Tongue In Check

A few days ago I did a post about my former boss, Batty Old Boss (BoB). Since then, BoB and I have been able to get together for lunch to discuss the deal we are working on with India. Seems that things have gotten a bit tangled in certain legal agreements because we both are under contract not to do this type of work anymore.

Nonsense. That is going to be my entire legal defense when I get sued.

“Your contract specifically states that you are not allowed to manufacture this product or sell the technology for manufacturing this product for a full 3 years,” the judge will say to me.

“Nonsense,” I will say to him.

“Case dismissed,” the judge will say to me.

That is exactly how it is going to go down.

Fortunately for me, BoB is handling all of the legal issues so it is not costing me a dime. That’s good because I don’t have a dime and even if I did have a dime, I would probably owe it to somebody for something.

Or my kids would steal it from me.

Either way, I am broke.

Anyway, our lunch today actually started out on Tuesday. I called BoB Tuesday morning and asked him if he wanted to get together for lunch sometime this week because it had been a long time since I have had to share my food or drink with anyone and I was feeling kind of neglected. BoB said he was preparing to go to Florida with his hot but old and rich wife so he didn’t know if he would have time for lunch this week or not. He said he’d call me later in the week and let me know what his plans were.

Yesterday at noon my phone rang. It was BoB. Turns out he was at the restaurant we always go to to have lunch and he was at the bar waiting for me. He seemed a bit pissed off to find out that I was at home sitting in my favorite chair dressed very much like the Unabomber only without the sunglasses and with pee stains on my sweat pants and that I wasn’t on my way to have lunch with him. I explained that we had agreed on Tuesday that we would talk later in the week to set a time time for lunch. He still didn’t believe me, but we agreed to have lunch today.

I showed up there at 12:30 and headed for the bar because we always have lunch at the bar.¹ Once I got there, he immediately decided that he didn’t like that seat (yes, sitting in a restaurant with him is very similar to flying with him) and got up to move. I asked him what was wrong with those seats and he said cold air was blowing on him. Okay, fine. We moved to two open seats across the bar and ordered a couple of drinks.

Within a few minutes of sitting there talking about the progress, or lack thereof with the Indians (dot not feather), he jumped up and said that he didn’t want to sit there and moved back to the original seats we were in. When I asked him why he didn’t want to sit there any longer, he explained to me that there was a Chinese man sitting at a table behind us and “those people” carry the SARS virus.

Sweet Bleeding Jesus.²

So here we are sitting back in our original seats with the cold air blowing on us talking about our deal with the Indians (dot not feather) when the bartender comes over and asks us what we want. We both ordered a vodka with cranberry.³ I was shocked because I thought for sure he would just ask for a glass to share half of mine.

When the bartender came back, we ordered our meal. They have the best Cajun clam chowder soup known to man at this place. I could hook up an IV of the stuff to my arm if I could figure out a way to get the clam chunks to flow through that small needle and into my eagerly awaiting veins.

BoB was getting fidgety now. I can always tell that he is deep in thought about something because he starts to fidget like a kid who is about to piss his pants. He’s probably thinking about something high-minded like quarks, or leptons, or fermions. Physicists think about stuff like that all the time.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“No, I am fine, I said.”

“I can’t stand this cold air blowing on me,” he said.

“Do you want to move again? I asked.”

“No, this is fine.”

After our second drink came, BoB complained to the bartender about the “fruit” in his drink. It was a fucking lime for Christ’s sake, but he said it ruined his drink and demanded a fresh drink “without any fucking fruit in it.” The bartender returned with his new drink and two bowls of the best Cajun clam chowder known to man.

A few minutes after we started eating, BoB said “Goddamn, it is cold over here. I’m moving.” He picked up his bowl of the best Cajun clam chowder known to man and his drink and turned to head back to the seats we were in earlier next to the Chinese man with SARS. Somehow, as he turned in his swiveling bar stool (there ought to be a law against a swiveling bar stool in a bar for the love of God) he managed to hit his bowl of the best Cajun clam chowder known to man on the edge of the bar and dumped the whole bowl all over the bar, himself, and the floor. “Well fuck,” he said rather too loudly, “why did they put that there?” referring to the raised edge of the bar designed to prevent drunks and old people from dumping the best Cajun clam chowder known to man all over the bar, themselves, and the floor. That’s right BoB, it’s always someone else’s fault.

As if we needed any more attention in the form of death stares from our fellow patrons in the bar and the entire wait staff, he began to call loudly for the bartender to bring a rag because he had just dumped a full bowl of the best Cajun clam clam known to man all over the bar, himself, and the floor. The little Chinese man with SARS shook his head in bewilderment and then stuck his entire face into his bowl of rice. My face was almost as red as the red peppers floating serenely in the best bowl of Cajun clam chowder known to man.

After we finished our lunch, BoB reached for his wallet, smiled and then proudly proclaimed that he didn’t have any money so I would have to pay for lunch. Sure, why not?. After all, I don’t own a cabin with a hundred acres in northern Michigan, and I don’t own a ranch in Montana with 500 acres that used to be owned by the actor Charlie Sheen, and I don’t own a house on a lake in Montana, and I don’t own a farm with 300 acres in Indiana, and I don’t own two houses in the same neighborhood that Bo Schembechler used to live in in Ann Arbor, and I don’t own a condo in Florida where I spend a month or two every year with my old but hot and rich wife. Sure, I’ll buy lunch. Why. The. Fuck. Not?

When I got back to my little town about 20 miles from where we had lunch, I stopped off at my little bar where, when all else fails, I can force life, kicking and screaming, back into some sense of order, purpose, and meaning. I ordered a drink and started to think about life and my place in the universe relative to quarks, leptons, and/or fermions when the waitress brought me my drink. I reached for my wallet to hand her the $2.50 she needed for my drink when she reached out and grabbed my hand, smiled at me sweetly and said, “I’ll buy that one for you.”

I just love irony, don’t you?

¹ As usual, you have caught me in a total lie here because the fact is we don’t go to the bar to have lunch, we go there to drink and make lewd comments to waitresses that are younger than our own daughters. Don’t worry, if you are young now it will happen to you someday when you are old like me and even older BoB.
² Only you don’t say it like just plain old Sweet Bleeding Jesus, you say it like this: Saaweet Baaleedin’ Jaheesus.
³ Just because I drink the same thing as Richard Simmons, it does not in any way mean that I am gay. I just happen to like pretty drinks.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that I have added another blogger to the blogroll. Reluctant Blogger has a great blog and well worth the time to read it. Go check her out.

~~Thanks.

It’s been a bad week for bloggers. Earlier this week Atlas Cerise dumped his blog, which in one form or another has been a long time favorite of mine. This morning I went over to check out my buddy Catalyst’s blog and he was gone too. Poof. Vanished. I sent him an email asking what was going on and got back a very untypical not very friendly one word answer. I for one am going to miss him. I just hope he is okay.

I was looking at my blogroll and noticed that it looks very different now than when I first started. Actually when I first started blogging I wasn’t really sure what I was going to do with a “blog.” (I still hate that word!) I had been reading a few other blogs (almost all of them gone or seriously diminished now) and decided that it looked like fun. I fiddled around with it for a few months not really knowing what I was going to say or why I was even doing it. I had pretty much made up my mind to dump that blog when Bekah commented on it one day and I was off and running after that. I think Colonel Colonel was the next one to comment. Wow, I actually had people reading this crap. Funny thing is, those two are still around–so you can blame both of them for all of this because if they hadn’t come here, I would have just left the blogging world.

As far as the blogroll goes, there are 23 new and different blogs that I have linked to in the last 6 months or so. I have gotten rid of some because either a.) they don’t play nice or 2.) they left the blogging world for one reason or another.

In addition to losing two great bloggers this week, a few other bloggers have seriously slowed down. I am sure they have their reasons, but I for one, miss them just a whole bunch. But I guess it comes under the heading of people come and people go. In that case, blogging is just a whole lot like life–except maybe lived out at a much faster pace.

Everytime someone I enjoy reading leaves the blogassfear (TM Joey Polanski), I think about pulling the plug on this blog. Truth be told, I’ve come very close several times lately. I just can’t bring myself to do it because for the most part, I am still having fun with it.

I think the thing I like most about this blog is the comments. Even when I had my old blog, the comments often went off in an entirely different direction from the point of the post (if there was ever a point to any post on that old blog–or this one for that matter).

Not everyone responds to comments on their blog and I think that is perfectly fine. I choose to do so because for me that is the fun part of blogging. Every now and then I come across someone in the blogging world that links to this blog, but they don’t come here to play at all. They just come here to read this crap. That’s fine too, but when it comes to commenting on other blogs, I usually follow the comments. In other words, if you comment here, I comment there.

I also have my fair share of lurkers, which I also appreciate. They aren’t here to make a statement or trade links, they just come here for the fun of it. Lurkers get a lot of bad press in the blog world, but I think they may be the purest form of readership. Especially those that come here on a regular basis.

As usual, there is no point to this post. I am something like 7 posts away from 500 posts. That’s a lot of posts. I just wanted to say thank you to all of you who read this stuff. I just wanted to tell those who have gone away that I miss them. I just wanted to tell all of you new comers out there that I truly appreciate you coming here and I appreciate your participation. I also want to thank the lurkers for showing up here almost daily to read this crap. Even if you don’t comment, I appreciate your involvement.

Three small pieces of business:

1. Atlas Cerise is now going to be a co-contributor to Myth Vs. Reality. When I started it, I had a head full of ideas but ran out of steam. Atlas has sent a few contributions to me and I have posted them and then last night via email we decided that he should be a co-contributor to that blog. A lot of the posts over there may not be suitable for work, so go there at your own risk.
2. I am going to try to start mentioning it when I add someone to the blogroll. I don’t know why I haven’t done that in the past. My latest addition is KatyDidNot. She is freaking hilarious. Go there and check her out. She’s a gabillion (TM KatyDidNot) laughs.
3. I have also neglected to publicly thank people for the awards and such over there in the sidebar. I want to thank each and every one of you for past awards and in the future, I will do the right thing and thank you in a post.

~~Thanks.

First of all, I should tell you that I have nothing against tattoos. I have considered getting one myself on several different occasions, but like most things in my life, I just don’t go through with it.

When I do get the urge, I search the internet for designs that might appeal to me and since there aren’t too many images of my favorite tattoo, I usually get stuck looking at pages and pages of bad designs. Actually bad designs would be putting it mildly. These are way more than bad designs. When I think of a tattoo, I think of something that is well designed, well placed, and something that is more or less meaningful. If I were to get a tattoo, I would want it to be kind of small and not at all overpowering.

Obviously, not everyone thinks like I do.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing at all against bears. Hell, I don’t even mind a really badly drawn bear, but I’ll just be damned if I am going to wear one on my back for the rest of my life. Is that even a bear? The more I look at it, the more I think it might be a badger or something. Anyway, I’ve got nothing against badgers either.

I am the proud father of two daughters but I have to tell you that if someone came to my door to get either of my daughters and they looked even remotely like this, someone would be grounded and/or shot. Can you imagine what this guy is going to look like when he’s 60?

This guy probably thought this was really a clever idea when he came up with it. I wonder if he still feels that way?

Oh hell no. I don’t think there’s much I can add to that statement.

Okay this is clever and it might actually serve a purpose on one of those really lonely nights when you are all alone and all you have is a mirror and your hand.

Again, think of this guy when he is 60. Isn’t “cool ice” redundant? Isn’t this guy redundant?

Okay, I will be the first to admit that assholes are almost always funny. And monkeys are almost always funny. But somehow in this case, the combination of two things that are almost always funny just isn’t working for me.

Is this ever a good idea? How could you possibly explain this to someone?

A variation on the asshole theme and it’s still not working for me.

Of course I have saved the best for last and since 99.999% of my readers are under the age of 5, I don’t want to be overly rude and crude, so please get your parents permission before clicking on this link. In other words, that link ain’t safe for work. Hell, it’s probably not safe for anything.

Jesus, even Stick Figure Man is getting in on the craze. Not safe for work either but not nearly as bad as the link above.

Despite all the really bad tattoo art that there is out there, occasionally you do find something that is extraordinary. Not sure if it is the artwork or the canvas that makes this one so nice, but either way, I like it.

……….and a lot of nothing.

• The mere notion of having to fly anymore fills me with a dread that cannot be adequately put into words. That whole airport security thing is totally out of control and far too much time is spent strip searching little old ladies. Every time I go through airport security, I can’t help but think that no matter how that disastrous crap turns out in the middle east, the terrorists have won and we have lost.

• I didn’t watch the academy awards last night because I can’t sit through several hours of fluff just to get to what really matters, but I was glad to hear that Daniel Day-Lewis won the award for best actor. He is one of the best actors I have ever seen and I think I have a man crush on him.

• Is it just me, or is Hillary winning this election for Obama?

• I hope that my lawnmower, the lawnmower of my dreams, never does this to me.

• Good news for the ladies. There are only 10 types of men you should avoid. At different times in my life I have been # 1, #2 & #4. I’m not proud of it, but hey, at least I wasn’t 10 out of 10. Before you take any of this to heart, remember that this information comes from Oprah.

• Why don’t these fuckers just get on their flying carpets and get the hell off my planet. I’m about as sick of these people as I can possibly be.

• Everybody I know is sick with some form of this God-awful flu that is going around. On Friday when I was flying back from Utah, there was this goofy woman standing in front of me going through security wearing a surgical mask. She was yelling at her kids to put theirs on too. At the time, I thought it was stupid, but after seeing all these people sick with the flu, I am starting to wonder if maybe she might have had the right idea.

• Simply Curious Girl has got this post up about picking a song that defines you. I have seen several others do it, so I decided to give it some thought and come up with one of my own. Despite the fact that I make half-hearted attempts at being funny on this blog, I am quite different in real life. Don’t get me wrong, I do have my funny moments, but most of the time I am what you might call rather moody. Those moods can switch from introspective and quiet to pissed off and mean at the drop of a hat. I felt the need to tell you that because the title of the song I picked might lead you to believe that it is all about being funny. It’s not about being funny at all.

• My son is praying for a snow day tomorrow. I don’t think it is going to happen. I remember once when I was in high school we got an entire week off because of a snow storm. We lived in a house with a walk-out basement. Our dining room window looked out over Lake Huron and during this week long storm we had a drift that reached almost to the dining room window. It was almost 11 feet high. My mom came home one day to find me and a bunch of my friends jumping out the window into the snow drift. Needless to say, she was not happy at all.

• Somewhere in the world I have a step-brother named Curtis. I have never met him or had any communication at all with him. To my knowledge, we share nothing but the same father (who I have also not seen since I was a child of about 3). He lives in North Carolina and sometimes I wish I could talk to Curtis so I could ask him why he didn’t change his name from Curtis to something else. I know I would have. My middle name used to be Richard (named after my biological father) but thank God my mom had sense enough to change it. Of course I’ve never been fond of the name David either but it is better than going through life with people calling me “dick” which some do anyway, but at least it is not my name. I did see a picture of Curtis once and the only thing I noticed was that his hands looked just like my daughter Jackie’s hands. Genetics. Funny.

• Well, at least we know how it is going to end (if we are lucky).

• Last year when I was living in Orem Utah, it was very very difficult to get a drink anywhere. For instance, you could go into a restaurant and order a drink, but they wouldn’t bring the drink to your table until you ordered food. Also, when you ordered your first drink, it came with one straw in it. When you ordered you second one, it came with two straws in it. You get the picture. They were counting drinks. Last week when I was in Salt Lake City, I am happy to report that things were a little better. We got our drinks as soon as we ordered them and there were never any extra straws in our drinks. Things seem to be changing slowly. Utah blames the influx of Californians and illegals for all the change, but I, for one, thank them profusely.

• Speaking of Utah and illegals, this was a huge issue when I was out there. We don’t hear about illegal immigration much here in Michigan because no self-respecting illegal is going to come here where there is no work at all. All those jobs that Americans won’t do? Yeah, wait until the economy goes to hell and see how fast Americans are out there roofing houses, cleaning septic tanks, and working in convenience stores.

• As I have mentioned on here before, I have every vice known to man except for the gambling vice. Michigan allows bar owners to have computerized Keno machines in them. I played on Friday night for the first time ever and won $87.00. Sometimes when I go in the bar during the day and all those unemployed auto workers are in there spending their hard earned buy-outs, supplemental unemployment pay, and unemployment checks on Keno, I wonder about the wisdom of this whole idea that you can gamble in bars.

• There’s just something about Tina Fey that drives me wild.

Imaging this:

God comes down from heaven and gives you two choices:

I think I would have to seriously consider packing my ass with explosives. I mean can you imagine the absolute hell that Bill has has to go through on a daily basis while his wife’s campaign flounders like Monica Lewinsky on the beach?

Jesus.

I wonder if his life would have been any different had he divorced Shrillary Hillary and married any one of the other women he was boinking? (Spell check wants to change “boinking” to “oinking” and in this case, that might be a more appropriate word).

And what if one of those other women that Bill was “long-stroking” was running for president?

Which one would you vote for?

The lovely and oh so talented Gennifer Flowers.

The not very lovely and not very talented Paula “The Nose” Jones.

Who could forget Monica Lewinsky? I bet Bill wishes we all would forget her.

Okay, I realize that Bill probably didn’t have an affair with Pee Wee Herman but I have two reasons for including him in this poll:

1. Can you be absolutely certain that Bill didn’t have an affair with Pee Wee?
2. No Blog can be complete without at least one picture of Pee Wee Herman.

I also realize that Bill wasn’t lucky enough to get a quality piece of ass like Number 13, but in honor of my blogging buddy Atlas Cerise who sadly just closed down his blog, I am going to include her. He would vote for her anyway.

Remember to vote early and vote often and feel free to suggest others.

Personally I would vote for Gennifer Flowers, so you might as well too.

I have known my former boss for almost 28 years now. It’s been a long association that for the most part has been pretty good. I think I was something like 25 when I started working for him and he was something like 37. It almost doesn’t seem possible that I was ever that young.

Obviously over 28 years a lot of things have changed and probably not for the better. For instance, back in the day when I was all doe eyed and impressed with my boss’s charm and charisma, we used to say that he could sell refrigerators to Eskimos–only that is not really what we said. What we really said was much more descriptive but unfortunately also much more racist. But you get the point. He was good.

Somewhere along the line though, he has turned into my mother. I am not talking about the loving, caring, nurturing side of my mother (as if there ever really was that side of her). I am talking about the bat-shit fucking crazy side of my mother.

For instance:

• On our recent trip to Utah, in the space of time it took us to get from the front door of the airport in Detroit to our gate, he dropped the “N-word” at least 5 times. Dropping the “N-word” anywhere is bad enough, but if you are dumb enough to drop that word in Detroit, you are taking your life into your own hands. Is there some unwritten rule that says once you get to be over 65 it is okay to drop the N-word every few minutes without getting killed because I am not sure how we made it out of that one alive.
• No matter what seats he has on an airplane, he is never satisfied with them. He could have the most perfect seat ever and he would go directly to the gate and try to change them. In all the years of flying places with him I have never seen him just accept the seats he was given without causing some sort of scene.
• He will never order what is on the menu. Everything has to be special. Even ordering something as simple as oatmeal causes a great amount of confusion and frustration on the part of the poor server that happened to get stuck with us.
• Even though he has more money than God, he always wants to split meals. Seriously. I can’t tell you how many times we have gone into restaurants and he has asked if we can just order one meal and an extra plate. This fact is even more disturbing when you take into account that 9 times out of 10 we are traveling and eating on an expense account. In other words, it doesn’t cost him a dime.
• He has an abnormal fear of germs. Even though he is constantly coughing and blowing his nose and snorting and making all sorts of weird old man noises, if anyone else does the same thing, he has an absolute fit. Once in a restaurant we were sitting next to a young couple with a kid. The kid was coughing every few minutes. When the waitress came by, my old boss told her to get us another table because he didn’t want that kid coughing on his food. It was bad enough that he said that, but he said it loud enough for the parents of the kid to hear it.
• He has absolutely no patience whatsoever. One time we were trying to pull out of a hotel parking lot and needed to cross a very busy street. After sitting there in a company car for about 2 minutes, he said fuck it and pulled right out into oncoming traffic. We barely made it out of that one alive. Talk about a cacophony of screeching brakes, honking horns, and rude gestures.
• He once told a little old Chinese woman that he was going to “break her arms and legs and throw her out the window” during negotiations over a 3 million dollar contract. When he said that I thought it was all over for both of us, but to my surprise and amazement, the little Chinese lady grabbed the contract, signed her name to it and slid it back across the table toward my boss. When it comes to negotiations of any type, there is no one better than my former boss.
• During our recent trip to Utah we spent exactly half of our time looking for stuff he thought he had lost. These things include, but are not limited to, his wallet, his room key, any one or all of his 3 pairs of glasses, any number of scrap pieces of paper with his “ideas” written on them, his coat, the rental car, or his cell phone.
• Since I don’t drink as much as I used to, my drinks are even more sacred to me now than they ever were. Yesterday on the flight home, he said he didn’t want to drink. Fine. I ordered my first drink and slowly sipped it trying to get all the enjoyment out of it that I could. When I ordered my second drink, he told the flight attendant to bring two glasses because he was going to share my drink. WTF? I told him that I would gladly buy him a drink, but he told me that wasn’t necessary since he was jut going to drink half of mine.

So here I sit on the verge of going into another “venture” with him. We both agree that this one will be our last if we can pull it off. I’m not worried about being able to pull it off technically, because I am pretty sure we can figure that part out. What I am most worried about this time is whether or not I might just kill him.

After spending the last few days in Utah with him, I am pretty sure that is a very distinct possibility.

Later on this afternoon I am flying out to one of my favorite places in the whole world for a few days. Of course, as I regularly do, I am lying to you when I say that Utah is one of my favorite places, but I figure if I tell myself that it is my favorite place long enough, there is the very off chance that I may somehow convince myself that it is. That’s a lie too because I will never convince myself that Utah is one of my favorite places.

I would like to say that I am going out there to overthrow the Mormon church and convince all of its followers to drink the Kool-Aid, but unfortunately, I am not doing anything fun like that. I would also like to say that I am going out there to see the people that are paying me not to work for them, but that wouldn’t exactly be the truth either.

Really, I would like to tell you all exactly why I am going out there but since it is a super-top-secret-uber-clandestine-spy-vs-spy mission to help some Indians (dot not feather) pick out a piece of equipment they need for making gemstones curry flavored rice cakes, I can’t talk about it.

The problem with this trip, which I have tried repeatedly to get out of, is that I can’t even go to the equipment manufacturer to see the equipment I am supposed to evaluate because I work for a competitor. The Indians (dot not feather) are going to take pictures and videos and bring them back to me in my hotel room in Salt Lake City. I mean seriously, couldn’t I just do that from here? I guess they have other things to talk to me about and that’s fine as long as they also want to pay me money not to work for them. As you no doubt can tell, I am really getting into this whole getting paid not to work thing.

And while we are on the subject of having to go places, why the hell do I always have to go to Utah? Doesn’t anyone want to send me to Florida or Jamaica? What about Cuba? I hear Cuba has an opening for a dictator and I honestly believe I could do that job and do it well. The first thing I would do would be to normalize relations with America and invite all of you down to my lovely island nation so I could personally rob you at gunpoint of all of your hard earned Yankee dollars you could enjoy my little piece of paradise.

I still haven’t decided whether I am going to take my laptop with me or not. I would love to take it but the sad fact is, I apparently fit every single profile for the type of guy that would fly an airplane into a building so I am subjected to all sorts of inappropriate scrutiny by $5.00 an hour airport security people who want nothing more than to assault me with some sort of anal probe. I don’t know about you, but I sure do feel safe knowing that my airport is being guarded by a guy that probably got fired from Taco Bell for jerking off into the sour cream.

Sorry. I hope you weren’t enjoying something from Taco Bell.

Anyway, in case I am not around for a few days, I thought I would leave you all with this little gem I found on Joey Polanski’s favorite site the other day. I have always been a fan of Billy Joe Shaver and this song in particular has always been one of my favorites. I was surprised to find this video because Billy Joe is not a corporate country kind of guy and doing a CMT-style video certainly seems like some kind of stretch for him. I suppose that is why they paired him with those two guys from Big and Gay Rich.

In addition to being a hell of a songwriter, Billy Joe Shaver is easily one of the most polite guys in country music today. Last April he was arrested and charged with shooting a guy in the face in a bar somewhere in Texas. Eyewitnesses claim that Billy Joe stuck a pistol in the guy’s face and asked him “where do you want it?” Seriously, when was the last time anyone in country music (or anywhere else for that matter) ever acted so politely by asking someone where they wanted to be shot? Oh sure, Kenny Chesney asks that question all the time, but he’s in a gay bath house somewhere in San Francisco when he asks the question and I sincerely doubt he is asking where they want to be shot. Billy Joe was in a Roadhouse in Texas. There’s quite a difference. Although I am not at all sure I would want to bend over in either place, but that’s just me.

Enjoy!

I’ve seen this meme floating around the internets and I decided to steal it. I would like to give credit to whoever came up with it, but I have no idea who did, so I’ll just skip over that part completely.

1. Thou shalt not talk about losing your job if you work for any of the Big 3 Automakers. Dude, it was inevitable. You make way too fucking much money for screwing a bumper on a car and the management of your company would rather whine about foreign competition than actually come up with a car that can get 40 miles per gallon. Repeat after me–”would you like fries with that?”
2. Thou shalt not spend far too much time talking about functions. This includes, but is not limited to: snot, vomiting, farting, sanitary napkins, and/or poop of any kind. A little teeny bit of this Too Much Information goes a long way. Sure, a little bit of it can be funny, but my God almighty, a constant barrage of it is just way more than I can bear.
3. Thou shalt not spend too much time bitching about gas prices. There’s not much any of us can do about it and a far more productive use of our time would be demanding that our government actually start spending some of that 275 million a day we spend in Iraq on alternate energy source research and development.
4. Thou shalt not drive big imposing pieces of farm equipment on small 2 lane black-top roads. It scares me. I don’t like being scared. It makes me feel all girlie inside.
5. If you have a cell phone that beeps when it is running low on battery power or when there is a message on it thou shall fix it immediately. That periodic beep, like a dripping faucet is absolute torture.
6. Speaking of cell phones, are you really so important that you just have to talk on your cell phone in bars, restaurants or while driving your car? Let me answer that question for you: No, you are not. Oh, and even worse is that fucking two-way Nextel contraption that let’s everyone in the entire room hear both sides of your totally pathetic conversation.
7. Thou shalt not let your ill-behaved children run amok in restaurants. I will cook them and eat them if you do not strap them into a chair and gag them.
8. If you are white, do not talk like a black person. You sound ridiculous. Black people can pull this off, but when white people do it, they just sound freaking pathetic.
9. If you wear a low-cut blouse out in public and I accidentally stare at your cleavage, don’t get pissed at me. It is not my fault. If you have to blame it on something, blame it on evolution
10. Nothing is ever my fault. No matter what it is, it is always some one else’s fault.

Parade Magazine had a little article this morning about the Top 10 Worst Dictators. At first I was surprised that our own idiot president didn’t at least get mentioned, but then I realized that most dictators, by the very nature of the job, have to be relatively smart.

George is in Africa trying to become the humanitarian president. He’s desperate to secure his place in history. Funny thing is, he already has secured his place in history. He’s certainly been the worst president of my lifetime and unless some future miracle of bullheaded ineptitude pays us a visit, I am quite sure George’s legacy will remain in tact for a long time to come.

I am always quite skeptical about someone’s mental capacity when they say that George is a good president. I’m not quite sure how anyone can come to that conclusion, but obviously there are still those half-witted, inbred, moronic, booger eating, fucktards people out there who think George is okay. Of course these same people have trouble breathing and walking at the same time, but that, as they say, is the subject matter for another post.

I am not at all sure what George’s final legacy will be, but I have my own thoughts on the subject and now I am going to impose them on you:

Hurricane Katrina

When the hurricane first hit back in 2005, I disagreed with those people who immediately attacked our government for not acting quicker. First of all, plenty of warning was given. Some people, as many often do, chose to ignore the warning. Those people fall under the heading of Shit Happens as far as I am concerned. Secondly, no president, even one as ignorant and inept as George Bush, is prepared to deal with a natural disaster of the magnitude of hurricane Katrina. This is not an attempt to defend anyone, I am just stating what I see as the facts.

To some very small extent, I still feel this way about hurricane Katrina and those unfortunates that chose to stay behind or simply couldn’t leave. But now, almost 3 years later and in light of the time, money, effort, and lives we have wasted in 3rd world shit-holes like Iraq and Afghanistan, I view the actions of the Bush administration regarding hurricane Katrina a little differently. Seems to me we could spend some of that $275 million dollars we spend every single day in Iraq on New Orleans and the victims of hurricane Katrina and somehow “make it right”–or at least a little better.

The War In Iraq

Almost 4000 soldiers killed and at least 60000 wounded. These are your children, America. As mentioned earlier, this “war” is costing us nearly $275 million a day. We’re spending human lives and a lot of money to protect a nation from itself when, in all actuality, very few people in America really give a flying fuck about what goes on in Iraq. As far as I am concerned, the whole country, all of its people, culture, and every bomb-wearing Islamic wing-nut can fold over on itself and implode into the pile of steaming shit it was always destined to be. The “freedom” of the Iraqi people is not worth 1 single American life, so you can only imagine my disgust at the thought of 4000 Americans dying for people that don’t have sense enough or guts enough to defend themselves. Fuck ‘em and the camel they rode in on.

Bushisms

My guess is that Bush is going to be most remembered for his murderous attacks on the English language. If it wasn’t so pathetic, it would almost be comical.

Who could ever forget these timeless favorites?

1. “There’s an old saying in Tennessee — I know it’s in Texas, probably in Tennessee — that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can’t get fooled again.” —Nashville, Tenn., Sept. 17, 2002
2. “Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we.” —Washington, D.C., Aug. 5, 2004
3. “Rarely is the questioned asked: Is our children learning?” —Florence, S.C., Jan. 11, 2000
4. “They misunderestimated me.” —Bentonville, Ark., Nov. 6, 2000
5. “Too many good docs are getting out of the business. Too many OB-GYNs aren’t able to practice their love with women all across this country.” —Poplar Bluff, Mo., Sept. 6, 2004
6. “You work three jobs? … Uniquely American, isn’t it? I mean, that is fantastic that you’re doing that.” —to a divorced mother of three, Omaha, Nebraska, Feb.4, 2005
7. “I know the human being and fish can coexist peacefully.” —Saginaw, Mich., Sept. 29, 2000
8. “I hear there’s rumors on the Internets that we’re going to have a draft.” —second presidential debate, St. Louis, Mo., Oct. 8, 2004
9. “I know how hard it is for you to put food on your family.” —Greater Nashua, N.H., Jan. 27,
10. “Families is where our nation finds hope, where wings take dream.” —LaCrosse, Wis., Oct. 18, 2000

Okay, I really do have a Valentine’s Day love story.

Let’s face it, you don’t live this long and not have at least one story about damn near everything under the sun.

When I was 14 I was going out with an “older woman.” She was 16. Funny thing was, she was 16 and in the same grade as me. I think we were the oldest in our 3rd grade class. I don’t know why she was still in the same grade as me. Maybe she was dumb. She liked me so it was obvious she wasn’t all that smart.

It was Valentine’s Day in 1968 and I was living in a pitiful little town in southern West Virginia called Keystone. Sharon (her real name because I am pretty sure she is not reading this because I am pretty sure she can’t read) was going to come into town to meet me. I had bought her a box of candy. You know the kind–heart shaped box, assorted chocolates, pink ribbon. I went all out.

After waiting for over an hour for her at the drug store, I finally realized that she probably wasn’t going to show up to get her deluxe box of Valentine’s Day candy and decided to go home. As I walked out the door of the Rexall drugstore, I ran into another dumb girl named Brenda. Brenda came from a huge family of about a million kids whose dad had lost both of his legs in a mining accident. I think her entire family owned one pair of shoes. It was okay though because her dad didn’t need any. She was also older than me and I am pretty sure she wasn’t in school anymore. She was really dumb.

Anyway, we walked together for a few blocks and she pulled me into an alley between two buildings where we shared a quart of beer that her brother had stolen from the local bar where he worked and we made out for over an hour. It was intense. Really intense for a boy of 14. I gave her the box of candy when we were done and I went home.

Romantic–huh?

Probably not, but every time I see an alley way between two buildings I get a boner.