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!

8 comments:

  1. Great story. At least it was not Barney Frank touching your junk.

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  2. Glad you gave your daddy a party... and your junk was felt up free.

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  3. i saw kirstie alley floating in the macy's day parade. yeah not pretty. hope your gastrointestinals are all back in order.

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  4. I always thought it would be excellent fun to go through the airport full body scanner with all manner of odd yet not illegal things strapped to your belt. I mean if some dude in a dark room is going to look at you nekkid, you might as well give him a few surprises right? Maybe a rubber chicken, a cucumber and a gargoyle of Sarah Palin's head would be good dangling from your waistband. Me, I'd get some metal nipple plates shaped like torpedoes.

    Of course, you'd be asking for the pat down really after that...

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  5. A little fear caps of Thanksgiving nicely, I find. Like whipped cream on pumpkin pie.

    I too was ignored by TSA over the holidays. Goddammit. I even wore something pretty.

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  6. They feel you up in the dark? What's the point of that?

    Sounds like you had quite the feast. My family ate tofurky...they're a bunch of hippies. Groovy hippies, but hippies none-the-less.

    -UD
    http://zpnotesfromunderground.blogspot.com/

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  7. This is a great posting I have read. I like your article.

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