It's a 1099! Somehow, my money just went from income to retirement in one fell swoop.
Jennifer can't touch that.
She can still nail my ass over the double-dip PAY I received last year, and getting that stupid "domestic violence" order lifted may be difficult, but this is the first light in the tunnel that I've seen in a while. Plus, I don't have to go to court tomorrow. I have another continuance.
Hell... maybe I can put that shit off until I die.
official jawja blogger
This man paid his dues and earned his stripes. He is an official Jawja Blogger, no matter where he lives. I like his style.
Besides, he didn't steal somebody else's beer, talk shit at 4:30 in the morning and then sleep until 5:00 the next day the way some yankees did. Jim can hang with Southerners.
I annoint you, sir, and the rest of the Southern crew agrees.
i don't understand it
Tomorrow is the Big Day in court, where my bloodless cunt of an ex-wife will eviscerate me the way the British priests did Mel Gibson in Braveheart. I don't know why she wants to do this to me. I really don't.
I was good to that woman. I paid her out of debt and helped her get to the position she has at work today. I never raised my hand to her. I've never raised my hand to ANY woman. We seldom argued about anything. I loved her and I trusted her.
Speaking of Braveheart, do you remember the scene when William Wallace fought the knight on horseback, took him down and tore off his mask to discover that it was Robert the Bruce trying to kill him? Mel Gibson did a good job of showing how all the starch can run out of somebody all at once in the face of that kind of betrayal.
I KNOW that feeling.
Why Jennifer wants to drag me into court AGAIN is beyond my understanding. Why she wants to rape and pillage what little I have left of my life is beyond my comprehension. I would never do that to ANYBODY, let alone someone I lived with for ten years and the person who fathered my son.
It's not about money, because she has plenty of that. It's about scorched-earth VENGENCE, plain and simple. I will be a victim of her petty wrath tomorrow because I am a man and she is a woman, and the judge will side with her.
I am the bad guy, even though I never fucked around during our marriage (she did), I didn't run off with someone else when my spouse was diagnosed with cancer (she did), and I've never used my son as a weapon against her (she has against me).
None of that shit matters. I'll lose big tomorrow.
I have a tee-shirt and a new mousepad, both souvenirs from Blogtoberfest. I also have a very nice leather holster for the Ruger Blackhawk .357 magnum that I don't own. If I actually owned that gun, it would look damn good hanging on my hip from that holster.
Maybe I'll buy that pistol one of these days. In the meantime, I'll just enjoy my tee-shirt and my mousepad.
it wasn't wasted
We utilized everything in the care package. I had my fingernails and toenails painted red, we smoked the cigars (DON'T YOU LIGHT THOSE STINKING THINGS IN MY ROOM, " quoth Georgia) and we dumped that
Yeah. I remember now. We poured that stuff in the river and then drank the river.
I'll have to modify my blogroll sometime today, because I met a few bloggers that I never knew in person before. We had a good time. How we didn't get tossed out of the hotel and into jail remains a mystery to me. We weren't quiet. We raised hell. We got lubricated.
And if anybody there got laid, it wasn't me. Musta been the red fingernails.
pickin' and grinnin'
I had the chance to play guitars with this guy for the first time, and for a Grouchy Old Cripple, he ain't half-bad. He sings well, too. He's got a really good four-finger picking style that I like a lot.
this guy likes a lot of the same old folk and early rock-n-roll music that I do. We hit it off well and sang some good harmony. (At least it sounded good to US. We were well-lubricated at the time.)
I believe that Blogtoberfest was a roaring success because we didn't leave a single dead body behind. Most of us were HALF-DEAD when we departed, but we weren't zombies.
Let's do it again next year.
I'm not sure who was wearing this outfit. I believe it was this guy. After all, he IS the one who brought the bullwhip.
I see red
I'm not sure how it happened, but it must have seemed like a good idea at the time. I have my fingernails and toenails painted red now. I'm pretty sure that Georgia painted my fingers and this sweet thang painted my toes. I dunno. A lot of fog was hanging in the air that night.
Wimmen will take advantage of you. Just ask this guy, who also ended up with red toenails that night. He came by my room to say goodbye yesterday and said that he almost shit himself in the shower when he looked down and saw red toenails on HIS OWN FEET.
He didn't remember volunteering for the paint-job. That's what good
I kinda like my red fingernails. My toenails look pretty, too. Maybe I'll wear them to court tomorrow.
a day that will live in infamy
Catfish and I stayed in a Day's Inn just five minutes from the Atlanta Airport Thursday night. His back was hurting, so he took some of his pain-pills and went to sleep. I walked across the parking lot to a small Irish pub I saw when we checked in.
That's where I met a bartender nicknamed "Short-Stack." She's about 4' 9" tall with a rack that... well, let's just say she was hung heavy in the front. She knew how to pour a draft Guiness, too. (Her real name was "Mary Jane," and we had some fun with that, too.)
I staggered back to the room shortly after dark and slept like a rock. Catfish says that I snore. I don't believe him.
We arrived at Hartsfield Airport at 11:05 the next day. We were supposed to pick up mama montezz at 11:49. We were in good shape. Right where we were supposed to be and right on time.
The only problem is--- Mama ain't on that 11:49 plane. At first, we thought she might be lost in the airport, so we had her paged by both her real name and her blog name and we never received a reply. We looked around for her. We waited for the next flight. No Mama.
Shortly after 2:00, we decided that she shined us and we left for Helen, only to get caught in one of those horrendous Atlanta traffic jams that proved once again to me why there ain't enough money in the world to pay me to live there. Bejus! Driving there is like Big Ten Football. Three yards and a cloud of dust.
Fuck that place.
We made it to Helen at around 6:00 that evening and saw a bunch of bloggers sitting on the second floor balcony of the hotel Kristy. As soon as we pulled up in the parking lot, they started yelling, "You've got to go back to Atlanta. Mama Montezz is stuck there at the airport."
I looked at Cat and he looked at me. Without a word, we mind-melded the idea that we weren't driving back to Atlanta even if Mama had a $1,000,000 bounty on her head. We'd already had enough of that Atlanta shit. No way were we going back there.
Luckily for Mama, bloggers are creative, intelligent and devious people. We managed to shag her ass the way a good outfielder snags a pop-foul right at the edge of the stands. We caught her and reeled her in. I hope she appreciates all the effort that went into that plan, which we executed perfectly.
After that episode was a night of drinking, guitar-playing and bullshitting. I learned one thing about yankees. They talk big when they're drunk, but they can't run with Tall Dogs the next day. Bunch of fucking pussies. They sleep until 2:00 in the afternoon every day.
How the hell did people like THAT win the Civil War?
Catfish and I arrived at the Crackerbox shortly after 4:30 yesterday afternoon. I wanted to blog about the festivities, but I spent three hours de-spamming my site instead.
While I was away, the rats did play.
October 14, 2004
off to the rodeo
My friend Catfish and I are headed to Atlanta today. We'll spend the night there and pick up Mamma Montezz at the airport tomorrow. Then, the three of us reprobates are off to Helen, Georgia, for Blogtoberfest.
Pick up the babies and hide the old ladies.
October 13, 2004
the last debate
I'm going to watch it and drink Shiner Bock beer. I also would snort crystal meth, smoke crack, stick heroin in my arm and drink moonshine if I had any. FUCK!!! I don't know if I can take this again.
If you don't know which candidate you prefer by now, you shouldn't be allowed to vote. Period. You've got the brain of a sand-gnat. You don't know shit from shinola. Put your sense in a hummingbird and it'd fly backward ALL the time.
I'm sorry. I don't care if Bush comes out, drops his Presidential trou and shits on the stage tonight. He's got my vote. I don't care if Kerry levitates off the stage and heals every crippled person in the room. I would die and go to hell before I voted for HIM.
I am not an undecided voter.
I'll just watch the dog-and-pony show and see what the spinners have to say about it when it's over. That's almost as good as the debate itself.
a minor correction
Here's a deceptive post about the upcoming Blogtoberfest. Poor Key doesn't know the difference between HOME-MADE WINE and something she calls "moonshine," which I've never heard of. Studying that picture she posted, I believe that the Mason jar holds some of the potentially-best HOME-MADE WINE I've ever seen.
What is this "shine" shit, anyway?
I want to extend thanks from the bottom of my heart for the Care Package to this guy, who can't make the festivities, but damn sure sent his best wishes.
you big dummy!
My darling daughter, who has a LOT more computer expertise than I do, managed to delete her entire blog yesterday by showing off her "expertise" and clicking on the "delete blog" icon when she didn't mean to. When she told me what she did, I called her a "big dummy," and for the first time in her life, she agreed and didn't try to blame somebody else for the problem.
"Yeah, daddy. I am a dumbass sometimes." She'll never know what music that was to my ears. I think my little girl finally is growing up.
Anyway, she's back up and running here.
Here is a reply I send to a email from grandma's house about being called a racist. I don't care what people call me; I KNOW who I am. Grandma said:
I've been called a racist recently, just because I said something good about a black conservative group. You just can't please some people.
Truer words were never spoken, expecially since "racism" has become a cottage industry in this country for a lot of politicians. Here is my reply:
The truth is, so called-"black leaders" and Democrat politicians have a vested interest in ensuring that black people don't advance in this country. If that happened, and a majority of blacks started living the American Dream, who is left to pander to?
We cannot continue to excuse self-destructive behavior, a lack of education, teenage pregnancy, illegitimate births, third-generation welfare families and the inability to succeed in this country on "racism," because it just ain't true. Too many black people DO manage to succeed and they manage just fine in the "White Man's World."
How did they do it? They got an education, developed a work ethic, stayed OFF the streets and IN the classroom, and that effort paid off for them. I've seen it too many times. If you're black and you come out of college or a good trade school, with any kind of skill, recruiters will be knocking on your door BEGGING you to go to work for them.
On the other hand, if you choose to drop out of high school, get pregnant when you're 15 by a father who has no job and damn sure doesn't intend to marry you and help raise that child, and if you'd rather hang out on the "skreet" listening to rap music and smoking crack with yo bros and yo hoes, don't blame what happens to you on racism.
Blame your failure on yourself and your lack of education and lack of ambition. I didn't do that to you. You did it to yourself. Now, reap what you sowed.
If that's racism, I am one guilty ofay.
(I just wondered what this woman is gonna think about this post. I've got a message for her: If you don't like it, darlin,' hit me with your best shot and tell me where I'm wrong. YOU seem to have done okay for yourself. How did you manage that task as a black woman in a white man's world? That's... that's IMPOSSIBLE in the USA today, unless the government GIVES you something. Just listen to the Democrats and Jesse Jackson.
Naw... no way YOU ever had a good family, learned to read and write and then grabbed your own bootstraps and tugged yourself out of the mire to go after what YOU wanted. America doesn't work that way.
There's too much racism.)
what i hate about kerry
That man is as big a liar as Bill Clinton, but he's not as good at. He keeps getting his dick caught in the wringer with some of the easily-refuted "truths" that come flying out of his neck. What has Kerry lied about? Well, almost everything.
But here's a whopper.
"Probably an 8-pointer," Kerry replied, "something like that. Nothing terribly big." Actually, an 8-pointer would be a rather large kill to most hunters — the kill of a lifetime in fact.
An 8-point buck is "nothing big?" Got-damn, man! What kind of steroids do you feed deer in Massachusettes? An 8-point buck in Georgia is a trophy deer, whose head gets mounted on the wall over the fireplace.
And he saw a 16-pointer, but failed to pull the trigger in time? I call bullshit there. I don't hunt deer, but I know a lot of people who do. I ask every one of you hunters who read this blog--- how many 16-point bucks have you EVER seen, even when hunting every chance you got during the season?
Kerry is a skilled hunter--- his track record proves that. But he was never after deer. He was after "dear."
Maybe his memory has failed him because those were the same years in which he was busy tracking the biggest game of all — rich heiresses.
guns are evil
Some people just don't seem to understand. Guns are inherently BAD things. In fact, even pictures of guns are just as bad.
I believe is that schools, streets and homes would be SAFER if schools taught a gun safety class for kids twelve years or older. That class should be required for graduation. Put THAT program into effect and see what happens to the gun control movement in America. It will wither and die on the vine.
People fear what they don't understand. Take an anti-gun mother who's never touched a gun in her life to the range or out in the woods and show her how a gun operates. Let her fire a few rounds. Watch the smile on her face, especially when she learns to hit a target.
When the lesson is over, the formerly anti-gun person usually wants to buy one of their own. Guns are FUN and they are NOT evil in and of themselves.
Evil people use guns for evil purposes. But that ain't the gun's fault.
October 12, 2004
stay a while
I almost got lost in here.
The problem with being a vegitarian is that your shit is alot like green toothpaste. You ever try to get toothpaste out of a hairy cornhole before? It's enough to drive me back to the cow.
If you liked that one, there's plenty more. Just click "refresh."
I found that one here.
I'll bet he has seen it all
I like this gem:
The report said a guy took some items from a discount store and didn't pay for them. He walked out, with several employees following. Agitated, he turned toward them and said: "If you don't quit following me, I'll do something crazy."
Cruise over here and read the whole thing.
I got a chuckle out of this post. I didn't find it on my own. I STOLE IT! Yes! I'm a thief of other peoples ideas! I am a Sputnik! I crept into a blog that wasn't mine, and I PILFERED A LINK! Yes! I STOLE!!!!!
From this guy.
the seamy side
I'll warn you right now that this blog is NOT work-safe. But I'm retired, so I spent quite a while there.
It's not rated "XXX" but it DOES contain strong sexual content and adult language. I'm on his blogroll, too.
The man has no shame.
I'm going to get really existential here. If I were Christopher Reeve, I would rather have died falling off that horse than stay alive the way he did. He spent nine years with his mind intact and his body dead from the neck down.
What a horrible way to live.
I couldn't live that way. I thought long and hard about my options before I consented to prostate surgery. Knowing that you have cancer and knowing that it can kill you in a terrible way is a pretty good attention-grabber, but the treatment grabs a lot of attention, too. Here's what I wrote in my journal (before I started blogging) on August 9, 2001:
"I've been thinking about quitting work and passing on any treatment for the prostate cancer. I could pull all of my money out of my 401-K and just travel until the money runs out. Then, I shoot myself.
I wrote that while I was confined in a nut-house.
There is life... and there is living. They aren't the same thing. I want to LIVE, not just be alive. If I can't do that, I would rather exit, stage right, and get this play over with. I don't understand people who cling to life until their fingernails bleed while they waste away, hooked up to machines and unable to get out of a hospital bed.
Fuck that. I don't want to go out like that. I've seen it happen to too many people I loved, and their deaths were actually a blessing when they finally let go. I hated to see them suffer the way they did. I made up my mind a long time ago that I'll never die that way.
I still wonder if I made the right decision when I had the prostate surgery. That experience damn sure changed my life, right in the middle of a shit storm divorce. Maybe I SHOULD have done what I was planning to do when I got out of the nut-house.
But I chose the surgery instead. I knew that if I didn't let 'em cut me, I was gonna die the way my father did. Well... that's not really true. I'd get in the same shape he was in near the end, in constant pain and unable to walk, and I'd take matters into my own hands. Eat a whole bottle of Tylox and wash it down with a fifth of Jim Beam.
Then... just go to sleep.
I wouldn't want to live nine years the way Christopher Reeve did.
The date is closing in and I am so excited that I developed a case of adolescent acne. Just damn! I look like a have a case of the pox. It's better today than it was yesterday, so maybe it'll clear up by Friday.
Eric posted some rules that everyone should follow and I believe that he displayed great wisdom. I'm pretty sure he created those rules based on his experience in Dahlonega and Blood Mountain last year, although I am suprised that he remembers much of what happened.
Eric is an official Jawja Blogger even though he lives in Tennesse (ack!). We granted him that status after.... hell, I don't remember why we did it. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.
I'm looking forward to seeing old friends and meeting some new ones. Maybe we'll annoint some new Jawja Bloggers who don't live in Jawja this time. We've got a few yankees coming, and I'm bringing boiled peanuts.
If the yankees eat boiled peanuts and like them, they've passed the admission test.
what else is new?
Here's a story that doesn't surprise me at all. I've written many times before about how I believe that unions have outlived their usefulness and degenerated into a band of thugs with an "US versus THEM" mentality that carries over from the workplace into everything they do.
You don't read about John Kerry's campaign offices being vandalized because Republicans don't do that kind of crap. You can bet your sweet ass that if one of KERRY'S offices were vandalized, the press would be aghast at the "climate of fear" in the country and it would be front-page news.
In a letter to the president of the AFL-CIO, Bush campaign chairman Marc Racicot cited injuries and damages at an office in Orlando, Fla., and disruptions in Michigan. Racicot said the labor protests came after incidents at other offices in Ohio, West Virginia, Florida and Tennessee.
So, Denise... your union members didn't commit vandalism, attack Bush supporters and snatch a pro-Bush sign out of a little girl's hand and rip it to pieces in front of her? The same thuggery occurred more than once. Are you really suggesting that none of this happened and the Bush campaign is making it up? The charges are all just "politically motivated?"
I'm not the kind of person who likes to talk on the phone. I'm much better at conversation when I can see the person I'm talking to. Cell phones annoy me.
In fact, that stupid commercial with the scruffy guy unable to complete a sentence without his cell phone ringing makes me throw my TV brick at the screen. How can THAT asshole be so popular that someone calls him every 10 seconds? Why would you WANT someone to call you every 10 seconds unless you're a pimp or a dope dealer?
Bejus! I HATE that commercial, and I can't remember the name of the company because I hate that asshole with his constantly-ringing cell phone so much that I don't pay any attention to anything but wanting to choke that silly bastard until he does the chicken-dance. I want to drown him in a puddle of his own puke.
But... I digress.
What I really wanted to do was link this post about answering machine messages. I LIKE answering machines, because that's what I use to screen my calls. My answering machine message is this:
"Hello. You've reached Rob Smith. For reasons known only to myself, I'm not answering the phone right now. But I am DELIGHTED that you called. If you leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you and have a nice day."
I thought that one was clever, but it doesn't hold a candle to the ones on Sam's post. I kinda like #4 myself.
Sometimes less is more.
here it is
Wanna see the gun I intend to buy? There's a picture right here.
That is a sweet pistol.
I took this test. Guess how I scored?
John Kerry is out courting the black vote in a way that descends far below the level of simple pandering. Kerry swims through a cesspool of lies and propaganda, piloting himself as the Swift Boat of bullshit, and comes up grinning like that jackass Jimmy Carter in the end.
This isn't the first time Kerry has alleged that a million black voters were denied their voting rights in 2000. He cited the statistic at a speech before the NAACP last July.
At the risk of being branded a racist (again) I'm going to quote a friend of mine about such tactics: "He's going for the 'oogah-boogah' vote. Just watch an old Johnny Weismuller Tarzan movie and see the natives when they hear the Tarzan yell. They quake, quiver and roll their eyes in fear. Democrats have been giving the Tarzan yell to Blacks for 40 fucking years now, and they STILL buy that horseshit."
I heard something very depressing on the local news a week or so ago. A reporter interviewed several ninth grade students about what they thought the biggest problem was in the world. I expected most of the answers I heard from those young minds full of mush. Terrorism. The environment. Global warming. The economy. Nuclear weapons.
Then, they stuck the microphone in the face of a Black kid who was... what?... maybe 15 years old? He had his answer down pat. "It's racism. If you're a Black man down South, you have to work ten times as hard as a white boy."
My aching ass.
I submit to you three points. First, racism, sexism, elitism, fascism and every other -ism you can name will ALWAYS exist, because it always has. That's human nature and laws never change human nature. But laws DO modify behavior.
That's my second point. Right now, if you are Black and sharp, the world is your oyster. Nothing out there holding you back but yourself. In fact, large corporations are beating the bushes looking for sharp Black people to fill really good jobs. The problem is--- there aren't that many sharp Blacks out there.
Call that last sentence a racist remark if you want to, but sometimes the truth hurts.
That 15 year-old kid never saw racism the way his grandparents did. He's never had to piss in a separate restroom or drink from a "colored" water fountain or hear someone tell him that he couldn't sit down and eat where he wanted to. He has all of that AND Affirmative Action on his side. But he's already being taught to use "racism" as an excuse for personal failure.
My third point is that Democrats don't WANT Blacks to get that chip off their shoulder. They want to keep the slaves on the plantation because the slaves vote 90% Democrat. Instead of preaching education and achievement, the Democrats give the Tarzan yell while they ignore the obvious.
The more probable explanation for higher ballot spoilage rates among African Americans is the politically incorrect one -- namely, lower literacy skills. The U.S. Department of Education's Adult Literacy Survey defines the lowest literacy category as readers unable to make "low-level inferences based on what they read and to compare or contrast information that can easily be found in [a] text." National data indicates that 38 percent of African Americans fall into this category, versus only 14 percent of whites. In order to cast a countable vote, a voter must read and follow a set of rudimentary instructions. (These instructions may be provided verbally by an election worker -- though the embarrassment of asking is no doubt considerable.) Lower literacy skills are therefore the likeliest factor in accounting for higher ballot spoilage rates among blacks.
John Kerry is a low-life prick for giving the Tarzan yell when he knows damn well that he's lying through his teeth. But if you're Black, you should be accustomed to being played for a chump by now. The Democrats have been doing that to you since 1964.
And you still vote in droves for those clowns, if you can figure out the ballot. If you fuck-up the ballot because you can't read and write, that's "disenfranchisement" and racism. Not YOUR fault.
Bullshit. And Kerry know it, too.
October 11, 2004
playing by the rules
I really wish that life was fair, but it's not and you'd better learn that lesson early in life. I grew to be only 5' 7 tall and weigh 150 pounds. There went my dreams of playing professional football. My size dictated my fate and I had no choice in the matter. I REALLY wanted to be a professional football player, too.
That's just not fair, is it? Government should step in and pass a law requiring NFL teams to have AT LEAST one 150 pound white boy on the roster. You know, kinda like Affirmative Action. Tilt that playing field for ME and call it an act of "fairness."
One reason I like poker so much is that the rules are damned simple and everybody plays by them because they don't want to get shot for cheating. The cards don't give a shit how big you are or how much money your daddy makes. They just hit the table the way they're dealt. You take it from there.
Why can't we run governmant by rules as simple as the ones you play poker by? A flush beats a straight. You gotta have Jacks or better to open. You can check and raise, but it's a $2.00 limit on the bet and a $5.00 limit on the raise. Three raises maximum. If we play high-low, an ace can be played either high or low. No wild cards. Simple.
Our real problem today is that we have TOO MANY RULES, and those slimebags in government keep making more rules every day when they can't enforce the ones they already have. Buncha dickwits.
Some of the rules are absolutely ridiculous, too. Anti-smoking, anti-gun, anti-whatever blew some sanctimonious asshole's dress up. Spank your kid and you are guilty of child abuse. Have a bloodless cunt of an ex-wife and you're guilty of domestic violence just because she said so. Really ponder whether a cold-blooded murder is a "hate-crime" or not.
Do you know what happens when you have too many rules? People start violating them, and once you've broken one rule, it's easy to break another. Plus, if you get caught violating a bullshit rule ("What? You're gonna fine me $1,000 for lighting a cigarette in the park?") you lose all respect for the law.
I don't respect the law today.
I WANT to play by the rules, but I want the rules to be simple. They're not. I cringe when I listen to the Presidential debates because both men want to make more rules to govern my behavior. MY behavior, when neither man knows me from Adam's housecat.
Fuck the rules. I'll make my own and live with the consequences.
"I've long ago decided you're really Rosie ODonnell."
Posted by Geoffrey at October 9, 2004 09:45 AM
Not true. My REAL name is Jimmy Hoffa. Just don't tell the Mafia. I know that Rosie resembles Jimmy Hoffa, but she's not me and I'm not her.
1. define trashy.
Posted by Christina at October 9, 2004 09:47 AM
The term "trashy" has a special meaning down South. You can be poor and still NOT be trashy. You can be rich and still BE trashy. Trashy people don't raise their kids right, put up Christmas lights that they leave hanging on their house for three years and buy ceramic pink flamingos for lawn decoration. Trashy people have more dead cars in their yard than they have teeth in their heads. The only thing they're good at is growing weeds around the pink flamingos and dead cars.
Is "grits" singular or plural?
Posted by Mark Shaw at October 9, 2004 10:12 AM
You answered your own question when you wrote it. IS grits singular or plural? Grits ARE grits. Period. Grits ARE good. Period. Yeah. Plural.
What is the generic term for what Yankees call "pop"?
What does a "grocery store" that doesn't sell groceries sell?
Posted by Phil at October 9, 2004 10:58 AM
Down South, any soft drink is a Coke, not a "pop." I don't care if it's a Nehi grape soda, we're still gonna call it a coke.
That "grocery store" that doesn't sell groceries is a liquor store, sometimes located in a dry county.
Do you know what Cracklin' Bread is?
I could go on and on..just having a little bit of fun..I"ve read you for a while and I'd swear on my grannys' grave you are a Southern Boy.
Posted by sandy at October 9, 2004 12:11 PM
Yes, I know what "cracklin' bread" is. Usually it was cornbread for me, but I suppose you can make it out of any kind of bread. "Crackins" are fried pork-skin. You can eat them straight or mix them in ANYTHING and they taste good. Cracklin gravy over homemeade biscuits is delicious.
I'll answer more questions later.
guns, guns and more guns
I went to visit a friend today and we started talking about guns. I told him that I was thinking about buying a .357 magnum. He said, "Let me show you a couple. You might want to buy one similar to mine."
We walked into his spare bedroom and he opened up a gun safe that resembled something Bank of America would have for gold bullion. Holy Bejus! He must have had 50 handguns in there and a bunch of rifles and shotguns in the back. Every one of them loaded, too.
Wow! I handled three .357 magnums with different barrel lengths, a PLASTIC 9mm with a 15 round magazine, a hogleg .44 revolver that resembled the pistol Matt Dillon carries on Gunsmoke, a small .32 semi-auto that's not much bigger than a pack of cigarettes, several target pistol long-barrel .22s and the best derringer I ever saw.
That derringer is a 5-shot .22 revolver no bigger than the palm of a child's hand. It has a holster designed to clip under a belt buckle so nobody can see it, but YOU know it's there. I offered to buy that one from him, but he wasn't interested. "My guns aren't for sale. I bought 'em because I like 'em, and I intend to keep every one."
He put the guns back in the safe and I left shortly thereafter.
Kim du Toit would shit his pants with joy if he saw that gun collection. I didn't get to see the rifles and shotguns, but there were plenty of those, too. My friend collects firearms the way I do guitars.
Somebody asked me once, "Why did you buy all these guitars? You can play only one at a time." True, but I liked 'em, so I bought 'em. It's not as if they spoil and you have to throw them away. The same thing is true with guns. I've got plenty of those, too. I liked 'em, so I bought 'em.
I know what I want now. I handled one today and it felt good in my hand. It was a Ruger Blackhawk .357 revolver with a 4" barrel. That's a damn pretty gun. I want to get one, along with a leather belt holster that has the slots for extra ammo in it. Then, I want to go out in the woods and practice my quick-draw to see if I can do that without shooting myself in the foot.
Now, all I have to do is figure out how to buy the gun.
I had to read this post twice before I could really wrap my brain around it. I see something very wrong here.
Do YOU have to buy your children's PUBLIC SCHOOL TEXTBOOKS where you live? I don't. If YOU do, why haven't you already dragged off and shot the entire school board? That's bullshit.
I pay (for where I live anyway) a hefty sum in property taxes every year. A big chunk of that money goes to fund public schools. I can understand buying notebooks, pens and pencils, a backpack and some paper--- but TEXTBOOKS? In a PUBLIC SCHOOL? No way, Jose.
Just suppose you don't buy the books. In Georgia, the law REQUIRES kids to attend school. Okay, that's fine. I'll send my kid with no fucking books and YOU explain why he didn't learn anything.
Christ almighty. What's next? You have to buy your kid a DESK?
Public schools went to shit when we established a federal Department of Education. That useless piece of carrion should be abolished (but it never will be---give me one example of a federal program that was abolished--- and the draft doesn't count because that bureauracy still thrives even WITHOUT A DRAFT) and control of public schools should be at the local level, with elected officials in charge, so you can vote their asses out of office if you don't like what they do.
Got-dam! Sorry, but this just pissed me off.
I'll always remember Columbus day. That's the day my father died, twelve years ago.
I still dream about him.
A day seldom passes when I don't think of my father, even after he's been gone for 12 years. He was a big influence in my life because he was one hell of a man. I didn't always get along with him, especially during my teenage years, and he despised the way I left college and started playing guitar for a living. He was hard-headed and he always thought his way was the RIGHT way.
Looking back now, I can say that his way usually WAS the right way. I just didn't always follow instructions. He raised me to think for myself and sometimes I believe that he thought he created a monster.
Dad lived a tough life. His father died when my daddy was 12 years old and he was farmed out to an uncle and aunt while his mother went South and abandoned him. He pretty much raised himself, and he did a good job.
He read constantly. If I could pick the best blessing my father ever gave me, it would be the love of reading. He devoured books and taught me to like them, too. Maybe I liked books too much. My father wanted me to be an engineer and I ended up being an English major.
Dad married my mama, did a hitch in the Navy, then went to work in the coal mine at Louellen. He became a section foreman when he was 23 years old, the youngest man ever to achieve that position. He bossed rough cobs and faced any bitchers head-on. Daddy was not a man to take shit from anybody.
He was handsome, too. Tall and sliver-haired in his older age, he turned wimmen's heads when they saw him. But he never went pussy-chasing the way I've done. He was loyal to my mama.
He worked his ass off most of his life, then died of prostate cancer at the age of 62, right before he was planning to retire. That was no way for a man like that to go. He was hooked up to a morphene pump the last day of his life, so he wasn't in any pain, but he was aware of the fact that his entire family was around him.
Mama. Me. My brother and his wife. We watched Daddy go to wherever it is you go when life leaves you. That was the longest night of my life. He died at 7:30 in the morning, on Columbus day.
That's why I always remember Columbus day.
This is just plain disgusting.
And damn you for sending me that link.
I'll have nightmares about that shit.
October 10, 2004
i am a savant
I receive a LOT of emails from people asking me about vascetomies, prostate surgery and penile implants. I suppose that my blog shows up on a lot of search engines if somebody goes looking for that kind of information.
I do my best to answer every one of those emails as honestly as I can. I understand the curiosity and the fear involved that made those people write me in the first place. I have been there and done all three operations, so I guess I'm as qualified as anybody to discuss the procedures and the after-effects.
If it's any help to those who haven't written me yet, a vascetomy is nothing. Make the doctor give you a mild tranquilizer before he hits you with the novicane-- hell, if you're married, the old lady has to sign a consent form before you can de-seed yourself anyway, so make her come to the office to drive you home. Get mellow on the op-table.
Shave your crotchital area beforehand. Otherwise, a nurse is gonna do it in the doctor's office, and you'll be ashamed at the way your dick shrinks up like a stack of dimes 30 cents tall when she lays that razor on you. You and the old lady need to take a bath together the night before and shave EACH OTHER. That's a lot more fun.
Keep an ice pack on your balls for 24 hours after the operation. That may sound difficult to do, but it's really not. Just buy some tight underwear, put it on, shove a bag of ice in there, and every time the ice melts, swap that bag for new ice. I never even had a bruise after MY vascetomy, and I dug a hole in my yard and buried a very large goat the day after my operation.
Prostate surgery is a different game. If you can find ANY way to avoid that, take it. That operation may have saved my life, but it knocked me on my ass worse than anything else I've ever experienced, and I thought that I was a tough guy. That "nerve sparing" surgery is largely bullshit. Chances are more likely that you'll be both impotent and incontinent after that operation.
You can regain your continence with practice, but a dead dick stays dead. That ain't no fun. I felt sorry for a few wimmen who tried to rehabilitate my limp Roscoe duing the 19 months I spent with a dead dick. They tried every trick they knew--- but nothing worked.
Once those nerves are gone, so is your erection. Period. Unless you're willing to inject your penis with "fix a flat" juice via a hypodermic needle. I did that a few times and I never knew what I was going to get. Nothing... or a painful six-hour erection. I hated that stuff.
A penile implant is better than nothing, but it won't restore you to your old self. If your penis is normally fairly thick and long when flaccid, implants work well. But I had one of the "oh, SHIT!" dicks that didn't look like much until it became angry. (I call it an "oh, SHIT" dick because I heard many wimmen say that after they made Roscoe angry, as in "Oh, SHIT! Where did THAT come from?")
Implants will allow you to have an erection, but you can feel the implant and it's just not natural. You have to become accustomed to having a lot of hardware in your nutsack, and that's no fun, either. Sit down the wrong way and you'll jump back up quickly.
I will say this: as much as I criticize wimmen, every one I've known since I became bionic has been perfectly happy with what I had to give them. It ain't what I ONCE could offer, but I've never had a woman laugh at me and refuse to sleep with me because of my artificial wanger. In fact, most of them are quite curious to learn how it works.
I am delighted to show them, just as I am delighted to answer email from people facing the same problems I've been through.
wearing nothing but a smile
I was a young rounder at the time, and I took a date to the beach at Tybee to watch a meteor shower. The meteor shower wasn't what the forecasters predicted, and we became bored, sitting in the sand dunes and swatting mosquitos. I decided to go swimming.
I shucked my clothes and ran nekkid into the sea. The water felt good. The night was moonless and nobody else was on the beach. My date was appalled at first, and I still remember her standing on the beach asking me what in the hell I thought I was doing. "I'm swimming," I replied. "Why don't you join me?"
A street light way back on Butler Avenue cast her in perfect silouette. "I don't have a bathing suit," she said.
I replied, "Sure you do. You can wear the same thing I'm wearing."
"You're not wearing ANYTHING!"
"Yeah. So what? That can be YOUR bathing suit, too."
I didn't believe that she would do it. I was amazed when I saw her look around for casual observers, find none, and strip off all her clothes. She stood there nekkid for a moment and asked me if the water was cold. I told her that the water was PERFECT.
She came in wearing nothing but a smile. That was better than ANY meteor shower I ever saw.
I believe that this kid has talent. Poker is more than a game. It is a form of art that involves guts, brains and deliberately deceptive behavior.
I think that girl's got all three qualities. In SPADES, if you'll pardon the pun.
Yeah, I'm posting at damn near 2:00 in the morning. I can't sleep. I TOLD you people before that I lose vicariously when a team I really like goes tits-up in a game. Tennessee beat Georgia 19-14.
Tits-up is too polite a term to apply to my beloved Bulldogs after that pathetic performance today. They suicide bombed themselves with stupid penalties, dumbass turnovers, a missed chip-shot field goal, poor blocking, poor tackling and one of the most fuckwitted examples of clock management that I've ever seen from a division 1-A coach. You NEVER piss away 19 seconds the way Richt did when you need a touchdown at the end of the game.
Georgia was flat as a pancake. Maybe they got too big for their own jockstraps after romping over LSU last weekend. The zebras didn't help the cause (some poor calls were made in the game), but that's immaterial. Georgia DESERVED to lose that game because they played like shit.
I predicted that this would happen to them if they played a quality team the way they did South Carolina and Georgia Southern. I was correct. Again. But knowing that I was right doesn't make me feel any better.
I am mourning this morning.
October 09, 2004
I have more in the fridge
I tasted my first bottle of Shiner Blonde about 10 minutes ago. In fact, I'm not even through drinking it yet. That is one pretty beer in a glass.
It looks like the healthiest urine specimen I ever saw. Golden and clear, that beer is bubbly and very good. Again, Shiner does something in the brewing process that gives the beer a taste that makes you wonder what the hell they threw into the mix to make that flavor. The hops are noticable, but not overpowering. But the taste really lingers on the tongue. Very intriguing.
I'm kinda torn here, because for my personal tastes, I like the Shiner Bock better, but I prefer full-bodied beers. That's just me. Home-brew for a while and you develop that kind of palate. The Shiner Blonde is VERY GOOD if that's the kind of beer you like. I'm trying to be impartial here, and I believe that most people like that kind of beer, and this damn surely beats the shit out of Budweiser.
I give the Blonde Five Stars.
okay, I'll get to it
I'm receieving a lot of comments and email about my "Ask Me" post below. Some of the questions come from really sick fucks.
I'll answer as many as I can tonight or tomorrow morning, because if you think I ain't watching the DAWGS play Tennessee today, you are a sick fuck.
By the way, being called "a sick fuck" down South can be either a compliment or an insult. If you call somebody a sick fuck while laughing and handing the person a beer, that means you admire whatever perverted story they spouted to make you laugh. Calling that storyteller a sick fuck means you really liked the story. The storyteller basks in such high praise.
If you call somebody a sick fuck, then hit him in the head with a longneck beer bottle and whip out a pistol, the whole sick fuck thing takes on a different meaning. That's the kind of sick fuck who tries to molest children, peeps in your windows at night and grabs your old lady by the ass when she doesn't want her ass grabbed. Sick fucks like that get shot down South.
I am a sick fuck of the first kind.
I profess to be a Southerner and an outdoorsman. Of course, I COULD be a New York yankee lying through his teeth with everything I write. How do you know?
Ask me some questions. I'll answer them.
getting serious now
We're just one week away from blogtoberfest, and if you're worried about the logistics, just read that link and bitch at HIM, not me. Looks like we're going to have a nice turnout. If you want to come, just show up. Nobody's going to shoot you unless you become REALLY obnoxious.
If you blog and you've never been to a blog-meet, you really ought to go. Last year in Dahlonega was a drunken hoot and I believe that everybody had a good time. I know that I DID, what little I remember of it. I pulled that one out of my ass with very little planning. This one is MUCH MORE well-organized.
Meeting the people behind the page has always been a pleasant experience for me. The blogger or the commenter you're accustomed to reading may not LOOK LIKE what you thought they would, but they bring the personality you expected. I have NEVER had a bad experience meeting a fellow blogger, and I've met quite a few now.
Be prepared: Bloggers talk loudly and a lot. They are loud-mouthed, opinionated people. WTF? They wouldn't be writing a blog if they weren't loud-mouthed and opinionated. If YOU aren't loud-mouthed and opinionated, you'll never get a word in edgewise when a group holler breaks out.
A lot of these people drink and smoke to excess. I am one of them. If beer, whiskey and cigarette smoke offend you, you don't belong at a blog-meet. Just stay home in front of your air purifyer and count your rosary beads.
We intend to play guitars and sing. We may sound like shit, but you'll think we're good if you drink enough beer first. That's another thing about bloggers. A LOT of them play musical instruments.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen--- we're gonna ROCK the hills of Helen. Just don't call me about the logistics. Show up if you want to come. You'll have a place to sleep if you want one.
We'll figure out the logistics when we have to.
I think Bush handed Kerry his ass last night. Bush didn't appear as tired as he did in the first debate and he came out swinging. I believe that he is comfortable in this "Town Hall" format, where he can pace the stage and connect with people. Kerry appeared haughty and wonkish.
The central difference I saw between the two men was Bush saying that doing the RIGHT THING is not always the POPULAR THING, and Kerry's pathetic response to the "global test" question. Kerry tap-danced. Bush said he'll do what's right for the USA, and although he didn't come right out and say it, he gave every indication that he doesn't care what France and Germany or the UN think about us. Good. Neither do I.
Kerry believes that "sanctions worked." Bush doesn't. Neither do I, especially in light of all the corruption and under-the-table dirty-deals being exposed now in the UN Oil For Food program. The "allies" Kerry wants to cultivate are the very ones who violated the sanctions and enriched THEMSELVES behind our backs. Kerry seems to believe that the way to win friends and influence people is to kiss a lot of ass. Bush doesn't. Neither do I.
The draft question blew up in Kerry's face. He can talk about a "back-door draft" all he wants to, but Bush shot him down in flames. Kerry also tap-danced all around tort reform. I think Bush missed a golden opportunity by not bringing up some specifics about what John Edwards has done to "lower" medical costs by suing the shit out of doctors every chance he got as a trial attorney in North Carolina. The information is out there and easy to find.
Nobody with a millionaire trial lawyer on the ticket is EVER gonna endorse tort reform. That's killing a golden goose, and they ain't gonna do it. I think Bush missed a chance to go for Kerry's jugular there.
It wasn't a slaughter, but I still believe that Bush kicked Kerry's ass.
Plus... am I the only one who thought Kerry's hair resembled a Davy Crockett coonskin cap?
(UPDATE: Instapundit didn't link them, but I will. Read here for some pretty pungent observations. Don't miss the comments, either.)
October 08, 2004
I'll be back
I'm off to watch the Presidential debate. I'll take copious notes, but I won't blog about it until tomorrow.
I can't blog and watch a debate at the same time.
I tried that beer today. It's flat-headed, but it has a beautiful walnut color in a glass. It's dark until you hold it up to a light (yes... I do stuff like that) and then you can see right through it. I probably made a mistake by drinking a bottle of it with some fried chicken. It probably goes much better with steak.
The taste is very pungent, well-hopped, like a good bock should be, and I may have to try a second bottle to discern that curious aftertaste it has. It's a strange combination of nuts and berries with a tinge of lemon and I can't figure out exactly where that comes from. I always try my taste tests without reading the ingredients on the bottle. I give it a solid Four Stars, but some people who drink American possum-piss may not like it. It has a very unique taste.
I would buy it by the case if they sold it in Georgia.
ask me again and I'll shoot you
I had THREE phone calls today from people asking me about the logistics of Blogtoberfest. They asked me questions that made me want to drag them right through the phone and choke them to death.
"Where are we gonna play guitars?"
"What time are we gonna play guitars?"
"What time are you gonna be there?"
"How is this gonna work?"
"You don't think there'll be a fight, do you?"
"Is there a big meal planned?"
I have one answer for ALL YOU WORRYWARTS!!! Just show up. Got-DAM! Where the hell is your sense of adventure? Let's play it on the first bounce. Anybody who needs a place to sleep will have one. Anybody who wants to play guitar can play wherever he or she wants to. If you want to stand on the bank of the Chatahoochie River and howl at the moon, that's okay, too.
But if ANYBODY puts ME on a goddam schedule, planning every moment of the weekend, you can kiss my Cracker ass. I am retired. I don't follow schedules anymore.
I prefer spontaneous combustion.
What a crock
I read this and almost upchucked all over my keyboard.
"The primary reason for a prolonged early adulthood is that it now takes much longer to secure a full-time job that pays enough to support a family," lead researcher Frank J. Furstenberg Jr. writes in Contexts, a journal of the American Sociological Association.
Whatever the hell "prolonged early adulthood" is, (it sounds like a venereal disease to me) it's the direct result of spoiled little shits wanting everything handed to them on a silver platter. They spend beyond their means, go deeply in debt and then whine about how cruel life is. Fuck 'em.
And anybody who listens to a socilologist needs to be dragged off and shot. Sociologists are people who couldn't master ANYTHING in college, so they ended in the Dempsy Dumpster of academia. They're worse than education majors, for crying out loud.
Know-nothings telling do-nothings how to live life. Yeah. We need a LOT more of that crap.
how I won the contest
The beers involved in that taste contest years ago were Budweiser, Pabst, Old Milwaulkee, Heniken, Miller, Loenbrou, Bush "Alpine" and Coors. The Coors had to be bootleg beer, because it wasn't sold east of the Mississippi River in my college days. That was the trick question in the mix, but I drank it before then and I knew the taste.
Budweiser-- Easy to spot. I can taste the rice and the beechwood.
Heniken-- No problem. That's always had a tinny aftertaste to me.
Pabst-- Piece of cake. Tastes like skank-water.
Miller-- I'm not sure what it is, but there's something about Miller beer that I don't like. My brother LOVED it, I and drank many of HIS beers when I came to visit. (I'll drink ANYTHING when it's free) I recognized that taste right away.
Louenbrou-- Easy. The only one that tasted like a real beer.
Coors-- Pure-ass water. Doesn't even TASTE like a beer. Easy to identify.
Bush "Alpine"--- Hell, I knew that one right away. That's what I drank most of the time, in the old 14-ounce cans. College students concentrate on getting the most bang out of their beer-bucks.
Old Milwaulkee-- I picked that one by process of elimination and I was amazed by how good it was. Old Mil was CHEAP beer, but it tasted pretty good.
Anyway... that's how I won.
a beer test
Answer these questions:
#1: What is the difference between a lager and an ale?
#2: What are "hops?" On what scale are hops measured?
#3: What is "Irish Moss?"
#4: What is "wort?"
#5: What makes beer carbonated? Why does it foam?
#6: What is the difference between a "bock" beer and a "stout ale?"
#7: Why do you need yeast to make beer?
#8: What is the usual alcohol content of American beers?
#9: Is "pilsner" different from lager or ale?
#10: What are the main ingredients that go into ANY beer?
Answer those questions, and I'll tell you my favorite beers and why I like them so much.
a beer tasting
I once won a contest at a bar in Athens, Georgia, because I was the only person out of 25 people to identify eight-out-of-eight beers in a blind taste-test. Yeah. I got them all right. I think I won $20 and a pitcher of my favorite beer for doing that.
I know my beer. I brewed my own for several years.
I have a case of exotic beer to explore now, and I'm going to write a critique of every one. So far, I've tried two bottles of Shiner Hefelweizen and I like that beer. It is obviously a wheat beer, light in color and smooth, with a full-bodied ale taste and just a hint of lemon in it. It doesn't have a really frothy head when you pour it into a glass, but the bubbles keep running up the side until the glass is empty. That tells me that the brewers didn't allow the yeast to fully digest before they bottled the beer.
That's not a bad thing. It makes for a robust ale.
The beer is not flavored with powerful hops. I believe that it was made with something along the line of a #5-- just enough so that you can taste it, but not enough to make the beer bitter. It is a beer that almost ANY beer drinker would like. I give it Four Stars.
I will update on other specimens later, as I drink them.
I wish that I had thought of doing something like this. Those posts are like a combination of good satire and honest truth.
Scroll down and read them all.
who is this guy?
I receive emails such as this one and I scratch my head in wonder.
Listen Sputnik, I don't mind that you steal my stuff so much as you don't give proper credit. Do you only acknowledge those pin-heads who share your demented opinions? A shamelss fuck you are & I'm not the first dickweed to point it out.
I have no idea who "Rodrigo Llmar"
It damn surely wasn't this:
Well, we hate to see a perfectly good invasion get marred by, oh, a complete lack of justification, so we thought we'd suggest some other things about Saddam that the president, at least, might find reason enough to go to war:
Listen, dickweed. If I'm gonna steal from somebody, it'll be somebody with a lick of fucking sense, and that AIN'T YOU. I don't think you have anything I want.
So... bite me and go fuck yourself.
a must read
Go read this. That interview echos the sentiments I heard from the Ranger Reunion in Tacoma. Especially this part:
VO: We're not questioning anybody else's service, we're questioning John Kerry's. To say that you can never question one guy's service is wrong. Kerry fudged and faked things that happened. In a six week time period, he received three purple hearts, a bronze star and a Silver Star. That's faster than Audie Murphy earned his medals in World War II.
Guys who served one or more full tours in Vietnam question how Kerry managed to earn that many medals so quickly. They call bullshit. Just look at the guy's record in the Senate and what he's done with his life after the war. Does THAT look like a fearless war hero to YOU?
I call bullshit, too.
i think i've come close
Have you ever heard the term "pissing like a racehorse?" That's common down South when people drink a lot of beer.
But this is ridiculous.
the Kerry approach
Yeah. We'll solve ALL our problems with this kind of "global test."
I don't read bill whittle as often as I should. They guy is an excellent writer and he obviously puts more thought into his posts than I do in mine. I like this gem about the reaction to 9/11:
And all of this rage and fury and spitting and tearing up of signs, all of these insults and spinmeisters and forgeries and all the rest, seem to come down to the fact that about half the country thinks you deter this sort of thing by being nice, while the other half thinks you deter this by being mean.
Take a wild guess which side I'm on? You don't try to make friends with a rabid dog in your yard. You shoot that slobbering sumbitch right where he stands. How in the hell can ANY sane person believe that we can make friends with the rabid dogs in the Middle East? They hate our guts. They will ALWAYS hate our guts, until we kill them.
They don't respect kindness or compassion. That's WEAKNESS to them. But they damn surely understand FORCE, and we need to lay it on them with all the wrath we can muster. We can lay some pretty serious wrath, given that we have the best military force in the world. But we've got to be willing to use it.
Bush is willing. I don't think Kerry is.
walk like an egyptian
But vote like a muslim. Yeah, those nasty Republicans are up to their same old tricks, "disenfranchising" legitimate voters who want only what's best for this country.
this, on the other hand, is a legitimate mistake
Maybe we DO need UN inspectors monitoring our next election.
October 07, 2004
Hide the children and put the ladies under the bed. Dax Montana is armed and dangerous!.
He'll probably load that weapon of mass destruction and bring it to Blogtoberfest. He's a sick and dangerous man.
he married one, too
"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." Great line, isn't it? I've got a better one. "Hell hath no fury like a woman, PERIOD!" Read this heartwarming tale and tell me I'm wrong.
Army Spc. Benjamin Horner, of Brownsville, was served with divorce papers while on duty, then learned that his former spouse doesn't want him to have anything to do with their daughter.
Hey! What better time to destroy the guy? A lot of wimmen see these situations as OPPORTUNITIES. Kick him in the nuts NOW, while he can't fight back. Make it HURT, too.
That's what my bloodless cunt of an ex-wife did to me.
Horner's ex-wife and her attorney were unavailable for comment.
Maybe the wife will get what she REALLY wants and see her husband come home in a body bag. Bitch.
I am a shit
My mama starts another round of chemotherapy next week. I haven't even driven to Savannah to see her in almost a month now. I've called once. I should be dragged off and shot. I am an ungrateful shit. I LOVE my mama and I should go out of my way to prove that fact, especially now.
The fact that I HAVEN'T done that makes me feel like a real shit tonight. I'm going to go see her tomorrow.
You know what I'm drinking right now? I'm going to tell you whether you give a shit or not. It's a cold bottle of Shiner Hefeweizen. I like it. It even has instructions on the back of the bottle explaining how to drink it for maximum taste effect.
That bottle, along with 23 others arrived at the Crackerbox via UPS today. My largesse is courtesy of a blogger from LOSE-iana, who was gracious and honorable enough to pay up on the bet we had.
She really didn't have to ship the beer in a cooler and individually wrap every bottle. If I drink enough of this stuff tonight, I'll wake up tomorrow morning on my living room floor in a pile of styrofoam popcorn, some of which I ATE because it resembled food in my drunken stupor.
Thank you, darlin.'
I hate it when people do this.
I'd rather see a picture of a monkey.
should I be proud?
This is a great honor, I think. Well, being mentioned flatters ME anyway, especially considering the source.
I really want to meet that guy in person some day. He's just got to promise to keep his fucking cats away from me.
Undomesticated pigs run all over the woods where I live. They root up golf courses, root in cornfields, flock in herds and cause car wrecks by running out onto the road at night. The boars are mean bastards, too. Some of them are serious tuskers and they have a foul disposition. They'll kill a hunting dog if the dog doesn't know what it's doing.
Hell... they'll kill YOU if you don't know what you're doing.
I have a friend who traps a few wild hogs every year. He pens them, and then feeds them corn and Kryspy Kreme doughnuts to get them ready to eat. (He gets the doughnuts for free. They're leftovers that KK was going to throw away anyhow.) The hog becomes fat and happy, purged of acorns and other crap he's been eating in the wild, and then my friend shoots the beast and cooks it all at once.
A hog-roast is a Southern tradition.
I've never cooked an entire pig at once myself, but I've seen it done many times--- on a spit over an open fire, in a sophisticated smoker, or in a hole in the ground. Usually, the meat tastes really good. I HAVE, on a few occasions, however, gotten a taste of an old wild tusker that no amount of corn could purge. Tough, gamey and blessed with all the mouth-watering flavor of Fido's Ass, that bastard ain't fit to eat.
I don't want to shoot or trap a wild pig. It's dangerous, it's too much work and you never know what you're gonna end up with.
Tell you the truth? I prefer what I get in the grocery store.
think about it
Is Laura Bush a great First Lady, or what? She is beautiful in a mature way and she conducts herself with aplomb, the perfect mix of dignity and humor. Look at Laura, and then look at Teresa Heinz-Kerry. Which one would YOU want at you side in life?
I agree with this opinion, because we vote for the man, not his wife... but I just like Laura better.
I'll bet she's a firecracker in bed, too.
After getting a job at the IRS, a young hotshot gets his first
Arriving at the synagogue, he decides to have a little fun. "Rabbi," he
"Well," the elderly rabbi replies in surprise, "we send them to the
"I see," the taxman says. "And what about the crumbs from your table?"
The rabbi looks at him, again taken aback. "Well, we send them to the
Nodding, the auditor asks his final question. "So tell me," he asks,
By now, the rabbi is fed up. "Well, we send them to the IRS," he
I saw that one here and I like it. So... I STOLE IT!!!
Actually, I don't want to burn anyone at the stake. That's cruel.
We should just drag 'em off and shoot 'em.
I don't know how many people are familiar with that part of Georgia, but it's famous for the best-tasting oysters you'll ever put in your mouth. Harris Neck oysters grow in clusters (not like the singles you find in the Gulf waters) and the shells are long and slender, and also sharp as a razor blade.
I don't remember ever eating Harris Neck oysters without cutting the crap out of myself sometime in the shucking process. But the blood-loss is worth it. A Harris Neck oyster EXPLODES with the tastes of salt, sea and low tide when you eat one. Those are, without a doubt, the best oysters I ever tasted. I like 'em raw, but they're good any way you want them cooked, too.
I mention Harris Neck because my friend Catfish is building a house there now. He also started a blog. Go check him out. I've already been invited to come visit, spend the night and shoot some guns when his new home is finished.
Eat your hearts out.
Even I, myself, The Acidman, the guy who beards the lion--- wouldn't have written this post. There are certain topics that even I won't touch.
But... can I borrow that brush?
Here's a list of movies that you really ought to watch. If you haven't seen them yet, go rent 'em. Acidman wouldn't steer you wrong. They are fairly unheard-of, but they are damned good movies.
#1-- If, which starred Malcolm McDowell when he was a young man. (I got laid after taking a date to see that one at South PJ Theater at the University of Georgia and admission was $1.00 for both of us. I had seen the movie before, but she hadn't. If she didn't like the movie, she wouldn't have slept with me.)
#2-- Starman, in which I believe that Jeff Bridges does the performance of his lifetime.
#3-- Gristle. It's a ridiculous movie, with more double-crosses than you can count, but you'll laugh your ass off at it. The guy who played "Worf" in Star Trek (Michael Dorn?) can do comedy, too.
#4-- Raising Arizona. I fell in love with Holly Hunter after I saw that movie. She was better than Nicholas Cage and the soundtrack is excellent.
#5-- The Piano. That's Holly Hunter again, but Harvey Keitel stole the show in that one. Very erotic.
#6-- Big Doll House. Okay, that one is a T&A movie starring Sid Haig and Pam Grier. Get fucked up before you watch it. It's pretty good then.
#7-- Something Big. A western that you'll never forget.
#8-- The Reanimator. Bejus! Go rent that one and watch it with friends. You'll love the scene where the nekkid girl is strapped to a table and the headless guy PICKS UP HIS HEAD FROM THE FLOOR AND PUTS IT BETWEEN HER LEGS. Oh, man. THAT is a classic scene.
#9-- A Mighty Wind. Maybe you have to be a musician familiar with the heyday of folk music to appreciate that movie, but I liked it.
#10-- A Boy and His Dog. Don't let the title fool you. That one ain't what you're gonna expect.
Try 'em. You'll like 'em.
he's osama BEEN dead
I stick with what I've been saying for two years now. Osama bin Laden is dead. He's BEEN dead for a long time. We got him at Tora Bora, no matter what the Kerry-Edwards camp has to say about it. And Teresa Heinz-Kerry is a blithering idiot.
Do you REALLY believe that Osama would have laid so low so long if he weren't laid low already? I don't. He liked seeing himself on camera too much.
That bastard is dead. I'd bet money on it.
Bejus! When this guy says he ate his girlfriend, he MEANS it.
I'm all for oral sex, but that's just going a little too far.
not his fault
Living in southeast Georgia, I don't think I'll have many opportunities to get drunk at a party, stagger off outside and pass out in a snowbank. But if I ever do, I just might take it. Pulling that asshole stunt was worth $850,000 for this guy.
It wasn't HIS fault. The police should have found his drunken ass sooner. The COPS fucked up, not the drunk. So sayeth a judge.
My aching ass...
I like to go up into the north Georgia mountains every fall, usually in late October. I enjoy seeing the trees with their leaves glowing in brilliant colors, like day-glow paint. I don't see a lot of that where I live. We have too many pine trees and oaks that DON'T change colors in the fall.
I hope we catch the leaves in full splendor at Blogtoberfest in Helen. I think we might be a couple of weeks early, but I'm going and hoping for the best. We've had a lot of rain up there this year, and usually that's good for making fall colors. In dry seasons, the leaves just say "fuck it!" and hit the ground as quickly as they can.
Fall is campfire weather, fireplace weather and football weather. I still remember Saturday mornings and going outside in the fall as a boy, dressed in sweatshirt and jeans, and hearing the THUMP of somebody kicking a football as I hopped on my bicycle to go join the game.
Yeah. I like fall.
that's a low number
From my experience, LESS than 33% of employees are able to write worth a damn.
Maybe I'm just hyper-critical.
October 06, 2004
call me a pig
That's a real insult, especially in Moslem or Latin American countries. I'll admit that pigs are foul, shit-rooting animals that will eat almost anything, and they fuck like minks. I've seen hogs with nuts the size of grapefruits, and they've got this corkscrew dick that.... well, never mind. That's Too Much Information.
But they taste really good on a barbecue grill. Not the pig dicks, but the rest of the pig. I love ribs and hand-pulled pork roast. Porks chops aren't bad, either, especially the center-cut ones. And a good, slow-cooked pork tenderlion is better than prime rib.
Pigs are smart, too. They're smarter than dogs OR cats. I know TWO people who have a pet pig, and they've taught those pigs to crap outside, fetch a ball, sleep in a wicker basket-bed INSIDE at night, stay when told to and protect their children like a guard dog.
I almost got shot one day by suggesting that we eat one of them. Those pigs were members of the family by then. I wouldn't want to BE a pig, but you can't insult me by calling me one. They're not bad critters.
They're better than some people I've encountered.
Maybe I should talk to her doctor. I've been suffering from vertigo for about five years now and it seems to get worse every day. When I get out of bed in the morning, I literally have to HOLD ON TO SOMETHING to keep from falling down. I stagger and reel like a drunk even when I'm sober.
Yeah. I'm also lucky if I don't go head-first into the commode when I take my morning piss. I actually piss sitting down sometimes because I don't want to fall on the floor and piss straight up in the air, or tumble into my bathtup and break my fool neck. If I DO piss standing up, I hold onto the sink when I do it.
I get better after about an hour, but I NEVER get right again.
At first, the doctors diagnosed an inner ear problem, and they treated me with a whole bunch of medication and charged me a whole lot of money. I didn't get any better. Now, nobody knows what is wrong with me. I'm just dizzy all the time.
It's no fun at all, especially for someone who once considered himself to be athletic and capable of walking a tightrope. Now, I seldom make it down my hallway without bouncing off the wall at least once. It's as if the whole world suddenly cocked sideways on me and I can't see it.
Stairs? Got-dam. I leave hand-marks in the handrails now, as I shufffle down them like an old man, and I once SPRINTED stairs every day for a living. Lose your equalibrium--- be dizzy all the time--- and see what YOU start doing.
Take a "DOWN" escalator. You'll nearly bust your ass at the bottom every time. I get all fucked-up doing that, because I feel as if I'm falling when I know that I'm not, and I can't tell the stairs from the floor. I don't like escalators anymore. Going UP is okay, but going DOWN is a bitch.
Vertigo is no fun, folks. In fact, I no longer can STAND on stage a play guitar, at least not for long. I need to sit down, or at least prop one cheek of my ass on a barstool; otherwise, I may fall off the stage, or end up shoving the microphone right down my throat when I stumble forward.
I'm okay when I sit down. Maybe that's why I blog a lot.
I was listening to some music a little while ago and I started thinking about how a band comes together. If you're a decent musician, you'll know what I'm talking about. If you DON'T play, let me explain something to you.
A band is a lot like a family. Somebody's got to be the father and somebody's got to be the mother. The children need to listen to the adults. I always ended up being the father, because I picked the band members and I got the gigs we played. I dealt with the bar managers and made sure that everyone got paid.
My bass player was Mama. He sympathized with the guys who became pissed at me, because I knew what SOUND I wanted the band to make, and he comforted them after I cussed them out for not doing it my way. He healed wounded feelings after a shitty practice.
NEVER TRUST A DRUMMER!!! I don't know what it is about those guys, but they're (as a rule) not right in the head. THAT'S the bastard you really have to reel in sometimes because he wants to play too loud and fancy. I learned long ago to give him a couple of solos, such as "Wipeout" or something similar, and he's happy after that. He gets to show his talent twice every night and he'll play subdued after that.
If you work hard at that stuff, you'll hear magic. It comes together all at once, and suddenly you're TIGHT, with everybody doing the right thing at the right time. That's Goosebump City when that happens. Not just for the crowd, but for YOU, too.
Most people never understand how much work went into that sound. I do.
Musicians? Tell me that I'm a liar about this.
let's compare notes
I like this kind of talk from a Supreme Court Justice. But I would like to ask him him one question right up-front--- have YOU ever done that?
I have. I came along in the right place at the right time. I was 26 years old, full of piss and vinegar, young, dumb and full of cum, and all I really had to worry about from wanton, unbridled sex was a case of clap back then, if you stuck your pole in the wrong hole. Penicillin could cure that, so I had sex with every woman who would hold still (or wiggle just right) for me. Yeah. I participated in many a body-wad. And I never got the clap, either. Remarkable, but true.
I played guitar in the bars. I knew many an adventurous woman who liked sex as much as I did. If we had a fantasy or an opportunity, we TOOK IT. We ROLLED in it. We enjoyed it.
I still miss those days. You can call me as immoral as you want to, but I don't care. I'm a lot more stressed today than I was back then.
I fucked up and got married.
what causes this?
I woke up this morning with my left eye swollen almost shut and my right eye looking pretty puffy, too. I wasn't in a fistfight yesterday. I have no bruises. I looked in the mirror and wondered how in the hell I got this way. Nothing HURTS, I'm just swollen up like a blowfish around both eyes.
I have a theory. I ate a pound of muscadine grapes yesterday. I think I had an allergic reaction to them. I don't understand how THAT happened, because I've eaten a LOT of muscadine grapes and scuppernogs in my life, and I NEVER was allergic to them before (other than shitting like a wild goose, which is what grapes tend to do.). This time, my eyes almost swelled shut.
I cannot think of any other explanation. I SAW that festering burn on my arm after my paint-on henna tattoo in Key West two years ago. I still have a scar from that, and the painters were putting that shit on kid's FACES on Duval Street. It didn't bother THEM, but it burned the hell out of me, caused me to become sick and worry the hell out of Miss Georgia, who kept shoving Benedryl down my neck until we got back home.
Allergies are strange things.
the VP debate
I intended to live-blog it last night, but I can't do that kind of thing. I get carried away listening and watching the body language and think that if I start typing, I'll miss something important.
My humble opinion? Cheney squashed Edwards like a bug.
I didn't understand both men scribbling furiously on notepads before the debate started. If they didn't have their shit in one sock by then, it was too late to fix it now. Cheney began pretty mellow, and Edwards came out of the blocks swinging brass knuckles. I think that tactic was a mistake.
Cheney HAD all his shit in one sock and bowed up his own back in response. My favorite line--- Edwards' track record in the Senate. "Senator gone."
"I preside over the Senate. I'm there almost every Tuesday when they meet. The first time I met YOU was tonight, on this stage." (The quotes may not be exact, but they're pretty damned close.)
Edwards looked like a boy fighting a man. Of course, I wanted Cheney to win, so maybe I filtered some of what I saw and heard. Edwards attempted a typical trial-lawyer tap-dance around the "global test" issue (Kerry fucked up when he said that crap-- and Edwards didn't drag Kerry's chestnuts out of the fire with his obfuscating last night). Cheney pounced right away and went for the jugular.
Look at the records. YOUR votes. HIS votes. We can't afford such waffling, anti-defense people as Commander-in-Chief when we're at war.
Edwards threw up the Haliburton Defense, which basically said Haliburton is EEEVILLL and France, Germany and the UN are not. What utter bullshit. I negotiated a lot of contracts with Haliburton when I worked in my chemical plant. Haliburton is a good company, capable of doing reliable work. They did a lot of jobs for me and they never fucked up. They weren't cheap, but everything was on a flat-dollar bid--- none of that cost-plus shit-- and they always delivered.
I don't see "evil" in that kind of performance. I see competence instead. Of course, most people who scream about Haliburton don't have a fucking clue about what that company does. I DO.
And I thought the line about how Howard Dean scared both Edwards and Kerry into changing positions on Iraq was a killer. How can you wage a war on terror when you can't stand up to Howard Dean? Ouch!
That's my two cents worth.
Rodney Dangerfield died and I'm going to miss him. I enjoyed his self-deprecating humor.
His real name was Jacob Cohen.
The post below this one might not be work-safe!!!
i never liked motorcycles
But I might ride this one...
October 05, 2004
i'm not the only one
It happened to him, too. I lost a lotta shit, including almost half of my novel, when my last computer crashed. But I have NO IDEA what he's talking about with this:
I'm switching to an automatic full-backup system, as my data-backup habits go back to an obsolete era when I didn't have nearly so much stuff stored as bits. You may want to think about that yourself, if you haven't already done so.
Can somebody hit me up-side the head with a clue-bat here?
what would I do?
I've been blessed with two healthy children. They have all their fingers and toes, they're able to run and jump and they've never been cursed with medical problems that a tonsilectomy couldn't cure. Sometimes I sit back and think about how lucky I am, even if I never see either one of them again.
I KNOW parents with defective children. Cerebal palsy. Autism. Cystic fibrosis. How the hell do you cope with that? I don't know what I would do, other than scream at God and ask him "WHY?" If something like that was wrong with Samantha or Quinton, I'd offer myself as a sacrifice to take their place, but parents don't get that chance. That's a central reason why I don't believe in God.
You have to play the hand life deals you. Sometimes you don't have the option to fold.
I know a couple who have an autistic son. His daddy was a damn good baseball player. He kicked around the minor leagues for a while until he realized that he wasn't ever going to make it to The Big Show, and he got a straight job. He named his son "Ty," after Ty Cobb, his baseball hero. He worked and mama stayed at home to care for Ty.
That worked for about 15 years, until Ty grew to be a VERY BIG boy, just like his daddy. Mama couldn't control him anymore. They reached the point where even Daddy couldn't handle him. Daddy was getting older and Ty was getting stronger. When Ty pitched a temper tantrum, it was a handfull.
They ended up putting him in a home. They just couldn't take care of him anymore. That's got to hurt like the fires of hell when you wanted so much and DID so much, only to realize that you can't do it any longer.
I'm thinking morbid thoughts because I miss my son. But I know one thing for sure. I'd rather never see him again than see him grow up the way Ty did. At least Quinton has all the wherewithall he needs in life. He's gonna do fine.
I can handle what I've got to do, because it's all about ME. I don't believe I could deal with seeing one of my children go through that crap. That would hurt too much.
If that makes me a bad father, then so be it.
never thought of that one
My daughter says that John Kerry reminds her of an erect penis. (And she's NOT flattering John Kerry) I don't know how many of those she's seen in her life, but she's not far off the mark here. The guy IS a dickhead.
His main problem is that he has no balls. Teresa locked those up in one of her money-bins years ago and lets John wear them only for special occasions now.
holding your tongue
I don't know why some people tip-toe around their topic on a blog. Y'know, that guy could say what he really means instead of being so....delicate about it.
Heh. I don't want to get into a fight with him.
This is a sick bastard.
No wonder I like him so much.
dogs and cats
I'm gonna confess another deep, dark secret here. I once had a cat that I really liked. Her name was "Girly-Bird" and I believe that she thought she was a dog, as much as a cat can. She stayed outside a lot, and when I came home from work, she would spring out of the bushes and roll around on the driveway, throwing a show and waiting to be petted.
The damned critter would purr and carry on until she was tired of being petted, then the bitch would bow up and hiss at me. Ungrateful shit. I dunno why, but I kinda LIKED that attitude.
I've had dogs that would come when I called, sit when I told them to, STAY when I told them not to move and pretty much do whatever I wanted. Try that shit with a cat. If they had a middle finger, they'd shoot you a bird. A got-dam cat thinks it owns YOU instead of the other way around.
Girly liked to come inside at night. She had a nice cat-bed and plenty of food, but do you think she wanted any of THAT? Hell, no. She liked to sneak into the bedroom and sit on my chest when I was asleep. I woke up many a time with that fucking cat trying to steal my breath.
I would throw her against the wall and cuss her ass out. I could wait 30 seconds and feel her hop back onto the bed. That bitch was gonna sit there and wait for me to go back to sleep, after which she was gonna creep up onto my chest and try to steal my breath again. I never could dissuade her from that obnoxious habit, no matter how many times I threw her against the wall.
I should have noticed something about Jennifer when Girly died. Jennifer went to the grocery store and I was watching TV. I heard the doorbell ring and when I answered it, I saw two little girls outside. One of them said, "Mister, I think your cat is dying in the street." Sure enough, it was Girly, with a broken back and blood coming out of both ends.
I got a towel and laid her on it and carried her home. I never got a chance to take her to the vet because she died right there in the driveway. I remember cussing her at the time. "God-DAMN you, Girly, don't do this to me!" I thought she was smarter than to get hit by a car that way.
I later discovered almost 100 yards of blood-trail from where she got hit to where she dragged herself back home, broken back and all. I buried her in the back yard and I cried when I did it.
Jennifer came home and I told her that Girly was dead. She never batted an eye. That's the way Jennifer is. She was the same way when her father died. Here today, gone tomorrow. Who cares?
I pity the next victim she latches onto. I'd rather have a cat. At least cats have SOME loyalty.
Girly came home to die.
I'm not surprised to see this. It's part and parcel of the "golbal test" John Kerry wants the USA to pass before it does ANYTHING.
If you like the IRS, you'll LOVE the International Criminal Court.
lemme 'splain lucy
Dick Cheney is evil. He once ran Hailburton, which is an evil corporation. EVERYBODY KNOWS that Haliburton is evil. Just read the lefty blogs.
John Edwards, on the other hand, is a friend of the common man. He made his millions honestly, by stealing it from insurance companies instead of producing anything.
But Dick Cheney is EEEEEEVILLLL! Never forget that fact. Plus, he's bald and Edwards has lots of hair. That should sway a lot of female voters to the Edwards camp. Edwards is prettier than Cheney.
Men are constantly accused of letting the little head do the thinking for the big head, and I can't argue with that fact. I'm guilty myself. But wimmen think with their pussies, too. It's just politically incorrect to say so.
The state branch of United Cerebral Palsy backed it as a way to get desperately needed assistance to scores of victims who didn't have viable legal claims. "We helped care for 700 different kids, and of those we knew of only two who had recovered money from physicians," recalls Jim Everest, who headed the group for 14 years. "The other 698 were just on their own, and caring for these kids is very, very expensive. It seemed like the 698 outweighed the rights of the two."
But John Edwards has pretty hair and Dick Cheney is evil. That's all you need to know, as long as you don't have a child with cerebal palsey. John Edwards walked off with your money.
But don't he have pretty hair?
October 04, 2004
end of story
Wonder how this guy ended up where he is? Follow the bouncing posts.
talk to 'em first...
Try to be nice.
if he doesn't listen...
This is what you do.
the one Quinton wanted
We got a puppy in 2000, right around Christmas. Jennifer took Quinton to the pound because he wanted his own dog and they came home with the sickliest pup I had ever seen. Its belly was round as a basketball and it could barely stand up on its own. It shit liquid and it wouldn't eat.
I said, "I don't think this dog is gonna make it. It's eat up with worms, it's got kennel cough and I don't believe it's strong enough to overcome that."
"It's the one Quinton wanted," she replied.
The dog died two days later and Quinton was heartbroken. I still blame Jennifer for that shit, because what Quinton WANTED and what she ALLOWED HIM TO DO were two different things. She should have picked a healthy dog. She can manipulate anybody. Why didn't she manipulate Quinton that day?
I'll tell you what I REALLY think, deep in my heart. She WANTED that dog to die. She wanted to teach Quinton the first lesson in being just like mama. Don't become attached to ANYTHING. Grow a heart of stone.
So far, I believe that the lesson took.
This is a sad story. I misted up reading it. Poor Spidey. He lost his first personal pet and that hurts in a way you never forget. I buried my first favorite dog when I was 12 years old and I still think about that dog today.
I have a piece of advice. They are more expensive than the mutts and the mullets in the fish store, but buy a Siamese Fighting fish next time. They prefer a solitary life in a fish-bowl and they're pretty to look at. Plus, they are very entertaining.
Just hold a mirror up to the fishbowl and let the fish see his own reflection. He gets pissed off, puffs up like a blowfish, sprouts all kinda gills and fins you never knew he had, and gets ready to KILL THAT MOTHERFUCKER he sees in the mirror. He doesn't know that he's looking at himself, and that makes the trick even better. Get TWO MIRRORS and really fake him out.
Now, he thinks he's outnumbered and he gets REALLY agitated. The bastard ain't afraid--- he just doesn't know which motherfucker to kill FIRST. He'll damn near beat himself to death in the fishbowl as he attacks his imaginary opponents. Take the mirrors away and he's fine again. He ran the infidels off and he's happy.
Those are entertaining fish and they live for more than two years. I wish I had one back in my dope-smoking days. I could have fucked with it for hours.
Yes. That fish comes highly recommended by ME.
I have another idea that I've been rolling around in my brain all day.
Admitting to contemplating a felony is a chargable crime in itself, and you've given the prosecutor the evidence on a silver platter.
Define "contemplating." If I have a dream about beating the shit out of my ex-wife, am I a felon because of my over-active imagination? If I lie like hell on this blog about buying a handgun, does THAT make me a felon? (And I assure you, from the bottom of my heart, that EVERYTHING I WROTE about buying a new handgun is PURE FICTION!!! I would NEVER do something like that.)
Am I guilty of... (gasp!)... a THOUGHT CRIME???
Fuck anybody who believes that. I won't eat that shit sandwich. I've been put through the wringer and hung up to dry for the past three years. I've lost everything I ever cared about and the same cunt who took it all is after my money now. Yeah. I think evil thoughts about her. Who wouldn't?
Thinking is one thing and doing is another. And the day the cops want to rough me and cuff me, then haul me off for THINKING is the day I'd just as soon go to jail as stay here. I am a free man. I can think what I want to.
When I can't do that, go ahead and lock me up. I'm not free anyway.
I think I did it again. I seem to have crashed somebody's site. Bejus, but I don't understand that! I ain't exactly Instapundit or one of those real heavy-hitters.
If I can crash you with a link, you need more bandwidth.
This guy reminds me of ME so much that it is frightening. I can't figure out how to permalink his individal posts, so just read the whole fucking blog.
Yeah. I think Laura Bush is a hottie, too.
a long snap
I want to hear from anyone who ever played long-snap center on a football team. If I am wrong, please correct me.
You hike the ball just like throwing a pass, only you do it upside-down, between your legs. You PICK THE BALL UP AND THROW IT, then hunker-down to get hit.
The guards on both sides of you lock their ankles behind yours to keep you from being knocked ass-over teakettle. You get your ass hit anyway, but you don't go as far backward as you might have without their help. Face it. When you've got to look between you legs on a football field, you ain't exactly in the best position to defend yourself.
Snapping for an extra point is a lot tougher than snapping on a punt. The punt is a LONGER snap, but you just need to get that one back there in the general direction of the punter. It's HIS goddam job to catch it and kick it. An extra point means hitting the holder's hands with a tight spiral, right on target, so that he can catch it easily, turn the laces forward and place the ball for the kick.
If you think that shit is easy, YOU try it sometime.
I came to Savannah in 1958 after the coal mine at Louellen shut down and my daddy lost his job. We lived with my grandmother for a few months until my daddy found steady work and could afford a place of our own. We ended up in a small, two-bedroom house in Pine Gardens, which was a working-class neighborhood, okay, but no fricking palace. My daddy worked incredible amounts of overtime just to make ends meet.
I started school that fall and I was laughed at, picked on and bullied because I was small and I talked "funny" with my hillbilly accent. That's how I learned to fight, because if I DIDN'T FIGHT, I wouldn't have survived. Kids are naturally cruel to those different from themselves. A good punch in the jaw helps cure some of those problems.
We ate a lot of pinto beans and cornbread. Money was tight. But we got by. Mama always took a job around Christmas, and I know NOW that she paid for Santa Claus that way. My parents were tough, in both the way they handled life and the way they raised me and my brother.
Do you own a good knife? I do. What makes tempered steel that'll hold an edge and not break easily?
I'll tell you, if you don't know. That blade is stuck in a fire, then beat with a hammer, over and over again, until it is tougher than the hammer hitting it. I believe that process is called "annealing," and it works just the same on people as it does on knife blades.
We don't anneal children anymore. We pamper the shit out of them and be their "friends" instead of their parents, and we're raising people who vote for John Kerry. Read my comments about the "FOOTBALL" post below. Yeah. I'm an "abusive" coach.
I don't think so, because I PLAYED for coaches that stood over me and screamed when I hit the ground and didn't get up. If I didn't have a broken bone protruding from my flesh and I wasn't losing copious amounts of blood, I WASN'T HURT! GET UP! RUB SOME DIRT ON IT!! DON'T BE A PUSSY!!!
Guess what? I got up every time.
They annealed my ass and I am a better man for that experience today. Wimmen and pussified men may not understand the concept of getting up when you hurt, taking one more step when you think you're exhausted, or refusing to quit when everybody else gives up. I DO.
It's tempering steel, and we don't do enough of that today.
This kind of pure shit ran me out of journalism school. I once was an idealistic young man. I believed in truth, justice and the American way.
I don't anymore.
It's a shark-pool out there in the real world, and the meanest shark with the biggest teeth and NO CONSCIENCE wins every time. Unless they get caught the way CBS did. Even THEN, they'll get away with it.
Advocacy journalism. Change the world. Make the world the way YOU want it to be. Lie if you have to, because it's all for a greater good.
Sounds like my slut of an ex-wife talking there.
I got this idea from one of my comments:
Who was "Sugarfoot?"
Where did Palidan live?
What weapon did Josh Randall carry on his hip?
Where did Chuck Conners lose his honor and become "Branded?"
Who starred in "The Travels of Jamie McPheeters?"
Who was Wagon Master on "Wagon Train?"
Who played "The Virginian?"
What was Clint Eastwood's character on "Rawhide?" Who was Trail Boss and how did he die in real life?
Who starred in "The Guns of Will Sonnet?"
Tell me who raped Miss Kitty on "Gunsmoke," and then got killed by Matt Dillon, in a gunfight on the dusty streets of Dodge City, even though he shot Matt first.
Speaking of "Gunsmoke," what was Doc Adams' first name?
I TOLD you people that I love westerns.
I've been shopping around for a couple of new pistols lately. I haven't bought a gun in a while and I'm about due. I'm going to have to be creative and maybe find a "gun-show loophole" or purchase out of the trunk of a drug-dealer's car, because I have a DOMESTIC VIOLENCE ORDER outstanding against me.
I've never committed domestic violence in my life and I don't intend to, but all a woman has to do is call a lawyer and say, "I FEEL threatened," and the paperwork goes right into the Central Computer Station for Records of Evil Men. You're fucked when that happens. I went to Mack's Gun Shop a week ago and asked him to run a background check on me. The computer almost blew up.
I am a walking red flag today and I am not supposed to own ANY firearms AT ALL, because that bloodless cunt started "feeling" and laid the phone call on the proper authorities. Man, that is one stacked deck to play with. She's been doing everything she could think of to kill me, short of sticking a pistol to my head and pulling the trigger, for THREE FUCKING YEARS! But somehow, SHE'S a victim.
I want to thank compassionate, feminist lawmakers for creating this situation. You assholes should ALL be dragged off and shot.
I'll buy a got-dam gun if I want one. It'll be an illegal purchase, but that's one thing gun-grabbers don't seem to understand. It's just like Prohibition. It's like the War On Drugs. Make it ILLEGAL and it's actually EASIER to get it than when it was legal. And the people selling the illegal commodity don't ask ANY questions. If you've got the cash, they've got the stash. Period and amen.
That's the way the world goes round and laws will never change that fact.
i missed it
I have something in the neighborhood of 500 fricking stations on my satellite TV, but I couldn't get this show. I am damn sorry I missed it, too.
I like wimmen who aren't afraid to take their clothes off.
Nope. No Liberal Bias here. The Borg Collective of network news anchors don't devour their own.
Brokaw and Jennings -- in one of the last times the three anchors will appear together before Brokaw retires Dec. 1 -- more than made up for Rather's silence on the controversy. "I've said this to Dan -- I don't think anyone should judge a man by one event in his career," said Jennings.
I judge Dan by his ENTIRE CAREER and he's been a lying motherfucker all the way. This event was nothing more than a circle-jerk, where Dan's cronies, who are guilty of doing EXACTLY what Dan does, rallied to his defense. What a surprise.
And they wonder why their television rating are going down the toilet.
i see now
I now understand why I have no parental rights where my son is concerned. I never raped his mother.
My aching ass...
October 03, 2004
The Atlanta Falcons remain undefeated and my beloved Georgia Bulldogs made Lee Courso and a few other prognosicaters eat shit on Saturday. I won a case of Shiner Bock beer. Heh. Lee said that Georgia didn't deserve to be ranked #3 in the country and he predicted an LSU victory. He was off only by the wrong team and damn near 30 points.
Can I have his job? I know a LOT about football.
I know how to deliver a long snap, and I did it back in the days before they outlawed having some crazy, rabid fucker lined up head-on in front of you, whose assignment was to BUST YOUR ASS as soon as you snapped the ball. Look at the picture of John Kerry below. He ain't ready for that kind of hit, and he doesn't know how to snap a football. He looks more like he meant to scratch his balls but missed. Dickweed.
There IS a right way and a wrong way to throw a football. I worked with both Quinton and Jack on technique-- kids tend to want to throw sidearm-- to teach them to throw overhand and use their shoulders, square their hips and throw by STEPPING INTO IT. They both can throw the hell out of a football now. Yeah. I taught them that.
I taught them to tackle by using more than their arms. I ALSO did horriffic things, such as telling both boys, as they lay writhing in the grass with tear-producing injuries, to get up, shut up and rub some dirt on it. They didn't have anything wrong with them. I told 'em. "If you can't take a lick, get off the field and buy yourself a Barbie doll. Go play with the girls. Football is SUPPOSED to hurt."
Those boys not only became remarkably healthy all of a sudden--- they got ANGRY, too. Oh, YES! Football is meant to be played angry. It ain't a game for pussies.
I taught them to catch. I taught them to kick and punt. I enjoyed doing that stuff with the boys and once we started a show in the yard, their friends always showed up to play along.
I went out to check my mail yesterday and I saw Steven and Justin throwing a football in the yard a few houses down. Justin dropped one that was right in his hands and I heard Steven yell "BUTTERFINGERS!!! IF YOU CAN TOUCH IT, YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO CATCH IT!!!"
I wonder where he learned that from? Sounds like something I said, many a time in the front yard.
In another life, I was a football coach.
yes, I can
Here's a good post about music. I've been there and done that numerous times. Something about guitars, singing and whiskey seem to draw people together. I can't explain why, but I KNOW that it is a force of nature.
And YES, Eric. I CAN write a song on demand about any subject you offer. I prefer to invent my own topics (trust me--you'll hear a few of those at Blogtoberfest) but I can make up a song about anything. It's not that difficult to do.
I'm not saying that it'll be a GREAT song, but it'll rhyme and make you either laugh or cry, depending on the subject. I can do it in less than an hour, too.
Who was "Johnny Yuma" and what actor played that role? Johnny Cash sang the theme song to that show and I still know all the words.
I seem to have a solid, etched-in-stone court date at long last. I received a letter from my lawyer yesterday informing me that my divorce appeal will be held on October 19th at the Effingham County courthouse, in front of the same judge who screwed me TWICE before. My lawyer wants to meet with me before then to discuss the case. I'll call him tomorrow and set up a date.
He'll charge me for sending the letter, he'll charge me for calling him, and he'll charge me for the meeting. Then, he'll charge me some MORE for showing up in court for my ritual fucking, after which I will be charged for the bloodless cunt's lawyer's fees, too. I KNOW how this is gonna go. I understand Georgia divorce law.
I get very philosophical about this shit sometimes.
I married a woman. I made twice the money she did at the time. We bought homes. We drove new cars. She wanted a baby and I gave her one. I worked my ass off, and I didn't even KNOW WHAT I WAS BEING PAID for almost six years because I had direct deposit in the bank. I never looked at the check receipts. I knew that I was making good money, but Jennifer kept the books. I told her many a time, "Buy whatever you want. Just let me know if we're broke."
We had a 3,000 square-foot house on more than 5 acres of land in the most wonderful neighborhood I've ever lived in. I sat on the back deck more than once and wanted to thank my lucky stars. I had more than I ever expected to have in life.
Jennifer got promoted and started making more money than I did. At first, I thought that her rise in income was great, because I thought it went into the Community Chest, the same way MY paycheck always did. I was mistaken, and I should have seen the truth the day Jennifer came home driving a brand-new sports car and bragged about how she put it in her OWN NAME, not OURS, because she wanted to test her PERSONAL credit.
Fuck. I didn't see the signals because I loved and trusted her.
Three months later, she stole all the money, she had me thrown out of my home, moved a lover in as soon as the door closed behind my ass, and gave MY key to HIM. She lied to EVERYBODY in my family and dropped them like a hot rock when she dropped me.
That was ALL in front of a six year-old boy.
None of that matters in divorce court. The bloodless cunt is worse than John Dillinger in my eyes, that bank-robber. She's been hounding my ass and breaking my heart for THREE YEARS NOW!!! And she's not finished yet. I couldn't look at my face in the mirror if I had done HALF THE SHIT that she's pulled. But wait and see. She'll get whatever she wants in court.
Somehow, I'm the villain in the script.
John Kerry assumes the position to accept "the global test."
Bloggers like these on-line tests. Here's one that John Kerry seems to want.
This most gracious southern lady owes me a case of beer and she says she's going to pay up, even after I told her that she didn't have to.
Gawd. We grow steel magnolias down South.
October 02, 2004
Most of the really good games start in about an hour and they'll last until after midnight. I intend to watch them. I LOVE football.
I tried to call my son last night and again this morning, but all I EVER get there is the answering machine. I don't know if the bloodless cunt is using caller ID to screen me or if she's farming my boy off somewhere every chance she gets so that she can go out and fuck her newest victim. I believe that it's a combination of both.
That woman is a sick bitch.
I spent some time this morning just contemplating my situation. I am being treated as a criminal under Georgia divorce law. I've been pulled out of lines in US Customs because of that shit. Jennifer KNOWS that I'm not a criminal. I KNOW that I'm not a criminal. But now it's up to me to PROVE that I'm not a criminal, simply because she ACCUSED ME of being one, whatever her fucked-up reasons. The law does not recognize a psycho-cunt when she goes apeshit and vindictive. In fact, the law in Georgia takes her side against YOU.
I haven't seen my son since February. THAT is criminal to me.
Never mind. I can't change what is. I just have to deal with it. I'm going to watch football, eat boiled peanuts and bark like a DAWG today. I wish my son were here to do that with me (He knows how to bark like a DAWG--I taught him early) but he won't be and that's the way it goes.
Ask me why I become depressed sometimes.
(One other thing. I started making a list of really ridiculous names I've heard so far today. I KNOW that I'll be branded a racist again for doing this... but I gotta wonder. WHY would anyone name a son "Cleaterick" or "Deontron?" John or Rob or Sam or Mike was just too easy? WTF? A name can be a blessing or a curse. I accept my name because it comes from a long line of Robert Smiths. I sometimes wish that I had a more entertaining name, but I'll keep what I've got rather than be a "Cleaterick." That is ridiculous.)
i reluctantly agree
Kelley asks a poignant question: don't we deserve better than this?
Yes, darlin,' we do. But that's all we've got to work with.
only a game
I've played many a game in my life and I always played to win. I didn't see the point in doing it otherwise. I hate to lose. I agree with something a great philosopher once said: "You show me a 'good loser' and I'll show you a LOSER." I believe that. I'm a poor loser.
I don't care if the game is football, poker, Monopoly or fricking tiddlywinks, I'm gonna try to beat your ass if I'm playing. That's my nature. I like the Darwinian aspect of competition, especially in games such as poker or golf, where a lot of the combat takes place inside your own head. I like the gut-checks that occur. I like the pressure. It makes me feel alive.
But I have a real downside to all of that crap. I also lose vicariously when a team or a person I'm rooting hard for goes tits up in a game. I mourned for two weeks after my beloved Baltimore Colts lost to the Jets in the 1969 Super Bowl. I came to hate Steve Spurrier the way I've hated no one else in my life because Florida beat my Bulldogs every year. When Penn State beat Georgia for the 1981 national championship I actually CRIED at the end of that game.
And if LSU beats Georgia today, I will mourn again. Not because I lost a case of beer on a bet. That's immaterial.
I just don't like seeing my Bulldogs lose.
I have a bet on the Georgia vs. LSU game today with this woman. She's just started her blog and I'm going to call her my blog-niece whether she is or not. I know who fathered her, so I COULD call an illegitimate bitch. But I won't.
I'm just going to call her "LOSER" by the end of the day.
October 01, 2004
I worked for a long time with a guy named Joe, who stuttered badly. (Catfish--guess who I'm talking about. YOU played poker with him, too.) He was a lab supervisor and when you first met him, you'd wonder how in the hell this dumbass ever rose to a supervisory position. That's what I thought until the first time I played poker with him.
Joe was the first "Rope a Dope" I ever encountered in my life. Yeah, he stuttered, but he wasn't a dumbass. In fact, he was sharp as a tack. He studied every angle and he knew what he was doing all the time. You never SAW that fact until it was too late. He already had you fucked by the time you realized what was happening. I think he used that stuttering, dumbass facade to his advantage. People tended to underestimate Joe, until he lowered the boom on them.
In some ways, I believe that George Bush does the same thing. I've gotten a lot of emails telling me that Kerry was "brilliant" in the debate last night and George came across as an "idiot" without his handlers around him. I call BULLSHIT on that.
George Bush reminds me a lot of Joe. Call him an idiot all you want to. Then, see who comes out on top every time. That ain't no goddam accident, and if you believe that it is, you're just setting yourself up for another fall. Slick talkers don't always make tall walkers.
And the "idiots" aren't always as stupid as you think they are.
I love westerns. I loved John Wayne in every movie I ever saw him in when he wore a cowboy hat. I STILL think Matt Dillon was the best got-dam marshal I ever saw on television. He didn't take any shit on the streets of Dodge City. (James Arness was ALSO the only person I ever saw tower over John Wayne when they were together on stage.) Richard Boone as Paladin was one spooky mo-fo. Even Steve McQueen did his bit as a bad-ass in Wanted: Dead or Alive. Yeah, Josh Randall was a dangerous man.
But some of my favorite actors in western movies and TV shows are the guys who played the villians and creeps. It takes TALENT to play a real scuzz-bucket and make people WANT to hate you. Here are my Top Ten:
#1-- Eli Wallach as "Tuco" in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.
#2-- Bruce Dern-- in just about every western ever made. Did he have a natural shit-ass grin, or what?
#3-- Albert Salmi-- he's dead now, but I still remember his great line from the movie Something Big when he was asked, "Aren't we gonna bury him?" He spat a stream of tobacco juice and replied, "Naw. Somethin' will come out of the hills tonight and drag him off."
#4-- Jeremy Slate-- I'll bet I've seen him die a hundred times. He's good at it.
#5-- L.Q. Jones-- He plays an EXCELLENT rat-bastard.
#6-- Dennis Hopper--- yeah, he chewed the scenery in a few westerns.
#7-- Robert Duvall-- okay, he's a star and an Academy Award winner now, but he should have gotten that recognition when he played Lucky Ned Pepper in True Grit. "Rooster, you got ten minutes. If I don't see you heading over that ridge, I'll kill the girl. You KNOW I'll do it!"
#8-- Strother Martin-- he's dead now, too, but he played some really good characters.
(UPDATE: Yeah. "What we've got here is a FAILURE TO COMMUNICATE!")
#9-- Dub Taylor-- another dead one, but he was damned good.
#10-- Slim Pickens-- he's dead now, but he once was a rodeo star before he got into acting. He could be a colorful character or a real shitass. His lasting claim to fame probably is Dr. Strangelove, but I liked him in westerns.
I left Jack Elam off the list because I ran out of room.
the "global test"
What exactly did Kerry mean with that statement? I've rolled it around in my brain all day and I STILL can't figure out what he's talking about, unless he means that Koffi Annan must have a seal of approval stamped on anything this country does. Maybe we need France telling us what to do?
Yeah. I want THAT to happen.
I dealt with a lot of hot-shot, wiz-bang ambitious people in my 24 years in a chemical plant. Some of them were all filled with piss and vinegar and had the unmitigated gall to take ME on to make their star shine brighter.
Hell, I did the same thing when I was a young pup and I learned how to handle that problem from the old gray-beards who taught me some very valuable lessons. You bitch-slap the piss out of that pup and send him yelping to his mama with his tail between his legs. Those guys did it to ME, and I did it to many others in return, once I finally got a few hashmarks on my arm and all my shit in one sock. But I never forgot those lessons.
That's called "experience" and you can't buy that with Heinz Ketchup money. You've got to live it and earn it. I never saw ANY young whippersnapper that I couldn't shade if he pissed me off. I knew the game better than he did.
Go read this post. THAT'S what I'm talking about.
Bush has experience. Kerry doesn't. We're at war.
I rest my case.
much ado about nothing
After the debate last night (I watched it on C-Span, and I liked the split-screen technique they used), I quickly scrolled through the network news stations to hear what the talking heads had to say. Almost to a man, they were calling it a slam-dunk for Kerry. I KNOW that they aren't BIASED or anything, but I didn't see the debate that way.
Yeah. Bush appeared tired and he looked pissed-off a couple of times. But he certainly had more substance in his words than Kerry did. I see by the polls that about 2/3 of the people watching said Kerry "won" the dog-and-pony show. But it didn't change their minds about how to vote this year.
Kerry needed a big bounce from this event and he didn't get it, no matter how hard network news was spinning for him. That fact can't be good news for his campaign.
Can you say "LOSER?" Good. I knew you could.
(By the way. I DID write this before the debate:
Kerry is a very good public speaker as long as you don't actually THINK about the shit flying out of his neck. That technique plays well with the True Believers and the Kool-Ade drinkers, but it won't change many minds, not with Kerry's track record of lies and fence-straddling.
Yeah. I was right. Again.)
Maybe he WAS a war hero. I doubt it and I tend to side with Recondo 32 and the Swift Boat Veterans on this topic, but I may be wrong. Perhaps Kerry DID distinguish himself so brilliantly in four months that he won more medals than people I know who fought for TWO YEARS in that war. Perhaps he DID earn three purple hearts without ever showing a scar for any of them. Yeah... PERHAPS.
I am 52 years old. I remember the Vietnam war very clearly and I also have many friends who fought in it. The ones I know who have Purple Hearts got the shit blown out of them in intense firefights. Kerry didn't. He got Purple Hearts for scratches.
One friend of mine has some really interesting scars on both legs. They are puckered holes caused by AK-47 bullets. He's happy to tell you the story about how he got ambushed one day and shot clean through the thigh first and thought that his femoral artery might be pierced because he was bleeding so badly. He jumped up and ran anyway, with bullets flying all around him. He got hit AGAIN, this time in the other leg, with an AK round through the calf.
He told me that fear and adrenelin are wonderful things. When you REALLY BELIEVE that you're GONNA DIE, bullets that go in-and-out don't stop you. He fell down before he arrived at the extraction point, and he couldn't get up again. Too much blood loss. But his buddies came back and hauled him onto the helicopter.
He spent three months in a hospital after that. He still walks with a bad limp today. That calf-wound took a lot of muscle and gristle with it. It damn near blew his leg off.
Yeah, John. Tell me a story like THAT ONE, hero.
check the link below
Jay mentions that his brand-new daughter recognized his voice as soon as he spoke to her. I'll buy that idea. BOTH of my children did the same thing. Of course, I talked to them and sang to them long before they were born, and they must have been listening to me. They damn sure recognized my voice when I spoke to them for the first time in the real world.
Check Jay's pictures, too. Babies always appear sort of beat-up when they're born. Hey! It's a rough trip down that birth-canal. Samantha was a C-section baby, but she still was bruised and dinged by the experience. My first ex-wife was in labor for 36 hours with her.
Quinton came spiraling out of my SECOND ex-wife with two black eyes, scrunched-up ears and bruises all over him. He got hung-up and had to FIGHT his way out. I worried about those ears for years, but they finally straightened out and look pretty good today. I have a handsome son and a beautiful daughter.
Jay, if you're not scared shitless right now, you aren't having the same reaction I did to fatherhood.
may she live long and prosper
Send well-deserved congratulations here. I've known Jay as a blog-buddy for a long time and I wish him, his lovely lady, and his brand-new daughter the very best. But I have to say one thing.
JAY!!! YOU HAVE STEPPED IN SHIT THAT YOU WON'T WIPE OFF FOR ABOUT THE NEXT 20 YEARS!!!!
Bejus! I've been there and done that. That little bundle of joy will cause your hair to turn gray and empty your wallet, too. I agree with something a great philosopher said once (I think it was Erma Bombeck): "If parents knew what they were getting into when they had a baby, the human race would have died off centuries ago."
Aw... I don't want to be a party-pooper. Congratulations, dude. Do your best to raise her right.
Where's my fucking CIGAR????
sounds like a plan to me
We need to be doing more of this. Kill the terrorists in bunches. Good plan.
Kerry asserted in the debate last night that the United States is more vulnerable to attack now than it was before 9/11. Do you believe that? Do you REALLY believe that's it's no more than a lucky accident that we haven't been hit again?
I don't. They haven't hit us because we've kept them on the run and we're killing them in droves. Terrorists have a difficult time planning and executing another attack on the USA when their money supply dries up, their training camps are destroyed and they're constantly dodging bullets. I call THAT a plan.
I believe that it will work, too.
I don't believe that either candidate won or lost last night's debate. Kerry was more articulate than Bush (surprise, surprise!), but if you listened closely to his rhetoric, he really didn't say anything of substance. Kerry was all presentation and little content.
Bush hammered away at a few key points and stayed on topic. Resolve. Take the fight TO the enemy. Strong leadership.
Kerry belched a bunch of smoke about recruiting allies and building coalitions, all of which sounded to me as if he wants UN permission to run our country. We don't need no stinking UN telling us what we can and cannot do. When you're Tall Dog, ACT LIKE ONE! I also believe that the International Criminal Court is a terrible idea, but Kerry seemed to embrace it as part of his Kiss The World's Ass and Make Friends philosophy.
I think Bush did well on North Korea. Bill Clinton tried to reason with and placate Kim Jong Il, with that blithering idiot Jimmah Carter as his front man, and look at where that got us. I wouldn't open "bilateral talks" with that crazy dictator. I believe that Bush, using China and Japan as legitimate allies against a cancer in our midst, is on the right track. Kerry would try to resolve the situation by kissing ass.
I've got news for all you simpering, whimpering, soccer-mommish, Kum-Ba-Yah-singing, "gimme a big hug" Democrats: You NEVER make friends by kissing ass. You simply encourage people to fuck you over because they see you as weak. Them's the facts, Jack. And we cannot afford that kind of thinking when we're at war against a determined enemy who already hates our guts.
John Kerry has a "plan" for everything. He'll solve all of our problems with his "plan." Think about Kerry's "planning" and then look at his campaign. BWHAHAHAHAAA!!! The dumbfuck can't run a Presidential campaign, but he'll run the country just fine. Yeah, right.
If Kerry mentioned Vietnam last night, I didn't hear him do it. I don't know why his head didn't explode. He DID mention being in combat and leading soldiers in combat and how war-like he could be, but I never heard him say "Vietnam." That musta been tough.
The debate certainly didn't change my mind about the candidates. George Bush is NOT an articulate public speaker and he'll lose the dog-and-pony-shows to a slickmeister such as Kerry every time. Bullshit comes easily to Kerry, because he's been doing it all his life, and these debates are mostly bullshit contests.
I just know one thing more than ever after last night. If I were an evil dictator with evil intentions toward the United States, I'd play poker with John Kerry. I could bluff him.
I wouldn't try the same tactic with Bush. He may check and raise.
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