Chewy Toy

Christmas has come and gone, ushering us toward a new year, with lots to look forward to and much we can look back on in total frick'n dismay.  A year that I for one, am damn'd glad it's coming to an end, with a hint of sci-fi animal stench that can only seen, but never described.


Tell me this isn't the most hideous piece of future 're-gifting' you've ever seen in your life!

And this is just how it ended.  I hope yours concluded more brilliantly and a whole lot less bright than mine did.

God bless ya, mom!

Anyways, the year wasn't particularly a good one.  So many misfortunes and upheaval, like the death of Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett, all on the same day.  The King of Pop, the gloved wonder, mysteriously moon walked off into a distant strange after-life suite, full of spiderman mask wearing angels sipping Jesus juice and serving his every need, how heinous it might be.  Freak!

More tragic is Farrah.  She was always my favorite personal Charlies Angel.  Struck with the cancer and my childhood wank poster has long been misplaced.  What's a forty-one year old man to do?

We started the new year with a new President.  Yeeyowsa, people!  Gonna miss Bush, ain't we, with all his seven week vacations and Iraqi shoe tossing games he got himself involved in?  I mean when they cut those marionette strings that Cheney and Karl Rove were controlling, well, we lost the perfect politician to make fun of.  You know how the world tried to fix the lack of 'funny' now that 'W' left office?  NBC gave us Jay Leno in prime time.  Kind of makes you want the little fucker back, huh?

Edna Parker 114 years, 115 days old of Indiana held the title of the oldest living human for all of three months and some odd days, til she died 'unexpectedly' when she found out David Letterman, native to her state, and love of her life, had cheated on her with his wife.  In Letterman's defense, Edna became confused during her 112th year on the the planet.

Speaking of cheating, who could forget Tiger.  Probably no one, but good gawd, let's try!

There were other sports figures in the news, though.  Take Tour de France winner, Alberto Contador, which the best I can tell is the Spanish way of saying 'gift' because Lance Armstrong decided to just take third place.

 But I'd rather get away from the glitter of death and the sad state of the nation, and onto my crazy, bungee jump sort of year.  Lots of ups and downs, but from my perspective on the year is that I can only come out of it a stronger man.  That being said and on a side note, I am taking donations of the soap-on-a-rope kind.  Long story, don't ask, but has nothing to do with a short stint in county lock-up due my defending the honor of a tie-dye wearing, flat chested young lady fresh off the bus from somewhere near the Tetons.

Hey, I said don't ask.

Before the incident I was the proud manager of a relentlessly horrible optical retail outlet.  Where doesn't matter - EyeGlass World - but the 'why?' that I despised this place with such a passion that was so deep and dark that I considered taking my own life by thrusting an extremely sharp, polycarbonate,  hyperopic lens blank through my sclera...that, my friends, is the point I'm trying to make.  I did opt out at the last moment when I was thankfully fired by my boss, the CHEST.  First thing she'd done right the whole time I was employed there.

I took up writing, once again.  My blog, scuzzymoney, was started back in late 2008 and then soon there after, sat, collecting dust, until, once again,  I rebooted the old laptop and have yet to look back.  Through these tirades and print-directly-to-the-internet(s) episodes of diarrhea, I've been doing what I love.  And even if you aren't laughing, I am.  And what I've found is that if I can only make myself laugh, at least someone is laughing, and in my tiny world, that's good enough.  But thanks anyway!

I've met a beautiful woman who makes me happy.  A sincerely genuine person, gorgeous, smart and funny, and more importantly, is more than willing to sucker punch me in the groin if I make stupid decisions, based on lapses in better judgement, which, in the past have been the trademark for my life.

Got one thing to say to you, sweety........

All in all not a good year, not really a bad year either, but by God, it was a year.  I'm betting there isn't a single person out there that can argue with me on that.

And because I know that some people have had as self-incriminating, more downtrodden, a livelier itch in their nether regions, or flat out had a 'more' eventful year than myself, than I'm ready to help a hand. By proving, anything or anyway or anyhow, that might make yourself more pitiful than myself, then I'll consider sending my fine piece of Walmart, 100% cotton t-shirt, inflamed with Chewbacca, right on the front, to you to help bring some cheer back into your life.  It's the least I can do for someone so despondent to take me up on such an offer.  Good luck!

SANTA MUST DIE!!!

HA!  Now that I've got your attention, I'll let you know that I don't really believe old St. Nick should die.  He didn't do nothing that constitute such actions.  It was just a ploy to get you to check out my blog, so close to Christmas and all.

Don't go thinking the guy doesn't have a problem though.  Check it!

See, that's what I'm talking about.  Poor guy has a problem too, and you know why? 

Hard.  Economic. Times.

Santa is feeling the crunch as well as millions of people across the country, including yours truly.  It's tough people, but you know what?  I've decided not to let it get me down.  Quite the contrary really.

You see, I'm unemployed, not much income what so ever, with some loving family members that surround me that won't allow myself nor my kids to go without.  But, and I mean but, they won't see the kind of Christmas they've seen in the past.  Strange but true, I'm grateful for this.

See, the kids won't get everything on their list, and may not get anything on the list, but they will 'get'.  They're older, in their teens, so that's some what of a double edged sword.  They aren't so young that I can fake it.  I can't go to the back yard and whittle a pine tree branch down, engrave 'Louisville Slugger' on the side and call it a bat.  On the other hand, they are old enough to know that when they do receive a shiny new piece of wood, they'll know it's not an Iphone.

I want them to know that I'm not the only one struggling, that a life lesson comes from this years Christmas, that they see that there are people on the street, cold and hungry, without family and friends they can turn to.  I want them to know things could be a whole lot worse.

Hopefully they'll see this year that Christmas is about giving rather than receiving.


Besides, I have insider information that is telling me that Santa may be cashing in what's left of his 401K and taking a vacation.


Cheers
and
Merry Christmas All!

RWWells

Rita Must Die...uh....

SPOILER ALERT

If you're at all a fan of the t.v. series DEXTER, and haven't seen the latest season and don't want to know what happens, don't read this.  If you're a fan of my blog or just me in particular, I do take donations.  Small bills, tens and twenties will suffice.  Thanks!

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I’m real disturbed by Dexter.  Not that he tenderized Trinity (John Lithgow - cast perfectly) with a framing hammer because we all knew this was coming.  This is the structure of Dexter after all.  For a whole season he chases the bad guy while chiseling, sawing, mincing, snuffing and power tooling the other bad people of Florida, although, I can only hope that Katherine Harris is of special interest to him in upcoming seasons.
No, what has me on alert is that he’s left himself in especially bad situations that I really cannot see how he’s going to explain.  Not with much ease nor certainty.

Let’s cut this up and toss ’er in the Gulf Stream.

Deborah is on him like maggots on a corpse.  And if she isn’t then the only thing I see positive about her character is her beautifully foul mouth.  I’ve never been more turned on by a woman that can tell a person to ‘fuck off’ yet make it sound like a compliment.  She now knows that the Ice Truck Killer was Dexter’s brother and that evil lurks around every palmetto that is her family.  She was somewhat suspicious of him before, and if she isn’t now then I have to believe the writers were hired straight off the set of According To Jim.  I suspect, Deborah will be officially let in on Dexter’s secrets, in one capacity or another.  So, will she embrace this new information or will she get a bad case of diarrhea and amnesia caused by a bad breakfast burrito.  What?  This is where I see the writing going!

Trinity singled out Rita.  For no reason other then, well…what?  Okay, I know what most are saying, Rita bleeding out in a bathtub, how is this a bad thing, right? She was annoying, couldn’t put the baby to sleep or determine he had a fever without calling Dexter, and from what I could tell, she couldn’t brush her wax the kitchen floor without consulting Dexter.  She’s leeched on, was dependant and was more or less a boil on my ass.  Imagine how Dexter must’ve felt.  You are also saying, the whiny bitch got what was coming to her.  I concur.  But how does Dexter explain all this?  Rita sliced and soaking in her own DNA?  What kind of excuse will he have for Harrison rolling around, finger painting in pretty reds? How does our favorite blood spatter specialist get out of this, with any sort of realistic chance of no one knowing he was connected to Trinity, which leads me to…that there is plenty of evidence linking Dexter with the Trinity Killer.

First off, the video that there’s sure to be at Dexter‘s place of work and sanctuary.  Trinity shows up, having followed Dexter and wanders around the place like he owns it, like he’s scouting out his next bludgeoning.  Then the handshake, physical proof that the two killers knew each other.  Then, we’ll find out that Batista will suddenly and miraculously remember seeing the serial killer in the station.  Connect the dots, from one video feed to the next, people.

Oh and let’s not forget Trinity’s family.  For God sake, Dexter was a part of the family for weeks leading up to Rita being drained, which by the way, was the same time my celebration started.  Not only did he go to Four Walls builds, but he had continuous close contact with the three remaining members of the Trinity family clan.  Befriending the son, sexual favors offered up by the daughter, and the mom, well, I had hoped she would have been the next victim in the cycle, throwing herself off a large building, to no avail though.  And not only did Dex have contact, but he was there the moment SWAT came rappelling through the front windows.  How will Dexter explain all that?

And while were talking about family, what about his.  The kids.  How the hell does Dexter take care of three kids while doing his job working for the police, while Saran wrapping and miter sawing victims and, most importantly, while trying to redirect any and all suspicion.  They were a handful with Rita, but now that she’s gone, how does he keep up the hectic pace of his now?  I suspect he’ll ship the step kids off to the goofy grandparents while he takes Harrison under his wing and begins the long and inevitable teachings, that are THE CODE.

However it all goes down next year, I’m sure the Dark Passenger talks him through all the bloody messes that Dexter has got himself into but what I suspect, and fear most of all, is that the writers are going to massacre the next season, leaving us watchers dying for another favorite serial killer to root for...

I hear Manson some spare time on his hands.  Maybe we can let him go, train some cameras on him and call it reality.  That kind of fun filled carnage writes itself.  Uh...ya, maybe not.

TIGER WOODS MUST DIE!

Okay this is a weird one for me.  I find that in my continuing 'Must Die' series, the people that are in the news, on 'Extra' for ungodly days in a row, being manhandled by Chelsea Handler or simply being ridiculed by their political adversaries.  And that makes me happy because most of all, I believe most, okay all, politicians must die.  They set themselves up for it, as if it pumps through the veins of these cretins.

But today I want to talk about Tiger 'Chasing Tail' Woods.

Now I know what you're saying.

"Damn you, haven't we already played four, eighteen hole rounds too many with this guy?"

Or "Do we really care if this low life, wife cheatin', bottom feeding carp ever steps on the green ever again?"

And finally, "Who the fuck cares?  Jesus, I'm going to find another blog out there that isn't discussing this peckerheads  infidelities?"

But before you leave, bear with me.

I don't condone the guy, don't understand his thinking, and for that matter, I believe he only thinks with his penis.  But by God man, how much thinking is 'Lil Tiger' doing jumping from cheat to cheat.  Barely has time to come 'out' for air.

As for his family, my observation is that it's just that, between him and the family.

Remember when ol' Slick Willy left his DNA stained mark on Monica Lewinskys dress.  What business was it of ours?  Because he was our Commander in Chief?  Huh?

Couldn't get him on anything but him living out a fantasy of Cuban cigar coital shenanigans.  Couldn't get him on the Whitewater scandal, Trooper Gate tailgate party, and there was no Iran-Contra type allegations, although he was accused of illegally sending sex toys to the middle east, better known as the Iran-Condom debacle.  So, the guy was impeached by the House, using our wasted dollar and sent on his way two years later with a 66% approval rating.  Gotta love our Democratic process!

During this, I had a friend tell me that President Clintons 'ways' were a national security issue.  Huh?!  Why?  Because there was a good chance Hillary would go nuclear, disintegrating most of the eastern seaboard?

Had nothing to do with national security.  It had everything to with the fact that the guy loves to wet his wiener.

Same goes for Tiger.  Who does it harm, his chasing restaurant waitresses around high end, luxury hotel suites other than his family?

It certainly isn't going to affect the PGA.  Sure, he's taking a break but we all know that won't last long.  He'll be back.  They will make sure of that, because if they aren't making money, the players aren't making money, and if this happens, John Daly will more than likely lose his contract contacts with Harrah's and Jack Daniels.  And that isn't going to happen.

Speaking of endorsements, more specifically Eldrick's endorsements?  Pshaah!  We all know that Gillette will pick him up once again once he 'returns' in January, maybe February.  As for the others-Nike, GatorAid, General Mills, Cadillac etc. etc. etc., they won't leave him stranded, not for long anyway.  They can't afford it, especially knowing that someone else will pick him up quicker than Tiger can pick up a showgirl in Vegas.  He's a cash cow.

Hell, he'll probably get a few directly linked to this controversy.  Trojan maybe?  KY Jelly?  Or the Deja Vu strip club franchise?

No, the reason I'm thinking Tiger Woods must go away, must die, is that with all the money in the world, the skill to control a tiny white ball like no one in the history of golf...with all that going for him, he is a ridiculous idiot.  Doesn't take a rocket scientist, or even a professional golfer, to know that if you slice your balls into the water too many times, the groundskeeper is going to figure you out and chase you out of the country club.  An absolute 'tard that has no business taking up air space on television any more then he has the right to lead the Abstinence Clearinghouse or Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

And because he's a complete moron, we the general public have to hear about it day in and day out?  Knowing full well, that this too will pass as the Clinton controversy did, just as Kobe Bryant walked away unscathed after raping and the way Nick Nolte is still an icon, even after that mugshot?  We should be tortured because he's a hypothetical, narcissistic man-stain on our hypothetically speaking Monica Lewinsky cocktail dress?

His lifestyle is of no concern, doesn't affect my families decisions, and honestly, doesn't have any say in what kind of sneakers I find myself shopping for.

He is everywhere, all the time, and I'm damn'd tired of him.  Simply, that is the only reason, the most important reason I believe the world would be a better place if he were to get run down, gruesomely, by a retired, half blind dentist behind the wheel of a souped up golf cart.

So DIE Tiger!  I want my television viewing habits back, uninterrupted by another 'breaking news story' of your discretion's!

Wii All Need a Little Religion

The other night my son, my lovely girlfriend and myself were six hours into a Dexter marathon when an interesting topic of discussion came up.  Interesting because how or why it came up during Dexter is still a bone of contention, considering he was putting a 12 inch carving knife through the heart of a Saran wrapped victim.

Wouldn't it be cool to design a game that mixed the aerobic energy needed to burn some calories while at the same time, saving your soul?

"HA!!!  That would be friggin' cool," I said responding to my thirteen year old boy.

Truth be told, my son and myself did a whole lot more laughing than my beloved girlfriend did. Funny.  Some people take offense when conversation turns to video games religion.

So, goes like this.  We got to thinking how spiritually uplifting, cardio building and generally ass laughing fun it would it be to combine computer video game playing with religion.


Let me explain, starting with video games.

Bowling.  Everyone loves it, especially that geeky, pock face high school kid that constantly got beat up on the football field.  Now make it interactive. The Nintendo Wii has done just that.  You stand in front of the T.V., aim at ten pins down the lane then with a wildly retarded looking swing of your arm that holds the controller, thus magically sending your ball rolling down the screen, the lane, until the ball goes in the gutter. That's how I roll, baby! Okay, so not only have you got a mildly small workout, burning say, 22 calories, but you also wake the next morning with a severe case of bowling elbow, controller arthritis and laughter directed at you by your youngest son for being an old fart.

Now here is how the religion would meet gaming.

The tutorial starts out the game.  You enter the ROTC (Recruiting Offenders Training Center) where you learn to knock on doors trying to convert sinners, pedal your Schwinn, going from one tainted community to next, accepting free meals to keep your energy high, slinging pamphlets at interested soul searchers and, in case you might end up in Indonesia you learn another language.  These people would be on expert level, having already conquered and spread the word through all of Texas and Florida.

Before you leave the ROTC, you get to choose your religion.  You can be Jewish, Southern Babtist, Hindu, Catholic, Mormon or a Korean shaman.  But choose wisely because by picking the 'wrong' religion your, and depending on the faith you put your stock in, your energy, faith, belief  spiritual guidance points can deteriorate quicker.

Once you leave the ROTC you practice your skills in your new home that takes you away from your family, your friends and your girlfriend that is probably already moved on with the high school quarterback, which if you can withstand the humiliation of this and move on yourself you receive 'humble' points, thus bringing you closer to God.  Plus, you gain the inside knowledge that Karma is a bitch, and she'll be struck down by Lucifer with a nasty case of herpes.

Biking from place to place you would use the technologically advanced controller that supplied. Strapped to your legs, arms, your temples (Ha ha ha!) and a hand held one that would be used to swing the Bible or the Koran at rabid pitbulls.  This new technology would give you a realistic duplication of movement so precise that it's almost scary.  Ringing doorbells or running from an angry mob of atheists would be acted out just as you would in real life.  Even the handshake, if done properly, with the proper grip, you would convey strength, empathy, tolerance and love all in one firm meeting of the hands.  This is a perfect way to gain  points.

By entering the homes of unknowing converts, you now have the opportunity to show off your faith skills.  By getting them to sit through the first lesson, then the next and the next, you slowly build your way up the 'religious hierarchy' chain and closer to eternal bliss.

Paying your 10% tithing, though at the time decreases your monetary wealth, down the golden road to righteousness, gains you more and more paisley ties, giving you obedience points.

Don't be fooled though.  The 'evil' one, Satan, won't be beaten back so easily though.

Along your journeys you'll encounter temptation lurking behind every dark crevice.  There will be strangers offering you coffee when you enter their home, and while it will give you a temporary boost, in the long run, it will knock off deity points.  You will run across those crazy followers of Darwin and the Evolutionaries, the local rock band, with their chart topping hit 'Rockin' You with Science.'  

 Worst of all, the nasty tree huggin' Liberal.  When meeting up with these people, if you're strong enough at the time, your can dissuade these horrible people by claiming Obama, though not cowering in a school room full of six year olds,  was the reason for the war in Afghanistan.

Or if you can convince the leftist leaning Democrat pigs that the increasing debt incurred over the past eight years actually began after Bush left office, then a seat in heaven next to the Almighty will be yours.

So...if there are any video game designers out there, if, and when you make this idea come to life, I'd sure appreciate a little Hail Mary sent my way.  My cut would only be 10%

Can I get a big old amen brother?!

Mike Huckabee Must DIe!

NOTE - My ongoing 'Must Die' series is a massive success, drawing rave reviews from not only my readers, but critics, personalities and Judge Judy as well.  So...that being said, if you would like to contribute by giving me a person of interest, someone that 'Must Die', I would be happy to take suggestions.

Thank you to all my beloved fans, RWWells.

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Huck huck, bo buck, banana fana fo fuck!!!  Mike Huckabee, you pompous ass, you must die!

First off, let me just say, Maurice Clemmons got what was coming to him.  Shot dead by a police officer, fearing that the suspected killer of four Lakewood, Washington police officers was going for his gun.  The police officer reacted viligantly, with purpose and without hesitation knowing that the man confronting him was indeed the man that with the utmost of cowardice, executed not only four innocent cops, but four innocent people.  This guy deserved to die.

But what irritatingly scratches at my craw is that Mike Huckabee, in the same breath that he was saying "If I could have known nine years ago this guy was capable of something of this magnitude, obviously I would never have granted a commutation" he was blaming the Pierce County court system for allowing Clemmons bond out on charges of 3rd degree assault, malicious mishchief and later, second degree child rape.

Again, I'm agreement, what with Clemmons criminal record, I believe the bastard shouldn't have had the chance to walk on a $150,000 bail.  The guy should be rotting in prison, slurping slurry soup and bunking up with Bubba, but they did let him walk and that will have to be looked into.

But the point is, after he was released from the Arkansas prison system, he continued committing heinous crimes until he found his way to the state of Washington.

Oh, but Maurice wasn't the only one with the long record, was he?  For instance, Mike during his ten plus years as governor of Arkansas, didn't just commute Clemmons, but...give me a moment...counting....sorry, long list....oops, gotta get a new battery for the calculator...okay...just one more second...YES!!!!  Final tally of commuted criminals...1,033!

1,033!  One thousand and thirty-three!  One more than a thousand and thirty-two yet one less than one thousand thirty-four, thank God!  By my estimation (and the quality research time my assistant put in) that is more pardons than the surrounding six states combined - Mississippi, Louisiana, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Missouri and Texas.  To be fair though, Texas doesn't commute anyone, but instead electrocutes you for spitting on the sidewalk, so they don't count.

Not only that, Maurice Clemmons wasn't the only violent criminal to have his conviction commuted by the good governor that ultimately went on to re-offend.  In 1997, he helped in getting Wayne DuMond, a convicted rapist release and back on the streets so he could rape and kill another woman.

Mike you are a fuck wad, a scum sucking pig and a boil on my ass!  Please go away!  I'm sure there is a iron barred cell in hell with Maurice Clemmons awaiting your arrival.

A spill of Biblical proportions!

I'm not a religious man, maybe thankful that I haven't been run down or pistol whipped by a jealous boyfriend, but not religious.  Maybe I should be but I'm just not.

Don't get me wrong.  I feel as if I'm a spiritual person, in the sense that I find myself lost in thought,  wondering, considering if there is a higher power.  But life is busy and gets in the way sometimes, like, say a re-run of Scrubs is about to begin, which in turn takes me onto that line of deep thinking.

I do dig religion though.  Great entertainment, and if nothing else, it gives convicted felons the perfect excuse for early release while sitting in front of the parole board.

My basic outlook is this.  Do good by others, good will be done upon thee, and if that doesn't work, well...pour sugar in their gas tank.  Just joking, but you know what I'm saying.  It just plain makes sense, right?  You treat others with respect and you'll see returns.

Course, it goes both ways.  If you choose to rape, pillage, murder or hunt for moose with a bow and arrow in the off season, well, an eye for eye, or death, whichever comes first!

Religion is out there, whether you like it or not.  It's everywhere...television, the newspaper, sometimes knocking at your front door or screaming fire and brimstone from atop a pulpit.    And why not?  That is the fundamental make-up of our great country.  That's why our forefathers traveled across the ocean and why they had to fight for their independence and why they had to eventually evict those snarky Brits, sending the snaggle toothed bastards back to where they belong!  Freedom of religion, the right to worship whomever or whatever one chooses.

Most worshipers throw on their finest Sunday duds, clip on the paisley tie, shine up there loafers and find their way to the local Presbyterian, Lutheran, LDS, or Jewish house of worship.  In the case of Scientologists they congregate at L. Ron Hubbard Peak in Colorado or someplace mountainous, strap on Nike's and drink purple Kool-Aid while mocking how short Tom Cruise is.  Okay, again, just kidding.  I'm probably getting my cults - science fiction religions mixed up and probably pushing my luck, but hey, I never claimed to be a theologist.

My biggest problem with religion is that some choose to prey on the pocketbooks of misguided and people of lost faith.

"Send us the title to your Airstream, Mr. Jenkins, and the promise of eternal life is yours!"

"Edith, the good Lord above is waiting for you, with a place at his dinner table, if only you write that check for $5,000!"

Makes me sick!

Well, it did, that is until this morning when it dawned on me what was really going on.  It wasn't about preying on the weak but about giving hope and opening the eyes of those without faith and belief.

This became apparent to me when I got home from my daily, early morning run...to Starbucks for my Venti quad shot mocha.  What happened next tested my faith in religion, college basketball and the all mighty Super Big Gulp.

Getting out of the car, I bumped my head, lost a handle on the java and it tumbled to the ground.  Cursing, cussing and taking the lords name in vain, followed by hurtling insults at the young missionaries walking past, a glorious vision captured my eye.  From the point of the java explosion.

This is what I saw!  And if you look close enough, I promise not only will you see it, you'll also feel the power!

So, as of tomorrow, I'm taking tickets, $5 a piece, selling t-shirts and soda pop and with an additional donation to the First Church of Wells, you can have your picture taken with the Virgin Mary Mocha stain.

But get here early.  A bus load of pilgrims are scheduled at 11:00 A.M.

SARAH PALIN MUST DIE!

My ongoing series on people who must die flies north for the winter.  Then south into Texas, to East Philly, taking I-80 into Chicago for Oprah, back to GMA and then...well, from there, I can only hope it crashes in a Nebraska cornfield!

Today is the day that Sarah Palins book, "Going Rogue", comes out.  Her calling of sorts.  She having told Barbara Walters in an interview about her future in television, "I'd probably rather write than talk."  Really?  Mrs. Palin, when are you going to start this new found career of yours, writing that is?  On your next book?  Are you going to fire your ghost writer, or keep her around to breast feed your baby and keep a look out for Russians?

Am I the only one that is sick and tired of this woman? It's become so bad that I'm considering putting myself down like Barbaro after the Preakness so I don't have to see her smug little face any longer!  I'm afraid that's going to be what has to happen though, because she isn't going anywhere.

Did this country not learn their lesson when she ran as John McCain's little bitch?  He brought her on to boost his impossible chance at continuing the route that Karl Rove and Dick Cheney Bush engineered, but instead she hurt what little chance he had. 

The woman has no credible thought process.  This, the McCain camp knew, thus their resignation about letting her do unrehearsed interviews.  And when she did try this out, talking with real life people, she embarrassed the campaign, the cause, her husband, and the entire frozen state of Alaska.  Even the Alaskan short-tailed weasels cringed when she tried to 'take on' Katie Couric. What a mess that was!

Newspaper?

"By gum, what's a newpaper, Katie?"

Now she's claiming she was being 'badgered' with a 'partisan agenda'.  First off, let me just say, GROW SOME BALLS, SARAH!!!!  We all know you got 'em hiding up there somewhere!

Badgering?

"We have them critters in Alaska, Katie.  Should see 'em.  Big as, well, big as badgers, they are!"

Partisan?

"Well, Miss Couric, we love ourselves a good ol' humdinger of a party up where I hang my hat, we do!"

Thank the good partisan lord above that the voters figured out and understood she was an idiot before it was too late.  My thinking was it was inevitable that McCain would have ended up braking his skull wide open falling down the West Wing steps due to a geriatric hip, leaving Palin as our Commander in Chief.

Whew!!!!

Okay, that was the past, but what about the future?

This is how I see this playing out and what I truly fear the most.  Sarah Palin is going to run in the next presidential election, and that she will win on November 6, 2012.  Good new is that it will be short lived, knowing the world is scheduled to end December 21, 2012.

Gotta love Armageddon huh!

Mysterious reads, but why cats?

The Avett Brothers said it best when they sang, 'Ten thousand words swarm round my head, ten million more in books I've read, ten 'neath my bed...'

I like to read.  Magazines, books, blogs, cereal boxes with puzzles on the back.  Doesn't matter where I'm at, what I'm doing, I find myself reading.

I tend to hearken back to the Beat Generation of writers; Kerouac, Burroughs and Ginsberg.  Bukowski, I will forever and always go back to because....well, I like to live out the drunken, womanizing world through his words.  I've taken on classic authors such as Vonnegut, Hemingway, Poe, Sir Arthur Conan 'OBrien' Doyle and of course, Dr. Suess.  Even Stephan King, John Grisham, Elmore Leonard  and Michael Crichton have found their way to my shelves.

And, yes, I read Playboy for the articles.  *wink* *wink* *nudge* *nudge*

My literary likings of late, though, lean toward mystery in the fictitious way, and mostly the Florida mystery.  Intrigues me.  Carl Hiassen, Dave Barry, Tim Dorsey and Jeb Bush.  The latter isn't a writer of sorts, but by God, he's a mystery to me.  Plus, I just like saying Jeb.

Jeb, Jeb, Jeb!!!

The question of why Florida makes for such a good background for a novel is hardly difficult to understand.  Simply put, the state is a clusterfuck of dissention, discord, criminal behavior, strife and contamination.  Walt's world was bulldozed by Goofy, chomping a cigar with a soundtrack of flatulent outbursts, all with a smile on his face, all in the name of more pollution and environmental atrocities!

This is funny stuff, man!  And this is why Florida is fun to read and incredibly hard to write about, because the old saying 'fact is stranger than fiction' is three times truer in Florida.

Character.  Geography is important, but character is what makes these books, these visionaries great, though. For me anyway.

Take for instance, Tim Dorseys, Serge A. Storms.  A perfectly lovable Florida historian/serial killer that roams the byways and islands of said state.  Mess with Florida in anyway, you'll find yourself on the wrong side of a history lesson and booby trap consisting of a sawed off shotgun and the rumble of the Space Shuttle Atlantis.

Another favorite character of mine is one of Carl Hiaasen's ongoing cameos, his name being Skink.  Skink, is a former governor of Florida that tires of the corruption of politics and decides to leave office early to live off of roadkill, targeting molesters of the land and  tying himself to large bridges in order to 'ride the storm out' of Category 4 hurricanes.

As you may well know, living through a hurricane is a goal of mine, though, just not duct taped to a metal beam of any kind. 

Mystery is an easy read, not too much thought, a distraction really.  And for whatever reason, late onset ADD or early onset Alzheimer's, I've found the less confusion I can steer away from, the better.

What I don't get, but admit never delved into, is the whole 'cat' mystery.  I certainly hope not to offend anyone, but, isn't it enough that this world is full of those crazy, blue hair'd cat ladies?   You just know their grandkids are bitching because they have to shovel up two and a half tons of cat shit out of the living room before they have a shot at collecting any part of granny's estate.  And this is just every other Sunday, while the old codger is still breathing.  Just imagine what they'll find when the crazy,  old...er...never mind.

Anyway, maybe I don't understand the cat premise.  Do these cats have soothsayer powers that help them solve crimes, at the same time completely ignoring their owners?  Do they purr up against the bad guy when they detect a mischievous plot?  Do they play 'good' kitty, 'bad' kitty when questioning their suspect?

Regardless, to each his own, right?  If you like it, read it, because one day the written word just might go the way of the dodo bird, or the typewriter (remember those?) and all we'll be left with is kids that know how to splice a sentence together using only a keypad of a cellphone.

God help us all!

SCUSE ME MISS, ARE THOSE NEW?

It's almost Christmas time! Snow on the ground, lights going up, Walmart fully decked out in purple spandex and Bing singing jolly good tunes in every elevator across the world!

Time for giving, so let's see 'em girls.  Bring out the silicone pleasure domes!

Even in these dire times, when people are losing their jobs, the cost of gas, bread, eggs and hair gel is at all time highs, some choose to flaunt their booby implants.

Feel the spirit people?  I sure do!

I like breasts. Big, small, C-cups, DD's, winnebagos, ta-ta's, melons,........... Heck, I like breast bar-b-que'd over an open flame or sliced up thin and wok'd into a spicy, stir fry.

To me breasts are great!

The basic function here is to supply nutrition to infants, sustaining a healthy early childhood, so breast fed men can grow up to slobber uncontrollably while watching Desperate Housewives. Right? They serve their purpose. Going about there business, pointing women in the right direction, leading them up the corporate ladder one cup size at a time.

HA HA HA!!! Just joking ladies!

Anyway and once again, don't get me wrong, they are nice to look at. The woman's body is a miracle of nature. Perfect, no matter the shape, size or Victoria Secrets naughty coverings she might be wearing. Even women like looking at other women, because women are, simply put, nice to look at, where guys are...well, they're guys.  'Nough said about that.

But, do woman need to show them off to just anyone?  Alright, that's generalizing, isn't it?  Not all women do this, but it does seem to be a habit of the ones that have had boob jobs.  Just need to show 'em off, like trophies behind glass.

Texting, another thing. Must they MMS text them the before and after pictures of their newly acquired 'girls'?  They do, and I have proof so don't try denying it (you know who you are!).

Still, going into the bathroom after having such a delicate surgery and exposing themselves to their friends, and complete strangers, at the local dance club after a few drinks seems somewhat strange to my way of thinking?

This is precisely what happened to a girlfriend of mine, by a co-worker woman friend of mine, several weeks after they had healed and she was pleasantly drunk.  After my girlfriend saw them, she described them to me.

"What do you mean, there kinda fuzzy?"

"Fuzzy and I will never talk of them again," she muttered.

I could never look at my co-worker again the same...meaning I always fixated on her eyes, rather than...well...

This whole 'sharing' thing is just odd to me.  Men don't do this. 

"Hey Joe, take a gander at this bad boy," Ted says, leaning out of the stall in the bathroom of the Bigfoot Tavern, swinging his junk like a Burmese python.

Course, maybe we would if there was a procedure that put us at a Dirk Diggler level of endowment!
 

Criminal Intent: One Quarter at a Time

By no means am I an economist, nor a mathematical genius like Matt Damon in 'Good Will Hunting' but I want to tell you my theory on how to fix the economic upheaval, at least in my part of the world, but I'm betting it would work in your part of world also.

Crime baby! Good old fashioned criminal behavior.

Wait, wait, wait! Let me offer my reasoning.

I spent the better part of Monday in court, but before you start condemning me to the hanging gallows let me explain that I wasn't tried for rape, arson or the pillaging of any village. And while murder wasn't the charge either there were certain voices in my head telling me that wouldn't have be such a bad idea somewhere around the time the second hour ticked by on the clock that hung from the wall of the courtroom.

There were two intermissions. The first intermission was expected but the 'second' was due to a fire alarm. When the alarm went off, everyone safely and diligently filed out of the building, as adults have been trained since childhood to do, but what caught my attention was that not one judge, probation officer, prosecutor or copper seemed or looked surprised.

This didn't arouse suspicion til later on, about three hours after I had arrived for court, and about an hour after my parking meter must have expired. It really began looking like a crime when I opened my parking ticket and found a $15 'bonus' for spending the day in court.

Yee fucking haw!

With no one looking surprised by an unplanned 'fire', makes me believe that this, due to economic hardships by the city, is a way of making a buck off dumbass's such as myself. During either intermission, I could have ran down and plugged the meter, but not knowing how long each break would take, I chanced it and unfortunately for my unemployed ass, got nailed.

This is why I believe it was an 'officially unofficial planned intermission' and unless you're in the loop, well, it's just plain 'unplanned'.

Funny isn't it? How the city can't fill the damn'd potholes around town that become large enough to sail good size oil tankers across, but they can hire more and more parking meter officers.

So, having way, way, way too much time on my hands, and in the name of research, I traveled back downtown yesterday and what I saw was motorcycle meter men buzzing around, pissed off like a swarm of hornets. They were everywhere, slapping $15 tickets on cars parked minutes over the time limit. And if I saw them nab one car, then it may as well have been seven or thirty-three. Too many to count, couldn't keep up!

Thus, my economic relief theory, proven! Crime really does pay.

How 'bout them apples?

Hurricane Trudi

Day 46 and I still don't have a job.

I'm bored but right now it's better than being tormented by the Optic Nazi and spitting up my spleen.



So that's good right?

I have done things to keep myself busy though.

Take for instance, I've perfected the art of picking up the house and washing the dishes in just two minutes and thirty seven seconds, knowing my lovely girlfriend will be home in three minutes and eleven second. HA!!! Thirty-four seconds to spare.





Though, I think she's picking up on my devious ploy by the way she oddly looks me up and down with those suspicious eyes, as if wondering why the hell I'm profusely sweating when she walks through the front door.

I've been spending a lot of time writing, mostly what you're reading right now, and whatever you might want to call it...writing, blogging or meaningless pablum and grotesque diarrhea of the brain, it is a hobby that I enjoy.

I'm hoping one day to expand it past a hobby and into a career of sorts.

I'm writing a book.

Ya, you're asking?

Well, yup. And thanks for asking!

It's a science fiction piece, loosely based on fiction with no a shred of science involved what so ever.

No, just kidding. Truthfully, it is fiction, it does have a humorous tone, and someone is sure to die a horrible death by porcupine, but at this time, that is all I can give disclose at this time.

One thing I can tell you is that I have been doing a lot of research. Been reading a lot of humorous pieces recently, people like Carl Hiaasen, Patrick McManus, Douglas Adams, Tim Sandlin, Tim Dorsey and my favorite of late, Sean Hannity's 'Deliver Us from Evil: Defeating my Soul and Sending it Straight to Hell!'





Writing a book has always been a goal of mine but never felt attainable until recently. It isn't that I'm anywhere near to finishing a truly readable manuscript. Not even close, but I do know that I'm in a better place to do so. I ask myself why and the only thing I can figure is age. The older I've grown, the more secure I am in myself and that translates into my writing. It's a confidence that plainly put, is that I don't give a crap what people think of me.

If only I would have had this attitude when I was younger. Man o' man, think of the possibilities! Wouldn't have been served divorce papers because I wouldn't have been married. I wouldn't have gone into the world of optical manufacturing therefore wouldn't have put myself in a position where I'm diagnosed with those nasty ulcers and the desire to poke out a certain optician's sclera.

And, I would have settled in a Key West hammock some twenty years ago, maybe been a hobo, jumping a train or hitching a ride or two into Mexico, recreating Kerouc's journeys, and finishing my travels with a Hemingway like stay on the beach; breathing in the salty air, getting inspiration from the majestic sunsets, and growing grouchier by the minute.

Awww...

But, being older, with more wisdom and a wealth of confidence, if I ever get to the furthest southern point of America, I'll do it the more conventional, less romanticized route. Out of Spokompton I'll buy a one way ticket to Boise, with the hopes that the pilots fall asleep and don't regain consciousness til it's too late to turn around and we'll have to refuel in Atlanta. From there I'll either hitch it or steal me a moped, the perfect means of transportation on the islands.

And just to gay down the 'ped, and being in the south, I'll paint her black and slap a big #3 on the side. Boogity, boogity, boogity...gentlemen, start your engines!

By the way, you might have already heard, but living through a Category 4 hurricane that I have already named Trudi is a dream of mine. Trudi was a gal that I once knew that could uproot a palm with one windy gust of her personality, and made people run for their lives.





But woulda, coulda, shoulda! Right? Can't live in the past so instead of looking backward, I'll take a look at the future and set my sights on a beach where written word and inspiration must flow like rum if you have sun, surf and bikini clad co-eds prancing around playing volleyball and pondering big questions like, "I hear Trudi is heading this way. Think we should head inland or go hang with the locals at the Hogs Breath Saloon?"

I'm opting for the saloon, taking in the spirit of Hemingway, Jimmy Buffet serenading us from the jukebox, and a cervaza in each hand waiting for the bitch to show her nasty face.





One day, baby!

Dr. Limbaugh

Mike Freeman of CBS Sportsline.com was once quoted as saying, "Please, Rush Limbaugh, do not let any discussion of sports ever leave your lips again. Each time you do, you sound like a moron."

This quote came after Rush was quoted saying, "Look, let me put it to you this way: the NFL all too often looks like a game between the Bloods and the Crips without any weapons. There, I said it."

I have a problem with what Mr. Freeman believes. Rush doesn't sound like a moron, he is one!

There, I said it.

I've always believed this but recently my feelings toward him have got bad enough to write about. Don't get me wrong, I would like to believe that every man should be given a pass for his shear lack of humility, but good lord, this man borders on retardation.

Whoa, whoa, whoa there!

Sorry. Didn't mean that. By saying that I'd be implying that he has any sort of intelligence bouncing around in that fat head of his, and it wouldn't be giving enough credit to those with impaired cognitive function. Let's face it, he brought this on, and has no excuse for his behavior other than just being Rush!

My disdain grew this weekend when I witnessed him say to George Stephanopoulos "if I wanted my ego to be as big as Obamas....".

Really?

Let's dissect this.

Before Limbaugh turned himself in for shopping around docs to feed his prescription drug use, he had condemned and all but sent convicted drug users away to Sing Sing for the rest of their lives. Of course he was never convicted, so this doesn't apply to him. He paid $30,000 to pay for the cost of the prosecutors investigation and provided the party 'favors' at the first annual 'Rush is a Free Man Because He Wasn't Convicted' golf tournament in Palm Beach.

Oh, and he's taken random drug tests since 2003. Doesn't sound like a drug abuser to me. Sounds like a man with little or no ego, huh?.




Then, his attack of Michael J. Fox.

Said of Mr. Fox, he is "exaggerating the effects of the disease. He's moving all around and shaking and it's purely an act ... This is really shameless of Michael J. Fox. Either he didn't take his medication or he's acting."

As we all know Michael has Parkinson's Disease and with all the meds he has to take, there is sure to be side effect besides the actual disease, but problem is he wasn't picking up his drugs at the 'Limbaugh Pharmacy' so those drugs don't get the Rush stamp of approval.

Now, if Michael were in need of Oxycontin or Viagra, Rush could hook him up and he wouldn't actually have to go to a 'real' doctor.

Lovely guy, huh?

Then their is what he calls the 'phony soldier'.

Let's pretend your taking heavy fire from Al Qaeda in the mountains of Afghanistan or a six year old boy blows apart your buddies guts from the inside out on the streets of Baghdad. Then, from being on the ground, at the front line, you decide you really don't like it, that this may not be the proper approach to solving this conflict, that maybe, just maybe, George W. was an arrogant, greedy bastard that was only trying to get back at Saddam Hussein for bitch slapping daddy in 1991, well, this attitude about the war(s) would make you a 'phony soldier'.

Because anyone that didn't agree, must surely be falsely trying to claim veteran benefits.

What I think is that is that these unruly, wanna be soldiers are just trying to pilfer fatheads stash of pain killers!

Plus, this is all coming from a man that was never drafted for military duty in Vietnam because his card number was 152 when they only drafted up to 125. Later his status was changed to 1-Y, an exempt card because he was diagnosed with Pilonidal disease, a cyst that can grow navel, armpits, buttocks or even on a mans penis. It was diagnose but never pinpointed though, due to the fact that doctors couldn't find Rush's penis.



Sports again.

Recently, Rush was asked on a Sunday morning talk show why he thought his buying into the St. Louis Rams was squashed by the NFL.

His response pinned the tail on the donkey's ass.

"He really has no experience running anything. He's very young. I think he's got an out-of-this-world ego. He's very narcissistic. And he's able to focus all attention on him all the time. That description is simply a way to cut through the noise and say he's immature, inexperienced, in over his head."

Realizing his mistake, Rush's head began shaking violently, his ears turned red and venomous snakes shot out of his eyes when it dawned on him that he was reading from the insult card that was to be used any time anyone asked his opinion of Barack Obama.

So, what I've conclude is that there are three levels of like for Rush.

You either love him, hate him or his level of ignorance and lack of ego, is completely lost on you.

Actually, that sounds like only two levels, doesn't it?

Can ya spare a crawlspace, friend?

I'm on a world wide hunt for friends. Every corner of the world. I won't stop looking til I have a friend in every country, continent, county, time zone and attic crawl space. And I won't stop looking til I've done just that!

Easiest way...Facebook.


Facebook and the addiction that comes with it when you sign up. It's worse than heroine withdrawls. I've seen babies crawl upside down on the ceiling!

There are, of course, other social networking sites but Facebook is my choice.

I have a MySpace account although it's not active. I've stopped using it for several reasons but the biggest reason is that my ex-girlfriend set it up, designed it, and poisoned it with all her 'little touches'. Seeing this site doesn't make me miss her. It makes me want to key her car and have a 'worm' slither into her computer.

Twitter...well, I refuse to 'tweet'.



So I'll just stick with good old Facebook to find me some friends.

Facebook starts innocentlu enough, and actually it might be good for the soul, if only moderation were the reality, but it's not.

Facebook began as a tool to communicate with friends that I've been close with, with or without URL skills. Soon, though, I reacquainted myself with some friends from grade school, which led to a sixth grade kickball class reunion that never materialized. From there, I met up with high school buddies, girlfriends, and even some from my junior high days, two years spent in Mountain Home, Idaho.

RA...RA...RA, GOOOOO PATRIOTS!!!

Then, my girlfriend, and I'm not talking about Medusa, and myself started playing a game. It lasted only three or four nights, but none the less, it was on. Each night we 'chose' a complete stranger in another part of the world to 'friend'. She always picked a man, me a woman. Only rule was that if 'friended', a conversation would have to take place between that 'friend' and ones self.

Something like this.

"Hey, Dave, how the heck are ya?"

"Uh...do I know you?"

"LMAO!!! WTF man, how the eff could you forget? Don't tell me you've forgot that night we finished off that fifth of Bacardi, stole the neighbors three legged cat and that bottle rocket blew up in your Bermudas!?"

Neither of us won, and no one lost, because are 'picks' never responded. And we decided to quit because it felt somewhere between harassment and stalking.

By the way, I'm not friends with the Greek belly dancer anymore. Promise, sweety!






But then I got to thinking, hey, maybe there's a need to 'friend' others within other geographic regions of the world. A need in case I needed a place to stay.

Came to me in the middle of the night. I was awoken by a creepy dream that I'd had, which in turn led me to the kitchen with a killer craving for a peanut butter and Frito sandwich. Please, do not ask about the correlation between Skippys and my inner most subconscience. I promise you don't want to hear about it. Anyway, the dream nor the delectable treat was where the idea came from, but it was the time chowing down, sitting at my laptop with Facebook up and trolling at 3:16 AM. that drew me to the idea. I couldn't believe that not only were my normal 'riding the Insomnia Bus friends' online, but there were others from the other side of the world, during my night time hours that were, during their day time hours, online as well. Who woulda thought?

Then, that revelation led me to start wondering, hypothetically of course, what if I really needed a place to stay. Not because I wanted to vacation in Mozambique or snorkel through the Great Barrier Reef, but because Johnny Law wanted to put me away, pretending they had a case against me, that they might think they had a legitimate case to lock me up, for a crime I didn't commit?

I wondered, what if I needed a tropical get away, under an assumed name? Under these preposterous conditions, and having real 'friends' in Brazil, Berlin, Belize or even Bozeman, could I not find a home elsewhere?

Would my 'friends' give me a hand?

I'm easy to live with, friends, really I am. Hardly any trouble at all. Promise!

SUCK!

My son Ethan and myself like to play a game called SUCK!. The game consists of, out of the blue, for no reason what so ever, he'll say something like "Hey dad," and I'll say "Ya?" and he'll say "Suck!".



Good times!

This is a game that started with, I'm guessing him and his friends and soon caught on with myself. Every chance I get, I'll play.

Standing at the counter at the grocery store, the guy ringing us up.

"Ethan?"

He has his headphones on, Satan Kills the Dali Lama screaming in his ear, assuring me I'll have a astronomical medical bill for his hearing loss. I pull a audio-plug from his ear.

"What, dad?!"



"Suck!" Ha, ha, ha!

Ethan rolls his eye, plugs his ear once again and walks away to stare at the Lotto scratch ticket machine. I'm sure he's thinking how good he has it with me as his dad.

Truth be told, though, he doesn't like playing it much anymore. Not with me anyway. I think it ran it's course with me and isn't all that much fun with his old man. A game that was meant to be played with teenage, pimple poppin' punks and, by throwing me into the mix, it's lost some of it's 'cool'.

I don't care. The fact is I am cool, he just doesn't know it right now. It may take him years, he may sixty-three, but I know a tsunami of realization will wash over him and it'll click at how damn'd cool I really was while raising him.

At least I don't make him listen to 'country' music in the car as my dad did. Wouldn't let us kids change the channel, even when The Knacks 'My Sharona' was all the rave.

"That crap will rot your brains!"



My dad wouldn't let us watch the 'After School Special' because there was chickens to be fed, the lawn to be mowed or his car needed a washing. He liked to call them 'After School Chores'. That was my dad's sense of humor.

My dad certainly would never have played Grand Theft Auto with me, or as I like to call it, Find A Super Fast Motorcycle, Run Over as Many Innocents and Then Hit a Wall at Seventy-Nine MPH Hour Crushing Every Virtual Bone in My Body.



See kid, I am cool! HA!

Of course, when I play GTA, this is the only time Ethan likes to play SUCK!, but I have my suspicions he's saying it less like a proper noun and more like an adjective describing my game play.

Deadly HALLOWEEN Deadline?!

This feels like school all over again. The mere mention of a 'subject', something quits working and my mind starts grinding to halt like a body in a wood chipper. Actually, not even like that, as proven by the Coen brother's in FARGO.

Full blown brain freeze is what it is though. Writer's block!

The writer's worst nightmare, even worse than waking up in a nightmare on Elm...oh forget it.

So, when the call went out by my fellow humorbloggers.com folk, to blog specifically about HALLOWEEN, making sure to use the word HALLOWEEN then I had big plans, even larger ideas and full blown optimism. Sounded like good fun.

After all, it is HALLOWEEN.

I was going to ramble on about Tuscaloosa, an old dummy that some friends and myself constructed. Built with Levi's 501's and Eddie Veddar flannel, old pair of Air Jordans and an elastic hydrocarbon polymer recreation of an old man's face. Completely stuffed with 219 days worth of newspaper, and designed to be no less than six feet two inches tall, weighing no less than Oprah on the top end of the yearly weight fluctuation.

HALLOWEEN tradition was to string Tuscaloosa from the roof of the house, and when unsuspecting teenage punks who had no business trick or treating in the first place stepped up to the door, Tuscaloosa was tossed violently from said roof, left hanging by the noosed rope. Screams of horror, burn out marks left in the grass and on occasion, puddles of pee! HA HA HA!!!

That HALLOWEEN fun ended the year we decided to go out cruisin' and lost our dummy to some large men in an even larger 4x4, and what appeared to be a five or six point buck tied down to the hood of their truck. The size of Bambi is debated to this day by my buddies. Regardless, they were rather pissed off when we threw Tuscaloosa out the window of the car, into oncoming traffic, directly in front of their monster truck. After these redneck sonzabitches ran it over, stopped, and backed back over Tuscaloosa, they began ominously gunning the engine and flashing their brights. It was at this point where we unanimously voted to sacrifice Tuscaloosa to the HALLOWEEN demons!

At the time, my buddies and me, in our early twenties, felt like this was the mature way of celebrating the scariest night of the year, HALLOWEEN. Of course, our thought process was always a little cloudy due to Smirnoff injected Florida oranges, painted with Jack-o-lantern faces.

So, back to the subject of HALLOWEEN and my assignment. Honestly, I'm at a loss. Do not know what to write about. I've been pitching ideas around in my skull for several days and can't dig up anything. This is a problem.

I tossed around the idea of reviewing a movie, say the midnight showing of the Exorcist, but this idea was debunked because I am not, and know I will not be in the mood anytime soon to have the holy living, HALLOWEEN, bejeezer shit scared out of me! Did that once, not again!

Alright then. What to write about?

HALLOWEEN candy?

Funny HALLOWEEN costumes?

Demonic and haunted HALLOWEEN heads that spin a full 360 degrees and starts stuttering "REDRUM, REDRUM!" when seriously pissed off?

Got nothing, really. Writers block is all I got and whatever it is that I could come up with would only be obnoxious drivel, attempting to say something that no one really wants to hear. It would no better than a C grade assignment, a piece of work that fails for the sake of writing a preassigned idea, with a preassigned word, that being HALLOWEEN.

And you all know I have higher standards than that, right?

Right!?!

By the way, if anyone sees Tuscaloosa this HALLOWEEN, tell him I say 'hi'.

Richard Heene Must Die!!!

DISCLAIMER - IF YOU OPT TO KILL THESE PEOPLE, IT LIES IN YOUR LAP SOLELY!

I have a growing list of 'people who must die!'

Not in a literal sense and not at my hands. I have a rough enough time staying out of trouble without killing idiots. But where I'm going with this is that there are just some people out there, walking free, taking up precious space that I don't believe truly are deserving.

Now I understand that we all have rights. The Constitution makes sure of that. I get it. I do. The right to bear arms, the freedom of speech and religion, the right to due process, a speedy trial. It was once amended that we had the right to not drink liquor, before we again had the right to drink liquor. We have many rights that are protected by the Constitution but let me make it real clear. No where in the Constitution, not since our Founding Father or any time since, has an amendment being written making it a right to be a complete and utter idiot if wanted.

People push the envelope and must DIE!

There has to be a limit to the level of dumbdom that one man can, shall I say, achieve!

But, the fact is, I appreciate these people. They make me feel good about myself, that the little things that I get down on myself about aren't that bad after all. Life could be worse.

And they give me reason to spew obscenities at the t.v., making my girlfriend wonder if I need medication. This humors me a great deal.

And most importantly, they give me much material to write about.

For example, Richard Heene.

It's fresh in our minds, and appears won't go away anytime soon.

This guy must die!

Top of the list, at least at this time. Sure, he has a family...a wife, kids, maybe a dog, but this guy doesn't deserve to keep on sucking up refreshing, high altitude, Colorado oxygen any more than Lindsey Lohan is deserving of a drivers license.

All the guy wants is publicity, a reality show and cash to go with it. Well guess what doughhead?! You got the publicity, you 'created' your own show, and there will be plenty o' cash flow, but in the wrong direction. Two out of three ain't bad, bitch!

There are lots of examples though, mostly criminal.

Take for instance the two burglars in North Carolina who broke into a school, found a camera and began taking pics of their crimes. All is good so far, right? But, not being able to get the 'film' out of the camera, they figured that it was empty of film and decided to leave the camera behind.

What? They've never heard of digital?

When they were arrested they told the police officer that "we thought it was one of them new fandangled Polarwhatchacallits. Didn't know why the dern'd picture didn't print out the front of the camera".

Okay, so I made up that last part, but I have to believe that's what the three shared brain cells between the two men were thinking at the time.

DIE!!!

Nother one. Man in Daytona Beach, Florida, walked into a shop, pointed his index finger, cocked his thumb (yes, cocked it) and proceeded to 'rob' the store. When the clerk realized he wasn't going to be seriously harmed if shot, he proceeded to chase him off. The suspect was later arrested and charged with 'armed' robbery!

Fingerprinting proved that it was indeed the weapon. HA!!!

DIE, you goofy bastard!

Then, in Hawaii, a man was questioned, suspected of robbing four banks. He proudly and arrogantly said, "I didn't rob no four banks, copper! Only three!"

DIE, gravy sucking pig!

This example of brilliant stupidity hits close to home.

I had a nearly-ex-but-never-happened-thank-GOD-brother-in-law. We'll call him Tony. He was once pulled over...for what...well, not sure, don't care, won't move the story along any quicker. What matters is that Tony knew he had a warrant out for his arrest, and really didn't want to spend the night in county lock-up. So in his quick thinking way that Tony is known for, he exquisitely said he didn't have his ID, and instead of fessing up his true identity, he gave the officer the name of his brother, my other nearly-ex-never-happened-thank-GOD-brother-in-law. We'll call him Nick. Turns out that not only did Tony have a warrant out for his arrest, but so did Nick.

Tony ended up getting a three consecutive sentences...serving his, Nicks and the court decided to throw in an extra one, just because...well, just because of dumbdom, I'm guessing.

DIE!!!!

So you see, there a lot of extremely dim witted and shall we say, idiotic people in this world that need to be taken off the streets before more innocent people are harmed! Be on my side, help me out, and let me know of any of these morons so I can add them to my growing list.

Speaking of dumb, I gotta run, people. Been thinking of a $5 Starbucks!

DIE, DIE, DIE!!!

CONAN THE ANNIHILATOR

I'm not working right now, so I basically have a lot of time on my hands. That is after I wake up, ranging anywhere from 7:30 in the morning all the way up til the time Conan O'Brien ends sometime after midnight.

Speaking of which, I'm diggin' Conan O'Brien these days.

Funny guy.

But it's the hair that gets me more than anything. I could watch that hair anytime, anywhere. Funniest living thing ever, and when I say living, I mean living!

Take a look, but be warned. I took his face out of the pic because the hair is what I want to concentrate on here.




AWESOME!

How can you not think that isn't the coolest thing since the creature crawled from the black lagoon. Actually, kinda looks like it might have crawled out of a swamp, but with a sense of humor.

Be honest. Have you ever seen it up close? Really looked at it?

At time it seems to laughs along with Conan. In even rarer times, and I do mean rare, for obvious reasons, it appears to snicker at an Andy Richter comment.

It lives!

And dang if it isn't a protective device as well. This was proven after his near death experience after falling on his head while racing Teri Hatcher. Since then Honda is looking into the engineering of his hair to see if there is something there that could improve their airbag deployment technology. Riddell, maker of football helmets, have already pushed a prototype to the front of their research department so to have them in mass production and rolling off the assembly line by next years fall college football season.

They're calling it the Annihilator!





That is a helmet I can't wait to see the Detroit Lions wearing. It isn't like they could possibly get beat up any worse than they do every Sunday.

Alright, the whole Conan thing does run deeper than just the comedians hair with me though. I really do think he's funny, in a 'red headed stepchild way' but funny none the less. Goofy, funny faces, his quick wit, the way he can play with the camera and do lousy imitations that are recognizable regardless of how terrible they are.

Hysterical!

I've been a fan for many years, long before the late night talk shows. Dating back to the Simpsons, where he was a writer in the early years. Oh, and a little known fact. During his stint with Matt Groening and pals, Conan's hair had it's first shot at stardom, and the first time anyone can find in the archive that they were used as a prop for a skit. It came on the Treehouse of Horrors IV. The episode didn't actually make the cut but recently the unused, illustrated storyboard have surfaced on the internet. The story goes that his red rug mutates, grows spider like legs and goes about tormenting, slaughtering and sucking the blood from the residents of Springfield!

He was also pegged to be an ongoing cameo character, but the creators didn't see that working either.

TAKE MINE A LITTLE PINK, PLEASE!

I am enthralled with tasers! You might all have noticed I've referenced this wonderful weapon of mass electric destruction more than once before. So I don't know why but ain't they cool?! And I live in just the place where I can enjoy my insatiable thirst for 'em!






Spokane! The taser capital of the world. This part of the country used to be known for the Aryans but no longer. What we really like in the Pacific Northwest is to see a helpless thug, bankrobber, disabled person or Red Angus frying from the inside out!

Which leads to my favorite story. I'm going to dissect this one porter steak at a time so as to illustrate what down for you all.

Seems a poor cow wandered out on to I-90 and instead of listening the cops to "Get down on, get down on the ground NOW!!!"

This just confused the bovine, so he continued chomping on his cud and swatting flies off his ass.

"Don't make me say it again! GET DOWN, NOW!!!"

When the cow resisted, the police officers pulled out their tasers, aimed, and with the training they received over a six or seven week course, proceed to jolt the unassuming cow. Not once, not twice, not even three times, but 'again and again' til the animal died.

Yowza!!! Good fun, baby!

This is just the first time I can remember, this tasering epidemic, but I'll be damn'd if I want it to go away anytime soon.

Don't get me wrong. This would be extremely scary, that is if anyone...man, woman or child were runnin' around with 50,000 Volts of packaged electricity in their back pocket. But, this isn't the case. Truth is, it's the faithful, protectors of the peace, the men and women in blue, the coppers, fuzz and our very own Spokompton Police Department.





Love those guys!

Now we don't have a trademark on tasers here. We don't, but at the last city council meeting there was a vote and the chance to put a sign entering Spokane proclaiming:

Spokane
Heck Ya, We'll Tase You if You'll Just Sit Still Long 'Nough!

The vote missed passing by one vote because Council Member Al French was on a ride along with the SPD, casing out Doug Clark's home. He was doing so in hopes that he'd get the chance to use his newly learned 'taser skills' on the Spokesman-Reviews columnist and most boisterous proponent of the cops and the council.

Got to love Al's desire to learn a new craft and hand down the long arm of the law himself.

Now, don't be thinkin' that Spokane is only known for the taser. We have other notable attributes. We have Bloomsday, John Stockton and a rusty old metal, garbage eating goat.





Oh, and the world's largest Radio Flyer!!!

But we do love the taser. And yes, maybe it's used elsewhere to keep the peace like the crotchety old grandma in Texas that got herself zapped because she wouldn't sign her speeding ticket. But you know what? We aren't gonna take a 72 year old grandma's in Texas trying to take the attention away from our great city up here, away from her sweltering heat. We have all the heat we can handled, supplied by our faithful men in badges!

KC-135 and the Sunshine Balloon Band

I wasn't going to do this, but I have to. Pisses me off!

Everyone, myself included, is consumed with this 'balloon boy', the one that supposedly floated 7000 feet in the sky, over Colorado, while the cameras rolled and the whole country followed in horror. The boy 'lands' in the cellar, narrowly misses puking up on Barbara Walters, and announces it was 'for the show'.

Hmmm...



So, now there is a question of whether or not the boys father has narcissistic personality disorder. If this guy wants the publicity, if this guy wants to fly, then let's give it to him. And we won't call it punishment. Remember, he's just chasing a dream, this is America after all. That being said, I say one end of a long rope should be tied to his testicles and the other end to a KC-135. WHOO HOO! We have take off!!!





But that isn't what angers me.

Where my ire bubbles over is that we, as a society, built this. This guy thinks he can run around acting like an orangutans ass. He knows that while I'm trying to watch Judge Judy, I'll be interrupted by his stupid, silver UFO, and my afternoon will be ruined.

Let me reiterate, he knows this!

For this, he should be punished!



So, in closing I say we stand him up in front of the Honorable Judge herself and see how long he lasts with her. He'll be praying for the a long rope and a cargo tanker.

Siskel Turns Over in His Grave...From Hell!

I have always wanted to be a film critic. Not any kind of film critic though. I'm talking the film critic that reviews Dick Tracy with Warren Beatty and Madonna and has the nuts to express in bold print and proudly proclaim, "That was a fine piece of cinematography!"

Really?

Or how about the guy that put his stamp of approval on Brittany Spears' incurable disease that was Crossroads? Does this man still have a job?

I assume he does, and why? Because they get paid to review movies that are made of detergent and crap-pie.

That being said, why can't I?

So...I'm gonna give it a shot, and hope that because I'm so convincing that in these harsh economically trying times you'll go out and spend your hard earned cash on a complete waste of celluloid and the catered in deli trays.

Okay, so on my first attempt I don't want to spend to much money researching my endeavor so I'll go downstairs to cable t.v. where I know just the place to find a perfectly good load of intolerable cinematography puke.

LIFETIME!

There has to be a pooper with Meridith Baxter-Birney or Valerie Bertinelli-Van Halen. Always is. Oh...ya!!! Here we go, a real doozy! Let me watch this, take some notes, write this bad boy up and I'll be off and runnin', publishing my first ever movie review. Give me a few hours and I'll be right back at ya with a critique of a stimulating film.

Two minutes later...

Not even I could put a decent spin on that garbage!

Plan B.

Blockbuster!

I'll grab a newly released DVD, something not many have seen. Maybe a western, or zombie flick or a western/zombie flick. That will be a challenge in proving that I could falsify details enough that you want to not only run, but break laws in order to get this movie.

Back with something good, in a tobacco stained spittoon kind of way.

So this is older but a real suck-ass through a straw kind of film. A horror spectacle with pasty characters, unbearable plot, a stuttering lead and the worst dialogue ever keyed and wasted on perfectly good paper before recycling was popular.

Here goes!!!

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Little Nicky - Hell Hath No Fury and Not Nearly the Fun!

The first time I saw Little Nicky I hadn't planned to. A date and myself walked into the wrong theater. Twenty-seven minutes later, after upcoming movie previews, several ads for Diet Coke and Twizzlers, the credits began rolling. It was then that we realized we were in the wrong screening room. My date laid down an ultimatum. Leave this movie or leave her. Years later, I've found that the movie was better than the relationship and I should have taken her up on her offer.

The next time I took it in, I not only got past the credits, but through the entire thing. And what a hellacious treat.

Written by Adam Sandler, he also stars in it as the lead character, Little Nicky, the son of Beelzebub. He's sent back to the surface to 'flask' his even more evil brothers that are pissed that they aren't being handed the throne of Satan. He's supposed to bring them back to Hell. Hilarity ensues.

First, he meets Mr. Beefy, a talking bulldog that claims to be an old friend of the satanic daddy of all daddies. Mr. Beefy points, or paws, Little Nicky in all the right directions trying with all his puppy might to keep him out of trouble. Check out the marijuana cake scene...nothing is funnier than a possessed Adam Sandler and a chubby bulldog higher than Heaven itself.

Then, for the women out there that don't want to believe they've spent their evening wasted watching a horribly produced, over-acted Adam Sandler dud, there is the complimentary love story. Ingenious. Patricia Arquette plays Little Nicky's love interest. A bland, unattractive woman, which by the way, she excels at magnificently. She falls for him, he divulges his evil and heinous background to her and everyone lives happily ever after, blah, blah, blah....

The movie is full of great actors such as Rodney Dangerfield, Harvey Keitel, Kevin Nealon, Dana Carvey, Henry Winkler and Quentin Tarantino as the blind deacon, which we all know, if Tarantino is gonna act, he definitely needs a character prop such as Leber's congenital amaurosis as an excuse.

The only excruciatingly painful part in the movie is the sadistic Rob Schnieder cameo. "You can do it!" All I can say is I just hope some earthly being kills him and he lands an eternal sentence of burning at the stakes of the Dark Lord!

So going into this movie expecting the Exorcist, a person will be disappointed but all and all a great late night waste of time. Just don't bring a date!

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Convincing? You bet it was! So from now on, maybe once a week or until the hate filled e-mails start flowing in, insisting I stop, I'll keep 'em coming.