Beat Her Womb With Your Giant

I just got some "spam" (junk mail) and the subject box said: 'BEAT HER WOMB WITH YOUR GIANT'

Spam (junk mail) doesn't really bother me. Most of the time I just delete it. No harm done. Once in a while I'll open it because I love the broken English (and British) that's inside.

But today I had to decide....delete or BEAT HER WOMB WITH YOUR GIANT.

Why would anyone want to beat anyone's womb with a giant? Is that fun?

Who likes it the most? The one with the giant or the one with the womb?

Do women really want to date guys that want to beat their wombs with their giant? Does this womb beating bring pleasure? Or is it just another run of the mill beating?

Do women (or folks with wombs) like general beatings or just the kind that involve YOUR GIANT?

Does a woman with a giant womb need her beatings from someone with an even more gigantic Giant?

And when the heck did womb beating get so damn popular? Did I sleep through the whole fad? Was I not informed? Is it just card holders in the Giant club that were notified?

So many questions.

I wonder if a woman could beat a giant with her womb?

Microscopic Analyses Of Arkansas Slate

To be exact...Black Slate from Mena, out near Big Forks.

This is a pure black slate, which to the unaided eye has an exceedingly fine texture and a remarkably smooth cleavage surface(very sexy) with a light luster. It is both carbonaceous (yeah, right!) and magnetitic: does not effervesce (puts middle finger out) with cold dilute hydrochloric acid (I'm guessing it does), is very sonorous (speak English freak scientist!), and very fissile (English, damn it!)

Under the microscope this slate shows a matrix of muscovite (Boris!), with a very brilliant aggregate polarization (LIAR!) and an unusally fine texture and great homogeneity (snicker).

Quartz grains are few and not over 0.01mm (Yeah,...we all know what that means??) in diameter. Rutile (that can't possibly be a real word) needles unusually minute. Many opaque (not clear) particles of irregular shape, some of which are pyrite (they now run Indian Casinos, correct...The Pyrite Tribe??) others magnetite, and some coaly (can't be a word) or graphitic matter.

NO CARBONATE.


So to sum up:

Arkansas has slate.

The Mouse Pad Guy.

Back in the 1990s when computers first started coming into vogue, people needed mouse pads.

A pad for their 'computer mouse'. The clicker think. A Mouse Pad.

And I thought it would be brilliant to find a whole bunch of 'The Mouse Pads' and sell them in my store.

So I went on something called the World Wide Web (dubya dubya dubya) and found numerous suppliers for The Mouse Pads. All different styles and designs. Star Wars and Star Trek. Marilyn Monroe. The Rolling Stones. Tom and Jerry. Cartoons. And on and on.

And then I called up one supplier, ordered some Pads, and waited for them to arrive. And then the supplier (whom I'll now and forever call The Mouse Pad Guy) calls me up to talk about Mouse Pads!!

He started asking about sell-thru and what styles sold best and blah blah blah. No big deal.

And then he called me the next day TO TALK ABOUT MOUSE PADS AGAIN!!!

We discussed 'mouse pad strategy', market penetration, etc.

Mouse Pads.

And then he called the next day.

What if the Beatles wrote songs in that weird British jibber-jabbery way that Brits talk?

1. The Bippy-Loo Of Johnny and Yoko

2. Maxwell's Glibbity Globbity Glam.

3. Meany Mooopsy Poopsy Mustard.

4. Eleanor-Pleanor Rig-Ga-Rooni

5. Sgt. Pibbities Loopity Hoopity Big Time Band.

6. Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da

7. Happiness is Faloob-a-Tootin'.

8. Why Don't We Do It In The Poppity Poopity Poo.

9. Back In The Youbity.Soobity. Soobity. Ruckatoobey.

10. Yonders Flonders Jude!

Paul Warfield Tibbets Jr

Rest in peace, my friend.

E=3-Musketeers squared.

I just had three 3 Musketeers candy bars* for breakfast.

Does this mean I just had 9 Musketeers?

Does this make me a candy slut?

On the package it says: Whipped Up Fluffy Chocolate on Chocolate Taste.

This concerns me. "Chocolate taste" I don't want chocolate taste. I want chocolate. Whipped up chocolate.

And what about the part that says chocolate on chocolate? Sounds like some kinda racial thing.

I'm content with chocolate on not chocolate. But Whipped Up is good.

Whipped up chocolate. WHIPPED. UP. CHOCOLATE.

That's a good thing.

*The fun size. Which aint really fun. A regular sized 3 Musketeers Bar would be more fun. A regular sized actual Musketeer would be more fun for the ladies.

Even more so if he was covered in chocolate.

The baby Jesus and his first Halloween

From the story in the bible, Boris:3:14, it mentions the baby Jesus (they were still callin' him baby Jesus even though he was now 7 years old) went out for his first Halloween dressed as The Frankincense Monster and he sadly came home with a bag filled only with myrrh.

The next year he would dress up as Cowboy and get a bag of gold.

The point of the story?

Ya dress up like Frankincense, ya get myrrh. Dress up like a Cowboy, and ya get gold.

It's true. I read it in the bible. Elvira 36D:

Why don't the British just speak English?

Ever notice that people from England don't speak the same language we do? We both call it English but I have no idea what they're talking about half the time.

They say stuff like:

"Pippins in the morning."

"Jolly poof biggins me Lady."

"Bollocks and sod to ya Mum."

"Bob's yer Uncle, ding dong Chatterly!"

"Have me some biscuits and chips, ladle me good."

"Piccadilly Lorry deliver me to Lords."

"How can you eat your meat when you don't have any pudding?"....Oh wait...that one is Pink Floyd.

"Lolly me blunders the whip of the wind flutters me bellows."


Or did I just do Scottish?

Lamont.

I'm not sure if you all read the comments in this here blog but from time to time this woman named 'Lamont' posts comments.

And her comments are usually witty and funny and stuff.

But 'Lamont' doesn't have a blog of her own and I think it's high time she did.

So with a show of hands, who thinks 'Lamont' should start her own blog and entertain us all?

::hand shoots up::

That's one...

The Yankees Suck

The 2007 World Champion Boston Red Sox don't.

Reprinting of last years blog

(I posted this in 2006 on October 27th. Thought I would do so again. Maybe I'll get some candy or something by showing my sensitive side)


Things always work out for me. Good seats at concerts. The last piece of cake. Refunds from insurance companies. All sorts of small things just seem to go my way. Wifey thinks I'm lucky. It aint luck. Things just work out somehow.

So anyhow...two years ago I get a phone call that my Mom might be dying and to get to the hospital. I hang up the phone and in walks Bacon Ace who runs the store for me while I rush off to the hospital. (Would I have closed the store if he didn't show up?) I get to the hospital, meet my brother there, and then find out Mom died about ten minutes before. Possibly the most horrible thing thats ever happened to me. Me and Bro decide to go straight to the funeral home and make the arrangements, tie up all loose ends, and then go home.I

'm at home. My Mom just died. And I'm sitting there. And I'm watching TV. The Red Sox. The fourth game of the 2004 World Series. And they win. The Boston Red Sox WIN the World Series a couple of hours after my Mom dies. The Boston Red Sox. I'm jumping for joy on the day my Mom dies. I run to a friends house in the neighborhood and toast the Red Sox. On the day my Mom dies. It's very strange. I've loved the Red Sox more than any 'thing' in my life and they go and win the World Series on October 27, 2004. The day Mom died.

Like I said...things work out for me in some weird way. How can I relate something as trivial as the Red Sox winning to my Mom's death? The Red Sox winning wasn't trivial. It was awesome. And Moms death was horrible. They just happened on the same day.

It's actually kinda cool. When I think of that glorious moment of Foulke getting the ball and tossing it to Minky at first...I think of Mom. And when I think of Mom...I think of the Red Sox. I'm sure there is some hidden goofy metaphor about life and death and stuff that I could prattle on about, but there aint. My Mom died and the Red Sox won the World Series two years ago today.

I miss those 2004 Red Sox. And I miss my Mom.

(I hope next October some relative I don't like dies and the Red Sox win again.)

Anything going on tonight?

Well, I just got back from fighting the fires in Southern California.


I think I'll settle down and watch me some baseball tonight....I wonder who is playing?

A Romantic Interlude

So even a rough and tough guy like me has his softer side.

The other night at the house, after some guests left, Wifey and I (Wifey) cleaned up and we're getting ready for bed.

The dishes were done,candles were out, dog was settled.

Wifey sits up on the counter and were talking about the kids, and the week ahead, and just all around winding down when she looks me in the eye with that look of a woman in love.

And who can blame her?

So anyhow, I'm standing close to her, we just had an anniversary, and we feel very lucky to be with each other.

It's special. Nobody is around. It's late.

Wifey looks deep in my eyes again....and here is what happened next:

ME: "I'm really glad we met."

WIFEY: "You look like a kangaroo."

Pennant Fever Grips Hub !

It's true.

Joey Bishop: R.I.P.

Dear Boston Red Sox,

Win it for Joey.

Love,
Steve

Shut up Ellen!

So Ellen DeGeneras adopts a small dog from some animal rescue league or something. She signs a contract. After a month or so she decides she can't care for said puppy so she gives it to her hairdresser.

The hairdresser has two children under the age of 12. The animal rescue place doesn't give or allow their small dogs to be given to households with children under the age of 14.

For the dogs safety.

But Ellen (as much as I like her) doesn't READ the contract she signed and goes on national television, cries her eyes out, pleads for them to give the dog back to the caring family (Manson had a caring family also) and disses the animal rescue place because they took the dog away from from the family with the two UNDER age 12 kids (remember,they don't give small dogs to families with kids under 14 for the dogs safety...it's in the contract)

The whole point of the story?

1. Kids under the age of 14 kill small dogs.

2. Ellen should learn to read contracts she signs.

3. The Red Sox better win tonight or I will kill my small dog.

Possibly the greatest line ever.

A friend of mine has a blog/forum thingy about the Boston Red Sox (www.survivinggrady.com) and everyday it's packed with fun and crazy.

Well, as you know, my Red Sox are in the playoffs and just limping thru them (even with my lucky hat). In a best of seven series they are down 3 games to 1.

And the fun folk at Surviving Grady came up with possibly the greatest 'line' when discussing a playoff team on the ropes (but still sprinkled with optimism.)

***** "They're gonna come alive more than Frampton."****


Not everybody will think that's the greatest line ever. But I do and that's all that matters.

If you don't 'get' the line...trust me....it's great.


PS:
A short history on My Lucky Hat....I got it on September 10, 2001 and the VERY NEXT DAY I found a crisp dollar bill on the street.

I Love Mountains

So I'm driving to work this morning and the car in front of me had a bumper sticker that said: I LOVE MOUNTAINS (the word LOVE was actually a red heart which made it more meaningful)

I LOVE MOUNTAINS.

He was almost making some kinda statement like there are people out there THAT HATE MOUNTAINS.

Hey Buddy, nobody hates mountains. Take a deep breath. Mountains are just fine. It's the one thing people of Planet Earth agree on. We all love mountains. We just don't wear it on our sleeve like you do.

When did you find out you had this great love for mountains? Do you dream about mountains? Do you write poetry to the mountain? Do you buy the mountain presents? Ever kiss the said mountain? Hold hands with the mountain? Tell it you love it?

Do you love them all? Even the stupid ones? How about the mountains that have avalanches and kill children? Do you love THOSE kind?

Or the volcanic mountain and it's life ending molton lava? Jerk.

You just can't make a blanket statement that you I LOVE MOUNTAINS. You love SOME mountains. Probably just one or two that you ski on and help erode. Jerk.

Mountain eroding jerk.

Maybe you should get a bumper sticker that says: I'M A MOUNTAIN ERODING JERK.

Cuz you are.

And WE HATE MOUNTAIN ERODING JERKS.

It's the second thing everyone on the Planet Earth can agree on.

Update on My Lucky Hat

If you read yesterday's blog you know a bit about My Lucky Hat.

But I left something VERY important out of the story.

I wore My Lucky Hat while at a friends house watching the baseball game, but I came home around the 9th inning of said game.

And I took My Lucky Hat OFF. I TOOK IT OFF!!! I TOOK MY LUCKY HAT OFF!!!

And then The Red Sox lost a couple of innings later.

So To Sum Up:

It's not the hat by itself that is lucky...it's only lucky when it's on my lucky head!!

And it will be on my lucky head tonight.

My Lucky Hat

So last night we're going to a friends house to watch the Red Sox playoff game and I decide to wear my 'lucky hat'. It was never my lucky hat before that, but I assumed the Red Sox would win the game and then I'd have a 'lucky hat'. And everyone wants to own a lucky hat, correct?

Are you following the logic?

So anyhow....we're leaving my house and Wifey says: "Why are you wearing the hat?"

ME: "Well....I don't like my haircut (I don't tell her it's my new lucky hat) and the hat covers it."

WIFEY: "It makes your head look small."

ME: "The hat makes my head look small?" ::takes it off...looks in mirror...puts it back on...looks in mirror....takes it off...looks in miror...puts it back on::

WIFEY: "It makes your head look small...your haircut looks nice!"

ME: ::puts hat on:: "Let's go."

Flash forward five hours later: SOX give up 7 runs in the 11th inning to lose game.

---------------
So to sum up:

My lucky hat had a bad first day on the job. My head is the size of a baseball. My haircut is stupid. Wifey is smarter than me.

PS
I'll be wearing my lucky hat Monday night for game 3. My head will be the size of a baseball.

PPSS
The hat is a ballcap....and it aint jaunty.

The Jesus Fish

So I'm driving to work this morning and I notice one of those metal Jesus Fish on the back of a car. I've been seeing those for years. (and those 'clever' folk with the Darwin Fish with the little feet....Hey tard! Fish aint got feet!)

But anyhow I realize that I have NO CLUE what the Jesus Fish means. None. I suppose I could google 'Jesus Fish' but that would kinda take the fun out of it, yes? And googlin' Jesus just seems kinda wrong. I doubt he would have liked being googled (even by a Catholic priest)

So what does the Jesus Fish mean?

1. Jesus smelled like fish? Wouldn't it be funnier just to have a bumber sticker that says "Jesus smells like fish" than a Jesus Fish?....so no. I'm guessing Jesus did NOT smell like fish.

2. Maybe Jesus was a fisherman. Can't ya just picture him side by side with Quint, chummin' for a great white shark or something? Maybe in a River That Runs Through It wearing hip waders? Nah....Jesus was a carpenter (though he wore a dress and not carpenter pants)....so no on Jesus as a fisherman.

3. Maybe Jesus was there when Moses farted in the Red Sea and killed all the fish...Jesus picked them up and brought them into town to all the Virgin Mary's and stuff? Nah. That's just a made up story.

4. Maybe it was Jesus that turned the wine into fish? But who would have drank fishy tasting wine? So that's stupid.

5. Maybe Jesus looked like a fish kinda like The Incredible Mr. Limpet. This is a good possibility. Don Knotts as The Christ. Nah.....crazy talk.

6. Maybe Jesus just had a pet goldfish or something....it's the lost chapter in the bible: Goldy 3:14 or something. Yup. That's it. Jesus had a pet goldfish. And folks like to celebrate Goldy The Jesus Fish on the back of their cars. Because it gets them in heaven.

The End.

Don't forget...

...today is NO BLOG THURSDAY.



::sign of the cross::



::bows::



::curtsies::



::shakes hand::



::magooes around::

I loved you McDonalds. Maybe I still do.

I was always true to you. We grew up together. I'm part of your sign that states 'billions and billions' served.

When I was down in the dumps you were there all Thick Chocolate Shakey for me.

When I was going to a funeral after work I knew I could count on you for a couple of Apple Pies. Maybe a small french fry just until I looked at the dead guy and then got home.

You were there when my Mom died (two Big Macs, large fry, Chicken McNuggets, orange drink)

Or how about that time in the storm when I pulled up to the drive-up window and ordered the Big Breakfast? Remember that? That got me through.

The day my kids were born? Filet O Fish!! God I love them! I love my kids also.

The day I got married? I'm pretty sure it was for a limited time only....McRib!! Made my wedding quite special.

Sometimes I'm just feeling blue (usually in the fall) and I'll go thru the drive-up and just order a box of cookies....the voice will say "Is that all?" and I think is that all? What more does one need when blue? I'm blue, I didn't have to leave my car, and now I have cookies.

Remember September 11, 2001? I sure do. Two quarter pounders, large fries, 2 apple pies, and a soft serve ice cream. You got me though buddy. Big time.

Too many times to list....you were always there. Always.

Almost.

You weren't there last night. And I needed you.

But Wendy was. And Wendy served me up two 1/4 perfectly cooked square hamburgers and a small fry. She was there FOR ME!!! She took care of me!!! And she was delicious.

And where were you McDonalds? Serving your bilions and billions?? Yeah....minus one.

You're on notice.

PS
Dear Wendy,

I won't be back for a while....I have to try an make it work with Mac.

Love,
Steve

A simple note.

Last night I stayed up late and watched the NY Yankees crash and burn and go home for the season.

Wifey had gone to bed a few hours earlier so I left her this note:

Dear Wifey,

The Yankees Suck.

Love,
Hubby

---------------------

And somehow Wifey wakes up, reads said note, and thinks The Yankees won.

A simple note, correct? Nicely summed up. To the point. The. Yankees. Suck. What's not to get? They lost. They suck. If they won why would I say they sucked?

Their season is over because of their suckiness. The Yankees Suck. It's true. They suck. They're bad. Stink-O. Crappola. Done. Finished. I don't have to even think of them until April. But I will. Because. They suck. I hate them.

Little known FACT about Yankee players: Not only do they smell bad....but they smell like burnt hair. Every darned one of them.

Or is that sulfur?

New pants.

Everybody loves new pants.

Why wouldn't ya? They're new. They're pants. They're new pants.

Everybody loves them.

So anyhow, yesterday I buy some new pants. New jeans. I get home wash them and then try them on.

And then I say to Wifey: ::tugging a little loop on said pants:: "What's this thing for?"

Wifey: "You put a hammer on that."

ME: ::thinking to myself:: 'why the heck would I want to hang a hammer on my pants?'

Turns out I bought something called 'carpenter pants'....and with my skills at carpentery it's a wonder I haven't been wearing these for decades. Planin' and a sandin', stainin' and a hammerin'. Night and day. I work with the woods. I'm a maker of things. A carpent.

Everybody loves the carpenter pants. New carpenter pants. Love them.

Manny being Manny (or something)

"I haven't been right all year. When you don't feel good and you still get hits, that's how you know you're a bad man." -- Ramirez

Nothing left to make fun of.

Nothing. It's over. Everything that could be made fun of has been made fun of.

It's over. Done.

I always thought there would be an endless supply of things to make fun of, but this morning when I checked my notes I saw nothing.

Well, maybe a little something.

The word FRESCA was jotted down....but with a line through it.

Would FRESCA be worth making fun of? Cuz that's all I have.

FRESCA.

What kinda loser drinks FRESCA? Retards? Yankee Fans? Not Iranians? Canadians? My cousin? Wifey?

Have any of us in the last 5 years tried FRESCA? Seen FRESCA?

Have any of us seen anybody else drinking FRESCA? Have you seen it at a bar or a store?

Ever crave it? Do you even remember what it tastes like?

Ever see an ad on TV for FRESCA?

How would they advertise it? Would they show a bunch of tards at the Special Olympics trying to high five each other while sweat dripped down their pudgy retarded bodies?

Would that make us (Non Retards) want to go out and hunt down The FRESCA? Are sweaty retards really the demographic the FRESCA folks want?

What the hell does FRESCA mean anyhow? Fresh? Ca? Fresh-carbonated. FRESCA.

Stupid.

FRESCA is so stupid I ain't even gonna make fun of it.

Ice is food.

So last night Wifey was out doing her Red Cross volunteer work (or something) and I need a place to:

a) eat dinner

b) watch the Red Sox game

So I went to the 99 down near my house and sat at the bar to eat and watch said game.

I'm watching the bartender pour ice into the ice thingy and she's pouring the ice from a large bucket with the words ICE IS FOOD in big letters on the side of ice bucket thingy.

Ice is food. Ice. Is food.

Now I'm pretty hungry but I'm not hankerin' for ice. I'm hankerin' for food. The Not Ice kinda food.
The fried chicken kinda food. With honey and mashed potatoes and maybe some corn and a biscuit.

And no matter how one might prepare ice I'm guessing it aint all that good.

So I order the chicken. And I think about how Canada could feed the world.

Because Ice is Food.

And then I think about how odd it is that a whole country is really just this massive meal just a waitin' to be eaten.

Because Ice is Food.



(the bucket of ice at the 99 really had the words ICE IS FOOD on it.)

Gone To Fenway Park.

I'll be back November 1st.*



*I'm lying. I'll be here all day. I also lied about going to Fenway. Cuz I'm a liar.

Living on $2.00 a day

I read in magazine that over two BILLION people live on $2.00 a day (or less)

Here is what I'd do if I had to live on $2.00 a day.

1. In the morning I'd stop at IHOP and have pancakes, sausage, toast, bacon, hash browns, and large glass of cold milk. .20 cents.

2. Then I'd buy a newspaper to read while eating said breakfast. .02 cents

3. Then I drive to work paying a toll on the Pike and filling up my tank with gas. .24 cents.

4. When I got to work I'd walk over to the STORE 24 for snacks. .09 cents.

5. On my way home I'd stop and pick up my wife some flowers or jewelry. .30 cents.

6. When I got home I'd surprise wifey and take her out for dinner and drinks. .41 cents.

7. With the left over .94 cents I'd put aside some of it towards the phone bill, electric, cable, insurance, new car, college funds, investments, etc.

Life is pretty good at $2.00 a day. I can only imagine the rich folks spending upwards of $3.00 a day.

Hot corn bread.

Cold butter. Not much else needs to be said.

How bad punctuation ruins the theme to Gilligan's Island

"Just sit. "

"Right.... "

"Back?"

"And you'll hear a tale."

"A tale of?"

"A fateful trip."

"That started?"

"From this tropic port. "

"Aboard this tiny ship?"

(The mate was a mighty sailing man.)

"The skipper?"

"Brave and sure."

{Five passengers set sail.}

"That day?"
"For?"

"A three hour tour. "

"A three HOUR tour????" "The weather?"

{Started getting rough!}

"The tiny ship?"

"Was tossed!"

"If not for......??"

"The courage of the fearless crew, the minnow would be lost. "

"The minnow would be lost??"

{The ship set ground on the shore.}

"Of this uncharted desert isle?"

"With Gilligan?"

"The Skipper, too."

"The millionaire?"

"And his wife!"

"The movie star, the professor?"

"And Mary Ann!"

"Here on Gilligans Isle?"

"So this is the tale?"

"Of the castways."

"They're here?"

"For a long, long time! They'll have to make the best of things. It's an uphill climb. The first mate and the Skipper too, will do their very best."

"To make the others comfortable?"
"In the tropic island nest?"

"No phone?"
"No."

"Lights?"
"No."

"Motor cars?"

"Not a single luxury."

"Like Robinson Crusoe?"
"As primative as can be."

"So?"
"Join us!"

"Here?"

"Each week my friends! You're sure to get a smile."

"From seven stranded castways? Here?"

"On Gilligan's Isle."

That President of Iran is so gay

Early in the week he spoke at Columbia University and said some darn right crazy stuff.

Lots of crazy stuff. Him being crazy and all.

But the one that got in most folks craw was the one about Iran not having homosexuals.

Now is this just a fluke that homosexuals don't live in Iran? Or was CrazyPrez saying that Iranians in and of themselves can't be homosexuals because of something inside them?

Who the heck knows.

What I do know is that I must be Iranian. Because if I was Not Iranian I could be The Gay. And I aint The Gay.

Which actually brings me to the whole point of the blog.

Not Iranians have been called a lot of things over the years. In my lifetime we've called homosexuals: queers, fags, homos, and most recently, gay. None of them sound like good names.

But now we're calling them Not Iranians. What if they were born in the states? Do we call them American Not Iranians?

And what about Not Iranian slogans?

I'm Not Iranian...Get used to it!

Not Iranian Nation?

What about TV shows?

Not Iranian Eye For the Straight Guy?

And can we just go back to using gay as in meaning happy? No?

Gay means retard now, correct? And homo means milk and fag means cigarette and queer means Hoagy...and and and....

And in England we still bum fags (meaning ask for a free cigarette)? But in the States bumming a fag means you're Not Iranian?

I'm confused.

But not confused in the I might be Not Iranian way. Believe you me.....I'm Iranian. 100% Iranian.

Not that there's anything wrong with being Not Iranian. I just happen to be Iranian....by way of Armenia and Ireland.

PS
Sorry for today's blog. It was wicked gay.

25,000 people die of hunger EVERY day

I read that in the new National Geographic.

25,000. Every day. Mostly kids. Die of hunger. Starve.

And that's tragic.

But not as tragic as what me and Wifey are going through.

We've got too many TV shows to watch. It's killing us.

2nd season ROME, bunch of boxed sets of Six Feet Under, The Red Sox and upcoming playoffs, the new fall line-up, and the crap we have recorded, a week long slate of Ken Burns THE WAR, TCM movies, all the late shows, the morning shows. The Patriots. etc etc.

I'd trade one of those starving kids some of the glop I scrape off of a Big Mac if they'd watch some of my shows and just tell me what happened in a nice, short, concise manner (Sparkle need not apply)

And I've said it before and I'll say it again....why the heck don't those starving kids just get off their butts and get down to their local supermarket and get some food and stop starving?

This generation is just SO lazy.

What's that noise?

I heard it late last night.

It was kinda like a coughing sound. Almost like someone was gagging. Choking perhaps.

Reminded me a bit of when a cat hucks up a furball. "Klllllew....haluck, haluck...achkkkkkkechhheh."

Reports of the noise were first noticed in Florida but it was QUICKLY heard in the Northeast. And it was LOUD. Very very loud. Haunting. Scary loud.

Growing up I never heard that noise. But now it's the 21st century and I hear it a lot. Usually in the fall....though this year I heard it in April and May. But it went away for the summer.

And now it's back. And life is good.

It's almost musical.

For the last 7 years or so I wait for the noise. I wait. And I wait. And I wait. And it always comes. And it's always a bit louder (though I doubt it will ever be as loud it as was in 2004)

Sounds like an old man on his death bed. The old man used to be a bully, but now he's just an old tired wannabee. A coughing , hacking, choking wannabee that'll never be.

Magic number is 3. The Yankees suck.

It's trivial

The other day I see this guy crossing the street in front of my store. Dressed nice. Slicked back hair. And the biggest, meanest scowl you've ever seen on anyone ever.

He kinda looked like Ted Cassidy playing Injun Joe. But meaner. And scowlier.

His face was red. Snarled mouth. This guy was angry!

And then I noticed what was clutched in his arm.

It was a game of Trivial Pursuit.

I don't wanna play with this guy. Ever.

'It's freakin' Pete Best, A-hole!'

' It's mother-effin' Guam!'

'Calvin goddamn Coolidge!!'

' WHAT A STUPID QUESTION!!! IT'S SAM THE BUTCHER!!'

'The female kangaroo!! JERK!'

Actually....maybe I do wanna play with this guy. Could be fun.

PS

(the correct answer would be Wally Pipp )

R.I.P. Marcel Marceau

He died quietly.


As per his request, he'll be buried in an invisible box.

(Those were the two easiest jokes of all time to write)

What would you do for twenty dollars?

Last night I chunked Hoag into stopping a ceiling fan using only his head.

He did. It was quite awesome.

I didn't give him the twenty dollars. That was quite awesome also.

I've let you down.

Today was going to be a wonderfully clever post incorporating:

1. The 'Don't Taze Me, Bro!' guy

2. The 'Leave Britney Alone!' Guy/and or Gal

3. O.J.

4. And the back on track Boston Red Sox.

But someone (some team) screwed it all up....didn't they? DIDN'T THEY!!!????

Bunch of skirt wearing ballerinas! You call yourself men?? MEN?? MEN don't smell like flowers and puppies. Men don't use words like twinkle and savory.

MEN don't get swept by a bunch of Canadians!

Don't make me taze you, you bunch of Britneys. Cuz I will and I'll never leave you alone. I'll taze you till the cows come home (no idea what that means)....All I want is MORE MORE MORE!! You're not human beings! You are gentle little men that have forgotten how to win baseball games!

Motherfucker! You think you can steal my motherfucking season!!??

PS

Dearest Tito,

Get Manny back in the line-up, huh?

Love,
Britney

Dear Red Sox,

Snap the fuck out of it!

Love,
Steve

OJ

So OJ gets arrested and could go to jail for 30 years because he took back stuff that someone STOLE FROM HIM???? That really shouldn't be a crime. Sorry, but I'm once again on OJ's side.


MORE GOOD NEWS /BAD NEWS:

On the news this morning it was reported that shootings have gone DOWN in Boston. then they reported the bad news.....Stabbings have gone up.

Point of the story?

Cooch is pretty darn good word. Folks just like it.

Good News Bad News

So a friend of mine calls me the other day and tells me he has good news and bad news. He asks me what I'd like to hear first.

I think about it for maybe a second and say "The bad news."

So he tells me about a family member that is sick and in the hospital. We discuss recovery, treatment, long term outlook, etc etc.....we talk about it for about ten minutes.

I then say: "So what's the good news?"

He says: "Playboy is starting to show a lot more cooch."

Point of the story?

Cooch is a pretty darn good word. Not vulgar. Kinda friendly. Women like it. It's fun to say. It's scientific. Ryhmes with pooch, hooch, smooch.

Red Sox / Yankees

This weekend.

Predictions:

Some strikes. Some balls.

Players will spit, scratch, and spit some more.

Fans will cheer, will boo, will make wacky signs.

Remy and D-O will giggle.

Johnny Damon will laugh while standing in the batter's box.

Tito will rock back and forth and adjust his cap ad nauseum.

JD Drew will probably suck....or maybe not.

My wife will swear at Dice-K, comment on how ugly Youk is, drool over Teks thighs, make fun of Coco's hair, quietly appreciate the wonder that is Mike Lowell, and possibly pump her fist if Papi wins the game.

Birthday boy David J. will pace my neighborhood, curse out Francona, and shake his head when Tek grounds into an inning ending double play.

A-Rod will get drilled. Twice. Benches will clear.

Manny will make some kinda dramatic return. Or maybe have a new hair style. The Vegas line is 5 to 2 on the new hairstyle.

Sox will win only one of the three games. Yanks will win the first game with a dramatic late inning comeback. I will vomit in my mouth and still taste it in the morning. Sox should easily win the second game...they might even send Posada to the hospital after the game. You know, for tests. The third game the Sox will start to feel sorry for The Yankees and let them win (in a close one)...build up their confidence for the upcoming spanking by the Angels in the playoffs.

And that my friends is my weekend.

Two more reasons the media is stupid

Two stories got my attention this week.

The first was something about some vote in congress that passed 341-1. They mentioned the one lone Nay. But then there was a link that said: SEE HOW YOUR REP VOTED. I'm pretty sure we know. Assholes.

The other stupid story was something with the HEADLINE: 47% of the Iraqi people want the "war" to stop right now. But shouldn't the headline actually have said 53% of the Iraqi people DON'T want the "war" to stop right now.

And then there was something about The New England Patriots cheating, but my subject says there are TWO more reasons the media is stupid, not three. Oh well....

The two kinds of funny

There are only two kinds of funny.



Planned funny. And not planned funny.



I'm gonna give you a great example of planned funny.



The other night I needed something from Hoag and I asked if I could stop over to his place after work.



He said sure.



I told him I'd be there around 6:10.



Ever punctual, I show up around 6:10, knock on door and let myself in.



He ain't inside....but I notice thru the sliding glass doors that he's outside. So I saunter on out back.



And here is what I see:



Hoag is lounging in his robe on an anti-gravity chaise loungey thing.

He's smoking a cuban (cigar)

He has an ice bucket next to him filled with two bottles of champagne (one half empty) and a filled glass to his lips.

He's wearing some kinda funky Elvisey ray-ban sunglasses

There is some thin hose thingy spraying him down with a fine mist of water.

His wife is standing next to him, hand feeding him fresh strawberries.



That my friends is planned funny.



(Unplanned funny would be if one of you showed up at his house and I was the one feeding him the strawberries.)

Six years ago today.

It was around 9 in the morning when I first the heard the news.

I knew it was huge.

I knew it would transform us all.

I thought how I should be home with my family in a time like this. I called to see how they were doing. But I stayed at work and watched it unfold on the little black and white TV I keep here.

Finally it was 6:30 and time to go.

The drive was long and quiet and sad. I knew what I was coming home to. I knew our lives were changed.

I walked in and first saw my wife....we didn't say much, we just hugged. The kids were kinda quiet but not overly upset. It hadn't set in to them yet. But it would.

The TV was on. CNN. I clicked to NBC. Uh-Oh. CBS...Uh-Oh. and on and on...

It was the most horrible moment of my life...for I knew right then and there that all of my regular TV shows would be pre-empted. Probably all week. Because of some news thingy.

I looked at Wifey. She looked at me. A single tear ran down her cheek

This was gonna be one hell of a week to get through without our regular TV shows.

But then the Gods looked down on us all and we were saved! SAVED! I remembered a stash of videos we had recorded last week! Life was good again! Jim Belushi filled my screen! Ray Romano filled my screen! Laughter once again filled my living room!

May the horror of that day never repeat itself. Never forget no shows. America was built on shows. And they took 'em away.

Point of the story:

Always keep a recording or two of According To Jim around just in case some boring news thing interrupts your shows.

Party Planning For Your 9/11 Anniversary Bash

The sixth anniversary is coming up this week.

It seems enough time has passed that we can finally start throwing 9/11 parties! (In memory, of course.)

I thought I'd post a nice handy 9/11 party checklist in case you are planning a bash of your own!

• Large rectangular shaped cake (make it look like Manhattan!)
• Ash colored frosting for said cake.
• Scaled map of lower Manhattan to place on top of cake.
• Two popsicle sticks to represent the Towers would look cool....if unavailable just use two larger sized fast burning candles.
• Make sure cake is decorated with lots of plastic firemen and rescue workers (no dinosaurs)....it'll give it a nice realistic touch.
• Invitations could be made on mock-up Cantor-Fitzgerald stationary
• Party favors could include toy cell phones (pretend you're calling your loved ones!), bags of dust to throw on clothes, funny 'I'm Looking For So And So' flyers to attach to telephone poles, little 3 seconds audio clips of folks saying "Holy Fucking Shit", box cutters, bags of confetti to throw during 'the collapse' part of the party.
• Make sure you get a megaphone so someone can act out George Bush's inspiring speech at Ground Zero.
• Music should include all of those downer songs by Springsteen and pals. (No Dixie Chicks)
• Food should only be burgers, hot dogs, and apple pie.
• Beverages should only be Coca-Cola
• Transportaion should be provided by Chevrolet.
• Conversation topics should be limited to: "Kill the Towel-Heads" and "Kill the Sand-Niggaz"
• Party Games might include: Shock and Aweopoly, Pin the Bomb on the Martyr, Hide the WMDs, etc.

This is just a partial checklist. Just random ideas to get you thinking about your own party.

Be Creative! Be Unique!

But most of all....be solemn and reflective and sad.

It was unusual, Pussycat.

So all during this past week they've (some guys) been doing some construction next to my store. Digging. Jackhammering. Sweating. Paving. Piping. You know....construction stuff.

So anyhow, yesterday they're just about done and all of a sudden they put a Tom Jones cd on and start BLARING Tom for all within a city block to hear. 'What's New Pussycat' 'It's Not Unusual' 'and on and on.

And then the six or eight of them started singing. And half ass dancing. And clowning around.

And it was around 5:00 and folks were starting to come home from work and the street was filled with folks looking at these clowns and smiling. And laughing. And the workers were flirting with the gals and the gals were flirting back. And Tom Jones continued to fill the air with hit after hit.

And for one glorious half an hour there was joy in the world. Or at least one city block. It was almost like that opening scene in the first Austin Powers movie. Except with Tom Jones singing.

It was good.

Point of the story?

Tom Jones is still one cool dude. So cool, I even tossed my panties at the construction workers.

The Clever Church

So I'm coming to work this morning and see this sign on a church:

GET RID OF WORRY WRINKLES...GET A FAITH LIFT.


Just another in a long list of reasons I don't go to church.

The guy with the best sense of humor in the world.

He coined the word:

Phonics.

And he's still plaughing.

Possibly the best news EVER.

Everybody has a flaw.

Wifey has one that kinda drives me nuts.

She's a great cook but hates to bake. HATES. TO. BAKE.

To me baking sounds a lot like cooking. Not really sure what the difference is.

But I think I know what the difference is to Wifey. Wifey don't be liking the baked goods. Is she a retard? Probably not. But she aint a fan of the baked goods (she's gotta be a 'tard, correct?) and tends not to bake much.

So where is possibly the best news ever as the title of today's blog suggests?

It seems there is gonna be a bakery built about 100 yards from my house. A bakery. Filled with baked goods. For me. To eat. Whenever I want.

Good thing Wifey likes to walk, huh?

This may or may not have happened

As you know, my buddy Hoagy lives in a lean-to and pretty much just feeds the raccoons and bears all day. Lots of time to ponder cool.

His new 'thing' is cigars on buddy nite.

And I play along.

So anyhow....a few weeks ago we're having dinner out on this patio of a resturant and after we're all done Hoag asks the waitress if it's okay if we light up a couple of cigars. Here is how that conversation went.

HOAG: "S'okay if we light up a couple of stoogies?"

WAITRESS: "I'm sorry sir but you can't, it's against state law"

HOAG: "But we're outside..."

WAITRESS: "I'm sorry sir but it's still against state law to smoke on the premises of a restaurant."

HOAG: "What would happen if we lit 'em up anyhow?"

WAITRESS: "I'd have to get the manager."

HOAG: "What would he do if we kept smokin' 'em?"

WAITRESS: "He'll call the police."

HOAG: "What if we shoot and kill the policemen?"

WAITRESS: :::blinks:::

HOAG: "Listen Sister, why don't you just save the lives of two cops and let us smoke these puppies?"

WAITRESS: "Would you like some more wine or dessert or something....maybe an ashtray?"

-----------------------------------------

Like I said....this may or may not have happened.

The Friday Game

Here are your letters:

HPWSMT

Bonus points if it's political.

That US Senator that was in the news this week

I think he was from Idaho or Utah or one of those other un-important states.

To sum up his story:

He was sitting in a stall in a public bathroom and tapped his foot against the guy in the stall next to him as a way to 'flirt' or something. Some kinda signal for sex. It was a cop, he got arrested, pleaded guilty, and is now claiming he did nothing wrong blah blah blah. (If you need more info read up on it.)

The point of today's blog is not if he is or isn't gay. Or his morals. Or his party affliation. Blah Blah Blah..

The point is when the heck did a filth encrusted public toilet become a sexy spot? Never EVER in my life have I ever thought to pick up chicks in a public bathroom. It's very limited. It's dirty. It's noisy.

Though I suppose if I looked down and saw a size 6 red stilletto heel under the stall next to me I might be tempted to tap it with my foot. Or something.

And then I'd ask The Hoag where he got the size 6 red stilletto heels.

Being a good parent

Before you have kids you always wonder if you'll be a good parent.

And then you have kids and wonder:

::am i a good parent, am i a good parent, am i a good parent::

And you think this when they're babies.

And when they're toddlers

And when they get to school age

::am i a good parent, am i a good parent, am i a good parent::

And then they become teenagers.

::am i a good parent, am i a good parent, am i a good parent::

And then today your youngest starts her first day of senior year in high school and she's wearing a Christopher Walken t-shirt and you KNOW deep in your heart you've been a great parent.

You've taught them well.

Stop being clever. Please.

I'm am so sick of companies trying to be 'clever'.

Just tell me what it is and how much it ccosts. No small print. No gimmicks.

I just saw a Home Depot van sporting the large ad on the side that said: YOU CAN RENT ME HOURLY. ONLY $19.00 FOR 75 MINUTES.

Clever, huh?

Jerks.

If it just said '$19.00 per hour' I would understand. Now if I want to rent said van I have to read all the small print cuz they're 'clever'

Who the heck rents a van for a 75 minute hour anyhow?

The 75 minute hour might also explain why Wifey looks way older than me....

Because you demanded it!

The Beatles Game now has it's own blog....it's over there on the right. Click the link.

And now back to IANO:

I'm having a nice grilled Rib-Eye Steak on Saturday and I notice on a bottle of A-1 Sauce that it proclaims 'used in 9 out of 10 steakhouses'

Sounds reasonable.

But then I think about it. And then I do the math.

So they basically are saying that 900 out of 1000 steakhouses use A-1 Sauce.

Which then means that 100 out of 1000 steakhouses DON'T use A-1 sauce???!!! That's just crazy. What kinda retard steakhouse wouldn't have A-1 Sauce??

Are their steaks just so good that NOBODY ever asks for A-1??

-------------------------------------

Dear Retard SteakHouses,

Get some A-1.

Love,
Everybody on Planet Earth

Pretentious bloggers.

Don't ya just hate when some self-important blogger starts droning on about how he has 'writers block' and can't think of anything to write about so then he ends up writing about 'writers block' like anybody really gives a fuck what this ass has to say.

"Ohhh look at me how clever I am...I have writer's block yet I'm filling up space and building up word counts"

Nobody cares. Take a week off. A month. A year. Jerk.

Writer's block...yeah, right. Like that exists.

Hope you don't have 'writer's block' when it's pouring rain cuz you might 'hydroplane' into a brickwall or something.

Tsunamis, Bush, the Beatles, Food, Hoag,TV,Food, Wifey, Kids, the 1970s, Bill Murray, crocs, Goofy,Cankles,9/11, Twenty five tips for a flat belly, Regis, Hitler, Food,Hot chicks, Jews, Fried Dough The Red Sox,....'writers block'....bunch of losers.

There is plenty to write about. PA-LEN-TEE.

(I can't think of anything to write about today.)

Feces on the Toothbrush

So last week I'm talking to this close friend of mine and somehow the subject of toothbrushes comes up and she informs me that she doesn't put her toothbrush in the toothbrush holder....she puts it in a drawer.

She tells me how unsanitary it is to just leave a toothbrush out in the open because of all the feces that flys around in a bathroom.

I didn't argue. Just nodded and changed the subject.

Flying feces??? What the hell is SHE doing in her bathroom that makes the feces fly??? My feces don't fly. Your feces don't fly. But somehow HER feces flys (and apparently lands on her toothbrush.)

I guess if that happened to me I'd put my toothbrush in a drawer. Or a large feces proof safe. Or something.

Now just for the sake of discussion let's pretend that you're a flying feces....is the toothbrush really the place you want to land?

I'm guessing if I was a flying feces I'd land on a bar of soap and clean myself up. Afterall, it's buddy nite tonight.

(Have we ever done Imagine if the Beatles sang about feces...?)

How the Viet Cong make my life better.

Sounds weird, huh?

What you are about to read is true. All of it. I swear on the life of one of my kids (but not the other one...just in case)

So how do the Viet Cong make my life better? First off who are the Viet Cong? In simple terms they were the 'bad guys' during the Vietnam War. If you need more information go buy a book. No...not Harry Potter....buy a book on the Viet Cong.

So anyhow:

Late at night I turn the lights off and sometimes watch TV and usually forget which is the channel button and which is the volume button.

This is where the Viet Cong come in.

You see, the volume button is on the left of the remote and the channel buttons are on the right.

Volume=Viet. Channel=Cong. Viet=Left. Cong =Right.

V=Volume AND Viet.
C=Channel and Cong.

See? It's a simple way of remembering. I'll be on the couch, in the dark, and I'll need to turn up the Volume....I say 'VIET CONG' and then I know the Volume is on the left. I say 'VIET CONG and then I know the channel button is on the right.

I'm just glad we weren't at war with the Volume Channels.

(sometimes i just think: 'the volume is on the left')

Worst marketing EVER!

So this morning I'm walking to the post office (I need to post something) and I walk by the costume shop (It's a shop that sells and rents costumes) and in the window was a sign that proclaimed:

'COSTUMES, $75.00 and under.'

Dumbest. Sign. Ever.

Most costume shops would find their lowest priced costume and then advertise it as: 'Costumes, $1.00 and up.'

By the way....the lowest priced costume was a Durwood Kirby for $5.95.

(I'm lying. I just wanted folks to google Durwood Kirby.)

Is anybody really surprised? (vote for Rudy G.)

>>>>LITTLE ROCK, Ark. (Aug. 18) - A law passed this year allows Arkansans of any age - even infants - to marry if their parents agree, and the governor may have to call a special session to fix the mistake, lawmakers said Friday. <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Help Wanted

So this morning I see a help wanted sign in the window of a Dunkin' Donuts and it says:

"Pour America's #1 coffee."

A few things came to mind.

1. Are donuts no longer part of the job qualifications?

2. If they don't hire you, should you just shoot yourself? Afterall....you're not qualified to pour coffee.

3. Where does one learn how to pour coffee BEFORE they apply for said job?

The reasoning behind today's blog?

I was gonna goof on the three dead miners that tried to 'rescue' the six probably dead miners but thought it more fun to make fun of coffee pouring dolts.

I'm pretty sure at least ONE of the dead miners could pour coffee.

Homegrown terrorism

There is a report out today about 'Homegrown terrorists' and what they do and where they hang out.

Some of the places listed on where they might hang out:

Internet cafes

College campuses

Coffee shops

Pooka bars

'Where cab drivers hang out' (I'm not making that up)

Mosques



___________________

Dear FBI,

Check the pooka bars first. Just a hunch.

Love,
Steve

PS
And the mosques second.

Uncle Ryan

WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW FOR TODAY'S BLOG:

My name is Steve and I own a small store. I started it and have had it for 24 years.

So anyhow....yesterday this 'mom' was walking with her kid and stopped in front of my shop and proclaimed:

"This is your Uncle Ryan's store, he's had it for a long, long time."


I hope she gets the Bad Cancer.

Wacky Wednesday

So today is Tuesday and I need gas so I pull into the gas station (that's where people with cars get gas) and I notice a sign proclaiming that 'WEDNESDAY IS WACKY WEDNESDAY! 6 CENTS OFF PER GALLON'

But it's Tuesday and I fill up....13 gallons. I realize at that moment that had I waited until WACKY WEDNESDAY I would have saved .78 cents.

78 cents.

That's wacky? 78 cents is WACKY?

Rip Taylor is wacky. Michael Jackson is wacky. Tom Cruise is wacky.

78 cents? Wacky? I don't think so.

At the same station they have 6 cents off on Monday's....they call that MANIC MONDAY.....which of course is just wacky.

POINT OF THE STORY?

None.

You'll see this bullet a mile away.

So we come home from a friends last night and Wifey goes into the 'family room' to turn on the TV while I go in the 'living room' to check emails and talk with my daughter (who is on computer).

Here is what you need to know:

1. The tuner on the TV in the 'family room' is a bit glitchy and you have to wiggle a cable in the back for a bit until the picture and sound comes on.

So anyhow I hear Wifey wigglin' the cable (sounds dirty , huh?) and I can hear this loud crackling static that usually happens until the cable is in the proper postion.....so I say to my daughter:

ME: "I'll give it 20 seconds until she swears"

DAUGHTER: ::nods:: basically ignores me.

ME: "one, two, three...

TV IN FAMILY ROOM: ::KrackleStaticKrackleKrackle::

DAUGHTER:: :::mesmorized by computer::

ME: "four, five, six, seven, eight....:::"

TV IN FAMILY ROOM: :::KrackleStaticKrackleStatic::

ME: "nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen,::

DAUGHTER:: ::Mesmorized by computer::

ME: "fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen..."

TV IN FAMILY ROOM: ::KrackleStaticKrackleStatic::

ME: "Nineteen, twent..."

WIFEY:: "GODDAMMITT!!!!"

ME AND DAUGHTER:: ::laughter....looks at each other....stronger laughter.....LAUGHTER!!! MORE LAUGHTER!!!!"

TV IN FAMILY ROOM: ::the clear sound of perfect reception and volume::


Moral of the story?

Making fun of Wifey with a daughter is better than a trip to DisneyWorld.

Composite blogger

So this thick cankled croc n' capri wearing hot pregnant broad comes in selling me some stuff. She looks like a cross between Tiger Woods and Hillary Clinton. Smells perfumed like The Hoag.

So anyhow, she starts walking through my store singing Beatles songs and munching on crispy hexagons and offering them to her retard son when all of a sudden these 6 nearly dead filthy douchebag miners come in and start digging through my wares.

{and now you gentle reader can finish the rest of this story all composity bloggery like}



And then George Bush and Hitler did something great and all was well.

Hope.

In the news this week is the story of some miners trapped, possibly dead, in a mine somewhere in Utah.

After a day or two of praying, a group of people (probably women) showed up and spelled out the word HOPE using votive candles.

A couple of things:

1. They are stupid....the spelling out of words with candles usually does no good.

2. They will probably somehow be responsible for some votive miners in some other part of the world getting trapped in a votive mine while trying to replenish the ever diminishing votive supply.

It's kinda like the Butterfly Effect....everytime a votive candle flickers in Utah a miner in Finland dies.

Or something.

The Home Run Queen

So Berrie Bonds finally breaks the most coveted record in all of sports.

So what does the douche say after breaking said record?

He says:

"I'll never forget this day."

Well, duh.

You stupid cheating fool. Did you think that maybe in like three weeks time all of a sudden you'd forget it? Did you think that we would think you'd forget it? What a jerk.

I'm now hoping you get The Alzheimers and forget.

(when I was like 12 years old I won a watermelon eating contest and I still remember it. And I didn't cheat.)

I hope I don't get The Alzheimers...cuz watermelon is worth remembering.

Yet another Mass Turnpike story

So the other day I pull up to the toll booth and I get one of the best looking of toll takers. Gorgeous cocoa colored skin, full collagen filled lips, cool looking hair, good figure, etc...

So she's making my change and exchanging small talk when I decide I need to tell her who she looks like.

(Why can't I just learn to keep my big mouth shut?)

She hands me my change and then I say:

ME: "Hey! You know who you look like?"

HER: ::smiles:: "No...who?"

ME: "You look like Tiger Woods!"

HER: ::smile leaves:: "Tiger is a man"

ME: "No...no...no...I didn't mean it that way....I meant you look like him if he was a girl."

CARS BEHIND ME: ::honkhonkhonk::

ME: "Have a great day." ::drives off::

Point of the story?

I don't think Tiger is all that attractive as a man....but he makes a hot chick.

Gowns for all occasions.

A few minutes ago I was walking up the street from the post office and noticed a sign in the window of the neighborhhod florist.

It read:

'Now selling gowns for all occasions.'

And of course I thought to myself...heck, I'm going to the Red Sox game next week, I wonder what kinda gown I should wear?

And what about Buddy Nite? Should I wear a different one than Hoag wears? Should I try and match what the Blonde wears?

What kinda gown does one wear while doing yardwork?

And work...crap, do I need a different gown for each day or should I just have 6 of the same gown? Maybe with my name stiched on it?

It's tough being a guy with all of these gown decisions to make.

My new favorite news story

Especially the part where he kicks the cop (wouldn't he fall down?) :

NEW PORT RICHEY, Florida (Aug. 3) - A man with no arms and one leg who would not stop driving despite a long list of traffic violations was sentenced to five years in prison Friday on the latest charges.

Michael Francis Wiley, 40, also was sentenced to 15 years of drug offender probation. He pleaded no contest in June to a variety of felony driving and drug charges. "I'd just like to say I know what I did was wrong," Wiley said in court Friday. "I am truly sorry your honor. I am." Wiley taught himself to drive after losing both arms and a leg in an electrical accident when he was 13. He has already spent more than three years in prison for habitually driving without a license, kicking a state trooper and other charges. He once had a valid license, but it has now been suspended several times since 1985, according to his attorney. He starts the car with his toes, shifts with his knee and steers with the stump of his left arm. He turns on the lights with his teeth.

Why the Red Sox are better than the Yankees.

(Easiest blog I've ever had the pleasure to write)

1. Red Sox do not suck. Yankees do.

2. Yankees play in a 'House That Ruth Built"...The Red Sox play in a place built by men using steel and brick.

3. Red Sox have Mike Lowell. The Yankees have a guy named Whore-hey.

4. The Red Sox smell of victory. The Yankees smell of stank.

5. The Red Sox have a magic number of 47 (I think)....The Yankees smell of stank.

6. The Red Sox ownership is young and vibrant. The Yankees have a doddering old fool behind the curtain.

7. The Red Sox support the Jimmy Fund and hope to find the cure for cancer. The Yankees spike their stadium food with cancer causing hot doggyness.

8. The Red Sox love kittens. The Yankees love stank.

9. The Red Sox are 8 games up. The Yankees are 8 games back.

10. Nothing for #10.

"Where is that confounded bridge?"

Some of my random thoughts on the bridge collapse in Minnesota.

1. Reporters are stupid. I actually heard them say the follwing:

"There will be some deaths and fatalities."

"The bridge collapsed one hour ago...two hours ago in Minnesota, as they are on Central Time."

2. It must be really important because Matt Lauer from the Today Show is there wearing blue jeans, an unbuttoned collar, and he has a five o'clock shadow.

3. They claim it's not terrorism, but don't you find it odd that on the 1st year anniversary of the TWIN Towers falling, a bridge falls in the TWIN Cities? Into the Mississippi....which has three sets of TWIN letters? That ain't just a coincidence.

4. All the networks have named the collapse. Here are some of them:

a) Mayhem on The Mississippi

b) Catastrophe on the River

c) Tragedy in the Twin Cities

d) Bridge on the River Cry (I just made that one up)
------------------------------------------------------------

5. In the next week you will hear the word 'infrastructure' more than you'll hear the word 'the'...in fact, we should play a drinking game. Everytime you hear the word 'infrastructure' have a drink....

6) I'm already sick of the bald, blood splattered guy that looks like a wrestler. I wish he had died.

I'm not sure if this is important.

But I must share anyhow. It might be nothing. It might be THE thing.

I had a little plastic bag filled with Ritz Toasted Chips (cheddar flavor) and by accident I left said bag on top of my laptop computer while I pretended to do some work. Until snack time.

When the snack bell rang I went over to where I had left the Ritz Toasted Chips (cheddar flavor) and saw them sitting on my keyboard. And then I opened the bag. And pulled out a Ritz Toasted Chip (cheddar flavor) and popped it into my mouth.

And it was warm...borderline hot. And it was AWESOME! I invented a Toasted Toasted Chip. And it was awesome.

I did not invent it's awesome cheddar taste or it's Ritzy-ness.

Moral of the story?

Laptops are the new hot plates

This is not a discussion about George Bush

Think what you want about him, missing WMDs, and his Iraq stuff, I don't much care. It ain't the point of today's blog.

What I do find kinda interesting, is that over the weekend in Iraq their soccer team won some big Asian championship or something and out into the streets poured hundreds of thousands of happy Iraqi's screaming and shooting guns...you know, just like when something pisses them off.

That's not the point either.

The point is that that Iraq is a free country.

Filled with bloodshed and carnage...maybe. But they're free. They can spill out into the streets and go bananas when their soccer team wins.

So think what you want about the loss of dozens of lives over there the last few years, but the right to go nuts when YOUR team wins is worth fighting for.

Really.

The madness HAS to stop.

It's amazing this has gone on for as long as it has. It's disgusting !

We should be up in arms protesting!

There should be billboards and commercials demanding it's end !

Are we savages? Are we blind to the horror? Can we just continue to turn away?

Michael Moore should be making staged documentaries about it !

Reverand Al should be bringing up the inherent racism behind it all !

Anderson Cooper should be putting a gay slant on it !

It's only a matter of time before my darling wife sides with the enemy and conforms to their evil ways !

It's time to ban those crappy Croc shoes now! They're ugly! They're stupid! They make you look fat! They're plastic!

And don't get me going on the broads that wear them with capri pants. I might explode.

Or something.

Still more things that weren't quite blog worthy

The following items didn't quite have enough ooomph for an entire blog devoted to them.

1. This morning I saw one of my favorite customers outside of an eye doctors place....I rolled down my window and yelled out at him: "Hey you big sissy...how are ya?" he turned around and I realized it wasn't one of my customers. I never saw him before. I'm guessing he was a sissy.

2. The mensa man that named Planet Earth, Planet Earth.. All of the other planets have cool names....Saturn! Mercury! Jupiter! etc....but this genius named the greatest of the planets after dirt. Planet Dirt. I'm guessing he was a sissy.

3. The waitress that ALMOST took a bribe from me and Hoag last night for some artwork on the wall of a restaurant. Had she sold us the art I would have had a story. And some cool art. But she was a sissy and didn't go thru with the deal.

4. About a year ago I did a blog about losers who BUY ringtones for their cell phones. Well, guess what? I bought a ringtone for my cell phone. I'm COOL! LOOK AT ME!!! LOOK AT ME WITH MY CLEVER RINGTONE! $2.99 and I'm cool. I'm probably really a sissy. With a cool ring tone. Call me.

5. I'm reading a book and in it it tells what the 'perfect' bowel movement should look like. The book aint the new Harry Potter. That's for sissies.

6. I came home last night and went upstairs and Wifey was sound asleep but with the Red Sox on the TV. I wonder which one of her lovers was their before I got home? Probably the sissy.

7. I think I tricked you all....I just did a blog about sissies. And I only mentioned Hoagy once.

what third was lamest the blog first ever

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Is even this a the retard easiest can puzzle figure to this solve out, or can what you?

"I'm sexy...not like they say!"

There is a fairly nice restaurant within walking distance of my house. So a few weeks ago I was there by myself while Wifey was away with the kids. On the way back I had to walk thru the parking lot out back to get home and I noticed how beautifully landscaped it was. Nicely groomed rolling hills. Trees. Nice lighting fixtures. Attractive fencing.

And a few private areas. (uh-oh)

So anyhow, when Wifey gets back home I mentioned how nice it is back there and that some night on our stroll back home (we stroll) we should find one of those nice areas and make sweet love out in the moonlight....you know, in the parking lot. She laughed and then the commercial was over and we went back to TV and we didn't bring it up again.

For a while.

So then this ex-neighbor that we haven't seen in five years came by to visit, and when she saw the back of the neighborhood resturant she said:

EX NEIGHBOR: "You should be careful....all the kids in the neighborhood are gonna be having sex out here."

Then Wifey told her of my grand scheme and they both laughed at me.

MORAL OF THE STORY:

When a commercial comes on the TV weigh the merits of the mentioned product and keep your childish sex fantasies to yourself. And don't go to that restaurant on Buddy Nite.

Oh, that Hoagy!

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,290397,00.html

If I Had Three Wishes

First I wish for for $750,000.

No wait, make it $1,000.000

Wait, forget that.

::GENIE VOICE::

"Your wishes have been granted."

Crap.

Hit me with an anvil and call me Gramps.

I'm officially old.

An old man trapped in a young mans body.

This morning I drove at least ten miles on the Mass Turnpike with my left directional on.

I hope I die on the way home and spare everyone me soiling my jeans.

Unless I soil them with McDonalds apple pie....in that case I hope I live.

Cuz I want pie.

If I Was In Charge Of The Boston Red Sox

1. First off, I'd saddle up all of these grandmas and ship their asses out of Boston.

2. Then I'd take that Coney Island Maniac, Julian Tavares, and put him in the bullpen. He would be replaced by Kason (when the Schill comes back)

3. Then I'd take Wily Mo Pena and stick a ballpeen hammer in his eye (actually I'd just trade his butt to Baltimore for Kevin Millar)

4. The hitting coach? The Red Sox have a hitting coach? I hadn't noticed.

5. JD Drew? First I'd get him some new summer dresses and see how that works. If that does no good maybe I'd just have him get his vagina cleaned or whatever the heck it is they do to mens vaginas.

6. Lugo? Kidney punch!

And those are my 6 surefire ways of jump starting this pathetic excuse for a baseball team.

It's make up a new catchphrase day today!

Not really.

But were gonna anyhow.

1. "It's like doin' the dishes!"

2. "I'll pops ya one!"

3. "The Alamo....that's all I'm sayin'"

4. "Ta-ta, Black Sheep."

5. "Coney Island Maniac!"

6. "Pig in a Blanket"

7. "He went all Captain Kirk"

8." Verizon be lie-zin !"

(That's all I've got)

Possibly another phone rant.

So the other day I'm on Verizon's website looking at phones and they have this wonerful site.

Easy to browse. Clear cut instructions. Good overview of all phones and service plans. And on and on.

But then they have this feature where you click on the phone you want and it gives the dimensions of said phone and even has a little 3-d like thing where the phone spins around 360 degrees so you can see all the sides of it. Good so far, correct?

Then it has a little thing you click on where you can compare it's size to items you KNOW what the size is.

For example:
They show the phone next to a standard deck of playing cards. Bingo! You know just what that phones size will be in relation to a deck of cards. Good feature to have on a website, correct?

Then they show the same phone next to a pad of Post-It Notes....so you know what you phones size will be next to a pad of Post-It Notes.

WRONG!!!!

There are dozens and dozens of sizes of pads of Post It Notes. It helps not one iota.

But of course a genius like me just looks at the dimensions of said phone and understands exactly what size of Post-It Notes he needs to buy.

It's my phone number. It's what you asked for.

I'm filling out this online order the other day and 'they' asked for my phone number.

So I typed in my phone number. 1-111-111-1111. 1 followed by area code followed by 7 digit number. 11 numbers total. You know....a phone number.

So after I get done filling out this long and tedious order,the online form pops back up telling me my phone number is incorrect.

Well, guess what? They are incorrect. I typed in the correct number the first time, but I typed it in this time leaving out the first 1. For no real reason.

Bingo!

So now my correct phone number is 111 (area code) 111-1111 (the the 7 digit 'regular number')

Now if you dial that 111-111-1111 the operator comes on and says you need to dial a one before the number.

YOU MEAN MY FUCKING 11 NOT 10 DIGIT PHONE NUMBER YOU FUCKING AUTOMATED ONLINE DOUCEBAG ORDERFORM!!!???

Spell it out for us retards okay? Cuz when someone asks for my phone number I should read their brainac like mind and leave out one digit. Because when someone asks for your phone number what they REALLY want is a partial phone number.

I hate you Verizon! And your bitch cousins, Cingular and AT &T.

(Though I feel kinda sorry for Sprint and Nextel)

And next time those dicks ask where I live I'm just gonna type in America. Cuz that's probably what they meant, correct?

Imagine if the Beatles were baseball fans...

Back in the 1960s there was a popular rock and roll band in England called the Beatles.

Imagine if they were Americans and sang about baseball...THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN HUGE IN AMERICA!

Here are a few of their possible songs:

1. All My Glovin'

2. Back in The ALCS

3. Eleanor Remdawg

4. Let it Be Foul

5. Say Hey Jude!

6. Leave My Mitt Alone

7. Denny Laine

8. Eight Games a Week

9. The Ballad of John and Coco

10. The Long and Winding Dusty Rhodes

11. Why Don't We Do It On A Roadtrip

12. I Wanna Be Your Manny

An open letter to serial killers.

Dear Serial Killers,

What the hell is going on with you guys? You've been slacking BIG TIME in the creative department lately.

Which one of you losers is gonna step up to the plate and be the next Son of Sam, the next Ted Bundy, the next Zodiac?

Bunch of sissies.

Come on, start hacking some folk up and leave clues! Taunt the police! Have a theme! Get a catchy nickname! Travel the country leaving a trail of carnage in your wake!

You can do it!

Time for another acronym game.

Because Bacon Ace demanded it!

He did. Really.

You know the rules...make a sentence using these letters as the first letter of your words.

Today's special bonus subject will be PREGNANT. Use that word and get lots and lots of bonus points.

Here are your random (except for the letter P) letters:

r-n-p-g-t-w

A simple story. A simple solution.

Years ago this gal lived next door to me and we were the best of friends. Always laughing and having fun.

Maybe even a slight crush.

She moved away.

And then one day maybe ten years later I saw her in a restaurant. A bit of small talk.

Here is how it went:

ME: "So how have you been?"

BECKYJEAN: "Great!"

ME: ::gesturing towards her stomach:: "So when's the baby due?"

BECKYJEAN: "I'm not pregnant."

ME: "Oh."

...and I haven't seen her since.

Moral of the story:

If you look like you're pregnant but aint, wear a sign around your neck that says : I AINT PREGNANT.

NAACP buries the wrong word !!

So the other day the NAACP (National Association of African-American People) had a mock funeral and 'buried' the N-word. Really.

(I'm sure Whitey McPale dug it up three seconds later)

But anyhow...

The real word that should have been buried is:

MASKS.

The plural of mask.

Say it out loud....masks. Make sure you say the plural. Masks.

Notice at the end of the word you have that little skip that doesn't sound correct...the ska-ska sound?

I said say it out loud. Dumbest word ever. Ska-ska. It should flow like other plural words but it don't. Masks. Drives me nuts. Mask ska ska.

Where the heck is the NAACP (National Association of American Afirican-American Associated Society Of Non-White Colored Black Negroes) when you really need them.

Masks ska-ska.

Pancakes save marriage!

Why I've never divorced my wife:

Came home last night to two large stacks of buttermilk pancakes.

And butter. (the butter wasn't in two large stacks)

And milk (the milk wasn't in stacks either)

And for all you women trying to salvage your marriage, you can't just make pancakes everyday and expect him to stick around.

The key to marriage saving pancakes is that they only show up every six weeks or so.

Or maybe every five weeks.

The umbrella story.

So today I'm coming into work and it's raining fairly heavy when I notice this woman pushing a stroller with a child in it.

Now this woman was pretty smart because she had this clear like covering over the stroller protecting her child from the rain.

She was also holding an umbrella to protect herself from the rain. Cuz she's smart, correct?

So where is the story? Is there a point to today's blog? A smart women with a stroller and an umbrella does not make for good blog fodder.

Most of the time it doesn't.

But today it does.

You see, this woman had a tiny umbrella and a huge ass. Her sweatpanted covered buttocks were soaking wet because the tiny umbrella couldn't cover that giant fanny. She deemed it more important to cover her bad hairstyle than her bad ass.

And it made me laugh.

Why?

Because it's funny to see a dry woman with a drenched behind. Always has been. Always will be.

RCN, ice cream, and me

Everybody has stress.

In the last few months I've had a lot. Moving my business is WAY stressful and I thought it was finally done.

But then the building next door was getting a new tenant and the construction began.

Sawing and hammering. Smells of paint and polyurethene. Glass guys. Trash guys. Radios blaring. Phone guys, floor sanders, lighting guys. The air conditioning guys on the roof. Pounding. Hammering. Sawing. Jackhammers outside for water mains. Non english speaking yammering. Yelling. Breaking. Dumpsters filling.

Dry wall guys, painters. On andf on.

Every day for the past two months the noise level next door got unbearable. Electric and gas company guys in MY basement. Pounding and talking and yammering away. NOISE NOISE NOISE. Driving me nuts.

And finally the work was finished. My life was just about back to normal. It was peaceful again. Quiet.

And then on Tuesday it happened.

The RCN van pulled up with the words FREE ICE CREAM emblazoned on the side of the truck. And the truck started playing the 'It's a small world" jingle over and over and over again. for hours the fucking van sat in front of my store blaring out "It's a small world after-all, It's a small world after.....all"

They gave out free ice cream in front of my store for hours and hours with that godforsaken song wafting out of it's crap sound system.

Though it had nothing whatsoever to do with the guys moving in next door I blame them.

It's a small NOISY world afterall.

And I didn't even get a free ice cream.

Joey Chestnut

We salute you my friend! Thank you for making America proud once again.

::raises glass in Joey Chestnut's direction::

How fitting it happened on July 4th.

Never forget

With this being the 10th anniversary of 9/11 I think we should all, just for a moment, remember that tragic day when they blew up the Independence Towers.

Now go back to your cookouts and swimming and stuff!

(thank god the terrorists blew those fuckers up or we'd all be working today!)

Greatest rock and roll song ever.

Radar Love by Golden Earring.

I'm right. You're wrong.

Live Free or Die Hard

I saw that movie over the weekend and wondered what future sequels might be called.

1. Die Die Die, Hard Hard Hard

2. Die? Hardly.

3. The Die is Cast My Hard Friend.

4. Hard to Die.

5. Dying to be Hard

6. Hardly Dying

7. Di? She died hard.

8. Die, Laurel and Hardy

9. Hard and Dead

10. Live and Let Die Hard

11. Live Dead or Die Free

12. To Live and Die Hard in L.A.

13. Goobers