Confusion Never Stops, Closing Walls and Ticking Clocks

Early this morning...really early this morning...daylight savings time ended. As a matter of fact I decided to stay up and see what happens at that glorious time. Deep in my heart I was wishing to see the last hour of my life replayed before me. All of this made sense. In the fall you are supposed to "fall back". Therefore, doesn't it make sense that you can actually go back in time? At least, I thought so.

There I sat. Excitedly waiting for that glimpse of reliving the last hour of my life. In horror, I realized that I should have done something worth reliving again. It was 2 minutes until 2:00 AM Eastern time and there I was, realizing that the last hour of my life was filled up with watching a rerun of Oprah. Damn! Oh well, it was pretty good. Oprah cried with some lady who had an eating disorder and a husband who hates her. I love how she keeps her show fresh.

What drove me to such utter madness? I would like to blame it on Bill Clinton, but I can't this time. However, I do blame him for the mosquitoes. He can feel my pain....BAH!

In the immortal words of the sage Susan Powter, "STOP THE INSANITY!" It is so typical of the government to give me an extra hour in the fall then to steal it right back in the spring. They even use a postive term like "Spring Forward" to make it easily more digestable. I spring and I spring but I don't feel like I ever more forward. Except I was pretty forward with that flight attendant on the plane yesterday. Let's just say, the lawsuit will make Delta look very foolish.

As as I was saying, daylight savings time is just silly.

Buy Me Some Peanuts...

Many years ago I lived under this illusion that the coolest and bestest thing to be in the world was a professional baseball player. Every time a game was on I would put my uniform on and mimic what was happening. I was in my pre-teen years at the time so I have an excuse. And no, it wasn't just last week. Sheesh, that can get really old, ya know?

In those years I had idolized players because of their prowess on the diamond, their strength and agility in swinging the bat, their smooth glove play, as well as their quickness in running around the bases. To me, even the way they bunted was manly. Overall, to me as a young child, they were the epitome of being a real man.

The two teams in the recent World Series represented places I have lived. They were also teams I heavily cheered for, especially when I attended every game I could. As the series started I didn't really care who won as much as it was a nostalgic trip back to my childhood. It became a time to revisit these heroes I worshipped as the men they were.

My daydreams to my youth were abruptly shattered. I can understand the jubilation in celebrating a world championship win, but did it have to come to this?

I present my FFF for today as well as the end of my youth.


I blame it on the Village People.

The eyes didn't need covering, but the Sox logos did.

Others who are expressing their truest emotions:

1. CaCa Boy Goes Down Under
2. Newbie Jenny (Welcome to the game)
3. Jen Benkel shows shelf (???)
4. Well?
   

J'ai deux amours, mon art et Paris

I think it might be a good time for a career change. Please don't misunderstand me. My job is completely satisfying. I love working 12 - 14 hours a day and still have the constant feeling that the reaper is holding his scythe just above my neck. Every evening I go home and thank my God (not your God, my God is better than your God and loves me more) for the job I have. No, it is that every once in a while I get this feeling to experience something else. For example, one time I really wanted to try ballet. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a codpiece big enough. So I came back to what I am doing now.

The mood that has hit me recently is the craving to aspire to be an aspiring artist.

Currently, I have not chosen what type of art I want to create. One thought is to have a bunch of ants walk through some paint then walk across a clean canvass. Of course, this will be done with varying colors to show the diversity that is in the ant population. It will then be given some obscure title that seems to have nothing to do with the actual painting itself but conveys a deep, and many times dark, meaning that is only understood by me. The title will be something like, "Ants Who Have Walked Through Paint Then Onto a Clean Canvass and Fugue in C Major with the Rondo in F Major."

A showing will be scheduled in a large metropolitan museum. I think there is one in Ackworth, Iowa.

"Professional" artists will come to the showing, hold their hands to their faces with the index finger curled under their noses and the other fingers in the act of holding up their chins because, in reality, they are quite tired being "professional" artists 24 hours hour a day. Going to art showings are the only times they can nap.

At some point someone comes by, accidentally nudges the "professional" artists, and wakes them up. Being cranky from the indolence of the passerby the "professional" artist notices the painting and yells, "Crap! CRAP! I crap better art than this! Off with you! Don't waste my time anymore with such un"professional" work!". They then slyly go back to their nap.

Apparently, in order to be a "professional" artist you have to have a graduate degree in...ummm...I guess...art. Before, during, and after attaining the degree you need to give everything up for your art. When I say everything, I mean everything. That is why the art community has a high percentage of eunuchs.

My only response to that is, when Michaelangelo was painting the Sistine Chapel did the Pope come up to him and ask, "Heya youa," [say in best Italian accent] "youa havea degreea?" At which point the Pope would notice God naked (ok, nearly naked) and walk shyly away embarrassed by such a stupid question. Then again, "professional" artists will say that if he had received a degree then God would have been completely naked just to fight against the oppression of the church. Maybe that is what happened when he sculpted David, by then he got his diploma.

I remember a time when, in order to be a true artist, you would have to move to Paris and paint the Notre Dame Cathedral over and over again. You would never eat (artists are only hungry for their art) but occasionally panhandling for money in front of the Louvre would be necessary in order to buy a knife to cut off your ear and send it to a prostitute.

Being an artist seems to be too much work, therefore my aspiration ends now. There are two reasons for this, 1) I am lazy and 2) I hate the French. Except for french fries. Especially with melted cheese.

I Can Smell the Chemicals

I don't know what it is that makes me feel this way. Scientists say it has something to do with chemicals in the body or the fight or flight response or Pavlov salivating over that dog Harriet Miers or the fact I loved my mother but not in "that way". Then there is that bastard Archimedes. If you are going to discover pi, at least put some ice cream on it. In the case of cream pi's, make it whip cream.

Anywho...

This blog has become very randy. Does this blog make you horny, baby?

See what I mean?

So for FFF today, I present my blog...



Others who should be ashamed of themselves...

1. CaCa Boy Looks the Otter Way...teehee...get it? "Otter Way"..uh hum...
2. OGO's Nice Beaver [insert beaver pun here]
3. Techy Mikes Balls of Power [insert ball pun here]
4. A Reason to Smiley [insert reason pun here]
   
5. Come on, you know you want to, baby!
   

You'll Have a Gay Old Time.

Once, many years ago, I was caught up in the age old debate that captivated every young man with average hormone levels. Who would you choose, Betty or Wilma?

To me the choice was easy, Betty. Wilma was too motherly for me. Somehow she had that look of maturity I did not wish for in an erotic adventure with a cartoon character. Betty, on the other hand, had that animal instinct that portrayed the "Drawings Gone Wild" persona. I would have a one night stand with Betty, but probably marry Wilma. Besides, Wilma's taste in men gave me hope.

Recently Wilma has destroyed that fantasy I have had of her. Basically, she is making an ass out of herself.

It started on a western Caribbean cruise just as the ship left port in Honduras. Wilma was at the midnight chocolate buffet overdosing on rum, cakes and puddings. Feeling the need for some fresh air before diving into the chocolate tortes, Wilma found Betty in a dark corner doing a little bit of spit swapping with Fred on the lido deck. Hell hath no fury than a cartoon character scorned.

Wilma, as the story goes, picked Fred up (which is a difficult thing to do, but she is used to lifting brontosaurus ribs) and threw him overboard. A major cat fight with Betty ensued resulting in a bloody beating by a lifeboat oar.

Regret set in and Wilma headed to the bar. Twelve vodka's later she was found stumbling along the promenade deck mumbling her need for a "real man". She noticed Barney standing at the railing watching the ocean. "What the hell!" Barney will have to do. She rubbed up against him seductively and asked, "Hey B, wanna join me for some wave surfing in my room?"

Startled, Barney said, "Gee, I don't know Wilma. I have plans." At that moment, George Jetson seductively rubbed up against Barney and they walked off together.

Wilma was furious. In her heart, from that time forward, she dedicated herself to destroying everything she encounters. Over the railing she jumped screaming, "YEEEEEAAAAHHHHH!"

Below is a picture of her...man, what a bitch.

Creeping Death

I almost always hate these things. But every once in a while one comes a long and grabs you by the collar of your shirt and says, "Care for tea, mate?"

Your death will be murder....Most likely because you're a very social person and everyone knows you, but there is one person lurking in the shadows that is so jealous of you or is so obsessed they end up killing you...There are many ways of being murdered...it depends on the person, but your death will either be slow and painful (like being stabed to death) or quick and painless (like a gunshot to the head).

How Will You Die And Why? .:Beautiful Dark Pics:.
brought to you by Quizilla

My only question is, which one of you will do this?

At the Core I’ve Forgotten, in the Middle of My Thoughts

Wow...where did the week go? It just zoomed by.

*zoom*

See? There it goes again. It is now January 17, 2007.

Anyway, I missed something this week. I am not too sure what it is. You know that feeling when you go into a room looking for something and you forget what you forgot you were looking for?

Huh?

Let me explain, you are sitting there eating Cheeseits and drinking grape Shasta. Suddenly you get an urge to get your butt off the couch and stop watching reruns of Love Boat. (I accidently wrote "Love Butt"...that will be another post...on my "other site"...I will give you the url if you pay for it). By the way, did you like Cruise Director Julie McCoy or Cruise Director Judy McCoy? It is really a toss up.

You get up, after debating which commercial break to do this during, and head to the kitchen. You assume you need to be in the kitchen because that is where the cases of Cheesits are. No...you need to be in the bedroom. So you go to the bedroom.

In the bedroom you stand in the center with your arms out in a gesture suggesting the thought, "What the hell am I doing in here?" It is not like anything ever happens in the bedroom anyway. You look through some things hoping it will come back to you. Nothing.

Right at the point that your butt (or is it boat?) hits the couch again you suddenly remember...

"Bathroom! I needed to go to the bathroom!!" By now Dr. Bricker is making out with some hot lonely woman so you go back to your Cheeseits and live with the consequences.

It is like that, the way I am feeling. I forgot something this week and I am not sure what it is.

Hmmm...

Runnin' the Ball is Like Makin' Romance.

I hate weekends.

Weekends are like the girl you start to date thinking that everything is heaven. They are two days of bliss. All is right in the world then suddenly they turn on you like a dog with rabies (resist temptation to use the word "bitch"). Then, like in the "Where the Red Fern Grows" and "Old Yeller" you have to put the bitch down with a shotgun. All the while Travis is crying and can't believe what just happened. But along comes another dog and life is good again. Unfortunately, the viscious cycle starts all over. Dogs always get rabies...always.

That is why I hate weekends. So I am just going to start falling in love with Mondays. Might as well learn to live with the hell.

I did enjoy watching football over the weekend. There were some good games. Everytime I watch football I get nostalgic and think of my own playing days. Those were the days when I actually loved weekends. Which is interesting, because, in my little league playing days (don't laugh, I did this in Texas and in Texas football is God. I even had an agent. I sat out the year I was 10 trying to renegogiate. For the record, Texans are cheap.) I would have a quaterback's hands up my butt. Yes, I played center my first year of little league. Believe me when I say this, it was very awkward. How I prayed that we would use the shotgun formation.

So the coach says to me, "AB, we want you to play center." I panicked and asked, "Why?" He just grinned and said, "You have the cutest butt." How do you resist that?

I took the quarterback (who was not too thrilled yet) out to dinner, bought him some flowers, saw a couple of movies, and discussed proper hygiene. All of this just to make him feel better. After some tense moments at first (think of a bare-handed colonoscopy), he eventually began to slap his hand in there in a way that would make Joe Montana proud.

Our team won one game that year. The one game we did win was on a 70 yard quarterback sneak of which I made the key blocks. We hugged in the end zone and from that point on devoted our lives to each other. It just all seemed worth it at that moment.

The next year we got a new center. It was hard to see the quarterback and "the new guy" warming up to each other game after game. I must admit, the jealousy was there. Over time I got use to my new role as Tight End. Today I am grateful for it.

By the way, have you ever wondered what the conversation was like in the pioneering days of football when they put this together?

Player 1: Ok, the rule states the quaterback must receive the ball from the center by shoving his hands into the others arse.
Player 2: Wh...what?
Player 1: Yes, it is the only way. Here I will show you...bend over.
Player 2: No thanks, I will play basketball. They have those cool apple basket hoops.
Player 1: Oh please! I also want to show you how, in celebration, we will slap each others butts! It is fun! Aw, come on!

Its a Beauty Way to Go

Tonight I was thinking. I said, "AB, what is one thing that you have not talked about on your blog recently?" Normally I don't answer myself right away. My counselor told me that if I did then I would only be giving in to the psychosis. Plus, the other competing voices get jealous . Like the one that keeps telling me to "be a good boy and shove my vegetables into my arse." That voice always hurts me. I hate that voice. Yet I am compelled to love it.

The normal voice reminded me that it has been a long time since I mentioned anything about the lovely country of Canada. For those of you who didn't know, Canada just became a country when the United States lost it to the Ukraine in a Texas Hold 'em poker match. The Ukraine eventually gave up their rights to the "Great White North" because, "That place is too far away and not cold enough."

So Canada kind of hung out for awhile around the world without any real purpose and especially supervision. The country would get in trouble occasionally when it would be cited for loitering around mini-marts and riding it's skateboard in shopping mall parking lots. Finally Canada was arrested for urinating on Detroit and sentenced to 30 days in jail.

Upon release, the country decided to "grow up" and become a useful member of the world community. The United Nations still has not decided to admit Canada in unless it gives up it's repetitive use of the word "eh?" and, almost obsessive, penchant for brown gravy with it's french fries. I believe the Heinz company still hasn't forgiven it for "Ketchup Potato Chips".

Therefore, for FFF today...Canada in all it's glory.

I had a hard time deciding where Canada's eyes were. I chose Chibougmamau only because it seemed most appropriate.

Others who are proud of their "country":

1. CaCa Boy has some naughty gnomes
2. OGO gives us multiple things (sorry, couldn't think of anything better :))
3. Lyvvie...uhh...you just have to go there to see it
4. Dementia shows toys
   
5. The rest of you are pathetic - in a good way.

UPDATE: AB's Blog 'o' Photos is back up. Please go there. You will love it. I do it because you asked me to. Which is amazing since I started that before my "worm hole" incident.

Here Comes The Sun, and I Say It's All Right

A friend of mine recently had a major operation. And yes, I actually have a friend. In reality I have two friends. One of them is the person I am about to talk about, the other is a little penquin named Jerry. He shows up at my bedside at exactly 4:47 each morning, except on Sundays when he is at church, and tells me about what will happen in the future. Apparently, he is a penquin from the year 2350. He got a time machine for Christmas (which they call "That one Holiday") and has been showing up in my room ever since. Occasionally he will give me some killer stock tips.

Anyway, my other friend recently had a hysterectomy. At first I thought it was supposed to be funny. You know, "hysterical". But I guess it is no laughing matter. This operation is serious business. See? I have a serious face now...

*serious face*

I have been wondering what I can do to show solidarity for her. I feel bad. Really bad. Really really.

Then the idea hit. You know how when someone has cancer and their friends and relatives show support for them by shaving their heads? This is usually because the patient is going through chemotherapy and, unfortunately, losing their own hair. What a nice gesture. I decided to do the same thing for my friend. Here is how it went...

Doctor: Hello AB. What are you in for today?
Me: Doctor, I would like to have a hysterectomy.
Doctor: *Look of disbelief and uncontrollable giggling* Pardon me?
Me: I would like to have a hysterectomy. To show support for a friend that had one.
Doctor: But...ummm...AB...uhhh....
Me: What's wrong doc?
Doctor: Well...first off...you don't have a uterus.
Me: What are you saying, doc?
Doctor: I can't take out something you don't have.
Me: Doctor, don't mess with me and don't discriminate against me. I want a hysterectomy and I want it now.
Doctor: But AB...
Me: Don't make me call the medical board doc. You won't like me if I have to call the medical board. They will kick you out of the bar as fast as I can say "fallopian".
Doctor: You don't understand...I...
Me: What I understand doc is you are discriminating against me. That is illegal and probably against the law. Do it now, you medical bigot!!

I don't know what my doctor did, but I haven't been able to sit all day.

On the way out I asked the receptionist to schedule my mammogram and pap smear.

Turn and Face the Strain

AB thinks it is time for a change. AB has been viewing this blog for some time now, and AB is getting very bored with it. Not that AB thinks YOU are boring. No not at all. As a matter of fact AB thinks some of you are quite intriquing and deserve a spank every once in a while, if you know what AB means.

In reality, AB has been thinking that AB needs to switch things around a bit. AB would like to add some curtains and maybe a nice ficus plant in the corner. AB likes ficus. AB likes to say the word ficus. "Ficus" See? AB is so cute..."ficus"...hehehe

Anyway, the time has come to add and subtract from AB's blog. You will still get AB's wit, wisdom, satire, and stupidity. That is a given from AB. Actually, AB may even take this whole damn thing more seriously now.

Maybe AB will sell AB shirts. Or maybe AB will sell packages of peanuts he has been collecting from various flights over the years. AB has one from 1988 when AB flew from Honolulu to Singapore and met a very cute flight attendent. When AB was about to join the "mile high" club, AB noticed the flight attendent was really a man who had a flight attendant uniform fetish. Oh, AB was very distraught then. It also was the last time AB ever opened up a "bag of nuts" on a plane. Therefore, AB would like to sell them. On the wrapper it will say "AB's Bag O' Nuts".

That is just one of the new ideas AB has. Others include showing nude pics of AB as a "Pic O' the Day". I think AB will hold his "Bag O' Nuts" in every shot so that you will be more interested in buying them.

Another one will include having an annoying quiz every day. For example, one quiz could be "What 17th century harlot are you?" Everytime AB does this one, AB always end up with some guy named "Bruce". AB is not sure what that means. AB is scared to find out.

AB may also write some more serious stuff. Maybe AB will do this once a week or so. Because, believe it or not, AB has a sort of serious side. Except, AB usually only shows this to AB's close personal friends. Unfortunately, all of AB's close personal friends all died of a mysterious strain of west nile virus. The police still have not found a connection.

Of course, AB firmly believes there should always be more of this. Oh, and FFF will probably not go away. However, AB is very concerned more people are not doing it. As punishment, and until AB senses change, some of you will be forced to endure something like this. Others may need to watch a man do this for many hours each day. Either way, AB thinks all of you are in trouble.

(A couple of the above links are not working now like they did when I was in a trance-like state. It was only trance "like". Not a full trance. My pants were still on. Anyway, I blame Bush.)

There you have it, some of AB's ideas on revamping this place. AB is very curious as to what you would do to enhance this dump. So please, leave comments giving AB suggestions.

AB is very grateful.