Posts tagged beer
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!
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-)
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?
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.
* * *
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)
. . .
But in the meantime, I think it needful for me to retract some of the bile and venom that I’ve directed towards our Commander in Chief. Watching him stump for Coakley is Massachusetts while the rest of the world was mindlessly fixated on the pain and suffering in Haiti has given me cause to pause.
I mean, let’s face it: the major media outlets have been pumping that footage into our sight holes 24/7, all weekend long!
Obama, however, chose to stand by his dear personal friend and political ally, Martha Coakley. Now that’s friendship for ya!
And why shouldn’t he? He is a brilliant campaigner! I mean, isn’t that what being a “community organizer” is all about? And to THINK that my right wing extremist, tea-baggin’ buddies were once cynical about the qualifications a community organizer had to be the POTUS!
I’m already off point, though.
The immediate point being: surely there is nothing about Obama stumping for Coakley that could possibly have a single thing to do with some Leftist — how dare some say? — “Marxist” agenda.
Am I wrong???
. . .
The bigger point being: as I look back at the past year it’s impossible to not notice some of the conservative watchdog groups who have been deriding the Obama administration for playing the “blame game.”
As we look at the world around us, it really needs to be done with the past in mind. To learn how something has come to be, you HAVE to understand from whence it came.
Unemployment has soared to the highest levels they’ve been in most young voters lifetimes!
We are facing deficits that have simply been heretofore unknown and in amounts so massive that the common man cannot fully wrap his brain around their enormity!
Detroit — in fact, the entire U.S. automotive industry — is against the ropes, taking what seems their last gasp of breath.
Banks are falling by the wayside … big banks, little banks, even one of the largest investment banking firms on the planet went, as some might say, tits up.
For whatever it’s worth, I really don’t endorse the use of that term. It’s really quite sexist.
BUT ANYHOW …
Think about the above financial ailments, though …
Lehman Brothers went under in September of 2008. Obama wasn’t even in office.
Well, tell me … what is one to think?
To dove-tail off a popular religious trend of recent years: W.W.O.S.
What Would Obama Say?
“We inherited this economy from the previous administration.”
Ahhhhhh … I see!
It’s G-Dub’s fault!
Yeahhhhh … come on, admit it … when you really look back at those 8 years, is it really all that hard to believe that The Dub didn’t have his moments of being Commander in Spleef?
That sure would explain a lot of things!
I mean, not that I’m making a big stink out of smoking the ol’ stink weed. I mean, the Chinese have been smoking weed for almost 5,000 years.
Of course, outside of fireworks, they’ve not really done a lot as a society …
Well, the O.C.D. thing definitely kicked into high gear … thus the Great Wall.
Or was that just paranoia?
Let’s try that again …
Hey, the Declaration of Independence was written on hemp paper!
Party on, James Madison!
But anyhow …
Since we’re on the subject of blame, and since marijuana is blamed for things such as lack of motivation, forgetfulness, etc. Let’s see IF there’s a chance that a stoned POTUS could possibly be caught “asleep behind the wheel.”
. . .
(ps: all the pics from here on out can be clicked on to view a larger version of the same image … for you “inquiring minds that want to know” …)
Barney Frank and his merry band of turd burglers engineered the whole sub-prime mortgage thing.
But under whose watchful eyes did they pull that off?
What about …
Wall Street ?
The collapse of Lehman Bro’s …
which, thusly, pushed AIG to the very ledge of failure …
Banks closing everywhere …
All of that happened under WHOSE WATCH?
Are you trackin’ with me here yet?
. . .
What about …
The price of crude oil sky-rocketed to an unprecedented high of $147 per barrel in July of 2008.
In less than 8 short years, crude oil prices went from a steady average of LESS THAN $20 per barrel …
To an eye-watering, SEVENTY FOLD increase in price that absolutely crippled the average American with unbearably high gasoline prices.
Who stood to benefit from all of this?
Arabs, of course … but they’re just filthy, camel loving, Jihad happy, goat bumpers. We have goat bumpers here at home that SOME people would be happy to help see they got taken care of?
Who might I be referring to?
Where does American oil wealth reside?
And who came from Texas?
(apart from Dick Cheney, the man obviously pulling the puppet’s strings)
Could it have been …
making sense, isn’t it?
How about … oh, I dunno …
Walk with me, talk with me … let’s give this one a little thought.
Prior to the Clinton administration, the proliferation of malicious Trojan horse software and Worms was, for all intents and purpose, unheard of.
Parents pretty much only had nothing much to worry about back in those older days of lore. Most predators were busy using the internet to find newly opened schools to stalk because kids weren’t on the computer.
SRSLY … there was actually a day when computers were VERY un-cool and were only used by insecure little geeks who had no life.
Look at the world today. In just the past decade, internet porn has become a mainstay industry, internet child predation has reached epidemic proportions …
This all happened WHEN?
The past decade!
Under whose watchful eye?
Since we’re focusing on some of Al Gore’s more infamous inventions, let’s talk about …
To be really blunt about it, the weather was actually somewhat predictable and normal while under Clinton’s watch.
Look back at just the past decade and tell me what’s been the REAL case?
Glacial melting …
* * *
Unprecedented numbers of …
Not to speak of the unprecented outbreaks of …
as let us not forget …
and the intense seismic activity associated with these ever-increasing number if earthquakes and volcanic eruptions continues right up to today, January 2010. Go do a little news search on the number of volcanos that have sparked up in just the past month.
but anyhow …
In the past decade we’ve also witnessed …
Insane Wind Storms Sweeping Europe …
and, as all of us also know, the true toll to the weather in the fight with Global Warming has been the ubiquitous …
All this in the past decade, and under whose watchful eye?
President’s Bush & Bush in New Orleans immediately after Katrina
Yeah, another stoner moment.
It all makes sense to me now.
(told ya I’d get back to global warming!)
. . .
Needless to say, it’s still REALLY COLD outside … well, in most places anyhow.
How cold is it?
Ask this dude:
That’s mighty cold!
Now … you know how snow cow would deal with that problem, right?
But anyhow …
Actually, before we get back to talking about the weather, and since that image is just a slam dunk segue into the whole subject of “slim pickins” … allow me to share with you an image I came across this morning that seared my eyeballs …
* * *
Now maybe you won’t be so hard on Snow Cow!
But we should really get back to this whole climate change thing …
Seems it’s too late for us to appease Snow Cow … the northern hemisphere is already buried in ice and the other side of the planet, especially for our lovely brothers and sisters in Australia, are being seared by record high temperatures. I mean, seriously, check this out: this is a satellite image of the U.K. taken a few days ago. The entire freaking place is covered in snow!
It’s not just snot that’s freezing these days, sports fans. Hell, some parts of the northern hemisphere have seen entire waterfalls freeze for the first time …
* * *
Hell, you think THAT’S bad?
Check out this group of seals that were almost frozen in place when they woke up on morning this week!
I’m tellin’ ya, dude … it is COLD this winter!!!
And as a little side-note of a PSA:
Don’t let your children run on the ice with chopsticks in their hands or mouth!
Oh … SNAP!
You know that had to hurt!!!!!!
> > >
By and by … up to this point, these are ALL real pics from real shit that’s happening the world the past week or so.
… come on kiddies, say it out loud with me …
I’M CRAPPIN’ YOU NEGATIVE!
So, how are some people dealing with these record low temperatures?
In one town in Russia, the locals put together a portable hot tub …
That actually looks like a bit of a fun!
A hell of a lot more fun that what these freaks of nature find entertaining …
What’s with all the blood on the ice block???
* * *
So, where were we?
Oh, that’s right … taking a look around the globe and taking a look at what others are doing to make the best of this whole cold weather thang …
A couple of drunk fellas in Scotland decided to have some fun on a canal that had frozen over. Granted, the U.K. is getting a lot of snow, but I dare say it’s not quite been cold enough to freeze to the point of being drive worthy.
They, as you can see, learned that the hard way …
Meanwhile, on the other side of the planet, the Japanese snow monkeys are (as they are famous for doing every winter) chilling in the one of the local hot springs …
Cheech Marin and Tommy Chong came to Washington D.C. this week to continue their efforts at legalizing marijuana ..
Now that I see those two pics in sequence, it makes me wonder if Cheech and Chong didn’t make a stop in Japan first to hook up the local snow monkey population.
Hey … stranger things HAVE happened!
Speaking of Scotland, the good people of Lake Menith held their FIRST curling competition in something like THIRTY years!
Sadly, like so many of the other obviously scotch drinking people of that fine country, they learned the hard way that it takes more than just a few days of cold temperatures to make a body of water travel worthy …
Sadly, the town quickly canceled the tournament citing safety reasons.
And others …
Well, seems that some just jumped outside and just had plenty of fun with no specific goal in mind …
Yeah … that’s niiiiiiiiiice!
Apart from the previous image, I’m otherwise with the anonymous dog on this whole cold and ice and snow thing …
There’s a reason the entire northern hemisphere or our planet is experiencing record low temperatures and I can promise you that the salad tossing liberal extremists that are our modern media aren’t going to let us in on the truth.
That’s a thermal image (via satellite, d’uh) taken in just the past few days. The artificial color coding shows the current ground temperatures compared to historic norms.
As you can plainly see, the Arctic circle is WELL above average … and I guess all that hot air is pushing what would otherwise be REALLY cold, arctic air (which is normally supposed to STAY inside of said circle — I mean, that’s why we put it there in the first place, dontcha know) and pushing it outwards and downwards onto us inhabitants of the northern hemisphere.
And we all know where all that hot air is coming from …
I mean, apart from Al Gore …
See what happens when you piss off Snow Cow?
Sadly, though, what is in place is in place … and now we must let nature run her course.
Believe it or not … that’s actually a good thing. It allows Snow Cow to take a break from his Reaper-like duties and it affords him the opportunity to secretly watch over our troops overseas …
Now that I have so many friends named Frank it just doesn’t seem right to say things like, “let me be frank with you” …
As you can tell, I’ve been giving this some thought and I’ve finally settled on an alternative.
Allow me to be a seductive albino gorilla and talk plainly to you about something …
Yes, I have another secret to share with you goodly people of Buck’s World!
As some of you know, I’ve been a rather industrious soul, even from my earliest years …
and as the years have moved along there has been numerous opportunities whereupon I would have a chance encounter that would, as they say, get the proverbial wheels turning …
It was (as you can tell by the hidden writing on the right side of the image above) just a couple of years ago when I happened upon yet another tawdry PETA protest.
And I gotta tell ya, as a guy, it’s hard to not stop and think for a moment when we stumble across any of these overtly sexual, semi-to-almost-full nude protests of theirs.
Of course, us heterosexual guys aren’t thinking about whatever retarded message it is that they’re trying to convey …
But anyhow …
That particular encounter was the closed-eye fodder for more than one wasted seed when, some time later, I had one of those exceptionally rare post release epiphanies!
If vegetarians are, in fact, tastier, why not open a restaurant?!?!?!
* * *
* * *
Actually, I AM crappin’ ya this time around … I don’t own a restaurant.
When last we met, we ended our quality time together reflecting on that which is Ninja.
It only seems fitting that today we end on a related note, since these last two blog posts are actually supposed to be interconnected.
Ninjas are not to be messed with.
Because they will kill you … and you won’t even see them coming.
Who’s the last person to pull this stunt off since the son of God walked the Earth (and water)?
Yeah, SRSLY … the dude is literally running on water.
* * *
Ninja’s even teach their monkeys how to fight!
* * *
and Ninjas are thoughtful enough to teach their monkeys to enjoy a cold, frosty beer after vanquishing their enemies!
Ninjas, simply put, are not to be messed with!
* * *
Here, take a brief moment to watch this video …
(thanks to MFree for the link!)
Well, sports fans … I guess it’s about time I grab my things and head on back to the domicile to face another joyful evening of packing boxes.
I hope to have another roasty, toasty, succulent vowel movement for you again some time soon.
But in the meantime, always remember …
Never forget …
Don’t run with boys that do …
Love those that hate you
Bless those that persecute you
and most importantly, ladies and gentlemen …
have a good day!
* * *
Until next our paths cross …
* * *
Heya sports fans!
Sorry, not a real blog today, just a little pimp to another blog of mine and a short message for your loving host …
This one is NOT a rant. Check it out …
(go ahead, that text right up there above me is a funny color because it’s a link … you’re supposed to click on it!)
Also, I apologize for not having a fresh, tasty Friday afternoon blog awaiting you but I do promise to get something posted either overnight or some time in the morning. If it IS tonight, I’d expect it to be a little on the goofy side as I intend to spend the afternoon playing Golden Tee and the evening tossing back a few frosty adult beverages whilst enjoying the musical mayhem that is The Karma Issue!
Until then …
PEACE OFF, FAUX CURSE!
Happy 2010 everybody!
As we look back at a year just past, sometimes it helps to occasionally stop and consider what we’d like to change during the coming year.
Not in the sense of resolutions … we discussed that in my last post.
It’s an occasion to offer ourselves the opportunity to learn. When we look back at outcomes and especially patterns, it’s vital to note the outcome and then decide if that is something we want to repeat … is that a path we want to continue to follow?
Insanity, they say, can be defined as attempting to solve a problem by repeating the same behavior/choices that created it.
What can I — your fearless leader and benevolent king of the land of Faux — learn from looking back at the past year?
For starters, make sure to make time for play. Burning the candle at both ends simply cannot end well.
Beyond that, it looks really retarded.
Let’s see, what else is there?
OH, I’VE GOT ONE!
Pay closer attention to what I buy for my nieces and nephews!
In fact, to be a bit more to the point …
No more Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve … after spending the morning and early afternoon enjoying “breakfast” with our friends at the pub …
The whole butt-plug part of it never occurred to me.
THINK, DUDE … THINK!
* * *
Speaking of being more thoughtful …
This year I’d like to spend a bit more attention to which vehicle I’m driving.
* * *
So, anyhow … since I’ve already let the cat proverbial out of the bag about my holiday shopping fail.
I never read the box … all I saw was a doll and … like ANY guy … I was in a rush. Seriously, Christmas shopping can really be quite the inconvenience when it conflicts with one’s drinking schedule.
* * *
I have one nephew who is totally into Superman. A pillow that doubles as a pillow. How cool is THAT?
I was, unfortunately, perfectly sober when it came time for the opening of the presents that morning.
It took me a while to understand why I was getting so many confused looks from the kids and, even more so, the awkward looks from the rest of the family.
* * *
There’s my one niece who, of all things, is a HUGE fan of the Incredible Hulk . . .
HEY … his pants were NOT rolled up like that when I bought it!!!
* * *
Fortunately for me, the bath house across town is open on Christmas day … and only on that day each year … the hot tubs are filled with beer.
. . .
. . . . .
. . .
MOVING ALONG …
Did you hear about the body that was recovered from Sydney harbor in Australia earlier in 2009?
According to the article that I read, investigators did initially rule out suicide and were considering this a possible homicide case.
Thank you, Cap’n Obvious!
* * *
Were you out and about amongst mixed company yesterday, you too may have come across numerous conversations involving various “good luck foods” to usher in the new year.
In many Asian cultures, noodles are eaten on new years day in order to bring long life. There’s a catch, tho … each noodle must remain unbroken until the entire noodle is in one’s mouth.
Austria has its pork dishes … the Italians have their lentils … the folks in the deep south of the U.S. have their black-eyed peas and greens.
Stranger still is the traditional ox penis salad enjoyed in certain remote regions throughout China …
Yeah … ox penis …
* * *
Then there’s my favorite dish …
BUT BEFORE I GO THERE …
Has someone in your family jumped on the latest craze of soaking turkey in brine?
Man, does it make the meat OH SO MUCH more tender and succulent!
A few friends of mine and I decided to get together and try this whole brine soaking thing a try …
All I can say is, “Mmm, mmm, good!”
* * *
(Saint Feces? that’s a new one to me too)
I just noticed how much the time got away from me this morning. I’ve got stuff to do, places to go and …
Who am I kidding? This is my last weekend to … uh … after realizing what the “Fun Shapes” toy that I’d bought for my youngest niece was really all about, I almost feeling awkward using this phrase, but here it goes anyways … blow it out of my ass. Starting Monday, the world as I know it taking some drastic changes for the busier, to say the very least.
All that to say, I gotta go!
How’s THAT for Hoping For A Cure?
Perhaps I should be careful to not take as lightly the title, “Ebrius Maximus!”
Wow, what … a … weekend!
. . .
Friday was a blast. Actually made it home at a decent hour and had a BLAST with Mikey and the gang.
Saturday, as some of my Facebook friends saw, I enjoyed a rather rewarding Golden Tee shot.
What made it particularly rewarding was the fact that it was a “Hole N Win” shot.
Those are occasional opportunities for a GT golfer to “wager” for the oppotunity to win money if a hole in one is made. The wager amount is either always 50 cents or a dollar, depending on the pay-out. The potential pay-out is based on difficulty. The potential pay-out can be anywhere from $10 is … and it has been a LONG time since we’ve seen one this high … $400.
Mine was a 50 cent wager for a $15 pay-out. Yeah, I nailed it! [grins]
That was the first “Hole N Win” on the machine at our bar since late in May.
In fact, here’s that one! :o)
. . .
After a really quick round of GT, we made it over to Debbie’s house for ger annual Christmas party. LOTS of fun, excellent food, some woman with a stupefyingly beautiful voice sang while Davey played the piano … and the late night tequila was FANTASTIC. I do wish I remembered what the name of it was as it had a fantastically unique and enjoyable taste.
Sadly, it followed a couple of us over to Danny’s place across the street. He and Crazy Steve were texting a mutual friend of ours and me from about 11pm until shortly after 1am, when we finally strolled on over. Enjoyed some of the most outstanding pool I’ve played in YEARS.
Sadly, one of the guys grew weary of me … I guess it’s one thing to play at a bizarre level of excellence … and quite another to have it repeatedly rubbed in by someone talking some major trash.
In the infamous words of Kid Rock, “It ain’t cocky mother $%#@& if you back it up!”
I swear to god, that guy totally kirked out on me!!!! Fortunately for us both, I’m the sort of friend that won’t allow such situation fully melt down.
Granted, we’re both a little bruised and sore … but it’s all good!
. . .
Well, with that little Jerry Springer story in mind … let me part ways with a little remider of that which is … Walmart!
Hello kiddies and cattle and welcome to another installment of, ” The Deepness that is Nuthinness “
This morning I surfed on over to the Jack Handy website for my daily dose of ingrown inspirational insight and intellectual intelligence where I stumbled upon this gem…
“When I saw the old bum pushing his grocery cart down the street at first I felt sorry for him, but then when I saw what was in his cart I thought, well no wonder your a bum look at the dumb things you bought.”
“…that Jack handy…hes an ‘effin genius.”
Man…thats deep. Which reminds me of another deeply philosophical question that has been plaugeing mankind for millions of years…
I think this settles it.
Its been getting colder here the last few days, highs in the low thirties, and the temperature in my office/old decrepit garage (long story) where my desk and headquarters is positioned strategically to be headquartered @ and headed-up also known as “AKA” “HQ”, hasn’t gotten much above 50 degrees.
Which kinda makes my head numb. All damn day long. Yesterday (like you care) I wore insulated pants and 3 shirts and kept my jacket and hat on all morning long and by lunch all I could hear above the music (Tool) streaming from Pandora was the chattering of my teeth.
So when I took my HALF HOUR lunch (12:00 NOON to something near 1:30ish), I came back with an overly large electric heater to warm the place up a smidge. Which made playing Battlefield Hero’s all afternoon until we quit around 4:30, much more enjoyable than that mornings session spent playing Tiger Woods golf, and surfing the daily regemin of internet time wasting sites, i.e. funny news sites, bucksworld, monopoly city streets, bucksworld, boygeniusreport, weird news sites, bucksworld, ebay, busted tees…you get the idea.
Much thanks to the people over at Busted Tees, without whose help I would have never been able to steal all their cool t-shirt designs, I am going to kinda randomly sprinkle a few of my favorites from that site here and there throughout…well, everywhere.
speaking of cold…
absolute zero…although I prefer to use the Kelvin scale, which is what all the threemommeters in my house are calibrated too.
So all this cold has got me hankerin’ a bit for the warmer climates… and all the beautiful sun-bunnies that go along with those places.
isnt she fiiiiine!
I think the kids face says it all…and how about her bikini top…I have to say, I am impressed, a little pukey, but impressed nonetheless.
I worried about the kid for awhile, worried he might have been traumatized by his grandmother during those shared lazy days spent whiling away the sunlit hours at the beach, but I found this picture of him all grow’d up and as yuou can tell from this pic he turned out juuuuust fine.
A well adjusted member of society raising a beautiful family.
I dont suppose I have much room to talk though, this is usually how I look by the end of the summer…minus the radiant shine of pure intellectual prowess emblazoned upon his visage of course.
So the cold and snow here is reminding me that its that time of year where holiday shopping is beginning to consume everything and I want you people to remember that there comes a time when we all need to just slow down and refocus on what really matters. We sometimes need to readjust our thinking, recalibrate what the media has convinced us to shift our priorities towards, and not forget that the true meaning of Christmas is Santa Claus. and presents. and mememe moremoremore. Lets focus people, I will be personally sending each of you my list and I want all of you to pick five things and mail them to me as soon as possible, the price limit is $200 (nothing below).
While your out perusing the malls and bigboxstores of the world searching for everything on my list I want you all to remember to enjoy yourselves. Have a wondferful time hunting down gifts for me and dont forget…
truth be told all I really want for Christmas this year is this
yeah I know it, im a goofy computer nerd at heart, but these things are really effin cool. Dont believe me, go see for yourself, www.getbuckyballs.com, if that video doesnt make you want some of these then your more normal than I thought and you dont belong here. Leave immediately.
anywho…thats all for now, have a wonderful day, oh shit…I almost forgot, I have one more thing…
Buck has kindly inspired me to share some more of my poetry with you all, and I dont want to disappoint him so here goes!!!
Nuthin’s Vogon Poetry Corner
there once was a man from missouri
whose arms were both long and furry
Bills ass went a twitchin
so Bill got to itchin
and his aching soon turned to worry
for once was girl from Kentucky
and Billy thought he got lucky
but soon he would see
when it hurt to pee
that fuckin aint always so ducky
Bills arm was long as a snake
and the next time his junk got to ache
he’d reach down below
and knead his own dough
and avoid the Kentucky mistake
so now im done…
my final words of wisdom for today…
I mean, is it just me or do things seem to getting more and more surreal with every passing day anymore?????
Alright, boys and girls, it’s time once again to take a little side tour of this little rock we collectively call home and see some of the things that mainstream media is too busy stirring the pot of hysteria that is “swine flu” and constantly attempting to manipulate the masses into believing our Evil Emperor … er, I mean President Obama.
So, grab a tasty beverage …
Put the kids away for a few minutes so you can avoid interruption …
And join me on a walk through the news room of my mind …
Before we begin, though … I do want to take a quick moment to say how MUCH I have enjoyed the advent of Spell Check. I’ve never had typing classes and I’ve somehow evolved from an “index fingers only”, hunt and peck typist to someone who actually has most of his fingers flying across this keyboard in an almost epileptic like manner. My point being, these fits and twitches that result in my “typing” are often chock full of typographical errors and worse. Thanks to that little thing we call spell checker, SOME of my shame is able to remain hidden!
They say that, sometimes, Life …
Comes at ya fast!
Perhaps a little too fast at times, but that’s another story for another day for me …
Inventors are an odd lot, as many of you already well know. Not all of them, mind you, but it takes a special sort of person to “think outside of the box.”
(the enlightened ones realize there is no box, but anyhow)
This young man from Korea invented a … uh … well, please feel free to offer an opinion as to what this should be named down in the comments section below.
In fact, I find it somewhat rude of you to show up and not even leave as much as a comment, but that’s a lecture for another day …
You may, much like me, find that cart-cycle to be wholly impractical, am I wrong?
But what about THIS????
Yeah, baby! A portable practice putting which doubles as a bra!!!!
I’d like to think that this might partially silence those who have lambasted Asians for “stealing our ideas and making cheaper knock-offs.”
That’s pure creative genius there, boy!
However, not all inventions are particularly awe-inspiring …
Now that we’ve thoroughly spoiled and pampered our children into a dim-witted state of complete dependence, let’s now melt our pet’s brains too, huh?
And some inventions are really downright cool, but come just a little bit too late.
Behold, the Luggage Sofa!
Yes, several pieces of luggage that were strategically designed to be fitted together into a comfy little love seat for the couple in transit experiencing delays at the air port.
Sadly, you can’t carry on much of anything anymore …
Inventions were not the only noteworthy news items that I stumbled upon this week, oh no.
I also learned that alcohol is now, allegedly, the greatest threat to society. Seriously, feel free to check out the article for yourself. It may be of note that this was coming from a pissed off man who was fired from his government post for insisting that marijuana is less dangerous that alcohol.
Now, while alcohol may be bad for the individual who over imbibes, such as this poor man who has been an alcoholic for a good many years now …
As it turns out, my opinion is that the guy simply got too late of a start in life.
But anyhow …
I read another story about a woman who, after having sex, sometimes experiences something known as, transient global amnesia”, or a complete, albeit usually temporary, loss of memory and the inability to form new memories which is caused by pressure in blood vessels in the brain. Furthermore, they say that this can be triggered by strenuous activities such as bowel movements or sex.
After engaging in what, I must imagine, was a particularly zesty coital session last August, the couple turned on the T.V. and the wife was amazed that the Olympics were on. Sensing that something was not altogether right about this question, he asked, ‘OK, what day is it?'”
When she couldn’t answer, he asked her to name the current President, to which she replied: “Bill Clinton.” He called an ambulance at once.
Love and Marriage … goes together like a …
Speaking of marital relations … I dare say that most women are painfully unaware of exactly how much they can push their husbands over the edge. Not all wives, mind you … in my seven-plus years of uninterrupted marital bliss, I dare say that the Spousal Unit has not once given me cause for anger.
But anyhow, such is not the case for many a poor soul in this increasingly woman dominated world in which we live.
This aging gentleman, known only as Lin, Yuyi, Fujian, was admitted to the hospital this week after driving a massive framing nail into his own skull after an extensive period of nagging and worse by his wife …
Of course, who’s to say that the poor bastard isn’t so p*$$y whipped that he chose to claim he did it himself rather than incur even further wrath by tipping off police as to who was really to blame …
Ya never know …
Well, I could ramble until fingertips bleed … and dontcha know that I actually DO enjoy hearing myself type (I know, you’re shocked!) … but I need to cut this short and get on with my day. I promise you that I have PLENTY more tasty morsels to share with you in the days and weeks to come. Recent additions to my photo collection, not to speak of the dozens upon dozens of new and bizarre road and building signs from around the globe …
But before I sign off, I want to take a moment to thank the men and women who risked, nay even given, their lives in the pursuit of liberty. Those who have defended our constitution, who have fought for the cause of freedom, we THANK YOU!
My father served in Vietnam. Yes, I realize this was a war that was an absolute political debacle. It was a painful time for our country, and when it was all said and done, we exited that war with little dignity, a thrashed economy, and we ran out a president in shame. In short, by the late 1970’s we really felt like shit about ourselves.
I extend a special, albeit somewhat self-centered, thank you to the men and women who dutifully served in Vietnam. You were spat upon instead of appreciated … and no amount of collective shitty feelings justifies the manner in which you were treated upon your already tormented return home. I can only hope and pray that the generation coming into their own today rises up and undoes much of the social upheaval and cognitive melt-down that stemmed from the blossoming of decades of communist subversion that lead to the so-called “Summer of Love.”
This week a Federal U.S. judge (Cameron Currie) ruled that South Carolina may NOT make available “vanity” license plates that display a Christian cross and the words, “I Believe.” Her painfully flawed and PC-mangled logic being that it’s un-Constitutional and violates some imaginary idea of “separation of Church and State.” I say that because she is insisting that the PUBLIC does not have the right to PAY to express their freedom of religion.
Of course, the fall-out of this past century of Marxist influence upon our society has duped us into believing that freedom OF religion must now be treated as freedom FROM religion.
The world is a strange place indeed …
Funny how even many overseas see Obama as a dangerous man …
Goo luck, boys and girls. Make sure to thank a veteran today … make sure to take a moment to think about what is REALLY important and look into what you can do to have your voice heard. We already know that the insanely hysteric minority has been making their voice heard and have been responsible for bizarre and broad-sweeping change to the way we live our lives.
Make sure YOUR voice is heard to, my friends.
Before I sign off, I’d like you to think about something, especially as it relates to all of the so-called promises being made to us by the likes of Obama, Pelosi and Barney Frank.
Their promises to us are about as worthwhile as this menu is to that seagull …
Well anyhow … it’s definitely time for me to go and shake the hands of a few men and women who HAVE been goodly enough to turn their patriotism into action.
Until next time …
PEACE OFF, FAUX CURSE!