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!