Tuesday, November 30, 2010

They checked my junk and all I got was a gravy stain on this stupid t-shirt!

Over the past weekend I traveled to Mountain Home, Idaho for a Thanksgiving/70th birthday party for my pops.  My dad, through seventy years of living on this earth, claims to never have had a birthday party for him.  I for one can remember buying him gifts through out the years, but truth is, I don't remember having a party for him, so his claim is probably truth and not just a bunch of whining and crying.  Love ya pop!

The trip started and ended going through the lines of trepidation and mystery.  That being airport security, where I was really ready to impress TSA officials with my massive glutes and hung like a horse attributes.

Unfortunately, no one got a gander at my favorite Speedos with my strategically placed love button.  Take that TSA, bitches!

The better part of my trip was spent eating way too much and as much as I'd like to show you pictures of the seventeen times that the table was stocked with enough food to have prevented the Great Depression three times over, and had leftovers for the entire country of Ethiopia, but I failed to remember to pick up the camera in between diabetic comas.  Rest assured though, the three trips to the outdoor plumbing facilities to vomit caused from eating 8.3 times the weight of Jerrod the Subway guy, pre diet, multiplied by 4.7387 Kirstie Alley's body mass on Jupiter's surface, is an ingrained memory that I'd be willing to share with you at any time.  Just send me an IM and I'll get an e-mail out to you detailing my gut wrenching experiences. 

That's how awesome I am!

PSA - During the making of this Thanksgiving there were no living creature harmed in any way, what so ever...except for three turkeys, two hams, Bambi, what I think was platypus, an acre of Idaho spuds, some green goulash stuff that I'm pretty sure once breathed, and my brothers leather loafers after I upchucked on them.

We played card games, but beings it was my Mormon family, there wasn't a lick of alcohol nor bras being tossed, but what was learned was that is that my step mother can toss out a swear word that would make a truck driver question whether he was man enough to drive cross country or better suited driving around the neighborhood in an ice cream truck.

BCS Selection Committee Choosing Device
I spent much of Friday watching, but mostly discussing why the Boise State Brokeback Broncos should (or shouldn't) get a shot at the national championship.  The people I hung out with, after all, live in southern Idaho, and really are traumatized by the fact that they really have nothing, and I mean NOTHING what so ever to do in southern Idaho, so long, heated discussions on percentage points are very important to them.  Anyway, what they didn't figure on was the kicker had way too much rum and turkey the day before, and was hallucinating that the goal post were giant, coffee stained incisors connected to a giant fire breathing monster from the island Zarter Zauce, that was desperately trying to protect the indigo colored people with unicorn horns on their ass's.  That being said, the kickers attempts to lodge crystal-meth laced nuclear warheads in the mouth of the beast were swatted aside, and the the island Zarter Zauce was safe once again, from those trying to devastate their ruby inlaid jumpsuits.

Needless to say, those sort of actions the guy fuckin' choked don't call for death threats, which I for one don't think that is ever called for when under a rum and turkey hallucination.  I know, I've been there people, so don't judge!

The final day there a snow storm rolled in.  Brilliant!  Since the next day the son and I had to make the long trek across the desert from Mtn. Home to Boise to hop a flight what better way to do it than with my uncle who is an ex-USAF fighter pilot.  The guy, during his stint with the military could shoot down enemy MIG's, land on an aircraft carrier off the coast of Paraguay and fly through the eye of a hurricane over Bermuda, all before his morning paper arrived.  What I found out that he couldn't do while driving on an icy I-84 was carry on a conversation while drinking his coffee, putting on his poloroid shades, picking his teeth, and pointing out herds of elk that had come down out of the hills and probably were going to be road kill by the time he came back around, which he'd discreetly toss in the back of his pick-up and cook up over an open flame later that evening.

The guy scared the crap out of me, which after the ninety-three pounds of food consumed over the four days, was not exactly the prettiest of sights!

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

I'm writing til my face explodes!


Due to the fact that apparently it's a copyright no-no as of now, but not at the time, Conanco, Mr. Obrien and his lawyers have asked that the video of him and Jack White shredding on national television be taken down and discarded from my blog.  So I have complied because at my meager wages, it would have been the year 2196 before I would have been able to pay the fine that was to be imposed.  That wasn't even counting that they were writing into the legal paper work that I would be responsible for catering in all Vienna sausages whenever Kirstie Alley was a guest on the show.

Thank you all for your continued support in my absence, but when I return you can expect I'll be doing a killer rendition of 'Video Killed the Radio Star' with Jack White on lead guitar!


Hey, in all my awesomeness I've been away awhile but I haven't forgot about all of you, and my fans either.  In truth, I've been off a little, but have tried to keep up with you all in my absence by checking in on Facebook, beaten up by my favorite new bullies over at Blog This, found funny in others blogs and oh, I've taken it upon myself to write a complete novel in the month of November.

Thanks, NaNoWriMo...5:30 in the morning thinks you suck ass through a straw.

But truth is so far it's been good to me.  I don't know how other aspiring authors do it, but I tend to sidetracked by stuff like the intensely intriguing way that cobwebs grow in the corner of our apartment over a course of several weeks.  When I do lose my focus I walk away sometimes as long as the entire last decade of the last millennium.  NaNoWriMo, if nothing else has got me to write consistently for about nine days, some 21,000+ words, just over a hundred pages and a lot of crap, a toilet bowl consisting of last night vomit after one two many shots of character development and a colostomy bag full of shitty plot ideas.  It's taken me from sanity (an objective state that some would argue with me about) to bat shit crazy!

But, while it hasn't all been great, some good writing has come from it, but that wasn't my objective.  The goal, for me, wasn't to write the best novel I could, but to get what I consider a extensive outline, a first rough draft and most of all, a finish.  I'm well on my way.


Before working in conjunction with NaNoWriMo, I'd actually spent the better part of six months working on this crazy, satirical political thriller that may or may not start on one side of the country and more than likely will ending somewhere else, the main character might have some sort of droopy lisp or a pompadour...who knows?  What I do know for sure is that at this point it is basically a hodge-podge of me not knowing what the fuck I'm writing about.

Last night, though, the world evened it's plain out just a little, the wobbly axis straightened itself out some.  A reprieve for me, much needed and a long time a comin'.  So, finally, after a very long wait, a mammoth size tour, a Twitter push unequal to anything ever seen before!

So without further ado, and as if the man needs anymore publicity, here he is, Conan O'Brien, the funniest looking man on television, tearing it up with Mr. Jack White!

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Rob 'Diesel' Kroese and the MFng BlogTour

Hey all, I've jumped on the MFing Blog Tour bus in support of a great new author, Rob 'Diesel' Kroese and his book Mercury Falls.  I've read this book and you should too.   If you like a funny, smart read with quirky characters and a twisting plot line involving linoleum, angels and the Apocalypse, you'll love Mercury Falls.

Mercury Falls has now been picked up by AmazonEncore for publishing, this after Rob had taken it into his own hands last year, self-publishing Mercury Falls himself.  Perseverance, self promotion and a quality written novel has finally paid off.

So, how about you all join me on the MFing Blog Tour. Go to Amazon and order up your copy and help support Rob and his book Mercury Falls.

To find Rob Kroese and his book, Mercury Falls, here are a few links.




Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Going on a beer run with Todd. Can I get you anything?

Have you all noticed that I'm wordy?  I've been known to go on and on and on, and then no one tells me to shut the hell up!  I count on you people to let me know these things because fact is, I can go on and on, and I don't have the time to be so wordy.

I work and that take away from my blog time, my Facebook, doodling, a political humor novel I'm working on and my t.v. watching time.  Oh, it impedes my ability to sit at the bar and waste time while getting hammered.  Of course, I'm getting older (already in my late twenties) and getting drunk isn't on top of my list of things of things that are going to create a successful professional that might prove to Oprah I'd be a great candidate to replace Gayle.  (that slutmonkey has it made!)

Not only am I wordy, but in the words of the great Todd Snider, "I can go into a bar, tell one story, and the next time I go back, I'll tell a completely different story."  Now I'm not saying that I lie, but truthfully, I like to push the envelope on the whole truth thing.  Seems silly, all this honesty shit.  Besides it's all for the sake of entertainment and doesn't hurt anyone.  No one gets pushed in front of an oncoming Waste Management truck.  (Well, one time, but because of being placed in Witness Protection, I don't speak of it.)

So, from now on, I'm going to only tell little, short white lies.  Unless of course I get wasted while bellied up to the bar where the creative juices are flowing, then I might go on and on, telling lies and exaggerating the truth, until one one of you push me under the axle of a great big green truck that smells like it hasn't had a deep cleaning in several months, and may or may not have the rotting corpse of a seventeen pound marmot juice, the same marmot juice I was discussing on Facebook with...good lord, who was it, anyway, doesn't matter, point is the truck didn't smell all that great, and then there was this one time at band camp and... 

Alright, enough!  What I want to say is that I'm going to try and show up here as often as possible.

You've been warned! 

That being said, hey Todd, time for a B double E double R U N, beer run?

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Playing car games, and other ways to end up in the hospital.

Growing up I played 'slug bug' with my older brothers in the back seat of dads 1972 Chevy Impala.  The way this worked out was, they would see a Volkswagen and, I sitting in the middle, and being about sixty-two pounds lighter and two and half feet shorter than my two brothers, would not see it.  Rules being rules, it was at this time I would get slammed, from both sides, from each of my siblings, one Tyson kidney punching me, the other giving me a shot to the fleshy part of my upper leg.  This was always done with as much malice and complete disregard for my feelings and extreme pain I'd experience while playing this family fun car game.


Anyway, 'slug bug' is both timeless and universal, right?  Everyone plays.  Take for instance, the first time I played with my lovely girlfriend, on our first date.  I thought 'cool'.  She plays, and not only does she play, she started it.  What I didn't know, is that there are levels in which people play.  She, unlike me and my brothers and every other person I had played with in the past, didn't punch me in the arm hard.  More like a flirtatious swat, followed by a cute little giggle and smile.  I smiled back, and jokingly proclaimed "It's on, biatch!"

So, after a nice dinner and a couple drinks we jumped in my vehicle, wrapping up the date, me taking her home.  My plan, being the gentleman that I am, figured I'd throw myself at her in complete desperation, offered to stay the night with her.  After all, it was late and dark and you just never know who could be lurking in this nasty world we live in.  Before I propositioned her with an offer she couldn't refuse, a rusted out, light blue Volkwagen pulled up side of us at a red light.  Seeing this, and seeing that she was oblivious to this fact, I turned to her, smiled all sexy like and proceeded to scream 'slug bug!' and then punched her in the leg.


This was the first time I'd heard her use any sort of vulgarity, and hasn't been the last.  Actually, for the next week she pretty much used every profane word ever conjured, conceived and made up by people on Urbandictionary every time that I called her.  And you might be thinking that because I did indeed call her, all one hundred and twenty eight times, that would be considered stalking, but it's not.  Why?  Because I'm with her now, and, at the last minute she decided to drop the restraining order when I promised to never play 'slug bug' with her again.  And the kicker that kept her coming back for more Ron lovin', I was to purchase her a day spa treatment of her choice.  She claimed it would help the bruises go away.

Since then we don't play 'slug bug' much anymore, mostly because I've learned my lesson.  Spa treatments are way too expensive.

We do have a new game we play when we're traveling though.  It's competitive, challenging and best of all, it involves nasty sex!!!

We call it 'porno plates'.

This is how it works so you and your loved ones can get to gettin' it on.

Rule one...you need to be in a car of some sort, preferably one with air bags and roll bars in case the fun gets out of hand and attention begins to wain.  Next rule...with complete attention turned to license plates of other cars (therefore the need for rule number one) you pick out the letters and number and then with each letter complete a sentence that spells out something nasty, demeaning, sexual, gross, masochistic or something Jenna Jameson might scream out while on set.

Here, you give it a try...

What'd you come up with? See, the way I read this plate and put my 'porno plate' spin on it was this.

Nasty Little Whore (069 is self-explanatory)

Ain't that fun, huh?

Here, try another!


Don't know about you but the only thing  I could come up with was mustache toting, viperous piehole who more than likely is compensating for something, or possibly hooker strangling douchebag.

Yeah, okay, it has nothing to do with the game but it's my game so I can change the rules whenever I'd like, thank you very much.

Happy travelings!

Tuesday, October 12, 2010


Hey gang!  I was off work today, and with all the time I had on my hands, I spent a lot of it napping.  Oh, and I created a new header for my blog  http://scuzzymoney.blogspot.com 

If a little diddy about Jack and Diane can be based on three chords and the truth, then think of my new header as having nothing to do with music and is most the time built completely on lies.

Anyway, point is I was in the mood to change things up, add a little paprika and cumin while doing Patron shots to my blog that better represents who I am.  Hope you enjoy.

(And if you do enjoy my new header and especially my blog http://scuzzymoney.blogspot.com, feel free to tell your friends and family and even that creepy lady that sits on the corner spewing insults while throwing Crisco boogers at you.)

Monday, October 11, 2010

Superfreaks: The Haggis Award!

I enjoy my lunch.  I love a good sammich and maybe some Cheezy Poofs or sometimes I like to roam out and get a half slab of ribs, slathered in barbque sauce, washed down with two or three pints of...uh....ice tea.  Ya, that's right, ice tea.

But most of all, I like my quiet time.

What I don't like is being interrupted!  It's my lunch and you can't have it.

I work with a group of fucknuggets that feel this is their right though.  It seems that as soon as I duck out and head toward the break room, someone feels the need to follow me in.

Why?   How the fuck should I know.  But they do.

That isn't entirely true.  Sorry.  No, what usually happens is as soon I get my can of chili rotating in the microwave or have pulled my PB&J unwrapped and then pull my book or laptop from my bag and have settled in for a few minutes of 'my fucking' time, this is the point in which they come storming in.

"What ya reading?" Overtly Gay Chris asks.

"Well, you bag of rhino snot, I'm not sure yet, 'cause I just started reading it but I bet if I overtly shoved it up your ass you might have a better understanding, in order to let me know, because you know what?  I can't fricken read because you feel the need to bug the shit out of me each time I sit in this particular chair!"

Or this.  I sit down, pull out my laptop, my left over spaghetti with meatballs warming up and sure as Toyota has faulty brakes, here comes Jovial Lab Manager Guy.  "Hey, is that one of those fandangled doohickys that you can get the Interwebs on?"

"No, you asshamper, it's a box of deathrays, and if you don't move along right now, I'm going to fry that slug shaped brain of yours!"

"Uh...really?  It can do that?"

Not the most tech savvy guy out there.  There isn't much I can do about that, other than fuck with the computer in his lab.  Every once in a while I'll change the screensaver to read 


or I might turn the power button to off on his printer.  Fun stuff and keeps him reeling for hours, until, finally, I like to suggest to him that it "must be home office changing the configuration on your computer and you might want to give IT a call."  This always brings outrageous laughter and mean spirited criticism over the line from IT guys somewhere in Texas, which in turns, makes my day just that much more satisfying.

And while this is a shit load of fun, messing with Jovial Lab Manager Guy, it still doesn't answer the question of how to get him and Overtly Gay Chris to step away from my lunch break before I have to burn out there retinas with flaming, over nuked meatballs.

You are probably saying, "Ron, why don't you just tell them that this bugs you, that you appreciate your break time and unless you have something important to say, can you please let me enjoy your lunch, alone."

Well, I have, and thank you so much for trying to imply that you're a whole lot smarter than myself and that I don't have the cajewels to tell them to stab themselves with a large rusty pitchfork to their kneecaps. Well, I have, and in truth, I was a whole lot more graphic.

But, this only seemed to make them understand my need for privacy LESS! Since I told them I want to be left alone, they've become a hornets nest of aggravation in my life. Using that analogy as reality, I even brought a can of homicidal pest killer in to work, but that only pissed them off.

I'm at wits end people!?

Any help would be much appreciated in figuring out how to make them stop disturbing my lunch, or flat out killing them (if and only if their horribly ugly deaths can't be traced back to me because I can't spend another night any time in jail!)

But in the meantime, and since I have no idea how to finish up this post effectively, I'm giving Jovial Lab Manager Guy and Overtly Gay Chris The Haggis Award!