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Posts by Buck!
So, what IS Golden Tee?
Well, on the surface it’s a wildly popular video golf game played in bars everywhere. It’s affectionately referred to as a “barcade game.”
To some it is an inexplicable waste of time and money; they enjoy watching someone play, but they cannot fathom how or why anyone would devote teh amount of time and money needed to ever play the game at a halfway respectable level.
To others it is more simply and succinctly referred to as: ADULT VIDEO CRACK!
As many can attest, I tend to fall into the latter category!
Whatever you want to call it, it IS — perhaps questionably — the most addictive video game ever placed in a bar.
Sure, there are others, but none of them enjoy the rabid following of this fair game.
As far as hobbies, interests, etc. are concerned: nothing — and I do mean NOTHING — has captivated me as much as this game has the past couple of years.
How bad off am I? Well, compared to some in this game — especially at the top — I am a mere guppy. Not just in my level of play, but insofar as my level of addiction. Some of these guys literally play 8, 10 or more hours a day!
Of course, they make damned good money at it, but anyhow … I’m only good for a few hours at it, and that mostly with friends. It’s RARE that I actually get any single player time on our machines.
Even so, I’m still slappin’ the old trackball around to the tune of about 225 games per month, which adds up (to painfully overstate the obvious).
As I mentioned yesterday, I finally decided to get OUT of the business of lining other people’s pockets and actually do something meaningful to benefit most of the local regulars who also love this game.
And thus was born …
Beyond bringing a goodly amount of business to a family owned restaurant/bar and almost as fun as taking care of the players whom I spend a LOT of my evenings with, this little venture has provided a nice little late night outlet for my slightly demented “creativity.” To wit: an operator can create his own custom ad screens that get displayed on the screens between games (or on the overhead secondary monitors during game play)
Here’s a shot of our first 2 machines:
In retrospect, not a very good picture. I’m gonna have to rectify that here soon.
Anyhow … back to the ad screens!
Here’s my first stab at it:
That garnered a few chuckles … which only encouraged me more …
Now, in this case, I felt the need to place an occasional reminder to several of us at the bar who sometimes lose our cool after a couple of back-to-back bad shots:
So far, that one seems to be working …
In MOST of my ads, I do make sure to give a nod to the establishment that was goodly enough to partner up with us …
That one was met with mixed reactions so I’ve since retired it …. for now, at least …
My business partner, Christian, pointed out that I really ought to do something to really make our aggressive pricing jump out to patrons on the other side of the bar.
I sort of thought this summed it up well enough …
Along the lines of the “Play more, get better” campaign we had this little gem:
For those of you wondering “what the hell is that?” when you saw the eyeball in the pic of our machines earlier …
Some of the “ads” are not advertisements whatsoever. This is my own rendering of what some of my dreams look like …
Yeah, sorta weird, huh?
And then there’s one of my personal favorites …
Alright … time for me wrap things up and head out to investigate another bar that sounds like it’s in need of a Ninja’s touch!
Howdy, sports fans!
Wow, been a long time, huh? Sorry ’bout that, I’ve been a bit of a busy man here lately.
So, what, you may ask, has been going on with ol’ Buck?
Well, on the positive side, my eldest son decided to spend spring break with me here about a month ago, instead of heading to the beach with friends for a drunk-fest. I guess my not giving him the money to be that stupid played one part in the equation … and I dare say the fact that he doesn’t share my unquenchable thirst for said nectar of the gods probably played even more of a role there too. [grins]
Ah hell, who am I kidding? The boy loves me!
Well, that, and the fact that my house is infinitely closer to the university his girlfriend is attending than his mom’s house is! :o)
Speaking of houses … as some of you know, the Spousal Unit and I lost ours here recently . J’yup, La Casa del Buck is now a fully bank owned property upon which we are no longer allowed to step foot without a representative of the bank present.
Buuuut …. apart from losing my house (and the associated tropical garden, pond, etc. etc. etc.), putting my dog, Sparky, down after 10 years of loyalty, laughs and friendship, and a myriad other matters of which you probably do not want to be bored with, things are well with me.
Of course, there ARE those who DO want to hear more of the dirty, juicy details of my life … and I have two words for people like you: PISS OFF!
Sadly, many are the liars, gossips, meddlesome idiots and garden-variety, non-confrontational bitches who cross our paths in life. Funny thing is, one friend in my life who readily admits that she is easily offended and considers herself “a ditz” (which I do not agree on), is about the only one of my friends who will pull me aside and speak her mind. She’s the only one who has taken something I’ve said or written the wrong way, and has directly approached me about it. Heck, my own wife doesn’t even do that! People like that are a gift, folks … I’m tellin’ ya!
Anyhow … sorry for being so seemingly caustic, but there’s a lot of things and certain people in my life who have really worn me down to my last two functioning nerves … both of which are completely beyond raw at this point.
Again: ANYHOW … might wanna click on that pic above; I STILL cannot make sense of the dude on the skateboard!
My son and I had a BLAST while he was here! Shockingly enough, we played a lot of Golden Tee. And by a lot, I mean a LOT. Well, for us at least.
Day one: he lands at approx 1300 hrs; the Spousal Unit and arrive shortly thereafter. I reminded The Boy that a group of top-notch GT players were assembling in Springfield that same day and asked if he was interested in meeting them and possibly learning a thing or two. To wit, his response was very much in the affirmative, with extreme prejudice and enthusiasm.
So … I drive our asses almost an hour to the other side of the beltway only to find more than half the group totally schnockered and ready to call it quits for the day.
Ya know what they say, though, dontcha? Ya can’t say you’ve been drinking all day if you don’t start first thing in the morning.
As it turns out, one of the country’s top players, BillyMac, was in attendance and was still bordering on more than moderately sober. He, a friend of his, Neil, my son, spousal unit, and I made our way to another establishment in Springfield and enjoyed a few games together. As it turns out, I really didn’t get any input or advice from BillyMac, which was frustrating, as that was my main purpose of the trip.
Well, there WAS one moment where he did pull me aside. He said, “Doc, you realize your wife’s a better player than you, right?”
“Yeah,” I said with a smile, “she has her games! We taught her too well and created a monster in the meantime.”
BillyMac shook his head and went on, “I don’t think you’re understanding me: I’m not trying to put you down, but she’s an inherently better player than you are.”
To say I was flabbergasted would be sort of gay, so I’ll merely say that I was — for a rather rare change — speechless.
My son and I enjoyed a fantastic week of relaxing, talking and even got some travels and adventure in along the way.
Last week my dad and I took a short hiatus from home and spent a week at Hilton Head Island in South Carolina. It was nice … and it was the first time we just took off and had that long of a father-son break from home. Twas a great week of good food, just the right amount of beer, and lots of laughs and relaxation ensued. My plans to play golf everyday, however, was thwarted by a near terminal case of retardation. For whatever reason, EVERY SINGLE THING I’ve learned in my weekly golf lessons the past month completely escaped me. I do not believe I have EVER been more discouraged with that game than I was last week.
But this is taking yet another potential turn towards the morose, so let’s move on, shall we?
So, off to find something to do with my day, I suppose. Tomorrow is Mother’s Day … enjoy it. Show your mother some love, won’t ya?
Lookin’ like I’ll join Mama-Buck and her daughter for church and then hopefully off to Baltimore to see Mike Keneally and Bryan Beller perform. Weird but beautiful music, indeed!
Peace off, beaches!
Sorry for the long silence here on the blog … it’s been a pretty crazy month. Not sure where to start, or if I even should. Personal challenges abound, but there’s something I try to remind myself as often as possible:
Worse things have happened to better people …
Of course, when we’re in the dumps, it can sometimes be easy to be cynical about even the simplest of facts. But facts, they say, are a difficult thing.
Facts are difficult because they do not bend to our denial, they are not affected by our lies, they remain stalwart and seemingly silent, but that “silence” can become deafening.
When everything is said and done, there is always three sides to every story: Yours, Mine & The Truth.
Sadly, it is too easy to cling to the first thought that comes to mind. Surely, our ego assures us, we cannot be wrong. Ahhhh … the joy of arrogance and the heart-warming bliss of denial!
Truth can only be found by those who seek for her. Those who refuse to seek Truth will never find her, and in this self imposed ignorance we bring chaos and disorder into our lives as well as the lives of those around us. Before we know it, we are so lost and confused that we cannot even remember when or how we even lost our way. This is the path of denial, and it only leads to darker places.
Life changes and so do we; we either get “better” or we get “worse.” In fact, the whole of our lives is a combination of both, but hopefully — in the bigger picture — we are at least directionally correct.
I visited with an old friend for the first time in a really long time yesterday. From the moment I shook his hand and gave him an embrace I could tell that things have changed for the better in that man’s soul. He has never seemed this much at peace. The time that we did get to spend together was good but entirely too short. I now wish I had asked more questions and spent more time listening.
It also left me looking at my own life …
Life changes and so do we … and in our living and changing there are certain that things that always remain.
Facts, they say, are a difficult thing.
(this one has made the loop for quite a few years, but it’s a classic)
Well, maybe not THE beginning, but when our ancestors finally came along they initially congregated as small bands of nomadic hunter/gatherers. During the warmer months they lived in the mountains and plains, feasting on deer, fruits and the other goodly things that the land did provide. During the colder months they would move closer to the coast and dined on fish and lobster and the other wonderful bounty that the seas did provide.
As fate would have it, the two most important events in all of history came during these early days of lore; these were the invention of beer and the invention of the wheel. A not-so-minor anecdotal fact unknown to most is the fact that the wheel was invented to get man to the beer. All the same, these were the foundations of modern civilization and became the catalyst for the splitting of humanity into two distinct sub groups:
1. Liberals, and
Beer, as everybody knows, requires grain, and lots of it. This, and not the cultivation of food stocks, is how agriculture came to be. In the same manner, since neither glass nor aluminum storage devices yet existed our early human ancestors stayed close to the brewery while waiting for them to be invented and thusly grew into what we now refer to as villages.
Some men spent their days tracking and killing animals to B-B-Q at night while they were drinking beer. This was the beginning of what is known as the Conservative movement.
Other men — weaker and less skilled at hunting than their Conservative counterparts — learned to live off the conservatives by showing up for the nightly B-B-Q’s. In time, these lesser beings spent their days with tasks such as sewing, fetching, and hair dressing. This was the beginning of the Liberal movement.
Some of these liberal men actually evolved into women; the rest were simply known as girlie-men. Some noteworthy liberal achievements include the domestication of cats, the invention of group therapy, group hugs, and the concept of Democratic voting to decide how to divide the meat and beer that conservatives provided.
Over the years conservatives came to be symbolized by the largest, most powerful land animal on earth, the elephant. Liberals are symbolized by the jackass.
Modern liberals like imported beer (with lime added), although most prefer white wine or imported bottled water. Sushi, tofu, and French food are standard fare for liberals. Another interesting evolutionary side note is the fact that most of their women have higher testosterone levels than their men.
Most social workers, personal injury attorneys, journalists, dreamers in Hollywood and group therapists are liberals. Liberals invented the designated hitter rule because it wasn’t “fair” to make the pitcher also bat.
Conservatives drink domestic beer, mostly Bud. They eat red meat and still provide for their women. Conservatives are big-game hunters, rodeo cowboys, lumberjacks, construction workers, firemen, medical doctors, police officers, corporate executives, athletes, fighter pilots, and generally anyone who works productively outside of the government. Conservatives who own companies hire other conservatives who want to work for a living.
Liberals produce little or nothing. They like to govern the producers and decide what to do with the production. Liberals believe Europeans are more enlightened than Americans which is why most of the liberals remained in Europe when conservatives were coming to America . They crept in after the Wild West was tamed and created a business of trying to get MORE for nothing, as is their habit.
This ends today’s lesson in world history …
It should be noted that a Liberal may have a momentary urge to angrily respond to the above. A Conservative will simply laugh and be so convinced of its absolute truth that he/she will immediately send a link to this post to other true believers and to more liberals just to tick them off.
So … which one are you? Let your next action speak for you …
Since our resident Stunt Blogger, Nuthin, is hard at work on a new blogging event, I’ll take a few moments to go ahead and post a useless little update that I don’t mind getting lost in the shuffle.
My first inclination this morning was to take a picture of my Droid using its fancy pants built-in camera, but then the technical challenges got too overwhelming. It wasn’t a matter of not having enough mirrors; it was more a matter of the convoluted contortions and too many body parts getting in the way. So, I Googled myself a pic instead. I mean, that’s not really cheating if you consider the fact that the Android software is being overseen by Google, right?
Anyhow … this Droid ROCKS!!!! Sorry, but there are simply no two ways about it. I’ve been in regular contact with a dear friend of mine who is — believe it or not — a semi-domesticated marsupial, and when I’ve relayed to him some of the things I’d been reading about the Moto Droid he has regularly smirked and said things along the lines of, “You just go right ahead and believe what you want …”
Well, it’s in my hot little hands now and after a few days of keeping the battery on the verge of melting all I can say is: “WOW!”
This thing is, perhaps arguably, the coolest invention since the LFL (the Lingerie Football League)
Those who have claimed this device to be a potential iPhone killer were not far off the mark. Quite frankly, the Android OS (operating system) is orders of magnitude superior to the Apple OS. But that’s one of the major potential benefits of Open Source software (although, I think it’s safe to say that Sun’s “Open Office” product was a complete debacle!)
But alas, I’m already digressing …
After having lived with TWO lemons over the course of the past — shit, what’s it been. over 3 years now? — it is refreshingto have something that the inverse Love versus Hate relationship is equally as intense. To put it simply, I do not believe I have been this excited about an electronic device … ever! This includes the totally badass media player I picked up just before the Spousal Unit and I went to Jamaica for our belated honeymoon.
As I understand it, the Google phone (Nexus One) is supposed to be a fantastic device, but dudes, come on … it’s an HTC product! I’d rather felch a dead animal on the side of the road during rush hour than ever own anything manufactured by HTC.
Okay, that might have been a bit of a stretch, but it’s all beside the point anyhow: I’m here to giggle and blather about my happy little phone!
If the iPhone once epitomized the concept of a Smart Phone, then the Droid is the True Genius of the litter.
I’ve seen people bitch about the “industrial” look and feel, but that’s what it’s ALL ABOUT, morons!
Droid … THINK ABOUT, you idiot denziens of iPhone fluffage. Droid … as in an android … a @#%$ing ROBOT, okay?
Of course, some of them might be the really creepy anime types that are so into everything Japanese that they’re even into those new-fangled life-like sex robots the Japanese are becoming so infamous over.
Funny how Apple seems to attract the most childishly hysteric adherents and devotees … of course, look at what a spazzy little bitch Steve Jobs is …
But anyhow, I’m not here to denigrate Apple: the marriage of Motorola and Google took care of that!
(Possum, my friend, I do envy your Zippo app, but I already have a collection of real Zippo lighters)
(yeah, that’s the first app a friend of mine has that I was not able to locate for my new phone)
Okay, I hate this faux king phone now.
All of the Faux King’s horses and all of the Faux King’s men could not put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
Alright, I’m over the whole Zippoapp thing now. The only purpose of that app was to demonstrate how sensitive the iPhone is. Well, I tend to find sensitive men are real pussies, so put that in your crack pipe and smoke it, ok?
So, I get the whole, “we have over 100,000 apps to your, what? 20,000 or so?” I have to ask, how many of those 100,000+ apps are worth a damn? How many of them are so poorly written that they cause stability issues with your previous little Apple device? Heck, I was listening to my dad this morning talking about how he had to uninstall all of the apps he has purchased / downloaded since he got his iPhone last September. Yeah, lock-ups happen, plain and simple. It sure must be a pain in the ass not being able to remove your battery, huh?
Oh, speaking of removable batteries, it’s pretty cool being able to buy replacement batteries for my Droid … and for UNDER $20 (US) a piece! As a longboarderwho loves to listen to music while I’m cruising the roads, it will be nice this summer to simply pop out a dying battery and replace it with a freshly recharged one.
The screen, apart from the Droid’s impressive display resolution of 854×480 pixels (compared to the antiquated 480×320-display on the iPhone),is also exceptionally durable. I defy you to try this with your iPhone, Palm Pre or Crackberry whatever!
I definitely dig the slide-out keyboard. Some of the docile, bleating sheep of the Apple devotees denigrate it, but that’s because they’ve not grown accustomed to QWERTY keyboards. Hey,when iPhoners go to landscape mode, your “virtual keyboard” suddenly takes up a big piece of real estate, doesn’t it?
And here’s the part that killed me, folks …
When I opened the package containing my Droid, there was this return envelope:
Yeah, get that … not only do they want me to send back that detestable P.O.S. Touch Pro, but they intend that return to somehow help victims of domestic violence? How ironic is THAT?!?!?! The fact that this phone didn’t INSTIGATE any domestic violence in my house is a miracle (well, if you don’t take into account the fact that the Spousal Unit isn’t playfully referred to as “a six foot tal Scandinavian she-devil” for nothing).
Well, looks like our stunt blogger Nuthin beat me to the punch. Take a few minutes to go check out his latest blogging … it’s simply delicious!
CHOW DOWN, HOGS!
and until next time …
… and don’t forget to leave a comment because …
Sorry about the intensely verbose purge yesterday but I really had a lot of pent up frustration, and to have finally found release??? Come on! Can you really blame me?
All the same, from what I’ve been reading this morning, it does appear that I’ll be enjoying one mighty nifty piece of technology. So far, the only two “professional” opinion gripes about the Droid are: 1) the fact you can’t do the two finger / multi-point screen thing to zoom in or out (and the 2.1 release rolling out any day now fixes that); and 2) not quite as many apps, which is merely a function of time. Apart from that — and I direct this to each and every one of my friends who own iPhones and have been playful enough to tease me about the awesomeness of your device while mine sent me to the fringes of total psychosis —
My phone is better than your phone!
Can your iPhone control your television / DVR?
If, perchance, you have my cell number, would you please shoot me a message w/ your phone number to my new gMail account? (BuckWezr) Cool, thanks! I created the Gmail account in anticipation of the new phone. With the Droid being driven by the Android operating system from Google, it only goes without saying that it quickly links up to anything else I have directly tied-in with Google. And I don’t have to install any retarded iTunes software to get my device up and running and fully sync’d. In fact, I don’t even have to connect it to my PC for anything other than to feed the battery.
Enough about the new phone, though …
Let’s have a little talk about honesty, shall we?
Actually, on second thought, let’s not.
Sometimes the blunt truth is just a little bit more than we really want to know about.
I mean, take this for example …
Is the brutal honesty of the message really of any consequence here? Unless you’re an exhibitionist, hopelessly drunk, or are otherwise deviant , you’re not going to be doing your business on that can!
However … some “dirty little secrets” are sort of fun to share with a select few …
Of course, this is something that HAS been known to not end so well …
Meanwhile, there will always be things that none of really care to know …
Yeah, seriously … not something ANYBODY wants to find out about.
Some things aren’t necessarily bad things, but they definitely don’t belong in the casually public domain …that’s WalMart for ya!
I appreciate the girl’s enthusiasm, though!
And let’s face it, there ARE far worse things one can wear in public …
That’s just one of those moments where we are confronted with yet another dreaded memory that will scar our brains for life. As we all know, unless we’re lucky enough to be smitten with dementia, Alzheimer’s or amnesia, we’re stuck with these accidental images in life. There is no denying …
and as if that weren’t far enough down the rabbit hole, there are those who sometimes accomplish the unimaginable …
If you chose to NOT click to enlarge, I truly do understand …
Here’s a treat to help you recover from that last eye sore:
You’re right, I owe you something a tad more soothing than that, don’t I?
So, I had a good time hanging out with my aunt and uncle last night. As the Spousal Unit and I were debating whether or not we were ready to leave Spanky’s, my uncle walks through the door. Well, seeings how that was the first time coming out to play in that particular litter box, there was no chance of us leaving him there alone!
And we had to introduce him to our many friends at our beloved pub …
But let’s save that for another blogging for some other time …
So, what else did this weekend hold in store for me? Apart from what packing we have done and the beginning of the move across town, of course. I can only hope that the “weather event” headed to our region on Thursday does not bring another major dumping of snow!
Ah, who cares about the weather … did you hear about the recent row in West Yorkshire over the town council’s decision to rename a renowned landmark? Yeah, they took down the old sign which read “Tickle Cock Bridge” and replaced it with one that read “Tittle Cott.” Yeah, I know … how gay is THAT?
Well, the elder citizens of that fair town raised holy hell and saw to it that its original, and they say rightful, name was restored earlier this week.
Seems the goodly folks of the United Kingdom have enjoyed a long history of scrounging up risque and otherwise entertaining names for many of their towns and landmarks …
Shetland and Orkney both have towns name “Twatt” …
Sandy Balls is the name of a resort of sorts in Hampshire, England; the name dates back to Henry VIII
You have Fingringhoe in Essex, England … an alleyway by the name of Back Passage in London … there’s Shitterton in Dorset, England and Fanny Hands Lane in Lincolnshire, England.
But wait, there’s more! You also have …
Cockshoot Close, Oxfordshire, England
Funbag Drive, Watford, England
Fanny Avenue, Derbyshire, England
Beaver Close, Surrey, England
Dick Court, Lanarkshire, Scotland
Felch Square, Powys, Wales
Lickfold, West Sussex, England
Rimswell, East Riding of Yorkshire, England
Spanker Lane, Nether Heage, Derbyshire
Cocknmouth Close, West End, Surrey
Friars’ Entry, Oxford, Oxfordshire, England
Butt Hole Road, Conisbrough, South Yorkshire
Cockermouth, Allerdale, Cumbria
Fine Bush Lane, Ruislip
Ladygate Lane, Ruislip
Hornyold Road, Malvern, Worcestershire, England
Crotch Crescent, Marston, Oxford, England
Cumming Court, Pitville, Gloucestershire, England
The PC police are gonna have their hands full in that part of the world!
Well, I guess I best get back to packing this house. Hopefully we can sneak out to catch Oren’s last set at Bluemont Winery later this afternoon.
Until next time …
You may recall my c-Net styled review of the HTC Touch Pro; if not, I highly encourage you to take a few minutes to hop over to that page and read it now.
Assuming you have the time. Which, if such is not the case, then I really don’t understand why you visit this site in the first place. I mean, verbosity is our thing; it’s what we do! To say that we, in the writing of our bloggings here, are anything other than overly verbose would not only be redundant and senseless, it would be downright unnecessary and devoid of wit.
Oh, you’re one of those that are just here for the pictures, aren’t you???
Silly maggot …
Ok, are the rest of you back from reading the review?
Yum, yum … you can just taste the bile, can’t ya?
Well, that was was November 5th, a mere 64 days after I’d acquired that fetid work of the underworld. The adventure had only just begun …
It is now late February and I have continued to endure this … this …
the non-profane eludes me at this moment
I am still the “proud” owner of this little marvel and it still is — lucky me — my primary communication device, of the portable electronic variety, of course. I have, though, attempted to change that on more than one occasion. I guess I should probably address the matter of why it is that it has taken me so many months to finally change my fate:
I visited the local purveyor of Verizon phones at a franchise storefront here in town several weeks after I’d made the fateful mistake of committing to this “smart” phone. My first visit saw me dealing with the younger gentleman that Ron, the owner, has in his employ. I forget his name at the moment, but I walked in, introduced myself and set my phone on the counter.
He furrowed his brow a little and asked, “First gen Touch Pro?”
“Uh … yeah.”
I chuckled, “And as if that weren’t bad enough, this was the ‘upgrade’ to my previous phone which was a first gen Chocolate.”
“Seriously?”, he asked.
“Yeah … am I not just the luckiest dog on the porch?”
We proceeded to talk for a brief few minutes before he said that I really needed to talk to the boss-man. It took me a few days to carve out the time to make it back to the store in the hopes that his boss, Ron, was there. Because the Spousal Unit and Ron have a history, I tend to drag her along with me on these visits. I mean, what can it hurt, right?
We returned a few days later …
I opened the door for my lady and as I followed her in I put on a big smile on my face and nodded, “Heya Ron! How’s things?”
He smiled back, “Goin’ good, man! How have you guys been?”
In total Matrix / Neo style, I mentally dodged the small-talk bullet and cut to the chase: “Dude, I really … desperately and seriously … need your help.”
He shot me a surprised look; not surprising given the opening lob of drama, “Well, we’ll see what I can do. What’s the problem?”
“This,” I said in a playful attempt at feigned anger as I slammed The Brick on the counter.
“Oh,” he said, seemingly unaware that this device was any different than any other PDA / Smart Phone in his inventory, “and what seems to be the problem with it?”
As it turns out, the explanation I gave was actually the germination phase of what would eventually become the cNet styled blogging about this same device that I linked you to earlier. To say that he was a little taken back would be an understatement, but he did laugh with me along the way a few times. The Spousal Unit, however, seemed a tad exasperated at times. Seems my occasional outbursts of manic energy are a touch uncomfortable for her sometimes. I hope it’s not that I embarrass her; that’d be sort of a bummer.
But we don’t have time for such musings this morning. I have a house I need to finish packing and a move I need to make the final arrangements for.
At the end of our pleadings he intimated that he was powerless to do a thing. He did, however, explain that if we took it to a corporate store they would most likely just declare my unit defective and give me a replacement model.
I smiled, as this was my desired outcome.
Ron shook his head, and not in the affirmative, “No, I mean they’ll send you the same model.”
“Oh no,” I blurted out, “No, no, no, no, NO! Dude, that will not do!”
He shrugged his shoulders in a way that I would soon suspect was a calculated and learned trait possibly passed down through corporate sales training sessions at Verizon.
. . .
We all shook hands and said our goodbyes. Seeings how we frequent the same watering hole it only makes sense to keep things on the up and up. And besides, Ron’s actually a hell of a nice guy.
As we drove away I resumed my irritable ramblings.
“Oh my god, what is it with me? Will foul luck and misery follow me all the days of my life?”
.. and …
“Are you shitting me? I cannot believe I am stuck with yet another piece of shit phone for two years!”
… and it continued along similar lines …
Being the fearless, 6 foot tall Scandinavian woman that she is, the wife interrupted me at one point, “If you can handle keeping it long enough, maybe they’ll discontinue it and you’ll get an upgrade to whatever replaces that one.”
I stopped and nodded at the obvious wisdom of her rhetorical question. The image of the two Monty Python-ish cartoon characters from the semi-recent Guinness commercials popped into my head as I blurted out one simple word in a poor Irish accent: “Brilliant!”
Later that evening I visited the Verizon Wireless website. I had been there several days earlier and there were scant few customer reviews on my particular phone (HTC Touch Pro, just in case you forgot). Now there were suddenly hundreds of them! Evidently, there were a whole buttload of those pending approval / moderation and someone must have just clicked on “release/approve all.”
I dare say I cannot ever recall seeing a lower customer rating than what I was staring at. The fact that I did NOT grab any screen captures ticks me off! It was absolute pandemonium! Apart from the rare comment / review by a customer who had obviously just crawled out of a cave and left these comments the same day they purchased this phone, the rest was one angry, vitriolic response after another.
This served as the watering phase of the aforementioned germination process that ultimately blossomed into the blogging that was my own review of the HTC Touch Pro (linked above).
If it was named T H C instead, I’d like to think that all of this would at least make a little more sense …
Anyhow … I came back to the Verizon Wireless website some days later to grab some of the fresh vitriol to use as fodder for my own blogging.
But it was all gone! All references, except for the most benign tech support issues, were completely purged from the site! Not a single customer review. Not a single link to a Discontinued Model, which was still their habit.
Nossir, this sucker just up and disappeared like a thief in the night!
Several months pass and, man, have I got to tell ya … it has been downright nightmarish dealing with this damnable device.
One thing that I will say to its benefit is the fact that it is amazingly durable! My take on this being an effectual weapon was spot on!
Hey, don’t be hatin’ … if you were paying the insurance and you KNEW that you were — some how, some way — getting that thing eventually replaced because it was not only a lemon of a product as a whole, but your particular unit was clearly defective beyond that … yeah, you tell ME you wouldn’t occasionally fling that thing across the room or into a cement wall!
But anyhow …
Along comes February, and the insane back-to-back blizzards! While visitations of the various beasts of the snow migration were a wonderful distraction, everybody around me was growing increasingly impatient with the same words constantly bursting from my lips multiple times an hour: “I hate this fucking phone!”
I printed a copy of the blogging I’d done about the Touch Pro, grabbed it, jumped in the truck and made our way across town to once again beg of Ron’s mercies. I handed him the print out and said, “After I leave and you’ve got some dead time on your hands, you ought to give this a read; I think it’ll give you a decent laugh.”
He nodded as he glanced at it. “So, how can I help you two today?”
“Dude, is there anybody that you can call at corporate to put in a good word for us as a preferred customer?”
He shot me a look that almost hinted of, Whatchu talkin’ bout, Willis?
“Dude, after more than ten years as customers and my wife’s insistence that we primarily deal with you? I think that just about makes anyone in my shoes a preferred customer.”
“No,” her interrupted, “no, that wasn’t it at all.”
“So,” I said with an exasperated sigh, “there’s nothing you can do, not even put in a call on our behalf?”
“Naw,” he said as he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, “that’s really something that just has to go through corporate.”
We clarified which locations closest to us qualified as “corporate.” He suggested that I go to the one in Ashburn as he’d had some really pleasant dealings with some of the staff there.
As we shook hands and said our goodbyes he added, “Good luck, man. You may have to press the matter pretty hard if you want anything more than an in-kind replacement.”
“If those assholes want to keep my business — and I assure you, our monthly bill is more than ample — then they better do something more than offer me another Touch Pro or even the Pro2. I’d rather step back down to a simple flip-phone, demand a refund for the wasted monthly data-plan charges, and give that to my son until my contract is up and just go get an iPhone.”
He nodded sympathetically as he tapped on the print-out I’d handed him earlier, “And I promise to give this a read! See ya at Spanky’s some time, alright?”
“I look forward to it,” I said with a smile, “you know where to find to me!”
He chuckled, “By that stupid video golf game!”
“Yes,” I smiled even bigger, “the claws of the monkey that is that adult video crack machine are dug deeply into my soul.”
Some days later I reached my absolute and final boiling point with this phone. This time it was a solo venture. Being as irritable and as driven as a I was to finally get this situation resolved, regardless of the outcome, I thought it was best if I didn’t have my wife’s sensibilities and her distaste for public confrontation to interfere with the divine mission which was mine to undertake.
As I pulled in to the parking lot of the strip center within which the corporate Verizon Wireless was located, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a brief moment. Politeness, directness and calm were the order of the day. All the same, visions of a massive pyre and Viking warriors chanting at the tops of their lungs filled my mind.
I opened my eyes quickly so as to not drift too far astray with in imaginations.
As I walked into the store, I was greeted by two young ladies seated at small receptionist station-like stations. The younger one shot me a broad smile and the lady who actually greeted me directly seemed to not be having a great start to her day. She asked tersely but politely, “How may I help you, sir?”
“I really need to talk to somebody about this phone.” I gently set it on the counter in front of her.
The younger lady, to her left, leaned over and asked as she curled her nose, “Touch Pro?”
My left eyelid twitched a few times, “Yeah,” I said as politely as I could, “seems like you’re familiar with it.”
She shook her head back and forth as she raised her hand and with a smile said, “I’m not even getting started.”
I turned my attention to the lady who was waiting to assist me and went on to try and describe why this thing was not only a defective unit, but possibly the most evil thing to have cursed humanity in centuries.
She finally interrupted me, “I’m sorry, sir. You’re going to need to talk to someone in tech. Someone will call your name in a few minutes.”
As I stepped aside it suddenly occurred to me that this woman had probably pressed some sort of panic button to inform the manager on duty that a possibly irate customer was in the building. If they had a special, emergency-use-only button for the potential “postal” types, I’d imagined that that was the once she chose to press instead.
I took another slow, deep breath to once again regain my focus.
And I made the mistake of closing my eyes again …
A young man’s voice brought me back to the store / present reality, “Good morning, sir!”
I blinked my eyes a few times to shake the images out of the frontal lobe. “And a good morning to you, dude. Are you the tech guy that I’m waiting to talk with about this … this … phone.”
He shook his head, “Oh, nossir, I work with the Fios side of things here. I’d overheard you say you were in the process of moving … ?”
With a grin and a nod I cut him off, “Actually, we’re very, very happy Fios customers and — lucky me — the place we’re moving to is already wired for Fios.”
Alex — I believe that was his name, but it might have been Adam — continued to chat for a few minutes about some of the really cool new features and upgrades that Fios had recently began to roll out. As we were talking I heard my name being called from behind me, albit slightly mispronounced as usual.
It’s a stupidly simple Hungarian name, I’m surprised it gets mangled as often as it does.
Anyhow … as I turned around, I was somewhat disappointed to have gone from dealing with such a pleasant, broad smiled young man to being greeted by a perfect sour-puss of a mildly effeminate young man. Seated to his left was a young black man who, as I would learn, was recently employed by Flextronics and was under the tutelage of my fussy little tech support representative.
“My name is Shea, what seems to be the problem with your phone?”
I went on to re-explain to him the same things I had been enumerating to the young lady I was first greeted by. He was perfectly disinterested in hearing me out and continually interrupted me. The third time he interrupted he simply said, “Sir, if you would like me to take a look at it, it sounds like it easily qualifies for a replacement.”
“I realize that, Shea. I am fully and unquestionably aware that this particular unit is defective. Have you worked here for very long?”
He nodded, responding in the affirmative.
“And you are familiar with this phone,” I tapped on it a little less than gently, “the infamous HTC Touch Pro?”
He nodded his head in agreement again, “Yessir, we stopped carrying that model last fall and HTC stopped manufacturing it shortly after that.”
“I appreciate the history lesson, but surely you’re aware of what an epic failure this … this … thing was and still is?!?!”
Once again, I was confronted with a look and a tone that was chock full of red flags that had the words “bull shit” written all over them. It does not take a PhD in psychology or any of the other behavioral sciences to tell when someone is patently lying to you.
And it was impossible to ignore the fact that it was done in the same trained, rehearsed demeanor that I had encountered with other Verizon employees over the years.
“Sir, if you would let me take a look at your phone I can at least determine if this unit is defective and, if so, we can have it replaced with a new or refurbished one.”
I blinked a few times before asking, “Are you shitting me?” It was the first time I’d let a hint of my own frustration or irritation show.
“That’s all your warranty covers, sir.”
“Yeah, and I not only pay $45 a month for a data service plan that does me absolutely no good, I also pay another $5 per month for the protection / replacement plan thing. Hell, I’d almost rather downgrade back to a stupid clam shell phone than put up with this … this …”
He interrupted me again, “Do you have an old phone in a drawer at your house?”
“Excuse me?” as I tried to figure out how he knew about the veritable black holes we call “drawers” in our kitchen.
“I can see what Verizon can do in the way of a refund and you can go back to using an old phone until your contract is up in May.”
I was on the verge of losing it; and dealing with this prancing little priss of a man across the counter was not making matters any better. “Look, Shea, we’re obviously having some communication issues here … is your manager or supervisor here in the store this morning? I really need to talk to somebody who is capable of making decisions. If I can’t get around having this … this … DETESTABLE THING replaced by pretty much anything other than another anything from HTC … then I may as well just say ‘screw it all’ and go get myself an iPhone.”
I sighed as I tried to look him square in the eyes, “Please?”
I say “try” because he averted the direct eye contact; that pansy.
Shea turned around and stepped through the door to take the matter up with the manager.
It was at this point that I got better acquainted with the young black man who was working under Shea’s wing yesterday morning. He was a perfectly pleasant guy and, as it turns out, he’s worked with a close friend of my family for quite some time (at Pohanka Lexus).
Several minutes later a short, another black gentleman about my age, perhaps a few years older, stepped out through the doorway and introduced himself. He looked as if he was possibly from Kenya or another African country, and carried a slight accent to match. His name was Jack.
Jack calmly and patiently allowed me to once again re-tell my tales of frustration and woe. He finally said, “Well, if we can show that this is a defective unit we can have Verizon send you a replacement or a refurbished one if there are no new ones left in stock.”
I stood there silently, flabbergasted beyond words.
“Sir,” I pleaded as I stared into his eyes, “I really need some help!”
It immediately occurred to me how that could have easily been taken an entirely different way by him or anybody else witnessing this exchange.
“What would you have me do?” Jack inquired.
“This thing is a freaking lemon, sir! All I want is relief from this insufferable piece of shit! Anything that does not have the name HTC on it would probably do; I’m dead serious.”
“For free?” he asked.
“Yes,” I nodded wildly, “of course for free! I’ve been dealing with the most miserable, unusable, frustrating phone ever conceived by man or demon for 6 months now, and I pay an extra $45 dollars month for data services and internet access for a phone that does me no good! Come on, Jack … I really need your help.”
“But we cannot give you a phone, sir. If you would like, I can see if we can reset your contract and you can get a new phone that way.”
I nodded towards the business phone immediately beside us, “Could you please just call someone at Verizon and put in a preferred customer request or something? We’ve been loyal customers for over 10 years now, and all I want is just be free from this hideous phone.”
Jack picked up the phone and started dialing. As he was logging in to the call center, he got past the point of typing in my account number and password. It was at this point that I learned about a balance due of proportions I was not prepared to confront.
“EIGHT HUNDRED DOLLARS?”, I burst out, “Are you kidding me?”
“Yes sir,” Jack said quietly, “I noticed that as I was looking at your account before I came out to speak with you; until you get that paid up you will not be able to talk to anybody at Verizon about this problem, even if you just wanted it fixed.”
I spent the next half hour or more with the extremely pleasant young lady whom I met at the beginning of my visit to the store. She and I went through the last couple months of detailed statements, one account at a time. Suffice it to say that some command decisions were made at this point regarding a number of things and a number of services were blocked.
But I digress …
Once we were all paid up, I was finally put back on the phone with Verizon. After a short exchange the lady I was speaking to informed me that we first had to transfer my call over to tech support. After being on hold for a few moments, a very pleasant, soothing voice greeted me, “Good afternoon, my name is Lauren, how may help you today?”
I proceeded to, yet again, detail my tales of woe. When I finally paused she jumped in, “Sir, before we can do anything I first have to confirm that this unit is defective and is something more than just a ROM or other software upgrade.”
“Don’t you realize what a perfectly useless, miserable piece of crap this thing is?”
“I can only imagine, sir, but we have to prove it’s defective before we can do a thing.”
My shoulders fell and I sighed, “I understand that; I’m just beyond frustrated with this whole debacle of a phone.”
“I appreciate that sir. Are you willing to erase everything on your phone now?”
“Do you use ActiveSync to back up your phone?”
“Oh, that! Hell no … that was just the beginning of my troubles 6 months ago. I never got that software to install properly.”
She proceeded to inform me that our only solution was for me to head home and she would have a set of links awaiting me via email. I was to email her to let her know I was ready to have Lauren walk me through a number of things over the phone. I finally got home, frustrated beyond belief that I was leaving the store empty handed.
Between my email to Lauren and her return call to me, I went ahead and started installing the latest version of ActiveSync. While waiting for the call, I then went ahead and launched the program to go ahead and do the back-up myself. I mean, hey … I’m technically adept, right?
Well, as it turns out, ActiveSync decided to synchronize with my local copy of Outlook, a new installation with no contacts, no appointments, no nothing on it … and, as fate would have it, the default setting was to give preference to the data in Outlook rather than what was on the phone.
Did you notice the past tense reference there?
Yeah, I lost my entire contacts list as well as a few other items of lesser importance.
A few moments later Lauren calls me back on my wife’s phone, just as she promised she would. As it turns out, she was skipping her lunch break to try and get things resolved for me.
After almost an hour of fiddling around, installing various software upgrades and settings changes, Lauren sighed an almost happy sounding sigh and said, “Okay, sir … your phone is definitely defective! Now I can finally talk with you about your options.”
“It’s about time!”
“While I was waiting to hear back from you earlier I went ahead and briefed my supervisor about your situation.”
“Thank you,” I said quite enthusiastically.
“And he gave me some options, so bear with me, okay?”
“Yes ma’am,” I said with a huge smile.
“Okay,” she paused, “I think I already know the answer to the first one; we can ship you a new HTC Touch Pro tomorrow morning.”
“Are you @#$%ing with me?” I exclaimed!
“I kinda thought that might be your answer,” I could swear she was stifling a chuckle as she hurried along to option number next, “which brings us to option number two: we can downgrade you to a regular phone and refund a month’s worth of the data plan charges.”
“Okay,” I said calmly, expecting the next option to be more appealing.
“Would you be interested in that, sir?”
“Well, perhaps as a last resort. Is there an option number third?”
“Yes sir,” she said, “there is. My supervisor also said that you can upgrade to any device you would like for the one year contract price.”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“It depends on which Smart Phone you are interested in. If you were to get any phone you wanted from Verizon, which one would it be?”
“Well, The Droid, of course.”
“I take it you’re not referring to the HTC model.”
“Correct, my dear … the Motorola Droid. If I never see another anything from HTC for the rest of my life I will not be disappointed.”
She gently asked, “So, you would like the Motorola Droid?”
“Of course! Sounds like that’s the only thing out there that begins to hold a candle to the iPhone.”
“Okay, my supervisor said you can upgrade to one at the one year contract price.”
“And what does that mean to me, Lauren?”
She hesitated a little and then answered, “The one year contract price for the Droid is $369 with a $100 rebate.”
“So, they want me to pay them another $269 to be free from this piece of crap phone?”
“Uh,” she hesitated again, “would you be interested if I could get him to approve the two year price?”
“Which is how much?”
“That’s $299 with a $100 mail-in rebate, sir.”
“Wow,” I said, clearly dejected, “that’s something I’m going to have to think about, Lauren. I mean, I was sold an absolute lemon here and now I’m being told that my options are to live with a replacement lemon, go back to the relative stone age, or pay even more of my hard earned money for the type of device I expected when I ponied up a bunch of money 6 months ago.”
“I understand, sir,” she said with a lot of empathy in her voice, “it’s probably easiest to contact me through the email address we were using earlier this afternoon.”
“Alrighty then,” I sighed, “We have some errands that we have to run and I’ll think more about it and will get back with you before the end of the day.”
“I look forward to it, sir.” and we hung up.
As it turned out, the events of the day and the allure of a quick couple rounds of Golden Tee kept me from getting back to my computer until later that evening.
The next morning I shot Lauren an email thanking her for all of her time and her kindness. I expressed my frustration in being offered a “solution” that was no better than what any schmuck walking in off the streets would get. In fact, I told her that I felt the options given were downright insulting, but again assured her that it was not her I was frustrated with, but Verizon. I also made it a point to say that she could feel free to forward my email to her supervisor, or preferably someone above him.
Later in the morning I received an email from Lauren thanking me for the kind words.
As my friend, Fuku, and I finished our round of Golden Tee, the rest of the Friday Happy Hour crew was showing up. I looked down at my watch and it was just a little after 5:35. Well, I thought to myself, Lauren’s off for the day. I guess Verizon’s content to lose another customer.
As Oren and Fern started playing their first set of the Friday happy hour, my freshly reset phone lit up with an incoming call. The screen read “Unknown Caller”, but the area code looked familiar. It was the same one that Lauren had called me from earlier in the day.
I picked up my phone and as I made my way out of the pub I looked at Billy and said, “Tell the guys to give me a couple minutes before we start, I need to take this call.”
I tapped the Answer key, “Hello, this is Tom.”
A familiar voice greeted me, “Good afternoon, sir, this is Lauren from Verizon Wireless, we spoke yesterday.”
“Why yes it is, and how are you doing this afternoon?”
“Uggghh, it’s been one of those days; I was supposed to be out of here a while ago but I wanted to give you a quick call before I left for the day.”
“Oh, okay, that’s cool! What’s up?”
“Well, as you requested, I forwarded your email to my supervisors and a little while ago my boss came to my desk to tell me that he had read it and told me to go ahead and send you a Droid first thing Monday morning.”
I was slightly taken aback, “The Motorola unit?”
“Yes sir, I didn’t think you would be very interested in the other one.”
“Holy smokes, Lauren … you are my hero!”
She laughed and said, “Well, I don’t know about that, but I did want to call you before I left work for the day to let you know that there was a good outcome from all of this.” She went on to explain that she had to come in Saturday to get some other matters taken care of and assured me that she would also get everything processed so the new phone would be ready to ship first thing Monday morning.
The smile on my face stayed there until I fell asleep many hours later.
So, there ya have it. It’s been a long, wild ride these past 6 months, and what did I learn in the process? Well, for starters, no more sight-unseen purchases. From now on, when it comes to electronic devices, I want to handle the device and use it before making any decisions. I also intend to do much more homework in the future as well. Had I spent some time doing a little research, it would have been readily apparent that the early generation products from HTC have been notoriously slow. Of course, with the underlying operating system being a Microsoft product, how surprising is that?
Hopefully the next two years will be pleasant ones, at least as far as smart phone usage is concerned.
Check it out! The dude is getting a Droid!
Now it’s time to get back to packing this house for next weekend’s move!
If you really think I’m the sort that recognizes Valentine’s Day as a legit observance … well … are you really serious?
Yeah, the scrawny, awkward, big nosed, Dumbo-eared kid that almost never received a single voluntary Valentine’s Day card from a girl is going to be stoked about stirring up all those childhood memories once a year.
Yeah … right.
All the same … I was a goodly husband and allowed the Spousal Unit to sleep in without the obligatory weekend morning routine that goes something along the lines of: “Guess who woke me up and told me you wanted to play?”
Aren’t I a great guy?
Actually, my snoring and generalized grouchiness found me in the guest room bed and as I started to wish myself a happy Valentine’s Day I was plagued by a story my mother told me when I was a little boy …
. . .
So, I crawled out of bed, tip-toed downstairs and kicked the dog a few times. The good news is, she’d already been heavily abused by a psychopathic girlfriend when she was a puppy, so I figure there’s really not a lot to feel guilty about. I mean, it’s all she really knows so what’s the difference?
And here’s the real kicker for me …the biggest, loudest, most obnoxious “animal rights advocates” that I know are pro abortion. Has the irony of that ever crossed you as “funny”?
Ah, irony … where would be with out?
So anyhow, back to this morning. As is my Sunday morning habit, I snuck out of the house to grab a cup of coffee and then swung by the crack house downtown. My tranny “friend”, Pat, was — needless to say — sorely displeased that I didn’t bring him, ‘er I mean, “her” … kinda … damn, WHAT EVER ….
I failed to bring a card, and I was empty handed, not even a small clutch of flowers …
This was not a good moment at the local crack house for Buck …
Like I should have been surprised. [sigh]
I swung by the crack house last week to tidy up the place a bit and and to do a little painting. Let’s face it, crack houses are not known as being the paramount of interior design. Some say it’s because crack whores and trannies are vile, slovenly people, but I say the people who claim such things are just being ignorant.
But that’s neither here nor there … I was nice enough to do something good for the local crack addicts and Pat took it as a personal affront …
Pat can really be a violent little bitch sometimes, lemme tell ya.
. . .
So, as I surfed the internet this morning to find something really thoughtful to send to my wife as an email link (you know the routine, “honey, if we weren’t so broke and if I weren’t such a stubborn pig who refuses to cow-tow to this nonsensical farce of a tradition, this is what I would have bought for you …”
You guys ever try that? It might not get you a steak and a beejer, but you really should give it a try some time.
Just make sure you’re not sending them links to things like vacuum cleaners, informercial diet “secrets” or blow-up dolls. I’ve tried all three and let me tell ya … things went better for me this morning at the local crack house.
This morning, however, I found something so profoundly wondermous that I had to share it with the world. I hope Mama-Buck doesn’t feel the least bit cheapened by me sharing this with all of you before I even show it to her …
This morning, though … I discovered that I actually DO love chocolate!
You see, back when I was a wee kid, I’d purchased a massive 2 lb bag of chocolate chips at the Commissary (the equivalent of a grocery store on a military base) late one afternoon and tucked them in a my book bag to munch on the next day at school. As it turns out, I ate the entire bag, mostly during the afternoon. While on the school bus ride home, my stomach began to let me know that I had just made a mistake that it was going to make sure I remembered for the rest of my life.
While on the bus ride home, I turned about 20 shades of increasingly pale white as well as an overwhelming urge to vomit while the opposite end of the digestive tract was fighting back an intense yearning to explode as well. Somehow, I made it to the end of the bus ride, I even made it a half block from the bus stop to a small common area behind by house. As I approached the gate into our back yard, the nausea and dizziness overcame me and I immediately doubled over and began projectile vomiting in a manner that I had never known and could only pray that I would never experience again …
Of course, I was still too young to know anything about what was to come a mere decade or so later when I discovered the joys of what is sometimes referred to as “binge drinking”, but alas, I digress.
The rest of that afternoon and evening was spent in a nauseated stupor, mostly seated on the toilet so my body could violently discharge the massive amounts of chocolate that had passed too far earlier in the day to be evacuated orally.
All this to say that I was a HUGE non-fan of chocolate for many, many years to come …
Ah, yes … chocolate!
How I love thee … let me count the ways …
Come on … tell me this is not the coolest use of chocolate … ever!!!!
Oh … YES!
And it doesn’t necessarily have to be fashioned into pieces of clothing and the like. Oh, no … sometimes au nautural ain’t so bad either!
I must admit there are times when chocolate just doesn’t cut it for me.
Are you familiar with the mighty mealworm? Staple diet for pet lizards and other captive animals …
There’s some sicko out west who got the “great” idea to explore the wonderful world of chocolate delicacies and stumbled upon something that I, personally, consider to be an epic failure …
Remember our friends, the mighty mealworms? Yeah, a guy by the name of Larry Peterman decided covering those [faux curse] with chocolate somehow turn them from vomit inducing to delectable.
Seriously … you can drop by his website, HOTLIX and check out his entire line of candies and confections that mostly feature bizarre and perfectly distasteful insects in the center.
In the meantime, check out this sampling of “treats” …
Yeah, my sentiments, exactly!
But anyhow …
As I continued my search for “I love you so much I’d buy you this if I weren’t such a cheap turd” pretend presents, I got distracted thinking about how much I miss my Koi pond as well as aquariums in general. As the caffeine settled in, it occurred to me: why not try and combine the best of BOTH worlds???
Mama Buck said, “Uh … yeah. Not a chance.”
. . .
A little while later she was on her laptop, Facebook on one browser tab, and some online store in another. She called me over to point out what SHE thinks would have been the perfect gift for me to give …
It was at this moment that I was suddenly translated back to a crucial moment of my early childhood … even though it was many, many years later before I fully appreciated the gravity of this one little phrase the freakish little girl down the street once shared with me …
Isn’t that how it is, though?
Well, perhaps “stranded” borders on being a bit of misnomer. The Spousal Unit and I had told ourselves that we were going to stay home Wednesday when the blizzard proper was at its zenith. She had a wonderfully aromatic pot of pasta sauce slowly cooking on the stove and I was bundled up on the couch, goofing around online with a few friends and getting ready to catch up some stuff we have on our perpetually filled-to-capacity DVR.
Besides, bucket loads of snow and 50 mph winds really don’t make for the best driving conditions ever known to man.
Such things don’t seem to bother my buddy, Shimmay.
Around 6pm or so he starts text messaging both of our phones. “You guys coming out to putt tonight?”
My reply: “We have a 48 foot snow drift at the end of our driveway; not digging out in this much wind.”
Moments later the Spousal Unit gets a message from Shimmay: “I’ll be there in 25 minutes to pick you guys up.”
So much for a quiet nice at la casa del Buck …
But who am I to turn down an adventure on night like this, right???
And quite the adventure it turned out to be. I dare say Shimmay had the biggest challenges keeping his happy face on; not only did his beloved Washington Caps lose to a bunch of drunken bastards from Canadia, we had a couple of interesting characters already playing on “our” GT machine upon arrival. The round table behind the playing area was loaded with almost a dozen recently departed Budweiser’s, several loaded ash trays, a few packs of cigarettes, a c0uple Starbuck’s gift cards (that’s what most of us here in town use for Golden Tee identification purposes) and various other personal effects. Not meaning to make the pub sound unkempt, but they were seriously under-staffed and damned near packed to capacity.
The denziens of Leesburg had been trapped for days on end, some on unplowed roads and without electricity for much of that time. Spanky’s, as it turns out, was not only the ONLY place in town open that night, there was not a single day in the midst of these historic back-to-back blizzards where Spanky’s failed to open its doors for business. Word of this evidently spread wide across the county and it was THE destination of anyone stupid enough to be on the road that night.
And before you even start wondering if the owner is some sort of an evil ogre, I need to point out that he — at the onset of both storms — called his staff and told them to stay home, stay warm and stay safe.
Bartenders don’t roll like that, though. Not when bartenders like ours are dealing with a drinking community like THIS!
But back to the two guys at our beloved Golden Tee machine …
With most garden variety non-regulars, this would not be a problem; especially when it’s only 2 or 3 players. Most times, asking if one (or two) of us can jump in causes most players to defer and pass the table to us at the end of their game. In some cases, though, they do invite me/us to play and that is usually a one time event.
Except when the “outsider(s)” happen to be really good players. But that’s another blog for another time … when it comes to the dredges of GT, most competitively minded people really don’t enjoy being trounced by 20 strokes and more. It’s downright humiliating and I don’t mind being the Giver of said humiliation; it almost always results in them walking away and opening the machine for me and the rest of my friends to play. BUT … you might want to know that I do so in a very polite, gentlemanly manner. That’s just who I am and, therefore, how I naturally behave as a result.
Wednesday, however, was not one of the nights where the machine was going to be easily relinquished. Instead of garden variety outsiders, we had two familiar faces from our recent past to contend with. One being a very recent addition to the mix and the other a sometimes notorious figure from my semi-recent past, as well as Shimmay’s.
His name is Jason.
Many people just don’t quite get Jason, which is a shame. To keep it short, there are two sides to this young man. There’s the Good Jason (the sober guy), and then, when things have piled up in his life and he’s overwhelmed, he hits the bottle with reckless abandon giving rise to Evil Jason.
And nobody likes to be around Evil Jason.
There are those with whom he argues with almost anything said in a viciously combative manner. For reasons I won’t expound upon here, the chemistry that particular evening brought out that very side of Evil Jason that night and Shimmay was the party towards which EJ’s combativeness was directed. Fortunately for me, Jason doesn’t play that way with me. I think our history goes back far enough and on a personal enough of a level that there’s some odd modicum of respect between the two of us.
But anyhow …
As if having a two-out-of-three sheets to the wind Evil Jason on our hands weren’t bad enough, his new best-buddy and GT opponent du jour was a 6’8″, square-jawed, behemoth of a young man we had dubbed — for obvious reasons — Yetti.
We met the Yetti — who would later be re-dubbed “lil B” — during the previous storm less than a week earlier. He works for the postal service yet lives in a town almost an hour from his office here in Leesburg. When major snow storms or ice storms are in the forecast, he will usually stay at a hotel just around the corner from Spanky’s and take advantage of not having to drive. Let’s just say that he is a very loud, albeit wonderfully pleasant, and insanely distractable human being when he dives headlong into the fire water.
After several beers he turns into a freak of a social butterfly and this, as you might imagine, is NOT conducive to a well paced game of Golden Tee. In fact, when playing with people who are orders of magnitude lessor of a player AND you’re having to repeatedly call them back to the table to take their turn, it can get more than mildly irritating.
After a brief exchange in private, Evil Jason decided he was going to go ahead and call it a night. Unfortunately, lil B was now in the mood to start ordering everybody rounds of shots … and was clearly still in the mood to play more GT. We humored the Yetti for one more game but I dare say I may have put a bit of a wrinkle in our budding potential friendship by dealing him OUT of the next game while he was off taking a bathroom break. When he returned I pointed out that it had taken almost an HOUR AND A HALF to play the previous round (thanks to his terrier-like propensity towards terminal distractability) and that the 3 of us really needed to pick up the pace if we were going to get home at a decent hour.
He took it like a goodly hearted dude … and, I’m sad to say, said “decent hour” never quite materialized.
But we played pretty well once the pace actually picked up! :o)
HOWEVER … the combination of Mama-Buck not having to worry about staying in a safe-to-drive condition, the shots purchased for us through the evening, and the wonders of having an empty tummy prior to epic moments of imbibing, saw her eventually reach a place where she pulled me aside, and in a dead serious tone exclaimed, “I THINK SOMEONE SLIPPED SOMETHING INTO ONE OF MY DRINKS!”
There is a very, very weird couple that has been visiting our fair little pub of late, and they really creep me out more than your run-of-the-mill oddball at a bar. As I got to thinking about it, though, there would be no plausible explanation for slipping my girl a Mickey as they had no angle to capitalize on something like that.
As we got to talking more, it became increasingly clear that her sense were being assaulted by a barrage of subatomic anomalies of some sort and was, therefore, clinically not sober. She started chugging a bunch of water and ordered some fries and well before the end of that particular round of Golden Tee, she was feeling kinda, somewhat, sorta grounded again.
I qualified so heavily because as Shimmay drove us home a little later she had him stop the vehicle on more than one occasion claiming to have just seen a snow frog hopping across the snow and ice covered streets.
In fact, she was so insistent, even the next morning, that I guess she must’ve seen a couple mice or some other small animals dashing across the road, disoriented by the wind and blowing snow.
. . .
As I mentioned in a recent blog post, I am the newest member of SharkBait Productions as well as the Recovery Channel®. Mikey Rez is currently working on a faux’cumentary of the Blizzards of 2010. Here’s an exclusive sneak preview of a rough draft or a proposed narrative for a voice over of the opening moments of a film that may, or may not, be about the recent Snowpocalypse, the target rich environment that our town has been for any would-be snow shark hunters, or have any relation to the resulting snowcano that was deposited in our fair town this past week …
(your thoughts on the following piece are encouraged and would be warmly welcomed)
. . .
North America has been gripped by a series of weather events of historic proportions. Unless you’ve been living in a cave or, perhaps, a self-induced coma, it is impossible for you not to be aware of this.
But then again, there’s surely at least one reason why you are watching …
The Recovery Channel
As our solar system spins and wobbles its way through its light years long orbit through the Milky Way, it crosses through regions of intense quantum instability. These thin, unstable ribbons of subatomic debris interfere with our atmosphere in a manner similar to the way in which photons from our own warming star, the Sun, interact with our ionosphere and atmosphere.
In essence giving us the quantum equivalent of an aurora borealis event.
Unlike the benign light shows generated by the polar auroras, these quantum disturbances affect not only the weather patterns of our planet, but the psyche of most life forms that inhabit it.
One of the most unstable manifestations is known as a QAGE (pronounced “cage”): a Quantum Alignment Glacial Event.
The surface of our planet is encased in an infinitely thin skin of subatomic energy. Under normal conditions this thin veil eludes observation and is not given even a single thought.
However, when Earth collides with one of these ribbons of subatomic debris — the tail-like remnants of a deceased black hole — pockets within this thin skin of energy react and sets into motion the spontaneous creation of anti-matter.
Should this process last for more than 7 picoseconds – a picosecond being a mere one trillionth, or one millionth of one millionth of a second – quantum volcanic eruptions tend to occur.
And thus the otherwise infertile ground gives birth to a QAGE.
Loudoun County Virginia was witness to one such event during the second blizzard of 2010. In its wake, a flaccid quantum volcano that some of the local recovery refugees dubbed …
We were there to film the historic ascent to the summit of this freakish quantum phenomenon that has less probability of occurring than a convention of Gay Jewish Muslims for Christ.
. . .
… stay tuned.
Seriously … Mikey Rez has already filmed the ascent, put together various interviews with locals, at least one sherpa and more. Tune in to The Recovery Channel and find out more …
Until then …
The terms “snowpocolypse” and “snowmageddon” have quickly become over-used, and for good reason … we’re still digging out of 3 FEET of this stuff and now they’re calling for upwards of another2 feet tonight. It’s hard to not talk or write about it, though, as this is quickly becoming an historic event. This weekend we toppled the all-time record for a single snowfall: the previous record was 28 inches set back in 1922.
We slammed that one with a full 34.5″ inches Saturday.
With today’s snowfall it seems that we’ll be surpassing the all-time single season total accumulation by a WIDE margin.
. . .
So, Mikey Rez and I got to talking a while back and in the course of our conversation the subject of making documentaries came up. At that point, Larry (the Snowshark), was a local phenomenon. The only documented sighting being the Shack (the “tiki bar” behind Spanky’s). As we bantered about the sorts of documentaries that could be done which might involve the lives and times of any of the regulars or barflies, we stumbled across the perfect name for our production company:
The Recovery Channel
Your world … the morning after.
Personally, I really liked that one! In fact, I dare say I was not alone.
I mention this because the first documentary is most likely going to involve the Snowpocolypse and the plague of snow beasts we’ve already had to survive.
For years now the mysterious migrations of the snow shark have confounded biologists. Where do they come from, where are they going, how did they get here and — most importantly — WHY?
Fortunately for the world of science, I am the resident ambassador to the secretive land of the sub-atomic beer vortices. Here … or should I say, “there” … lies a world in which the laws of quantum physics reign supreme … where the impossible is possible, where that which seems unseemly is instead not, but instead rather seemalbe … a world where it is actually possible to eff the ineffable …
It is from this place where the manifestation of localized gravity storms arises.
But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?
My point being: the purpose behind the migrations of the snow sharks is — thanks to the wonders of subatomic beer physics — painfully clear to see. Being the opportunistic predators that they are, they are simply following the migrations of ….
the snow seal:
Which is, as it turns out, the snow shark’s favorite dish!
In fact, it’s a staple part of their diet and they will die within months without it.
Unfortunately for those of us in Leesburg, there’s something else on the snow shark’s desired menu …
Yeah, that’s right … Larry is specifically after Mikey Rez. For reasons I am not at liberty to discuss, there’s something special about Mikey …
Ok, you locals can knock it off … we know his mother was rather fond of that way of introducing him to her friends as “spatial” …
But as we were …
There’s something special about Mikey’s anatomy that makes him a delicacy in the world of snow sharks. Without snow cow here to save us (he was arrested and our lawyer has instructed me to not discuss any of the details of his arrest nor the charges that may, or not, be filed in the coming hours) … we have only ourselves to rely upon.
We have to work as a team and make sure that the Rez is not caught by the snow shark.
What you may not know is that, without Mikey Rez, the very cosmic fiber that holds this town together will come unwound and all hell will break loose.
And this is of importance to you too, dear reader … should the demons be loosed, the cloud of doom and chaos that comes with it will spread via my fingertips — through this keyboard — and into your screen …
And ultimately into your mind …
Believe it or not, Mikey Rez is the Laughing Buddha of this generation.
He’s a Magic Negro …
… and the Pied Piper …
all wrapped into one.
As such, it is vital to our survival that we protect our Rez.
. . .
Snow sharks, however, are currently the least of our worries.
Right now, even at this very moment, I have Mikey on a 24 hour a day watch. What I cannot do, however, is protect the rest of the fair citizens of this strange and wondrous little town.
I say that because the magnitude of the coming storm makes it inevitable that snowanimals which have remained hidden for centuries are certain to make an appearance in the coming hours and days to come.
Be afraid, my friends …
Be very, very afraid.
I’m serious too, dudes! Have you ever encountered the stripped snow possum?
That’s one badass marsupial that you do NOT want to tangle with.
In much the same way that garlic can be used to ward off certain evil spirits, and a crucufix can be used to ward off vampires, there’s a very special talisman that can keep you safe from the ravages of the snow possum …
And for the very special, stupidly low price of four easy payments of $39.99, you too can own your very own ” ‘Snowpossum Be Gone’ Magic Talisman and Soap Dispenser!”
Not available in stores anywhere!
. . .
Of course, if you’re a real cheapshit, you’re always welcome to give THIS a try …
Good luck with that …
. . .
All of the stress surrounding the coming storm has been rough on my nerves. In short, they’re beyond frayed. So much so that I’m starting to have some pretty intense stress dreams and nightmares.
Last night, after a long — way too long — afternoon of imbibing and Golden Tee, I finally fell asleep, albeit a very light and tosssy-turny sort of a sleep.
And as I drifted off into the dark black haze of the unknowing, the darkness swiftly became increasingly brighter until the entire universe around me was sopping in a bright, intense white blaze.
Without knowing how (isn’t that dreams almost ALWAYS go????) I found myself seated in a large front-loader sort of a rig.
I was plowing a path across a frozen lake and as I drove I grinned a large, smug grin, knowing for certain that my efforts to blaze a path to the tent city of drunken ice fishermen would surely land me in their good graces.
And when it comes to ice fishermen, there’s only one thing in greater supply than ice:
As I pushed my way through the blizzard conditions and mounds of snow-drift, I heard a strange, albeit vaguely familiar, sound. It was a rumble, yet the distinct sound of something very, very large was crackling beneath me.
Before the thoughts could form themselves into words, all hell broke loose …
Suddenly, everything was silent except for the screams of abject terror within. I was instantly plunged into a suffocating sea of unimaginable cold and pain.
Lucky for me, I was wearing my magical thermal undies!
What, you may ask, are magic thermal undies …
and what makes them so magical?
Upon being completely immersed in waters colder than 55 degrees, you are instantly transported to the closest shoreline.
Granted, that was a rather nifty benefit, but as I sat there on the shore attempting to regain my composure I couldn’t help but notice the denziens of the ice fishing tent city, hundreds of yards even further away.
As I sighed in frustration, knowing that my precious, golden nectar was no longer within reach, a little snow gnome walked along my side and snickered an evil little, Leprechaun-like snicker.
I snorted angrily, “What the hell are you laughing at, you little snow turd?”
SnowGnome: “Why,” he cackled, “your naivete, of course!”
Confused, I blinked my eyes a few times, remaining confusedly silent.
The SnowGnome loosened his belt, reached around into the back of his pants — so deep that I feared he might be attempting to give one of his internal organs a massage — and a moment later pulled his hand back up with a pair binoculars.
He pushed them towards me, still grinning maniacally.
“And what the hell,” I asked, “am I supposed to do with that?”
SnowGnome: “Take them, you fool … take them and look across the icy waters, just beyond what should have been your watery grave!”
“You mean the ice fishing camp?”
He shook his head in irritation and barked, “Take and look, silly mortal FOOL!”
I was too cold to start a fight with this little imp of a demon so I took the looking glass and focused my eyes on the camp hundreds of yards away, in the midst if the frozen waters.
As I focused, I was surprised at what I saw …
Those weren’t drunken fishermen!
This could only be the lost clan of Up-Helly-Aa Vikings!
This particular Viking clan, or so legend has it, went into a frightful fit one journey when it was discovered by the crew that the captain had not packed enough alcoholic provisions.
Upon learning that their daily ration of warming swill had run out, a mutiny ensued.
The crew set their longboat afire and sank to the frozen depths with her.
I looked again, convinced that what I had just seen could not be.
Focusing more towards the blazing fire which seemed to be at the center of the camp, I continued to chase away the thoughts of shock and disbelief.
I turned my attention to the SnowGnome and asked in a whisper, “I thought the Ice Vikings went down with their ship?”
With a cackle he answered, “They did, they did!!! But Loki, their patron demi-god of alcoholic mishaps, snatched their souls and have kept them hidden from Valhalla ever since.”
He paused, grinning in that but wait, there’s more” sort of way.
“Every once in a while Loki will stir the skies with his finger and cause monstrous snow events like the blizzard plaguing your people now. It is during these times that the Ice Vikings are released from their icy lair to wreak havoc amongst the pansy-ass citizens of your modern world.”
I stared at him in silence, confused.
“Even your own god,” he snarled, “is sorely disappointed with the effeminate ways of your people.”
As I tried to make sense of his slurred speech and strange words, I was suddenly overcome by a blinding white-out of snow and wind.
The wind suddenly stopped and I was enveloped in complete and utter silence.
All I could hear was my own breath and, it almost seemed, the beating of my own heart.
Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my left foot.
I snapped my attention from that which can almost be considered not worthy of consideration and looked down at my leg …
To my shock and horror, I saw the most terrifying snowanimal ever known …
Just as I noticed the first hint of blood, the Croc evidently sensed the tension in my muscles …
As he rolled his eyes back into his head: Oh holy dear mother of Bob, I silently cried out to myself, this bastard’s going into a death roll,
I’m a goner!
At just that moment — from out of nowhere — a man jumped onto the back of the Snow-Croc, wedging his hands between the tip of the jaw and its snout, and he — in an instant — wrestled the beast away from my barely torn flesh.
“CRIKEY, MATE! That was a CLOSE one!”
My eyes blinked in complete and utter confusion once again. The only thing that amazed me more than the fact that I was sitting face to face with Steve Irwin was the fact that the edge of the lake had melted slightly and the Snow-Croc went from being a stealthy white beast to — somehow — about five shades of green.
I shook my head and the only words that came to mind instantly blurted out of my mouth, “How’d he turn so green so quickly?”
“Oh,” Stevo laughed, “this’ns a Sheila ya see?”
I shrugged my shoulders, still perfectly confused.
“Ya see,” he grinned maniacally, “if ya stick yer thumb up the bum of a female snow croc, she’ll turn completely docile right away and — for reasons nobody rightly understands — she’ll turn a silly shade of green too.”
I blinked a few more times.
Steve blurted out again, “In’t that Uh’MAZIN?!?!?
“I mean, look at her …
“Whe’s a real beaut, is’nt she?
“I love these animals …”
I finally spoke up, “You have your thumb inside of her asshole?”
“Yeah,” he smiled innocently, “she really enjoys it!”
I blinked again … confused.
Steve broke the silence: “Wanna have a go at it?”
. . .
. . . to be continued …
Did you watch the Super Bowl yesterday? OMB, there was that little piece on the Budweiser horse and the bull, following them from childhood on up … ?
DUDE … that was SNOW COW!
But you probably knew that already …
. . .
As *I* expected, it was a damn fine game. As much as I nodded in deference to those who said they believed it was going to be a Colts blow-out, there is no denying the fact that the Saints DO have a strong defense, and when their offense is in “explosive mode” … well, look out!
And as it turns out, it was a clutch play by the defense that make it a lights out event for Mr. Peyton and his MORE than respectable Indianapolis Colts.
Kudos on a game well played, gentleMEN!
Did you catch the theme of the ads from last night?
As you know, the Super Bowl is more about the advertisements than it is the game any more.
But to try and stay on point …
It was clear, to me at least, the a very blunt message was being sent to the American man as a collective whole:
Men … quit being such a bunch of pussies!
That’s right, America … we need to take our masculinity back. For several decades we’ve suffered the slings and arrows of political correctness and hysteric, overly “liberated” female extremists who have been downright psychopathic in their efforts to strip our society of its masculinity.
Give me a break, dude … a fag is a fag, and I’m not talking about Brit slang for cigarette.
If it tries to look like a woman and act like a woman, yet it has a penis … it’s queer, plain as that.
Hetero men these days are expected to grow up to either become emasculated pet husbands or timid little bachelors who are to be quiet and take whatever is handed to them without question.
I’m sorry, but that’s just not right.
Tell ME that this commercial doesn’t say it all …
Men, put your pants back on, okay? I don’t know about you, but I am NOT settling for some stupid car (granted, that actually is a really fun car … one of my best friends owns one and I’m more than a little impressed!)
BUT ANYHOW …
Quite frankly, we cow-tow to too much.
Not saying that any of the things that guy mentioned are horrible … but only in the appropriate setting rather than as a general rule.
Granted, some things must remain the way it has always been.
Let’s say your wife or girlfriend asks you, “Does this make me look fat?”
I don’t care if it makes she look like the result of a genetically engineered cross between a jellyfish and a human, you NEVER answer that one in the affirmative.
Now that I have every overly liberated woman on the planet pissed off, let’s dive out of harms way and enjoy a rittle ROR!
Unquestionably one of my favorite commercials last night!
Come on, you know that that was:
Alright, I’ve still got 3 feet of snow to deal with … and now they’re calling for another foot or more starting tomorrow.
Seriously, this IS the Snowpocolypse!
Until next time …
PEACE OFF, FAUX CURSE!
Oh … my … freaking … BOB!
So much for the brilliant idea of driving across town to bring one of my servers online. I’ll try that trip to the office some other time; the roads are downright treacherous!
Treacherous, I say!
So, we’re quickly approaching “storm of the century” status. The measurements I took a couple hours ago averaged roughly 27 inches and I dare say we’ve seen no less than another 2 inches ever since. And they’re calling for up to another foot now that the storm has stalled over the D.C. area!
. . .
My animals are not the smartest that ever lived, they proved as much today!
Sparky, my Jack Russell, decided she was going to follow me when I attempted to drive across town earlier. I had no idea until I got home 20 minutes or so later. She was a couple blocks from the house following in the tracks left by my truck. To her it must have felt like traversing a major glacial crevace!
All the same, it was funny as all get-out seeing her try to run away from the truck as I came lumbering back up the hill through the neighborhood.
Mr. Floyd, our bigass white tomcat thought he’d get a bit adventurous too. I let him and Sparky out at the same time this morning and sort of forgot about them while I extricating the truck from its snowy grave.
Floyd, as is his habit, started his first outing of the day by dashing across the porch and jumping onto the fence, using the guard rail on the porch as a halfway point to propel himself off of.
He then made the perfectly less than advisable decision to jump off his narrow 6 foot tall perch onto what he thought was terra firma.
Nothing could be further from the truth!
He eventually made his way to the door on the back deck about an hour later! LOL
Bear in mind, we’re talking over two feet of snow and significantly deeper drifts!
Both of those buggers were lucky to have lived. With a Nor’easter of biblical proportions like the one we’re buried in now comes the inevitable visitations of the snow sharks …
But this isn’t just any snow storm …
As I made my up the hill here in the neighborhood I saw a small white figure out of the corner of my eye. In total Steve Irwin style I jumped out of the truck and started digging into the snow bank. Thank god I had my camera!
The last time I saw a snow turtle was in 1979 … and I was as high as giraffe pussy that night.
Same night I was introduced to the snow frog.
It’s probably no coincidence that this plague of snow frogs we’re experiencing comes on the heels of an evening whereupon I drank entirely too much beer and ate far too much chili.
Here’s just the ones that I pulled off the windshield of my truck this morning:
This storm is so intense that we’ve seen the return of the greater Loudoun glacier! So, maybe that whole thing I had about global warming a few weeks ago was just an inconvenient joke.
Some of the rarer species of snow animals only come out when the accumulation totals are 20 inches and more. Today we are witnessing some species that were previous thought extinct.
Shortly before sunrise I was assaulted and later violated by the greater Loudoun mountain snowrilla …
Believe it or not, the Snow Joey is actually the marsupial equivalent of the hyena. While I was being humiliated and emotionally scared for life by the snowrilla, a pair of snow Joeys stood guard and just cackled like the foul beasts they are …
And the biggest risk of all is the single deadliest animal in the snow kingdom.
Don’t venture out into this stuff today if you don’t have to. When this snow gets this deep, the risk of attack becomes almost inevitable.
Yes, sports fans … the snow snake.
What is amazing about the snow snake is that it is the deadliest snake on Earth. What makes that amazing is the fact that they have no fangs, no venom, and they do not constrict their prey like the python and constrictor species.
Yet they are the deadliest snake on Earth …
Typically, snow snakes dine on the pygmy snow monkey …
If you’ve never tried them before, you must! They taste great, not too filling, and goes perfect with cheap beer and peanuts! I prefer them sushimi style, but they fry up really well too.
. . .
With light snow falls of several inches or less, snow snakes pose little to no threat. As the depth increases so too does the risk of attack.…
Hey cool, Jay Bizzle and Eh’mi just showed up. Big balls those two, made it all the way up the hill without an attack. Must’ve been the smell of bacon that lead them up the hill.
I dare say Spanky’s is about the only place in the entire county that’s open today and it sounds like we’re following Jay Bizzle and his bride out for round two.
Well, folks … I guess I best take a quick shower and strap on the snow boots.
. . .
You’re probably wondering how it is that the snow snake can be the deadliest snake on Earth if it can’t bite and doesn’t constrict, huh?
It crawls up your ass and freezes you to death.
True story, but that’ll have to wait for some other blog some other time.
Stay warm, sports fans!
And don’t go out on the roads unless you HAVE to.
Or if you’re headed out to Spanky’s. We’ll check in again later!
Well, sports fans … we’re at the halfway point of the storm and the total snow fall is already well over 2 feet! This is nucking futs, I tell ya … downright futher nucking MUTTS! In case you haven’t heard, the mid Atlantic region is getting slammed by a Nor’easter of historic proportions; literally. According to the weather man on channel 4, we still have some pretty heavy bands of snow that we need to brace ourselves for.
It was something else listening to the events of last night unfold. There were people there who worked for various state agencies. One was a guy from Winchester who decided to stay at a local hotel. His explanation being that our town was preferable to is own if he was going to have to be snowed-in for the weekend. Hard to argue that logic …
The Spousal Unit, after one of her MANY telephone calls that interrupted our game of Golden Tee, came up to me and said, “Omigawd, honey!!!!”
She went on to explain that a guy from some government agency came to the fire house that he volunteers at and said to put everyone on alert because it looks like the storm is going to stall and accumulations could get as high as 64 inches.
I am crapping you negative!!!!
Well, I signed on to one of my workstations at the office this morning only to discover that we lost power over night. So, rather than sitting here snagging photos from the week and blogging, I’m now headed out to clear the snow off the truck and head to work to fix the problem.
Oh, and I want to know who threw the cocaine into the snow monkey enclosure!!! They’ve escaped and all hell has broken loose.
I’ll be back to report on the Snowpocolypse here shortly.
Until then, always remember …
Wow, we have a lot of territory to cover and very little time to cover it.
Be forewarned, though …
It appears that some of us are a little too retarded to safely share computers with their spousal units. Yes, one of our very own is guilty of impersonating a Buck’s World official.
The Accused: Eh — the Dutchess of TaTa’s — Mizzle (loving and devoted wife of the ever lovable Jay Bizzle)
In Friday’s afternooon posting — the infamous, “welcome to the outskirts of interwebs drama” post — a comment in which endearing references to a certain male cetacean reproductive organ were made, and credited to Jay Bizzle.
At first, I — your moderately humble host — was almost taken a’back, but then I could not help but attribute said homoerotic references to Mister Bizzle’s warped sense of humor.
He attributes such to the voices … but we’ll have to come back to that subject another day.
All the same … later Saturday afternoon I happened upon Missiz Bizzle, who laughingly, yet discretely, asked if I enjoyed her reference to the above referenced cetacean phallus.
I blinked my eyes in confusion for a moment before it occurred to me …
Jay Bizzle is not coming out of the water closet quite yet!
Thank god we dodged that bullet.
. . .
I think it is important that we take a few moments to step back and review the decorum and certain other points of order that every citizen of the wonderful world of Buck should always be aware.
Before we begin, though, perhaps it would do us all well to be reminded of the consequences of our actions. We must needs be mindful that infractions against the laws of this cyber-land can not, and will not, be tolerated!
Make certain of this, though … I, your loving and benevolent leader, would never execute punishment on ANY of the goodly people of this wonderful world.
Those who cross the line must face …
[insert cheesy, stereotypical music wherein a villain is first introduced onto the screen]
It’s really not appropriate to reveal the identities of every member of the Council of Doom at this time. There may be — gasp — outsiders amongst us!
However … there are a few seated lifetime judges on the council, and perhaps a brief introduction might bring a little more mindfulness to some of our citizens and, let us hope, possibly wipe those smirks off their faces!
Ladies and gentlemen, our senior council member needs no introduction …
Greetings, citizens! I’m Space Ghost!
Hey, stop it right there Space Ghost, I already said you needed no introduction.
Yeah, I know, but …
I’m SPACE GHOST!
We know this, Space Ghost. Please sit back down and allow me to finish this stupid blog up before I have to head out for the day.
man . . .
Okay, while Space Ghost is the senior council member, he is not the judge nor is he the one who runs the show when court is in order.
The Chief Justice and Supreme Arbitrator is the one and only … but, for legal reasons, we have to refrain from using his name … the ineffable Judge K!
It’s kinda early in the morning for a judge to be having a pint of beer, isn’t it?
Harden the f*@# up, mate …
[Space Ghost starts waving his hands wildly]
Yeah, Space Ghost, what’s up?
If I can’t introduce myself, would you at least allow me to introduce the rest of my staff?
Sure, Space Ghost, why not?
Ladies and gents, Moltar, for reasons I am legally obligated to not discuss, is not with us here this evening. However, I’d like to ...
. . .
With all the things we have on our plate this morning, we really don’t have time to fully get ourselves acquainted with the Council of Doom.
Suffice it to say, that is a courtroom you do NOT want to be in!
. . .
Let’s see, what else do we have in the in-box this morning?
Dude, what are you doing back here?
I have something for you …
Space Ghost, I’m serious … I really do not have time for this crap this morning!
DUDE! Put that thing back where you found it!
Because it’s not yours to take!
Really? Then whose is it?
We can’t talk about it …
Because we can’t …
SHUT UP, BRAK!!!!!!
. . .
Moving along …
Jay Bizzle pulled me aside from an otherwise less-than-stellar round of Golden Tee this weekend to announce that he has found a potential beer belly gold medalist …
Yeah, that dude has that TATTOO’d onto his belly!!!!
. . .
Have you seen one of these before?
That’s a Snow Frog.
You may have heard of them … maybe not.
You’ve DEFINITELY heard them over the years, though … that much is for sure.
I’ll never forget the first time I’d had it pointed out to me!
This must’ve been 1978, maybe 1979 … we lived at Quantico and we were in the midst of getting SLAMMED by a massive snow storm!
The weatherman had only been calling for “a dusting” earlier that evening …
We got several FEET!
Anyhow … after an evening of Christmas caroling and imbibing on massive quantities of heated, spiced wine, we finally made our way back to our quarters on the other side of the base. My parents, my brother and I slowly worked our way from the driveway to the front door, already more than knee deep in snow! I was immediately behind my dad.
As he fumbled through his pocket for the house key, a distinct, rumbling noise broke the perfect, angelic silence that normally accompanies snow fall.
“Ah, dad … you FARTED!!!!!!!”
He turned his head over his shoulder towards me, shaking his head gently in the non-affirmative, and with a hint of a drawl, and maybe even a slight hint of a slur, he intimated, “Noooo, son … that was a fucking SNOW FROG!”
I … came … un GLUED!
Anyhow … this was supposed to be a blog about other people, not me.
OH wait, I almost forget …
It’s all about Buck! B-)
. . .
Well, sports fans … I had a LOT of other stuff I wanted to talk about this morning, but I dare say I hear mama Buck stirring about upstairs.
That can only mean one thing:
It’s time for breakfast. That oughta be fun; we’ve not gone out for breakfast together in quite some time.
So, while I’m taking a shower and you’re contemplating … whatever it is that occupies the mind of some poor fool that would have the time, no less the inclination, to actually read through an entire episode of this projectile verbiage …
Take another few minutes to enjoy the following little add-on for your laptop that is CERTAIN to make you “The Man” with all the hot chicas at the office!
(or get ya written up on sexual harassment charges!)
. . .
Okay, I REALLY have to get going!
Until next time …
PEACE OFF, FAUX CURSE!
I awoke this morning in a quiet and calm mood. Didn’t stay out too late … didn’t have too many beers. I gave my mind a few minutes to discover if there might be any remote quadrant of the body proper which was in a state of relative discomfort. None was to be found.
One of the corners of the auto-pilot wiring of my psyche – one that tends to be, unlike the rest of me, a morning person – speaks up, “Neato!”
My dog, Sparky, had been attempting to sleep at my feet last night. Given the amount of tossing and turning that one tends to experience when sleeping on a not-so-built-for-sleep sofa, she didn’t get much of it.
Jack Russell terriers, if you haven’t noticed, tend to be a bit on the high strung side.
And yeah, I said “sofa” …
Told ya, the bacon thing really isn’t going over very well here at la casa del Buck.
(pics here are almost always of the “click to enlarge” variety)
Anyhow … I let Sparky out to begin her elaborate morning routine of divining the perfect points of evacuation. And with this one, it’s every bit as formulaic as it can possibly get.
Much like the directions on the back of a shampoo bottle except in place of “wash” one places a single word that somehow embodies the intense, almost frenetic, manner in which she goes about intently scrutinizing randomly disjointed spots of grass in search of that Point of Perfection.
Nothing less will do, unless it’s a miserable, rainy day.
Otherwise, she invests a level of energy into this search for that point of perfection that one might expect from a knight in search of uncovering a matter of divine providence!
To wit, she deposits, whether by way of micturation or defecation matters not. And yes, the former, in every case, preceding the latter.
And herein we replace the word “rinse.”
Still with me here?
Yeah, it’s Search, Deposit, Repeat.
But anyhow … I’m getting side-tracked here …
The air was calm and the sky tinted with a colorful hint of a glow from a sunrise surely taking place on the other side of the dark, looming grayness. It clearly felt like snow was soon to come.
I quietly stretched my arms, taking in a deep breath of the crisp, fresh air. As I shook my head in bemusement at Sparky’s frenetic search for said Point of Perfection, a slight breeze picked up. I wrapped my arms around my shoulders and rocked quickly on my bare feet, attempting to only have smaller parts of the foot in contact with the deck — which hadn’t seen temperatures above freezing in days — at any one given moment.
As I turned my back to the wind I looked down and smiled as I watched the first hints of snow dancing past my feet. There is something so soothing and serene about the snow. It brings some strange sense of purity and innocence with it.
But, like much in life, appearances are often little more than a mirage.
The snow, you see, brings a certain ‘something’ out of the animal within us all. Maybe it’s because the snow covers everything, blurring all that we are otherwise accustomed to seeing, yet rarely even noticing, in our day to day lives, and in the sudden absence of that which is familiar there is a resulting sense of panic and potential peril. In the animal world this may happen because the food that birds regularly forage for is usually in plain sight.
Suddenly, everything has changed in an instant and nothing is as it just quite recently was.
How is a bird to know whether or not there may still be anything resembling food beneath this mysterious white veil???
Yes … fear of the unknown and hunger can bring out something downright fiendish in virtually any animal.
And when that fear comes as a result of snow fall, that can only mean one thing …
Well, two … if you really think about it.
Or more …
But in the context of this story, at least at this point within whatever portion of said story is about to unfolded before you, it can only mean one thing!
And you remember what happened the last time we had a deep snow and the ensuing schools of snow sharks that came with it, right?
Yeah, we almost lost Mikey Rez!
And we don’t want that!
Man, I really need to arrange something where you guys can listen to what I’m listening to while I write this! Oh man, that would so thoroughly change things!
But anyhow …
Perhaps you know how drivers are here in the mid-Atlantic region of the U.S. (and it grows increasingly rude and random the further north one drives. Well, to a point) They can be biggest collection of untrained, ignorant, self-centered, feckless morons absolutely devoid of any level of what is known as situational awareness … and with cell phones shoved unhumanly deep inside their ear holes!!!! These people can hardly, if at all, accomplish a feat as simple as parallel parking; well, at least not without undue anxiety and freakishly jerkish miscues that would make Michael J. Fox conducting a symphony look absolutely normal.
But I digress … my point is, “Virginia” drivers really are a difficult breed. I attribute most of that to the transient nature of the D.C. area, but that’s another subject for another blog some other day.
Today we have far more pressing matters to contend with.
Who will save us from the snow shark?
A mere few weeks ago we were beyond safe as we were blessed by a visit from one of the rarest, most severely endangered species of mammal on this planet: the Arctic shaven snow pig!
And … there’s a little something your old uncle Buck here has been keeping from you.
Olga, Leesburg’s own patron swine, flew, non-stop, from the mountains outside of Leesburg all the way to Haiti … did I mention this was NON STOP??? … to volunteer after the tragic earthquake.
Yeah … it doesn’t take a very active imagination to come to grips with what direction that decision ultimately took …
Without our token Arctic shaven snow pig, where then can we turn for salvation from the certain return of the snow sharks?!?!?!
Of course, the answer is simple!
Remember my reference to the local traffic earlier? Well, just the mere mention of precipitation brings out most Neanderthalically idiotic driving tendencies imaginable from these people.
Snow Cow, due to the uncertainty of this weekend’s weather, instead chose to not cut short his stay at some weird hedonistic resort somewhere in the Caribbean …
Come on … are you trying to tell me – with a straight face – that you’d rather deal with gridlock traffic and worse?!?!?!
In this hypothetical question, you’re trying to walk a mile on Snow Cow’s shoe’s, not the ladies’.
You did understand that, right?
All of this to say that I dare say that I very well may not be getting around to finishing my official blog disclaimer today. I’ve yet to check in with work, no less shower, shave, or brush my teeth.
I did, however, accomplish the other earlier; quite obviously … do you think this much chattery and creativity is possible with all of that blockage?
Of COURSE NOT!
All of this to say that you want to keep your eyes open for this man …
Well, D’UHHH … he’s our savior from the snow shark!
Oh, you mean why should we keep our eyes open for him?
Because we want to make sure he is able to approach a snow shark without being the distractions of being engaged in conversation. So, in an effort to make certain he remains undistracted we have to ensure that he basically goes unnoticed … and we do that by keeping an eye out for him and then pretending that we never actually saw him … but yet we can, with a clean conscience, comfort our fellow Spankians with the knowledge that He is in our midst … somewhere.
But make sure to remind anybody that you tell that you saw Him to remember to strictly adhere to the rule that they must keep their eyes open and remember to forget what they saw.
Because the first rule of Snow Cow is that you never talk about Snow Cow.
And we’re not … I’m just blogging … that’s different.
Speaking of which, I really should be going now.
Until next time, remember …
And now …
A Word From Our Sponsor(s) …
Today’s hearty servings of tossed brain droppings and assorted mental excrement would not have been possible without our good friend Mikey Rez and the goodlier people still at …
Whoa! So, yesterday I post that goofy blog. I mean, I’d been looking for one of those moments when I could squeeze in a little something over-the-top and actually have an excuse to have gotten away with it. Let’s face it, some things are best just left alone.
But we can’t can have that …
All the same, I waltz into the pub anxious to play some Friday afternoon Golden Tee and I’m all like a pro football player with a few of my friends about what I was convinced was a marginal home run of a blog …
I didn’t want to risk using an image of an actual professional football player out of fear that the owning corporation might jump on the opportunity to sue me for using a copyrighted image of the “#FL” … I mean, Bob forbid we actually believe that anybody apart from that great and all-knowing body could have otherwise come up with something like the fleur de lis or the phrase “Who Dat?” ???
Seriously … what is this world coming to?
But anyhow … I am starting to believe that Jay (of the clan Bizzle) and the other goodly town folk who have suggested I find and/or create a warning sign of some sort might have a point.
Seems yesterday’s mental equivalent of pinching the proverbial loaf didn’t go over perfectly well.
DISCLAIMER! The following blog and commentary is not about you! Now, yes … a couple of the things that I mention are about “NOPE!!! ” … and in two places I do take a playful stab at “NotaChance” … actually, make that three times.
But everybody else … this is NOT about you!!!!
Repeat after me:
. . .
. . .
. . .
I did advertise it as, “not for the faint of heart” for the Facebook crowd … did I not?
Sports fans, work with me here for a moment …
This blog is all about the satire
(granted, poorly executed)
a feckless exercise in sarcasm …
quasi-wit and shamelessly self promoting banter …
(actually, I think feckless was probably enough all by itself)
. . .
Ya know what? This whole thing of even mentioning why I feel the need to write a disclaimer is going to get inherently complicated. Once again, this not about you …
it’s all about Buck!
(well, yeah, and there are more than a couple references to “NoWayOk?“)
You see, sarcasm and wit go hand in hand.
Of course, there are th0se who have opined that wit is nothing more than educated insolence. I believe that one started with Aristotle, but who knows, he may have clept that one too?
And I know I shouldn’t be patting myself on the shoulder so enthusiastically either. I’m not a master of wit nor sarcasm as much as I am a predatory opportunist.
Oh man, that’s really a bad choice of words.
I am not a predator!
I used to be a Predator, with a capital ‘P’ … and I must say that for all of our faults as a paintball team, the Predators DID have some major league fun! I do look forward to some day hooking back up with J.C., Muzzi or any of those guys from back in the day!
In our own minds, we were pimps, we were ninjas … we were special Olympians … Yeah, baby … we were
But anyhow …
I’m an opportunist, plain and simple. Just ask anybody that spends too much time around me: Jay Bizzle, Possum, Billy, even the She Beast can tell you: my only gift is in overstating the painfully obvious in the most intellectually obscure, almost intelligent sounding, multi-syllabic manner possible.
In fact, my own bride can be frequently heard uttering the words: “Thank you, Captain Obvious!”
J’yup … that’s me!
And it’s high time we finally get back to our regularly scheduled disclaimer …
Where were we anyhow?
Ah, yes … sarcasm.
Yeah, did you read about this? There is a firm here in states who, after centuries of men and women of wit confounding the comparatively simple-minded, have — in true “Property of the NFL” fashion — come up with a symbol and have obtained a registered trademark for it.
Yeah, ther’s now a “Sarc-Mark” (r) …
Are you believing this?
Sadly, such has been proposed numerous times over the years … anything from upside question marks and exclamation points and more. I find it disturbing that we even have to consider as much, but hey … that’s the world we live it, right?
I mean, do we really need someone to point out that something like the following is purely an exercise in sarcasm?
Now that I think about it, maybe in this case it does …
Or how about this …
Do we really have to couch something like that with a sarcasm disclaimer?
But I digress …
So, in closing, all I want to say is this …
None of this is about YOU …
Come on, sports fans …
Say it with me:
We’ll have to save the disclaimer thing for another time! B-)
Howdy, sports fans …
Before we dive into the weekend inanity, there’s something that’s been burning a few of my brain cells today …
It’s time “we” had a little talk. Although, I should warn you up front that this conversation is NOT directed at every reader, it’s just directed at “you.”
Allow me to clarify what, or — more to the point — “who” I mean when I say “you” …
For a good number of years now I have enjoyed an extraordinary level of anonymity here on the internet.
And then, here recently, I started inviting others from the so-called real world.
No, not that patently RETARDED train-wreck of a television show … oh holy dear mother of Bob … that show has got to be one of the most worthless moments of mental excrement ever pushed forth from the script writers of Hollywood. I mean I’ve been inviting friends with whom I spend time with here in the real world. Quite frankly, I’d rather do this than watch some of this bull shit marketed to our children as entertainment:
Back to our story, though …
At first I invited my sons … they’re all exceptional writers AND they share certain aspects of my sense of humor. It made sense to finally include them. Truth be known, it was my middle son hunting me down and finding my old MySpace page which ultimately caused me to re-think this complete and utter anonymity thing.
And then I extended the invitation to the goodly people at our local Irish pub of a watering hole: Spanky’s Shenanigan’s.
And as people at the pub started talking about these bloggy things, the Spousal Unit eventually paid us a visit. Even though she rarely seems more than mildly amused, she drops in from time to time all the same.
In fact, I dare say it won’t be long before she hears about today’s post and makes it here.
As a rule, I definitely do not mind having you “real” people here being a part of this big ol, bad ol cartoon … in fact, it’s never once posed a single problem!
… until last night.
As some of you know, I openly welcome constructive criticism and, more often than naught, I’m even inclined to embrace such things. That might be a shock to some of you, but I dare say the only people surprised are most likely those who do not possess the capacity for such honest and direct interactions.
But anyhow …
Back to “constructive criticism.”
Can I tell you a little story before we continue?
Of course I can … it’s my blog! :o)
I once met someone who, rather bluntly, cut me off mid-sentence while I was talking about my own children. That person’s words were as cold as they were sharp: “You need to know that I don’t do constructive criticism.”
I’ve since learned that people really friggen’ MEAN IT when they’re bold enough to be that blunt. Do not make the mistake of thinking that they’re joking or otherwise just shrug it off. You need to know that potentially anything you say can be twisted, distorted, and even wrongly be taken as a personal attack …
And it WILL come back to kick you in the ass …
… Fast …
… and Continuously.
. . .
But anyhow …
While constructive criticism is all well and good, it needs to be understood that it is not something which extends to the level of questioning, no less attempting to control, the content I choose to place on this website.
Much like a bar or a pool hall, this is NOT a day care center. Not only am I sometimes likely to toss the occasional expletive to and fro, I’m also likely to post pics that won’t sit well with high-strung, easily offended, politically correct co-workers and/or bosses.
If you’re reading these blogs at work or with your parents looking over your shoulder, please know that I consider such a “personal problem.”
You may have already guessed where I’m going with this, haven’t you?
Yeah … I’m not a big fan of being told what I should, or more to the point: should NOT post on MY blog.
You may as well tell me something like:
Actually, that would be an awesome suggestion, but I digress …
It wasn’t so much this particular reader, whom I sincerely do consider a friend, that was the problem … it was her ability to accidentally incite supportive chatter from my lovely bride that ultimately chapped my backside!
In the whirlwind of conversation about which images were deemed offensive or inappropriate, said Spousal Unit works herself into what I wanted to assume was a playful frenzy.
All the same, when I am enjoying my Golden Tee machine, the last thing I want is mama lion scowling me into a corner …
Ladies, such things are guaranteed to not go well … especially when done when you husband in the presence of other men! You may as well hold up a little burlap sack and dangle it for everyone to see while you’re snickering, “Hey, honey … guess what? I got two dollars on eBay for your testicles! May as well say good-bye, I’m putting them in the mail tomorrow!”
. . .
Just so we’re clear …
I LOVE getting ideas and suggestions from you guys!
I LOVE IT!!!!
Send me all the freaking pics and jokes and ideas that your little brain can conjure!
Do not ask me to avoid certain subject material …
And definitely … don’t ever, EVER tell me to NOT post something.
Do it again and it’ll get worse than this:
and if you think I’m kidding, here’s just a little glimmer of what’ll come next! (seriously: you really shouldn’t click on the next one)
HEY! I warned you!
That’s right, sports fans … it’s time once again to have your horizons expanded, despite the fact that you are probably unaware that your horizons were even in need of expansion. But that’s why you keep me around, isn’t it?
How else would you have learned about things like mental laxatives or banal lube?
* To give credit where credit is due, it was my old blogging friend Agent Neptune who turned me on to the inconvenient realities of cranial constipation and the whole concept of mental laxatives. His patent-pending Lax-a-Thot is genuinely inspired.
But anyhow …
Of Mice, of Men and of Pornographic Pachyderms …
I’ve been getting quite a bit of “Dude, why???” from the Spanky’s crew.
Seems the whole elephant butt thing was met with quite a few mixed emotions.
Some were disgusted. As you can plainly see, such was also the case with the snow man there to the left.
If you think it’s a bad thing to see, just imagine being on the receiving end of something like that …
and not knowing it’s coming!
Yeah, talk about “highly unwelcome!”
Although, there is at least one or two people from my favorite little pub who’d probably enjoy something like that.
Odder still is the the number of people who actually questioned if that was a real photo, or if it was something that someone manipulated with some sort of graphics software.
Well, I firmly believe that we are held accountable by God according to the gifts we’ve been given. As the smartest (and, dare I say: most humble) man in town, it is therefore my responsibility to enlighten those whose minds have not been endowed with the manifest wisdom mine own has.
Case in point: pachyderm love is infinitely more complex than Llama love. Llama’s pretty much just spit … that’s about it. Seriously, what the fixation is that some have with llama love absolutely escapes me.
Apart from having more wool, and wool of a better quality than most sheep …
But let’s try and stay focused for a change, shall we?
Yeah, if you’re so inclined, you can click to view the full sized image.
If nothing else, though, you can at least thank me for not assaulting your eye holes with the larger, more explicit version of that pic.
Am I wrong?
For my doubting Thomas’ and Tomasina’s …
Yeah, much like that shocking ad campaign that asks, “Centipedes in my vagina? It’s more likely than you think!”
… if you’ve never seen it, you can click on the link above labeled, “Vowel Movements” … click and enjoy …
… go ahead, go check it out … I’ll wait for you!
* * *
What’d you think of the video?
That’n made me laugh out loud.
Anyhow … where were we?
Ah, yes … elephant and elephant strangeness!
I was relieved to discover that the fixation isn’t 100% trunk to butt action …
Okay, so maybe it’s really not all that much easier on the eyes …
But here’s the thing … and, believe it or not, I actually do have somewhat of a point here … it’s not just the elephants that are into these sorts of things.
Shockingly enough, mankind — after countless eons of observing this sort of lurid behavior — has decided it wants in on some of the action too!
Uh, yeah … that’s just nasty!
Nastier still is the fact that someone thought this whole experience would be good for a friggen children too!!!
I know … I”m sorry …
. . .
Did that help any?
Here, maybe this will help make it all better …
Ya know, it COULD be worse …
I wonder what sort of grade he got for THAT science project! Hahahahahaha!
Anyhow … I did promise to change the subject, did I not?
Moving along …
Did that clear your mental palate?
Mama-Buck is ready to do all that crappy responsibility stuff. Grocery store, pay bills, blah blah blah.
I just want drink a few beers and enjoy the games!
In parting …
Alright, I better get going!
* * *
Yeah, it’s amazing what a little make-up and a professional photographer can do, huh?
Something that goes way back for me is the wonderful — albeit typically unwanted — gift of photograph hijacking. I am proud to say that this tradition has been passed along to, and warmly embraced by, all three of my sons! I mean, who DOESN’T enjoy the occasional photograph hijack?
There are various forms of hijacking, each of which having their own pluses and minuses. My personal favorite is the lost or unattended camera. Oh, the fun one can have when a stranger’s camera is found unattended.
And I have to say, the magic really is best saved for times when it definitely is a perfect stranger’s camera! My sons share my fondness of such opportunities and are not like to let those moments go wasted. For whatever it’s worth, we always make sure that the camera is either placed right back where it was found or, when circumstances warrant, taken to the appropriate Lost & Found office. Of course, not without taking a few choice pictures for the camera’s owner to later discover and attempt to decipher!
Better still are the precious moments that families or couples attempt to capture something special and just being in the background at just the right moment! We’ve all had moments where we were at least tempted to make a funny face. My wife gets a bit fussy when I capitalize on those opportunities, and I’ve yet to get her see the light that such things, in their own strange way, bring lifetimes of smiles to perfect strangers.
I mean, show me something that holds as much magic as being able to bring a smile or chuckle to a perfect strangers face, without even being there!
Better still are the moments where the wholly unplanned and totally unexpected appears.
Here, then, is a sampling of some of my favorite “Kodak” moments of the latter sort!
(click on each image to enlarge)
How luck can you get catching a moment like THAT on film??? LOL
and since we’re on the subject of venison …
Well, sports fans, I have lots to do and precious little time to get it all done.
OH WAIT …
In response to yesterday’s post about Olympic beer belly judging, a few people asked me for an example of what a “perfect” beer belly looks like …
Remember, there are 3 criteria …
and, most importantly …
. . .
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls … beer drinkers of all ages … allow me to present to you, the current poster child of the perfect Olympiad beer belly:
Until next time …
PEACE OFF, FAUX CURSE!!
These words (“mental laxatives” and “banal lube”) are two terms which I believe perfectly fit the — to use the parlance of our time — “culture of corruption”, which dominates our political system; especially here in the U.S. To be perfectly blunt, society is in DIRE NEED of both a “mental laxative” as well as some “banal lube” ! On the one hand, the extreme left has filled the minds of an entire generation with lies of such magnitude that calling it “shit” is actually a much needed moment of comic relief. There’s constipation of epic proportions, to say the least.
On the other hand … should we decide to continue to do nothing about it, we may as well lovingly grasp the proverbial pickle barrel which we have already been bent over and hope for a liberal application of the latter.
The banality of our political system is such that we have been mentally incapacitated to the point of almost absolute incoherence … and in our dazed slumber we have been bent over said pickle barrel. If you are not going to vote these fiends out of office then all I can say is that we — collectively — deserve our own 55 gallon drum of “Banal Lube.”
And remember kiddies, when it comes to being violated in such a manner …
Too much lube is almost enough.
* * *
If you agree with the above stated opinions, you might enjoy my review of president Obama’s inauguration speech.
You might be surprised to discover how blatant Mr. Obama was in warning us of the fast changes that were in store for us all.
For those of you who cringe at my political leanings, please feel free to enjoy the following …
But before we begin … is it just me, or do the that latest TV ads of Michael Phelps pimping a “munchie joint” like Subway strike you as the least bit “curious.” I mean, yeah … of COURSE America’s newest pot-head is going to enjoy a fresh, toasty submarine sammich from Subway.
But anyhow ….
For your communist sympathizing wussies who cannot handle my political Rightness — or for those of you so masochistic that you came back to examine more of my semi-random brain droppings — I hope you enjoy my little preview (slash: aka “/”) teaser of my soon-to-be-published title:
Olympic Beer Belly Judging for Idiots
One cannot engage in Olympiad feats of beer drinking without the ensuing — dare I say, “ubiquitous” — beer belly.
Believe me, this is not an optional outcome … I am the founder, director, President and acting coach of the U.S. Olympic Beer Drinking team.
I know these things from first hand experience, okay?!
. . . so anyhow . . .
We professional beer drinkers have finally secured our rightful spot in the limelight that is the summertime Olympics. As such, it is only fitting that we begin planning now for the unavoidable eventuality that will be: The Olympic Beer Belly.
Alright, you may be wondering where this came from.
Am I wrong?
My dad and I first stumbled upon this idea while watching thousands of men pour into R.F.K. stadium for Washingotn D.C.’s first Promise Keepers rally.
We quickly realized that many of these men were quite like us: avid beer drinkers who were not ashamed of their prized afterthought of a possession: the Beer Belly.
After Pop pointed out the impressiveness of the beer bellies before us, I leaned over and asked, “Some of these men are obvious candidates for our Olympic beer drinking team, no?”
With the knowing look of an elder sage, he nodded in agreement.
It was at that moment that we began to draft the initial judging criteria.
You see … a beer belly, to be properly appreciated, must be viewed by standards greater than size alone. We finally agreed upon the following 3 elements:
* * *
Distance is a defining attribute of the perfect beer belly.
The distance of a beer belly is the horizontal distance as measured from the apex of said beer belly (the outer ring of the navel) to the outside skin of the spinal disk directly horizontal to the plane of said navel.
As such, a contestant with an excessively arched back will, most likely, be disqualified from entry into the games. In short, the straighter the spine, the greater overall protrusional distance.
disclaimer: while the word ‘protrusional’ does not show up in any legitimate dictionary, it should still be adopted by the International Olympic Committee as no other word succinctly describes the unit of measurement in question.
It is also this measurement that truly separates the fatties from the pro’s!
Quite frankly, any slob can eat and drink him (or her) self stupid to the point of developing a rolling mound of body fat that simply hangs off the waistline of its wearer. A professional beer drinker, however, is a talented athlete and shows his pride with brilliant displays of masculinity such as a firm, properly developed and hard-earned beer belly.
Another integral aspect of distance is the overall proportion to the torso of the drinking athlete. The man pictured above, although slightly on the outside of the preferred age limits of Olympic level beer drinkers, is a model of exceptional distance.
Criteria Two: Girth
While the proud and hefty ladies pictured above certainly encompass almost any definition of girth, it is vital to remember that we are talking in terms of a sporting professional.
Girth, as implied by the name, and in most simplistic terms, is the circumference of the beer belly proper.
As is the case with Distance, Girth must also be judged on the proportion of said girth as it relates to the overall physical demeanor of the athlete him (or her) self.
It is the combination of Distance and Girth that quantifies the physical stature of a professional beer belly, however …
were it only physical dimensions that separated the Pro’s from the proverbial wanna-be “Ho’s” of the universe, it would be only these two measurements that would be of importance.
As such, it is the third criteria that fully qualifies and defines a professional, beer athlete to his (or her) fullest potential.
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Criteria Three: Presentation
Without doubt, the most significant aspect of any Olympic beer belly contestant is the matter of presentation.
As mentioned above, any slob can engage in a multi year binge of consumption and result in a belly of gargantuan proportions. However, it takes a skilled and disciplined athlete to create the perfect package.
The most significant ingredient in defining an Olympic quality beer belly is presentation.
I realize that I should have given you an example of Presentation instead of the picture shown above / to the right.
We have entered a very, very subjective world whereby computer models and “textbook examples” dare not tread.
For example …
While the above pictured man surely shows promise in the way of distance, there is a still a major problem …
While the same, above pictured, example of obvious professional beer drinking prowess truly exemplifies any rational definition of girth, there is still a major problem …
An intense, undeniable lack of presentation.
Presentation, my friends, is EVERYTHING!
Take, for example, the following display of spectaculous beer belliness!
Distance: 3 (MAYBE a 4) …
Girth: 4 … ‘ish.
Presentation: 10.0 (at least)
See what I mean? Presentation makes up for a WORLD of evils!
. . .
It must be said that presentation can, especially in some cases, severely backfire!
AM I WRONG?!?!?!?!
. . .
I thought not.
So, take your mental laxative …
Slather up a big, messy, guilt-ridden goop of banal lube …
. . . always remember . . .
(until next time)
. . .