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February 28, 2009Michael JacksonOriginally published November 20, 2003 Yeah, I have to post about it. That crap was on the news all day long today. In MY humble opinion, Michael Jackson is a great performer but one of the most fucked-up human beings (if he's even human anymore) on the face of the planet. Look at what the confused bastard has done to himself through plastic surgery over the years. He resembles a goddam ALIEN, for crying out loud. He is a weird dude. He can sing, he can dance and he can entertain. I don't know why he couldn't be happy with those abilities looking just the way he did when he was born. I am not nearly the good-looking guy I was when I was 26 years old. Years of bar-life, shiftwork, hard-drinking and hard-living have taken a toll on me. My hair is gray silver, my beard is the same color and I don't have the same sparkle in my eyes that I did 25 years ago. But I remain pretty much who I was back then. I liked that person then and I like him even better now. I've got faults aplenty, but everyone does. I've kicked up a lot of sand on this blog about sticking to your beliefs and doing what you KNOW is right even when it's not the politically-correct thing to do, and I recently found myself in a situation where I had to live up to my words. I did. A lot was on the line and I never even had to think twice about it. I know who I am. I don't believe that Michael Jackson does. What is it about Michael Jackson that makes him hate himself? I don't understand him. Being a celebrity is a difficult role to play, but that's no excuse for some of the shit that nut-log has pulled. I don't know whether or not he gets his jollies molesting children. He's so fucking weird to begin with that it's difficult to figure where he's coming from. I believe that he MAY be asexual. Plus, child-molestation laws remind me a lot of "spousal abuse" and divorce laws. It's just too goddam easy for someone to make a groundless accusation and then sic the might of the law on you. Even if you are innocent, if you're Michael Jackson, YOU are convicted in the press long before you ever see a courtroom. That crap gives me a queasy feeling. Is he a child-molesting pervert? Possibly. He's obviously as crazy as a shithouse rat. Does THAT FACT make him guilty of molesting children? No, not in my mind. Do I believe that he can get a fair trial? Shit, no. Every news organization in the country had reporters on the ground and helicopters in the sky following his arrest and release today. It was a fucking circus and that crap should happen to NO ONE in this country. I don't care if he is a freak. He still has rights as an American Citizen. His were violated today just because of who he is. If he's guilty, I hope the case is proven and justice throws the book at him. I despise anyone who even thinks about molesting a child. But if he didn't do it, I hope that he is not convicted in the press and public opinion before he ever goes to trial just because he's a weird dude. Weird dudes have rights, too. That's what America is supposed to be about.
February 27, 2009penis, vagina and other sexual objectsOriginally published February 10, 2004 I like having a dick, but I really worship the female body. They are just so different, with unique aromas, smooth skin and very sensual bodies. A good lover who you gives herself to you totally is someone you will remember for a long time. Some wimmen fuck because they feel obligated to pay you for the meal and the drinks you bought. I don't like that. Some wimmen fuck just because they like doing it. I like that just fine, but it's still not what I seek anymore. I like making love, Kissing, intimacy, touching and getting to know what the other person likes is more important to me today. I asked my partner in Jamaca to let me see her nekkid. She got out of bed, did this ballet pirouette and asked me what I thought. I told her that she was beautiful and blessed with one of the finest asses I had ever seen. I don't know if she gave me a coutresy fuck that night or if she really wanted to have sex with me. Either way, the content was fine. We didn't do it again. I told her from the beginning that sex was not a codicil on this trip, and we got along fine that way, even though I did enjoy watchining her brush her teeth nekkid in the bathroom. She's a good-looking woman. I couldn't have picked a better partner. I want to take her back again, when her head is a little more clear. She's been through some shit that lasts for a while. Well, so have I. That crap is not easy to get over. I still feel the knife in my back every day. I believe that she does, too. But someday, I see her doing the nekkid piourette and dancing into my bed with true passion in her veins. Maybe that's a dream I'll never realize. But ii's damn sure one worth chasing, and I will chase it.
February 26, 2009Good answerOriginally published November 21, 2003 In response to my Friday Five, Matt wrote: 4) Name a movie that made you cry (and if you say "I never cried over a movie, you should be dragged off and shot, you heartless shit!) When I was laid up after prostate surgery, my mama gave me a copy of that movie to watch one night. "You'll like this one," she said. I LOVED it. I identified with the coal-mining scenes and I wound up with tears in my eyes and snot running out of my nose at the end of the movie. I recommend that one to ANYONE with half a heart and a faith in the human spirit. And if you DON'T mist up at the end, you need to be dragged off and shot, you heartless shit.
February 25, 2009Interesting ideasOriginally published February 9, 2004 Do you teach your children what to do if they think they are in danger from a stranger? The South is a friendly place and I trust most people I meet around here. But you never know. I taught my daughter never to get into a car with someone she didn't know, even if the person said I sent him to pick her up. Sam had one hell of a scream and I told her to use it if she thought she might be in trouble. Kidnappers want compliant victims who don't make any noise and don't attract any attention. That's why you pitch the biggest fucking hissy-fit you can create if you find yourself in that situation. SCREAM YOUR ASS OFF. People tend to notice that kind of behavior and that's the last thing a kidnapper wants. Besides, Samantha might have whipped his ass. She was a mean one. We raise too many docile children today. They are taught "Zero Tolerance" in school and they emerge ill-prepared to deal with a world where people don't play by those rules. We're killing our kids with this shit. Teach 'em to fight. Quinton is 10 years-old and I leave a lot of slack in his chain. He nuts-up every now and then the way 10 year-olds do, but he's a pretty responsible young man. And my trolls can get as pissed as they want to be, but I have watched Quinton and Jack out the back door many a time and realized immediately that they were about to fuck up. I could have gone and stopped them, but I didn't. I let them fuck up first, then busted their asses for doing it. The "DO you know what you just did?" speech is always better than "Do you boys know what could have happened?" I pity the sumbitch who ever tries to kidnap Quinton. Quinton, grab HIM, then start screaming, kicking and biting, maybe gouging an eyeball if you get a chance, and yelling "HELP! STRANGER!" at the top of your lungs. If that ever happens in the Super Wal-Mart, they'll haul that kidnapping bastard out of there on a spatula. 90 year-old grandmothers will be bouncing cans of pork and beans off his head and the South Effingham County football team just might be there doing charity work. They'll show him a gang-tackle. And there just might be four or five people like me, who reach into pockets and holsters and point loaded firearms at the rat. "You football players get out of the way. We've got him now, and he'll be here or he'll be dead when the police arrive. Somebody call 911 and tell the police to come get this piece of shit right now. And YOU, asshole! You lay face-down on the floor with your hands extended as far out in front of you as you can get them. You so much as sneeze before the cops get here and I'll blow your fucking brains out. Understand?" "Let's just shoot him anyway." "That's a good idea, but I say we wait for the cops unless the fucker tries an escape. THEN we ALL shoot him." "I ain't goin' nowhere, fellows. Ya got me. Now just get that cop car here as fast as you can before I sneeze." Don't raise docile children. And learn to carry a handgun.
February 24, 2009Another tackOriginally published November 21, 2003 Life is like a sailboat. The wind blows you places you never intended to go. I spent some time reading my archives today. This blog has changed a lot since the day I started it. I didn't know what I was doing when I began and I STILL don't know what I'm doing today. I just write and I believe that I do my best blogging when I stick to the basics and don't try to copy anyone else. I don't market my blog. I don't go out of my way to attract visitors or links. I simply cram lots of notes in bottles and throw them into the ocean every day. People find those things and they like them. I am pleased by that fact. I never wanted to be an unread blogger. But who finds me and when they do all depends on the wind. I have my son this weekend and we're going to adopt a puppy. I'll allow Quinton to pick out the one he wants (with certain fatherly restrictions) and we'll bring the little sucker home and love all over him. Quinton will go back to his mama's house at 6:00 on Sunday and I'll be stuck with the dog. That's okay. I WANT a dog. I want a lot more than I have now. I'm not talking about material things, because I have more of those than I know what to do with. I want a dog who loves me and believes that he's taking care of ME, even though I feed and water him every day. I want a dog who wags his tail when he sees me and barks at strangers. I want a dog who loves Quinton as much as I do. I want a companion. I would try for a woman, but they are not nearly as reliable as a dog. I trust a dog that loves me. A dog never broke my heart.
February 23, 2009Guys do things wimmen don'tOriginally published February 9, 2004 Guys piss outdoors a lot. We're built with the right equipment and we like to air that thing out over a big fire-ant mound every now and then. It sure pisses the ants off. Wimmen have feminine bathrooms where they all go to congregate in a gaggle as soon as they hit a restaurant. Guys shit side-by-side in the woods and share a roll of toilet paper. Wimmen don't know a pissant from a sugar ant. Pissants are large, orange ants who dig small holes all over the place. They'll leave you alone if you leave them alone. Sugar ants operate in armies. They are small and black, but those bastards will form a marching line that reaches 100 yards if they find something they like to eat. You'll see one line going to fetch and one line returning with the goodies. I've seen thousands of them at work and they negotiate their routes better than drivers on Highway 21. They are not aggressive, but they are ravenous. If they make a trail into your house, you have to kill them all to get rid of them. I use Raid for a quick body-count, but 5% Borax works, too. Fire ants are small and red and they build huge mounds populated by millions of ants. They are aggressive bastards and kill several people every year by biting them a billion times or so. I've been chewed more times than I can remember by the sneaky shits, and if you get a bunch on you all over at once, you'll roll on the ground like a dog trying to pass a peach seed. The bites hurt and they leave tiny, white blisters in their wake. Pop the blister and you still end up with a red welt that will itch for three days. Get about 50 on you at one time. You'll never forget fire ants again. I use grits and Amdro to wipe out the mounds. Grits do kill them because the ants eat them dry, then drink water and swell up to explode. Amdro just moves the mound around. Put Amdro on a fire ant mound and the mound dies. Three other smaller ones pop up nearby. I spend every summer in a contest with my neighbor seeing who can run the most ants into the other person's yard. We usually battle to a tie. "No see-em's" are sand gnats. They are nothing but flying teeth and they will eat you up given the opportunity. They are no bigger than a pinhead, but they swarm in droves and can drink their weight in blood. They live in the sand, then emerge when they feel the vibration of prey walking the soil. DEET won't deter those fuckers. Avon's Skin So Soft is the only thing I've ever found that will keep those pests away. Avon sells a gang of that concoction every spring down here, and nobody uses it for anything but insect repellent. What's the difference between a roach and a palmetto bug? If your child were going to be bitten by a poisonious spider, would you rather it be a Brown Recluse or a Black Widow? What poisionous snake bites more people every year than any other? (Good news: the victim almost never dies. But kill the snake and take it to the doctor anyway.) How can you tell how old a rattlesnake is? It's not a good idea to take a menstruating woman camping. Speaking of camping, there is so such thing as having too much whiskey, too much firewood or too much toilet paper on a camping trip.
February 22, 2009MJ (Pt. 2)Originally published November 21, 2003 More on Michael Jackson. Several times here in the Crackerbox, Quinton, Jack and I have watched a movie in my bed and we all three fell asleep before it was finished. I woke up more than once with two young boys in my bed. Is THAT perverted, or what? I usually woke up because the two little shits toss and turn and kick all night, which makes sleeping impossible. I usually ended up on the couch while I allowed them to mug each other in their sleep. Bejus! Fall asleep watching The Lion King and wake up in the middle of the night with one little boy's foot in your face and another one kicking your ass. That experience didn't make me horny. It drove me to go sleep on the couch. Sometimes, Quinton has bad dreams and he'll crawl as silently as he can into bed with me. I always hear him coming, so I roll over and put my arms around him. He is no longer afraid when I do that. He knows that he's safe with me. I keep the boogie-man away. He sees me as a PROTECTOR, not a molester. I don't know about Michael Jackson, but I am guilty as sin of sleeping with young boys. I've done it many a time and I may do it again this weekend. I'm not as crazy as he is, but maybe.... just MAYBE... he does it for the same reason I do. It makes them feel comfortable.
February 21, 2009Last shotOriginally published February 8, 2004 I had prostate surgery on Tuesday, July 9th, 2001. I was impotenet for the next 19 months. Sunday night, I rented a motel room and called an ecscort service. I asked them to send two wimmen to my room for two hours. Once we settled on a price, they were on their way. That was my go out in a blaze of glory night. They did anything I asked them to do and they were "friendly" with themselves, too. I told them that I was probably going to lose Roscoe, so I asked for an honest appraisal from wimmen who see a lot of dicks. "What do you think of my dick?" I asked. Caren said, "It's a beautiful dick. One of the best I've ever seen" "There ain't no tip in this, girls. Just tell me truth. I'm going to lose this dick in two days. Is it any good or not.?" Nancy did a full examination, with everything but 8X10 glossy photos attached. "You have a nice cock that's over 8" long. But your cock is long and skinny. If you had some girth to go with the length, you wouid be hell on wheels. I like the fact that you're not circumsised. Unclipped cocks are more fun to play with. Like this," and Nancy proceeded to play. I got my money's worth and sent both girls away happy (I tipped Nancy $10 for reminding me that I had a long, skinny cock with no serious girth. At least she was honest). After the girls left, I remember looking down at my cock and KNOWING that I would never have another night like that one. I never have, either. I still think about Nancy, however, because when I asked her that cock question, she took it seriously. She told me that night that on a scale on one-to-ten, my cock was a serious eight and one-half. I lost all the original Roscoe two days later. I spent 19 months totally impotent and wondering if I wanted to live in the shape I was in. I did a lot of deep thinking back then. I met a woman who didn't mind that I couldn't fuck. ""I don't care if your dick works. Feed me, talk to me and sleep with me. I've been fucked enough for one life. Just sleep with me tonight.' Do you know what I could do tonight? Call Nancy for a re-inspection.
February 20, 2009My answersOriginally published November 21, 2003 1) Have you ever done anything in your life that you REALLY wished you could take back? If so, what was it? I have several of those crossroads in my life where I turned the wrong way. I look back now and I realize that maybe everything worked out well in spite of my poor choices. My gut instinct is to answer this question by saying that I would have thrown Jennifer's phone number away the day she gave it to me and NEVER called her if I knew then where that relationship would lead. But if I had done that, I wouldn't have Quinton today. I wouldn't be retired at the age of 51. She fucked me over like a pro, but I came out of it okay. I have no regrets other than not spending more time with my father before he died. 2) Have you ever been in a situation where you had to choose between your principles and your income? How did you handle that decision? I stuck with my beliefs every time. That hard-headed attitude has cost me a lot over the years, but that's just the way I am. I will not whore myself for anyone, and lost money is a small price to pay for being able to look at myself in the mirror every day and feel no shame. 3) Did you ever do something knowing full well at the time that it was wrong? If so, why did you do it? I put an M-80 firecracker in a mailbox one night when I was drinking beer with friends. I KNEW that I was committing an act of vandalism at the time, but I did it anyway. I wanted to impress my friends with my derring-do. I have regretted that act ever since. 4) Name a movie that made you cry (and if you say "I never cried over a movie, you should be dragged off and shot, you heartless shit!) Good grief. Acidman hates to confess this fact, but I am notorious for weeping over sappy movies. October Sky got me. So did Saving Private Ryan. I still cry when I see Shane or Old Yeller. I don't want to talk about this shit any more. I need to go blow my nose. 5) Name three things in your life that you feel OBLIGATED to do that you WOULD NOT DO if you didn't feel that sense of obligation. I pay child support to a woman who does not use the money to support my child. I HATE paying her for being a bloodless cunt. I pay taxes that the government pisses away. I HATE paying a government that seems to be intent on taking away my freedom while using MY MONEY to accomplish the task. I once awoke at 4:00 in the morning every day and went to work. I did that NOT because I wanted to, but because I felt OBLIGATED to do it. I see now where that sense of obligation got me. Fuck it. I'm not doing that any more. Okay, you have my answers.
February 19, 2009More on the SouthOriginally published February 8, 2004 * What's the difference between a pissant, a fire and and a sugar ant? * What is a genuine "No see-em?" What's the only potion that will keep those flying teeth from eating you alive? * How do you tell the difference between a King snake and a coral snake? *The Coral snake is the only actual asp in the Notrthern hemishpere, and it will kill you dead if one bites you. Study the color of his stripes, because he looks a lot like a king snake. (Yellow on red, kill you dead. Black on yellow, friendly fellow) Only the stripes are different. I've had corals crawl all over me in the woods, but they have small mouths and they can hit you only between the fingers or someplace easy to get to. I've picked up coral snakes and tossed them down the mountain many a time. I've never killed a King Snake. I ran through a passel of copperheads and rattlesnakes. That's when I bought the snakeshot and the silent bullets. The best thing I know to shoot a snake with now is my .410 shotgun. That's a head remover. But when I saw that fat 5-foot rattler sunning on my porch I went for the .12 guage that day. That was a fat, mean-looking rascal. I got him with one shot, but I had to position his ass first. That wasn't easy because I made him all pissed off when I hooked him with the golf ball retriever and tossed him out in the yard. He made a run for the woods after that, but he wasn't quick enough. I blew his head off and buried him right where he died. At least I could see him. Shit. Knock a golf ball into the palmetto flat rough on a golf course. Take two steps in there looking for the ball and listen to the noise you hear. Okay, snakes keep the ball and I take a drop. I don't mind killing snakes when I can see them. But they sound like a pack of locusts in a paletto flat. You can't tell how close they are, how big they are or where they're coming from. You back you ass out of there and give up the ball. Oh, I have snake stories I could tell.
February 18, 2009Thinking about dogsOriginally published November 21, 2003 Have you ever held a dog and petted it while the vet put it down? I have, four times. The needle goes in, the doc squeezes the and the dog lets out a sigh. Then, it's all over. Lights out. Goodbye. Every time I did that, I made it out of the vet's office to my truck, where I sat behind the steering wheel and cried like a baby. Goddam! That's a tough thing to do when you love the dog like a member of the family. But when it's sick, it can't eat anymore and it's in pain all the time, you have to do the humane act. If you really love the dog, you'll do right by it and let it out of its misery. I wish that we treated people the same way. Quinton and I are going to adopt a dog tomorrow. At my age, if I pick a hardy pup, he and I may last about the same number of years. I don't want to put down another dog in my life. That shit is just too painful, even if it is the right thing to do. If I play my cards right, my new dog and I will become old farts together. He ages seven years for evey one of mine, so he'll catch up to me fast. We can sit together in our old age and growl at the world even if we don't have all our teeth anymore. I'll pet his head and he can wag his tail. We'll be best of friends. I want that.
February 17, 2009The SouthOriginally published February 8, 2004 If you are going to live, or visit in the South, you need to know the rules. In an effort to help outsiders understand the rules of the Southerner's mind, the 1. That farm boy you see at the gas station did more work before breakfast than you do all week at the gym.
3. The red dirt - it's called clay. Red clay. If you like the color don't wash your car for a couple weeks - it'll be permanent. 4. We all started hunting and fishing when we were seven years old. Yeah, we saw Bambi. We got over it. 5. Go ahead and bring your $600 Orvis Fly Rod. Don't cry to us if a flathead breaks it off at the handle. We have a name for those little 13-inch trout you fish 7. Pull your pants up. You look like an idiot. 8. If that cell phone rings while a bunch of mallards are making their final approach, we will shoot it. You might want to ensure it's not up to your ear at the time. 9. No, there's no "Vegetarian Special" on the menu. Order steak. Order it rare. Or, you can order the Chef's Salad and pick off the two pounds of ham and 10. Tea - yeah, we have tea. It comes in a glass over ice and is sweet. You want it hot - sit it in the sun. You want it unsweetened - add a lot of water. 11. You bring Coke into my house, it better be brown, wet, and served over ice. 12. So you have a sixty thousand-dollar car. We're real impressed. We have a quarter of a million-dollar combine that we only use two weeks a year. 13. Let's get this straight. We have one stoplight in town. We stop when it's red. We may even stop when it's yellow. 14. We eat dinner together with our families. We pray before we eat (yeah, even breakfast). We go to church on Wednesdays and Sundays and we go to high school football games on Friday nights. We still address our seniors with "yes, sir" and "yes, ma'am," and we sometimes still take Sunday drives around town to see friends and neighbors. 15. We don't do "hurry up" well. 16. Greens - yeah, we have greens, but you don't put salt on them. You boil them with salty fatback, bacon or a ham hock. 17. Yeah, we eat catfish, bass, bream and carp. You really want sushi and caviar? It's available at the bait shop. 18. They are pigs. That's what they smell like. Get over it. Don't like it? Interstate 65 goes two ways - Interstate 40 goes the other two. Pick one. 19. Grits are corn. You put butter, salt, and maybe even some pepper on them. If you want to put milk and sugar on them, then you want cream of wheat - go to Kansas. That would be I-40 West. 20. The "Opener" refers to the first day of deer season or dove season. Both are holidays. You can get pancakes, cane syrup, and sausage before daylight at 21. So every person in every pickup waves? Yeah, it's called being friendly. Understand the concept? 22. Yeah, we have golf courses. Don't hit in the water hazards. It spooks the fish and bothers the gators. and if you hit it in the rough, we have these things
24. We have lots of pine trees. They have sap. It drips from them. You park your Navigator under them, and they'll leave a logo on your hood. 25. You burn an American flag in our state, you get beat up. No questions. The liberal contingent of our state legislature - all four of them enacted a measure (Thanks to Joanne Griffin for the link) I like publishing these Southernisms I get in my email because I believe that I live in one of the most unique areas of the country. We have out own language, our own pace of life and our own scale of measurments that don't apply anywhere else in the country. "Got-Dam! It's colder'n a well-digger's ass out here today. Let's just say "fuck this" and go drink some beer. We got a lot more than a cunt-hair to go to finish that well. It'll still be waiting tomorrow. Let's go see Henry and see if he wants to get drunk." "Henry always wants to get drunk." "Then that's a damn fine reason to go visit. Hop in the truck, pissant." That's how we don't finish the well and end up drunk at Henry's that day.
February 16, 2009I rememberOriginally published November 22, 2003 40 years ago, I was eleven years old and in sixth grade. About 1:30 that afternoon, an announcement came over the school intercom saying that the President had been shot by a sniper and class was dismissed for the day. I remember a girl named Cheryl Cannady clapping her hands and saying, "Goody, goody," as she jumped up and down. I never knew whether she was delighted by the fact Kennedy was shot or she was simply happy about getting out of school early that day. Either way, I still recall thinking that her reaction to the news was a poor one. I could see my back yard from my classroom at Hesse Elementary School. I didn't have to wait for the school buses to arrive early that day. I walked home. I entered my house through the back door the way I always did when I walked home from school. I saw my mama in the living room. She was ironing clothes and watching Walter Cronkite on television. She had tears streaming down her face. I will always remember that image. My mama, crying because the President was dead, but still ironing clothes. I stayed in front of the television most of that weekend. I was watching the TV when Jack Ruby shot Lee Oswald. I watched the President's funeral. I listened to the bugler blow the bad note when he played "Taps" that day. I knew that I was seeing an important part of American history playing out before me and I watched it unfold as an 11 year-old boy. I still remember ALL of it to this day. Yeah. I know exactly where I was and what I was doing on November 22, 1963.
February 15, 2009I am out of my mindOriginally published November 22, 2003 Quinton and I picked out a dog from the Effingham County animal shelter today. We're going to name HER "Oddball." She's a one year-old mixed breed dog that took up with Quinton right away, as soon as we walked into the place. She's already been spayed and she's friendly as hell. Oddball is black, with white stockings on all four feet and a white stripe down the center of her head that runs from the back of her neck to the tip of her nose. Quinton saw that stripe and said, "I want THIS ONE, daddy. She reminds me of Harry Potter," while the dog crawled and licked all over him. I wanted a male dog, but Oddball seems to be a good choice after careful evaluation. I can't pick up the dog until Monday. The animal shelter is right next to the County Prison and everybody in the place today wore white pants with big, blue stripes down both legs. The guy who showed me the dogs was a prisoner and he said that nobody who was in charge of "the paperwork" would be at the shelter today. I asked him to call someone, because I wanted the dog today, but he wouldn't do it. "I might get in trouble," he said. I looked at him, looked at those white pants with the blue stripes down both legs and said, "That's okay. I'll pick up the dog on Monday." Quinton was disappointed, but I'll be the first person at the shelter on Monday morning to get that dog. Oddball looks like a good 'un. We went to Wal-Mart after that to buy a kicking tee for Quinton to practice with. The sporting goods are right over there next to the gun cabinets, so I simply HAD to walk by and see what they had. They had a single-shot, bolt-action .22 rifle for $99 and I bought that rascal. It's EXACTLY like the first .22 I ever shot and I've been promising myself for years that I would buy one some day. I did that today. I'll pick it up on Monday, too. So, I have a new dog and another gun to fetch on Monday. If I made a bad choice on the dog, I suppose that I can shoot it with my new rifle.
February 14, 2009PretendingOriginally published February 7, 2004 I've often believed that I could be a good actor. Spend six years on stage playing solo. then supervise people for 24 years. Don't tell me you don't learn to act. But I never wanted to be a leading man. I wanted the play the Dennis Hopper role or some kind of super-villian. You know, a really over-the-top, chew the carpet, drool and slool part. I could do that. I could do Tim Roth, too. But I can see the future of my acting career. I'll auditon forever, until I finally win the role of "The Guy With The Cigarette." I get to dress really cool, like some sexually confused metrosexual. I ask the cop behind the crime tape for a light. He takes a lit cigarette from his mouth. crushes it under his boot and tells me to fuck myself if I don't die of terminal dumbass, first. I have a speaking line. "I guess that's a 'no' to the light, huh?" Over the next couple of weeks, I'm filming "Vampire Wimmen of the Forest" Jack and Quinion get to be the heroes, complete with wooden stakes, but I get bitten in the neck by young vampire wimmen several times in the film. Hell, I wrote it, so I can be bitten all I want. Right now I need a silver-haired professorial type to play Van Helsing (I'm not old enough for that role yet), Christopher Reeve to play Dracula and Nicole Kidman to give the the last bite while she wears nothing but red toenail polish in the woods. I think the movie is a winner.
February 13, 2009I laughed out loudOriginally published November 22, 2003 This post about life may contain the best Southern statement I ever heard. The entire post is good. Figure out the Southern quote.
February 12, 2009Making money at bloggingOriginally published February 7, 2004 I don't ask for tips off ads for any cash on my blog. I do what I do for free. I don't want your fucking money. I've SENT money to other bloggers because I appreciate their work, but I don't panhandle. Wanna make me rich? All almost 700,000 of you unique visititors send a dollar the the American Diabetes Association. That'll make a noise if you say it came from Acidman. I've been flat-assed broke and nigger-rich. I enjoyed the rich part better, but I have to asdmit that money has never motivated me in life. Money is a token, a way to keep score, and it ain't worth a damn until you spend it. Now that I am unemployed, I may have to change my tune amd beg for money on the side walk. I'm a long way from that point yet, but I'm already coming up with some ideas. A "BITE ME" tee-shirt. A coffee cup that says "Bloody Mary" on the front. An addreess to some real geek who bails you out of shit just because you ask him to and he asks no favors for the work. I want to print cards and send them off to ask ME what to do when my computer fucks up. I'll Respond by "Talk to my my geek. Because I'm reallly no good at this shit. The geek always comes through for me, and he does it only becaue he likes me He ain't in it for the money, either.
February 11, 2009I've been busy todayOriginally published November 23, 2003 Quinton and I had lots of things to do today, so I didn't blog. I'll just post something Catfish sent me via email: BLUENECKS Blue Necks are Northerners -- the opposite of Rednecks. Because of Redneck jokes, here are some takes on how Southern folks look at Northerners (or how Northerners sometimes think of themselves;) YOU JUST MIGHT BE A BLUENECK IF... ...Instead of referring to two or more people as "Y'all," you call them "you guys," even if both of them are women. ...You think barbecue is a verb meaning "to cook outside." ...You think Heinz Ketchup is really SPICY. ...You would never stop to buy something somebody was cooking on the side of the road. (e.g., boiled peanuts) . ...You don't have any problems pronouncing "Worcestershire sauce" correctly. ...For breakfast, you would prefer potatoes-au-gratin to grits. ...You don't know what a moon pie is. ...You've never had an RC Cola. ...You've never, ever eaten okra -- fried, boiled, or pickled. ...You eat fried chicken with a knife and fork. ...You've never seen a live chicken, and the only cows you've seen are on road trips. ...You have no idea what a polecat is. ...You don't see anything wrong with putting a sweater on your dog. ...You don't have bangs. ...You would rather have your son become a lawyer than grow up to get his own TV fishing show. ...You drink either "Pop" or "Soda"- instead of "Cokes." ...You've never eaten and don't know how to make a tomato sandwich. ....You have never planned your summer vacation around a gun-'n-knife show. ...You think more money should go to important scientific research at your university than to pay the salary of the head football coach ...You don't even have one can of WD-40 somewhere around the house. ...The last time you smiled was when you blocked someone from getting on an on-ramp to the highway. ....You don't have any hats in your closet that advertise feed stores. ...You have more than one professional sports team in your home state. ...You call binoculars opera glasses. ...You can't spit out the car window without pulling over to the side of the road and stopping. ...You don't know anyone with at least two first names (i.e., Joe Bob, Faye Ellen, Billy Ray, Mary Jo, Bubba Dean, Joe Dan, Mary Alice) ...You don't know any women with male names (i.e., Tommie, Bobbie, Johnnie, Jimmie) ...You don't have Maw-maw's & Pawpaw's. ...You get freaked out when people on the subway talk to you. ...None of your fur coats are homemade.
February 10, 2009LeadershipOriginally published February 6, 2004 I became a leader by accident. I was the dumbass standing there with a thumb up my ass when I realized that nobody else in that room intended to make a decision. Keep that thumb up your ass, call a discussion, do group hug and hope desperately that eveything solves itself. That's when an asshole like me exracts the thumb and starts giving orders. People follow them because nobody else has the balls to GIVE then. Somebody has got to do something when no one else will. I don't allways follow procedure, either, but I get the fucking job done. Coprotate weenies write about procesdure they've never seen. They wear coats and ties and dream about a work world they'll never know because they don't WANY to know it. The want to live in the Tower of Power and play politics. I spent 24 years doing the real deal. They don't have a swinging dick in that plant who knows more than I do about runniing that heartless bastard. But they've got some fine ass-kissers. I couldn't name more than three who would amount to a pimple on my ass.
February 09, 2009True loveOriginally published November 23, 2003 I love my son. I love him with all my heart and soul. I have been called a "hopeless romantic" before by more than one person in my life, but I'll wear that title proudly until the day I die. I simply wish that more people in this world WERE hopeless romantics. The world would be a better place because of them. I enjoyed this weekend. Have you ever watched your child sleep? Have you ever just LOOKED at him and thought about what a fine chunk of young manhood he is? Look at that tousled hair, those special ears and that one bare foot hanging off the edge of the bed. Listen to the sounds he makes in his sleep. Tuck that bare foot under the covers and kiss him goodnight even though he never knows that you're there. Then, go to your own bed feeling proud of one damn good thing you did in your life.
February 08, 2009I don't expect the world to be a peaceful placeOriginally https://www.gutrumbles.com/archives/005816.php February 5, 2004 The very first story in the Bible after the creation is a murder. Cain killed Abel. That's not going to stop. Just look at the number of despots still operating and the bullshit happening in Iraq today. When I had my layover in the Atlanta airport, I stopped in a bar that have five guys obviously heaed back to Iraq. I called the waitress over to my barstoll and said, "Let me buy those guys lunch and throw in extra beer on the tab, too. Put it all on me." She explained the situation the the young men and one of them came over to thank me. "You don't look old enough for that beer I bought you," I said. "I'm 23 sir, and my buddies wanted me to thank you for your generosity." He was a handsome black man making his second trip over there. "Who are you with?" I asked. "Third infantry. I drive a tank." "UURRAH! I said. "Fort Stewart in Hinesville. You guys are my homies. You fuckers almost ran over me one night, then shelled me halfway down the road. Scared the shit out of me. Just watch your asses and get home safely. Go for the enemy next time." "Thanks again for the meal. sir. We'll be back on MREs soon enough." "The meal was my pleasure. You guys are fighting for my son over there. Picking up that kind of tab makes me proud." "Sir, it is difficult in desert uniform to buy a goddam thing in this airport. If someone doesn't pick up the tab, the bar does. I am amazed." "Don't be, my friend. You've got a lot of support behind you. Drive the shit out of that tank and watch your ass." We shook hands and all his buddies dropped by to say hello, too. I fed them hamburgers and beer, then sent them off to war. I hope they all make it back safe and sound. They were strong, young men trained for battle. My soul went with them.
February 07, 2009About "bluenecks"Originally published November 23, 2003 Jennifer and I once went camping one weekend and we took three young ladies with us. My daughter Samantha, Jennifer's niece Nichole and their friend Jessica rounded out the crew. I had three girls around the age of ten, all with boy's names. Sam, Nick, and Jessie. Go figure. We didn't just call them by those names on the camping trip. We called them by those names all the time. My daughter has ALWAYS been "Sam" to me since the day she was born. Nichole was ALWAYS "Nick." Jessica was ALWAYS "Jessie." They are all three beautiful, grown-up wimmen now, but if I see them again tomorrow, they'll be Sam, Nick and Jessie to me. Maybe that's just a Southern thing.
February 06, 2009My new neighborOriginally published February 6, 2004 His name is Larry and he's a nice guy. He dropped by about 1:00 yesterday to see if I had a cold beer to drink. I gave him one. I was walking around in a bathrobe and Larry noticed something right away. "Got-Dam!" he said. "You've had hard-on since I walked in the door. Do I excite you, or are you just blessed?" "I have a bionic dick," I explained. "It's a man-made piece of modern medical miracle. But the implants aren't soft enough for the thing to go completely down yet, so I wear a semi-boner all the time." "Shit. I can't even grow a semi-boner and you can't get rid of yours. Life just sucks." I don't want to get rid of mine. But life does suck.
February 05, 2009Gigantic pain in the assOriginally published November 24, 2003  I've never bought a firearm from Wal-Mart before and I never will again. I spent an hour and a half in the store this morning to pick up a .22 rifle. I arrived at 8:00 this morning. I went through the pet department first and loaded a buggy with dog food (lamb and rice-- nothing but the BEST for MY dog), food and water bowls and a nice bed for the dog to sleep in. I picked out a fluffy blanket to line the bed with. Then, I went to the gun counter to pick up my new rifle. That dumbass background check paperwork had come through and all was in order. (Have you filled out a Georgia form lately? WTF does ANYBODY think that thing is worth? "Are you a convicted felon?" "Have you stopped beating your wife?" "Do you intend to buy this gun to declare war against the United States?" "Are you a space alien?" Pure bullshit.) Why is it that a cop can pull my truck over on the side of the road in Oliver, Georgia and radio my license plate number to Command Central and know every bit of that shit in less than five minutes? Why does that dumbass form take two or three days to be approved? Brady Law, my ass. But... I digress. "Edith" was working the gun counter this morning, as I discovered after I spent 20 minutes tracking somebody down to wait on me. I introduced myself and explained that I had picked out a .22 rifle on Saturday and I wanted to buy it this morning. She found the paperwork, asked for my driver's license, checked the paperwork three times, then went to "the gun room" to fetch my rifle. I waited. And I waited. And I waited some more. Edith finally came back with the rifle, checked the serial number, recorded it on the paperwork and then pulled out a big, rubber stamp and ink pad to put Bejus-knows-what kind of official seal on the paper. This entire operation was taking entirely too long to suit me. "Can I just pay for the gun and get a box of 550 of those Winchester .22 long rounds back there to go with it?" I asked. "I'll be out of your hair right away." But, NOOOoooo. Under Wal-Mart rules, Edith can't sell me the rifle. She requires a manager with a special key to make the cash register work to complete a gun sale. She pages a manager. We wait. And wait. Then, we wait some more. Finally, a manager arrives. He appears to be about 19 fucking years old. He goes over all the paperwork Edith already went over three times, then he pulls out some kind of template to lay over to form to make extra-sure that's he's missing NOTHING. This exercise takes about another 15 minutes. Finally, I am authorized, sanctified, blessed by every Power That Exists and allowed to pay for the rifle and the ammo. But I can't just throw the gun and the ammo in the buggy with the dog food and the dog bed and the food and water bowls and the fuzzy blanket and go on my merry way. Oh, NOOOoooo! The MANAGER HIMSELF has to CARRY THAT RIFLE OUT THE FRONT DOOR OF THE STORE and then hand it to me on the sidewalk outside. Goddam! What kind of shit is that? If I were going to rob the place, I damn sure wouldn't try it with a single-shot, bolt-action .22 rifle that I JUST BOUGHT IN THE FUCKING STORE. Give me a break. I had to leave the doggie stuff in the buggy and I was so pissed off by then that I didn't go back inside to retrieve it. I came home to simmer down a little bit. I don't have to put up with that shit at Mack's Gun Shop. There, you pick your piece, and if the paperwork is approved, you pay the man and walk out. Easy as pie. The only reason I bought that rifle to begin with was because I happened to be in Wal-Mart shopping for a kicking tee for Quinton. If I had known what I was in for, I never would have looked at ANY guns while I was there. I'll never do it again.
February 04, 2009I'm a chitlin. Makes sense for Gut RumblesOrigianlly published February 6, 2004 What's Your "Southern" Sign? Some of us (especially Southerners) are pretty skeptical of horoscopes, and it has become obvious that what we need are "Southern" symbols: OKRA (Dec 22 - Jan 20) Although you appear crude, you are actually very slick on the inside. Okras have tremendous influence. An older Okra can look back over his life and see the seeds of his influence everywhere. Stay away from Moon Pies. CHITLIN (Jan 21 - Feb 19) Chitlins come from humble backgrounds. A chitlin, however, can make something of himself if he's motivated and has lots of seasoning. In dealing with Chitlins, be careful. They can erupt like Vesuvius. Chitlins are best with Catfish and Okra. BOLL WEEVIL (Feb 20 - Mar 20) You have an overwhelming curiosity. You're unsatisfied with the surface of things, and you feel the need to bore deep into the interior of everything. Needless to say, you are very intense and driven as if you had some inner hunger. Nobody in their right mind is going to marry you, so don't worry about it. MOON PIE (Mar 21 - Apr 20) You're the type that spends a lot of time on the front porch. It's a cinch to recognize the physical appearance of Moon Pies. Big and round are the key words here. This might be the year to think about aerobics. Or - maybe not. POSSUM (Apr 21 - May 21) When confronted with life's difficulties, possums have a marked tendency to withdraw and develop a don't-bother-me-about-it attitude. Sometimes you become so withdrawn, people actually think you're dead. This strategy is probably not really healthy, but seems to work for you. One day, however, it won't work and you may find your problems actually running you over. CRAWFISH (May 22 - June 21) Crawfish is a water sign. If you work in an office, you're always hanging around the water cooler. Crawfish prefer the beach to the mountains, the pool to the golf course, the bathtub to the living room. You tend to be not particularly attractive physically, but you have a very, very good head. COLLARDS (June 22 - July 23) Collards have a genius for communication. They love to get in the "melting pot" of life and share their essence with the essence of those around them.. Collards make good social workers, psychologists, and baseball managers. As far as your personal life goes, if you are Collards, stay away from Moon Pies. It just won't work. Save yourself a lot of heartache. CATFISH (July 24 - Aug 23) Catfish are traditionalists in matters of the heart, although one's whiskers may cause problems for loved ones. You catfish are never easy people to understand. You prefer the muddy bottoms to the clear surface of life. Above all else, Catfish should stay away from Moon Pies. GRITS (Aug 24 - Sept 23) Your highest aim is to be with others like yourself. You like to huddle together with a big crowd of other Grits. You love to travel though, so maybe you should think about joining a club. Where do you like to go? Anywhere they have cheese or gravy or bacon or butter or eggs. If you can go somewhere where they have all these things, that serves you well. BOILED PEANUTS (Sept 24 - Oct 23) You have a passionate desire to help your fellow man. Unfortunately, those who know you best - your friends and loved ones - may find that your personality is much too salty, and their criticism will probably affect you deeply because you are really much softer than you appear. You should go right ahead and marry anybody you want to because in a certain way, yours is a charmed life. On the road of life, you can be sure that people will always pull over and stop for you. BUTTER BEAN (Oct 24 - Nov 22) Always invite a Butter Bean because Butter Beans get along well with everybody. You, as a Butter Bean, should be proud. You've grown on the vine of life and you feel at home no matter what the setting. You can sit next to anybody. However, you, too, shouldn't have anything to do with Moon Pies. ARMADILLO (Nov 23 - Dec 21) You have a tendency to develop a tough exterior, but you are actually quite gentle. A good evening for you? Old friends, a fire, some roots, fruit, worms and insects. You are a throwback. You're not concerned with today's fashions and trends. You're not concerned with anything about today. You're really almost prehistoric in your interests and behavior patterns. You probably want to marry another Armadillo, but Possum is another possibility.
February 03, 2009I ain't going back to Wal-martOriginally published November 24, 2003 I'm going to stop by Fred's Dollar Store on the way to the Animal Shelter. I can buy dog food, water and food bowls and everything else that I had in my buggy this morning at Fred's, for about the same price I was willing to pay at Wal-Mart. I'm getting my dog today. Fuck a Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart pissed me off this morning.
February 02, 2009For those who askedOriginally published February 5, 2004 I have not gone crazy. I've always been crazy, This medication I'm taking for my foot fucks me up like something ridiculous. That day is today again and what is my name? Gimme another pill. I've got more divorce (pronounced FOREVER AND EVER, amen) writs against me and more are coming. The lawyers and the vengeful ex-wife damned sure won't forget about them. Did you people see the film of a disgruntled client attempting to kill his lawyer as the barrister ducked behind an oak tree? That was real news, right outside the courtroom. The dickheade shot six times and inflicted one flesh wound on the lawyer. That idiot has never been squirrel hunting in his life. I'm all for killing a lot of lawyers. We just need to hire good shots.
February 01, 2009The gauntlet was thrownOriginally published November 24, 2003 Somebody dared me today to write a post about sex. Okay, I'm in. (Did you catch the pun?) I've bedded many wimmen in my life, and a lot of them had blonde hair on their heads. But they also had something in common with a 747 Jumbo Jet: they carried a black box. I've known only two natural blondes in my life. They both were beautiful, with fair skin and almost translucent complexions. They both had blue eyes and were wildcats in the sack. I remember once, lying in bed with Nancy at about 4:00 in the afternoon when the sun came through the curtains just right. I saw something amazing. I told her, "Please don't move." I'm not going to say what I was doing just before that moment or how I ended up gazing from that angle, but I've never seen anything so lovely since. She had the finest, downy hair on her belly that wasn't visible to the naked eye. But when the sun hit it that afternoon, it lit up like a halo. "You're glowing," I said. "Purrrr. Yeah. I feel pretty good," she replied. "No, you don't understand. You are GLOWING right now. I can see it. You resemble an angel." "You're stoned, Rob." Well, I was full of dope-smoke, but I know what I saw. That fine, blonde hair on her belly caught the sun just right and it lit up with a wonderful light. She really did glow at the time. I wanted just to look at her nekkid body in that light for a few minutes, then mount her like a wild stallion. That's what I did. She moved to California shortly thereafter. She went all liberal and married an environmentalist. I don't communicate with her anymore. But I remember the day that she glowed.
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