Gut Rumbles

May 31, 2005

i'm in

The book I've been working on (until my old computer crashed and ate almost everything I had written) was a compilation of blog-posts, linked by some narrative in between the posts. I thought it would make a nice, breezy airplane read, or something you could use to occupy a few hours of your time while you soaked up some rays on a beach somewhere.

It wasn't meant to be a heavy, intellectual book. It was supposed to be a "fun" read. I still intend to finish it, but in the meantime, I kinda like This idea:

Hey Y'all--

I've decided it's past time we all got published. By now, we all have plenty of content and together we can fill the pages of the first book (that I'm aware of)
that is a compendium of stories from Southern bloggers.

Here's the idea, you select the best two or three stories from your archives (or write a new one) and send me the text or a link. I'll compile them all into a book format, handle the processing and fees, etc., and we'll have our first book. If it works out well on this first effort, I'd like to begin work on a
second volume.

Last, but not least, we need to talk about money and copyrights, etc. I would like your suggestions, but at first blush, I'd propose me getting only 30% of the
profits for putting together the book, and splitting the remaining 70% between the contributors equally. As for rights, I would propose that the book only has
a one time use right.

So what do you think? I would like to see this take off and your help and suggestions will be invaluable. Also, if you know of other bloggers who might be
interested in this little venture, please let me know.



single Southern guy.

I think this is a GREAT idea. Hell, I don't give a damn if nobody makes a nickel off the deal, but the rest of the world NEEDS to see some good Southern bloggers in action. We're not all slack-jawed, mouth-breathing, inbred, racist red-necks. Some of us are EXCELLENT story-tellers.

Adam, I'm IN. Just tell me what I need to do and I'll be there. Plus, I can probably be a good recruiting officer for you. I've gotten drunk associated with a LOT of Southern bloggers over the past couple of years and there's some really good stuff out there. Put all of those people into one book and it could be explosive.

I LIKE that idea.

garage sales

Every now and the, you can make a really good buy at a garage sale. I've never had that kind of luck, but some people do.

That chair sounds like something my grandfather might have owned. After the Great Depression, he never fully trusted banks again and he ALWAYS kept some cash stashed somewhere in the house. A lot of old people did that.

You never can tell what trash will end up being treasure.

May 30, 2005

the European constitution

One of the first lessons I learned in Senior Lifesaving classes is that you NEVER grab onto or hold out your hand to someone who appears to be drowning. The desperate person will use YOU as a ladder to climb and end up drowning you both. You may use a towel, a stick or a life-preserver to rescue them, but don't EVER let a drowning person get his or her hands on you. If you do that, you risk going down with them.

I'm beginning to think that some people in Europe attended the same classes. Have YOU noticed that the countries drowning the most quickly want this agreement more than the countries that still swim okay on their own?

What causes that?

a piss-fight

My daughter has a piss-fight going on her blog. Well... that damn sure ain't the first one of THOSE I ever saw.

My daughter's sexual orientation is HER business now, not mine. She's 22 years old and she's been on her own for a while. She's doing okay (even if she DOES bitch a lot about money--- but who WASN'T broke at the age of 22?), and I think Stacey is a wonderful person. I've got no problem whatsoever with the life my daughter has chosen.

I'll tell you one of the main reasons why, too. To get married in the state of Georgia, you have to get a license to do it, and then you take a solemn VOW to make everything legal. It's a big legal deal. Hell--- I couldn't get a got-dam VASCETOMY without having MY WIFE sign a permission slip giving HER okay.

It seems now that I had no claim on her pussy, but she had the rights to my seed. "Splain THAT one to me, Lucy.

Of course, the bloodlesscunt woman can chose to break that vow anytime the urge blows her dress up, and the man pays the consequences. I always thought it odd that in divorce court I was supposed to swear an oath to tell the truth before I took the stand in front the judge when the only reason we were there to begin with was the fact that my ex-wife violated her VOW of marriage. But if I lie to the judge, I'm in "contempt of court."

There ought to be charge called "contempt of marriage" that applies to people such as my ex-wife. The only person who wiped her ass on marriage vows and slipped off to throw her pussy at another man was HER. But that fact means nothing in divorce court.

I suppose that oaths and vows are different things in the eyes of the law. If that's true, then the law is a cross-eyed idiot.

That shit doesn't make sense to me. Either you give you word and stand by it, or you don't. You're either a liar, or you're not. Seems pretty simple to me. But that's not how it works in a courtroom.

I want a grandchild some day. I hope Samantha gives me one. I don't care how she does it, because I'm not a big believer in "conventional" rules. Those rules are for tight-assed cowards who are afraid to defy tight-assed society. I am not, and I don't believe that my daughter is, either.

The same tight-assed morons I'm speaking of here set up Georgia divorce law. Don't even TRY to tell me that they have a lick of sense or ANY "moral" high ground to stand on. They don't. They are pucker-butted fucktards.

I'm on my daughter's side on this one. She ain't ready to have a child yet, but when she is, I'll do everything I can to help her.

nothing pains me worse

Forget about my belly-pains. I'm a grown man. I can handle it.

But if you want to break my stone-cold heart, just tell me story such as this one. Yes, tears come to my eyes.

I didn't grow up with all the bells and whistles that a lot of kids have today, but I had a mama and a daddy who loved me and I always knew where home was, even long after I moved out of "the house." That door was always open to me, no matter what.

I pity children who don't know that feeling.

rough 36 hours

I had another belly attack yesterday. Once again, I ate something that disagreed with me and I spent a long time curled in a fetal position on my couch in VERY intense pain. I gobbled vicodin like candy, but it didn't do any good.

Oh, it numbed me so that the pain wasn't so intense, but I still could feel that rabid armadillo trying to claw its way out of my guts. The drugs put me to sleep, but I ran a fever, had hallucinatory dreams and sweated while I shivered. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling as if I had been stabbed right under my left-side ribs by a red-hot Bowie knife. All in all, it was a most unpleasant experience.

I'm feeling okay now, after drinking a lot of water and having nothing to eat for a long time. I THINK I'm hungry now, but I'm not taking any chances. I have GOT to go to a doctor and find out what is wrong with me. This shit ain't normal.

It's strange. I can blog when I hurt and it kinda takes my mind off the pain. But it doesn't take the pain away. I'm getting very tired of having this crap hit me about every two weeks or so. I am not good with pain.

I ain't living long like this.

memorial day

I thought about writing a post about Memorial Day... but I decided not to. There's plenty of good ones already out there in blogdom without me adding my two cents worth. I fly my American flag from my front porch EVERY day and I recognize the blessings I've inherited from those who gave their lives to preserve that right for me.

I appreciate the sacrifices they made.

I wish I had thought of doing something like this. Pam not only had a great idea--- she acted on it, too. And I'll bet she brought joy to some troops today. Home-made ice cream probably tastes better than ever in the desert, thousands of miles from home.

Happy Memorial Day.

culture---and out-growing it

I stole this link from here and I blogged about the subject earlier here. I want to read that book.

If you think there isn't a mountain dialect spoken in the hollows of Harlan County, Kentucky, you've never been there. That sound is still music to my ears, but the rest of my family and I stopped stopped speaking it years ago. It works fine in the mountains of eastern Kentucky, but it doesn't make you sound very intelligent or capable when you speak it to someone who's never heard it before.

One of the first things I learned when I came to Savannah: practice ditching that hillbilly accent. It doesn't fit in around here. Learn to talk the way everybody else does. So, I did.

That's one of the reasons I laughed my ass off at the idea of "Ebonics" when some idiots were actually SERIOUS about promoting ghetto-dialect as a legitimate second language.

My thought was.... "Here kid--- you trying to get out of this sump and make something of yourself in life? Let me help. I'm going to tie this BIG ROCK around your foot and send you out there to hobble around. When you don't find a job, come hobbling back here and I'll tell you it was all Whitey's fault. It had nothing to do with the rock tied to your foot."

I like a lot of things about people I call "red-necks." They're good old boys, unsophisticated but friendly as hell, good beer-drinkers, hard-workers and honest. They take care of their kids and they don't beat up the wife. They like country music and NASCAR racing. They own guns and enjoy hunting. If they make a good kill, they'll drive by your house and offer you a fresh deer-haunch.

I DON'T like Poor White Trash. There is a HUGE difference between PWT and a red-neck. Poor White Trash won't work. They blame every problem they have on somebody else. They allow their kids to grow like wild grass. They live in a single-wide mobile home with a broken front door, a blue tarp over the roof and a $16,000 bass boat in the drive-way. The only reason they ever get dressed is to walk to the mailbox and see if the Welfare Check arrived yet.

Am I being racist when I say that I see the same difference in Black Culture today? Them that wants it goes and gets it--- and it's OUT THERE TO BE HAD!!! If doing that is considered to be "acting white," I must respectfully disagree. I call it ACTING CIVILIZED!!! And it works, too.

On the other hand, you have the black equalivant of PWT, and they display the same characteristics of sorriness, excuse-making and self-destructive behavior. My point is that it's not a racial thing, in MY humble opinion. Some people are just plain sorry.

Preaching to the sorry people that what they are doing is legitimate guarantees that sorry people will remain sorry. I don't see how doing that improves a sorry person's life. That crap just makes people who are NOT dead-ass sorry pay more in taxes.

If I sound harsh, I mean to be.

what can I say?

The only people I hate more in this life than hormonal wimmen with the vapors are whining pussy-men. What a bunch of shit-heads.

If I believed that one driver weighing 100 pounds less than I did in a race car gives THAT drive an "unfair advantage" over me, I must not have much confidence in my racing skills. Robby Gordon needs to change his Kotex and go home.

Fucking wimp.

May 29, 2005

just thinking

*Did you ever notice that Matt Dillon has no beard? No matter how many days he's out on the trail, he never shows even a five-o'clock shadow. Amazing! How can a guy that bad and that ballsy have a face that never even grows peach fuzz?

*Three of the most absolutely gag-me chunks of cheese you can find in television reruns are "The Time Tunnel," "Alias Smith and Jones" and "Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea." BEJUS, but those shows suck! All three were hits in their time.

*I would add "Lost in Space" to that list, but that show managed to become so cheesy that it was it was good, if you like really rancid cheese. "DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!" That series is kinda like The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It sucks so bad that it pulls you in.

*I saw George Lindsay as a villain on "Gunsmoke" today, long before he ever played "Goober Pyle" on the "Andy Griffith Show." He acted just like Goober except he wore a cowboy hat.

*I cannot take Larry King seriously. I'm sorry, but the guy just makes me think of a lizard when I see him. If he's a serious "journalist," I'm a goddam jet pilot. The man is a clown, complete with red suspenders.

*My five favorite character actors of all time are Bruce Dern, Jack Elam, Strother Martin, Denver Pyle and Slim Pickins. Close runners-up are Ben Johnson, LQ Jones, Dub Taylor, Jeremy Slate and Dennis Hopper. Did you know that Slim and Ben were rodeo cowboys before they got into acting?

*And YES!!! I am bow-legged. I shoulda been a cowboy myself.

(UPDATE: I don't know how I forgot Warren Oates on my list of favorite character actors. That guy was almost as toothy and nasty as Bruce Dern.)

fisking a comment

I'm in a foul mood and this comment just chapped my Cracker ass. It's a perfect example of what's wrong with this country today.

Just to put in a contrary opinion.

Banning an activity makes it less commonly done. I don't think there is any argument about that. On the downside, driving it underground makes life harder for those who engage in that activity, either as buyer of seller, because it becomes a criminal activity, without regulations.

Your sweeping statement applies to speed limits, too, right? NOBODY violates those laws. How about murder? Make it illegal and people stop killing each other, right? Outlaw guns and you have no more gun crime, right? I beg to differ with you.

Driving any human vice underground accomplishes two things. First, it brings criminals into the trade because what they are doing is against the law anyway, and that pissant fact doesn't bother them. They're perfectly willing to sell whatever the government says they can't sell. Second, it poses a huge risk for consumers because you never know what that shit is you buy from Vito in the alley behind the bar. But the central point is: the laws don't stop it from happening.

Most people don't appreciate, because they are never told, that during Prohibition, deaths from liver (alcoholic) cirrhosis dropped. This is a lethal scarring of the liver due to chronic or recurrent hepatitis (liver inflammation), in this case due to alcohol.

The original name for this type of cirrhosis (Laennec's cirrhosis). He was a French physician in the 19th century. The French, famous wine drinkers, had a lot of this disease.

Give me a fucking break. Joel, you're going to tell me with a straight face that during Prohibition, when people made "bathtub gin," ran moonshine through car radiators and sold rubbing alcohol as genuine hootch, FEWER PEOPLE got sick from drinking? I'd like to see a link to your source. I seem to recall reading about the number of people who never had the chance to develop cirrhosis because they were POISONED RIGHT AWAY by what they drank in those days. And the end result was people drank anyway, and organized crime got its start.

It is common for many rational people to think nothing should be banned. Let adults decide what do with their own bodies.

A contrary view is held by many peopler, who think they are supposed to control the activities of other people. You know who you are. YOU ARE PARENTS.

Okay, Ward Cleaver. You missed one small detail in that holier-then-thou observation. Parents control the behavior of CHILDREN. Once those kids become adults, they have the right to make their own decisions. As a parent, the best you can hope to do is instill a good set of values in your children so that they do okay in the world. But once they fly the nest, it's not your job to control their behavior anymore. That's THEIR JOB.

THESE PARENTS CARE ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS TO THEIR CHILDREN, unlike those rational adults who don't give a hoot about what happens to other people.

That's right, these parents don't want their children to be drug addicts or alcoholics, and don't want them smoking, and want laws passed to make such behavior by their children difficult.

No, they want GOVERNMENT to raise their children for them and I find that idea absolutely repugnant. If these fucking laws you're so proud of worked, we wouldn't have teenagers smoking dope and getting drunk today, but we do. And the fact that too many parents rely on GOVERNMENT to raise their children is why we end up with so many drunk, stoned kids. Hang it out there as "forbidden fruit" and see if a teenager won't go for it. The reason I smoked my first joint was because all the anti-drug propaganda I received in school and on TV made me curious about it. If it was THAT bad, it had to be good, so I tried it. And I don't believe that I was that unusual as a teenager.

So, as long as we have PARENTS we will have laws to control the use of drugs and alcohol. Live with it. I like parents.

I loved BOTH of my parents. I AM a parent myself. What's that fact got to do with whether the laws are effective and necessary or not? I can answer that question easily: diddly-squat. The fact that you "like parents" doesn't mean that you need Daddy Ted Kennedy or Uncle Henry Waxman or Mama Barbara Boxer raising your kids. That's YOUR goddam job, not the government's.

The wise thing to do is to respect their laws as much as you are able, and don't endanger your freedom or wealth by circumventing these laws stupidly.

Posted by joel at May 29, 2005 08:44 PM

And don't bitch about the laws even when they are stupid and don't work, either. Right? Just be a good little sheeple. That's "wise."

My aching ass, it is. Joel, your line of reasoning is why the Founding Fathers are spinning in their graves today over what this country has become. You are the last person in the world who needs to be preaching about how to "endanger your freedom."

Shit. You're willing to give yours away.

nice takedown

Bill Moyers is another one of those leftists moonbats who make my skin crawl. He reminds me a lot of a spoiled little kid whose mama still wipes his ass today, and he throws hissy-fits if somebody teases him about his mama still wiping a grown man's ass for him. Damn pussy.

Just go read this. Sounds exactly like what I expect from the Bill Moyers I know and despise.


Yeah. We're the bad guys, all right. Tell me again about abusing the Koran and what a terrible form of "torture" that is?

I absolutely LOVE this quote from Amnesty International:

"In Iran, stoning a person to death is not against the law. Using the wrong stone is."

I'm glad we got THAT straight.

tell it to 'em in iowa

And tell it to 'em in South Dakota, too (Thank you, Tom Daschle). I learned last fall that you HAVE to buy ethanol in certain states, even if you're driving a car with a Shelby Cobra engine in it. Put 87 octane ethanol in one of those and that magnificent machine makes noises like granny when her "rheumatiz" was afflicting her.

I also liked the post because it points out some of the hidden costs (or at least the costs the government, farmers and environmentalists don't want you to see) that is hidden in the bushes with EVERY form of "alternative energy." You think "BIG OIL" is a villain? Those guys are pikers when it comes to raping the consumer.

Take a look at government.

(UPDATE: I forgot to include the link to the post about the TRUE cost of ethanol and now I can't find it again. I apologize for fucking up that way. It was a good post. If you wrote it, drop me an email and I'll fix my oversight.)

hate your job?

Via Catfish:


When you have your next "I Hate My Job" day, try this...

On your way home from work, stop at your pharmacy and go to the thermometer section and purchase a rectal thermometer made by Johnson and Johnson. Be very sure you get this brand.

When you get home, lock your doors, draw the curtains and disconnect the phone so you will not be disturbed. Change into very comfortable clothing and sit in your favorite chair, open the package and remove the thermometer. Now, carefully place it on a table or a surface so that it will not become chipped or broken. Now the fun part begins.

Take out the literature and read it carefully. You will notice that in small print there is a statement, "Every rectal thermometer made by Johnson and Johnson is personally tested" Now, close your eyes and repeat out loud five times, "I am so glad I do not work for quality control at Johnson and Johnson."


Ain't it the truth?

dry counties

We still have a lot of "dry" counties in Georgia. If you drive Highway 129 north of Athens, you'd better stop in Arcade to buy any hootch you want, beause it's dry all the way to the North Carolina border from there. Oh, you can take a detour over to Helen and find liquor and beer THERE, but you won't find any on 129.

Of course, as soon as you cross the border into North Carolina, you're in liquor store heaven. If you stop there and check the tags in the parking lot, almost every one is a Georgia tag. This "dry" crap doesn't stop people from drinking--- it just makes them go somewhere else to buy what they want.

That's one reason Randall's Liquor Store is such a gold mine. It's right on the line between Effingham and Chatham counties. You can't buy liquor or mixed drinks in Effingham County. You can in Chatham. Check the plates in Randall's parking lot. EVERY GOT-DAM ONE is from Effingham county.

The Baptists and the holy-rollers think they're keeping people away from sin with these stupid laws, but what they're actually doing is costing Effingham county a lot of money. It's just like the War On Drugs. You're not gonna STOP people from getting fucked-up with any law you pass. YOU may feel all righteous and pleased about the law, but people are going to find a way to get fucked-up anyway.

If they have to drive a little farther, they will. If they have to deal with a shady character or two, they will. But, in the end, they'll GET WHAT THEY WANT! And no law is going to stop them.

Harlan County, Kentucky was dry for as long as I can remember. If you wanted to buy booze or beer LEGALLY, you had to drive 35 miles to Cumberland to get it. Thanks to my cousin's connections, I learned that you could get anything you wanted less than two miles from his house, smack-dab in the middle of Harlan County. Bootleg places were EVERYWHERE around there, and they didn't card, they didn't ask for IDs and they'd sell you anything you wanted if you rode up on a tricycle wearing a set of diapers, as long as you had the money.

My Aunt Netta always said that Harlan stayed dry because the Baptists and the bootleggers BOTH wanted it that way. The Baptists could feel holy and the bootleggers made money. People still got drunk.

I'll never understand idiots who try to deny human nature when they see examples of it every day. The idiots may not want what they see to BE TRUE, but it is. If you know the right people, it's easier to get a drink in a "dry" county than it is in a "wet" one. Bootleggers are already violating the law, and they have no liquor license to lose. They'll sell to anybody, regardless of age.

Buying dope is the same thing. You can get it if you want it. No law will EVER stop that, either. There's just too much money in the business and people like to get fucked-up.

What the laws do is make it easier for kids to get it, when you never know what you're REALLY getting and you have to deal with shady characters to score it. I really don't see the wisdom in that shit. A 13 year-old kid can buy a bag of reefer easier than he can purchase a pack of Marlboros today, and if you think I'm lying about THAT, you've got your head up your ass.

That's what all these "dry counties" and "War on Drugs" laws accomplish. The laws don't stop people from drinking or doping, but they make criminals rich and turn otherwise law-abiding citizens into criminals. You will ALWAYS have vendors and customers in that kind of trade, because the demand has been there since the dawn of mankind.

The same thing applies to prostitution. Wimmen always have been willing to sell pussy and men always have been willing to buy it. No law in the world is EVER going to stop it. In fact, these laws usually make the problem WORSE.

And wasting law-enforcement resources on trying to stop human nature lets a lot of murderers, rapists, thieves and thugs sneak right under the radar screen while the cops are busy busting some poor bastard who solicited an undercover police woman for a blow-job on Friday night.

That crap sure makes ME feel safer in my bed at night.

a man of wisdom

I've said pretty much the same thing before. Do we really NEED an ambassador to the United Nations? I don't think so, and if that dingbat Barbara Boxer wants to hyperventilate and develop the vapors over the nomination of John Bolton, I say let her have her way.

The United Nations needs us a lot more than we need them. Let's just surrender in this case and tell Boxer, "You're right, cunt darlin.' Bolton is NOT qualified for the job, so we're not going to fill it with ANYONE." Then, just let the United Nations do what it does best WITHOUT our involvement in any of it.

Circle-jerk, be corrupt, trash the USA and line your pockets with bribes and graft while your minions rape children, loot and steal all over the world. This idea reminds me of the post I wrote below.

Do we really WANT to be a member of THAT "fraternity?"

a matter of taste

I'm not certain what this says about the musical tastes of young people today, but I don't think it speaks highly on their behalf. I guess I'm just an old fart.

Still... it's probably better than hip-hop or rap.

memes and tags

I don't give a damn about that stuff. In fact, I think it's kinda rude to tell someone that you MUST write about THIS and you MUST link ME because I "tagged" you. Now, YOU have to go "tag" some other people to keep the "meme" going. Fuck that.

I never joined a fraternity in college. I was invited to, and I blogged about the experience somewhere in my archives. I went to a "rush" party with two friends and the "brothers" had plenty of beer and even a stripper there to entertain the potential members.

Sometime during the night, I was called aside by the President and the Sergeant of Arms of Pi Kappa Alpha Fraternity and told that I was "Pike material," but my two friends just didn't quite measure up to their high standards for admission into that wonderful group.

I told them to kiss my Cracker ass.

Rick and Glenn had been my friends for years. If THEY weren't "Pike" material, then neither was I. I told the frat leaders that I would rather pick my own friends than have them assigned to me by a bunch of pompous assholes. We left the party shortly thereafter.

I never told Rick or Glenn about that incident. I just said that WE didn't make the cut. And that was the truth. We were the Three Musketeers back in those days. I don't know if they would have done the same for me, but I always figured that if we couldn't ALL get in, then none of us should.

All this "tagging" and "meme" shit reminds me of that night. I don't belong to a fraternity today, either. I still pick my own friends. If I want to write about a particular meme running around in blogdom, I will... but it won't be because somebody I don't know "tagged me" to do it.

I never attended another "rush" after that night. If YOU like it, that's fine with me. It just ain't my style.

I'm picky that way.

he's back!

Pickled, but still in one piece. His blog totally vanished while he was gone, but that's his own damn fault for having it set up the way he does. Still, when I went to visit and saw a blank page, I worried about him.

Yeah, I make a lot of fun about yankees and their peculiar patterns of behavior. I believe that all that cold weather they endure freezes their brains and makes them somewhat crazy, unlike Southerners who are BORN crazy. But... as yankees go, anyway... Jim is a good one and I am delighted that he is back.


I totally agree with this guy. I've seen a LOT of possums in my life and I believe that they are absolutely disgusting animals. They have some really bad habits, one of which is to freeze dead still when a light hits them in the night.

That's why I see so many of them dead on the road around where I live.

Maybe possums live in a strange warrior-type society, where the only way to possum heaven is under the tires of a passing automobile. A possum who dies of old age is not a true possum. He will spend his eternity at the gates of Possum Valhalla, never to sup at the Warrior's table.

I agree with the writer on another point, too. NOBODY calls them "Opossums" in the South. That's a fucking "possum," by damn! And about the only creature more stupid on the highway at night than they are is an armadillo, which is affectionately known as "possum on the half-shell" where I live.

Which reminds me of a couple of jokes Quinton told me the last time I saw him.

"Why did the chicken cross the road?"

To show the armadillo that it COULD be done!

"Why did the skeleton NOT cross the road?"

He didn't have the guts!

"Why did the bubble gum cross the road?"

It was stuck to the chicken's foot!

That's my son, the Young Comedian.

Telling those jokes yesterday caused my brother to recall a commercial he SAYS that he saw once, although I don't recall it. It started with a shot of a chicken standing on the side of the road, clucking and carefully looking both ways. Then the chicking goes running across the road. The camera pans back to show a bar with a big neon "Budweiser" sign flashing over the door. The chicken crosses the road and runs inside the bar.

Cut to two old men sitting in rocking chairs on a country porch while they drink Budweiser beer. One looks at the other and says.... "Well.... now we KNOW."

Did YOU ever see that commercial? If my brother hallucinated that one, he needs to sell the idea. I thinks it's very amusing.

(I stole the possum link from here.)

May 28, 2005

blackberry "brandy"

That chemistry experiment in my kitchen has simmered down somewhat from the way it started. Now, it's sounding like a clock with a second-hand that ticks about twice every second into the blow-off can. Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! So far, so good.

I like the color. It's dark and murky and looks exactly like.... BLACKBERRY JUICE, with lots of foam on the top and bubbles in it. I figure that in about a week, it'll be ready for the finishing touches. (Heh. Some of you people probably thought that I was making this shit up. Well... I AIN'T! Oh, I'm making the shit up, all right, but this is NOT a fantasy.)

My Uncle Virgil was at mama's house today and when I told him what I was doing, he insisted that I save some for him. He always liked my home-made beer and wine. He never tasted any of my moonshine, but HIS DADDY (MY grandfather) taught me how to do it, so I suppose that I owe him a slash or two.

I have no idea how this chemistry experiment will turn out. If all goes according to plan (which it has, so far), I should be able to make close to a gallon of brandy, once I water it down to around 100 proof and if I don't blow up my got-dam still in the cooking process. I should have about 20% alcohol in the mash (I put 10 pounds of sugar in there) when it's through percolating in that 5-gallon carboy.

I bought twelve Mason jars on my last trip to Wal-Mart, which will be MORE than enough to catch my squeezin's when I perform the ILLEGAL part of my plan, probably sometime around next weekend. I've got the still ready, just not fully assembled yet. If the cops raid me tonight, I am doing NOTHING against the law.

Right now, I'm making home-made wine and THAT'S not illegal.

When I get ready to run it off, I know what to do. The trick to making good stuff rather than bust-head is to toss what comes out of the worm onto an open flame until it explodes like gasoline instead of making a steamy hiss when it hits the fire. Then, allow about half a Mason jar to go to waste. That's the BAD alcohol that evaporates first. That's what will give you headaches, make your hair fall out and cause you to go blind.

After that, catch it all until you throw some on the fire and it hisses again instead of exploding in a bright, blue flame. Quit when that happens. You're done.

Of course, I'm lying about every bit of this. But if I WERE going to do such a thing, that's how I would do it.

fuck the government

I would not live like this. I refuse to take that kind of abuse from ANYONE, and if the cops won't do anything about it, I WILL. And I'll let the chips fall where they may.

Bejus! If you ever spit on me, I won't need a fucking DNA kit to take care of the problem. YOU'RE gonna need a good dentist to replace the teeth I knock out of your head. If I am arrested for it, then so be it.

The citizens of Great Britain need to grow a set of balls. The cops obviously don't have any. And neither does their government.

i didn't know he was that old

Eddie Albert died today. He was 99 years old. I knew that he'd been around forever in movies and television, but I didn't realize that he was that old. He didn't look 99.

I spent a few hours over at my mama's house today. Three of my May 23rd birthday family members showed up for a mini-party. We ate hot dogs and hamburgers and told tall tales the way we always do. I come from a long line of good storytellers.

My cousin Madison (born on May 23rd) made a tiara for my grandmother (born on May 23rd) to wear as Queen of the Ball, and of course Mommie wore it. My brother (born on May 23rd) also was there. It was a lot of fun.

I got there a little early and my Aunt Peggy asked (in between saying "you need to eat something. Here. Try THIS! Eat some of THIS! Rob, are you sure you don't want some of THIS?" If you don't eat like a hog around Peg, she worries about you.) "Rob, is it difficult for you to come over here, to your mama's house?"

I gave her a truthful answer. The drive over there is difficult for me, because I am NOT in the best of health nowdays. That's a 60-mile round trip from where I live and I despise the traffic in Savannah, especially on the Southside. I also know that I look like Fido's ass compared to what I was four years ago.

But walking into that house is NOT difficult for me. The place is full of memories--- most of them very, very pleasant. I miss my mama, but I am happy with the way she died (if such a thing is possible). She was herself right up to the end, and if you've got to go, that's how to do it.

I think Eddie Albert did the same thing.

big difference

There is one hell of a big difference between dragging an old computer box off into the woods and practicing your quick-draw on it and doing something like this. Look at the video. Vomit whenever you feel the urge.

Bejus! And my ex-wife convinced the courts that I shouldn't own a gun.

another blister on my thumb

I confess--- I am a western movie addict. I watched the entire John Wayne marathon on the Western Channel (at least PARTS of all of it) on the Duke's birthday, and I NEVER miss a new "Gunsmoke" rerun. I've been keeping score of how many people Matt Dillon shot dead on that show and I am approaching 100 notches on his gun now.

I LOVED a line I heard on "Gunsmoke" this morning. Festus warned Matt, "I don't know who he was, but he says he don't like you, Matthew, and he aims to kill ya."

Matt responded, "Well... that certainly narrows the field, now doesn't it?"

BWHAHAHAHAHAAA! That's one of the reasons I love that show so much. Matt Dillon had a LOT of enemies. But he had a set of balls the size of grapefruits.

Call it fantasy all you want to, but I have a non-existent pistol that looks a lot like the one Matt carries, and my friend catfish bought me a non-existent holster for it when we went to the blog-meet in Helen last fall. It's a gunslinger holster, and I've worked that leather with oil and treatment until it's soft as a baby's ass now.

I've been practicing my quick-draw.

That's a lot harder than it looks on television. I've figured out the trick now, and I am deadly on cardboard boxes and pictures of attorneys in the phone book. The trick is to cock the pistol (non-existent, of course) as it's coming out of the holster and be ready to shoot as soon as you "feel" the target. You can't draw, cock and fire with any speed.

I understand now why a lot of true western gunslingers wore the side-draw guns. With one of those, you come out of the holster with the gun parallel to the ground and there's less chance of putting one into the dirt in front of your target. Less chance of shooting your own damn fool self in the foot, too.

I wore another blister on my right thumb practicing my quick-draw in the woods yesterday. I imagined myself shooting up two boxes of shells and I had a good time doing it. (Of course, this was all a dream I had on my couch, when I was taking an afternoon nap. The blister on my thumb actually came from touching a hot burner on my kitchen stove.) I may not be Billy The Kid yet, but I'm gaining on it.

Of course, I brought my imaginary gun back home, took it apart and cleaned it, then spent an hour putting the damn thing back together. I have vivid dreams, and I must not be nearly as mechanically-inclined in my dreams as I think I am. I had to get the imaginary instruction book and study it to reassemble the imaginary pistol. I don't know where that smell of gun oil came from, but the non-existent pistol is back in working order.

Of course, this post is all pure fiction. I don't own that gun, OR that quick-draw holster. And I don't have a blister on my thumb, either.

obviously, a newcomer

WOW, I am from the south also, but I cannot imagine saying that Bill Mahr needs to be dragged off and shot. Is that how you normally settle things? If so, then "that" is why there are sooo many slurs on southerners.

The author of that email deserves to be dragged off and shot.

poor judgment

I don't believe that the woman showed a lot of good sense in what she did, but I damn sure wouldn't call it a crime. Of course, I like to go to nekkid resorts... I've NEVER thought that nudity is something evil.

Renting a stripper for a 16 year-old's birthday party is asking for trouble. Too many people DON'T feel the way I do, and they believe that nudity is nasty, disgusting and shameful. They are entitled to believe that way (even if I think they are mistaken) and I don't believe that the woman had the right to subject other people's kids to an exhibition that she had to know might offend someone.

Turn this around and suppose that she practiced some sort of weird religion and wanted to sacrifice a live goat to honor her son's ascent into manhood. I'm not certain that I would want my son to see that, especially if I weren't warned ahead of time about what was going to happen at the party.

Was she stupid? Yes. Do I think she "contributed to the deliquency of a minor?" No.

But she should have known better than to do what she did.

'taint science

Here's another scientific story that just sends shivers up and down my spine. It's federally-funded, of course, so it must be real.

While none of the boys showed clear malformation or disease, in the 25% of mothers with the highest levels of phthalate exposure, the odds were 10 times higher that their sons would have a shorter than expected distance between the anus and the base of the penis. This so-called AGD measurement is a sensitive indicator of impacts on their reproductive system.

These perverts are running around measuring the "'taint" on infant boys and drawing conculsions about the size of their wangers when they are grown? Bejus! And my tax dollars are paying for THAT?

"It's way premature to have concern," says Marian Stanley, who manages the Phthalate Esters Panel of the American Chemistry Council in Arlington, Va. "More study is needed."

Of COURSE "more study is needed." That means more tax dollars to fund the research, so these "scientists" can measure more taints and come up with more disturbing results, which leads to more research, more tax dollars, etc, etc. I don't know whether to laugh or to cry when I read stories such as this one.

My ex-wife wore make-up when she was pregnant. The last time I saw my son's dick, it looked just fine to me. I never measured his taint, but I am certain that he'll make some woman very happy some day.

But what do I know. I'm not a "scientist."

May 27, 2005

shoot the sweet old lady

I like this woman and I believe that if I ever met her, she would remind me a lot of my mama. But she still needs to be dragged off and shot for posting this:

Nominated as the best short joke of the year :

A three-year-old little boy was examining his testicles while taking a bath.
"Mommy ," he asked, "Are these my brains?"

Mother answered, "Not yet, dear."

That's veeerrrryyy funny. Oh yes, indeed.

John Wayne movies

I've studied The Duke over the past couple of days, and I have come to a conclusion after much pondering on the issue. John Wayne represented everything GOOD about America. Even in the old black-and-white movies from the 1930s he aways played the two-fisted tough guy who took no shit from anybody.

He was forever the all-American cowboy, soldier or whatever role he played, and all-American people identified with the values he represented. HE was a symbol of what our country was all about.

The one thing I believe is lacking from his career is the fact that he NEVER played a really bad guy. Most people don't give him credit for it, but I believe that The Duke could act. He could have been an excellent villian. Maybe it's better that he never strayed far from his image, but don't you think that John Wayne would have been a fantastic, cold-blooded, bounty-hunting killer who got shot down by somebody like Lee Marvin or William Holden at the end of a really gritty western? The audience might have had trouble hating his character, but I believe that he could have pulled it off.

I'm sorry that he never played that kind of role. He stuck to the hero model and seldom got killed in a movie. So... here comes my trivia question...

Name the movies John Wayne died in. There weren't many of them, so this question should be easy to answer.

molten sulfur

The craziest thing I ever did at work was during an acid plant shutdown when I had a greenhorn supervisor in charge. We were scheduled to change out one of the sulfur pumps, and maintenance, in all its splended wisdom, brought in some mechanics who had never seen the acid plant before.

this post made me remember that day.

The supervisor and the operator fucked up securing the job. They neglected to close one valve on the tank. When the mechanics broke the pump apart, molten sulfer (at about 290 degrees F.) starting flying everywhere. They ran, which was a wise decision. Sulfur started running down the drainage ditch around the acid plant and solidifying as it ran. I had 500 tons of molten sulfer in that tank. It was ALL going to the ground unless somebody did something.

I grabbed a raincoat and a piece of corregated plastic. I donned the raincoat, pulled my goggles down over my eyes and ran to the pump, using that piece of plastic as a shield. I managed to throw the piece of plastic over the pump and stand on it to deflect most of the sulfur, but it was still spraying everywhere, bouncing off the tank and falling like rain around me. I tried to close the valve they had missed and I couldn't budge it. It was a plug valve, gummed up with sublimed sulfur.

"Throw me a hammer!" I yelled at the mechanics. Somebody tossed me a four-pound sledge and I managed to beat the valve closed. When the sulfur stopped spraying and the leak was quelled, I walked away with a raincoat COVERED in sulfur and spots the size of quarters all over my goggles. I didn't have a mark on me.

That was a stupid thing to do, but I did it. How all of those sulfur blobs hit my goggles without hitting my face, I'll never know. I must have been very lucky that day. I should have bought a lottery ticket on the way home that night.

This is a TRUE story. If you doubt me, ask catfish. He was an operator at the time and he saw the results of that shit the next day. His first comment was... "Goddam! Who put all of that sulfur in the ditch?"

That entire tank would have gone on the ground if I hadn't done what I did at the time. I was unsafe, foolish and an example of someone with more balls than good sense.

But I'd do it again tomorrow.

the vapors?

It's bad when wimmen hypervenilate and get the vapors. But it's a whole lot worse if you ever get those hormonally-driven bags of mostly water REALLY pissed off. They'll go straight for your balls.

There is hell to pay.


One of the things wrong with the world today is that too many people expect things to come easy. It doesn't work that way. You have to PRACTICE to sharpen and develop any innate ability you may have, and if you're not willing to do that, your ability is wasted.

I cannot name the number of people who have asked me to teach them to play guitar. I have been successful with TWO, because they really wanted to learn to play. The rest of them became disinterested when they realized that they couldn't just sleep with the guitar under the bed and a Mel Bay chord book under their pillow and wake up in the morning knowing how to play guitar.

When I preached "PRACTICE!" they quit.

A lot of people do that today. I remember when I was 15 years old and first lifting weights at Howard Cohen's Gym in Savannah. (if I'm talking to any Savannah natives here, you probably remember that place, right behind the Burger King on Victory Drive, and you probably also remember Howard's wife, Carol, who did a workout show on WTOC TV LOOOONG before aerobics were popular. She was a doll of a woman.) Howard was a no-nonsense kind of guy.

When you walked into his gym, he checked you out and put you on a weight-lifting program. He kept all of his students listed on index cards in a file box in his office. YOUR program was on an index card and you were supposed to follow it.

I wasn't happy with what he did to me. I was lifting with other guys on my football team who had been going there for a couple of years at the time, and I felt like a complete pussy with what Howard was telling me to do. He had me doing bench-presses and butterflys with nothing but a bare bar or wimmen's weights that weighed maybe ten pounds in my hands.

I couldn't stand the humiliation, so I put a bunch of free weight onto my program without his consent (that was long before the days of Nautilus machines), and Howard caught me one day. He saw what I was doing, checked my index card and busted my ass, right there in the gym.

Howard was only about 5' 5" tall, but he was built like a cinder block. He always smoked a green stogie in the gym. He caught me between lifts and snatched me up by my tee-shirt with one hand. As I dangled helplessly in his powerful grasp, he hissed, around that green stogie in his mouth, "You eider do dis MY WAY, or you hit de HIGHWAY! Do you unnerstand me, son?"

I understood, and I didn't do that shit anymore. It took me a while to appreciate his method, but he was absolutely right in everything he did. Sure, I could lift more weight than he had me lifting. But I didn't understand anything about technique and he was teaching me THAT part of lifting first. It involved PRACTICE.

Once I mastered that part, he kept increasing the weight I lifted until, by the time I left high school, I was probably as strong, pound for pound, as anyone in Savannah. I weighed 140 pounds and I could bench-press 260. And I never injured myself doing it, either. I had a good coach and he made me PRACTICE.

There is no free lunch, people. A lot of folks tell me that I am a "talented" writer. I believe that writing comes more easily to me than it does to some other people, but I have PRACTICED what I do on this blog for damn near 43 years now. I ought to be good at it by now.

Too many people simply don't WANT to practice ANYTHING anymore. PRACTICE is boring. If it doesn't come easy, it ain't worth having. I disagree with that philosophy, but I am sorely outnumbered by those who think otherwise today. That's why a lot of people whine to government to give them what they weren't willing to PRACTICE to get on their own.

You show me ANY world-class athlete, a successful musician, a best-selling author or anybody else considered to be "talented" who DIDN'T practice his ass off, and I may start to listen to the whiners. But until that happens, I'll just keep calling them whiners because they are too fucking lazy to PRACTICE.

It ain't no lie. Practice makes perfect. You may never achieve perfection, but you won't come even close if you won't practice. Do it over, and over and over again. Keep doing it when you're sick and tired of doing it. PRACTICE isn't supposed to be fun. Practice is hard work.

But that's the only way to be good at what you want to do.

believe it

I would consider this post absolutely ludicrious if I didn't already know how insane Great Britain has become lately. Okay, let's ban all guns and let's ban all knives, too. NOBODY gets killed anymore, right? (except for those unfortunate enough to run across outlaw thugs who still have guns and knives when YOU, as a law-abiding citizen, don't.)

I read that piece and took a brief walk through the Crackerbox. If someone took away my non-existent guns and all the knives from my kitchen, do I have any deadly weapons left?

Let's see... I believe that my Fender Telecaster guitar would make an excellent war club. I'm pretty sure that's it's heavy enough and sturdy enough that I could put an "EL KABONG!" on someone's head with it and cave in their skull. Do we need to ban electric guitars now?

I have a lot of electrical cords around the house and those things make fine strangling devices. Wrap one around someone's neck and you can kill them. Do we ban electrical cords now?

I have a fine, old, well-seasoned cast-iron skillet. Pound somebody with that thing and see what happens to that unfortunate person. Do we ban cast-iron skillets now?

I have a pedestal lamp with a heavy base in my computer room. If I picked it up by the top and swung the bottom into someone's head, I could probably kill that person. I also have three baseball bats that could serve the same purpose. Do we ban pedestal lamps and baseball bats now?

I have a chainsaw in my garage. I also have bags of various insecticides and herbicides that could be used to make potions of poison. I own a rake, a shovel, a spade and a nice set of bush snippers. I could take the seat off my commode and probably use THAT to beat you to death if I were bound and determined to do it. Do we ban all of that stuff now, too?

Got-dam! What is this world coming to?

southern advice

Here’s some Southerly advice that may come in handy down the road apiece… Next time you are too drunk to drive, walk to the nearest pizza shop and place an order. When they go to deliver it, catch a ride home with ‘em.

Heh. I'm surprised that I never thought of that one before. You not only get a ride home, but you have a hot pizza to pass out face-down into when you arrive. That surely beats spending the night in jail.

Just Damn! this guy is a lot smarter than he looks, which is something that could be said about most Southerners.

the nut-bowl

I know that I have readers who live in California, and I know that I risk offending them when I say--- you live in the certified nut-bowl of America. You people (or at least a LOT of you) are fucking crazy.

"Acrylamide has been around since man has cooked with fire," said Anna- Marie Stouder, senior legislative director for the California Restaurant Association. "We support a labeling exemption for chemicals formed in foods produced by naturally occurring constituents during cooking."

The state's Office of Environmental Health Hazard Assessment says California's voter-approved warning-label law, Proposition 65, leaves it little choice but to issue a warning because acrylamide is on its list of carcinogens.

"Providing a warning at the point of sale seemed like the best and most reasonable approach," Carol Monahan, the environmental heath office's chief counsel, said at a public hearing on the proposed warning Tuesday.

The state defends its proposed warnings by noting that "dietary factors affect an individual's cancer risk" and asserting that it is "plausible that dietary acrylamide contributes to the rate of cancer observed in the population."

Notice the words used in those statements? Acting like a Chicken Little is "reasonable." Taking a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut is a "plausable" solution to a problem that does not exist. My aching ass.

Let's sell that state back to Mexico.

a note to emailers

If you send me anything as an attachment, I'm not going to open it. I don't care if all my virus-detectors and spyware shit tells me that it's safe, I'm STILL not going to open it. I don't care if I know you on a first-name basis--- I NEVER OPEN ATTACHMENTS ON ANY EMAIL.

That's my rule, and I don't intend to violate it. So... if you sent me something really clever as an attachment on an email and I didn't respond, that's probably why. I've managed to stay virus-free and non-violated on the net for more than three years now, and I don't intend to break that string.

If you can't send it straight-up, don't send it.

i wouldn't convict her

I don't know about the horsewhip (although my parents probably would have used one on ME if they owned one at the time), but the caning seems perfectly appropriate to me. I liked this part of the article:

When the boy was returned to school after the caning, he was more willing to get on with his punishment, said the witness.

No shit. I TOLD you about that nerve that runs from a young boy's ass straight to his brain. Stimulate THAT, and you get some attention. But you have to do it at a young age.

Once young boys hit the age of about 15, that nerve running straight to the brain moves to a different part of their anatomy, and they'll do their own spanking from then on. You've got to get 'em early or.... never mind--- I am digressing.

I like the mama's attitude:

But she told a social worker the boy was "a little arsehole".

Too many parents can't see that trait in their children, even though everybody else can.

(Thanks to tincanman for the link.)


Here's some more fake...but accurate news for you. I just thought you'd want to know.

i can believe it

I think this study is true. A hard-on has made many a man lose his vision (and every lick of sense he ever had) in the past. It's happened to ME.

This study sounds like REAL science to me.

May 26, 2005

shameless linkage

I'm gonna plug this site again for a couple of good reasons. First of all, she's my daughter and she runs a pretty good blog.

Second, if she gets a lot of hits, she tends to write more, and I like to see her doing that. Sometimes, with posts such as this one, she deserves more readers. BWHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!

Sometimes, she reminds me of ME.

happy birthday!

If John Wayne were still alive, he'd be 98 years old today. I LOVED his movies.

True Grit was my all-time favorite, but I thought The Shootist was a fitting end to his film career.

Happy trails, Duke!

i shot a cat today

I went out on my back porch this morning to play guitar for the mockingbirds again. But they were in absolute uproar, along with a lot of other birds in the woods.

If you think a mockingbird can't scream, "Cat! Cat! Cat" you've never listened to them talk. I've come to understand them now, and I looked around for the source of their obvious concern. I saw it soon enough.

A nice, orange tabby-cat was climbing the tree where the mockingbirds have their nest. The birds were calling and swooping around the cat, but the merciless feline seemed bound and determined to raid that nest. I threw a rubber ball at it, but it just went around to the other side of the tree and kept climbing.

I then fetched my pellet gun, and I SHOT that fucking cat out of that tree.

I pumped only five times, which is enough to make a nice flesh wound and sting the hell out of Tabby, but not enough to kill the murderous shit-head. I hit it right in the ass, and it tried to use all four paws to rub the wound. It fell out of the tree, hit the ground and took off running.

Afterward, I wished I had used one of my silent .22 bullets and gotten rid of that sumbitch for good. I could have made a clean head-shot from where I was standing.

That's one reason I hate cats so much. I'll guarantee you that the predatory bastard has a whole feast of Meow Mix in a bowl where it lives, but... nooooo... that ain't good enough for a cat. It's got to go try to kill baby birds.

That one was a warning shot. If it comes back, I won't be so nice next time.

fake... but accurate

Okay. I already know that this story is a hoax, but you've got to admit one thing. It's a good one.

It's fake, but probably accurate. That's been good enough for "60 Minutes II" and "Newsweek" to run with lately.

a miracle mop

I went to Wal-Mart and bought a "miracle mop" today. It's a battery-powered tool with some self-propelled, flailing whips on it that is supposed to cut through grease, grime and scuzz like a hot knife through butter.

Bejus knows, I need one of those. I might have a guest or two on Saturday and I don't want them to see how I actually live.

I looked for the Deluxe Model--- you know... the one that comes with a big, fat black woman who resembles Aunt Jemimah, with a bandanna wrapped around her head, who would take one look at my home and exclaim, "Lawd have mercy, child! This place is FILTHY!"

Then, she would go to work cleaning the place up while I sprawled on my couch and watched the Western Channel, which is what I usually do when I should be cleaning my house. When she was finished, I would pay her what she thought the job was worth and let her keep the "miracle mop" as a souvenir from her trip into KITCHEN HELL. I'd even give her a ride home.

But I couldn't find a Deluxe Model, so I guess I'm gonna have to do this crap myself.

I had to


I'm still impressed with this world-record fish. (Besides... I haven't posted any pictures in a while since my camera broke.) I've caught more got-dam catfish in my life than I can recall. The biggest one was MAYBE 25 pounds and I thought I had Moby Dick on my line when I wrestled with THAT one.

A 125 pounder? I'd probably have a heart attack and die before I landed that rascal.


At the risk of pissing a few people off, I'm going to give my honest opinion here. this is fucking crazy.

Christian Kaczur Hart and Diana Rose Angelina, conceived through in vitro fertilization, were born April 20 at UAB Hospital in Birmingham, four weeks premature. Swain and her husband, Jay, brought the babies home to Fort Payne on Friday.
(Emphasis mine.)

A 57 year-old woman needs a set of newborn twins about as much as I need a boil implant on my Cracker ass. She's OLDER THAN I AM!!! And I worried about the wisdom of having a child when I was 40.

I don't do a lot of math (I was an English major) but even I can do these simple calculations.

The kids will be 10 years old when she's 67. They will be 16 years old (a very troubled time) when she is 73. She's likely to be dead or a burden on her children long before the kids ever get themselves set in life. Do you think that's a wise decision? I don't.

I call it mindlessly selfish.

another bird blog

I was not kidding when I wrote a couple of weeks ago that I had no more than parked mama's car in my driveway when three or four birds flew out of their way to shit on it. How many times have YOU just finished washing your car only to see a bird make a dive-bomb attack and splash its feces on the pristine result of your work? Birds DO THAT!!!

They are more clever than some people give them credit for. If you don't believe me, just look at this. If I'm not mistaken, those starlings are kin to grackles, which aren't worth a shit for anything except stealing, shitting and squawking.

But now I think I might want to catch and train a few. If they can steal $4,000 in quarters, I might stop hating them so much.

(Thanks to heather for the link!)

monday morning quarterbacks

It's always easy to second-guess a decision AFTER the consequences are known. But when YOU have to do it, RIGHT THERE and RIGHT THEN, you do the best that you can, knowing all the time that you may not be exactly right. I hate people who say, "You shouldn't have done that," after the smoke clears and the crisis is over.

Where were THEY when the shit hit the fan?

That's why I don't believe that harping stories such as this one accomplishes a damn thing except to make the US military look like a bunch of bloodthirsty rogues, which they are NOT.

Iraqi civilians often complain that U.S. forces open fire indiscriminately when attacked, leading to innocent people being caught up in the crossfire. The U.S. military says it takes all precautions possible to ensure innocents are not killed.

During the war that overthrow Saddam Hussein, U.S. forces said Iraqi fighters frequently used women and children as human shields, but it was never possible to independently verify the reports.

Human rights groups have criticized the U.S. military for not being restrained enough in its use of force, particularly at checkpoints when vehicles sometimes approach at speed and U.S. soldiers, fearing a car bomb attack, open fire.

Just read that shit and barf. WE have Iraqi citizens "often" complaining about excessive use of force by US troops, but the story of terrorists using wimmen and children as human shields has not been "independently verified." My aching ass. I suppose that tales of terrorists blowing up car bombs is just a rumor, too.

What would YOU do in the same situation? You'd do the best you could and hope you were doing the right thing, but you don't always have a chance to debate the issue for long when bullets are flying. When someone starts shooting at you, you shoot back. That's how troops stay alive in combat.

We have the most "restrained" military force on the face of the planet and anyone who doesn't recognize that fact is a braying jackass.

May 25, 2005

what did he use for bait?

I've caught some pretty big fish once or twice in my life. But never anything like this. THAT'S a big fish for fresh water.

I shamelessly stole that link from here.

horror story

I always thought that something like this might be a real hoot of a stunt to pull on an unsuspecting friend right before a surprise birthday party. We'd all laugh about it for years.

But I don't believe it's so funny when it happens for real.

proud mama

This post made me get all misted up. If you have anything other than a cold stone for a heart, it'll do the same thing to you. Go read it.

And Happy Birthday, Spiderman!!!!

good stuff

Just read this post and make a few changes in your mind. Where Bill Maher uses the term "redneck," insert the word "black." Man! That makes it even MORE hilarious, doesn't it?

Whatta prick Maher is.

read the headline...

...and then read the article. I don't believe that the two actually go together. (It's CNN--what else do you expect?)

But that's just MY humble opinion. I could be wrong, because I've been watching the History Channel for the past couple of days and they've had documentaries about the Holocaust and Cambodia. That stuff probably polluted my mind about the idea of torture.

I kinda got the impression that torture involved inflicting severe physical pain on people and killing them by the millions. I watch shows like that and I have a difficult time working myself into a fit of righteous indignation even if someone acutally "abused" the Koran. That's a far cry from torture to me, especially when I look at what the ACLU and our own government does to the Bible in our country today.

Bejus! I've been treated worse by football coaches than these "detainees" have been by their allegedly brutal guards. Besides... why should we bend over backward to be sensitive to terrorists? Fuck them AND their religion of "peace."

We're not the ones beheading hostages and blowing up car bombs in the middle of civilian populations. THEY do that crap. Amnesty International can kiss my Cracker ass, too. They ignore REAL torture and genocide while finding nits to pick with the USA. Screw 'em. I believe that we have been remarkably restrained in the way we have handled the prisoners, especially after the impact of 9/11 on this country.

Name one other nation on the face of this planet that would have done the same.


I went out to make amends to the mockers nesting in my back yard today. I don't think I made peace. I didn't approach the nest, but mama and daddy are still pissed off at me from the other day.

Mockingbirds don't give a shit about a bird feeder. They eat a diet of LIVE food, such as crickets, grasshoppers and worms. That's one reason they love it when I cut my grass. I stir up a good meal for them.

Today, I took a guitar outside and started to play on my back porch. Sure enough, the mockers came to cuss at me from their perch on the telephone line. Let's see.... I was called:

"CHEATER! CHEATER! CHEATER!" for a while. Then came:


"TOO DEEP! TOO DEEP! TOO DEEP!" I don't know if they were talking about water or my mighty intellect.



"TOODA-LOOP! TOODA LOOP! LOOPLOOPLOOP... TOODA LOOP!" I think they wanted to see me hanged, because they THEN started saying:


If you think I'm hallucinating, YOU just sit and listen to mockingbirds talk to you for a while. You'll start to understand what they're saying. I am NOT making this shit up, and I wasn't drinking or taking drugs at the time, either. Those birds really DO cuss at you, in their own fashion.

You just need to sit and listen to understand it.

me, too

Yeah. I saw something wrong with this picture early in my life. Maybe that's one reason I never lived to work.

I worked to live, and there's a big difference between the two.

i'll probably piss her off

... but that's one of the hazards of blogging. I don't like the new format on her page. It's just too fucking SKINNY, having that crimped-up type down the middle of the page. It's difficult for me to read, and you if you make your site difficult to read, I won't read it. Sometimes, you can get too clever with your design for your own good.

That's just MY humble opinion.


I thought I was doing a good job of keeping it a secret, but I have been found out, discovered and EXPOSED!!!

Have you ever thought AcidMan might be a 16 year old kid in the Chicago suburbs just having fun with us?

Posted by joel at May 25, 2005 10:24 AM

Joel, what gave me away?

a bite of the apple

I've never been to New York City. Yes, I am a provincial Southern Boy, and I kinda like the woods, the corn fields, the cotton-bottoms and the pine trees around where I live. But I've always wanted to go see the Big City, just so I could say that I did it.

After reading this series of posts, I'm not so sure anymore. Just start at the top and scroll down.

I think it's kinda scary.

he's mean

I don't disagree with a single word he says, but that's just a really mean post. He's insulting "The Greatest Generation." That's... that's... just inexcusable, even if it IS true.

Well, it's inexcusable for politicians to do it today, because old fossils vote in droves and pandering to the elderly is a requistie if you ever hope to be elected to public office. I watch the same people voting for "FREE" prescription drugs playing golf and drinking $10-a-shot Scotch in the clubhouse every day while they live the high life in expensive houses or condominiums. They need "free" drugs like I need a big, purple asshole implanted in the middle of my forehead.

The elderly are the WEALTHIEST segment of our population. They've sucked a lot more out of Social Security than they ever paid in, and they obviously don't give a shit about their grandchildren's future, because they keep asking for "MORE" while never thinking about who has to pay for this shit.

The AARP is a force from the Dark Side. That's all I'm gonna say about that leftist, socialist organization.

I don't advocate starving the elderly or making them live on the streets. Not every "senior citizen" plays golf every day. But this "one-size-fits-all" attidude of government pisses away a lot of money on people who don't need it while neglecting the true needs of those who do. I don't like it.

Visit "Sun City," just outside of Hilton Head, or go to Winter Haven, Florida during the cold months. Look at the way THOSE elderly people live, then think about how much of your paycheck goes to support that lifestyle. If you don't want to puke after that, you must be a die-hard socialist.

Chances are, they live a lot better than YOU do.

i thought about it

In response to a comment on my hummingbird post below, I must confess--- I've considered doing a scientific experiment. I have three feeders hanging around my back porch. I thought about pouring a shot of vodka into one of them and then watching to see which feeder the birds preferred.

I decided not to do it because I don't want drunken hummingbirds attacking me. They are mean enough when they are sober.

Besides, if those little turds developed a taste for the grape and started passing out all over my yard, I'd NEVER get rid of the cats.

enough to stop traffic

Somebody probably had a good time doing this. Bejus! They managed to get the bomb squad to come out and disable a fake dick.

“Someone took construction-grade plastic, molded it into a penis and wrapped it with duct tape,” said Lee County Sheriff’s Chief Deputy Charles Ferrante.

“They wrote ‘Happy Father’s Day’ on the duct tape.”

The device was first described by the sheriff’s office as a prosthetic penis. Later, it cops described it as a paper sculpture made to look like a penis.

"(The rumor that it was actually a vibrator) just took a life of it's own," said Cpl. Larry King.

Heh. If that thing took on a "life of its own," I know two kinds of wimmen in this world. One type would run screaming. The other would say, "Gimme some of THAT!"

May 24, 2005


I put up three of my feeders today. I'm a little late doing it this year, because I've been so busy doing NOTHING that I didn't get around to it sooner. I didn't have the feeders hanging for more than 15 minutes before the first hummer came to call. By this evening, I could count at LEAST six different ones buzzing around my back porch.

I like birds (except for pigeons, grackles, crows, turkey-buzzards and blue jays) and I feed them well. I get a lot of pleasure out of watching and listening to them. I like mockingbirds a lot, because if you sit and listen to them sing, you can almost hear WORDS being spoken. I can call 'em out by playing a guitar on my back porch, and several will land on my telephone line to sing harmony with me. I like doing that.

But I heard a bunch of baby birds chirping in a nest in my woods while I was picking blackberries the other day, and I made the mistake of investigating that noise. I saw the nest and counted ar least four featherless baby birds sticking their heads out of there when I was ATTACKED by mama and daddy mockingbirds.

Those aggressive bastards launched a two-pronged assault on me and ran me back into my house after I lost a few hairs from the back of my head and got pecked a few other times. They didn't want me around that nest and they made their point VERY clear. That's one of the things I like about mockingbirds. They don't take any shit. I've seen them attack CATS before.

But hummingbirds are still my favorite birds to watch. They have day-glow green feathers that gleam when the sunlight hits them just right and they fly like fighter jets. They fight over a bird-feeder, too. They are damn near as aggressive as mockingbirds, even though they are 1/8th the size. But you haven't lived a complete life until you've watched a good hummingbird fight. Those bastards are MEAN!

Back on the mini-farm, I was sitting on my back deck one morning. I was wearing a pair of cut-off blue jeans and a white tee shirt with a red apple logo on the front. I was reading the newspaper when a hummingbird appeared out of nowhere, pecked at the apple on my shirt, then buzzed up in front of my face as if to say, "WTF? I can't eat THAT!" before he went hurtling off the way he came.

I really like those entertaining little shits. Just be careful what kind of tee shirt you wear around them. They don't like to be fooled.

there is hope

Every now and then, I recieve a comment such as this one and I honestly believe that all is not lost in the next generation:

AS the resident young'n here (I'm 20) let me say that you have never been more correct. Schools and teachers are slaves to self-esteem. We had bully-free days, where no one was allowed to say anything disparaging to anyone else. Instead of teaching that "not everyone is going to like you" the lesson is that "everyone must like you". Pride in self is one thing, but self esteem is bull shit. I'd rather have pride I earned than that crap that is given to me.

Thank God my parents are more 'old school' than the parents of my friends. I know words like 'sir' and 'ma'am' and other basic manners.

Sorry for rambling, A-man.

Posted by Alli at May 24, 2005 01:07 PM

Alli, you weren't "rambling." You were speaking wisdom beyond your years. Sweet Bejus on a three-wheeled bike! Schools actually declare a "bully-free" day? Well, that's guaranteed to prepare you for the real world. What happens the rest of the time?

I'll submit MY humble opinion on this subject. The world is full of bullies. They've been around forever and they always will be. They are part of the seamy side of human nature and declaring a "bully-free day" in public school is NOT going to make these assholes go away.

Learning to DEAL with them is a lesson that will help you for the rest of your life, and sometimes that involves a good, old-fashioned fist fight early in life. Or SEVERAL good, old-fashioned fist fights. You NEVER solve a problem with a bully by allowing him to have his way with you or running away from HIM. You just ask for more shit when you do that.

Leftists don't understand that simple fact. I learned it on playgrounds, in school-yards and in bars--- plus at work--- all through my life, and I am dead certain that I am correct. If you will not stand up for yourself, somebody is going to run over you. Period.

That's one of the main reasons John Kerry pissed me off so badly when he was running for President. I heard him make that asinine statement that we needed to pass a "global test" when the USA needed to act in its own self-interest, and I immediately thought, "This alleged 'war hero' is afraid to stand up to a bully, even a bully that he can whip." I KNEW that he was willing to kiss ass to aviod a fight.

I don't want that kind of man being President of my country. I don't want MY SON to grow up thinking that way. Talk softly, but carry a big stick. USE IT when you are forced to.

I'm not preaching "go out and hit somebody tomorrow." But I AM preaching that the only way to deal with bullies is to STAND UP to their sorry asses. I haven't met a one yet that wasn't a basic coward at heart. If you run from them, they'll keep chasing you. If they had a lick of character in them, they wouldn't be bullies in the first place.

Do you know the only way you'll EVER have a "bully-free day?" Show the bullies that you won't be bullied.

my bowie knife

I bought my first Bowie knife from K-Mart for about $19 after I got my 1-A draft notice in the mail back in 1971 or 1972. The Vietnam War was was cooking full-tilt back then and I expected to end up there. I lost my 2-S deferrment and was looking the draft right in the eye.

I took a whetstone to that knife and put and edge on it that was sharp enough to shave hair. I showed it to my father and he was quite impressed. I was MAYBE 20 years old at the time. "Pop, if I get drafted, do you think they'll let me take this knife with me if I get sent to Vietnam?" (You young shits don't remember those days, but I do. I was gonna be John Wayne if I had to go fight. And I fully intended to stick that knife into a Viet Cong the first chance I got. I even practiced THROWING the damned thing.)

"No, they WON'T," my father replied. "Whatever branch of service you end up in will ISSUE you what they think you need. You can't bring your own knife, even if this is a pretty good one."

I never had to serve because I won the draft lottery. (Number 353 in the very first one) Years later, my dad said that he would have sent me to Canada if my luck hadn't turned out the way it did. That was hindsight and bullshit talking. I would have gone if I was called. In fact, I EXPECTED that to happen. I would have no more run to Canada to hide than I would have sold my mama into slavery.

It's a good thing that the military DIDN'T get me back then. I'd probably be dead now, because I wasn't afraid of ANYTHING back then. I was young, and in my mind, ten feet tall and bullet-proof. And I owned a Bowie knife, too.

That knife turned out to be one of the best backpacking tools I ever owned. It was an all-purpose knife that could be used as anything from a hatchet to cut wood to a manicure device to clean your dirty fingernails. I had it for several years before I broke the blade trying to split a stubborn piece of Joshua wood in Pisgah National Forest. I banged on the blade with a rock and the blade snapped.

We named that campsite "Broken Blade." I gave the knife a good burial right there.

I bought another one just as soon as I got back home, but it was never as good as the first one. I never could get it as sharp, nor could I get it to hold an edge the way the first one did. It LOOKED the same, but it just WASN'T the same.

I lost that one in my last divorce, but that was okay with me. I wasn't that fond of it anyway. So, I bought another one, this time a really GOOD knife, made by Buck, and it is supposed to be an accurate replica of the original Bowie Knife. I think I paid about $100 for that one.

It's got a 14" blade, with the brass parry-strip down the back of the blade and the nice 4" cutaway edge at the tip, which I keep as sharp as the front-side of the knife. It looks like a genuine Bowie to me.

That mini-sword was designed for a knife-fight. The brass is soft enough so that if you parried an opponent's slash, his blade would stick in the brass, and you could back-hand his throat with the cut-away blade on the backside of the knife. And YES... if push came to shove, I could shave with that thing.

I've never taken that knife out in the woods with me. I keep it sharp and clean. I just like to look at it every now and then, and maybe watch western movies while I work it with a whetstone and some oil. It's a fine knife.

Heh. And you people thought I was a gun-nut.

yeah, i'll pray

I'm not religious, but even I may pray for this guy. I might even pray hard.

Let's see...

"Oh Lord, I pray that you use your power to give this man gangrene, intestinal parasites, incurable venereal disease, hallucinatory fevers and toenail fungus. He deserves all of that and more, and may you shed your blessing on us all by giving this cocksucker a long, painful, lingering death. I am not washed in the Blood of the Lamb, but this bastard has the blood of hundreds of your children on his hands and I think he should pay for what he has done in this world. I beseech thee... strike this man with all of your righteous wrath, and make him suffer miserably when you do it, too. In Jesus' name I pray, AMEN!"

Abu Musab al-Zarqawi is a cockroach. He is a sick, murderous fuck. He is one of those people that the world would be better off without. I won't shed any tears when HE dies.

And I hope God answers my prayers.


Schools teach a lot of “self esteem” today, even to people who don’t deserve any, and the schools think they’re doing a good job. I don’t. Too many kids today have an overabundance of self-esteem and a total lack of self control.

In the old days, teaching self-control was called “discipline,” but that term has fallen by the wayside in modern society. It sounds too military and war-like to be applied to children. I call bullshit on that idea and I speak from 53 years of experience.

I don’t mouth off at cops. I don’t cuss ’em and I DAMN SURE don’t try to fight ’em. I do what the man says and keep my pie-hole shut during the process, except for an occasional “yes, sir” or “no, ma’am.” As a result, I’ve beguiled my way out of going to jail several times in my life. I wasn’t always happy with the way I was treated, but I knew that the alternative was worse. I made my choice.

I showed some self-control.

Do you notice how anxious leftists are to excuse ANY kind of dumbass behavior by a complete idiot by blaming it on some kind of outside influence rather than the person who actually DID the dumbass thing? This story is a perfect example. There IS NO EXCUSE for a 15 year-old boy to attack a 66 year-old school bus driver. That’s pathetic, in MY humble opinion, and look at the parents trying to excuse the behavior.

No wonder the kid acts like a rotten thug.

I see kids like that every day and I want to have their parents dragged off and shot. You are doing no child any favor if you teach them that the sun rises and sets right square in the crack of their little asses and actions NEVER have any serious consequences. You raise punks, criminals and cop-killers that way.

But they’ll be FULL of self-esteem.

a salute

I've blogged before about buying drinks or picking up restaurant tabs for troops I see in the airport as they head for Iraq. I admire what these young folks do, and I've never met a finer bunch of people in my life.

But it's not all about war. Read that story and THEN repeat the leftist cant about what a bunch of torturing, bloodthirsty troops we have in our armed forces.

After that, you can kiss my Cracker ass. Who would YOU rather have on the scene in a situation like that? A trained Marine or Bill Maher?

not a traitor

I don't like Bill Maher. I believe that he is a smarmy, leftist asshole who makes me want to puke when I look at him. But I wouldn't call him a traitor. He's just a loud-mouthed jerk.

I refuse to watch his television show anymore. I almost shot my TV the last time I made the mistake of seeing him smirking and tossing off glib comments that probably delighted the Barbra Streisands of the world, and I'm never going to do that again. That's MY choice.

I cherish freedom of speech. Bill Maher has the right to be a flaming asshole on his show if HBO chooses to air it. I don't want to censor him or have him locked up because I disagree with his moonbat politics. I simply don't watch his show.

If enough people did that, HBO would drop him like a hot rock. But evidently enough people think he's entertaning to keep the show on the air. That's fine with me, even though I hate his show.

Freedom of speech means sometimes allowing an asshole to speak, whether you like what he has to say or not.

it's alive!!!!

Holy Bejus! My mash is fermenting quite well. I started to go to bed tonight and thought I heard someone or some THING growling in my kitchen. It was making one hell of a noise. I grabbed a pistol and went to investigate.

False alarm. I left the 5-gallon carboy in the kitchen so that I could check out the early results of my mash. That now has been checked. That sumbitch is going to town with a marching band. It's making noises that sound like a combination of an alligator hissing and a big dog growling, with an occasional "THUMP!" like a bigfoot stomping on the floor. I put a big pan under my blow-off can, because I'm pretty sure that it's going to overflow before morning.

Just Damn! I LOVE IT when a plan comes together!

May 23, 2005

is it born, or learned?

What makes you what you are? I've ponderd this question for a long time and I still don't have a clear answer. I know that a lot of what I believe and the way I think was taught to me by my parents and my family, but that doesn't explain everything.

Why have I always WANTED to write? Nobody else in my family has that same restless urge. Why me? My brother could probably be better at this crap than I am, but he just doesn't care to do it. He has other interests that motivate him.

Why am I so fascinated with music? My daddy couldn't carry a tune in a bucket and he always thought that I was pissing my life away during my musician days. But I've always dreamed of being able to make music, as far back as I can remember. I LIKE doing it and I'd rather buy a new guitar than eat when I'm hungry. Why?

Considering the fairly hard-scrabble family I came from, why do I care so little about money? I know a lot of people who use money to measure their scorecard of success. Money is the most important thing in their lives. It's never been that way for me.

All I ever wanted was NOT to be broke. That's why I don't understand these professional athletes who go free agent and jump ship because they can make $27 million in New York while Atlanta is willing to pay "only" $25 million. Got-dam! How much is enough?

I think one of the first things that started breaking me and Jennifer apart was when I turned down a big promotion at work. I was flattered to be offered the job, but I didn't want it. I worked a hell of a lot of hours the way things were, without piling on MORE responsibility and the raise in pay would mostly go for taxes, and I was happy doing what I was doing at the time. I didn't see that much to gain, and I saw a lot to lose.

Jennifer never forgave me for doing that. She's a climber, very money-oriented, and she cannot understand anyone who would refuse that next step on the ladder. "If you turn this down, they'll never offer it to you again," she said, more than once. I had always been a climber, too, but I finally hit my "comfort zone." I HAD everything I ever wanted.

I didn't want the job then and I couldn't see myself wanting it ten years later, either. I said, "Thanks, but no thanks." I think that's when Jennifer stopped being proud of me, especially after her star started rising and mine stayed put. She started making more money than I did. The marriage didn't last long after that.

Why do I like the woods better than I like the bustle of party-town? Why do I like guns better than I like fancy clothes and a hot-shot car? Why am I nervous (VERY NERVOUS) before doing any public speaking (although I'm good at it and I done it hundreds of times) when I've never had a problem playing guitar and telling jokes in front of 5,000 people?

Why do I love dogs and hate cats?

Why can't I learn to keep my fucking mouth shut sometimes?

bank robbery

Catfish has a pretty good story about being a customer in a C&S Bank when it was robbed. He's probably lucky that he didn't get his fool Cracker ass killed that day.

I've never seen an actual bank robbery, but back when I was writing advertising copy, I got one hell of a scare one day. I did all the ad copy for Konter Realty in Savannah at the time, and they advertised a LOT. I had a good job, even though it didn't pay diddly-squat, because I could set my own hours and come and go as I pleased as long as I met the deadlines and went on all the Tuesday "Caravans" to look at new listings.

One afternoon, I was sitting in my little cubicle, busily typing advertising copy and minding my own business, when a uniformed cop and two guys in those obviously government-issued coats and ties showed up at the front desk. They started flashing badges and I learned that the guy in uniform was a Savannah policeman and the other two were FBI AGENTS!!!!

"Who owns that red car in the parking lot?" one of the FBI guys demanded.

Oh, shit, I thought. My 1968 Javelin was the only red car in the parking lot. "Uh... that's my car," I volunteered. "Is there a problem, officer?" What I knew and what I THOUGHT THEY KNEW at the time was that I had a bag of reefer stashed in my glove compartment. I thought I was about to be busted for having about a quarter-ounce of marijuana in my possession.

But that's not what it was about. Somebody robbed the C&S bank one block down the street about an hour earlier and drove off in a red car that looked a LOT like mine. They were checking out every red car they saw.

The office manager (her name was Margaret, and I cannot recall her last name now, although she always was nice to me), told the officers that I had been there in the office for the past three hours and I couldn't possibly be the robber they were looking for. The cops still went out and checked my car to see if the engine was warm.

It wasn't, so they asked me to start it to prove that it was mine. I did, and they never checked the glove compartment. They went away to look for other red cars. Still, my hands were shaking so badly that I almost couldn't type for 30 minutes or so after that.

That's the closest I've ever come to being arrested after a bank robbery.

stupid man tricks

Some time around 1977, some friends and I took a backpacking trip to Joyce Kilmer State Park in North Carolina (not far from Robbinsville). We hiked the Big Fat Gap trail, which is a real bitch if you walk it all the way to the top of Hangover Mountain, which we did. Never has a mountain been more appropriately named.

The first night, we camped on the banks of Slickrock Creek, a very beautiful mountain stream with lots of small waterfalls and big rocks all over the place. Close your eyes and listen to the water and your hear the sound of pouring rain all night long. But my friend Steve Hamby and I didn't go to sleep that night.

No, we split a 4-way hit of blotter acid and got really fired up about the time the sun went down. We were with three other people and they all crawled off to go to sleep just when Steve and I were at our best and our brightest. Sleep was the LAST thing on our minds.

In fact, we were so lit-up "bright" that we remembered a goatskin full of wine that Steve had in his truck. We decided, quite lucidly, to hike back and get it in the dark of night.

With a pair of flashlights, we hiked the two miles back to the parking lot, drank the wine while sitting on the tailgate of Steve's truck, and then staggered all the way BACK down the mountain, fucked up as a pair of worms. I think we did Indian dances around the campfire that night, before I kinda lost track of everything.

I woke up the next morning on a big, flat rock in the middle of Slickrock Creek. I do not recall how I got there or when I went to sleep. I didn't have a sleeping bag or even a blanket with me on that rock. I just picked out a nice rock and went to sleep on it. Had I been semi-conscious, I think I would have frozen my ass off that night, but I was burning high-octane fuel at the time. I wasn't cold when I woke up, even though the creek had icicles in it.

I walked 10 miles, steadily and steeply uphill the next day, while burping that wine and what tasted like MY rotten liver with every gasping step I took. I felt like Fido's ass. Steve looked okay, but we both consecrated Hangover Mountain by puking on it when we reached the top.

Those were the days. We did a LOT of "stupid man-tricks" back then, when we were both in our 20s. I kinda miss those times, because I had a lot of fun doing that crazy shit. Steve is dead now, and I'm just too old and stove-up for that crap anymore.

But I still like the memories.

i can't believe that we didn't think of it first

This is the kind of shit (and I mean that literally in this case) that government likes to involve itself in. Zealous idiots come up with such ideas every day and a lot of them become law. That's just plain pathetic.

Yeah. Let's all get behind support a government "Department of Poop Inspectors." It needs to be done... for the children.

hit the start button

In celebration of my grandmother's 94th birthday, I started my home-made chemistry experiment today. In checking all my fermenting stuff, I noticed two problems. First, Jennifer crimped my worm (in more ways than one) when she packed up all of my shit and had me tossed out of my house.

In case you don't know, a "worm" is the copper tubing you use to condense alcohol from the mash when you cook it. Jennifer bent the old one up so badly when she crammed it into a box that I didn't think it would work anymore. I also quit making beer, wine or anything else alcoholic several years ago and started using my funnel to perform oil changes on my truck. That thing looked pretty bad, too.

So, I went to the hardware store today, and I bought 15' of 3/4" copper tubing, a funnel and a big tube of silicone putty. As the guy at the store was measuring my tubing, he said, "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were making a moonshine still." I told him that he was crazy. Moonshining is against the law. "Yeah, right," he replied. He sold me everything I wanted.

I'm about to start cooking all the berries and the sugar on my stove very soon now. I'm going to pour that stuff into a 5-gallon glass jug when it's done (that's what I needed the funnel for), let it sit until it cools down to titty-warm, and then I'll pitch the yeast into it. After that, I'll drag it off into the garage, plug in the blow-off tube and let it do its natural thing.

In about ten to fourteen days, I should be ready to cook it off.

In the meantime, I'll work on getting the still put back together and carefully bending my worm into the proper shape to fit my home-made condenser. I'm looking forward to see how this project turns out. I have high hopes.

I don't intend to blow this one up.

(UPDATE: The nefarious deed is done and everything looks good so far. That sumbitch is ALREADY beginning to foam and blow bubbles, and I pitched the yeast only about two hours ago. Must be some damn potent yeast, or VERY good mash.)

(ANOTHER UPDATE: Mary, don't try that shit on me again. Spam is spam--- and you weren't out to do anyone except yourself a public service. Free I-Pod, my ass.)

socialism at its best

Don't wanna work? Still wanna get laid? Just move to germany and keep an unemployment card handy. You get a discount on a piece of ass.

Maggie, I think you need to be dragged off and shot for sending me that link. It's bad enough to PAY people to be unemployed, but when you start giving them cut-rate pussy, too, you've crossed a line that I cannot abide. Besides, if these unemployed people were really hurting, they'd be spending their meager funds on food, clothing and housing rather than buying themselves a slash of gash as a way of "helping the long-term jobless out of their depression."

Got-dam! If you're one of the long-term jobless, you SHOULD be depressed. Get offa your ass and find a job! THAT'S a good cure for your depression.

But why bother when you get a free check and discount pussy for NOT working?

good question

I stole this one from my daughter. She raises an interesting question, and YES--- I am trolling for comments here.

Why do you read my blog?


I've mentioned before that I am a mutt, totally incapable of tracing my family kudzu vive tree back very far. All I have to rely on is an old family Bible and a 94 year-old grandmother, who still tells me stories that SHE heard as a little girl.

I don't believe that I can compete with this. I have only vague ideas of where my family came from or how they ended up living in the hollows of eastern Kentucky.

My family DID fight a mighty battle in the Civil War. Word circulated that a Yankee patrol was riding through the hills trying to recruit people to fight for the Union army. A bunch of my long-dead relatives got likkered-up and decided to go fight the yankees and run them out of Clay County, Kentucky.

The two groups met on horseback on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere. Shots were fired, but I don't think anyone was hit (it's a lot more difficult to shoot a gun from horseback than western movies will lead you to believe). The yankees retreated and their captain dropped his saber on the ground when he fled with his troops.

One of my drunken great-great uncles (or whatever) picked up the saber, everybody declared a great victory, and they rode back home to drink some more moonshine. That was pretty much my family's involvement in the Civil War, at least as far as I know.

That saber hung over the fireplace at Aunt Chassie's farm for a long time. I remember seeing it and actually getting to handle it when I was a kid. It was a fine sword and a good war trophy.

I think my crazy uncle Arthur stole it and sold it many years ago. He was a raving alcoholic and he probably pawned the damn thing for $2 to buy himself a jug of 'shine. I wish I knew where it was today. I'd pay a lot more than $2 to have it back.

I don't believe that I qualify to join any organization that claims to be the sons or daughters of whatever fight we've had in the past. Plus, I don't want to join any organization that would claim ME as a member.

I really can't trace my roots back very far, and that fact doesn't bother me. I know who I am today, and that's all that really matters.

a low point in our history

I always thought the the infamous "Tobacco Settlement" of 1998 was the most bald-faced example of government power being used for pure extortion that I have ever seen. Yeah, the government may have stolen collected $280 billion with its Mafia-like tactics, but what did it really accomplish, other than looting a legitimate industry inflicting a back-door tax on cigarette smokers?

Here's what it all boils down to, which proves once again something I've always maintained. When a politician or a lawyer says, "It's not about the money," just bust out laughing.

It's about the money.

i genuflect

I see very few writers anywhere in the media today who really impress me. But this is is one guy who ALWAYS makes me hang my head and say, "I am not worthy" every time I read him.

To date, reaction has divided along two lines. Newsweek has been hammered for being so flushed with anti-Bush anti-military fever that they breezily neglected the question of whether their story would generate a huge mound of corpses.

Which is true. On the other hand, there are those who point out it's hardly Newsweek's fault that some goofy foreigners are so bananas they'll riot and kill over one rumor of one disrespectful act to one copy of one book. Christians don't riot over ''Piss Christ'' and other provocations by incontinent ''artists.'' Jews take it in their stride when they're described as ''a virus resembling AIDS,'' which is what Sheikh Ibrahim Mudeiris said a week ago in his sermon on Palestinian state TV, funded by the European Union. Muslims can dish it out big-time, so why can't they take it, even the teensy-weensiest bit?

All of which is also true, but would be a better defense of Newsweek if the media hadn't spent the last 3-1/2 years bending over backwards to be super-sensitive to the, ah, touchiness of the Muslim world -- until the opportunity for a bit of lurid Bush-bashing proved too much to resist. In a way, both the U.S. media and those wacky rioters in the Afghan-Pakistani hinterlands are very similar, two highly parochial and monumentally self-absorbed tribes living in isolation from the rest of the world and prone to fanatical irrational indestructible beliefs -- not least the notion that you can flush a 950-page book down one of Al Gore's eco-crazed federally mandated low-flush toilets, a claim no editorial bigfoot thought to test for himself in Newsweek's executive washroom.

Mark Steyn is good. He is DAMN good.

well put

It seems I've kicked off a stark either/or debate on corporal punishment with my last few posts. Some people seem to believe that ANY kind of corporal punishment is bad for a child and doing something such as administering a good ass-whuppin' when they screw up will damage their delicate psyches forever.

Others seem the think this way which is more in tune with MY philosophy. I also grew up in a time where I was taught to say "yes, ma'am" and "no, sir" and "please" and "thank you." I didn't learn my manners from "time-outs" or long discussions, either. I had those lessons pounded into my ass and they stuck with me.

Spanking a child is NOT child abuse. When Quinton was a baby, just learning to crawl around and get in trouble, he was fascinated with my stereo. When I was playing music on it, a lot of colored lights flashed on the amp, and he wanted to play with them. (I had a lot of Dr. Spock type parents tell me to move the stereo so that it wouldn't be so tempting to him. I called bullshit on that idea. I figured that if I could teach a dog not to shit in the house, I could teach my son to keep his hands off the stereo.)

I watched him crawl up to it, reach out his hand, and I would say, "NO, Quinton!" If he kept reaching, I slapped the back of his hand. "I said NO, Quinton." If he tried to defy me, he got another slap on the hand--- a little harder this time. "NO, NO!" I said. He finally got his mind right.

He would crawl up to the stereo, watch the flashing lights, put both hands behind his back and say, "No, no. No, no." He never offered to touch it after that and I never had to move it either. He always liked looking at the lights, but he never tried to stick his little hand in there again.

If THAT is "child abuse," then I'm guilty as hell. But a lot of people met my son for the first time at my mama's funeral, and every one of them said, "He is a well-behaved little gentleman." And he IS, because he had the right nerves stimulated during his formative years.

You're doing NO kid any favors if you don't set boundaries. Let 'em grow like wild grass and that's exactly what they'll become.

i don't know about you...

... but I find something terribly wrong with this picture. Using MY tax dollars to pay for Viagra for convicted sex offenders is taking that wonderful idea of socialized, government-controlled health care just a little too far.

Guess who is SHOCKED... just SHOCKED by this outrage? Hillary Clinton, for one, who has dedicated much of her political career to touting the wonderful idea of socialized, government-controlled health care.

According to Hevesi, the problem is an unintended consequence of a 1998 directive from federal officials telling states that Medicaid prescription programs must include Viagra. His office discovered that the state was helping sex offenders pay for Viagra by checking Medicaid pharmacy expenditures against the state's sex offender registry.

New York's two senators said Sunday the problem should be corrected.

Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton said in a statement that it was ``deeply disturbing and runs contrary to the purpose of Medicaid, which is to provide health care coverage for uninsured, low-income individuals.'' Clinton, a Democrat, urged Leavitt to look into the matter, and said she would explore legislative options.

New York's other senator, Democrat Chuck Schumer, said at a press conference in New York City that he hoped the issue could be resolved without a bill, but he's prepared to offer one if needed.

See what happens when government gets involved in just about anything other than fighting wars? Government does something stupid. What's the answer to the problem? MORE government regulation, of course.

My aching ass.

May 22, 2005

spanking a dog

As long as I'm stirring shit tonight about abusing children and animals, I may as well talk about THE FLIP-FLOP OF DEATH!!! I broke the toe-band on one shoe in a pair of flip-flops many years ago, and I started to throw them both away, but one shoe was still perfectly good, so I kept it. I don't know why.

But it turned out to be a great idea. That flip-flop became the "doggy-paddle" I used on four different dogs. I had it long enough that it finally dry-rotted and broke one day.

A flip-flop makes an EXCELLENT doggy-paddle (if you believe in "striking" kids and animals, which I do). It's soft rubber, so it doesn't hurt the dog, but it makes a resounding "SLAPP!" noise that makes a real impression on a dog's ears. They remember that sound, and with all four of those dogs, I could make them stop what they were doing just by slapping that flip-flop on the palm of my hand. They KNEW that sound and they didn't want any part of it.

I don't think that's a bad thing.

How can I argue?

I have a few people in blogdom now who are pouting, stepping on their drooping bottom lips, sending me nasty emails and hurling invectives my way because I called them pouty and bitchy. I don't mind. It goes with the turf when I write a blog such as mine.

If I were REALLY sensitive and prone to pout over below-the-belt punches, I might take offense at this:

Only a revolting dolt like you would advocate violence against children and animals.

No wonder you're alone, your family is in shambles, and you're washed-up at 50. What a loser!


Posted by Cyril at May 22, 2005 07:40 PM

Let's be accurate here. I'm washed up at 53, not 50. But beyond that minor quibble, I have to ask--- did you detect a note of absolute cruelty and meanness in that comment? I did, and I always notice that this kind of shit comes from people who don't believe in "striking" a child as they proclaim to be compassionate, loving leftists.

In MY humble opinion, "Cyril" is a demented fuck who would NEVER have the nerve to say such a thing to my face, because leftists never do. Most of 'em are complete nutless wonders. I get this kind of crap all the time and with very few exceptions, the person doing it has a fake email address. Take a wild guess about Cyril.

Why is it that "compassionate" leftists are the people who key your new car, spray-paint graffitti on your fence, slash your tires and send nasty emails from a fake address while running off giggling in the night, feeling very proud of what they've just done? I'll tell you MY humble opinion: they didn't get their asses whupped enough when they were young.

They have no fucking manners.

I also want to say something else to the Pouting Wonders out there: If you can't stand the heat, get your ass out of the kitchen. I call someone an "idiot" and I am bombarded by phone calls and emails for a month. I call someone "bossy and overbearing" and I am nailed to a cross. I shouldn't write such terrible, hurtful things. It causes great weeping and gnashing of teeth. I need to be more sensitive.

I get flung dung from people such as Cyril all the time. I suppose that I should crawl into my closet, turn off all the lights and suck my thumb for a while in the dark. People can be so CRUEL sometimes. It just makes me want to cry and call all my friends (both of them) to get some sympathy and maybe stir up some kind of group hug or a quiet rendition of "Kum-ba-ya."

The truth is, I could give less than a shit what Cyril thinks of me. He, she or it really aimed to hurt me with that comment, and it was a rousing success. I'm so hurt that I won't be able to cope with the pain. I'll cry for a while in this glass of Bass Ale that I'm drinking and then I'll just have to go hang myself from the curtain rod in my shower.

What other choices do I have? I can't argue with that comment.


I have a lot of interesting comments on this post. If you read them all, you can see pretty clearly what has changed in this country since I grew up in it.

My parents believed in corporal punishment. I got my young ass tore up frequently when I was young, and I deserved it almost every time. (I say "ALMOST," because sometimes mama would beat both MY ass and my brother's just to make sure she got the right one when we started pointing fingers at each other.) I never felt that I was abused.

Hell, sometimes I had to go pick the switch one of my parents used to whip me with. And you'd better get a good, one, too, or you got TWICE the ass-whuppin' for trying to be a clever little weasel. I did that one-armed Indian dance many a time when mama or daddy had me by the arm and ran me in circles while swatting the hell out of me.

I usually cried, but I was careful NOT to make the same mistake again, because I knew what I was going to get if I did. I still say there is a direct nerve that runs from a little boy's ass right straight to his brain, and sometimes you have to stimulate that nerve to make any sense flow into his head.

I once spanked my daughter and she threatened to call 911 to report me for child abuse (they teach the little shits that stuff in school now) and I told her to go right ahead. But she'd better ask for an ambulance, too, because she was gonna need one by the time the cops came to arrest me. She declined the phone call and took her whippin.'

I never had to spank my childern often. The fact that THEY BOTH KNEW I WOULD DO IT worked wonders to make them pay attention when I told them to stop whatever mischief they were into. Empty threats don't work on children. (Empty threats don't work on ANYBODY, which is why the United States needs to act like a Tall Dog every now and then.)

it is never 'necessary' to strike a child.

Posted by Cyril at May 22, 2005 01:57 PM

I call total bullshit on that statement. I see the results of that attitude every day with completely feral children running wild and behaving like hellions. They NEED to be stricken, with wrath and a nice toasting upon their delicate little buttocks. It would do a lot to straighten them up.

I could never hit a dog, and I could never hit a kid.

Posted by Ruth at May 22, 2005 02:26 PM

I've hit 'em both and I think my dogs and my children turned out better for it. Maybe I'm just a nasty brute of a man, but I don't think so. A dog has that same nerve that runs from his ass to his brain that little boys have, and you need to stimulate it every now and then. If you do that on the proper occasions, there's never any question who is boss.

You get better behavior as a result. And there's a BIG difference between "abusing" a dog or a child and discipling them. I was no stranger to having my ass whupped when I was young.

But I was never abused.


Maybe not, but they surely enjoy acting that way. I am just about fed up with this shit.

``We in principle don't reject anyone's visit to the Al Aqsa Mosque (compound), but we see in the visit of Mrs. Bush an attempt to whitewash the face of the United States, after the crimes that the American interrogators had committed when they desecrated the Quran,'' the militant Islamic Hamas group said in a statement on its Web site.

Beheadings, suicide bombings, random attacks on school buses and restaurants, and the mindless slaughter of innocent civilians while treating wimmen as chattel are okay. But don't you DARE "Desecrate the Quran." As if these people don't desecrate their own goddam religion with every sub-human move they make.

And now they focus their mindless wrath on Laura Bush, who happens to be a woman I greatly admire. In fact, I think I admire her more than I do her husband, and she showed a lot of AMERICAN class with they way she handled all this bullshit.

Thanks a lot, Newsweek.

boys will be boys...

And this one sounds like he needs a righteous, old-fashioned ass-whuppin'--- the kind I received when I was a kid.

I could forgive him for crawling into the machine. That's the kind of stuff little boys do if it seems like a good idea at the time. But throwing a juice box on the floor first is an act of pure brattiness, and I would have paid dearly if I ever pulled a stunt like that in a store.

That boy should pay, too. He needs a sore ass for about a week so that he can recall his trangressions every time he tries to sit down. Maybe he'll think twice before he does something like that again.

But not many parents do that anymore. Mama will probably try to "reason" with him, which is why the kid did what he did in the first place. You don't REASON with a three year-old boy.

You show him who is Tall Dog. That's all he needs to know.

May 21, 2005

songs I like

I happened to watch a movie today where some guy in a wagon train was blowing "Dixie" on a harmonica. I loved listening to that. I know that "Dixie" is considered to be a racist song in our hyper-sensitive society today, but hearing it still makes me want to stand up and cheer. It's a GREAT song and it means a lot to me about the part of the country I love the most.

I always stand up, take off my hat and put my right hand over my heart when I hear "The Star-Spangled Banner." I sometimes get goosebumps when I hear that song and see an American flag waving in the wind. That's our NATIONAL ANTHEM and I think it's glorious when played by a marching band. But have you ever tried to SING that song? Got-dam! You need a vocal range a lot better than mine to do it right. I prefer to hear the instrumental version.

Okay, it comes from my roots, but I sometimes get all misty-eyed when I hear "My Old Kentucky Home." Stephen Foster hit a home run with that one, even though the forces of political correctness have changed some of the words today. You seldom hear the version that mentions "darkies" anymore. I still love that song.

I may be a sap, but I believe that "America, the Beautiful" is a WONDERFUL song. I've traveled all the way from Washington State to Savannah, Georgia by car, and I've SEEN the purple mountain's majesty and amber waves of grain, from sea to shining sea. Bejus! Nobody can really appreciate just how BIG and IMPRESSIVE this country is until he takes that kind of trip. Plus, that song is a lot easier to sing than the national anthem.

You want to shut up a room full of rowdy drunks where I live? Just have somebody play and sing "Georgia on My Mind." The place gets quiet and you see rough-looking red-necks shedding tears in their beers. That one definitely IS an "old, sweet song."

I've never been very fond of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," because I am a Southerner and I prefer to hear "Dixie." The Battle Hymn reminds me too much of a durge, and it makes me think of William T. Sherman. I can't get excited about that one. Sherman had his nerve to say "War is hell." He didn't live in Georgia.

I also like the "Marine Corps Hymn," but that's just the militant in me showing. It's still a rousing song.

See? I didn't mention ANYTHING rap, hip-hop, rock-n-roll, pop or anything by Elvis or the Beatles. I still think it's a good list.

i did it

I finally received my due. I went crawling around the the blackberry patch yesterday and woke up today with about a dozen chigger bites on me, all around my upper thighs and my beltline. They itch like a bitch, too. That's what I get for being greedy.

But I have about a gallon of berries and I cleaned up all my fermenting tools yesterday. I'm going to go see my grandmother tomorrow (yeah.. it's the day BEFORE her birthday, but a Sunday is better than a Monday for the family getting together.) and after that, I'm going to make some home-brew. I want to see what this guy or maybe this guy thinks of what I make. I've tried their stuff before and it was very good.

But I can do better.

I've got all of my shit in one sock and I'm ready to begin. This will be a batch of blackberry brandy, with just a hint of.... secret ingredients in it. I expect the color to be darker than regular 'shine, if I do it right. Maybe not. I've never tried this recipe before.

But the basic chemistry is the same, so I know that it will be good if I don't fuck it up by doing something foolish. I blew up a still once and I don't intend to do that again. I learn from my mistakes.

It'll be aged in a Mason Jar, but I expect it to taste like real moonshine. I can't wait to get it done and share it with a few friends.

(Update: While I was painting my chigger bites with fingernail polish, I found a goddam tick on my nutsack. I ain't going back into those bushes anymore.)

in my opinion...idiotic

I'll just let this comment speak for itself. Well... sorta. You know good and well that I can't leave this one alone.

Yea... you want the best road system, plausibly in the world, you pay the price. Don't blame the taxes, blame the car companies whose vehicles mileages have remained constant the last 15 years, or the oil companies who are sucking in the money but not using it to develop any alternatives, or God for not giving us an endless amount of oil, perhaps the government for letting society develop its unsustainable car addiction.... But not taxes

Posted by William at May 21, 2005 03:27 PM

Right. It's all BIG, EVIL CORPORATIONS costing us money at the gas pump. Government spends every tax dollar wisely. I totally oppose the ridiculous CAFE standards that government feels compelled to fart out every now and then, because those things KILL PEOPLE.

You want a car that gets 50 miles per gallon? You can find one. Just go buy one of those recycled beer cans on wheels. EVIL CORPORATIONS make them, and lawyers love 'em, too. Get in a wreck riding one of those glorified skate-boards with doors on it. When the paramedics clean you out of the crumpled mess with a shop-vac, you can have "I saved a lotta gas" engraved on your tombstone. Then, the lawsuits begin over how "unsafe" the vehicle was.

William, what planet do you live on? Between where I live and Brunswick, Georgia, highway money has been spent hand-over-fist for about 15 years now on I-95, and I almost NEVER see anybody working there, except for the State Police, who can collect double fines for catching you speeding through a "construction zone."

The joke, "What's yellow and sleeps six? A DOT road construction vehicle" is no joke to me. I see that shit every day. THAT'S my "tax dollars at work."

You and your "alternate fuels" idea. That sounds really great. Go hug a tree and shut the fuck up. If you believe that energy companys wouldn't market an alternative fuel if they could come up with one, you know nothing about business. That would be a fucking gold mine, and as an ex-employee of a major oil company, I KNOW that they are trying to do exactly that.

But do you know the kind of governmental red tape involved to market an alternative energy source if you found one tomorrow? Think 10 to 15 years if you're lucky, as you wade through the EPA, the EPD, OSHA, the DOT, the DOE to get the necessary permits, then deal with every local government pissant who wants to regulate your life.

Also put aside a contingency fund of several million dollars to deal with the lawsuits the Sierra Club, Earth First and every other environmental butt-brain is bound to file against you to STOP whatever you're hoping to do.

William, what do you do for a living? I suspect that you might work for the government if you work at all.

When more than HALF of what I pay for a gallon of gas goes for taxes, nobody but a government employee could say, "Don't blame the taxes."

I do. And I blame environmental whack-jobs who bleat about energy but oppose nuclear power, sue to stop the construction of new gasoline refineries, put the life of a snail-darter above hydroelectric power and scream about drilling for oil in the ANWR. William, you go stand on that side of the fence if you want to. I'll be on the other side.

If taxes are so good, why don't you pay MINE for me? I'd really appreciate that. So would the government. Because they could then turn around, declare the money that you paid for me a capital gain or a gift and tax ME for THAT. A double-dip tax, which government does all the time.

Naw... William, you are correct. Taxes mean nothing.

give me a permalink, goddamit!

I like this blog a lot, but I am yet to figure out how to make a link to ONE post on there. If you fuckers make my life too difficult, when you already KNOW that I am a computer fucktard, you can forget about any more links from me. You guys ain't playing by the KISS theory (Keep It Simple, Stupid).

You might have to scroll down to find it, but they posted the news that CNBC is giving Dennis Miller's show the axe. That's a crying shame to me. Especially when Bill Mahr remains on the air. Something just ain't right in the joss, the ka the mojo, the karma or the gestalt of the universe. Bill Mahr isn't fit to offer Dennis Miller a hand towel in a men's restroom.

In fact, Bill Mahr isn't fit to SUCK MY DICK! Whatta self-righteous maroon.

I APPRECIATE Dennis Miller. I believe that he is sharp, sarcastic, witty, somewhat egotistical and just angry enough to make me like him. No wonder his show is being cancelled. If I like him, he must be bad.

What is CNBC gonna replace him with? Arianna Huffington?


The guy who wrote this asked me not to link to his blog (it's "not ready yet" in his opinion), so I won't, but I liked what he had to say. I've SEEN alligators take dogs and racoons when the gator was in a hungry mode and it's an amazing thing to watch.

Ever seen an aligator hunt something? Its pretty damn impressive. I remember when I was younger watching a friend with his dog on a lakeshore taunting a gator. His dog would bark like crazy at the gator. That scaily bastard would go under and pop up so close to the dog that it would scare the ass out of the lab. As soon as that lab saw it pop up within a few feet, it'd tuck tail and run. For me it was scairy, for my friend it was fun, and I think the dog enjoyed it too. I knew very well that gator could take the lab whenever it wanted to, and it was us that kept it from getting too close. The gator eventually got that dog. It was while we were in school. My friend came home to find his dog missing, and later found its corpse left under a pine tree in the lake. Him and his father hunted that gator for a while and eventually got it. This was back when that kind of thing was legal.

Alligators LOVE dogs, racoons, possums and small children when they can catch them. Most of the time, their prey isn't in the water. A clever alligator will cruise up slowly to something on the bank until he gets within striking distance. Then, he will execute an amazingly fast 360-degree turn, hit whatever he was after with his tail and knock it into the water.

If he makes a successful strike, the gator will grab its prey in its powerful jaws and do what I call the "alligator roll" with it. They just twist around and around in the water to stupify and drown what they just caught. Then, they'll go stick whatever it was under a log beneath the water to let it tenderize a while before they eat it.

Alligators generally won't mess with a full-grown human, even if you're in the water with them. They'll leave you alone unless you start fucking with a mama gator's babies. If you are foolish enough to do that, mama will declare jihad on you in a heartbeat, and she'll come after you with her mouth wide open. And gators are FAST when they want to be.

She's not looking at you as food--- she just trying to protect her young'uns, and she'll do it fiercely. I find that trait amazing in a creature that's probably the closest thing to a dinosaur that we still have roaming the planet today. The bastards are difficult to kill, too. If you shoot at one, you need plenty of gun and a good shot to kill a big one. The fuckers are armor-plated.

Alligators aren't as aggressive as crocodiles, but it's still not a good idea to allow your dog or a small child to wander along a creek bank where alligators live. Gators see a meal there. And they'll catch it if they can.

Don't EVER feed the bastards. I've seen dumbasses do that and I want to push them into the water every time. The LAST thing you want is an alligator associating human beings with food.

I agree with my friend Catfish, who has made a project out of ridding his creek of the gators that were there when he moved in. "If I see one, I kill it," he says. He's nailed a couple of dozen so far, including two BIG ones. He had a mama come after him the other day when he was shooting "babies" (about two feet long) and he nailed her with a couple of rounds of .00 buckshot from a .12 gauge, right into her open mouth from about three feet away. She sank under the water and never came up again.

I was hoping she would float, because from Cat's description, we could have AT LEAST made a couple of fine belts and maybe a pair of boots out of that one. Hell... she may have had enough hide for a wallet or two.

Just take some good Cracker advice here. Alligators are NOT your friends, and you don't want them around if you have dogs or small children. Gators have no predators to menace them, other than man or bigger gators. They breed proficiently and will eat anything in or around your creek if you allow them to thrive. Don't do that.

I say kill them. Kill them ALL!

you will pay

Most people who bitch about the price of gas at the pump today don't understand the real reasons why that gasoline is so expensive. Here's just one example of what's sucking the cash out of your wallet.

Taxes, government regulation (especially the different blends required to please the environmentalists) and a lack of refineries in this country are the main source of your woes at the pump. Where I live, I pay a federal tax, a state tax, and a county tax on a gallon of gas. Take that tax-leech away and gasoline is as cheap as it was when I was in high school.

And I don't have to wait in line to buy it, either. I just have to shell out more than $2 per gallon to get it, thanks to the goverment demanding its slice of the pie. We don't have an "energy crisis" today. We've got a "taxation crisis" and THAT is the one that really threatens MY standard of living.

Use your imagination. Name ONE THING that the government DOESN'T tax today.

this is where we are

The idea of flushing the Koran outrages people in the media. That's TORTURE, dammit! Heads should roll!

Then, we have this kind of crap happening every day in our country. Do you see a double standard? I do.

I'll bet that the girl would have been allowed to sing a rap song about slapping 'hoes and shooting cops. But a song about God has no place in public schools today.

Bejus! Sometimes we are a really fucked-up country.

May 20, 2005

go read this

It's a little long, but it has everything I like in a good blog post. It is eloquent, thoughtful, passionate, well-written and just a little bit angry. And it's also VERY RELEVANT today.

Damn! That is one fine post!

morality, my ass

I totally disagree with this stance by the President. And "stance" might be the wrong word. "Posture" is more like it.

I don't believe that stem-cell research will be the magic pill that cures all human illness, but to NOT pursue such research sounds downright Luddite to me. I don't see the "moral" aspect of it. Stopping embryonic stem cell research isn't going to stop abortion, which I happen to believe IS a problem in this country today.

I think the President is on shaky ground here and I don't know who exactly he's pandering to. But it's a mistake.

"something wrong with the system?

You bet your sweet ass there's something wrong with the system, but this pissant legislation isn't going to fix it. I oppose ANY and ALL "mandatory" sentences for ANY type of crime, especially most some of the pure bullshit that has been dropped in the "War on Drugs."

Grandstanding, gas-bag politicians just love to show how "tough" they are on crime by passing legislation imposing harsh mandatory sentences on people who are guilty of what often amounts to victimless crimes. These lawmakers are about as intelligent as the dickweeds who invent all the "zero tolerance" shit that makes schools a looney-bin today.

We pay JUDGES to handle sentencing, and a good judge will throw the book at someone who deserves it and consider extenuating circumstances in other cases. Although not all judges are wise, or even coherent in some cases, that's still a job for a judge to do, not some pompous-ass, pandering politician.

Instead of DOING AWAY with mandatory sentences and allowing judges to do their jobs, this bunch of moonbats wants to expand the same fucked-up law to grab more people in the idiot-net. I believe that they all should be dragged off and shot.

“What essentially amounts to a small dosage of crack cocaine will land you in jail for five years, as a dealer,” McDonald said. “And yet, you have to have almost $3,000 worth of powdered cocaine to be also classified as a dealer. That math doesn't add up. That math belies something wrong with our system.”

Something is wrong with the system, all right. Mandatory sentences are the real problem. You don't "fix" that kind of problem by setting new standards before the sentences kick in. You get rid of the mandatory sentencing crap altogether.

I have known several people in the past who liked cocaine. They were respectable citizens who had good jobs and made a lot of money. (Most of 'em ended up pissing it all away by putting powder up their nose, but that was THEIR choice.) They bought cocaine by the ounce, for their own personal use.

They didn't sell it. They snorted it. And they bought such large quantities because bulk buying is always less expensive than a gram at a time, and with one good score they didn't have to go visit a dealer for a while. They just loaded the larder when they saw the chance, because it was safer than running the streets looking for some when you were out.

If they got caught with that amount of cocaine, they were automatically assumed to be "dealers" and they faced mandatory jail sentences. That's complete bullshit to me. That's like saying if you're found with $10,000 in cash in your pocket, you MUST be guilty of something, so we're gonna take the money, even though you have committed no crime. Government does that, too.

If you get caught SELLING coke or crack, then you're a dealer and you deserve to be prosecuted as such. (Without mandatory sentencing.) But possession of more than an arbitrary amount of an illegal substance does not mean that you are a dealer. If the police didn't catch you selling it, then these laws are ridiculous. You are PRESUMED guilty, just because you had enough to sell, whether you sold any or not.

This shit just ain't right, and changing the measurement system doesn't do anything to fix the root problem. It just perpetuates a travesty that should disgust all Americans.

I oppose the "War on Drugs" because I think it is a collossal waste of time, money and manpower and it has corrupted more people than it ever saved. I also know that it can never be won because there's too much money in it and too many people like to get fucked up. And every time some gas-bag farts out another "good idea" about how to fight the war, we lose a little more of our freedom.

Jails are filled with people serving mandatory sentences for doing nothing worse than what I did back in my musician days. The only difference between me and them is that I never got caught. Meanwhile, mother-rapers and father-stabbers get early release from prison to make room for those serving mandatory drug sentences.

I ask one simple question: Which would YOU rather have living next door to you--- a respected stockbroker who liked to put a lot of coke up his nose at night and never bothered anybody when he did it, or a mother-raping father-stabber, who just might get liquored up one night and decide to see what you have in your house?

I report; you decide.

if you've got it, flaunt it

If she were sellng her pussy outright, she'd be a prostitute. But using her very attractive body as a walking billboard isn't illegal. In fact, it's a great example of American free enterprise.

I still think it's a pretty cheesy thing to do, but sex DOES sell.

when he's good...

Maybe it's just the blind hog and the acorn, but every now and then this crazy bastard writes something that makes me.... I don't know. Sleep badly and have terrible nightmares.

Maybe you need to see that bullwhip he owns to fully appreciate that post.

May 19, 2005

a request

While I was shopping for guns that I didn't buy today, I asked my nefarious acquaintence to look into something for me. I want a lever-action repeating rifle in the .30 caliber range. I've been watching too many "Gunsmoke: reruns lately, and I want the kind of rifle that won the west.

I'd prefer a .30-06, but a .30-30 will probably do just fine. I just want a rifle that looks like the one Matt Dillon carries in that saddle-sheath of his. I'd like a genuine Winchester, but I'll take whatever I can get at a reasonable price.

I checked with Catfish today and even HE doesn't have a lever action rifle. He's probably got close to 100 guns in his house, but he doesn't have one of those. That fact made me want one even more than I already did.

I want a .30-06 if possible, because you can shoot anything from squirrels to a full-grown moose with one of those, depending on the ammo you use. I've never had much experience with a 30-30, but I can probably figure that one out if it's what I can get when I have the chance. My acquaintence said that he would look into that project for me.

I've never owned a lever-action rifle. I have HAD pumps, semi-autos and bolt action rifles, but I've never owned an old-fashioned, genuine lever-action model, the kind that once scared Indians away when you were alone on the prarie. I understand that Marlin makes a .22 now that looks just like an old frontier Winchester, but I don't need another .22. I want the real deal.

Anybody know anything about a good lever-action rifle in the .30 caliber range that ain't going to break my wallet to buy it?

esoteric interests

I was surprised to learn that a lot of people knew who John Scarne was. I thought that he was one of my esoteric heroes. So... have you ever heard of THESE people?

#1-- Jan Cremer

#2-- Joseph Glidden

#3-- Richard Matheson

#4-- Carlos Castanda

#5-- Beau Brummel

#6-- Charles Baudelaire

#7-- Edgar Cayce

#8-- James Wright

#9-- George Donner

#10-- D. B. Cooper

THOSE are the kinds of people who fascinate me. Am I twisted, or what? Do YOU know who they are... or were?

may 23

Next Monday will be my grandmother's 94th birthday. It's also my brother's 51st birthday. I have a couple of cousins that I don't really know well who were born on that day, too. I think it's strange how that runs in my family.

Subtract nine months from May 23 and you can see where people in my family either became very horny or very prolific. That can't be total coincidence.

I have no idea what to get my grandmother for her birthday. I'll probably just buy a card and get her some scratch-off lottery tickets. Even though her vision is fading fast now, she still likes those scratch-off tickets. That's amusing to me. In her younger days, Mommie would scald your ass for gambling on ANYTHING. She didn't even believe in playing marbles for "keeps." Those lottery tickets somehow are different.

I am very fortunate to have a grandmother who has lived so long and still kept her wherewithall about her. She remains one of the wisest wimmen I know. She quit school in the eighth grade, she's never had a driver's license in her life, and she once cheated me at cards and laughed when I didn't catch her. (We weren't playing for money--- that made cheating okay, because we weren't GAMBLING.) She is one hell of a woman.

She still lives in her own home, by herself, but the aunts and uncles hang around to make sure she doesn't need any help. She does just fine. She still works the morning crossword puzzle in the paper every day, even though she needs a magnifying glass to do it now. She never forgets a birthday, even though she has children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great grandchildren and great-GREAT-GREAT grandchildren.

She still calls me #1, because I was her first grandchild. And she'll always be #1 to me.

scientific research

Here is a piece of true research that you cannot doubt, because the "scientists" provide pictures to document everything they did. It all seems just as plain as the fat on Michael Moore's ass to me.

And I'll bet you that they performed this research with NO government funds whatsoever.

terrible news

I blame this kind of shit on the low-carb diet craze of today and the obsession with "obesity" in the news. I actually know people who drink Michelob ULTRA LIGHT BEER in an effort to be more "healthy," and even Kryspy Kreme is feeling the pinch. Now, a got-dam American institution is being torpedoed by people who believe that they can eat their way to weight-loss, if they simply stuff their gullets with the "right" foods and stay away from the "bad" stuff.

I weep. Twinkies are vanishing from the American food menu.

It was the third plant closing and regional consolidation the company has announced over the last two months, costing a total of about 3,000 jobs. The company also plans to close plants in Miami and Charlotte, N.C., and consolidate operations in Florida, Georgia, the Carolinas and Virginia.

Company officials said they expect the Northeast closing and consolidation to cost about $17 million, including $7 million in severance payments and $7 million in losses to the value of assets.

And I'll bet that they won't have a single shrunken fat-ass to show for it in the long run. I've seen people lose a lot of weight on the Atkins Diet. But they always turn around and gain it right back again because they simply like to EAT TOO MUCH!!!

Nothing chaps my ass worse than to have some Jabba-the Hut looking fucker complain about second-hand cigarette smoke in a restaurant while that person is eating enough food to feed a family of five. THAT'S a really health-conscious person, wearing those size 56 waist pants.

I'm willing to make a deal with those people--- you stop bitching about me smoking, and I won't call you a fat-ass. That sounds fair enough to suit me.

And leave my goddam Twinkies alone.

things I don't care about

* The Michael Jackson trial. In MY humble opinion, the people trying to bleed him dry are a band of low-life vampires. You know what Michael Jackson is REALLY on trial for? He's rich and he's weird. That's all I think he's really guilty of.

* The new Pope. I didn't give a damn about the OLD Pope. Why should I give a shit about THIS one? He's nothing special to me. I'm not a Catholic and I think the Pope is an ass. Anybody who wears a funny hat and says that God speaks through HIM is not to be trusted.

* The filibuster. WTF? I am familiar with the old-fashioned filibusters, back during the civil rights movement, when Democrat senators read from the phone book, took leaks in a spitoon and hog-tied the floor with constant rhetoric, no matter how senseless the rhetoric might be, just to stop a vote from happening. THOSE were filibusters.

What we have now is a few pout-bags saying, "I declare a filibuster!" and everybody just goes back to the plush office without voting, shaking their heads and saying, "Just Damn! They played the filibuster card!" It's all a pathetic joke. Besides, can anybody give me an example of when a filibuster actually worked to change anything, instead of merely postponing the inevitable?

* Constitutional Amendments. I don't care how brilliant the idea may sound, I automatically oppose ANY amendment to the United States Constitution. We have too any amendments to that document already, and after the first ten it went downhill, with the government taking more and more of our freedom every time. I don't see a politician alive today who can improve on what the Founding Fathers envisioned this country to be. Those midgets have no business fucking with the work of giants.

* Flushing the Koran. That's another topic that falls into my WTF category. The forces of political correctness have been attacking the Christian Bible, the Ten Commandments, "In God We Trust," and there's always some asshole such as Michael Newdow running around bitching about the Pledge of Allegiance. We're not supposed to say "Merry Christmas" anymore, lest we offend anybody who isn't a Christian. But offending Christians is okay, because they are... well.... mostly WHITE.... and AMERICAN! It's okay to offend those people--- they are no better than cigarette smokers. Wipe your ass on the Bible all you want to. But don't you DARE flush a Koran in front of a terrorist. That's not only TORTURE, it's also...insensitive.

* Where I rank on the TTLB Ecosystem. I was blogging when nobody except my mama read me and I'll keep blogging if all my readers leave tomorrow. What is this "ranking" shit anyway? If people read it, you've got a decent blog. That's all you need to know.

* Hollywood celebrities. I don't CARE what they think. The same thing goes for musicians and "artists" of any kind. What makes them so special? One of the lowest points in my life was when I saw Meryl Streep, Sally Fields and Jessica Lange testify before CONGRESS about a Farm Bill because the three ladies played farm-wimmen in goddam movies. That was like a kick in the balls to me. If Congress wanted to know about farming, those gas-bags should have talked to my grandmother. Or ANYBODY who actually ever farmed in their lives. But celebrities told them what they wanted to hear (Yeah--- I'm not a farmer, but I played one in the movies, and here's what I think...).

Can you see Merle Streep slaughtering a hog? Can you imagine Sally Fields wringing a chicken's neck and then plucking the bird to cook for supper? Can you visualize Jessica Lange actually milking several cows at 5:00 in the morning. gathering eggs from the henhouse and THEN going back inside to cook a lumberjack breakfast for her men before they took to the fields to work? If you can, you have a better imagination than I do.

* I also don't care about Newsweek Magazine. I quit reading that rag years ago.

busy day

I dropped off my camera to have it repaired today, and then I went to visit a nefarious acquaintence of mine who lives down in the woods on the banks of the Savannah River not far from my house. I went there to buy a pistol, but I didn't do that. I bought two of them He had a couple of guns that I really liked and I was tempted... but I'm not supposed to own any guns, so I didn't buy anything.

After that, I drove down to MacIntosh County to pay a visit to catfish, who was out in the yard on his country estate with a fishing rod and a .22 rifle by his lawn chair on the edge of his creek. He was shooting squirrels and catching bream, and doing a pretty good job of both. Thanks to him, I'm having fish for supper tonight.

I think the squirrels will be alligator bait, because his lazy cats are too sorry to go eat them anymore. They've had their fill. Cat told me that he's shooting eight or ten of those tree rats every day now.

I like the way his palace is looking now. He's been on this project for more than a year, and he's about to get it all finished--- except for the stuff that NEVER gets finished when you own a place like that. The house is pretty well complete, except for a few minor things, but that five acres he has gives a man plenty to do in his spare time.

I told him that he needed a Yard Boy. He said, "I've GOT one, but she never stays at home anymore."

He's been clearing the brush around the creek and shooting a lot of alligators. Yesterday, he killed his first snake, a cottonmouth about 3' long and as big around as my leg. He'll see more snakes as the weather gets warmer. I made that cogent observation and Cat replied, "Usually I don't come down here to work without wearing snake-boots and stovepipes. I'm like YOU, Bow-legs. Snakes scare the shit out of me."

He also carries a pistol loaded with snake-shot strapped to his hip when he goes "gardening." I showed him told him about the guns I almost bought this morning and he was quite interested in them. .410 derringers make excellent snake-guns. I almost bought both a single-barrel AND a double barrel. Almost.

Cat damn near captured me for good when we went inside and I sat in his massage-chair. I gotta get me one of those. It's got a remote control that makes that chair feel like a team of Swedish massage experts working on your back, neck and legs. I could SLEEP in that thing.

Now I've got some fish to clean, as soon as I bandage this nasty blister I have on my right thumb. Those .410 derringers have a bitch of a safety on them and it took me a while to figure out how to operate it--- before I decided not to buy one.

If I ever change my mind, I think I might really like two one of those pistols.

he's alive!

I had heard these rumors in the past, but I didn't believe them until today. One of my blog-sons disappeared for a while and I thought he was dead. I was mistaken.

he's back, using a different name and probably hiding from the forces of evil under his new pseudonym. I'm happy to see him blogging again. If he keeps it up, I'll have to put him back on the blogroll under "Bloggers I've Met."

that's me

What Is Your Animal Personality?

brought to you by Quizilla

I think I took this same test about a year ago and got the same results. They really are pretty accurate.


Go check out some of my daughter's artwork. She really IS very talented.

(If the link to her post doesn't work, try this one. If that doesn't work, you have a fucked-up computer.)

May 18, 2005


I don't watch much commercial TV, so I had not heard of this breathtaking story until this evening. I'm all excited now.

Just imagine the possibilities! Geena Davis as the first female President of the United States! I'll bet you that she is a Republican, too! She's gonna be a fiscal conservative, a hawk on defense, a hard-headed fighter in the War on Terror, and someone who disapproves of Affirmative Action. She'll say she's pro-life but that she doesn't agree that abortion should be illegal. She'll toss illegal immigrants out of the country left and right and she'll tell the United Nations to kiss her pretty ass if that corrupt bunch of slimeballs get in her way.

Man! THAT'S gonna be a GREAT show! I am certain that Geena will remind me a lot of Margaret Thatcher with the way she runs the country.

Or maybe not. She COULD be a leftist barking moonbat, much like Martin Sheen's character in "Left West Wing." Nawwwww.... Hollywood wouldn't do THAT again, would it? Nah. No way.

Now.... wanna bet?


be careful where you step

If you don't watch out, you'll step on someone's pouty lip, which is dragging the ground right now. Sweet Bejus! What a nation of pussies we have become.

Yeah, you'll have to "read between the lines" to understand this post, but I have just one thing to say... if I reacted the way YOU people do to criticism, and if I reacted to YOUR slings and arrows the way YOU do to mine (when I didn't even mention your name-- but you trash mine) , I'd just crawl off in a corner and cry myself to sleep while sucking my thumb.

Maybe you should consider that option. Seriously.

sounds familiar

If I didn't know better (because I KNOW that he would never actually DO anything like this) I would swear that this guy knows what he's talking about. But that can't be so. He's a fine, upstanding, law-abiding citizen.

Besides... the statute of limitations has run out on him by now.

a nominee

Yep. I think we have a candidate for a darwin award here.

And the last thing that went through his mind was probably his asshole when he landed.

didn't know what he was doing

I heard this same story about making "fortified" wine or extra-potent cider. I have no doubt that it works, because water freezes before alcohol does. That's a scientific fact. I've heard that you can take home-make wine, stick it in the freezer, then scoop the ice out of it when it begins to freeze and end up with brandy.

I've never tried that, but it makes sense to me. But you have to get your basic ingredients right first. Otherwise, you end up with a bucket full of shit that a hog won't touch. And YOU NEVER USE A PRESSURE COOKER to distill your product. That's just asking for trouble. You fuckers are lucky that you didn't blow up the kitchen and your fool selves, too.

First of all, you need to keep the temperature of the mash at around 180-185 degrees F when you cook it, which is enough heat to evaporate the alcohol without boiling off the water in it, too. (You high-school dumbasses--- you got it TOO HOT!!!) Plus, if you get it boiling too royally, everything blows right through your condenser before it has a chance to slow down and turn to liquid.

Second, you don't cook it until it is FULLY FERMENTED. If it's still foaming and bubbling, it ain't ready yet. Bejus. I ought to see if I can get a job teaching "Moonshine Science 101" at Armstrong Atlantic State College. I might perform a wonderful public service by keeping some dumbass kids from burning their houses down.

I KNOW how to do this. I've done it before and I'm about to do it again.

on the same topic

How many of you people ever heard of john scarne? He was probably the greatest card manipulator of all time, and I actually got to see him perform once, long after I read his book, The Amazing World of John Scarne. That guy went beyond amazing.

If someone handed him a deck of cards and said, "Cut 32 from the top," he could do it every time. Count 'em. Whatever number you asked for, he could cut, just from feel. I also saw him on the Today show, when he was an old man, and he sat down at the poker table with Hugh Downs, Ba-ba Wa-Wa and Gene Shallet to demonstrate how to cheat at poker.

He started dealing a hand and told them to call him when someone caught him dealing from the bottom of the deck. After about 15 cards, Ba-ba exclaimed, "THAT ONE! You dealt THAT ONE from the bottom of the deck!"

Scarne confessed. Yes indeed, he dealt that card from the bottom of the deck. He also confessed that he had dealt EVERY CARD THEY SAW from the bottom of the deck. He just slowed down to let them catch him. A slow-mo camera caught it all on replay. He DID deal every card from the bottom.

I saw him do this same trick live that he performed on the "Today" show. He told the other three people at the table: "I'm going to deal YOU a straight, I'm going to deal YOU a flush, I'm going to deal YOU a full house, and I'm going to deal myself four aces." He ran the cards and that's exactly what happened.

He always said that he could riffle a deck of cards one time and immediately memorize them all. If you ever let him shuffle, he knew where every card in the deck was and he could deal from top to bottom to somewhere in the middle without you ever seeing what he was doing.

THAT'S a "card sharp."

How did he do it? It was a combination of skill and practice. He did it all his life and he was the best. He was never allowed to gamble at card games in a casino, because he performed a magic act involving card tricks for years, and when people finally realized that he wasn't using a trick deck--- that he could do the same stuff with ANY deck of cards, the casinos hired him to catch cheaters.

Some people just have extraordinary abilities to do complex things and make it look easy. Scarne was that way with a deck of cards.

I highly recommend that you read his book.

more on gambling

When I was at Lake Tahoe a few years ago, I hit a hot streak at the blackjack table. I KNEW that I was running a string of cards, so I bet them. When I was $500 ahead (on a $10 table), the pit boss came over to watch me. When I was $700 ahead, the pit boss introduced himself to me and asked if I wanted anything to drink. When I told him "no," he just stood around giving me the hairy eyeball.

I think I ran my bank up to close to $1,000 before the cards turned (after the house sent about four different dealers over to ruin my luck) and I cashed my chips as a $600 winner. I didn't cheat. I am incapable of counting cards the way they play blackjack at Harrah's Casino. I simply cashed in on a streak of good luck when it came my way.

When the luck ran out, so did I, and I took $600 of the house's money with me.

I enjoy playing blackjack. The house has only about a 2% vigorish on you in that game, and if you realize that your are playing the DEALER and not playing "21," you can actually win a little money at that game. I did it in Costa Rica and I've done it in other places, too.

I've also lost my ass, and I have a $185 tee-shirt from a casino in San Martin to prove it. That's why it's called "gambling."

But it's never failed anywhere I've been. If you start winning fairly big, the pit boss comes over to scrutinize what you're doing. If he can't figure out how you're cheating, he'll change dealers on you. He'll offer you free drinks and have some very pretty wimmen start rubbing all over you. It's all an act of distraction, designed to make you lose. And I think the $500 mark is about where they start to become suspicious and kick their shit into action.

The house doesn't exist for you to take THEIR money. They want YOURS. You'd better understand that simple fact before you ever walk through the door.

But sometimes, the cards flow just right and you can beat them at their own game. Fair and square, too.

the bastard oughta be fired

I'm no fan of Budweiser beer. I'll drink it, but I consider it to be pure possum-piss compared to a REAL beer, such as Shiner, Sam Adams or Bass Ale. I can understand a budweiser employee wanting to drink something else, but a COORS????. That's worse possum-piss than Budweiser.

I'd call that conduct unbecoming to ANYONE who works in a brewery. Go ahead and fire him.

the acorn and the tree

Trust me. She comes by it naturally. I know.

I've lived my entire life that way, too. I just always managed to control myself better than she did .... most of the time, anyway.


I had a couple of spammers slip in under the radar screen today, so I blacklisted and deleted their asses. Somehow, in my bloodthirsty enthusiasm, I managed to blacklist myself, too.

I don't know how I did that, but I think I fixed it now. I believe that I painted with too broad a brush. If anyone else got that dreaded "Your comment can not be posted due to questionable content" notice, try again. If you're not a spammer, you're welcome aboard.

I am such a fucktard on the computer....

sheltered life

My friend jim posted a list of ten things he's never done. Man, he has led a sheltered life. Here's his list, with my comments:

I have never …:

1. Ridden in a tank (The truth is, neither have I, unless you want to consider a friend's 1963 Ford Galaxy 500, which was pretty damn close to being a tank.)

2. Used an ATM (I cannot believe that. EVERYBODY uses ATMs anymore, even people who can't figure out how to operate them properly. I believe that they are amazing devices. I can take money out of my Rincon, Georgia bank account from a Costa Rican ATM. Is THAT impressive, or what?)

3. Water skied. (You poor child. You've never experienced the incredible rush of wiping out on skis at 60 MPH and learning that your body will skip like a stone, roll like a tumbleweed and try to break itself to pieces before you stop and float stunned on the water, like a fish that just sufferered a concussion blast.)

4. Driven a tractor (Many times. They are interesting machines.)

5. Milked (or even touched) a cow (I TRIED to milk a cow once, but all I did was irritate old Bossy. There's a knack to squeezing those dugs just right to make the milk come out, and I never mastered that technique. I don't care to now.)

6. Watched a single episode of: Dallas, The Waltons, or Desperate Housewives (I confess... I used to watch The Waltons. Good night, John-Boy.)

7. Been able to stay awake during the movie Gone With the Wind (That's the Yankee in you. I've seen it a dozen times and I still like watching it.)

8. Been arrested (Me neither.... except for that one time almost four years ago when... never mind.)

9. Been transported anywhere in an ambulance (knock wood) (Can't say the same. I've ridden in the flashing limousine three times in my life.)

10. Gotten an Instalanche. (It'll come. Besides, it's a thrill for a day, then life goes right back to normal again. It won't really rock your world.)

In response to Jim's list, I offer my own 10 things I've never done (but came close to doing once or twice).

#1-- Gotten a tattoo or a piercing

#2-- Jumped out of a perfectly good airplane

#3-- Learned to play the fiddle

#4-- Been to Europe

#5-- Made love to an Oriental woman

#6-- Eaten sushi (hmmm... might be a Freudian connection between those two...)

#7-- Learned to scuba dive

#8-- Bunji jumped

#9-- Killed anybody (although I have been tempted on a few occasions)

#10-- Had a grandchild to spoil.

My life ain't over yet, so maybe I'll get around to crossing a few of those things off my list one of these days.


Oh, man! If I had only known about this holiday, I would have celebrated it many times in the past. I don't care where you work or what you do for a living, you know AT LEAST one co-worker that you would love to slap the shit out of at least once every day.

Yeah--- the ass-kissers, the pimp-to-the-boss toadies, the back-stabbers, the slackards, the finger-pointers, the pompous asses, the always-late-for-meetings pricks, the incompetent nincompoops--- the list goes on and on. We OUGHT to be able to slap those people at least once every year if we can't do it every day.

I call for a celebration!

love hurts

I don't believe that I would have sued over this incident. Hell... the guy knew the job was dangerous when he took it. I think he ran into a true "snapping pussy."

The plaintiff and the defendant were in a long-term committed relationship. Early in the morning of September 24, 1994, they were engaged in consensual sexual intercourse. The plaintiff was lying on his back while the defendant was on top of him. The defendant's body was secured in this position by the interlocking of her legs and the plaintiff's legs. At some point, the defendant unilaterally decided to unlock her legs and place her feet on either side of the plaintiff's abdomen for the purpose of increasing her stimulation. When the defendant changed her position, she did not think about the possibility of injury to the plaintiff. Shortly after taking this new position, the defendant landed awkwardly on the plaintiff, thereby causing him to suffer a penile fracture.

I didn't know that you could actually fracture that kind of boner bone, but the very idea sends chills down my spine. That has GOT to hurt.

But suing over it is ridiculous. Just tell her to kiss it and make it better. I'd settle for that.

i'll believe it when i see it

George W. Bush is FINALLY threatening to veto a bloated spending bill, which will be a first for his presidency if he actually does it. So far in office, he has displayed the "fiscal responsibility" of a drunken sailor on shore leave.

"This bill will have an impact on every city and every town and every state." said Sen. James Jeffords, I-Vt., the minority leader on the Environment Committee. "I urge President Bush to reconsider his veto threat against this legislation."

Let me translate that statement for you: PORK!!!

What is really laughable about this affair is that Bush is perfectly willing to sign a bill to spend $284 billion. But $295 billion is just too much. Yep. That's fiscal responsibility in MY book.

What's a measley $11 billion?

i think i are one

I never heard of being a red-neck jedi, but I think I are one. If I lived in Star Wars, I'd probably have a pod racer up on blocks in my front yard.

the 7th sign?

I dunno. Is pubic hair out of fashion now--- even for men?

I've had a complete nether shave a few times in my life. Twice was for surgery, and the deed was done by a male nurse, which was no fun at all, and a couple of other times I did it just for the sport of it with a woman. That WAS fun.

At least until the hair started to grow back. You'll stay away from wearing Speedos when you're bearding your own balls.


What is that? I wouldn't know, since I never use sarcasm, irony or allegorical devices in my blogging. I play it straight and serious all the time, just like this guy does.

And I learn a lot that way. I never knew until I read that post that Al Gore invented Blogger.

wednesday wisdom

Having done pretty much the same thing myself, I couldn't agree more with this guy. Being born poor doesn't mean you have to remain poor all of your life. And scraping by in your 20s doesn't mean that you won't be well-off some day in the future. And YOU DO NOT need government to "save" you.

Nothing can instill comtempt for bleeding-heart silver spoons quite like living for a while as one of the ostensible objects of their "compassion" and making it through without their help. You learn to see their rhetoric for the demagoguery that it is.

Amen, brother!

(Thanks to Richard Andrews for the link.)

May 17, 2005

my quote of the day

But so what? What people blog about is none of my business.

Truer words were never spoken, and they came from the godfather himself.

it might be illegal

Thanks to one of my commenters, I now know what I'm going to do with all of those blackberries in my yard. I'm going to pick them and make a batch of "home-made wine." I haven't tested by ancient brewing skills in a while, and I think now is the time. I'm going to just throw the berries in a pot, go buy some sugar and yeast and clean up my old fermenting kit.

I figure that by the end of next week, I should be ready to cook this stuff and allow it to percolate for a while in the fermenter. When it's through blowing bubbles and hissing like a baby alligator, I'm going to put the finishing touches on it. THAT part just may be illegal.

What the hell? I can do it on my back porch and I don't think any of the neighbors will complain. They might WANT SOME, but they won't call the cops. Besides, I calculate that the most I'll get out of this project is about two quarts of QUALITY "home-made wine." That doesn't put my face on a Wanted poster at the Post Office, does it?

I'll give away and drink one quart. The other one I'm saving for the next blog-meet. BWHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!

it's close

Your Deadly Sins

Sloth: 60%
Wrath: 40%
Envy: 0%
Gluttony: 0%
Greed: 0%
Lust: 0%
Pride: 0%
Chance You'll Go to Hell: 14%
You will die with your hand down your underwear, watching Star Trek.

I stole the quiz from zonker and I'm really disappointed in my "lust" score. Just Damn! I'm hornier than THAT!!!

And I also believe that I have a much better than 14% chance of going to hell.

gambling vs. cheating

I've been following a series of shows on the History Channel called "Breaking Las Vegas," and the shows are about the most notorious cheaters, scammers and con-men of all time. At least MOST of the shows are. Last night, I watched one about ken Uston, who was probably the best card-counter of all time at the blackjack table.

He was banned from gambling in casinos, not because he CHEATED, but because he was too good at what he did. I have a problem with his story.

Every game in a casino is structured so that the house has a slight "vigorish," that over time, guarantees a profit. If you use marked cards, loaded dice, X-ray glasses or some kind of electronic tool to beat the odds, then you're a cheater and you deserve to have your ass whipped and go to jail.

But if you are a mathematical genius who can keep track of what's left in a dealer's shoe with five decks in it toward the end of a blackjack game, that ain't cheating. That's just being better at the game than the house expects you to be. The house loses money, and the house doesn't like that.

Yeah... I know he organized a "team" to count cards all over the place, but that doesn't change my opinion. The guy had a unique skill. The casinos banned him from using it because he WON--- in my mind, fair and square--- but casinos aren't in business for you to win. They love a sucker, but they don't want to be played for one themselves.

If you ever get a chance to see that show, watch it. Let me know what YOU think.

more today

In about 30 minutes, I picked two pints of blackberries today, and I could have gotten a lot more if the rain hadn't started falling just as I wading into the Mother Lode. Bejus! I have a true BOUNTY in my back yard. Those berries are EVERYWHERE!!!

I wish mama were still alive. I'd take her a bunch of these and help her make a cobbler out of them. Or some blackberry muffins. Left to myself, I'll probably just eat them raw. They are sweet and juicy and I can probably pick all I want for another week or so.

Back when I was a kid, what I have in my back yard would NOT have survived until now. As a kid, I would have found that blackberry patch LONG before an old fart like me found it, and I would have picked it clean every day, even if I had to sneak into a stranger's yard to do it.

Kids just don't do that kind of thing anymore, and the country is worse off because of it. Most kids today don't know a blackberry when they see one, unless it comes in a package from Krogers. That fact saddens me. Most kids don't run the woods the way I once did. They'd rather play video games.

Picking blackberries makes me feel young again.


My aching ass! What is it about Hollywood celebrities that makes them incapable of finishing a complete sentence without saying "y'know?" I've watched several of them over the past few days as they were interviewed without a script to read and almost EVERY ONE sounded like some ditzy-headed Valley Girl--- even the GUYS.

Typical conversation:

"Well, y'know... it was really great to work with such a great, y'know... RESPECTED director and he, y'know, kinda brought out the BEST in the cast, y'know? I was trying to imagine my character, y'know, and I just FELT that she should be, y'know, strong but... y'know VULNERABLE at the same time. Y'know? When I saw the first rushes, y'know, I kinda felt that I had the character down pat, y'know?"

I listen to those babbling moonbats and I want to reach through the television screen and choke 'em like a chicken for pure inarticulateness.


no sense of irony

Some people in blogdom take this shit WAAAAY to seriously. I'm not kidding about that. A lot of soap-opera, personal vendettas and careless words have been hurled around in my little corner of this universe lately, and I don't like it--- but I'm not offended by anyone who joined the various lynch-mobs.

It's your blog, your opinion, and you have a right to express it however you see fit. But you have to understand one simple fact--- not many people give a shit anyway. I write what I write the way I write because this is MY HOUSE. I can do whatever I want to here, as long as I pay my taxes and keep my lawn mowed and don't have the neighbors calling the police on me.

Some people get their feelings hurt too easily. Bejus! If I suffered a bruise on my psyche every time someone called me a red-necked asshole over the past three and one-half years, I would have died of galloping hematomas long ago. I've always said--- if you want to blog, you'd better grow a cast-iron ass.

Besides--- blogging is the ultimate "Short Attenion Span Theater." Nobody remembers what you wrote yesterday. That's ancient history except for people who want to prowl your archives. Yesterday's post is like cold french fries. Pure garbage.

Some people can't handle that environment, and my advice to them is to GET OUT. If you blog to be loved, forget it. You'll always manage to piss someone off. If you blog to "make friends," forget that, too. You'll always make enemies. If you blog for ANY OTHER REASON than the fact that you want to do it, and you're ready to handle whatever comes your way--- just quit.

It'll save you a lot of grief in the long run.

i'll be damned!

Here is another "scientific" study that shows the obnoxious kudzu vine just might have medicinal applications. I certainly hope the research is correct. I never thought kudzu was worth a shit for ANYTHING except taking over wherever it grows.

Kudzu, an ever-expanding plant considered a pest in much of the South, appears to contain a compound that can be effective in reducing alcohol intake among humans.

I have my suspicions about how that works. If you try to walk to your moonshine still in the woods, you get so tangled up in kudzu vines that you never get there for a drink. You just get tied up and die, like an insect in a spider's web.

Lukas was not certain why but speculated that kudzu increases blood alcohol levels and speeds up its effects. More simply put, the subjects needed fewer beers to feel drunk.

I'll be damned. I once sampled something that the maker called "kudzu wine," and it tasted like what I imagine cow-piss to be. I didn't want a second glass. But now--- we have "scientific" research showing that kudzu accentuates the effects of alcohol, so you can drink less and still achieve the same buzz.

If it's true, that's a good thing. We DEFINITELY have no shortage of kudzu where I live. Most people I know spend years just trying (unsuccessfully) to kill it off. Hell--- I may PLANT some now.

(I received the link from an unnamed source that I must protect, due to my journalistic integrity. He was fucking off at work and asked me not to use his name.)

sick shit

I honestly do not understand how anyone can do this to a child, let alone one of your own children. That's just sick shit.

I like kids. I like their energy, their jittery legs and the enthusiasm that they bring to life. I like the fact that they still believe in magic. I like the wonder and innocence I see in their eyes. I like the fact that I can scare 'em half to death with ghost stories at night. They BELIEVE and they TRUST the way no adult does.

How could anybody possibly want to hurt something so precious?

we're all gonna die again!

You can wait for this forecast to be revised, depending on what actually happens this year. Trying to reason with hurricane season is just one of the few down-sides of living near the coast in the southeast United States.

Florida got pummelled last year. I rode to Miami back in December and I could still see houses with blue tarp roofs, nekkid palm trees, billboards with no boards on them and whole stands of trees either bent or broken in the same direction. Hurricanes are BAD motherfuckers.

But I don't put a lot of stock in these predictions. Even using the best technology and expertese we have, it's still all guesswork. I can give an accurate prediction myself: We're going to see some hurricanes this year. One or two will be BIG ones, and they will hit somewhere in the United States.

The Atlantic and Caribbean basin will see 12 to 15 tropical storms during the season, NOAA said. From seven to nine of those storms will become hurricanes and three to five of the hurricanes will be major ones, with sustained winds exceeding 110 mph (177 kph), the agency said.

I see a lot of fudge factor built into these predictions. But I'm a skeptic when it comes to "climate science" anyway.

May 16, 2005

Carnival of the Crappers #3

Crap!!! I had this post finished and went to save it when... I must have hit the wrong button on the keyboard and flushed the whole thing. It went swirling off into the septic tank of lost posts, where it will languish forever, surrounded by tomato seeds, corn, used Tampax and other undigestable things.

I probably can't duplicate the brilliance I showed in that first post, but I'll try.

I once watched a lady in the park following a 6-pound toy poodle with a pooper-scooper. The woman diligently collected every deposit the dog left in the park, and she put her bounty into a plastic zip-lock baggie. By the time she left the park, the bag of sdhit weighed more than the dog did. How does THAT happen?

If you want to know, consult "Bear" and learn the scoop on poop. Follow that one up with facts on farts. You'll have at least one end covered.

This post sets you up for something really disgusting. I really want to meet this guy some day. His mind is in the sewer.

This is the story he was talking about. See? I TOLD you he was sick. "Poop report," indeed.

I once traded two Snickers bars and three Star Crunches for a handfull of toilet paper on a backpacking trip. You don't know just how valuable that stuff is until you don't have any.

Read this post and you might understand something about what I'm talking about.

Okay, an email missive:

Hey Rob, here is a story for you. One night we were woken up at 1:30 am, our son came in to our bed and his legs were all "wet". I had just heard him in the bathroom, so I figured he must of missed and peed on his leg. Then the stench wasn't pee, it was diarrhea. My husband and I jump out of bed and flip the lights. Sure enough, poor thing got the runs. There was a trail of it from his room and into the bathroom. As we frantically tried to clean everything up, I look in to the bathroom and there is one of my dogs. She's eating the big pile of steaming poo that is in the middle of the bathroom floor. Another dog eating poop story: After spending the morning horse back riding, I came home and started to unload the car. I noticed one of my dogs standing over a big pile of something and eating it. Turns out all the horse manure my dog ate all morning came back up and he felt it was his duty to re eat it. Dogs are dumb.......... ~maeve

This woman called me a "shithead" for leaving her out of last week's Carnival. I really can't argue with that description, but I've believe that she's REALLY jealous about that steamy night in Brazil, when she threw herself shamelessy and wantonly at me and I turned her down to go drink beer on the couch and watch soccer on TV. She never forgave me for that.

Anyway, here's her post, one week late. Hell, I got distracted. I was watching soccer on TV.

I thought that having farting contests was kind of a guy thing. If you read that post, you'll see that I was mistaken.

Okay, that's it for this week's Carnival. If I overlooked any entries... just let me know and I'll post 'em next week. Submission for next week are open

muscle cars

I read this post and I started to salivate. I grew up in the heyday of muscle cars, hot-rods and really fast vehicles that you could drag-race with right off the show room floor. I lusted after a Chevy Chevelle 396, an Olds 442, a Dodge 427 hemi, a GTO or even a Road Runner or a Super Bee. Those cars would FLY, and speed is intoxicating when you are young.

If you drive around southside Savannah today, you may encounter "Sallie Mood Drive." It's a long, straight stretch of road that intersects Eisenhower Boulevard and Montgomery Crossroads, and it's got all kinds of shit built up around it now. Back when I was in high school and during my early college years, that piece of pavement was called Meridian Road, and there wasn't a damn thing out there but woods on both sides of that long, straight road.

Some clever fellow went out there and marked off a quarter-mile with orange flourescent paint on the pavement and that's where everybody went to race their cars. Meridian Road was smack dab in the Middle of Nowhere at the time, and I don't think the police minded people running drag out there as long as we didn't kill ourselves or bother anyone else.

I saw a lot of money change hands over those races, but I never saw a wreck. It was a good place to drive fast. I still remember watching those races and wishing that I had a muscle car.

I ended up with a 1972 Javelin, which wasn't bad--- but it damn sure couldn't run with the really Tall Dogs. I could go from a dead stop to 80 MPH in the quarter, but that wasn't nearly good enough. Some of those other machines would leave me sucking exhaust fumes. They were still peeling rubber when they crossed the marker. I liked my car, but I never bet on it in a race. I couldn't beat the Bad Boys and I knew it.

One of the few fantasies I still have in this life is to own a vintage muscle-car, fully restored to original condition and ready to rock 'n roll. Part of that is nostalgia and part of it is just the fact that I LIKE THOSE CARS!!! They were sleek, good-looking and FAST!!! You can't buy 'em like that anymore.

I'm still partial to a '57 Chevy Bel Air, but I'd take a GTO in a heartbeat.

(UPDATE: Call me a liar if you want to, but I saw a 1966 Mustang with...what... a 286.. a 289 engine in it?... beat a LOT of bigger cars in the quarter. That thing was quick off the line and it could max out before the Big Boys ever got warmed up. That's the truth.)

once upon a time

I was 17 years old and the starting strong-side linebacker on the Jenkins High School football team. I had a head as hard as a rock and a temper that I had difficulty controlling sometimes. Ask anybody familiar with Jenkins football back when Bubba Atwood was head coach and Bill Boyd ran the defence. We had a damn good team every year. We could beat everybody in the state except Valdosta, and we came within one point of doing THAT one year.

I got into a fight at practice one day. That was a foolish thing to do, because punching somebody in full football equipment is a waste of perfectly good energy, but the bastard had it coming to him, and the coaches usually allowed the two assholes involved to roll around on the ground for a while before they broke it up.

After that, you suffered a "gut drill" to pay for your sins. After practice, after wind-sprints and after all the other running and hitting, you and the other guy lined up between the goal posts, ten yards apart, and just knocked the living shit out of each other until the coach said to quit.

I was giving up about 25 pounds to my opponent that afternoon, and we must have butted like horny billy-goats a dozen times--- and I'm talking about full-tilt, growl like a wild animal and plow your fucking HEAD into the other person as hard as you CAN football hits. I was blinking technicolor and feeling a wobble in my legs as I got up from the next-to last one.

We did it once more and I'll guarantee that we were hitting hard enough to rattle the silverware in nearby kitchens. We both lay on the ground gasping and blinking, and as I was getting up again, my opponent said, "Got-Dam, Snuffy! What does it take to wear you down?"

"More than YOU'VE got," I replied, as I struggled to my feet, fully prepared to do it again. The coach blew the whistle then, told us to run a lap and hit the showers. I was sore as a boil for two days and I had a headache that didn't go away for a long time. But I was back at practice the next day, ready to go.

I'm going to whine again here.

I've ALWAYS gotten up when I was knocked down my entire life. I would fight ANYBODY, any time and anywhere. Sometimes I got whipped, but I always gave a good account of myself and I never had to fight the same person twice, except for my brother. I figured that I was a student of the school of Hard Knocks and I could eat whatever anybody put on my plate. Pile it on. I can handle it. I was that way for a long time.

I'm NOT that way anymore. Remember when Cool Hand Luke grabbed the boss's leg and pleaded for mercy, saying , "My mind is right now, boss. Honest. My mind is right."

Well... my mind is right now, too. I'm tired of fighting battles I can't win. I'm tired of lining up between the goal posts and giving away a big weight advantage to my opponent. I'm tired of being hit in the head. I'm tired of people who don't know me, who know NOTHING about my life and really don't give a shit in the long run telling me how to behave.

I paid my goddam dues. I've never been a diva and I've never had things come easy for me. I've worked since I was 12 years old, and I've done whatever it took to get by, only to see most of that stolen from me when I was too old to start over. YOU try that and then we'll compare notes. Until then, think what you want to of me. I don't give a shit what you think. Am I upset about my current situation? You bet your sweet ass I am.

But if I went off weeping and crying every time somebody took a swipe at ME in this life, I'd probably be asking, "Would you like fries with that?" today. I'm just too tired to keep getting up off the ground anymore.

I did that shit for long enough. I think 40 years is plenty. Now, when I'm knocked down, I'm going to stay there. I've had all I can handle.

I'm beat up and worn out.

sand storm


I stole this picture from my daughter's site. I think it's pretty impresive. Her Significant Other has a brother over there living this life now and I wish him well. You should, too.

And if you haven't voted here yet, go do it. My baby needs a new pair of shoes. She's "Savannah Sam."

Go vote, before she costs me any more money.

an addendum

When I wrote that we have an understood law in Georgia about protecting your castle, what I meant was that if you use deadly force to protect your life or your property, you won't find 12 people to sit on a jury to convict you for doing anything wrong. DAs know this fact, and they seldom prosecute such "crimes" because they know that they can't win.

Call it red-neck all you want to, but that's how people think where I live. I looked for a link to the story, but I couldn't find one, so you'll just have to trust me on this. Several years ago, a homeowner in downtown Savannah had his house and his car burglarized THREE TIMES in three months. He awoke one night to the sound of glass breaking and walked outside with a .22 rifle.

He saw a young thug stealing the stereo out of his car. He shot a 16 year-old boy dead.

This was an interesting case, because the boy was shot in the back of the head as he was running away. I think the illustrious Spencer Lawton was DA in Savannah at the time, and he arrested the man and put him on trial for murder. The man testified that the boy turned around and appeared to have a firearm in his hand, so he shot.

Everybody in court and every person on the jury knew that the man's story was complete bullshit. The "yoot" was unarmed and he was shot in the back of the head. The jury deliberated about 20 minutes before declaring the man innocent of any crime--- not even of discharging a firearm within the city limits. He walked.

Later evidence, not admitted at the trial, showed that this "yoot" had a rap-sheet as long as your arm and was a professional (although incompetent) crack-headed criminal. There were nine black people on that jury and the dead "yoot" was black. That racial aspect didn't matter. It was a simple case of "That boy NEEDED killing," and all twelve people agreed.

That's the "unwritten" law I'm talking about here. People are sick and tired of these thugs terrorizing them, and they don't see a damn thing wrong with getting one of them off the streets for good. That may not be codified in law, but you just try to prosecute somebody for doing it and see how far you get.

You can't find twelve idiots in Georgia willing to convict someone for protecting what belongs to him.

more on names

At the risk of being branded a "racist" (again), I am going to relate a true story about I guy I worked with years ago. He was a big strapping black fellow who became highly irate when people at the plant started calling him "Goodhead."

I am not black, so I can't speak from personal experience, but I have heard black men proclaim loud and long about how they NEVER perform oral sex on a woman. "I DON'T EAT PUSSY!!!" That seems to be some kind of Black Pride thing that I never understood. I've never minded pleasing a woman any way she wanted it.

But "Goodhead" evidently strayed from the proper path and some woman announced in a club one night, "There's (whatever his name was)! I LOVE him! He sure does give good head!"

A lot of people in the club worked in the plant and the word spread like wildfire. "Goodhead" became his new nickname and it pissed him off to a fare-thee-well. The more people called him by that name the more pissed off he became and he finally ended up shooting somebody in a bar on a Saturday night. (He didn't kill the guy. He shot him in the balls.) While he was out on bail over that incident, someone walked up to him and shot him five times in the groin.

I don't know what happened to him after that, but he never worked for me again.

I never understood his anger. As for myself, I would LOVE to have the nickname "Goodhead" among the ladies, especially if I walked into a bar and a satisfied customer announced it to every other female in the place. I'd strut like a bantam rooster. I'd ask them to stand in line and sample my wares.

But that's just me. I don't understand Black Culture.

the vapors

I've written before how some wimmen get "the vapors" when they become upset. From some emails I have received, I gather that a lot of people never heard of that term before. I am amazed.

In the days before the Civil War, Southern wimmen were known to have "the vapors" frequently, and they would become dizzy and faint as a result. Back then, men blamed it on the delicate nature of a woman's constitution and wimmen were almost EXPECTED to faint anytime something unpleasant happened. Chivalrous men were supossed to catch her before she hit the ground, tote her to a carriage and send her home, where a Mammy could bathe her fevered brow with a cold, wet rag until she overcame her malady.

I have a different opinion now. Have you ever looked at the kind of clothing wimmen wore in those days? Bejus! They wore thick stockings, tight corsets, a bustle, long dresses, tall shoes, gloves and hats. Think about donning all that garb in a Southern summertime. They were walking around in the equivalent of a fire-fighter's turnout gear in 100-degree heat and high humidity, LONG before the advent of air conditioning.

I've WORN full turnout gear in the heat, and it's enough to make a grown man in good shape develop the vapors if you stay in it too long. That shit gets HOT. It wasn't unusual to lose 10 pounds every day at Fire School, just from sweating.

I think now that a lot of the "vapors" came from nothing more than heat exhaustion from being cooped up in all that feminine garb in really hot weather. I'm glad that wimmen don't dress that way anymore. I kinda like tank-tops, shorts and sandals. It's damn sure gotta be more comfortable than that stuff wimmen once wore. And it's a lot more pretty to look at.

But don't get me wrong. Wimmen still hyperventilate and get the vapors today, because they're built to react that way. They FEEL a lot more than they think. I'm in the doghouse with a lot of female bloggers today--- for the most part because I had the unmitigated gall to criticize them and their delicate sensibilities.

Wow! That "gentle sex" comes out swinging razors and knives when that happens. And the psychoanalysis they've performed on me is typical. Wimmen are very good at "reading between the lines," especially when they get all hormonal.

Oh, well. I knew the job was dangerous when I took it.

more on names

I once went camping with Jennifer, her niece, my daughter and my daughter's best friend. The girls were about eight or nine years old at the time. After I fed them a good campfire meal that night and told them a couple of ghost stories, I finally got them packed into the tent to go to sleep.

I sat around the fire and started chuckling. Jennifer asked me what was so funny. I said, "We have three young ladies with us tonight. But you wouldn't know it by what we call them. Sounds like three boys if you think about it."

That was true. We had Jessica, Nichole and Samantha. We called them "Jessie," "Nick" and "Sam." I'll guarantee you that if anyone heard me calling for them by those names, that person would expect three boys to pop out of the woods somewhere.

They all grew up to be beautiful young ladies, but I still call them by those same nicknames. Jessie, Nick and Sam.

odd names

I've posted before about odd names, but I've never written about some Southern names that nobody seems to think twice about down here. Of course, these are Southern nicknames, but they seem perfectly normal to the Southern ear.

I have known people called "Scooter," "Gator" and "Hawg." I also ran around with friends named "Bubba" (of course), "Skeeter," and "Stinker." That's not to mention "Wormy," "Hoss," "Snake" and "Kidneybean." And I don't want to forget "Pinetree" (he was very tall), "Possum," "Catfish" (big mouth and full of shit), "Spanky" or "Little'un" (he wasn't very big).

I knew "Sweetie," (quite the ladies man) "Big Joe," "Little Joe" and "Squirt." That's in addition to "Roundman," "Cowboy," "Peanut," "Bama" and "Junior."

That doesn't count "Red," "Irish," "Mex" "Chop-Chop" or "Baldy." I myself was called "Snuffy." Or "Bowlegs."

Do YOU know a lot of people who answer to odd nicknames, or is this just a Southern thing?

fan mail

Here is a missive I received from someone allegedly named "Susanna." She didn't like what I wrote a while back about obese children.

You are an idiot......if there were healthier meals available in schools this would not be a problem. You are older and things have changed. Schools are not serving the same healthy meals they did when you were young. Much of the funding set aside for school lunches has been cut and subsidized by vending machine companies and fast food funds. You say, "I AM SKINNY". Well, good for you. You have obviously never had a wieght problem and could never understand how much of a struggle it is to maintain a good wieght. You are a fucker and should keep your prejudiced, ignorant, redneck mouth shut!!! Fuck you very much!!!

She'll make someone a GREAT wife.

I still find it amazing that people want to blame school lunches for fat children. I recall eating most of my meals AT HOME when I was growing up. Maybe that (and the fact that I played sports, climbed trees, ran the woods and seldom sat on my ass for any extended period of time EXCEPT in school) is why I never got fat.

But it's all the school's fault now, and we require government intervention. Yeah. Right. Of course, I don't know what I'm talking about, because I am "a fucker and should keep your prejudiced, ignorant, redneck mouth shut!!!"

Susanna, you are FAT, and you should learn to keep your pie-hole shut around food.

May 15, 2005


I had an association with two genuine redheads in my life and they both had fair skin and lots of freckles. Both of those wimmen thought their freckles were unsightly and did their best to disguise them up with make-up whenever they could. I never understood that.

I LIKED their freckles. That fair skin was a handicap, because they toasted quickly in the summer sun of Southeast Georgia, and then they peeled like a molting snake if they didn't wear a lot of sun-screen. That part of dating a redhead could be a pain if you like the outdoors as much as I do, but both of 'em endeavored to peresevere. Besides, I liked rubbing the lotion all over them.

I have one piece of advice for fair-skinned wimmen, especially redheads. Freckles are nothing to be ashamed of. A lot of guys think they are sexy.

I do.

i like it

I've already listened to a lot of leftists decry the castle doctrine as the first stage of complete anarchy in this country, where armed rednecks will run around shooting innocent people just because they want to. Guns are bad, you see, and your castle is supposed to be protected by a call to 911 if a goblin decides to invade.

I call bullshit.

On March 23, The Florida Senate passed SB-436, "Castle Doctrine" by a vote of YEAS 39 -- NAYS 0

On April 5, The Florida House passed SB-436, "Castle Doctrine" by a vote of YEAS 94 NAYS 20

On April 26, Governor Jeb Bush SIGNED SB-436, "Castle Doctrine" into law (Chapter No. 2005-27) It takes effect on October 1, 2005.

For those who want detailed information on why this bill is important, the following information is provided.

A great deal of erroneous information has been written, published and spoken about Florida's new "Castle Doctrine" bill.

Claims that the new law will turn Florida into the Wild West are not only an insult to intelligent people but give a patently false portrait of what the bill actually does.

The Florida "Castle Doctrine" bill does basically three things:

One: It establishes, in law, the presumption that a criminal who forcibly enters or intrudes into your home or occupied vehicle is there to cause death or great bodily harm, therefore a person may use any manner of force, including deadly force, against that person.

Two: It removes the "duty to retreat" if you are attacked in any place you have a right to be. You no longer have to turn your back on a criminal and try to run when attacked. Instead, you may stand your ground and fight back, meeting force with force, including deadly force, if you reasonably believe it is necessary to prevent death or great bodily harm to yourself or others.

Three: It provides that persons using force authorized by law shall not be prosecuted for using such force.

It also prohibits criminals and their families from suing victims for injuring or killing the criminals who have attacked them.

In short, it gives rights back to law-abiding people and forces judges and prosecutors who are prone to coddling criminals to instead focus on protecting victims.

If I called 911 right now, I probably could summon an ambulance a lot quicker than I could a policeman. Even then, I expect to wait 15 minutes before ANYBODY with flashing lights gets here. I live in the boonies.

That's why I keep all of my imaginary guns around here. If you want to break into MY house and terrorize ME, you'd better have a bullet-proof ass. I can expect the police to come clean up your mess when you're done fucking me up, but I cannot expect the police to protect me from you; therefore, I choose to protect myself.

I LIKE this law.

We've always had a similar "understood" law in Georgia, but it's never been codified clearly. I'll bet you anything you want to bet that EVERY ONE of my neighbors has AT LEAST one firearm in the home. Most of them have more than one. It ain't the streets of Tombstone around here. We don't have any trouble and very little crime. People tend to mind their manners when everybody is armed.

The leftists who are shitting their pants about this law are the same ones who NEVER learn when they are wrong. Remember when Kennesaw, Georgia passed a law REQUIRING every home owner to buy a gun? The streets were gonna run red with blood. That didn't happen. In fact, crime went DOWN after that law was passed.

At the same time, some pissant leftists somewhere in a town in Illionis passed a law FORBIDDING any law-abiding citizen to own a gun. Crime went through the roof, especially burglaries and assaults. Gun-grabbing leftists still don't see the connection.

G. Gordon Liddy may be a screaming nut-ball (he's one of the more entertaining public speakers I ever heard) but he did five years of research in hard-core prison around hard-core criminals and he says that he learned two things from talking with those people. Professional thieves fear two things: a barking dog and an armed homeowner.

I don't have a dog. But I can damn sure bark at you.

some more

I want to elaborate on the post below this one. I attended the Henry W. Grady School of Journalism at the University of Georgia in 1974-75 and I was appalled by what I saw there. I had professors who were as universally liberal as flying moonbats and "advocacy journalism" was just becoming vogue.

I wanted to be a writer, and I thought that going to journalism school might give me some valuable training. I was mistaken.

Put the time in perspective. I was in J-School right after the end of the Vietnam War and immediately after Woodward and Bernstein set the bar for journalism for the next 30 years. W & B brought down a Presidency and CBS helped us skulk out of Vietnam defeated in the press when we were never beaten in the field. THAT SHIT became what "journalism" was all about.

Advocacy journalism was a disgusting notion to me. The basic premise was that people are too damned stupid to understand the news all by themselves, so you must "intrepret" it for them, so they don't miss the point. Bend it, break it or shake it--- just so you tell the sheeple how to think.

I might have felt better about the idea of advocacy journalism if I hadn't run across some of the most dense, obtuse, ignorant dumbasses I ever met in my life in J-school. Folks, these individuals WERE NOT the best and the brightest people you'd ever want to meet. Some of them couldn't pour piss out of a boot. Most of them couldn't even write. They had about as much real-world experience as South American Pygmies .

THAT's who is giving you your news today.

Plus, the entire "GOTCHA" aspect of journalism was born like a thalidymide baby in those days. Wanna win a Pulitizer? Don't report the NEWS, you idiot! Bring me a severed head on a pike!

That crap has continued for 30 years now, and the MSM has usually gotten away scot-free with its egregious errors, sloppiness and self-centered reporting. I am delighted to see more people paying attention to what these assholes have been doing for a long, long time.

Maybe 90% of blogs are pure crap, but a few of them bring attention to the cockroaches that have been scuttling across the kitchen floors of America without fear of a light ever shining on them and claiming to be "reporters" when they do it. My ass.

Whoever wrote that story for Newsweek should be fired. The editor who ran the story should be fired. The people who were killed as a result of the story should be allowed to sue the magazine and everyone involved in that steaming pile. Accountability should cut both ways.

I see a big change happening in journalism today. The pendulum swings slowly, but I see it moving in the opposite direction now, after it's been heading left for three decades. When "GOTCHA" journalism turns around and GETS YOU, I see good things happening.

I learned all about the "Fairness Doctrine" and the "Fourth Estate" and the "Watchdog of Government" when I was in J-School. You know the one thing NOBODY ever mentioned?


the MSM lied, people died

I finished reading South Park Conservatives today, just in time to see this article. My, my, my. I want to know whose nuts are going to swing from a flagpole for this incredible lack of ---well, CREDIBILITY.

The report sparked angry and violent protests across the Muslim world from Afghanistan, where 16 were killed and more than 100 injured, to Pakistan to Indonesia to Gaza. In the past week it was condemned in Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Bangladesh, Malaysia and by the Arab League. On Sunday, Afghan Muslim clerics threatened to call for a holy war against the United States.

My, my, my. Sixteen people dead, more than 100 injured and rumblings about a "holy war" over an article in a "respected" news publication that was absolute bullshit. What does Newsweek have to say about it? Pretty much nothing more than "oops!"

THIS SHIT is responsible journalism? No, it's not, and heads should roll over it.

natural laxitive

If you're having any trouble with clogged plumbing--- you know--- constipation and such--- just eat a whole lot of blackberries for a few days. That'll fix whatever ails you. Blackberries are better than Draino.

Trust me. Instead of being clogged, you'll be looking for a cork.

okay, if you say so

Be careful who you meet on the internet. They just may try to cut your head off with a sword. Of course, the police had something to say about this crime.

"The cook suffered one or more sword blows, particularly in the area of the carotid (artery), which caused a quick death," a police spokesman said.

A police source said the attacker, a male in his 50s, then went to a police station with the weapon, and told police he had just killed someone.

Police said he had been examined by psychiatrists but appeared to be of sound mind.

If THAT guy was "sound of mind," I never want to meet a crazy person.

a debate topic

I totally disagree with this. I've had a lot of people bitch at me in the past over my ideas about free trade, unions and tarriffs, but I still stick with my gut instincts.

Farm bills, import quotas and tarriffs DO not solve what is really a long-range problem. That kind of crap may look like a quick fix (yeah--- government stopped the massive hemorrage, but they never treated the slow bleeding) and a lot of people are happy with that kind of expensive band-aid. I am NOT.

Just look at what happened when Japan almost wrecked the US car market back in the 1970s. We forgot how to build a decent car. Japan knew how. Because of that fact, people started buying Japanese cars in droves.

The US car manufacturers were painted into a corner--- which isn't necessarily a bad place to be when you need to either shit or get off the pot--- and they responded to the crisis by building better cars (and partnering with the Japanese). Now, we compete with the Japanese, and the last two American trucks I bought have been gems.

I put well over 100,000 miles on both of them and I never had a bit of trouble that wasn't routine maintenace that you expect when a truck has a lot of miles on it.

The garment industry needs to do the same thing. They DO NOT need to be running to the government asking for protection from a market that will kick their asses if they have to play fair.

I saw it happen in the coal mines of Kentucky, I saw it happen in the chemical plant where I worked, and I've seen it happen in textile mills all over Georgia and South Carolina. Remember Sally Fields in that stupid movie, where she played a union advocate, boldly waving that sign saying "UNION NOW!!!" I'll bet that the mill no longer operates. The labor force priced itself right out of a job.

And when government steps in and says that you MUST pay $20 more for a pair of pants than you could buy them otherwise, because government is protecting "jobs," just who the hell is paying for those "jobs?" YOU work so that somebody else can be paid more than they're worth.

I would rather earn minimum wage that sit on my ass and whine about being unemployed. And people who think that jobs come from government need to be dragged off and shot. If government were involved 100 years ago, we'd be paying subsidities TODAY to buggy-whip companies, just to protect jobs.

Sometimes, the world just outgrows your business. When that happens, you either learn to compete, or you find something else to do. (Just read the history of the Fischer Body Company, for example)

Business is like a wrestiling match. If you can't handle your opponent on the mat, he'll pin you. Government DOES NOT need to referree.

Now. Debate THAT!

"hysterical," indeed

Read this and weep. Hillary Clinton is the Antichrist, in MY humble opinion, and anybody who wants to see that conniving, manipulating, power-hungry, bloodless, consciousless liar becaome President of this country MUST be "hysterical."

I'd rather kiss the north end of a southbound horse than EVER vote for HER, for ANYTHING!!!

short story

Courtesy of George Schneider:

A college class was told they had to write a short story in as few words as possible. The instructions were:

The short story had to contain the following three things:
(1) Religion
(2) Sexuality
(3) Mystery

Below is the only A+ short story in the entire class.

"Good God, I'm pregnant; I wonder who did it."

I have nothing more to add to that.

turkey buzzards

I confess. I have been known to shoot those things just for the pleasure of killing them. A .22 works just fine, but a .410 does a better job if you're close enough. I KNOW that they serve their place in nature's grand scheme of things, but I still do not like those disgusting birds.

(GROSSOUT ALERT!!! If you have delicate sensibilities or a weak stomach, READ NO FURTHER, because I am about to relate a true story that you probably won't like.)

A couple of years ago, during deer season, I saw a dead dog on the side of the road on my way home from work. It obviously was a deer-dog that got hit by a car and expired on the spot. I watched that dead dog for about the next two weeks, because I passed it every day.

At first, it began to swell, with the gaseous products of decomposition, and all four legs started sticking straight up in the air as its distended belly rolled it over. After that, the turkey buzzards came. They started with the face and the asshole and started eating that dog from there. I would scare a flock of them into flight every time I passed by in my truck and I saw less and less dog every day.

At the end of two weeks, nothing remained of that dog but a skull and a few scattered bones. Between the turkey buzzards and the ants, there wasn't enough left for a maggot to feed on.

But what really impressed ME was the fact that the turkey buzzards waited for that dog to get RIPE before they really wanted to eat it. They like their meals marinated in the Georgia heat until the meat is so rank that nothing else but an ant or a housefly will touch it. THEN, they feast.

I can understand why this guy is worried. If you have turkey buzzards circling your house, that ain't good news. Something very, VERY dead is around there somewhere.

I still say, shoot the bastards if you have a chance. Their brothers will eat THEM, too.

As soon as they get ripe.

my camera is broken

I need to take my camera to the shop and have it repaired. I've seen a lot of things lately that I wanted to take pictures of and post here. That blackberry patch behind my house is one of them, and the way the birds "marked" my mama's car as soon as I parked it in my driveway is another. (I might use bird-shit pictures as an entry in the next "Carnival of the Crappers," which I intend to post tomorrow.)

Also, I would like to post a picture of where I camped last night. I am very fortunate to live where I can hike about a half-mile into the woods and be away from EVERYTHING, in a very beautiful spot. I can shoot guns, build a fire, cook my own supper over an open flame and sleep like a frontiersman within walking distance of my house. Not many people can do that anymore.

That's a very expensive camera, and a very good one, too. I need to get offa my ass and go get it repaired.

a night in the woods

I like sleeping in the woods. Last night was partially overcast, so I couldn't see a lot of stars, but I didn't get rained on and the temperature was perfect. I always planned on taking Quinton and Jack down there some weekend, to that place I first noticed on my early exploration of the woods around here, but we just never got around to doing it and now it's too late.

I found lots of deadfall wood and had a nice campfire in a clearing about 50 yards from the creek. I didn't bring my fishing rod, but I did take a rack of ribs that I cooked and ate by the fire. I also discharged about 100 rounds from my non-existent guns that I took with me. I murdered every face-card in a deck of Bicycles before the sun went down.

After that, I sat in my hammock and just listened. The first thing you notice back in the woods like that is how quiet it is, until you stop to pay attention. I could hear the wind in the trees. Frogs and crickets were courting down by the creek. Every now and then, I heard something rustling in the nearby leaves. An owl piped up, asking me "WHOO?" I was for about an hour. It was very relaxing. I have no idea what time I went to sleep.

The morning birds woke me just before sunrise. They like to sing to greet the day, and they were in fine fettle today. I lay in my hammock and listened for a while as the woods came alive around me. I smoked a cigarette and enjoyed the concert. I had a Snickers bar for breakfast.

My fire was burned to smoldering ashes, but I went down to the creek with my coffee pot and fetched water to put it completely out. I listened to Smokey Bear when I was young. I didn't want to walk off and set the woods on fire.

I packed up all of my crap, made sure the fire was extinguished and trudged back home. I took a good, hot shower to wash all the dirt, gunpowder and wood-smoke off of me, and I didn't notice any obvious ticks or chiggers in the usual places you find them. I felt a lot better than I have for the past few days.

All in all, it was a very pleasant experience that intend to repeat very soon. I believe that I really AM a 19th century man.

Your money belong to us

I've mentioned before that we still have debtor's prisons in the United States. If you believe that you actually "own" anything in this country, just try not paying taxes on it. You'll discover quickly enough that you are merely renting from the government.

And they will throw you in jail to prove that point.

The WXRK-FM disc jockey, whose given name is Lee Mroszak, pleaded guilty in December to not paying taxes for three years beginning in 2001. That year he won $100,000 battling fellow Stern regular ``Stuttering John'' Melendez in a five-round amateur boxing match that drew a sellout crowd of more than 4,000 people to Atlantic City, N.J.

Mroszak's crime was made more serious by his gloating about it to Stern fans, U.S. District Judge Gleeson said Friday as he sentenced Mroszak.

``Those folks are out there watching you, listening to you thumb your nose at the government,'' Gleeson said.

Mroszak, 36, also must pay the taxes he owes. He said outside federal court in Brooklyn that he was ready to serve his sentence.

I will admit that the guy was a dumbass for shooting his mouth off on a very popular radio program about not paying taxes, but I have a question to ask--- how the hell is the guy supposed to pay his taxes when he's locked up in jail and probably head-over-heels in debt for lawyer fees by now?

Hell, I've never understood why the government locks people up because they owe back child support. Instead of throwing them in the hoosegow, the government should demand that they get a job and pay the money. (That is assuming, of course, that you believe the government has any goddam right WHATSOEVER to do such a thing to a "free" citizen.) The "criminal" can't make the money he owes while he's in jail. He just gets further and further behind on what he owes.

And people such as the Cabbie guy DO NOT deserve to occupy a perfectly good jail cell that should be used to confine the mother-rapers and father-stabbers who are the REAL menaces to society today. But government is all about power, and government must flex its muscle every now and then to make an example out of someone to keep the rest of the sheeple in line.

In MY humble opinion, this just ain't right.

May 14, 2005

words that haunt

When I married Jennifer, we wrote our own vows. She never finished hers, because she broke down crying in the middle and I told her, "That's enough. I get the picture." (I am NOT making that shit up.)

I remember exactly what I told her. "I am here to marry you today because you are the realization of every dream I ever had in my entire life. I've never loved anyone else the way I love you, and I promise to ALWAYS be your partner, your lover and your best friend." I meant every word.

We honeymooned that night at the Magnolia Inn in Savannah in a room where George Washington once slept. Hell, we might have consummated our marriage in the exact same four-poster canopy bed he slept in. That's possible.

I still remember that day and I still remember the love I felt for her. I don't believe that I can ever get rid of all those feelings, no matter what she does to me. I just can't turn "love" off the way some people can. I could never take her back, not after the shit she's pulled, but I remember the woman I thought I knew before then. I'll never forget that one.

I still dream about her at night.

If someone had showed me where that day would lead ten years later, I would have called BULLSHIT and punched the bastard in the nose. No WAY would Jennifer ever treat me like that.

But she did, and I lost a son in the process. I also lost a whole lot of money, most of my pride and my will to live. For what? For someone who certainly wasn't worth it.

Now... if you people will excuse me, I am going to sleep in the woods tonight, where I can avoid the JBs and the Jennifers of the world and imagine myself being a 19th century man.

non-existent guns

Have you ever seen a double-shot .410 derringer? Neither have I. If such a weapon DID exist, I would like to have one. If you loaded it with bird-shot, it would make an excellent snake-gun. Plus it's it would be small enough to carry in your pocket, and if you loaded it with slugs, it might make a pretty good close-quarters sit-a-goblin-on-his-ass gun.

If I ever find one of those, I'm going to buy it.

southern flora

The magnolia tree is the most disgusting thing I've ever seen in the South. I've ended up cutting down every one I ever had in the various yards I have owned over the years. Back in the ante-bellem days, people planted magnolias around the plantation house because they provided good shade and their blooms disguised the scent of the hog-pens, the chickens and the outhouse fumes.

But a magnolia tree ALWAYS has something falling out if it. Except for when they bloom, they are a gigantic pain in the ass. The leaves are difficult to rake, the "fuzzy-wuzzies" that fall down right before they bloom are pure-ass, foot-piercing stickers, and the roots run so close to the ground that you can never get grass to grow around one. The flowers smell wonderful, but it ain't worth the hassle.

That's a high-maintenence tree and I won't have one in my yard.

I happen to LIKE mimosa trees. That's the only tree I've ever seen that goes to sleep at night and the red blossoms are both beautiful and aromatic. I tried to plant several over the years, but that was back when I had Bud as a dog, and he thought that anything I stuck in the ground was a new piss-post for him, and he always peed my trees to death.

Have you ever watched a minosa tree go to sleep at night, then awake the next morning? I think that's an amazing sight. All the leaves curl up when the sun goes down; then, they spread out again the next morning when they feel the sunshine. Incredible.

I've always liked weeping willows, too. That's one of the best shade trees ever, and they are pretty to look at. I like the way their branches bend all the way to the ground and almost make a leafy tent. If you use your imagination, you can look at one of those and picture a young widow kneeling by the grave of her beloved husband and crying with her face in her hands. Yes, those willows DO weep.

Live oaks are majestic trees, and I've climbed many ancient ones. Stay out of the Spanish Moss, because it's full of chiggers, but a good live oak has limbs on it that you don't have to climb. You can WALK along those without holding onto anything. Just keep your balance. Some live oaks have limbs thicker than most other tree trunks and they grow to be older than old. I've probably climbed some that were here when Oglethorpe landed in Savannah.

Georgia pines are genuine Cracker trees. They grow in any kind of soil, they grow fast and they ain't worth a damn in your yard. They are good for producing turpentine, pulpwood and two-by-fours. Other than that, they ain't worth diddly-squat. They throw out more got-dam pollen per square inch in the spring than any other tree I've ever seen, and that yellow dust coats EVERYTHING and raises hell with my allergies. DO NOT cook meat over a pine-wood fire. That can make a good steak taste like a railroad cross-tie.

I live among MANY pine trees, and I won't have a tall one near my house. They tend to break off about 5' off the ground in a high wind when they start swaying in their limber way. They also have a disturbing tendency to fall on your house or your car. I believe that they are natural lightning rods, too, because they surely do seem to attract a lot of strikes.

Did you know that Robert E. Lee never saw Kudzu? That's true. Kudzu didn't arrive in the South until the 1890 World's Fair and people thought it might make good cow fodder and stop erosion on hillsides. They planted it, the damn fools. Cows wouldn't eat it (hell, a GOAT won't eat kudzu and a goat will eat almost ANYTHING.) and the shit spread everywhere. Now you see entire hillsides with all the trees covered in that creeping vine. It's almost impossible to kill and it isn't good for anything.

Trivia note: Kudzu grows tall, but it never goes above 40' from it's root. It also can grow 6" in one night. I once had a friend who got drunk at the Athens Old Railroad Station one night and left his car in the parking lot there for two days. When we went back to get it, we had to hack it out of the kudzu that was attempting to devour it at the time. That shit was trying to EAT HIS CAR!

Southern flora. Damn... I love it all.

for JB

I wish I was as brilliant and all-knowing as a commenter (JB) who borders on being a troll when he pontificates on my site. I politely asked the bastard to attempt to keep his comments to 30 words or less, but he can't manage that kind of writing, especially when he's shit-faced, which appears to be the case most of the time.

I'm going to sell all of Quinton's stuff that I have here at the Crackerbox. I'm going to do it for three basic reasons.

#1-- It's all a waste. Nobody is using it, and it's all good stuff.

#2-- It takes up a lot of room in my house, and my house is cluttered enough already.

#3-- I DON'T LIKE LOOKING AT IT!!! Every time I see that shit, I think of my son and my heart breaks all over again. I've had enough of that.

I already gave a bunch of things to Jack, and he appreciated my generosity. Jack is growing up a lot like I did. He isn't handed everything his little heart desires. He has to scrap for what he gets, and he still calls me "Uncle Rob." I like that boy a lot.

JB has his head so far up his own ass that a sunshine pump couldn't put light in there. Every time I call Quinton, I get the answering machine. I leave a message asking him to call me, but he never does. I bought 24 greeting cards from Wal-Mart and sent one every day to him, with a nice personal note included, and I always asked him to call me. He never did.

If JB has an answer to this problem, I wish he would sober up, climb down off his fucking soapbox and tell it to me, in 30 words or less. If he can't, I want him to SHUT THE FUCK UP.

Something else, too. I DO NOT LIKE blogs where the comments turn into got-dam chat rooms. If you want to speechify, start your own pissant blog or hang out in chat rooms. DO NOT do that shit on MY site.

I've seen numerous blogs that have fewer than 200 readers per day but over 400 comments on every post, HALF of them written by the author of the post. That ain't a blog. That's a chat-room.

People, every one of you had better get one thing straight right now--- this is MY goddam blog and I'll write anything I want to on it. If you don't like it, don't read it. I'm not selling anything here and I don't make a dime off any visitor who drops by. I write a lot about MY LIFE, but if I really wanted expert advice about how I should conduct it, I'd ask YOU--- you wouldn't have to volunteer your services.

And JB--- shut up. Anybody who can't make a cogent point in 30 words or less is a blithering idiot, especially when that person starts spewing about a subject that is none of his fucking business.

If you pull that shit on me again, I'll delete everything you stain my blog with forevermore.

a bolt of sanity

Every now and then the courts get it right. The First Amendment says NOTHING about "separation of chuch and state," although a lot of people seem to think so today.

We have freedom OF religion, not freedom FROM religion.

I am an athiest. But seeing the words "In God We Trust" on my money or on the front of a courthouse does not offend my delicate sensibilities. Nobody is trying to make me believe in God, except for the occasional Jehova's Witness who drops by my door uninvited, and I don't bother to shoot at them. I just run 'em off and go on my merry way.

People who attack any mention of God or Christian theology in any aspect of government are twisted little fucks who should get a real life. I wish they would show the same kind of outrage against excessive taxation and excessive government involvement in every aspect of our lives rather than circle-jerk over the Ten Commandments or "one nation, under God," in the pledge of allegiance.

But these people would rather stomp an ant than fight a dragon. They are assholes. What they really need to be worried about is the new God we have today, and that one has nothing to do with the Bible.

It is the Federal Government.

May 13, 2005

don't pull the punches

I just wish that this guy would really say what he thinks every now and then. I HATE people who never blog angry.

I will never link the fantabulous Arianna Blog again, because it is a complete pile of steaming shit, and even a blind leftist should be able to see that, especially when the seeing-eye dog pisses all over his leg in disgust. There is bad, then there's REALLY bad in this world. After that, it's just right down the outhouse hole.

That's where Arianna's blog belongs.

two plans

I'm going to sleep in the woods tomorrow night. I broke out all my camping gear today and I believe that I can make a small pack with my sleeping bag, my hammock and my tarp and hike the half-mile or so into the woods behind my neighborhood where I've been wanting to camp for a while. I showed Sam and Stacey the place the last time they were here.

I intend to go down there around 3:00 tomorrow afternoon, tote a rifle and a pistol with me, spend some time gathering plenty of firewood and then build a nice camp fire. I'm gonna cook some meat on a stick, blow my harmonica in the dark, drink liquor out of a canteen and spend the night there all by myself. I like sleeping in the woods and that is a beautiful place.

Once I get my pack made up, I may even see if I have room to haul my fishing rod. I'll bet that I can catch fish in the creek down there. It smells of bream to me. Black water, full of tannic acid, and probably working alive with hungry bluegill and redbreasts. I don't have any crickets, but I'll try bread-balls on them. I've caught 'em that way before. If I don't catch any, so what?

My second plan is to have a garage sale next weekend. I have about $2,000 worth of shit that belongs to Quinton and he doesn't give a damn about it, so I'm going to sell it all. I'm talking bicycles, scooters, televisions, video games, electronic toys (some of them still in the original box), matchbox cars and a host of other treasures that most kids would DIE to own.

Quinton doesn't care. He's turned into one of those kids I always hated in school. I've already delivered the Playstation II and about $1,000 worth of games that I bought to his mama's house and I never received so much as a "thank you" for that. He is a spoiled brat.

He wears the finest clothes, has the finest toys and he's never had to hit a lick at a snake in his entire life to earn ANY of it.

I once got tossed out of school for punching an asshole who reminds me a lot of my son today. His name was Ashley Goodrum (I never will forget him) and his daddy owned a car dealership in Savannah. I had two pairs of pants to wear to school. Ashley always dressed to the nines. He played center on the football team and was a lot bigger than I was. One day, he made a terrible mistake.

"HAAAA! It must be Tuesday! Rob's wearing his Tuesday pants!!! He'll wear them again on Thursday, then use the Monday-Wednesday-Friday pants in between! HAAAA! Hillbilly, why can't your daddy get a decent job and buy you some nice clothes?"

He didn't laugh again for a while after that. I hit him hard enough to lay him flat on the gym floor and then I jumped on him like white on rice and kept pounding his face until one of the coaches pulled me off him. I beat that sumbitch to a bloody pulp and if the coaches hadn't stopped me when they did, I fully intended to kill his smarmy ass. NOBODY insults my family that way.

Ashley never made fun of my clothes again. I think I scared the shit out of him. Good. I meant to KILL HIM, but I settled for shutting him up.

Quinton has had everything handed to him, all his life. He's a lot more like Ashley than he is me. And I don't believe that it's a good thing. I was taught to EARN what I wanted.

When everything is handed to you, nothing has any value.

one thing led to another

I figured that about an hour in the sun would be enough. But I noticed something at the edge of the woods behind my house. Blackberries were growing everywhere. I fetched a big cup and I walked out there to pick some.

I picked blackberries for almost another hour. They were EVERYWHERE. I ended up filling THREE sixteen-ounce plastic cups to overflowing with those berries, and there are plenty more not ripe yet where those came from. I have stickers in my fingers and my hands appear to be stained with blood, but I damn sure picked a lot of berries.

Heh. The index finger on my left hand looks like the ones Iraqi voters displayed after they went to the polls. My left thumb is colored even a deeper purple.

I became very amused when the birds showed up and started cussing me. I SWEAR that they were saying, "Oh, NO! Oh, NO!", about a dozen of them together, because I was stealing their food. Well... if they had done a better job of eating those berries, I couldn't have picked so many today. Fuck 'em. Birds, you snooze, you lose.

I didn't scare up a single snake, either.


I'm going to lay out on the back porch for a while and absorb some sun. I bought me a nice lawn-couch at Wal-Mart today, and I want to soak some rays while I finish reading South Park Conservatives. So far, I'm not really impressed with the book. The author isn't telling me anything I didn't already know after reading Edith Efron's The News Twisters somewhere back around 1976.

Mainstream Media has had a monoply on lying and twisting the news for a long time. Most people never noticed, because that was the only news they received. Walter Cronkite was a God. CBS had its eye on the world.

It wasn't true then, but there weren't many voices clamoring in the wilderness to question them at the time. They got away with spreading pure bullshit, and it stuck, because people had no alternative sources for news.

Those days are gone. The internet and bloggers changed the terrain of journalism, and fossils such as Dan Rather, too set in their ways to see the change, paid for trying to pull the Same Old Shit. You can't just fire from the hip anymore and call it "journalism." Too many people are waiting to fact-check your ass.

I'm going to lay on my back porch, read a book and drink a Shiner beer. I am outfitted to do that. And Walter Cronkite can kiss my Cracker ass.

nigerian emails

How many of those have YOU gotten over the past year or so? I receive about two every day and it's the same spiel every time. Yeah... I am a prince or princess who has control of a gadzillion dollars and I'm willing to give you a hefty chuck of that money if you'll help me smuggle it into your country.

I think RONCO is behind the entire thing. Remember the Ronco commercials you saw as a kid? I do. They had every kind of miracle gadget anybody ever brain-farted about and they offered every one of them for $19.95 and it was GUARANTEED to work. CALL NOW, and as an extra bonus, they'd send you some other useless contraption.

I wanted the snow-cone maker. I lusted after Ginsu Knives. I wanted that thing that cut tomatoes into neat slices with one flip of a lever. I thought the "Miracle Brush" might make a good Mother's Day present for mama.

I bugged my daddy about that stuff and he told me, "It looks good in a commercial, but if it REALLY worked as well as they say it does, they wouldn't be pitching the product the way they are. That crap would be on a hardware shelf everywhere in America. If you can't find it there, it ain't no good. If you want a good tool, go buy a Craftsman."

I didn't believe him. I took my newspaper money and bought one of those those slice-and-dice snow-cone makers from Ronco. It came in the mail and I couldn't wait to try it out as soon as I opened the box.

It was just as my daddy said. It was a piece of shit that NEVER produced a snow cone fit to eat and the damn thing fell apart after my fifth try at dicing vegetables for my mama. I ended up throwing that thing into the garbage can and realizing that I had just been conned out of $20, which was a LOT of money for a 12 year-old boy at the time.

My dad had only one thing to say about it: "I TOLD you so."

Don't you HATE to hear that comment when you know that the person making it is correct? I did, but I learned a valuable lesson. If it sounds too good to be true, it is. And you don't buy shit off the television when it's not sold in stores.

These Nigerian emails have become a joke for anybody who has a web site. But I'll bet you money on this: some people still fall for it.

Wanna bet?

gratuitous linkage

I am familiar with most of the people who write on this blog--- not as friends, mind you--- but I am familiar with their writing. That's another strange thing about blogdom. You come to "know" a lot of people you'll probably never meet.

I believe that's one way to tell if you are a serious blogger or not. At the meet on Jekyll, we actually discussed that subject. We ALL had blog-names, and most people there used that monniker when they spoke to you. We had dax montana and everybody called him "Dax," even though that's not his real name. The same thing applied to straight white guy, although calling him "Eric" was easier than using his web-name after a few drinks.

Kim was addressed as velociman and I was called Acidman. The same thing happened to zonker and my friend catfish. THOSE were the names people used and those were the names we answered to.

It was the same thing with key monroe and moogie. Those aren't their real names, but that is the blog-person we know and that's the name we used when talking to them. I don't think anybody minded.

Anyway, after a long, rambling rant, I want you to visit chicago boyz and call them all "Chicago Boyz" if you ever meet them. They gave both me and my daughter a gratuitous link, so I'm returning the favor. The blog ain't bad--- it's more "serious" than mine, but it's good writing, which makes for good reading. And they ain't all "Boyz."

One of the things I like most about blogging is the interesting names some people give their blogs. We're almost ALL masked banditos of some kind. We have real life, then we have our alter-egos in blogdom.

I think I prefer my alter-ego over my real life.

domain names

How often do you have to renew a domain name to keep it? I got a letter yesterday informing me that my domain name expires on October 19 of this year and need to renew it now to keep someone else from stealing it.

I am NOT registered with the people who sent me the letter. In fact, I don't remember WHERE I registered my domain name, or for how long, so I don't know if this letter is bullshit or not. Any ideas? Am I being conned or do I need to look into renewing my domain name? If I DO need to renew before October, how the hell do I find out where I AM registered?

Just damn! It's something new every day.

what's in a name?

I've said it many times before: The name a parent gives a child can be either a blessing or a curse. Now, here's a study that attempts to prove that fact.

I'm always skeptical of such studies, but I believe that there is some truth in this one. When all you know about a person is the name you see on an employment application, you have an instinctive "WTF?" reaction when you see a name such as "Sha'Waneeka" or "De'Tronious." You instinctively prefer to interview the guy named Charles.

I'm not saying that it's right or it's wrong--- I'm just stating the obvious--- that's the way it is. And parents need to think about that fact when they name their children.

I always thought that MY name was TOO common. But it beats being named "LaTwanna."

May 12, 2005


Go here and vote for my daughter. She is savannah sam and she could use the prize money.

Maybe if she wins, she'll stop asking ME for cash! For a while, anyway.

(UPDATE: Sam trails mightily in the polls so far. C'mon, people! Folks who don't like me call you readers my "mindless minions," so go out there and minionize as quickly as you can! Kids in China will starve if you don't. North Korea will launch a nuclear attack on California if you don't. {Okay... forget that one... too many of my mindless minions are like me. A nuke attack on California doesn't sound like THAT bad an idea.} Just go vote for Sam.)

Do it "for the children." She is one of mine.

bigger is better

Even fish know it. I sure do miss my old Roscoe. I could crawl down the beach on my hands and knees and leave THREE tracks in the sand, once upon a time. Not anymore.

In the past three and one-half years, I've gone from "Anaconda" to "Useless Piece of Limp Rope" to "Stubby." I'm kinda stuck with Stubby now. He works, but it sure ain't like the good old days.

You wanna know the most frequent dream I have? I dream that I have my original dick back. I sometimes wake up in tears when I discover that it was just a dream.

I don't care if a big dick makes a fish more vulnerable to predators. I want mine back.

it's free!!!!

Wanna get a free CD in the mail? All you have to do is visit right here and ask for one. Now THAT is free ice cream.

I like the name of the blog. It sounds somewhat phallic to me.

okay, don't confirm him

With the democrats doing their typical obstructionist routine about the comfirmation of John Bolton as Ambassador to the United Nations, I know what I would do if I were President. I'd tell the democrats, "Fine. We just won't HAVE an ambassador to the UN and I'm throwing those corrupt sluts out of the country, since we are not represented there anymore. Happy now?"

I would fight fire with fire. The democrats love the UN as much as I hate it, and I don't believe that George Bush is all that fond of the UN, either. So, let's make push come to shove. "You don't like my choice for ambassador? That's just dandy. Let's get out of the UN altogether."

Democrat pissants. They don't know WHAT they want--- they just don't like anything Bush does. That's real "leadership" in my book. Today, I truly believe that I may be watching the complete implosion of a once-powerful political party. Just read a few leftist web sites and see how maniacal these people have become. It's downright scary.

Thank Bejus that they are in a minority that is shrinking fast.

more good advice

If you build it, they will come. I've always said that about blogging and I'll keep saying it to my dying day (you know--- when I reach my expiration date). There IS no secret to operating a successful blog. If you try to copy someone else, you're doomed to obscurity.

Go read this if you have a low-traffic blog. It reminds me so much of my early days that it's downright eerie. Yeah, I remember when I started getting 30 hits every day. I thought I was DA BOMB!, even though 15 of those hits came from ME, looking to see if anyone else was reading.

Blogs are like babies. You have to raise them right. Want a GREAT piece of advice?

Write like everybody's reading: Since day one, I've fooled myself into believing that my website is the best on the planet. I write like I have an audience of millions. When the hits don't line up with my delusion, I don't care. I just keep writing.

If you build it, they will come.

Draw Readers, Not Tourists: The most important and valuable tip I can give on increasing your traffic is to BUILD A READERSHIP. Lots of tourists will stop by your site, look around, and never come back. In the grand scheme of things, they won't grow your traffic. They might come because you linked to an interesting story or because your site popped up on a search engine. That's nice, but it shouldn't be the focus.

Don't make yourself a tourist attraction. Instead, build a relationship with your readers. It's a surefire way to keep people coming back, and telling their friends to check out your site.

Building a readership is like eating an elephant. You have to do it one bite at a time and it doesn't happen overnight. I've helped a lot of people get started and I've thrown some traffic their way, but if they didn't have quality goods on the shelf, nobody came back to shop again. That's just the way it is in blogdom. It's a competitive market.

But I still say what I've always said: if you build it, they will come.

I'm a fire ant

When I posted about Arianna Huffington's abortion of a blog the other day, I wish I had said this about it. It really IS a pathetic brain-fart, especially when you consider the resources she has available, and a lot of bloggers are laughing their asses off at it.

The swarming bloggers aren't so much attacking the enemy as gawking at the squares. And who can blame them? Watching these bigwigs try their hand at blogging is like watching that poor, pudgy Star Wars kid try out his light-saber moves in the home-video classic that saturated the Web a couple years back. Sure, maybe they'll get the moves down eventually. But for now—come on. You're gonna tell me that shit ain't funny?

It IS funny. Money can't buy love--- and it obviously can't buy a good blog, either.

(Thanks to baldilocks for the link!)

May 11, 2005

I wanna be a star

I've posted on this subject before, but I'm too lazy to check my archives and link to myself. Besides, I'm about to blog again about the same thing, so who cares?

Read this one first. John has a lot of good advice in there, but I don't agree with every bit of it. Take this one, for example:

23) Avoid blogging angry. It may save you a lot of grief.

Shit. If I didn't blog angry, I wouldn't have a blog at all. The last four years have not been kind to me and I take out my anger and frustration on the internet. I also am no stranger to grief, so just bring it on. I can handle it.

I've always said that the key to having a successful blog is to post frequently, write well and link a lot of people. Nobody gives a damn about the rest of those 25 gems of wisdom except the mercenaries who want to make a dollar off a blog.

Now, go read this advice. See? It's NOTHING like the serious post above. But both of them operate successful blogs with a lot of readers. Read 'em both twice, then cradle you chin and decide one of two things.

#1--Either there IS a secret to running a successful blog and one of the bastards is lying to me.... or

#2-- There IS NO SECRET to running a successful blog and BOTH of the bastards are lying to me.

I report. You decide.

hush yo' mouth!

I met this guy at the Jekyll blog-meet and I never heard him talk like THIS, even when he was drunk:

Vector calculation means the performance of a single operation across an array of subjects. When dealing with vectorized data, for example numerical arrays, digital vector processing units are extremely efficient, as the operation itself needs to be performed only once in order to process multiple data points, updating the data registers simultaneously in one processing cycle. Vector computing is used to great effect in the areas of physics and theoretical mathematics. Commercial applications exist, however; the AltiVec technology present in Motorola and IBM's PowerPC series (marketed as Velocity Engine in the Apple G4 and G5 versions) provides significant boosts to vector-based machine instructions in such esoteric areas as video encoding and encryption.

Can somebody tell ME, this poor, computer-dumbass, idiot Cracker.... just what the fuck does THAT mean? I kinda know what a "vector" is, because a lot of wimmen have those areas, where you need to home in with a slow hand and a lot of attention to detail. But once he went into that other technical shit, he lost me. He DID, however, manage to work the word "esoteric" into his babble and I know what THAT means.

Do you computer people REALLY talk that way? I'd rather speak Spanish.

so much for that

I finally got in touch with the lawyer I've been bugging for almost a year now about the $2,500 I paid him. He assured me that he sent an itemized bill off TODAY. He not only spent my entire $2,500, so I'm NOT owed any refund, but he spent an extra $339 that he's not going to charge me for, out of the goodness of his heart.

Ain't lawyers generous sometimes? If I seem to be in a foul mood tonight, that's because I am.

bun warmer

Okay... I figured out how that thing operates in mama's car. The switch is located on the bottom left side of the seat, right where the handle for adjusting the seat is. I must have bumped it with my knee by accident this morning when I was getting into the car and kicked that sumbitch on "HIGH." I don't want to do that again.

A little heat on the bootie is a good thing when the old bootie is cold. I may enjoy that feature several months from now. But NOT in the weather of southeast Georgia this time of year. You guys know what I'm talking about. You ladies may not.

The drive from my house to Springfield is only 14 miles. But by the time I had completed that round-trip with the bun warmer on HIGH, I almost stepped on my own nutsack when I got out of the car. A man's testicles are a lot like a woman's "read between the lines" gland. They think by themselves.

Specialized organs have minds of their own and testicles like to maintain a certain temperature. When it's cold, they'll draw up tighter than Dick's hatband to stay warm. Get them too hot, and they run away from the body. Mine were almost dragging the ground when I got back home today.

At least I figured out how to turn the sumbitch off. My testicles thank me for that.

the reaper

I once kept a scrapbook where I collected stories such as this one. I wasn't being morbid, just curious, because some of the stories didn't have a happy ending while others did. I was simply reinforcing my belief in fate.

I believe that on the day you are born, you have an expiration date stamped on your ass, the same as a gallon of milk. When that day comes, you expire. But before then, you experience "miracles" that keep you alive.

I had back-to-back articles in that scrapbook that documented a three year-old boy falling ten stories from a Chicago high-rise housing unit, where he landed in some bushes and toddled away with only scratches to show for it. On the opposing page was the story of a handyman who was doing a painting job in Savannah and fell from the fourth step on a ladder, hit his head on a concrete sidewalk and died on the spot.

Then, I found stories such as this one, which obviously is a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. What are the odds of that happening?

I've always been fascinated by such stories. Read about war heroes. Everybody around them gets killed, but they never suffer more than superficial wounds (Chesty Puller is a great example). Their expiration date wasn't up yet.

Hell, I SHOULD BE DEAD. When I attempted suicide in 2001, I did a pretty good job of it. Just not good enough. Doctors told me at the time that they had never seen ANYBODY lose so much blood and recover the way I did, with no significant damage to my internal organs--- although I think a lot of my belly-problems now come from that manic event. One of them even had the nerve to get really existential on me and say that I was saved "for a purpose."

Bullshit. I tried to advance my expiration date and the plan didn't work. I wasn't due yet.

You can look at your ass in the mirror all you want to and you'll never see the stamp. But it's there. It's invisible to everybody but the Reaper and he doesn't share those secrets. He can read it like a bar code, but you'll never find it.

He'll let you know when it's your time.

hot buns

I had to go to the post office in Springfield this morning, so I drove my mama's car today for the first time since I got it more than a week ago. It's a nice vehicle, with all the bells and whistles. It has only 10,000 miles on it.

But it has one feature that I'm not certain that I want in a car I drive in southeast Georgia. It has a BUTT-WARMER built into the seat. I shit you not. The SEAT has a heater in it.

I pulled out of the driveway and noticed about 100 yards down the road that my butt was becoming nicely warmed without anyone playing with it. Nice, I thought at first. This hot-seat would be really pleasant on a cold winter morning.

But this ain't a cold winter morning. The temperature is supposed to reach above 80 degrees today. After a while, that butt-warmer became uncomfortable. I looked all over the dashboard trying to locate some kind of on-off switch, but I couldn't find one.

By the time I got back from the post office, I had damn near toasted my codsack. My cojones were becoming roasted oysters. That device was cooking me alive and I still haven't figured out how to turn it off.

Just Damn! Looks like I'm going to have to read the owner's manual before all my manly parts fall off like tender meat from a well-grilled pig if I ever drive for more than an hour in that thing. That's a damn Yankee feature for a car.

I don't need it down South.

brilliant idea

I've got a couple of friends who live there, but I still believe that New Jersey is a fucked-up state. Anybody in Georgia who proposed legislation that would allow the government to sieze your home for owning an "illegal" firearm would be run out of the state on a split-pine rail while streaming tar and feathers in his wake.

A New Jersey state assemblyman has introduced a bill that would allow the government to seize the home or car of anyone whose property contains an illegal firearm.

The legislation, sponsored by Assemblyman Louis Manzo, D-Jersey City, authorizes the forfeiture of "motor vehicle, building or premise" if a firearm is found in it that is not possessed legally per state law – "even if the firearm was not possessed by the owner of the motor vehicle, building or premise," states a summary of the bill, A3998. The legislation was introduced Thursday.

That power-hungry bastard needs to be dragged off and shot.

Property-forfeiture laws have become very popular with government during the past decade or so, thanks largely to the "War on Drugs," and these laws are routinely abused by the authorities. Horror stories abound about people who committed no crime, were never even CHARGED with a crime, but still lost their property to overly-zealous thieving bastards law enforcement officers.

See... the police and the government get to KEEP such loot, and that's REVENUE, baby. That's what government is all about anymore. The concept was a bad idea to begin with and it's getting worse every day.

Larry Pratt, executive director of Gun Owners of America, slammed the proposal.

"It looks like [Manzo] is going to have a go at the Second Amendment and the Fifth Amendment," said Pratt, referring to constitutional rights involving firearms and private property. "Way to go – a 'two-fer'!"

Pratt told WND police skullduggery could cause law-abiding citizens to lose their property.

"So if an officer plants a gun in your home, you lose your house," he said. "It's the same drill they've been using in the war against drugs. Now they want to use the same tactics against people who have a gun for self-defense."

New Jersey politics has been a cesspool of corruption and vice for years. If you are foolish enough to think that authorities won't abuse this new power, just meekly hand it over to them.

And hand them the keys to your house when you do it.

(Link via ravenwood.)

my kind of holiday

Here's a holiday that that I could get behind. Or on top of. Or let get get on top of me. It might even call for some fancy feasting.

It sure beats National Chicken Appreciation Day.

(Thanks to Maggie for the link!)

May 10, 2005


Yes, I am shocked. I met this woman at the meet in Jekyll and I thought she was attractive, friendly, sweet (although you had to watch her at the poker table--- she was crafty) and all-around good company.

I never would have guessed that she is such a pervert. She had me fooled. I just didn't picture her runnin' 'round, lookin' at nekkid bodies and boiling with lustful thoughts. I see the truth now. SHAME ON YOU, WOMAN!

I am shocked.

mine costs less

I don't know how much money arianna huffington spent creating a really shitty blog, but it was WAAAAY too much. Including all the bells and whistles I feature on MY blog, I spend about $50 a month on it. I've been known to drop that much money in a bar on Saturday night. And I do it all by myself.

But Arianna is a multi-millionaire, having slutted well in the past. Plus, she has all sorts of celebrity friends and people of great power and influence on the speed-dial of her cell phone. And THAT piece of shit was the best she could do? Even with "sleep deprivation?" Got-dam! Blogging must not be as easy as I thought it was.

Maybe I'm being too critical. The only thing really wrong with that blog is that it's not visually friendly to the eyes, the writing is insipid, she has a stable of idiots contributing posts and the whole thing purely sucks. Other than those minor problems, it's a great blog.

Go check it out. Keep a barf-bag handy when you do.

(I found my way there from hog on ice, and I owe Steve H. a punch in the nose for doing that to me.)

for cat lovers

I don't brake for animals in the road when I'm driving. I'll try to avoid them, but I always figured that my truck was worth more than their furry asses, and if push came to shove, I was going to do the logical thing--- protect my vehicle and my life, even if it meant running over the animal.

I may have to re-think my philosophy. My truck is not worth forty-five thousand dollars. A dead cat is, according to a judge.

In the lawsuit, filed in Seattle District Court in November, Paula Roemer alleged that her beloved 12-year-old black-and-white shorthair cat, Yofi, was attacked and killed in her back yard in February 2004 by a black chow chow belonging to her neighbor.

She was so traumatized that she began having sleep disturbances and panic attacks, sank into depression and began smoking heavily, she wrote in a sworn declaration.

I don't know what she was smoking, but I want some of it. If she were THAT attached to the cat, why did SHE let it outdoors? Her yard wasn't fenced and I have cat-loving assholes tell me all the time that a kitty never needs to go outside. They use a litter box and just shower you with constant love. They are just so "cute" and they make excellent HOUSE pets.

If so, then keep their asses in the house. It's a cruel world outside. I've never seen a cat in my life that was worth $45,000.

Hell, I don't know too many PEOPLE worth that amount of money.

how apt

This guy surely lives up to his name. Whiner. Uh...excuse me... that's Winer (Sorry for the sarcasm.)

We should return the favor and host an open blogging conference in a blue state, and import some of the south's most famous bloggers. Before the conference we should make sure that the most flamey left-wing bloggers are present, the people who posted in the comments on Dean For America, for example; and urge them to hurl insults at our southern brothers and sisters, while we sit back and enjoy the scene (and leave early because we have better things to do). Then, when they return to their red state homes, in Tennessee perhaps, they will feel properly chastised as we continue to slam them on our blogs, and they'll hate the north even more than they did before. Think how much better we'd feel about ourselves! (Sorry for the sarcasm.)

We don't hate the north, Dave. We hate northern assholes such as yourself.

kentucky justice

This is a very strange DUI arrest. Of course, I would have to BE drunk to want to ride a horse, but I'm not surprised that the cops nailed this guy.

Coomer said the arrest was "very unusual," but Somerset police have arrested others for similar violations, such as riding a bicycle and a lawn mower under the influence.

I would like to hear the details on those two cases.

the wreck of old '65

I've mentioned before that my friends and I built our own skateboards when we were young. Mama and daddy couldn't afford to buy the exotic models that I always lusted after in the stores, so we learned to take apart a pair of roller skates and nail the wheels on the bottom of a 1" X 4" board, cut about a foot and a half long.

That device worked fine, but it didn't corner very well.

One of our favorite places to skateboard was Hesse Elementary School in the summer. It had nice concrete, a nice obstacle course and a lot of places to bust your ass. Nobody was there in the summer, so we made it our playground.

I found a really tricky path to take one day. I started at the entrance to the first-grade wing, got going really fast, then weaved between the iron poles supporting the roof over the walkway to the bus stop. That was a downhill run, and a STEEP right turn was required at the bottom to keep from spilling yourself right out into the parking lot. I made it on my first try, but just barely.

Finn Moffett went after me, and he made it, too, although he hung half his board over the curb at the bottom. That was a close one.

Art Salter did it next and he made it, too, but he pussied out at the end and grabbed one of the poles to slow him down before he hit the suicide curve. Wuss. Finn and I thought that he cheated.

Next came Michael Moffet, Finn's younger brother. Mike would try ANYTHING, but he was like my brother. If someone was gonna get hurt doing this crazy shit, it would be Michael or my brother. Accident prone. I should have known better than to let him try it.

But he did, and he went fast through the obstacle course, dodging every pole. He hit the suicide curve at the bottom and didn't make it. He went over the curb, the skateboard nosed in for an abrupt halt and Michael went flying, bare-belly-first, right into the parking lot.

He hit and skidded at first, then he went tumbling like a beer can someone had tossed from a speeding car. He must have gone a good 30 feet before he stopped rolling. We ran to check on him.

Holy Bejus! We thought he was dead.

That concrete had peeled the hide off him just as well as someone with a belt sander could have done. He wasn't bleeding--- he was OOZING from being skinned alive. It was a horrible sight. Finn and I picked him up and toted him home while he moaned in pain.

His mama took one look at him and almost had a heart attack. When she asked what happened, Finn and I agreed on the story--- "Mike fell off his skateboard," which was true.

His wounds were superficial, but numerous. His mama coated him with iodine and wrapped him up in bandages. He resembled The Mummy for a while after that. And if you can't imagine a giant scab that runs from your chest to your feet, don't even try to. You don't wanna see it.

I don't know how we all lived through the dumbass shit we did back then.


I plan to post another Carnival of the Crappers next Monday. I have only one entry so far, and that's one that I overlooked from last week. Feel free to email me a good crap-story or a link to your blog-entry on the same subject.

I may even put a special section on my blogroll for "dung-beetles." Wanna join?

going mercenary

I'm probably a fool for not doing it myself (because I get plenty of offers), but I have no desire right now to try to make money from my blog. I'm not going to criticize anyone who does, because I'm all for capitalist enterprise.

But right now, I don't need the money and I like the independence that fact gives me. Maybe I'll put a tip jar on the page and sell blog ads somewhere down the road, but I'm not going to do it yet. It's a matter of principle.

I've been offering free ice cream for three and half years here now. I want to keep it that way as long as I can. That way, I can truly say that if you don't like what I write, then don't read it. If I were attempting to protect a revenue stream, I might think differently.

I don't want to do that.

i missed it

I don't understand how I managed to forget the international respect for chickens day. That was fowl foul of me.

You still have time to submit a recipe for how to respect a chicken in a pot, on a grill or in the oven. Don't miss this chance to crow about your cooking.

Having raised chickens myself, I can testify that they are some of the nastiest, rotten-tempered, dumb-ass, shit-eating creatures on the face of the planet. I am convinced that the term "bird-brain" came from someone familiar with chickens. Someone NOT familiar with them must have come up with that idiotic idea of a "Respect for Chickens Day."

I once toured an industrial park in Charleston, South Carolina where three plants processed a total of more than one million chickens every day. They used everything but the squawk, too. It was a fascinating process to observe.

The chicken is handled once by human hands, and that's when they grab the fucker out of its cage and hang it upside-down by its feet from a conveyor that runs it into the factory. From there, machines do the rest. The bird is beheaded, scalded to remove the feathers, then either shrink-wrapped whole or cut to pieces for people to eat. The feathers and blood (plus the feet, beaks and every other inedible part) are boiled down in vats and then kiln-dried to make CHICKEN FEED.

That circle goes round and round.

Yeah, I respect chickens. I respect them most of all fried or cooked with home-made dumplings.

brown sugar

I like her blog and I REALLY like the new picture she has on the sidebar now. Damn, Baldi... you look mahvolous!

a job poorly done

I've got a couple of problems with this story. First, I don't think the cops had any business firing off 120 rounds in a residential neighborhood. That's poor judgment, especially when dealing with a suspect who had not done anything violent, or displayed a weapon of his own.

Second, how did the police fire 120 rounds at a stationary SUV and manage only to wound the suspect in the toe, finger and shoulder? They managed to shoot up a few houses and hit one of their own people, but they barely knicked the guy in the SUV?

The driver of that car should have had more holes in him than a collander. I don't believe that a single deputy involved in this fiasco is qualified to carry a firearm. That was some piss-poor shooting.

Forget the fact that they shouldn't have been shooting anyway.

May 09, 2005

Carnival of the crappers #2

This a genuinely shitty post here, but I had some help putting it together.

First, let's start with the semi-famous MommaBear who emailed this boquet of flowers to me.

Try doing chemo-therapy including one vicious little oral medication.....those little suckers taken 14 days in a row produce some SPECTACULAR flatulence and general muck-up of the entire intestinal tract from just below the pyloric sphincter [discharge end of stomach] all the way through to the final discharge end of the colon !! One has enough gaseous volume to play tunes, if one is skilled enough, and the games that any solid food plays traversing the 22 feet or so of tubing is wondrous to feel - NOT !! The final contents delivered, solely at the timing of its own choice, like 0400 hours, can range from totally messy and gooey to so firmly packed it will NEVER disassemble, ever. Usually the verdampte group finds the most inopportune times to display its wondrous capabilities to all and sundry, including being odiferous enough to knock out a squad or two of Special Forces types.

That's my crapper story and I'm sticking to it.......or, rather, stuck with it for 4 more months.


That's a pretty shameless post, but I have some experience at what MommaBear is going through now. You lose all sense of shame very quickly in that situation. Wish her well

Heh. I KNEW that someone would send me a "How I Shit My PANTS" story, and I was correct. It's right here, courtesy of the North Woods Woman. I've never had Burger King food do that to me. Krystals, on the other hand, are different.

What good is a crap-carnival without a song? This meme was floating like an unflushable around blogdom for a while, so I grabbed this one just because I was wearing rubber gloves at the time.

I've never used a bidet. I find the very idea kinda frightening. But Pumpman doesn't:

BIDETS – THEY’RE NOT JUST FOR WIMMEN Guys have more problems with ass-wiping than the ladies do. Why? Well, for one, we seem to have more HAIR back there around the old shit-chute than the girls do. And what happens when we wad up that big ball of TP? We end up smearing the poo around our bungholes and mingling it with all that hair. What a friggin' mess. I never feel clean when I crap in a public restroom. Wetting TP is out of the question because the only available water is in the bowl, and who knows what germs are doing the backstroke in there. Forget about waddling out of the stall with your pants around your ankles to get to the sink to wet down the TP. You just have to do your best, and know that things are still a bit messy “back there”. Problem solved. When we built our new home, I had the plumber install a BIDET in the shithouse. What a friend that ceramic beauty has become! Now, I won’t crap anywhere but HOME-SWEET-HOME. Use the TP for the “first wipe”, then hop off the shitter and over to the bidet for a nice warm water rinse. Clean as a whistle. I can hear my butthole saying “thanks”. Don’t laugh until you try it. From Pumpman

I think the Straight White Guy took an Uzi crap the other day... you know, just kinda spray and pray. He was kicked by a chicken.

Here's another spine tingling story, if you trace it all the way to the bottom of the spine where you have an opening on the end. Read it if you dare. You may dream about red-hot pokers tonight.

I like Mexican food. I like Mexican food a LOT. But I also know that you end up experiencing most of it twice.

Now, the question at hand is, can a burrito be construed as a deadly weapon?

My answer? Hell, yes! Here's my reasoning why:

There were these burritos sold at a place called Adalberto's on Watt Avenue in North Highlands, CA. They could rightfully be called weapons, because they
sure as heck put the fear of God in me. I barely had time to get home to the reading room before the dreaded TEC-9/UZI effect took over. (that would be
"spray and pray" for the uninitiated) Mrs. G-98 and I spent the better part of the evening cleaning, scrubbing, bleaching, and doing laundry. It got EVERYWHERE. So, yeah, burritos can be a bad thing®.


And last, but not least, a somewhat edited version of a mail that I received from someone I can't remember now. Speak up and I'll give you due credit.

FRIENDS NETWORK (PFN). Definition: A group of coworkers who band together to ensure emergency pooping goes off without incident. This group can help you to monitor the aborts of Out Of The Closet Poopers, and identify SAFE HAVENS. SAFE HAVENS. Definition: A seldom used bathroom somewhere in the building where you can least expect visitors. Try floors that are predominantly of the opposite sex. This will reduce the odds of a pooper of your sex entering the bathroom. TURD BURGLAR: Definition: A pooper who does not realize that you are in the stall and tries to force the door open. This is one of the most shocking and vulnerable moments that can occur when taking a dump at work. If this occurs, remain in the stall until the Turd Burglar leaves. This way you will avoid all uncomfortable eye contact. CAMO-COUGH. Definition: A phony cough that alerts all new entrants into the bathroom that you are in a stall. This can be used to cover-up a WATERMELON, or to alert potential Turd Burglars. Very effective when used in conjunction with an ASTAIRE. ASTAIRE. Definition: A subtle toe-tap that is used to alert potential Turd Burglars that you are occupying a stall. This will remove all doubt that the stall is occupied. If you hear an Astaire, leave the bathroom immediately so the pooper can poop in peace. WATERMELON. Definition: A turd that creates a loud splash when hitting the toilet water. This is also an embarrassing incident. If you feel a Watermelon coming on, create a diversion. See CAMO-COUGH. HAVANA OMELET. Definition: A load of diarrhea that creates a series of loud splashes in the toilet water. Often accompanied by an Escapee. Try using a Camo-Cough with an Astaire. UNCLE PAUL. Definition: A bathroom user who seems to linger around forever. Could spend extended lengths of time in front of the mirror or sitting on the pot. An Uncle Paul makes it difficult to relax while on the crapper, as you should always wait to drop your load when the bathroom is empty. This benefits you as well as the other bathroom attendees. FLY BY. Definition: The act of scouting out a bathroom before pooping. Walk in and check for other poopers. If there are others in the bathroom, leave and come back again. Be careful not to become a FREQUENT FLYER. People may become suspicious if they catch you constantly going into the bathroom.

I kinda like this carnival. For a while, I thought I was the only person twisted enough to discuss defecation in an intellectual manner.

trashing wimmen

Uh-oh. I have just been accused of going on a woman-trashing vendetta for the past couple of days. I sincerely apologize to all the hormonally-driven, overly-sensitive cunts wimmen I have offended with my recent rants. I truly AM sorry if I put your twat in a knot.

The only problem is, a man doesn't have to try very hard to do that. Most wimmen have these invisible tentacles streaming out all around and these tentacles are designed to receive offensive information and transfer it directly to the feminine brain, where another organ, called the "read between the lines" gland takes over to process this information.

That's how a simple "Good morning" turns into a fit of "YOU DON'T LOVE ME ANYMORE!!!" because the tentacles picked up the subliminal meaning of what you said and transferred it directly to the "read between the lines" gland and nature took its course. A lot of wimmen like to throw and break something when that happens.

I've never understood that oddity, either. Men are supposed to be domesticated, but if a woman throws a temper-tantrum... well, that's just what ANY sane, logical person would do in the same situation. That's what makes wimmen so frightening to me. They are crazy and they don't know it.

That's the worst kind of crazy.

So, if I offended any wimmen with what I've written lately, please forgive me. And don't THROW anything.


I confess. I have become addicted to the Western Channel, especially to old "Gunsmoke" reruns. Rape happens a lot in those shows, but nobody ever calls it rape. The cowboy grabs the woman, slaps her around a little and drags her off to the bedroom. Fade to black.

The next thing you know, she's in the office of Doc Adams. Matt asks, "How is she, Doc?" and the doctor replies, "Well, Matt.... she's had a rough time."

Nobody EVER mentions the word "rape," although the fact was obvious to anyone over the age of 12 years. Hell, I saw an episode yesterday where Miss Kitty was raped by Steven Forrest and Doc said the same thing. "Well, Matt... she's had a rough time."

Was it against the television Code of Ethics to mention RAPE back then? If so, why put it into a story to begin with? It was perfectly okay for Matt to kill the Steven Forrest character on the dusty streets of Dodge to end the episode, but it was NOT okay to say flat-out that the bastard raped Miss Kitty.

We have always had some screwed-up priorities when it comes to morality in this country.

we're all gonna die!! Again!

Whatever else you do, stay away from yellowstone park. If you go there, you're gonna DIE!!!

Recurring earthquake swarms, swelling and falling ground, and changes in hydrothermal features are cited in the report as evidence of unrest at Yellowstone.

The report calls for better monitoring of the 55 volcanoes in the very high and high threat categories to track seismic activity, ground bulging, gas emissions and hydrologic changes.

University of Utah geology professor Robert Smith, who monitors earthquakes and volcanic activity in Yellowstone, said more real-time monitoring should be helpful.

Don't you just love that guy's name? Robert Smith. I'd believe anything HE told me.

Besides... when you have a location full of scalding sulfuric water, geysers and constant geothermal activity, what is supposed to be surprising about this "research?" Nobody knew that the place was unstable before this profound discovery? Bullshit. THAT'S what makes it a tourist attraction.

You're more likely to drive your car into a sinkhole in Florida than to get toasted at Yellowstone Park. Tell me something I don't already know if you want to impress me.

Emissions of toxic gases from the park's geothermal features also pose a threat. Five bison dropped dead last year after inhaling poisonous gases trapped near the ground due to cold, calm weather near Norris Geyser Basin.

Five dead bison, done in by "toxic" gases. EVERYBODY RUN!!! RIGHT NOW!!! BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE!!!

Bejus. If I could read the news for one single day without finding a story designed to scare the shit out of me, I would die a happy man. But I'll never see that day, because I can tell you right now who takes that shit seriously. Wimmen do. You play that "risk" card on them and you get immediate attention. They hyperventilate and get the vapors as soon as you mention risk.

The 19th Amendment was a bad idea.

a code of "ethics"

A lot of people are grumbling about a code of ethics for blogs now, usually after bloggers nailed their lying asses to the wall for some breach of "the code" THOSE malfeasants were supposed to be following when they violated it. I call bullshit.

I am not a journalist and I don't operate a mainstream blog. I DO, however, believe in my own Code of Ethics. Anything and anybody is fair game.

I tip-toe the line at "malicious intent," but I believe that someone offended by what I write would have a difficult time proving that I have a "reckless disregard for the truth." I make no bones about being malicious sometimes. But unlike the Mainstream Media, I don't lie about it. THEY are the ones who display a reckless disregard for the truth.

I read posts such as this one and I worry about what blogging may mutate into one of these days. Blogging right now reminds me of some free-wheeling jam-sessions I had with musicians in my life. Let it go and let it flow. Have a drink and play loud. Sing your ass off. Those were good times.

But this worries me:

Now, it may be that we blog in a rarefied part of the blogosphere. Most of the blogs we read are written by law professors or lawyers, and we operate under a set of professional norms; as Larry noted, norms constrain behavior. Few of us blog anonymously, and even those who do blog with colleagues who surely know who they are. No one blogs anonymously to mask conflicts of interest or sloppy fact-checking; anonymous blawgers are anonymous to be more honest, not less.

Right now, Gordon and I blog under an unspoken code of human beings, which I'm sure is broader than the journalistic code of ethics. I would hate for us to aim lower in our standards.

You should never HAVE to blog anonymously. But a lot of people do, because this shit can cost you your job. I KNOW!!! It happened to me.

I'm going to go back to the Den Beste Theory and admit that 90% of blogs are pure crap. But I see a division in the ranks happening here, where some people consider what they write to be "serious" blogs while I think their crap is boring. But we're already getting an elitist mentality intruding into what once was a "Deadwood" kind of town, wide-open and wild.

Do I have a "serious" blog? FUCK NO, I don't. I just want to write well and entertain the readers who visit me. I'm not out to change the world or bring the New York Times to its knees. What is this shit? "Most of the blogs we read are written by law professors or lawyers." Well, good for you, honey. 90% of THOSE blogs are crap, too.

I've had some experience dealing with how ethical lawyers are. I don't want to play by their "code." And I won't do it on my blog.

If you don't like it, sue me.


I remember dropping by my parents house one Saturday, just to visit for a while. Mama was in the kitchen cooking something and my dad was asleep, snoring up a storm on the couch with a half-finished paperback novel on his chest. My parents had been married for more than 30 years at the time.

I asked mama, "Want me to wake him up?" She said no. Let him sleep. But I could tell that she was pissed off. "Mama," I asked, "Do you ever wanna KILL dad?"

I meant it as a joke, but she responded in her typical fashion of complete honesty. "YES!" she replied. "I want to kill him TODAY. He works all week and then just lays on the couch and sleeps on the weekends. We don't have a lot of time together, but he'd rather read a book and take long naps than spend his free time with ME."

I know it hurt mama's feelings, but that's the way my dad was. He would have walked through fire for her, and she knew that fact, too, even when she bitched about him sleeping on the sofa. They stayed together for 45 years.

Relationships are all a give-and-take proposition. Anyone who tries to CONTROL that relationship is probably going to end it. To the day of her death, my mama said that dad was the finest man she ever met in her life. "I was a lucky woman," she told me, right before she died. "I found the right man for me. I hated what he did sometimes, but I always loved HIM."

Too many people can't think that way today.

happens every day

Here is another example of how expensive free pussy can be. Can you say the word "gold-digger?" Good. I knew you could.

The child support judgment, signed April 29 by Fulton Superior Court Judge Cynthia D. Wright, orders Gary to pay $28,000 per month -- for 16 years -- to an Atlanta woman who bore him twins after their brief romantic relationship five years ago. Gary agreed to pay $175,000 for "support and maintenance of the children" and for a down payment on a home in Georgia for the mother and twins. He is also obligated to pay for the children's medical, dental and hospitalization insurance, maintain life insurance and prepay college tuition for the twins.

The total amount of Gary's obligations is about $6 million, according to Jay D. Bennett, a partner at Alston & Bird, who initially handled the case for the plaintiff and drafted the settlement agreement later adopted by Wright. The agreement also calls for Gary to pay $30,000 to Alston & Bird to cover attorney fees.

I don't care how much money the guy has. This judgment is insane. But that's how it goes in Georgia if you're a man walking into domestic court. Gotta dick? That's all we need to know. You're going to pay the bitch. And you're going to pay her a LOT.

I love some of the comments I get from people who have never been there and experienced such "justice." They are absolutely clueless, but they ALL have very strong opinions about an issue they don't understand at all. I'll also wager that these people vote Democrat.

I want to give all you young men some good advice: be careful where you stick your dick. What did Jim Croce say? "Ten short minutes of lovin' cost me twenty long years in jail." It happens.

It can happen to YOU, too. There ain't no such thing as free pussy.

May 08, 2005

the twain

I intended to write a really eloquent post about my mama today, but I was sick and I never got around to doing it. That post will keep until next year. I miss my mama and I know that from her, I received the closest thing to "Unconditional Love" that I will ever know.

But I also agree with this post. It highlights what I believe is the central difference between men and wimmen, and one of the reasons for the pussification of America today.

If I had to pick one word to describe what motivates most men, I would say "excitement." Men LIKE excitement, even vicariously, no matter what form it comes in. Fast cars, fast wimmen, fast cards, fast music, fast guns and fast times. Fishing, fucking and fighting. Enjoying any of those things is typical of a male, because that's the little boy forever trapped inside him that he'll NEVER outgrow.

Wimmen, on the other hand, crave security and safety. They want a secure nest and they don't like anything "risky." The Democrats learned that fact a long time ago, and that's why they call ANY new idea that they didn't invent "risky," because they know that the word will scare the shit out of wimmen.

A man and a woman together can make a really good team. Occasionally, the twain does meet and the whole becomes greater than the sum of the parts. But that's not usually the case, in my experience. Men give up excitement to shut the Mother Hen up when she clucks constantly about risk. Especially after she drops a frog on you.

The man becomes a slave to "security" and he learns to keep his mouth shut, except to slam down a few shots of Wild Turkey at night, to tranquilize the little boy inside himself before he retires to his "secure" bed. Pussywhipped.

I don't believe that a single mom is capable of raising a son all by herself. She doesn't understand how little boys think. You've gotta throw the concept of risk out the window every now and then and let the little hellions bust their own asses. They'll learn their own valuable lessons that way.

And if you don't understand that fact, you're going to raise a pussywhipped boy before he ever gets married.


Sorry for the light posting. I've been sick. Again.

That crap seems to hit me about every two weeks anymore, and I don't know what triggers it. I feel better now.

But it's been a LOOOONG 24 hours.

the bastards will tax anything

I knew that when the "obesity crisis" hit the news that politicians wouldn't be far behind with taxes on fast foods. I also knew that their money-grab would be camouflaged with keening about "the children" and promising to spend the money on government-run weight-loss programs.

Yeah. Just like government spent all the tobacco settlement money for the same things. You know--- health care and anti-smoking programs. Lying shits.

Here comes Detroit, doing something that I expect to see more of in the future. I hope that government may be finally overstepping its bounds with this crap. It was okay to persecute smokers, because they are a minority of the population and a minority of voters. Politicians have always been able to get away with persecuting a minority.

But when government starts to go after fast food for a quick extortion buck, they're fucking with a majority. ALMOST EVERYBODY eats fast food. I hope this kind of scheme blows up in their faces.

Other cities and states have special taxes on prepared food, and some have tried ``snack taxes.'' In New York, Assemblyman Felix Ortiz has proposed a 1 percent tax on junk food, video games and TV commercials to fund anti-obesity programs.

And you know that's EXACTLY where the money will go, with government obligated to do "good" with it.

But if approved, the Detroit tax would be the country's first to target fast-food outlets, the National Restaurant Association said. The tax would apply to anything sold at a fast-food restaurant - even salads.

Opponents have been quick to call it a ``fat tax'' in this city dubbed the nation's fattest in 2004 by Men's Health magazine. Detroit fell to No. 3 for 2005.

City officials say the proposal, part of the draft budget Kilpatrick presented to the City Council last month, is more about Detroit's financial health than anything else.

No shit, Sherlock. Name me ONE single tax that the government imposes on ANYTHING that isn't designed to raise revenue and control your life, purely and simply. And every time we give those bastards more money, they spend it to buy votes and keep themselves in office so that they can control your life more effectively.

Government IS NOT altruistic. If you believe that, you are a fool.

May 07, 2005


Twelve phone calls and two letters later, after more than a year, I STILL have not received an itemized bill from that lawyer who sold me down the river the last time I appeared in divorce court. I paid the slimy shit $2,500. I made one visit to his office and he made one visit to court.

He never said a word in court. He sat there like a knot on a dog's dick and let my ex-wife's lawyer railroad me. I didn't like what the judge had to say and I never signed anything. I didn't even know I had a domestic violence order set against me until all the paperwork came in the mail. I asked my lawyer to appeal it and he did nothing.

I hired ANOTHER lawyer to try to unfuck what this guy fucked up, but it was too late. The damage was done. I paid my second lawyer $650, but at least I got a bill from him.

I have not had visitation with my son since that day, which was slightly over one year ago. I also never received a bill from this jerkoff "attorney", in spite of my numerous requests for one. Where did my $2,500 go? It damn surely didn't go to help ME.

I'll hound that bastard to my dying breath. He's avoiding me, because he KNOWS that he fucked up. Well, he can run, but he can't hide. I'll get a righteous accounting, even if I have to sue him for malpractice and let ANOTHER lawyer take all the money. I'd rather do that than see the prick ignore me.

It ain't about the money. Yeah, I want my left-over money back, but the principle is more important to me. I'm not gonna let that shitass pretend that I don't exist. And if I don't get some satisfaction by the end of next week, I'm going to start mentioning him by name.

The fuckhead needs to stick with writing wills and handling real estate closings. He IS NOT a "domestic lawyer" as he calls himself. He's also a spineless coward, in MY humble opinion.

On my pissant job in the chemical plant, I was REQUIRED to keep a lot of environmental control records that I damn well better be able to produce if the EPD or the EPA dropped by for a call. Same thing with OSHA and the DOT. I always had the documentation whenever they asked to see it. And I offered that paperwork to them GLADLY, because that was my job.

A LAW OFFICE can't do the same thing? I call bullshit on that idea.

both sides are guilty

A lot of compassionate people are up in arms about this story, but I am not nearly as sympathetic to the "17 year-old junior" as most people seem to be. I disagree with most of the mindless zero-tolerance policies schools enforce today, but the boy fucked up, too.

You simply DO NOT resort to profanity and defiance in such a situation if you want to get your way. I don't give a damn if it's Jesus H. Christ calling on the phone. A little bit of manners, self-control and polite negotiation work better than telling people to go fuck themselves when you really want that call.

Okay, his mama is in Iraq. I'll bet he really appreciated that phone call. But when he behaves the way he did, would you want HIM watching your back in a war? I wouldn't. I want someone around ME who can keep their shit in one sock when things get difficult. I don't want an undisciplined idiot around me.

He did his mama no honor with the way he behaved.

But what the hell do I know? I'm probably doomed to be called a racist for suggesting that the boy resorted to ghetto behavior instead of using his head. As near as I can tell, he wasn't suspended for taking the phone call. He was suspended for acting the fool when he was asked to hang up.

I think the school over-reacted, but I think the kid is a prick, too.


I am intolerant and I see supreme irony that makes me laugh out loud every now and then. That's just me.

The idea of this woman launching a "hunger strike" fits into that category. Bejus! She should have started a hunger strike YEARS ago, just to make her ass smaller than the bed of an S-10 pickup truck today.

Yeah. I'll bet the fat bitch is gonna starve.

nothing wrong with this dress


Nope. Nothing wrong with the dress at all. I have my questions about the person WEARING IT, but I don't want to go there.

There's nothing wrong with ghetto culture, either. I believe that Costa Rican whores maintain higher moral standards, but who am I to judge anybody? What's wrong with being pregnant at your high school prom and cutting out the belly of your dress to let the little bastard inside you breathe? Statistics say that 70% of your friends and fellow students do the same thing. If THAT many people are doing it, it can't be self-destructive.

If you've got it, flaunt it.

another prom queen


When I first saw this picture, I thought that was a ceiling fan in the backqround. But it's not. It's her HAIR!!!

Ain't SHE pretty?

Well, maybe she DOES have a helicopter blade strapped to her head. I just noticed the wire running up behind her neck. But that damned tail-fin is still a little too much for me.

The next carnival

I'll post the second Carnival of the Crappers on Monday morning. I received a lot of very interesting entries and I am certain that if you read them, you just might laugh until you shit your pants.

Stay tuned.

May 06, 2005

telling a good story

Some people just don't have the knack of telling a good story. They evidently do not understand the concept of a beginning, a middle and a nice wind-up ending. They blather.

I've watched some asshole named Mike Rydell attempt to tell a story about Steve McQueen on the Western Channel for the past couple of days, and I can see Andrew Prine trying to drag the long-winded bastard back to whatever point he was trying to make when he started.

But Rydell doesn't get it. He just blathers and goes off on tangents while he never finishes a complete sentence. HE thinks he's being highly amusing, because HE likes the sound of his own voice, but as storytellers go, he sucks.

Why is it that most Hollywood celebrities can't tell a decent story without boring the shit out of you? The only person I know who can do as badly as THEY do is Georgia when she's been drinking.

"You'd like Miranda, Rob. We went to school together, and I'm really surprised that you don't remember her from back then... but you probably don't remember Jimmy, either... he married what's-her-name and they had a kid, I think. I don't know if Jimmy was the real father or not, but he claimed the kid, which I thought was nice of him. Jimmy got killed in a car wreck back in the late 70s. Or maybe it was the late 80s. It was sometime around then. Maybe the early 80s. Anyway, that was a REALLY cute kid. His name was Justin, or Jonathan... or something like that. I'm pretty sure it started with a "J." You know how those J-names are. It's kinda hard to keep track of them. I haven't seen that child in years now. You know someone else I haven't seen in years....?" Miranda is forgotten and this babble continues until everyone in the room goes to sleep from sheer boredom.

That's NOT a story. It is babbling.

One of the best storytellers I ever met in my life (outside my own family) was my dear friend Steve Hamby. Steve could tell a story with a solid beginning, a solid middle and a whip-ass ending, and he was totally deadpan the entire time. He didn't get in a hurry. He allowed the story to flow. He almost caused me to fall into a campfire more than once with his jokes and tall tales.

Steve had the knack of telling a good story. A lot of people don't, but that fact doesn't stop them from trying. I've got a piece of advice for those people. Just because you can talk a long time doesn't mean you really have anything to say.

Bejus. Learn to tell a good story and shut up when you're finished.

prom queen


That's all I'm gonna say. Ain't she BEAUTIFUL???


I stole this link from the reprehensible, horrible, politically-incorrect blog known as juggernuts. I feel dirty every time I read that site, which is why I go there almost every day. The bastards writing that thing remind me of ME.

I have to ask a simple question. I am certain that if I found a severed human finger in my cup of custard, I would be upset about it. That sight might queer my appetite for quite a while. But it wouldn't KILL me. I've probably put worse shit than THAT in my mouth over the years without even knowing I was doing it.

I'm like eric. If it's on a plate in front of you and you're hungry, you just eat it and don't ask any questions. If it tastes good, ask politely for a second helping.

I know that a finger in the custard is worth a lot of money in today's litigious society, but give me a fucking break here. If the guy who lost the finger wants it back, wouldn't you give it to him? I would. I wouldn't hoard the damned thing like a gold nugget and haul it out only when lawyers and reporters wanted to see it.

If I ever meet that money-hungry shitass Clarence Stowers, I intend to PISS in his custard when he's not looking. Let him eat THAT, the bastard.

Some people will do anything for money.

things you never forget

* I remember the first girl I ever kissed. That was the most thrilling kiss of my life and no other has ever measured up to it.

* I remember the first time I got laid (in exqusite detail).

* I remember the first time I ever got drunk. (well... I remember MOST of it.)

* I remember the birth of my first child and just how frightened I was by it. I felt the yoke of responsibility close around my neck.

* I remember the day I married Jennifer and just how happy I was. That was the best day of my life.

* I remember the day Jennifer betrayed me and said that she didn't love me anymore. That was the worst day of my life.

* I remember being handcuffed and escorted into a police car for the first time. (Those weren't actually handcuffs. They were these plastic twist-tie kinda things that you use to seal up garbage bags. They were NOT pleasant to wear.) I also remember the time I spent in jail. It is NOT an experience I care to repeat.

* I WOULD like to repeat getting laid for the first time again.

* I remember burying the first dog I ever loved. I've done that several times since then. It never gets any easier.

* I remember sitting on my back deck with a glass of wine in my hand and thinking that I had achieved more than I ever dreamed I would.

* I remember when I lost every bit of that and how it felt to start over from scratch at the age of 49. I managed to do it, but it wasn't fun.

* I remember being a kid, running wild in the woods and living like a savage. I loved doing that.

* I remember 24 years in a chemical plant, where I tried to go straight, climbed the ladder fairly well, but still went down in flames because of who I am.

* I remember my son, even though I seldom see him anymore. What Jennifer wants, Jennifer usually gets, and this is what she wants.

* I remember burying BOTH of my parents. That's a lonely feeling and I am not convinced that I will ever get over it.

I can't remember a lot of other things I've done in this life, but I damn sure remember those.

trivia answer

Matt Dillon's horse was named "Buck."


I've been having a debate with my friend catfish on how to perform wonderful oral sex on a woman. We disagree on certain techniques, but we're both in the same... well... BOAT in our general philosophy.

But what happens next? this guy intrudes into the intellectual discussion and mentions the "t'aint."

As a Southerner, I know good and well what the "t'aint" is. Every woman has one and all guys should appreciate it. I've learned that it is a seldom explored erogenous zone.

Do YOU know what a "t'aint" is?


Sweet Bejus! I haven't blogged about the "Runaway Bride," and I'm delighted that I didn't now.

I think this guy might be right!

you never know

If there is one thing I've learned about blogging over the years, it's that you never know what kind of a reaction a post will generate. I'll be the first to admit--- I occasionally like to stir shit. But I sometimes write a thoughtful, obnoxious, deliberately provocative post and I receive no response at all... even though I MEANT to piss people off with that one.

Then, I turn around and toss off a piece of fluff that I don't think twice about and I find my castle surrounded by angry, howling peasants armed with torches, pitchforks and rope. They want to stick my head on a pike over nothing. Where the hell where they when I was TRYING to piss people off?

Kelley just had the same experience with a recent post. I thought it was funny and I linked to it. So did Instapundit. Some other people didn't feel the same way about it. Kelley is now the boob nazi in some people's eyes.

Why do some people react that way? I don't care if she EVER wears a bra around me, or if she ties those puppies down with industrial-strength duct tape. They are HER boobs and she should be able to do what she wants to with them. (I happen to be fond of Kelley and I think she has nice boobs. She's always been strapped-up in a bra around ME, but I have seen a glimpse of cleavage. I liked what I saw.)

We have too many professional grievance organizations today. In the land of the free and the home of the brave, we are expected to walk on eggshells for fear of "offending" some group, some ethnic persuasion or some neurotic dingbat who spends every waking hour just WAITING to be offended. So delicate. So sensitive. So brainless.

But we're ALL supposed to adjust our behavior to suit them. I am personally offended by that kind of attitude and I have a ready response for such people.

Fuck you.

May 05, 2005

a little extreme

I don't believe that police should EVER handcuff a five year-old child. Cops should be able to handle that situation with a little more restraint.

But I also believe that the feel of the cuffs might not be a bad idea for some of the totally feral children I see running around like wild dogs today. At the age of five, the episode may scare the shit out of you, but you'll go home to sleep in your own bed when everything is said and done. Keep doing that shit and one day the cuffs don't come off and you end up spending a lot of time a a jail cell.

Of course, the mother is suing everybody.

Mekel Finch, the boy's mother, sued the police department, the bus company and the driver in Hamilton County Common Pleas Court on Friday. She is asking for more than $50,000.

There's not enough information in that article for me to make up my mind about this case. I was kicked off the school bus twice in my life for fighting, but the other guy had that shit coming to him. The police never became involved.

My PARENTS did, but they didn't sue anybody. They tore my ass up the first time and let the second one slide because the bus driver called my mama and reported that the bully on the bus DID have it coming to him. But she still had to kick me off the bus. Those were the rules. I hitch-hiked to school for the rest of the year and I usually beat the bus there.

Most cops can pick up a five year-old by the scruff of the neck and shake him like a rag doll. That'll usually stop a temper tantrum. Were the cuffs necessary?

I don't know. Check back on this kid in 10 years.

out of touch

I cannot understand why so many bloggers seem obsessed with American Idol. I've never watched the show and I don't intend to. Of course, I've never watched Survivor either, and I don't intend to. I prefer "Gunsmoke" reruns.

What is it about these stupid shows that hook so many viewers? I don't understand it. The way some bloggers write about them, you'd think that THEY were appearing in the shows. They are breathless and all tingly about who stays and who goes, and they are PASSIONATE in their opinions I couldn't give a rat's ass.

Maybe I'm just totally out of touch with modern culture. I don't see these shows as being much different from Ted Mack's Original Amateur Hour, except for more bells and whistles, color film and more subliminal sex. It is brain-rotting tripe.

Watch that crap if you want to. I'll be the last person in the world to try to nanny you. It's YOUR life. Piss it away however you desire. But don't pretend that this shit is IMPORTANT, because it ain't.

Bejus! I've actually gotten PHONE CALLS from people watching one of those shows and asking me if I was watching, too. When I said "NO," they told me to switch channels and see if "Chris" or "Dianne" was getting kicked off the show in this nerve-tingling episode. WTF? KIck them BOTH off. It doesn't matter to me.

As I said before, I must be totally out of touch or a complete social retard. I don't watch that crap. I have no DESIRE to watch that crap. I also don't like rap music and I don't like people who do. Call me a crotchety old bastard all you want to.

I'd rather be THAT than a got-dam American Idol.

this guy is good

If you don't read thomas sowell, you are missing something really good. Too many black editorial writers (in MY humble opinion) ride a one-trick pony--- everything bad that happens to black people today is the result of racism.

Sowell doesn't take that track. He digs a lot deeper and tells the truth. Black "leaders" don't like him for it, but I do.

I caught the tail-end of what he's talking about in the article I linked. I grew up in my really formative years in a coal mining camp in Harlan County, Kentucky. My grandparents both quit school in the eighth grade to get married and run the farm Papaw inherited when his father died.

Education was NOT a big deal back then. A more valuable skill was learning to grow corn and make moonshine. But after my grandfather fled the revenuers and went to work in the mines (under an assumed name), he realized that he was lacking a lot of knowledge that he NEEDED on that job.

He taught HIMSELF accounting, algebra and geometry by studying books when he wasn't working. He and Mommie also realized that their five children needed more than they themselves ever got out of school, so they pushed them hard to study and learn. All five turned out to be successful.

I moved to Savannah in 1958, when segregation was the rule and separate bathrooms and drinking fountains were common. Blacks rode on the back of the bus. That was no way to treat people and I understood that fact even back then. Hell, being a skinny hillbilly with a funny accent, I wasn't treated very well myself for a while.

But my parents both INSISTED that my brother and I get a good education. They saw the light and school came before anything else in our home. Man, if you wanted to get your ass in really hot water, just let a teacher send a note home detailing your transgressions, receive a call from the principal or bring home a bad report card.

If I did that, my ass was grass, and I was mowed very quickly.

I am proud to say that I am the first child born on either side of the family who earned a college degree. Others came after me, but I was the first. My family KNEW that education plus hard work equals success in this country. They preached it, they practiced it and they were successful at it.

White liberals come into this story because, since the 1960s, they have been aiding and abetting a counterproductive ghetto lifestyle that is essentially a remnant of the redneck culture which handicapped Southern whites and blacks alike for generations.

Many among the intelligentsia portray the black redneck culture today as the only "authentic" black culture and even glamorize it. They denounce any criticism of the ghetto lifestyle or any attempt to change it.

Teachers are not supposed to correct black youngsters who speak "black English" and no one is supposed to be judgmental about the whole lifestyle of black rednecks. In that culture, belligerence is considered being manly and crudity is considered cool, while being civilized is regarded as "acting white."

You want to keep the slaves on the plantation? Continue doing what we're doing now. Reinforce bad ideas and ignore the obvious. Nobody HAS to live as a second-class citizen anymore, not in this country. If my family could crawl out of the coal mines and the hollows of eastern Kentucky and produce successful offspring, anybody can do it.

Today, however, calling the typical black ghetto lifestyle self-destructive is a racist notion, and you're better off to keep your mouth shut about it. I won't. It IS a self-destructive lifestyle and nobody HAS to live that way. And I blame white liberals (who "love" black people) and race-mongers such as Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson for wanting to maintain the status quo.

Sweet Bejus! Get an education. Learn a skill. Don't get pregnant at the age of 16. Learn to hold a steady job, work hard and stay out of jail. Is that really so difficult to do? It must be.

A lot of blacks can't manage it. And there's no goddam excuse for that shit.

I take it all back

I have changed my mind. this blog has NOT "gone to shit" as I wrote a few days ago. It is a fine blog, especially since he linked TWO Jawja bloggers yesterday.

The fact that I was one of them had nothing to do with my change of heart.

death by breakfast

Bejus! If this happened to me, I'd drop dead of a heart attack on the spot. That ain't the kind of "prize" I expect to find in a box of cereal.

I don't like snakes.

crude, but wise

I have to admit it. words of wisdom ring clearly here. I've never put my hands on a friend's woman, although I had MANY opportunities to do so. (That's another thing that makes me distrustful of wimmen. WHY do so many want to fuck their husband's friends? That just ain't right.)

I always tried to stay away from married wimmen, too, but I confess that I lapsed once or twice in that department. You know--- the Heat Of The Moment and all that crap---but I didn't know the husband and I didn't feel particularly guilty afterward, because I figured that if she was gonna fuck around on her husband, she might as well do it with ME.

I'd show her a good time and I'd keep my mouth shut about it later. What more could a married woman want? Never mind. I learned that lesson the hard way from my bloodless cunt ex-wife.

Anyway, go read a post from another old fart who could teach you young whippersnappers a thing or two.


I can't sleep tonight, so I thought I might ask a cogent question. I've watched about 100 episodes of "Gunsmoke" over the past couple of months. I've seen Matt Dillon kill at LEAST 100 bad guys and rough up a lot of others. I also know that Festus Hagin's mule was named "Ruth."

But I NEVER heard Matt call his horse by name. I learned today that he rode the same mount for 20 years, until it got too old to carry his big ass anymore.
Dennis Weaver talked about "Gunsmoke" on the Western Channel today, and he let the cat out of the bag. I now know what Matt Dillon's horse was named.

Do YOU???

May 04, 2005


I stole this idea from here and here. I've lived long enough to accumulate a bit of worldly wisdom, and I feel that is my civic duty to share some of it with you.

So, here are Acidman's 21 Pieces of Good Advice

1) If it sounds too good to be true, it is.

2) You NEVER get something for nothing in this world. Somebody has to pay.

3) If you never learn to play a musical instrument, you're missing out on one of the greatest pleasures in life.

4) Money isn't everything. Having money is better than being broke, but greed is the ugliest of sins.

5) Never betray a friend. That's a cut that never heals.

6) It's okay to fuck up. Everybody does. Just don't make it a habit to fuck up the same way over and over again. Learn from your mistakes.

7) Love your mama. She's the only one you'll ever have.

8) When you're knocked down, get back up, even when it hurts. Understand that life is going to pound you sometimes and learn to roll with the punches. If the pounding doesn't kill you, it makes you stronger.

9) Don't EVER say, "I love you" if you don't mean it.

10) There is no such thing as free pussy in this world. You're going to pay for it, one way or another.

11) Treat other people the way you want to be treated.

12) Keep your word, but NEVER expect a politician to do the same.

13) Drive in the got-dam right lane if you're not passing somebody. Use turn signals, too.

14) Turn OFF your fucking cell phone in movie theaters, restaurants and churches. Are you really THAT important? You can't go two hours without talking on the phone?

15) If you MUST use a cell phone in your car, pull over and park to do it. If more people HAD to do that, we'd have fewer people talking on cell phones. Those calls suddenly wouldn't be so important.

16) Take shit when you have to, but don't make it a habit. DO NOT take shit when you can stop it.

17) Learn to tell the difference between "friends" and "acquaintences." It doesn't matter whether you slept with them or not. There is a big difference between the two.

18) Be a complete slut in bed. Try it all and never feel guilty about it.

19) Accept responsibility for your own actions.

20) Eat what you like to eat and fuck all the doctors. Drink, smoke and dance with the devil. Who wants to live 100 years being miserable?

21) Read my blog every day. It is witty, well-written and just chock-full of gems such as this post. Trust me. Reading MY blog will make you a better person, not that I'm trolling for traffic or anything.

There. That's MY humble advice.

me, too

I woke up this morning feeling the same way. I was blind for so long...

But I see the light now.


This post reminds me of mine. My mama wasn't a big woman, but she damn sure put the fear of God into me. She whipped my young ass many a time. But I always knew that she loved me.

Tomorrow would be her 76th birthday. I miss you, mama.

one at a time

These stories just keep coming in the news almost every day. We are winning the War on Terror.

I am amused when Osama Bin Laden is referred to as a "mastermind." BWHAHAHAHAAA!!!! He masterminded his entire organization right into the shitter when he finally managed to piss off the United States badly enough to fight back. He never thought we'd do it.

He was mistaken.

Al-Qaida is not the fearsome entity it once was. We've killed or captured a lot of those people and the rest are on the run, living like rats in a sewer, popping up from time to time with a car bomb to kill a few innocent civilians. But they're fighting a lost cause. They've had their asses whipped and we'll get them all, eventually.

One at a time.

Air America

I listened to that tripe for the first time on Sunday, when I took assumed possession of my mama's car. I figured out how to operate the radio and the first station I found was Air America. I listened to it for about an hour as I drove home.

Holy Bejus!

The show I heard featured Bobby Kennedy, Junior, and some other dipstick whose name I don't recall. They lied like flea-bitten dogs with almost everything they said. Did you know that CNN is a tool of the right-wing media? Of COURSE it is! "Everybody knows..."

Whenever you hear a Democrat say "Everybody knows," you can automatically assume that the asswipe is telling you a lie. If everybody knew, the asswipe wouldn't have to raise the issue in the first place. It's like these people took a page out of the Josef Goerbels handbook, which says keep telling a lie long enough and people start to believe it.

That's no way for a political party to survive.

We have a lot of drooling fools in this country, but I don't believe that they are the majority. If that is the kind of people the Democrats are aiming for now with Air America, they are wasting their time and money. They already HAVE the drooling fools voting for them.

But that shit they're pitching on the radio isn't going to convince many people to change sides and join the drooling fools. You can like Rush Limbaugh or not, but he at least treats his audience as adults and runs a tight ship.

Air America is pathetic. If it were a beloved dog, I would have it put to sleep.

looks like a good time

I've read this guy's blog for a while, but I didn't get a chance to meet him or his lovely companion, Anna, until the Georgia Writers Workshop. Anna had red toenails (which I really liked) and she and Georgia compared feet. "What size shoe do you wear, Anna?" Georgia asked.

"I wear a size 42," Anna replied. I almost fell off the sofa laughing and Georgia's jaw dropped. "A SIZE 42???" Georgia screamed. "Your foot is smaller than mine and I wear a size 9." Around here, a size 42 shoe would make a decent crab-boat if you could fit a motor on the back.

We settled that misunderstanding by concluding that European shoe sizes are quite different from their American counterparts. Maybe it's a metric thing, or something like that. Who cares? I don't do math and both wimmen had pretty feet.

But I'll always remember meeting a woman who said she wore a size 42 shoe.

a man

I think I blogged about it before, but it's a good, TRUE story worth telling again. this post reminded me of it.

My father pretty much raised himself and became the youngest section foreman Kentucky had ever seen in a coal mine when he was 23 years old. He did hard work and bossed rough cobs all of his life. He was a hillbilly and he didn't believe in taking shit from anybody.

I was over at the house one day and Dad and I were drinking beer at the kitchen table and talking about all manner of things, when all of a sudden, I saw my father's jaw clench and veins stand out in his neck "Look at THAT," he said.

A big dog was hunkered down taking a righteous shit in my father's front yard. My dad said, "I warned that bastard about that dog. He just don't wanna listen."

With that statement, my father got up from the table, walked to his garage and fetched a shovel. He scooped up the still-steaming dogshit in the yard and went walking down the street. He went to the house where the dog lived and rang the doorbell.

When the door opened, my father said, "I think this belongs to YOU," and he tossed that shovel-full of shit right into their foyer. Then, he turned around and walked back home.

The dog never shit in his yard again.

My daddy had balls.

I don't do math

I was an English major. I don't do math. But here is a formula that makes sense to me.

I'll tell you how I figure out whether clothes are dirty or not. I look for obvious stains and then I SNIFF them. If they don't look bad or smell bad, I conclude that they are fit to wear another day. I don't throw clothes in the washer until they have reached the state of absolutely disgusting.

That's my effort at "Saving the Planet." See? I'm using less electricity, keeping soap out of the groundwater and being GREEN when I don't wash my clothes. I'm not being a nasty slob--- I'm being an ENVIRONMENTALIST.

And don't ask about by underwear. Usually, I don't wear any.


I knew a lot of "bouncers" in my guitar-playing days and I liked most of them. They were big, hefty weight-lifting guys who weren't afraid of a fight. Most nights, they had the best job in the world: check IDs at the door and then just stand around and appear intimidating.

But every now and then, the shit hit the fan. You mix alcohol, flirty wimmen and a pool table in a room full of horny men and trouble finds its way into the equation. A fight sometimes broke out. That's when bouncers had to do their job. And most of the ones I knew were damn good at it.

That's how I learned never to fuck with a bouncer. Like a cop, he's got back-up, and you're a lot better off just leaving the bar rather than starting a ruckus. I've BEEN grabbed by shirt-collar and belt and tossed out of a bar before by a bouncer. It ain't a pleasant experience.

I learn quickly, and I stopped doing that kind of shit a long time ago.

Here's a story about bouncing that brings back some not-so-fond memories to me. I think I would have liked this guy if I played in the bar where he worked.

I knew some other bouncers that LOVED to see a fight break out in a bar so that they could smash somebody's nose and shatter a few ribs. They liked blood. I tried to avoid those guys. They were dangerous. I always figured that a bouncer's job was to break up fights and get the troublemakers out the door--- NOT to damn near kill somebody.

But bouncers are no different from ANY profession. You have your good ones and you have your bad ones.

the code

This guy understands it. Yes, ladies, we men DO have an unspoken code that we live by, especially when it applies to domestic relationships. We say a lot of things among ourselves that we don't want you to hear.

You crazy wimmen will start reading between the lines and fuck up the universe in your hormonal uproar.

Guys watching a Dallas Cowboys football game will drink beer and remark loud and long about the hooters on the cheerleaders. You might even get the occasional, "Sweet Bejus! Look at the ass on THAT one!" and we all look and appreciate what we see.

Put a woman in the room and we all start talking about line blocking, passing percentages and whether or not the offensive coordinator should be fired for making shitty calls on third down. We're all still gawking at the cheerleaders, but we don't talk about it. That would be a violation of the man-code and it might cause a volcanic eruption in the house where you're watching the game.

Most guys understand these rules instinctively. Some guys understand the rules but violate them anyway. They leave a path of destruction in their wake, out of pure selfishness, and I believe that wimmen LIKE IT when those craven bastards break the code. It gives them an "in" that they didn't have before.

And if you don't think they'll wield it like a sword, you don't know most wimmen.

Guys, stick to the code.

if you could read my mind

I would break this machine. Hook ME up to it and I would manage to short-circuit every program it had. I can't even read my OWN mind.

I dream vividly and tumoultously. My subconscious mind is a playful creature and it likes to be turned loose to run free at night. Last night, I dreamed that dimes were falling from the sky and I was finding them everywhere I looked. I kept picking up dimes and sticking them in my pockets until my clothes were bulging. I kept finding more dimes.

I woke up nekkid in bed and realized that I didn't have a small fortune stuffed into my pockets. I didn't even have any pockets.

Why the hell did I dream about THAT? Why dimes? Why not $20 bills? Why not $100 bills? If I'm going to dream about gathering riches for free, my subconscious mind should aim a little higher than a tall stack of dimes.

But that's the kind of stuff my brain does at night.

May 03, 2005

did they charge extra?

This time, it appears that someone really did get the finger along with their food. The guy might not have noticed if he had been eating a burrito. (Who knows WHAT goes into a good burrito?)

But a severed digit kinda stands out in a bowl of custard.

19th century man

I shoulda been a cowboy.

I've watched enough of the "Western Channel" lately to become convinced that I was born after my time. I don't like horses, but if I had been born back then, I would have learned to ride really well. Give me a sidearm, a good rifle, a canteen and a blanket, and I would be ready to go anywhere on my horse.

Life was less complicated in the 19th century. If you didn't like where you were, you just saddled up and rode someplace else. I could do that.

Money went a long way. If you had $30 in your pocket, you were a well-to-do man. You could buy a room, a bath, a whore and a bottle of whiskey and STILL be a well-to-do man the next day, if the whore didn't steal all your money You might be known as "the stranger in town," but if you didn't start any trouble, people left you alone.

Try that today. The government knows everything you do. You must have "ze papers," including a driver's license and a Social Security number. Government keeps track of your bank transactions and they want their cut of that pie. You can't just saddle up and ride to the next town anymore. They'll be watching you.

Oh, I like air conditioning and microwave ovens. Civilization is a good thing. But look at what we sacrificed to get those froo-fraws: Our freedom. Was it worth the trade? I don't think so.

I shoulda been a cowboy.

i don't buy it

Read this post and tell me what YOU think about it. I call bullshit on the entire thing.

I have no doubt in my mind that some US troops have done asshole things in Iraq and Afghanistan. You'll ALWAYS find assholes in any crowd. But I DO NOT believe that breaking coke bottles over civilian's heads is a common practice performed by American troops, nor do I believe that people who do such things go unpunished.

Understand one thing when you read this "testimony" by Aidan Delgado. You'll find disgruntled liars everywhere you go. Most of them are craven people who will do almost anything to make their asses look good, except the job they were paid to do. They are the people who think they make themselves look taller by tearing someone else down.

I've seen 'em all my life, and they never change. I've stepped in better dogshit than the character these people possess. Don't he sound holy and Christ-like in his story? Of COURSE he does, because HE'S telling it. Whatta man.

I don't believe a damn word. I also think he is a coward, a shit-ass, and a Judas in the midst of his fellow troops. I wouldn't want his candy ass in a battle with me. I prefer people with a spine.

Of course, that's just MY humble opinion.

rub me, baby!

I haven't been to a strip club in about four years now, but I DID frequent them in the past. I like looking at nekkid wimmen. I've been known to stuff a few dollars down a garter on a nekkid woman's leg, too. But I've never paid for a "lap dance."

I never saw the value in it--- for the kind of prices the girls ask, I should get more than a tease in MY humble opinion--- but if I wanted one, I damn sure wouldn't charge it on a credit card. If you can't pay cash, you've got no business being there anyway.

Plus, these happy-assed bastards are about to cause a lot of collateral damage in their selfish quest for a buck.

A lawyer for Meekey and Fulmer said the lawsuit may be made a class-action.

That could mean notifying a lot of other men who used credit cards to pay for lap dances in recent years.

And that might not go over very well in some households.

Yeah. Explain that charge to your wife when you were supposed to be in Texas on a business trip. She's gonna smell monkey business and your ass is up shit creek. These guys are breaking the man-code for this kind of thing. What you do in a strip club STAYS in the strip club. You DO NOT hire a fucking lawyer and air everybody's dirty laundry in the quest for a fast and easy dollar.

Those two pricks need to be dragged off and shot. ALONG with their lawyer.

the stare

Some of the comments on my post about Southern Comfort mentioned Yukon Jack, too. I've never tasted Yukon Jack, but I'm pretty sure that it must be a lot like Southern Comfort. You know... one of them sneaky liquors that will ambush you if you're not careful, stab you in the belly and peel the scalp right off your head, leaving you feeling like a dead carcass the next day.

The subject of Yukon Jack came up at the Georgia Writer's Conference. That was one of the few libations we didn't have stocked at the bar in my room. Jim, of parkway rest stop mentioned that he likes to drink at his local VFW bar and some of the regulars in there suck Yukon Jack like mama's milk from a warm titty.

They do that for a couple of hours and develop "The Stare."

Jim described it perfectly. The Stare happens when someone is completely shit-faced but doesn't realize it yet. The eyeballs no longer focus and peripheal vision shrinks to the size of a pin-prick. If you try to talk to them, you become distracted by two things.

First, they seem to be winking at you as they try to figure out if closing one eye makes them see any better. Second, they finally give up on the monocular vision idea and just STARE, with both eyes open and both eyes resembling fresh oysters on the half-shell.

I've seen that stare before. Hell, I've HAD IT MYSELF, just not from Yukon Jack. We had several people develop the stare at the blog-meet late at night. For once in my life, I wasn't one of them.

But you've seen "The Stare," haven't you?

May 02, 2005

pineapple smash?

What would you call this drink? It's good if you like sweet, syrupy libations--- I don't (the taste brings back memories of Southern Comfort), but a lot of other people do.

Rum and pineapple juice, with a splash of grenadine on top. It sure do look pretty. I tried a sip of one at the Georgia Writer's Workshop and I have to admit that it ain't bad. Kelley even posted a picture of one.

What would YOU call it?

southern comfort

I know very few people who DON'T have an entertaining story to tell about getting drunk on Southern Comfort. That stuff is sweet enough to go down like children's cough syrup but strong enough to bring a tall dog to his knees. I can't stand to even SMELL it anymore.

I think I was 18 years old at the time when I and my friends Steve and Ben bribed a black guy in Sandfly, Georgia, to buy us some booze. They got beer. I got a pint of Southern Comfort.

I have only a very dim recollection of what all transpired that night, but I DO remember drinking that entire pint of sweet whiskey. I became as drunk as a barnyard owl. I puked a couple of times. Gravity became my sworn enemy.

Steve had a neat little rec-room in his attic, and we could get there via a ladder in the garage, so we never had to disturb his parents. We decided to spend the night up there, but I had to piss first.

I walked into the back yard, wrapped my arm around one of those old T-Bar clothesline posts and commenced to pee. But I lost my balance, started twirling around that post backward in a counter-clockwise rotation and almost augered myself into the ground before I ended up lying flat on my back and pissing straight up in the air.

I pissed all over myself.

Steve thought it was funny. Ben thought it was funny. Hell, even I thought it was funny at the time. What I DIDN'T think was funny was the fact that I was too drunk to climb the ladder to the attic room by myself and nobody wanted to help me because I was soaking wet with piss.

I finally made it up there somehow and managed a few hours of dream-tossed sleep. I awoke the next morning with The Hangover of the Gods and I smelled like a homeless man marinated in asparagus piss. I managed to crawl back down the ladder and puke a few times in Steve's back yard. That Southern Comfort sure tasted better going down than it did coming back up again.

I didn't do much more than sleep and drink fruit juice for the next two days. I was a sick puppy. I tasted Southern Comfort every time I burped, and that was a lot. I felt as if someone had turned me inside-out and implanted broken glass under my skin. I felt as if I had been wrapped in barbed wire and then rolled down a hill. I was NOT a well man.

I have never experienced the desire to taste that stuff again since that night. Once burnt, twice learnt for me. That was a lesson that hung with me for a long, long time.

Have YOU ever gotten drunk on Southern Comfort?


I may post another Carnival of the Crappers next week. I already have two submissions. If anybody else is interested, just email me a link or send your entire story. I'll put 'em together and post 'em.

You've gotta admit--- crap stories are amusing.

The borg collective

I don't like cell phones. I don't own one and I don't intend to get one, either. But I am thoroughly convinced that some people don't need to eat anymore. They absorb all their vital nutrients via a cell phone pressed to their heads.

For some mysterious reason, people with cell phones suffer uncontrollable urges to CALL people all the time, even when they have nothing to say. It's as if they believe that the thing might go bad if they don't use it constantly.

How did we ever manage to DRIVE before the invention of cell phones? I'll wager that 1/4 of the cars I see on the road today is piloted by someone with a cell phone stuck to his or her ear. Either these people are extremely important, with MUCH important communication to impart, or else they're just in need of nutrients and they have learned to absorb it through their ears.

Plus, I HATE the stupid ringy-dingy things people program into their phones. A simple ring like a real phone or maybe a vibration on my belt would be plenty for me. But that ain't true for others.

How many times have you seen some idiot scrambling frantically to find the cell phone while "Jingle Bells," "London Bridge Is Falling Down" or some cheesy Barry Manilow song blared happily away in some solemn place such as... well, a funeral, for instance.

That sound makes my skin crawl.

I find some encouragement in this story. My only problem is, I want to see a cell phone explode while some babbling, yak-a-holic has it pressed to his ear. I want to see hair, skull fragments, blood and brain matter scattered all over the place when the phone drops from a dead hand on a headless body.

If that scene hit the news a few times, maybe some people wouldn't feel the urgent need to talk on the phone all the time. Maybe the Borg Collective would stop multiplying. Maybe people would start making phone calls ONLY when they had something important to say. Maybe people could learn to hang up and drive.

Fat chance. I believe that cell phones DO cause brain tumors. They damn sure make people crazy to talk on the phone.

i love her even more now

Some people are upset with Laura Bush's speech at the annual White House Correspondents' Association dinner. I'm not. I thought it was a hum-dinger, perfectly in tune with the mood of the evening.

I believe that Laura is a sexy woman, and I know damn good and well that she's no dummy. The fact that she's a pretty good stand-up comic is just another feather in her cap to me.

What offended people? She was too "risque," according to some critics. Those blue-nosed Puritans need to get a life (or else be dragged off and shot). I didn't think the routine was particularly earthy but I DID like the fact that the First Lady pushed the envelope a little. THAT'S what I call a fiesty woman.

"One night, after George went to bed, Lynne Cheney, [Secretary of State] Condi Rice, [Bush adviser] Karen Hughes and I went to Chippendales," she said, referring to a strip club where women tuck cash into male dancers' skimpy thongs. "I wouldn't even mention it except [Supreme Court Justices] Ruth Ginsberg and Sandra Day O'Connor saw us there. I won't tell you what happened, but Lynne's Secret Service code name is now 'Dollar Bill.' "

Heh. That's a good joke because everybody knows it's a whopping lie. Can you imagine the same lines coming from Hillary Clinton when Bill was President? Not so funny. Too close to the truth.

I don't give a damn what the naysayers think. I like Laura Bush.

if a tree falls in the woods...

... and there's nobody around to hear it, it may still make a noise. It just won't result a lawsuit. If the tree falls in a city, however, we have an entirely different situation.

Preparing for his Arbor Day filing, Davis stressed that he isn't faulting the flora. Trees don't kill people; improper maintenance does, he said.

"The thing about it is that I love trees. What I'm promoting is that people take care of trees," he said.

In all of his cases, Davis argues that landowners or public agencies were responsible for preventive tree maintenance.

His first tree settlement came on the third day of a 2003 trial, in which he argued that Caltrans was responsible for a Monterey pine that fell across Highway 1 in San Mateo County, resulting in the death of a motorist.

The $800,000 agreement in that case apparently caught the attention of the tree-afflicted -- since then Davis has had more tree cases than he can handle.

I can see the easiest path for cities to take to avoid such lawsuits: CUT DOWN ALL THE TREES!!! That's a lot less expensive than paying a lawyer every time a bough breaks.

Why aren't environmentalists howling about this crap?

new vehicle

My pickup truck-driving days may be numbered. I assumed ownership of a 2001 Chevrolet Impala yesterday. The car has only 10,000 miles on it and still smells new on the inside. It's never been driven outside the state of Georgia. Hell, it's never been driven outside of Chatham and Effingham counties.

That was my mama's car. It's mine now.

I really don't need a truck anymore, now that I'm no longer hauling supplies for the mini-farm, and that car is a real cherry. My brother suggested that I have it, even though I offered to sell it and split the money with him. But this ain't about money.

When I drove the car home yesterday, I found one of mama's hats in the back seat. She acquired a good collection of ridiculous hats when she was made bald-headed by the chemo treatments before she died. I hung that hat on my living room wall, just as a reminder of the kind of woman my mama was.

Bejus, but I miss her.

I should be delighted with my new car, but somehow I feel dirty for taking it. I didn't want anything mama had. I wanted Mama. But there is a lot of other stuff in the house that she went through before she died and stuck post-it notes on, informing people about who she wanted to have the things. My name is on a lot of that stuff, but I don't have the heart to pick through it now.

Mama saw the end coming and did everything she could to get all of her shit in one sock. I wonder what she was thinking when she put those notes on all those things? Facing death herself, she still tried to keep from inconviencing anybody else.

That was my mama.