Tongue In Check

Bet that just tickles your fancy, don’t it?

For the rest of you…..

She could Red, White, and Blue me any day of the week.

*THUMP*

August 29, 1958-June 25, 2009

….or alternately titled Separated At Birth –Politicial Edition

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad “winner” of Iran’s 2009 election.

 

George “Tater-Head” Bush, ” winner” of America’s 2000 election.

Stick Figure Man (SFM), never won anything in his life.

I just read that Chastity Bono was going to get a sex change operation, and aside from the fact that I thought she has already had one, something dawned on me………

Chastity (soon to be Chaz) Bono

Val (soon to be Chastity Bono) Kilmer

About 157 years ago in June of 1972, I graduated from high school. I didn’t really want to because I knew that hell was waiting on the other side, but they forced me to.  Once the ceremony was over with, my dad loaded me into his 1970 gold colored impala with power everything and a 454 cubic inch engine and drove me home.

There was no oil shortage.

There was no 9/11.

There were no computers.

There was no global warming.

No one died of AIDS.

We drove home in relative silence except for this song on the radio:

Later that evening, I went out and took my sister’s pink bananna seat bike with the streamers coming out of the grips on the handlbars. I rode down by Lake Huron and the sound of the wind and the streamers was all I could hear. The constant, never ending, never stop voices in my head were quiet. 

I drove that pink bananna seat bicycle to a bar called The Rainbow Lounge and ordered a Lime Vodka and 7 UP. I wasn’t old enough to drink, but no one asked for my ID, so I drank for as long as I could. My girlfriend was looking for me. My parents was looking for me. My sister wanted her bike back. Everyone wanted something. I just wanted to take it easy. 

So it’s kind of come full circle.

Or maybe not.

Because I still love taking it to the limit.

Even though “the limit” is no longer “the edge.”

You know, life’s been hard lately. I mean here I am after 54 years of treating my body like a tent trying my dead level best to do all the right things and my life is so fucking boring I could just die.

Let’s recap, shall we?

• I wake up in the mornings without hangovers.
• I rarely piss on myself or someone else anymore.
• I regularly wear my underwear on the inside of my pants.
• I try my best to be a good corporate citizens and regularly use the latest buzz words.
• I haven’t called one single co-worker a cocksucker yet.

In other words, my life is boring as fuck.

Excuse me one second, be right back.

Okay. Sorry. Just had to get that off my chest.

Where was I?  Oh yeah, I remember now. I’m boring as fuck.

I go to bed around 9. I’m up at 5:30.  I say things like “time to make the donuts.”  God, the end must be mercifully near.

And that brings me to last night’s vision. It wasn’t a dream. It was a vision.  Let me start by telling you that I am not Catholic so the concept of the Virgin Mary means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. My wife’s Catholic, but she got over it. I’m pretty sure Carmen’s Catholic because I saw a picture of some of her relatives.

At 1:14 in the morning, I woke up and looked over at the clock on the table beside my bed and there, much to my surprise, was the Virgin Mary sitting on my table. She was about the size of a bottle of nasal spray and glowing.

I shit you not.

I closed my eyes for a few seconds. Thought about what I saw and then opened my eyes again. She was still there. Just kind of sitting there.  Not doing anything. Not saying anything. Just sitting there.

I decided that I should take this opportunity to go take a piss because at my age, not taking a piss when you need to could have disasterous results.  I pissed, came back to bed and the Virgin Mary was gone.  I was hoping we could have a little talk and maybe I could have one of those sell my soul moments or something because I was in the mood to bargain something for a bottle of Gin.

Me: I’ll give you a leg for 5 more years of Gin drinking.

VM: I’ll think about it.

Me: How about a leg and some fingers for a few more years of Gin drinking and a few more years of cigarette smoking?

VM: We’ll see.

If she would have talked to me, she would have actually talked just like that with the words coming out all bold and shit.

Anyway, on a whole different note,  I have a new laptop and it didn’t come pre-loaded with porn, so I have to start all over again. My old laptop was 4 years old and had just become impossible. I don’t have spell check on this one yet, so forgive my awful spelling.  My new computer is blue, so that should count for something.

Perhaps someone should pray for me.

You know how sometimes something comes right out of left field and whacks you right in the brain pan like a bolt of lightening and you are left sitting there shaking your head asking WTF??

Well, I recently had one of those moments.

It was over Farrah Fawcett of all things.

I think some talking head referred to her today as the “face of a generation.” That might be the best description of her yet. She was not really all that talented and for a large part of her life, she was “famous for being famous.”   Sort of like a 1970’s Paris Hilton.

Yet for any of us growing up back then, you couldn’t help but notice her.

That face was everywhere. And what a face it was. I like to think of that period as sort of a transitional period. We were no longer a nation of idealistic hippies. Men were trading in their peace symbols for puca shell necklaces and women were finally shaving their armpits again.

Speaking strictly from a societal point of view, I think it was a good move.

To me, Farrah was one of those women who got better with age.  By the time she was in her late 20’s or early 30’s, she was starting to take on that” Jacqueline Bissett older woman hotness.”

And her hair was considerably more tame.

So with each passing day the news gets more and more sad and the notion that she is not going to be around much longer is hard for me to swallow somehow. Her face defined a generation and with her passing, I just can’t help but feel a certain amount of sadness and loss.  It’s just more proof that we’re all mortal I guess.

She just seems too beautiful to die. (Not safe for work.)

You’ll probably never hear another BeeGee’s song on this blog, so enjoy it while you can!

On Saturday afternoon at the Art Car parade in Houston, I became acutely aware that I do indeed miss Hippies.  AS fate would have it, I was born just a tad too young to enjoy the dirty nakedness that Hippies were known for.  By the time I came along, all the fun had been had. All us Later Day Hippies  (LDH) could do was grow our hair long, buy our tie-dyed shirts  from the Sears and Roebuck catalog and smoke a little dope.

Future historians will tell you that the age of Hippys died on May 4, 1970 when 4 students were killed at Kent State Univeristy.  Everything that happened after that was sort of anti-hippy-matic.

But every now and then, a reminder of those glory days of hippy-ness will rear it’s head to remind us all of days gone by.

Yesterday’s Art Car parade was just such an event. Now I would love to tell you that I took my digital camera with me and took tons of pictures for you all to enjoy, but sadly, that did not happen for two reasons:

1. I didn’t bring my camera with me to Texas.
2. I am the world’s worst photographer.

Anyway, who cares. I can always get pictures off the internet that were taken by way better photographers than me and I don’t have to go to all that trouble of transferring them from a camera to my computer.

See what I mean? Inserting that picture of that Art Car into this post was virtually effortless.

Anyway, the parade was hosted by one of my favorite writer/musicians/politicians, Kinky Friedman.  He was the the Grand Marshall and his car went right past where I was standing beneath and I45 overpass with an ice cold Budweiser in my hand.  It was good to see the Kinkster and he is obviously as animated in real-life as he is on paper or on TV.

In all honesty, if it wasn’t for all the work involved in creating one of these “art cars,” I might consider making one myself.

Some of those cars were downright beautifully done with incredible paint jobs.  Others were a little on the goofy side, but completely entertaining.

Anyway, it was good to see that all of these old Hippies have landed on their feet and found something to do with their time.  God knows I sure do miss them. They just made the world a little more colorful place to live, didn’t they?

I still love this video.  Honest to Christ, I had a day exactly like this in the summer of 1974.  Jesus,  if I could have just one do over in my life, it would be that day!

After 3 months here in Texas, I think it might be time for a recap…..and a picture of Fred.

As you can plainly see, Fred misses me. Quite honestly, I miss him too. Without him, I am not getting my daily dose of retardation.

Texas is pretty much okay with me.  If I have any regrets, it is just that I couldn’t bring my kidney with me. There are some fantastic places to drink down here and my kidney would be impressed.  Of course who can blame my kidney for leaving me. I am old and boring.

Speaking of old and boring, here is a recent picture of Black Kitty of Death. As you can plainly see, he misses me too.

Notice anything funny about that picture aside from the look of bewilderment on BK of D’s face? Take a closer look. If your browser allows you to embiggen, please fee free to do so and look closely at the ear area.

Oh, and remember how I was always so proud of how my yard looked after I mowed it with my zero turn radius lawnmower with tits? Let’s review, shall we?

Lovely, no? Please note the lack of crop circles.

Guess who is mowing my lawn now that I am down here in Texas? Let me give you a hint!

That’s right, little Miss Posing Like A Rock Star With The Lights Of Vegas Behind Her is mowing my lawn.

And guess what?

She has her mother’s disease–cropcircleitis!

But other than missing my lawnmower with tits, my Black Kitty of Death, my Fred Bear, The Boy, and my Little Miss Posing Like A Rock Star With The Lights Of Vegas Behind Her, I am doing just fine.

I don’t want to say anything bad about Jackie’s lawn mowing abilities, but Carmie could do a better job.