Joe Biden: Sometimes he points at Mexicans

Joe Biden: When he ain't measuring with his arms and hands, he points.

I'm Stan Lee, I look like Joe Biden, and I also like to measure things with my arms

Joe Biden: Sometimes I measure stuff wearing casual jackets

Joe Biden: Sometimes I even care about heights.

Joe Biden: I look like Robert Culp when he measured stuff

Joe Biden: Give McCain and inch and he'll fish for a day, give him a yard and he'll fish for a lifetime. I'm just happy to measure with me hands

Joe Biden: I'm just fucking nuts!

Joe Biden: I explain EVERYTHING by it's length. It's just what I do.

Joe Biden: Dept.of Weights and Measures and Kookiness

Joe Biden: Doctor of Measureology

Joe Biden just loves measuring stuff with his hands

An Interview with VP candidate Joe Biden

ME: "So Joe...may I call you Joe? How big of a fish did you catch?"

JOE: "You articulated that question very well....it was about :::holds hands apart::: this big."

ME: "So Joe...how close do you think the race will be?"

JOE: "You articulated that question very well....the race should be about :::holds hands apart::: this close."

ME: "So Joe....how big is your penis?"

JOE: "You articulated that question very well....it's about :::holds hands apart::: this big."

ME: "So Joe....can you show us your vice presidential karate chops?"

JOE: "You articulated that question very well...How about :::shows karate move:: this?"

ME: "So Joe...how big of an asshole are you in fact?"

JOE: "You articulated that question very well....I'm this much :::holds hands apart::: of an asshole."

ME: So Joe...finish this statement, 'Pattycake, pattycake baker man..."

JOE: "You articulated that very well...'bake me cake as fast as you can'..."

ME: "Thank you for your time."

Quick Insanity Theatre

In my business and homelife I encounter odd things each week. Some are job related, some are just because I look for it.

Here are a few from this week:
---------------------

THE HOT BIKER CHICK

So this hot young women(mid 20s?) rides her BMX-type bicycle INTO my store. Here is the conversation:

HOT CHICK: "Are you hiring?"

ME: "Nope...not right now, but thank you for asking!"
----------------------

THE POST OFFICE NAZI

I bring a standard size envelope up to the counter...it's a tad heavier than a regular piece so I'll need additional postage.

NAZI: "You'll have to pay an extra surcharge of .20 cents because it's too thick."

ME: "Too thick?"

NAZI: "Yes...it's over 1/4" thick and requires the surcharge."

ME: "It's not a 1/4" thick."

NAZI: ::takes out measuring device thingy the post office has for just such an item:: "A 1/4" envelope won't slip through this slot." :: my envelope slips through slot::

ME: "See."

NAZI: "Well it ALMOST doesn't fit."

ME: "But it does, doesn't it?"

NAZI: "You'll still have to pay the surcharge because you put something in the envelope to keep it from bending."

ME: "Do you think you could bend that envelope?"

NAZI: "Yes...but you still have to pay the 20 cents."

ME: "Okay...but please don't bend that envelope."

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

THE CIGAR GUY

A guy comes into my store SMOKING A CIGAR! Here is that conversation:

CIGAR GUY: "I can't stay long because of this cigar." :::blabblabblabblabblabblab:::

ME: "Let's finish up this conversation outside."

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

THE STRANGELY HOT RUSSIAN COUPLE

So we're out for Buddy Nite last night (me, The Hoag, and The Blonde) and we notice this Russian couple sitting next to us speaking Russian. They're in the early 30s or so.

Not sure how it happens but we start talking to them (In English) and we start showing off with our knowledge of Russia. We say stuff like NYET! And Sputnik! And Gulag! And (Rootin' Tootin') Putin...and talk about Stalin and World War Two and stuff.

Something about the Russian accent on a gal is just very appealing (only a French accent is better)

But I digress.

So the couple leaves.

And The Hoag chimes in with this:

HOAG: "Damn....I should have got her to say MOOSE and SQUIRREL.

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

THE BOYS ARE THE BOSTON RED SOX

So the other night I'm sitting in my chair and Wifey is on the couch with the TV remote in her lap. Here is that conversation:

ME: "Why don't you turn on the boys."

WIFEY: "I can't reach from over here."

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

And that my friends is another installment of QUICK INSANITY THEATRE!

Don't trip on the weeds.

Most of the time when I come into my house I come in through the garage.

So do most folks.

But at night we have to shut the garage doors or animals will come in (skunks!)

Or we can use the front walkway. It's brick.

And because we don't use it that much the weeds grow in between each brick.

Still with me?

So anyhow, last night we had some folks over and when it was time for them to leave they asked if they should go out through the garage or out through the front door.

ME: "Go out through the front door....but don't trip on the weeds!"

::Oldest daughter chimes in::

TINY HANDS: "You know Dad, you can't trip on weed."

ME: "Huh?"

TINY HANDS: "You just said 'don't trip on the weeds' and I'm telling you you can't trip on weed."

ME: "I once tripped on weed."

TINY HANDS: "Impossible."

ME: "Not impossible...I was at a Supertramp concert in 1979 and I tripped my brains out on 'weed' "

TINY HANDS: "Well....there must have been LSD in it or something because you can't trip on weed."

ME: "Whatever. I tripped on weed."
---------

SO TO SUM UP:

Normal Hand Size daughter? Please weed the front walk. Don't trip. And put some Supertramp on your IPOD.

Talking like a superhero.

Wifey is leaving this morning and here is our conversation:


WIFEY: "Okay...have a great day, see you tonight!"

ME: "Okay...be well!"

WIFEY: "Why are you talking like a superhero?"

ME: "Huh? I ain't talking like a superhero."

WIFEY: "Doesn't one of your little superheroes say 'Be Well and Prosper'?"

ME: "I didn't say 'Be Well and Prosper' and second of all that isn't the expression, It's 'Live Long and Prosper' and Spock says it...not one of my little superheroes."

:::laughter::

WIFEY: "Okay...bye!"

:::Wifey leaves but only to come back in the house ten seconds later::::

WIFEY: "Nanu-Nanu."

The Out Of State Carnival Worker

I was listening to the news this morning and they mentioned this out of state carnival worker who was arrested and charged with raping two girls.

Out of state carnival worker.

Accused of rape.

*gasp*

The owner of The Carnival (I'm not making this up) was quoted as saying that his references and background checks all came out good.

So let me get this straight....I want to join The Carnival and they check my references? They do a background check on me?

And where do they do this? How do they do this?

Does a desire for rape show up in a background check?

"Oh yeah, Charlie liked to rape broads in between his stints on the Tilt-O-Whirl so we had to let him go..."

"Let's see...Charlie. Oh yeah...Charlie. Hard worker. Never late. Rapes broads. Can guess weights like nobodies business. Ring tosser supreme. Whatever happened to him?"


SO TO SUM UP:

I want some fried dough. With powdered sugar and cinnamon on it.

And melted butter.

Olympics Update: The Women's Discus

So last night I'm watching The Olympics (a series of athletic events in China) and all of a sudden the Women's Discus competition begins.

My dog started howling.

My wife started howling (yet again)

My oldest started howling.

All throughout this land the howls could be heard.

THIS GAL CAME IN SECOND PLACE.



SO TO SUM UP:

The universe really does have some kinda balance....Women's Beach Volleyball > Women's Discus

Your duty as a parent.

It's your duty as a parent to find your child's weakness and then exploit it for your own amusement.

Find a flaw. Make fun of flaw. Create complex about said flaw.

Simple. Fun. Your duty.

So years and years ago we noticed my oldest child's head was enormous.

So we made fun of her. For years and years. And years.

Yet that child would just smile and shrug it off and go to school and be all happy and stuff.

And the other kids wouldn't make fun of her giant head. Or wouldn't notice it.

Or something.

But me and Wifey kept at it. Day after day, month after month, year after year.

(and yes, Wifey was complicit in this act)

This damn child of ours was gonna get a complex about her hefty noggin or we would die trying!

Or something.

Infant morphed into toddler. Toddler morphed into whatever toddlers morph into.

Pre-teen into teen. High school into college.

And never the damn desired complex!

She has a massive head, yet nobody but us makes fun of it!

How could that be?

How?

But we kept at it.

Still no complex. Why?? WHY?

Did she have a mutant power we didn't know about? Some non-complex gene?

Or something?

---

So the other night I'm at home listing some items on ebay, measuring them with a tape measure, when all of a sudden I look at Ol' Muffin Head and walk up to her.

{With tape measure in hand}


And I measure her gigantic head!

Width of said melon!

Height of said melon!

Aborted attempt at circumference of said melon! (tape measure was metal...it made it difficult to get a true reading)

And the results were in...



Turns out her head is normal sized.

Normal. Size. Head.

She just has real thick hair and it made her head look enormous all these years.

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

SO TO SUM UP:

When you see my oldest daughter take a look at her hands. They're wicked tiny. Freakshow tiny.

Yet another adventure at "The Dollar Store"

Earlier this year I swore off dollar stores forever.

Forever is actually about three months.

So anyhow, the other day I needed something and the dollar store had them. A different dollar store I might add then the one I swore off forever.

On their sign outside and on their windows and all throughout the store it proclaimed "EVERYTHING IS A DOLLAR!"

So I brought up six items to the register and held up one of them and asked:

ME: "How much is this?"

MONKEY: "Everything is a dollar."

ME: "Even these?"

MONKEY: "Yup."

ME: ::holding up another item:: "How much is this?"

MONKEY: "That's a dollar also...EVERYTHING is a dollar."

ME: "I notice on the candy bars it says TWO FOR A DOLLAR....How much for just one?"

MONKEY: "Fifty cents for one, two for a dollar."

ME: "So EVERYTHING isn't really a dollar, now is it?"

MONKEY: "It's two for a dollar."

ME: "Can I buy your cash register for a dollar?"

MONKEY: ::Puzzled look:: "The cash register isn't for sale."

ME: "So EVERYTHING isn't really a dollar, now is it?"

MONKEY: "It's not for sale."

ME: "What if I gave you fifty thousand dollars for the cash register...would you sell it?"

MONKEY: "Ummmm....I guess so. I'd have to clear it with the manager first."

ME: "So EVERYTHING isn't really a dollar, now is it?

MONKEY: "You're just teasing me, aren't you?"

ME: "Give me a dollar and I'll tell you."

Switch Flops have arrived!!

(don't google)

That's what the sign said in front of the retail establishment. Not 'don't google', but 'Switch Flops have arrived !!'

And it had the two exclamation points so you know Switch Flops are awesome.

You also know that they've arrived and that's something to be double-y excited about.

Afterall...SWITCH FLOPS HAVE ARRIVED!!

So why do I say don't google?

Well chances are, other than the Lovely (and Curvaceous) Sparkle Plenty none of us probably know what Switch Flops are and why it's so wonderful that they've arrived.

I still haven't googled. I don't plan to.

Again, why?

Because I want Switch Flops to always be something exciting and wonderful and delicious.

Or something.

If I google, Switch Flops will be some kind of new concrete or roofing material. Or lima beanean cousin.

Possibly a new sewing stitch. Or vitamin supplement.

I want Switch Flops to forever be worth the two exclamation points!!

I want The Hoag to get scammed buying said Switch Flops.

I want to invest in Switch Flops and make a killing.

I want to show Wifey something magical using my new Switch Flops. Or Switch Flop singular.

I want World Peace using a single Switch Flop and some duct tape.

Switch Flops are the answer. You know it. I know it.

They've ARRIVED!!

Switch Flops.

If you're weak like the Lovely (and Curvaceous) Cake...go ahead, google.

Just keep it to yourself.

I wanna dream.

I wanna live.

I wanna Switch Flop and fly!

Wonderfully old and delighted

Redelighted. Or something

Still more delights

Other delights

The National Geographic food rating system, whipped cream, and other delights. Maybe even Herb Albert.

So the new National Geographic comes in and inside it has this chart of best foods to crappy foods.

The better for you nutritionally, the closer to 100 the listed food scores.

No surprise...broccoli was number one with 100 points.

On the very bottom, with a very sad one point, was the lovely popsicle.

So To Sum Up:

Don't always believe what you read in The Geographic.

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

So I'm out last night at a steakhouse getting some dinner. I ask for my steakburger (hamburger) medium and with NO lettuce, onion, or tomato.

So the steakburger (hamburger) comes and on the side is a huge onion and some lettuce. No tomato.

So To Sum Up:

The cook screwed up the order if he read what the waitress wrote down or he screwed it up if she didn't write it down.

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

When I got home I put on the TV, clicked to NBC for the Olympics, and started to watch Men's Beach Volleyball.

So To Sum Up:

Men's Beach Volleyball sucks.

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

Herb Albert (you thought I was lying....didn't cha?)

Women's Beach Volleyball

Am I now officially the biggest fan of this sport?

I might just be.

Is it because of the long legs?

The sleek graceful moves?

The tight thighs?

The little bikinis?

The grit....the determination?

The tanned youthful skin?

The cool sunglasses?

The tattoos?

The diving and sprawling on the ground?

The vertical leaps?

The high fives?

The body contact bewteen teammates?

The crushing spikes?

The tight buttocks?

The flat bellies?

The sports bras?

The ponytails and visors?

The Nike swoosh across their arses?

Are these the reasons why I'm now the #1 fan of Women's Beach Volleyball?

Of course not.

What do you take me for anyhow?


I just like sand.

Someone is killing the great Mother 'effers!

As you all know, the death of Mother 'effers come in threes.

First it was Bernie Mac. A bad mother 'effer.

Then over the weekend Issac Hayes. They say that cat Issac was a bad mother 'effer....

::::SHUT YOUR MOUTH!::::

Who is next?

Samuel L. Jackson perhaps?

Afterall, he spotted the Mother effin' snakes on the Mother 'effin plane.

Does that make him a bad mother 'effer?

What in fact makes one a bad Mother 'effer?

And why does being a bad Mother 'effer mean you gots to die this week?

I axe you...why?

R.I.P. Bernie Mac, you motherfucker!

He once ate 50 eggs.

He also sang this song.

Chinese OUTRAGE!

So, the Olympics are starting and a few of the US athletes got off the plane in Tokyo, or wherever they landed in China, and they were wearing face masks to protect themselves from the smog.

That's all we've heard about for the last few weeks leading up to THE GAMES. How bad the air is.

So the US athletes took precautions and now all of China is pissed off at them cuz they were wearing the masks.

They wore the masks because they heard the smog was bad. Or was it the air that was bad?

And of course, China was disrespected.

Or something.

So what is my point?

My point is that this morning when walking down the street to the post office I notice sitting inside the Nail Salon are all these female Chinese athletes WEARING MASKS and grapping the hands of old ladies!!!

Now that's disrespect!

Screw you, Tokyo!

The Rascal Extraordinaire

An old lady just came in my shop and told me I was 'The Rascal Extraordinaire'.

I told her she was Peachey McAdams.

THE question that mankind should have been pondering

I see something and instantly have to call The Hoag.

Nobody else comes to mind.

It's a question that's laid dormant for years. It's never even entered our minds. Or yours. Yet it really was always there.

Floating on the surface.

Sitting there. Unanswered. Unasked.

For decades it sat. In plain view for anybody with a brain.

I knew The Hoag would have the answer. He had to have the answer. I hoped he would have the answer.

I was nervous.

Very nervous.

I dialed up his number (actually I pushed one button as he is on speed dial for just such a situation)

::rrrring rrrring:: ::ringring:: (actually not really a ring...more of a beepbeep or something)

It felt like forever.

But he answered.

I took a deep breath and asked the question.

I could practically see his heart stop. (Or did it beat quicker? I really have no clue as we were on the phone.)

Hoag said one word...if in fact it was a word.

A stunned Hoag could only answer with a hushed: "Woo!"

I paused. Re-grouped, and then asked him again. We discussed. We used logic.

We had no real answer. We were flummoxed. If in fact flummoxed is a word.

We discussed some more.

But we really had no idea who was faster...Speedy Gonzalez or the Road Runner.

None at all.


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

Thank you to DC Comics for raising this question in the new Looney Tunes comic, issue #165 avaialble at your local comic retailer. To find a comic shop in your area call 1-888-Comic Book or look on the internet at http://csls.diamondcomics.com/

A short scene from the movie CASINO starring Robert DeNiro and Joe Pesci but done by Bert and Ernie

He ain't no Fredo

Oscar Winner Morgan Freeman drives a 1997 Maxima?

http://www.wmctv.com/global/story.asp?s=8783679

What would he drive if he DIDN'T win the Oscar?

Another untold tale from the files of Doctor Intimacy

So we all attend functions and parties and family gatherings, correct?

And what happens at all of these events?

You arrive and you say hi to folks.

Men usually greet other men with a handshake, they greet women with maybe a kiss on the cheek.

Sometimes just a nod of the head or maybe a wave.

When relatives are involved you pray for the air kiss. No actual contact with Auntie Gulch please!

So anyhow...

I arrive at this party last week and start saying hi to folks, hands shaked, cheeks kissed, nods given, waves a plenty.

And then The Brit walks up to me and starts to kiss my cheek. And I tell her to kiss my neck.

And she does so without hesitation. I have her well trained.

And then I tell her to whisper in my ear.

But she doesn't. Or won't. Or something.

And the party goes on. No big deal.

Flash forward a few hours:

The party is winding down and the obligatory nods, and waves, and handshakes, and goodbye cheek kisses commence.

And then The Brit walks up to me and starts to kiss me goodbye on my cheek and I tell her to kiss my neck instead.

And she does so without hesitation. I have her well trained.

And then I tell her to whisper in my ear.

But she doesn't. Or won't. Or something.

And the party ends. No big deal.

-----

So the week goes on and I ponder why she won't whisper in my ear. Is it too intimate?

She had no problem kissing my neck. Is whispering in the ear some strange intimate British thing?

I have no idea.

So I start asking folks:

"What is more intimate...kissing someone on the neck or whispering in their ear?"

And people take the question seriously. They want to get it 'right'. And they ponder it and explain why they think such and such is more intimate (not sexual).

I ask dozens and dozens of people. Most of those people answer the same way.

It turns out to be a good question.

----------

And then about a week later I run into The Brit at a restaurant and we discuss the party and I tell her about the question and then ask her what she thinks.

And she answers.

"I think a kiss on the neck is way more intimate then whispering in someone's ear."

And I reply:

"So why wouldn't you whisper in my ear last week at the party?"

And The Brit says:

"I had nothing I wanted to say to you."



-----------
And if you look up to the top right of this blog you'll see a little poll I'm running. Feel free to click on your choice.

The Saga of Captain Moneybags

So I'm at this anniversary party the other night at this fancy function place and I get up to get something to drink...I look around my table and ask if anybody would like a drink.

The polite thing to do. Correct?

A few people say yes, I saunter up to the bar, get said drinks, return to table, distribute drinks.
A nice normal thing to do.

Folks are talking and dancing and having fun. I'm doing two of those things.

I finish my drink and decide to get another. So I ask again if anybody wants something. I take a few orders, re-saunter to bar, repeat.

Drinks are flowing. Folks are having good conversation. You know...a party.

I look around. Some folks are with empty glasses so I ask if they would like something to drink.

Take orders. Saunter. Distribute.

Laughs. Dancing. (not me since the 'accident') Talking. Fun. You know...a party.

Drinks get emptied. I look around to see who might need a refill. Take orders. Saunter.

Repeat.

Possibly repeat again. Possibly saunter some more.

And then Wifey comes up to me. Not that she cares or anything, but it seems I'm buying folks too many drinks. $50.00 or so a round. Maybe 5 or 6 trips to the bar. Tips galore.

She's just curious what's gotten into her Captain.

I look at her.

And then I tell her.

"It's an open bar."

And that my friends is the Saga of Captain Moneybags....generous to a fault.

At an open bar.

RIP Manny

You made baseball fun.

Now go get a haircut, willya? You look like an idiot.

the AM/PM guy makes an appearance

GUY: "How much does this Batman cost?"

ME: "It's priced on the bottom of the package."

GUY: "How much is this Spider-Man paperweight?"

ME: "It's priced on the bottom."

GUY: "Where are the Captain America comics?"

ME: "I put them in the bins in alphabetical order."

GUY: "Can you show me?"

ME: "Yes...they are right....here...in the C section."

GUY: "Where are the Spider-Man comics?"

ME: "They should be in those bins over there ::points over there:: in alphabetical order in the S section."

GUY: "Can you show me?"

ME: ::shows him::

GUY: "How much are they?"

ME: "All the comics in the bins have a price tag on the upper right hand corner."

GUY: "How much does this one cost?"

ME: :::looks at price tag on upper right hand corner:: "That one is $4.75!"

GUY: "Where are the Flash comics?"

ME: "They are in the bins in alphabetical order...check the F section right over there :::points to F section right over there:::

GUY: "I can't find them...all I see are Fantastic Fours."

ME: "The Flash are right there next to them!"

GUY: "Found them! Thank you, My Friend!"

:::GUY brings up stuff to the register:::

ME: :::rings up stuff and gives him the total::: "That will be $48.91."

GUY: "Can you put my stuff in a bag before I pay you?"

ME: "Sure!" ::I do as requested::

GUY: ::gives me $50.00::

ME: "And here is your change...9 cents makes $49, and a dollar makes $50."

GUY: ::looks at change in a funny way:: "I gave you a Fifty."

ME: "Yes. the total was $48.91 and I gave you $1.09 in change which adds up to $50.00 on the button!"

GUY: "You are right! Thank you my friend! You'll be seeing a LOT of me!"

ME: "Thank you! Have a great day, My Friend!"

GUY: "What time are you open tomorrow?"

ME: "11:30am until 6:30pm"

Moral of the story?

Guy won.

a special evening interlude for all of the night owls in the audience

Every single DUDE in The Big Lebowski.

Crusty Bunker

So today is new comic book day and as I flip through a brand new series by Marvel Comics one of the characters mentions a sex act.

The dialogue goes something like this:

HOOKER: "He wanted me to give him a "Crusty Bunker"...and here I thought I've heard and done it all."

So I flip through the story some more and come across this passage:

HOOKER: "And before I forget...for those of you that need to know--there's no such thing as a 'Crusty Bunker'. "

--------

SO TO SUM UP:

The world apparently needs a new sex act and it needs to be called the Crusty Bunker.

PS
Thank you Marvel Comics!

I'm so busy blogging today that I can't blog

Idiot Savant to be alone

PHONE RINGS AT STORE:

ME: "Groovy Store, may I help you?"

GUY: "What are your hours?"

ME: "Monday through Friday 11:30-6:30, Saturday 10:00 through 5:00, and Sunday 12:00 through 5:00."

GUY: "What are your hours on Monday?"

ME: "Monday-Friday 11:30-6:30. Saturday 10:00-5:00, and Sunday 12:00-5:00."

GUY: "What time do you open on Monday?"

ME: "11:30."

GUY: "AM or PM?"

ME: "AM"

GUY: "What time do you close?"

ME: "6:30."

GUY: "AM or PM?"

ME: "PM."

GUY: "What time do you open on Tuesday?"

ME: "11:30."

GUY: "AM or PM?"

At this point I know I'm doing an Abbott and Costello routine with the guy.

ME: "AM."

GUY: "11:30 AM?"

ME: "Yes."

GUY: "What time do you close?"

ME: "We are open Monday thru Friday 11:30-6:30, Saturday 10:00-5:00, and Sunday 12:00-5:00."

GUY: "I was down your shop the other day and it was awesome and I can't wait until two and half weeks from now to come down and spend lots of money. I want everything!"

ME: "Great...looking forward to you coming down!"

GUY: "What time do you open on Wednesday?"

:::sigh:: This goes on all the way through the days until Sunday. I give the answers he needs, and I can practically see him writing down each individual day and their times (AM and PM...you know, cuz lots of my type of stores open at 11:30 at night and close at 6:30 in the morning)...but I slog through it.

GUY: "What time do you open on Sunday?"

ME: "12:00"

GUY: "AM or PM?"

And all of sudden I was the dumbest guy on the planet. I had a retard on the phone asking retard questions yet the retard stumped the Boy Genius. I had no idea if 12 noon was AM or PM.

ME: "12 noon."

GUY: "Is that AM or PM."

ME: "12 in the afternoon."

GUY: "AM or PM?"

ME: "And Sunday from 12:00 in the afternoon until 5:00 in the evening. Thank you, hope to see you soon!"

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


former, latter, moon revolves around sun, left loosey, righty tighty, Winston Churchill....

Trial by Gravy

The other day I gave my dog a bit of my mashed potatoes and gravy.

I put it in her dog dish.

Puppy ate said mashed potatoes.

A few days later Wifey says to me: "Damn dog, she got gravy everywhere!"

One simple act. One simple statement.

But let's examine that further, shall we? Under the guise of a trial.

-----------
BALLIFF: "Please state your full name."

WIFEY: "Wifey D. Ogghader."

BALLIFF: "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

WIFEY: "Whatever."

DASH McLAWYER: "Did you state in your sworn deposition that the "dog got gravy everywhere"

WIFEY: "Yes."

DASH: "Did the dog in fact get the gravy everywhere?"

WIFEY: "Yes."

DASH: "Did the dog get the gravy on the countertop?"

WIFEY: "No."

DASH: "Did the dog get the gravy on the toaster?"

WIFEY: "No."

DASH: "Did the dog get the gravy on the phone?"

WIFEY: "No."

DASH: "Did the dog get the gravy on the doorknob?"

WIFEY: "No."

DASH: "Did the dog get the gravy on the table?"

WIFEY: "No."

DASH: "Did the dog get the gravy on the television set?"

WIFEY: "No."

DASH: "Can you please tell this court, where in fact, the dog got the gravy!?"

WIFEY: "Everywhere."

DASH: "No further questions. The prosecution rests."

Ex-astronaut turns out to be retarded

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,390161,00.html

Obama

Anyhow...

So I hear this on the radio this morning:

RADIO GUY: "So you gave money to Obama, huh?

CALLER: "Yup."

RADIO GUY: "Just practicing for if he gets elected?"

------

SO TO SUM UP:

There will be another major terrorist attack on US soil in a year or so and you're gonna pay more taxes but troops that enlisted and were willing to go to war might come home early.

Or something.

God Bless The USA.

Everybody has an opinion...this guy is just an idiot....and whipped cream and other delights.

So I get a phone call last night from someone telling me how awful the new Dark Knight movie is.

This person has in the past told me how good Christmas With The Kranks is.

I don't think I'll be paying for his movie reviews anytime soon.

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

Over on Cake's blog she mentions singing at concerts. Lots of people sing at concerts.

Wanna know something?

It's rude.

Don't sit next to me and sing at a concert. Shut up!

If I'm paying to see Celine, I wanna HEAR Celine!

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

So The Blonde is (was) part of buddy night and she missed four weeks in a row. So she got the boot.

But we decided to be fair and let her voice her excuses in an Arbritration Hearing this Thursday night (Buddy Night)...guess what? She blew us off once again. 5 weeks in a row!!

Wanna take her spot for Thursday night hijinx?

Feel free to submit your resume at iaintnooprah@aol.com

The note

A couple of things you need to know:

I have a small dog that stays in the house but needs to be taken out to the garage where the WC is.

The other thing you need to know is that Wifey and Youngest went away for the week.

And Wifey leaves the obligatory note on the counter telling us what needs to be done....you know, the kinda onlya wife would leave.

And in that said note, after all of the: don't light the couch on fire and turn off the shower when you're done with it kinda stuff she leaves this gem:

"Take the dog out constantly."

Constantly.

Take the dog out constantly.

So to sum up:

Wifey and Youngest are out in the sun on the beach drinking wine coolers and eating lobsters and me and Oldest are taking the dog out.

Constantly.

Jesse Jackson talks about the new Batman movie.

That's what today's blog was gonna be about.

And then I realized that except for the film being called The Dark Knight and the Joker kicking Batman in the nuts there really wasn't anyway to tie it all togther.

So then I thought maybe I'd change the title to: Hillary talks about the new Batman movie.

But then I realized except for when The Joker kicked The Batman in the cankles there really wasn't anyway to tie it all together.

So then I thought what if I changed it to Ed McMahon talks about the new Batman movie.

But other than Ed having a broken neck and not being able to move his neck...and Batman mentioning that he also can't move his neck with the stupid costume on, there was no way to tie it all together.

So then I thought maybe I could make it about Virgil Tibbs talking about the new Batman movie but all I had was a IN THE HEAT OF THE DARK KNIGHT joke, and though brilliant, I couldn't quite pad a whole blog out with it.

Or could I?

BATMAN: "I'm Batman."

VIRGIL: "They call me MISTER Tibbs"

So now I have two jokes. But two jokes about Virgil Tibbs and Batman still do not make a blog.

Or does it?

Conversation with The Bank Teller

So I go into the bank to make a cash deposit.

Here is the conversation:

ME: "Hi."

BANK TELLER: "Hi."

:::a few newer bills sticking together noise::::

BANK TELLER: "We've been getting A LOT of new bills lately."

ME: "Oh?"

BANK TELLER: "We get lots of old bills also."

ME: "Do you ever get any bills from like four or five months ago?"

BANK TELLER: "Oh yes, we get those also!"

ME: "So basically you get most kinds of bills that are in circulation, correct?"

BANK TELLER: "Yup!"

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

PS
And then she got up and walked over to the bill counting machine and I noticed that her lower half was at least six times larger than her upper half.

Though I'm not quite sure what that has to do with: Conversation with The Bank Teller.

Jesse Jackson wants to cut off nigger's nuts !

Seems Jesse got himself into trouble once again by saying the word Nigger .

(Last week it was cutting off of Nuts.)


The press would report it as:

'The Rev. Jesse Jackson wants to cut off N*****'s N***.

Or possibly:

'The Rev. Jesse Jackson wants to cut off the N's of a N-word'

Or maybe:
'The Rev. Jesse Jackson would like to cut off the testicles off of an African American peer.



Or something.

Back to fishing...

Still fishing.

Kids still play marbles?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Nujood Ali is 10 years old, but she already has been married and divorced. Chastised in Yemen for challenging convention, she recently told CNN she was raped and abused by her husband. "I didn't want to sleep with him, but he forced me to," she said, between playing marbles with her siblings<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

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

The above was on CNN.com today.

I wonder if this story will make marbles popular again?

Gone Fishin' (sorry....I'm busy)

"They're a grubby-looking bunch of caterwaulers."

I have no real post for this. I just liked the sentence.

It might be on my top ten list of great sentences.


To find out what the sentence means in context, it's right here...


http://fieldnotes.msnbc.msn.com/archive/2008/07/15/1199774.aspx

I surrender.

Clinky is SO gonna win for the next month or so. We don't stand a chance.

It's a competition, correct?

Dean Martin has taken over this blog!

The :40 and the 1:03 points are just awesome

The volume on my radio goes up when one of these songs comes on.

Strange how that happens.

I especially like it around the 3:13 to 3:25 part.

The 10th anniversary of 9/11

How original, huh?

Everybody on the planet is probably writing a 10th anniversary of 9/11 blog today.

So sue me.

My Mom died in the North Tower that day, and I feel like I can write about 9/11 on it's anniversary. So shut up.

Everybody always asks if you remember what you were doing that fateful day....I sure do!

I was watching a documentary on the JFK assassination, then I switched over to one on the RFK assassination. I watched a bit of the OJ Bronco chase and most of Capricorn One.

And then the planes hit.

I've been a bit obsessive about it ever since (WOW! Ten years....went fast)

And today it hit me! I finally figured it out!

4 planes. Two hit the World Trade Center, one hit the Pentagon, and one crashed in a field.

Well guess what? Bin Laden wasn't after the Trade Center or the Pentagon....he wanted to destroy our fields!!

Our precious fields! Amber ways of grain. And stuff!

Ten years and I finally figured it out!

Our precious fields!

Bastards!

My mom could have been in that field.

Your mom could have been also.

(I wonder if our Moms would have liked each other? I wonder if they would have liked that field?)

And now....everytime I see a field I shudder (or do I shiver?) I always forget.

But I'll never forget this date, ten years ago, when evil tried to wreck our fields.

Never forget.

Field of Nightmares. Field of Dreams. Field of Tossing & Turning and Dying and Burning

Or something.

::wipes away one lone salty manly tear::

PS
Now I want popcorn.

The Sears Truck

A SEARS truck just drove by my shop and on the side of the truck it proudly proclamied:

SEARS: WHERE IT ALL BEGINS.

What the hell does that even mean? Where what begins?

Nothing begins at SEARS.

Except of course maybe the 1930s. Or something.

SO TO SUM UP:

SEARS: Where you go if all other options have already been explored and exhausted and you just have to have a Craftsman Circular Saw Clock for your workshop.

"I want to cut his nuts off."

That was the big quote of the week.

It was Jesse Jackson saying it about Barack Obama.

Jesse wants to cut off Obama's nuts.

Once cut off, what on earth was Jesse planning on doing with said nuts? Gonna cook up some brownies?

I wonder if Jesse was planning to cut Obama's nuts off when he visted HymieTown.

Jesse says some kooky things.

PS
I wonder if he also wanted to cut off Hillary's nuts ?

PPSS
I wonder what Jesse wanted to do to the Wax sculpture of Hitler?

http://elections.foxnews.com/2008/07/09/jesse-jackson-apologizes-for-obama-remarks/

Lamont has a blog

It's over there in the LINKS section (clever, huh?)

I give him three weeks and then he'll burnout.

Or something.

My Rolled Coin Blog.

Someone mentioned the other day that they were out of ideas for blogs and they were gonna post a blog about coin rolling.

And it reminded me of the time I fought off aliens, saved the princess, and rolled up about 40 large....all in dimes.

---------

I was flying shotgun (I don't even know what that means) in the X-27 Warp Modulator (no clue what that means) and trying to roll up my coin at the same time when all of sudden a fiery red carbopulation cane came streaming towards my docking bay (or something)....it broke of the hinge of the recess hatch.

I was doomed! Silver Roosevelts were floating all over my craft, the princess was still in dire need (winkwink), and I had dinner plans at 8:00!

So quickly I jammed the throttle to hyper-kill, reversed the props, rolled the coin, saved Diana, patched the hinge, returned to sector 52, had dinner.

I was in bed by 11:00.

I dreamt of rolled pennies and Malomar C-47.

But that's a story for another day!

Would this person be stupid or would this person be J*net?

PERSON: "So I'm driving by this clear building and..."

ME: "You mean a building with a lot of windows?"

PERSON: "Well, yes..."

The Stupid Joe Morgan

There are two Joe Morgans.

A good Joe Morgan. A bad Joe Morgan.

One used to manage the Boston Red Sox in the 1980s (remember Morgan Magic?)...and he was funny and smart and just an all around good guy. The Good Joe Morgan.

And then there is the other Joe Morgan. He's an idiot.

He used to play for the Reds back in the 1970s. He wa s agood player...made the Hall of Fame.

The Bad Joe Morgan.

But now he is an announcer and calls the national games for ESPN.

Did I mention he's an idiot?

So last night he's doing the Red Sox Yankees game and he starts to comment on David Ortiz who is out with an injury.

And he says (I'm paraphrasing....I'm sure his EXACT words were worse)

"David Ortiz can make a difference in a 1 run game but not much in a 4 or 5 run game."

------

What are you talking about Joe you big stupid idiot??? Ya big stupid idiot. Idiot.

------

I love baseball but it's painful to watch when this big stupid idiot opens his big stupid mouth.

Idiot.

I wanted to rip off Hitler's head.

The other day they announced that at Madame Tussauds Wax Museum they were putting up a Adolf Hitler exhibit.

But not to glorify him.

They were gonna treat old Uncle Adolf different than the other wax figures. You weren't going to be able to have your picture taken with Adolf.

They didn't want to glorify him. .

The display was going to show him in his final days as a frail tired man sitting at his desk.

They didn't want to glorify him.

And yesterday the exhibit opened.

And the first person in saw him and left.

The second guy to see the exhibit jumped over the barrier they had set up and ripped off Hitler's head.

But not to glorify him.

And he got arrested! For ripping off Hitler's head!

It's a crime to rip off Hitler's head!

And now I'm all jealous because Hitler Head Ripper Off-er is gonna be a prison celebrity!

"What are you in for?"

"I stole a car."

"What are you in for?

"I robbed a bank."

"What are you in for?"

"I ripped off Adolf Hitler's head."

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

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,376683,00.html

They call me MISTER Dibs !

So last night was Buddy Nite. It usually consists of me, The Hoag, and The Blonde.



Sometime during the day either through text messages, emails, or phone calls we decide where to eat or what to do.



But all during the day yesterday we never hear from The Blonde.



Nothing. El Nada.



So use our back up plan and we meet at the "usual spot" just in case she had some communication breakdown.



Or something.



But she's not there.



And it's at that moment we realize that she must have died. Cuz she would have called , correct?



Here is how the conversation went once we figured out she was in heaven:



ME: "I've got dibs on her new Sony flat screen!"



HOAG: "Dibs on her Bose!"



ME: "New rug...MINE!"



HOAG: "Her undergarments!"



ME: "The grill !"



HOAG: "Good...I hate that grill"



ME: "Her new sectional sofa!"



HOAG: "Fuck."



ME: "Laptop!"



HOAG: "Hammock!"



ME: "Meats and snacks!"



HOAG: "Booze!"



ME: "I don't want anything else."



HOAG: "Me neither."



ME: "What should we do now?"



HOAG: "Go eat."



ME: "I'll miss her."



HOAG: "Me too."



ME: "What should we eat?"



HOAG: "Italian"





So To Sum Up:



They Call Me MISTER Dibs.



They call Hoag, Hoag.

A George Carlin story by proxy

I should have told this story last week but I had forgotten about it. Hoag reminded me.

Years ago we went to see George Carlin in concert.

The concert was held at a predominantly Jewish college so when we got to our seats we instantly were feeling kinda out of place as two of the only white guys in attendance.

It's not that folks were mean to us or anything but you could see their stares and points and stuff.

No big deal. We were there to see George. A white guy.

But we were in our seats, which were fold up chairs, all tied together with those plastic fastener thingies that cops use when busting up large crowds.

And it was very uncomfortable. Everyone was sitting way too close together and it was just awkward.

So Hoag takes out his switchblade (knife, not comb) and starts cutting the fasteners away on our seats.

And then some folks close to us see what he's doing and ask if he'll cut through theirs.

So Hoag (friend of the Jews) starts going seat to seat cutting the plastic things and freeing everyone from sitting in rigid rows.

And by the time the show started the two white guys were now pals with a room filled with non-white guys.

POINT OF THE STORY:

Comedy is colorblind.

Or something.

Don't Feed The Brids

Years ago we saw that sign up in a restaurant in Laconia, New Hampshire.

DON'T FEED THE BRIDS. The brids.

Was it a typo?

Surely someone must have noticed and told the owner of the place that his sign was all wrong.

Or do brids live in Laconia? Are brids native to Laconia? I never saw them anywhere else.

And why shouldn't we feed said brids? Do they get fat? By feeding the brids do they hang around too long and scare off the tourists?

Now when you go up to Laconia as a teenager and see a sign telling you NOT to do something....well, guess what?

You want to do what it says not to.

SO TO SUM UP:

Me and Hoag fed the brids.

The Circle Of Life

So this past weekend I went camping.

Camping, as in near a lake. In a tent.

In fact, a whole bunch of us went. Near a lake. In some tents.

So anyhow around two in the morning I wake up and need to go to the campground restroom to check how my hair looks (or something)

The restroom is up a hill in the middle of the woods (but close by)

2:00 am hair looks pretty good and I start back to my tent when all of a sudden I spot a bear!

There is a bear standing next to a tree about 20 feet from me.

I remember my bear training from The Hoag and I stand motionless (except for my hair which is blowing nicely in the wind)

And then I hear the bear roar!

"DAD! It's me!"

Holy crap! I'm the father of a bear!!! I'm the father of a talking bear!!"

"Dad, it's me...I'm over here!"

And then it dawned on me....that was my human daughter standing by the tree. At 2:00 am.

I was still wary of bear and remembered my teenage girl training I received from The Hoag...always approach with caution.

So what was human daughter doing at 2:00 am, in the woods, pretending she was a bear?

Turns out she was pretending to be a queasy bear and she was vomiting at the base of the tree.

And I did what any human father would do. I said:

"I hope you feel better in the morning...I'm going back to my tent. Be careful."

Fast forward 6 hours or so:

I get up and head to the campground restroom to check on my hair and I notice two chipmunks messing around with my daughter's vomit that is still pooled at the base of the tree.

I quickly name one of the chipmunks 'Dale'. I can't think of what to name the second one.

POINT OF THE STORY:

When camping, you experience the Circle of Life (or Cheerios, or whatever it is she ate that made her sick) first hand.

Or of course, something.

Gone Fishin' Part 2

I leave you with the word of the day:

Gravy.

Life Changers

Remember how the first time you heard Ronald Reagan speak you knew that he was special?

Or maybe the first time you saw Tiger Woods.

You KNEW these guys would change the world in their own special way.

You can substitute Ronnie and Tiger for whoever you want that you think of as Life Changers.

Some folks even thought it was Hillary. Or Gary Coleman. Or someone.

But anyhow...

Last night I was speaking with a 22 year old woman and I realized that this person was going to change the world.

Maybe not for you. Maybe not for me.

But for Carter. Or the Carter in the future.

Or someone.

Or a bunch of someones.

That woman is my oldest daughter. (and she's way better than Hillary or Gary Coleman)

Where the loyalties lie.Or sit. Maybe stand.

About ten years ago The Hoag got married (to A Woman) and numerous people gave them gift certificates to nice restaurants in The City.

Well, The Hoag and A Woman moved away from The City and the gift certificates sat untouched in a drawer. And over the years I kept mentioning to The Hoag that maybe Me and Him should lift those gift certificates out of storage and use the darn things.

Because they were just sitting there unused. Ya know?

But we never got around to it.


So anyhow this past Christmas comes around and I thought what a great idea gift certificates to nice restaurants in The City would be, so I bought Wifey some.

And we went to use one this past Saturday. Only problem?

The Restaurant is out of business.

So now I (Wifey) had a useless gift certificate.

But so did The Hoag and A Woman, remember? (useless=sitting in a drawer for ten years)

So I formed my plan and presented it to The Hoag:

ME: "Why don't we take my 'out of business' gift certificate and swap it with one of the ones in your drawer....so many years later I doubt your A Woman will even remember which ones you have....it'll be a victimless crime!"

THE HOAG: "I'm not gonna collude against my wife to feed you."

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

Moral of the story?

Baby bear has finally left the den.

How To Pick A Fight

Feeling cranky? Just feel like making some trouble?

Here are some surefire ways:

1) Insist to whoever will listen that E.T. followed a trail of M&Ms. Never admit you're wrong.

2) Insist that Lee Meriwether played the role of Catwoman in the 1966 Batman TV show.

3) Tell someone that if George Bush could only get one more term he'd turn things around.

4) Tell a comic fan that Stan Lee actually did all the drawings but let Jack Kirby sign his name to them. (this one is actually true)

5) Tell a Red Sox fan that the Yankees do not in fact suck. They're just misunderstood. And frail. Possibly gay.....Hmmmmm....maybe that wouldn't start a fight.

6) Tell someone that there is actually something for #6 but it involves their ever expanding waistline and it wouldn't be polite to discuss it.

7) Don't go to Cousin Saul's Saturday event because there is something good on TV....ummmmm....I mean because I have surgery scheduled.

8) Or something.

9) Talk to any of my Mother's sisters. They'll say something. I'm sure of it.

10) Ride a Segway.

R.I.P. George Carlin

In death he can no longer say about 400,000 words.

Or buy anymore stuff.


But in the spirit of George's famous 7 words you couldn't say on TV we'll play the seven words that will never get said on this blog game.

I'll get you started:

a) "You look thin and beautiful today Hillary!"

b) "Hey Hoagy, your torn jeans look fantastic!"

c) "Great postive review of that movie, Saul!"

Nazis Are Forever

(sung to the tune of Diamonds Are Forever)

http://sports.aol.com/story/_a/fans-celebrate-win-with-nazi-chants/20080621210009990001?icid=200100397x1204543578x1200194384

Who Hearts Hitler?

http://jlove.com/

The nameless lobster

So last night I'm in a restaurant and I order a lobster.

When the waitress brings me said lobster I asked her what his name was.

She kinda looked at me with those blank eyes that wait staff sometimes have.

"He didn't have a name."

Something is wrong with that.

They bring a live animal into their restaurant, put him in the lobster tank to peacefully live out their lives (or so Mr. Lobster thinks), and then they boil him alive to please me.

The least they could do is name the poor guy (before they boil him alive to please me)

Now I know what you're thinking: Why don't you just name him yourself when they bring him out on the platter?

BECAUSE I DON'T NAME THE DEAD...THAT'S WHY!!

Though I suppose I'll now start naming all the dead animals I eat. I'm guessing tonight I will be dining with Beef Richards and his pal, Gravy.

Puppies, flowers, and honey.

Is that better?

Why Hitler is better than the L.A. Lakers

a) Hitler liked dogs, didn't play like one.

b) Luftwaffe

c) He saw France's underpants.

d) Hitler didn't eat beef.... L.A. only had Kobe.

e) Hitler had one more testicle than the Lakers.

f) It took the combined might of Russia, the USA, and Britain to take down Hitler. It only took a few guys named Paul, Kevin, and Ray to take down the Lakers.

g) Hitler had the mustache and the crazy mannerisms of a mental case. Lakers only had Kobe.

h) Hitler could play defense. Lakers couldn't.

i) Hitler never surrendered. Lakers did.

j) Hitler once ate 50 eggs....oh wait....that was Luke.

And a bunch of other things.

My Rich Little impersonation. :::applause:::

Who is Rich Little you ask?

Who is Rich Little?

Rich Little was a guy who did impressions back in the 70s and 80s. He might still.

Unless he's dead.

Back in the 1970s he was everywhere doing impressions.

If you knew Rich was gonna be a guest on a show you didn't normally watch you might tune in.

And now without further ado....My Rich Little impressions:

a) "I'm not a crook!" ::double peace signs, baggy jowls:::

b) "Well....let me set you straight, Pilgrim!" ::head cocked to one side::

c) "And t-t-t-his is a-a-a-abou-bou-bout my d-d-d-d-dog Bo." :::puzzled look::

d) "I wish my brother George was here" :::shows off imaginary gaudy rings on hand and sparkley jacket:::


And that my friends is all we have time for.

Pretty impressive huh?

Other things I could have spent the $202.90 on

a) 204 Reeses Cups

b) 5.8 year subscription to The National Geographic

c) Pair of shoes like the Hoag wears

d) 8 spins of the roulette wheel.

e) 4 tanks of gas

f) 256 Taco Bell tacos. (this one is a killer)

g) Nothing for G

h) 144 roundtrips to and from work on the Mass Pike (or a shitload of pennies to throw at Turnpike Jay)

i) Vintage copy of Mein Kampf with dustjacket

j) a couple of ipods

k) Most of the Beatles catalog

l) 4 tickets to the Red Sox game

m) 67 non-damaging car washes

n) 28 glasses of red wine at a decent restaurant.

o) 405 McDonald's Apple Pies (they're running a two for a buck special) (This one hurts)

p) A special present....just for you.

q) a donation to the Republican party

s) 11 pairs of Capri Pants

t) 21 movie tickets

u) 29 movie tickets during the day

v) 2 (possibly three) large popcorns at said movie theatre
.
wxyz) a hooker that will screw me better than the damn auto mechanic that fixed my antenna

I doubt they cut down the ones Hitler and Himmler carved up

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,366467,00.html

R.I.P. Tim Russert

Meet The Press...or whatever it is you Meet when you die.

Don't even THINK about doing what I did this morning.

It was horrible.



I knew it the moment I started.



If you did it to me there is a very good chance I would stab you.



And then I'd stab you again IN the same stab hole.



And again.



Then I'd stab you some more. Same stab hole.



So don't even think about doing what I did.



It's just wrong.



A stab worthy incident that I certainly wouldn't tolerate.



But guess what? I might to it every Friday.



Doesn't mean you can.



But if you do.



Stab. And again. Same stab hole.

So To Sum Up:

I'm gonna mow my lawn every Friday morning pronto at 7:30 am. If you choose to do the same thing on a different day Mr. NeighborBoy, imagine what hot steel wedged in your belly will feel like.

I need my sleep Saturday-Thursday

The Car Wash

So as I mentioned the other day I was out shopping for cars.

I bought one for Wifey and it was going to be delivered to my house on Tuesday.

And while I'm driving home I feel a tinge of jealousy sweeping over me and MY car. Wifey gets a new car...well darn it, so should I.

But I'm practical.

So I opt for a car wash instead.

My thinking is that when I get home her car is gonna be all gleaming and shiny and mine is gonne be Joey Filth.

And the two cars share a garage.

I can't be bringing my dirty car into the garage to meet the shiny new car. The sewer worker doesn't dance with the debutante.

Or something.

So I go and get my car washed. I now feel better about meeting the new lady of the house.

So I get home, drive into the driveway where Wifey is standing with her new shiny car. But mine is shiny also. I feel good.

I get out of the car and instantly notice that my antenna is broken and laying limp like Joe Placebo at the Cialis trials.

(seems I forgot to turn my radio off during said car wash and the antenna stayed up just long enough to get broken)

I have a clean, yet impotent car sitting next to a hottie and no chance of scoring.

PS
Fixing the antenna is going to cost $100. Add the $3.00 car wash fee and the grand total of cleaning my car was $103.00.

If you enjoyed this story please read my June 22, 2006 post.

"You are now adults blahblahblahPeanutsTeacherVoice..."

So I'm at my daughter's high school graduation the other day when one of the speakers gives the speech about how they are now adults snooooozzzzzzzzeeeee.....change the world snooooooozzzzzeeeee.....your responsibilty blah blah blah snooze.....ADULTS.....


...and then it happened.

One lone beach ball started getting hit in the air all through the field house where the graduation was held.

And now nobody was listening to the speaker as all eyes were on the beach ball. Smackin' off graduation caps! Side of the face! Students waiting for their chance to hit said beach ball.

...and then it happened.

Dr. Beach Ball grabbed the beach ball from a student and walked out near an exit, pulled out his pocket knife and stabbed the beach ball.

There will be no more distraction in Dr. Beach Balls Field House during graduation.

...and then it happened.

Another glorious beach ball rose above the crowd! There was joy in Mudville!

...and then it happened.

Dr. Beach Ball scowled. He waited to get his hands on said beach ball. He got it, stabbed it, and watched.

...and then it happened.

Yet another beach ball (adorned with fish) floated above the crowd! Anarchy ruled!

...and then it happened.

My daughter's grandfather who was sitting next to me.... smiled. Anarchy had a friend in Grandpa.

...and then it happened.

Dr. Beach Ball scowled even more. Stabbed even harder.

....and then it happened.

Anarchy was the boss of this graduation!

....and then it happened.

Dr. Beach Ball rounded up an army of gestapo agents to stop the beach ball assault.

...and then it haappened.

The graduating class of 2008 turned to their back up plan.

Bubbles. Squirt guns. Whatever else they could get their hands on.

So to the class of 2008....I salute you!

You're adults. With responsibilities.

Getting a quote from the car dealer.

Since the beginning of the 20th century there have been only three actual forces of evil.

• Hitler
• Hillary Clinton (I wonder what ever happened to her?)
• Car dealers

Hitler is dead.

Hillary: whereabouts unknown.

Which leaves us to car dealers.

They're evil.

You know this. I know this. (Hillary probably even knew this, before she vanished)

So the other day I go down to the car dealer to get a quote and possibly buy a car. I talk it up with my salesman...things are going smooth. I'm staying calm.

And then he has to go do something or check something. Or something.

And I'm sitting there by myself when I notice the stereotypical car dealer (loud coat, loud, loud tie, etc) walking by (not my guy, another guy) and I start talking to him.

Just about stuff. Guy stuff. Car stuff. Chicks. Baseball. Chicks in cars with baseballs.

And because he's not trying to sell me a car I find out he's a pretty good guy. He's clever. He's smart. He's funny. He just happens to sell cars.

We talk about our first cars. Mustangs. He's getting into yappin' with me. He remembers like it was yesterday.

We bonded. We're pals.

Here is part of the conversation:

ME: "You sell a lot of cars?"

HIM: "I do okay."

ME: "How many cars did you sell on your VERY best day?"

HIM: "Four." {for some reason I didn't hear him right or I wasn't paying attention and I thought he said "Eleven"}

ME: "ELEVEN! WOW!"

HIM: "No, I said four....If I sold eleven cars in one day, they'd still be writing songs about me."

---

And that my friends is the best quote I've ever received from a car dealer.

PS:

I'm sure if he was trying to sell me a car he would have had a little mustache and possibly a swastika arm band on.

Nuclear War !

>>>Nuclear war will begin next Thursday, June 12, or sooner, according to the latest prediction of self-proclaimed prophet Yisrayl "Buffalo Bill" Hawkins, the founder of a religious sect in Abilene, Texas.<<


My prediction is it will happen AFTER June 12th.

I'm a prophet.

You Don’t Mess with the Zohan

....and you don't go see it either.

Deal?

"Every vote counts!"

I live in a small town. And the town votes on things town related.

Recently the town had a vote on building a new 'senior center'...a center for people that are on the verge of dying.

Money not so well spent.

But anyhow...

So they had a vote about using tax dollars to build such a thing and I wasn't even aware of said vote until after the voting had passed.

I read about it after the fact. And the 'senior center' thingy passed by four (4) votes and the newspaper proclaimed:

"EVERY VOTE COUNTS! Don't ever let it be said that your ONE single vote doesn't matter because this vote PROVED that ONE vote does count."

WRONG!

You see....if I had voted the thing still would have passed by THREE (3) votes.

SO TO SUM UP:
I'm glad I didn't waste my time voting...and hopefully after all the 'seniors' die they make that 'senior center' into maybe a cool pool room or cigar bar or gas station.

Or something.

TO FURTHER SUM UP:

One vote never counts. They should make each vote worth ten votes and then maybe more folks would vote. And I should be in charge.

Sears.com is the Anti-Christ.

You think I kid?

About something like Anti Christs?

I think not.

So I buy a dishwasher online from Sears (anti christ) and I opt for delivery and installation.

Delivery and installation is $229.00 (On a $750.00 machine)...so I'm at about $980.00 plus tax. $1028 ish.

And now they're ready to deliver it and they mention:

A Plumbing 'permit fee' of $35.00

An Electrical 'permit fee' of $35.00

An Electrical 'Reconnect ::snicker:: fee' of $69.99.

So my $749.99 dishwasher is now $1157.47. (Installation is around 50% on a freakin' dishwasher)

So I went to my town hall and asked about the fees.

Turns out Sears got the fees wrong (Lied)

So I cancel said diswasher. Go down to my local appliance center, order the exact one, and save 326 large.

I don't care what someone charges. I do care about weasel charges.

So to sum up:

Sears.com= The anti-christ

Local Appliance Center=The Jesus

Copy and paste can tire you out....but it's worth it.

Ding Dong! The Witch is dead. Which old Witch? The Wicked Witch!

Ding Dong! The Wicked Witch is dead.

Wake up - sleepy head, rub your eyes, get out of bed.

Wake up, the Wicked Witch is dead. She's gone where the goblins go,

Below - below - below. Yo-ho, let's open up and sing and ring the bells out.

Ding Dong' the merry-oh, sing it high, sing it low.
Let them know
The Wicked Witch is dead!

As Mayor of the Munchkin City, In the County of the Land of Oz,
I welcome you most regally.

But we've got to verify it legally, to see

To see?

If she

If she?

Is morally, ethic'lly Spiritually, physically Positively, absolutely Undeniably and reliably Dead

As Coroner I must aver, I thoroughly examined her.

And she's not only merely dead, she's really most sincerely dead.

Then this is a day of Independence For all the Munchkins and their descendants

If any.

Yes, let the joyous news be spread The wicked Old Witch at last is dead!

(It's funny...but last night I noticed Obama's calves and thighs looked a tad big... I wonder what that could mean?)

Hillary Drops-Out Countdown Fever!

I've got the fever!

You've got the fever!

This whole election has the fever! Hillary has the fever! The whole trial has the fever!!

ATTICA! ATTICA! ATTICA!

Other words you can make using the letters in BLOG

-Log

-Go

-Bog

-Glob


I've never had this much fun in my entire life.

R.I.P. Bo Diddley

So Hoag sends me his idea for a NY POST HEADLINE (they're famous for tacky headlines)

NO MO BO

And I countered with:

BO DEADDLEY

So what do you have?

Thomas' English Muffins

Just seeing those three words brings a smile to your face.

You can picture the butter flowing into the nooks. The crannies. The crunch. The taste. The Heaven.

Maybe a dollop of peanut butter.

Back when I was a kid my Mom usually bought the dreaded 'store brand' as Thomas' were deemed too expensive. Or something.

Every once in a while she would treat us and buy Thomas'. You know, the english muffin that the rich kids ate.

But wanna know something?

(And I've been keeping this quiet for the last few months because I thought it was just me.)

But old Uncle Thomas has changed his recipe or something because these Thomas' English Muffins are small and are lacking the nook. Lacking the cranny. They're hard to cut in half. They don't brown up nice in the toaster. They're a tad on the 'mealy' side. They're horrible. Possibly the worst english muffin on the market.

They probably had to do something to cut down on costs and thought they could just coast on their rep.

But they can't.

Thomas' English Muffins are dead to me. Bland and boring. And dead.

MORAL OF THE STORY?

Don't mess with my muffins!