Satirical Veracity

Life is Bare, Gloom and Mis'ry Everywhere

2007-02-02T09:17:00.000-08:00

This will be the last I post I will write on global warming. Two of them in two weeks is just way too much discussion on the topic. After today I will focus on other things endangering mankind. Namely bad dentures. These evil devices have been proven to come alive and eat people from the inside. Insidious little creatures, they are.

Today people in Paris, known as "scientists", released the long awaited report on global warming. In it we are told that man is "very likely" responsible for global warming and we should feel ashamed and embarassed to the point of gashing our eyes out then sit in the middle of a busy freeway repeating to ourselves, "Oh great god of nature do not smite me with thine rays of fire and death, Oh great god of nature do not smite me with thine rays of fire and death!" It's in there, go ahead and look.

Of course this report came from an organization brought together by the UN. The same UN that brought you the oil for sex with children program. They say that policies must be put in place immediately that limit what we, humans, are doing to destroy the planet. Apparently this will be solved by giving away lots of money and planting vegetable gardens.

I propose we handle global warming the same way we handle the AIDS in Africa issue. Because people are still going to "emit greenhouse gases" no matter what anyone says, we should wrap the earth in a giant condom.

Quote of the day: "It had a very sinister appearance," Coakley told reporters. "It had a battery behind it, and wires." (referring to the "bombs" found around Boston - The devices displayed a "Mooninite" -- an outer-space delinquent who makes frequent appearances on the cartoon -- greeting passersby with an upraised middle finger. )

All the Tired Horses in the Sun

2007-01-31T08:20:00.000-08:00

It is not everyday that I have breaking news on this blog. Actually, I should really get over myself since I never really have any news at all. Despite that, I have some information that is sure to shock the world.

Just when you thought you were beginning to accept the heartbreaking fact that Barbaro had indeed died, I have something that will just knock your socks off. Or your horse shoes...or your fuzzy monkey slippers...or those multi-colored socks with the toes...or whatever you put on your stinky feet.

The news is: Barbaro is NOT dead. I repeat, BARBARO IS NOT DEAD! You know what is funny? When you read something as the reader you can always go back and read it again and again. It is not like I really must say "I repeat" when you could do that. It is kind of silly really. But writers do that for "emphasis". I repeat, FOR EMPHASIS. It is to draw your attention to a very important point. The point which I have forgotten. Now, as a good reader, I would go back to the beginning of this paragraph and read what I wrote. The writer doesn't have to repeat it. Cool, huh?

Barbaro is NOT dead. I repeat, BARBARO IS NOT DEAD!

Yes, I am correct. He is not dead. I have it from a very reliable source that the horse had a nervous breakdown from all of the fame generated by his Kentucky Derby win. The poor pony was also known to have downed pain killers after hurting his leg. Then there is the well documented battle with anorexia. Spending weeks in rehabilitation did no good as he was constantly being hounded by the paparazzi. In time he came to the conclusion that the only way out of this mess was to fake his own death.

Apparently, when the horse went to be "euthanized" the gun held to his head contained blanks. A stable hand was then heard saying, "That Barbaro is a good actor. He dropped like he really did die." Another clue my VERY reliable source sent to me is that the tombstone being created for him has his name spelled "Barbarro". Very interesting indeed.

After the "euthanization" Barbaro was snuck out the back barn door wearing a trench coat and fedora. He was immediately put on a plane for a destination that has yet to be determined by my extremely reliable source. However, there have been mutiple Barbaro sightings already. A customer at a local Raleigh North Carolina mini-mart has sworn she has seen Barbaro stocking shelves wearing a uniform having the name "Flicka" on the name tag. Another person witnessed Barbaro driving a taxi and speaking with a thick Middle Eastern accent in Manhattan. Yet another swears up and down, even on the bible, she saw Barbaro employed as a lifeguard at a Phoenix area pool.

Yes, my friends, Barbaro is not dead. I repeat, BARBARO IS NOT DEAD!

Quote of the day: "He was an enormous foal," recalled breeder Bill Sanborn.

Sling Us a Web, You're the Spider-Man

2007-01-29T06:37:00.000-08:00

Good Morning...

I received an email the other day with the very intriquing subject, "Want to be a hero in bed?". I think it is obvious to everyone reading this post that the right answer is a resounding, "I like the idea but I would rather have some Chunky Monkey ice cream instead."

What, exactly, is a "hero in bed?" I imagine I am wearing manly tights and an ever-flowing cape. "Hero mode" is in full action as I lift a steaming locomotive off a damsel in distress. Without any previous clues she suddenly reveals she is actually the villian. A rock of some universal galatic substance is pulled out from underneath her and extended to me. This rock is in reality a mineral that drains me of all my powers. I fall helpless to the pillows as the evil wench walks away cackling an evil cackle.

Eventually she heads downstairs to watch reruns of Dr. Phil.

At least that is how I envision it.

Thought for the day: Do you ever feel you are eternally being chased by a rabid ostrich?

We'll Never Forget the Way You Thrilled the Nation With Your T-formation

2007-01-22T09:22:00.000-08:00

A little bit of history...

Blark once said to Oog, "Me want club." Oog gave Blark the club at which time Blark proceeded to beat Oog to death. Thus came about history's first hate crime. Blarg was an Oogaphobe.

Fast forward a little further and I will tell you that I spent much of my youth and young adult years in Chicago. During those times, and after, I have been a die hard Bears fan. Needless to say, I am a happy man today. It is like I just had sex for the first time in 21 years and I didn't need any...err..."help"...if you know what I mean.

So congratulations to the Bears (except to Rex Grossman, he is an albatross...I don't mean the albatross from the Rime of the Ancient Mariner but an actual albatross) and the Bears fans. They are the best fans in the world! Except for that one guy named Tom. He is a loser.

All this being said I am still going to give my Super Bowl XLI predication in an objective way. My prediction is based on scientific research and fact. My prediction is that the Bears will win by 42. I base this on the following picture.

The Colts obviously have a little more "love" involved in the game. And every knows "love" has no place in football.

Go BEARS!

PS My apologies to the one and only Saints fan I know, Bennet. Luckily we won't hear anymore about how good the Saints are for the city of New Orleans after Katrina. I certainly didn't notice any homeless people with sideline passes in the Superdome since the night of the hurricane.

I Think She's Warmin' Up to the Ice Age

2007-01-18T00:00:00.000-08:00

Once again here is undeniable and indisputable proof that global warming is real.

Are you really going to argue against such overwhelming evidence or will you sit back in a collapsing chair of apathy and think the truth inconvienent? I pray for the survival of the children living in the year 4204 if we do nothing!

Yodelayeeee!

2007-01-17T11:00:00.000-08:00

Jack Bauer is back and so am I. But in my case I will not lean against a tree and cry like a little baby with diaper rash. Man what a wuss.

What dragged me out of the den of obscurity and back into this wonderland? I really have no idea. Except to say, does Donald Trump really deserve a star on the Hollywood walk of fame?

I remember, back in the day, when you had to be a pretty damn good actor with a long track record of good movies before you would be given that honor. Now you just need to be an annoying real estate mogul to get one. What are the chances Donald bought the star? I bet he did. Or the father of that skanky Miss USA he pardoned owns Hollywood. Either way, I decided if Mr. Trump (as the butt kissers on his show call him) deserves a star then I do as well. And not only me, a number of other people in my life deserve one.

The additional stars would, of course, start with me. It is not commonly known, plus I don't like to draw attention to myself, but I am a pretty darn good yodeler. Or as they say in the backwoods of my old country home, "yohdlier". Yes, it's true. And to top it all off, I can do it while eating spam and eggs. High quality entertainment, that is. You too can be a master yodeler.

Another star needs to go to the lady at the drive-thru window at my local Wendy's. Not only is my spicy chicken sandwich spicy with some actual chicken, she is consistent with the amount of ketchup for my fries. I ask, "May I get a bunch of ketchup packets?" She then responds with, "Sí, usted persona estúpida. " Which loosely translated means, "I love you so much I will give you 2."

I would give a third star to the guy that keeps missing the urinal in the men's bathroom. Many of you have no clue how much talent and dexterity this actually takes. Sure, anyone could get it into that large opening in front of them but it takes great skill to get it all over the floor and across the wall. We still stare in amazement how he got it that high on the wall.

Another achievement was when I came in once and noticed him just finishing up writing the preamble of the constitution on the floor. It was cute that he wrote, "We the PEEple." Tee hee, that crax me up.

Of course the next star goes to the janitor who cleans up after that other guy.

That is the start of my list of people who deserve a star on the Hollywood walk of fame if Donald Trump can get one. The list will continue to grow. Any suggestions from the rest of you?

Thanks and have a nice day.

Tangerine, Tangerine, Living Reflection From a Dream

2006-11-13T00:01:00.000-08:00

The monkey had been sitting in the walk-in freezer eating tangerines for approximately 2 hours. Research has shown that there is only one primate in the whole world who would know how long it had been eating tangerines in the freezer. In this case, it was just a typical monkey who didn't have a watch nor would it be capable of telling time. What the animal did know was that it really loved tangerines.

If the urge ever hit me to write a novel, that is how it would start.

What happens to the monkey? Why does he love tangerines so much? What is with the freezer? Isn't he cold? The answers will come when you spend $29.95 for the hardcover version of my book. Or you could always wait another year for the paperback version at $7.95. However, you may not want to do that because the paperback will only have the odd numbered pages.

I am in the process of making changes to the ole blog. For you, this place will be free.

Thanks for hanging around. Stay tuned...maybe there will not be so many "Empty" links in the near future.

Go Bears!

Driving All the Old Men Crazy

2006-11-07T13:53:00.000-08:00

I am coming back.

I am not too sure why I am, but there is an itch. An itch that must be scratched using a dull razor blade with one good shave left in it.

Anyone in favor of this move, say "Aye".

See you soon...maybe.

PS I am obviously changing the look and feel of the site. So be patience, look, then feel me.

Wax a Chump Like a Candle

2006-09-07T00:01:00.000-07:00

There is evil lurking in the shadows of my freezer. Would it be the frozen rancid meat? No. Is it the frozen mixed vegetables that I bought that one time last year when I said to myself, "TODAY, I start eating healthy!" No. Fruitcake flavored ice cream? Close, but no. The well hidden but shivering Al Qaeda leader Osama Bin Laden? Not even him.

Of course there is one more question that must be asked: Who would freeze rancid meat? Well, I ask, "Who wouldn't?"

Although the above guesses were well thought out they still did not hit on the true nemesis in my freezer. What I am referring to are the ice cubes deposited and packed neatly in my ice cube "box".

Allow me to explain...

Every night my freezer comes alive. Water is pumped into the icemaker, which proceeds to...umm...freeze the water. Frozen water is ice. At least that is what my 1st grade teacher Mrs. Watson used to tell me. She was always known to be a liar, however.

The ice begins to take shape and is slowly pushed out of it's holding pen. Like alien creatures being born through the stomach of an astronaut the ice cubes fall into the ice cube "tray". There they wait. They know that at some point an unsuspecting victim will flood light into their hideout at which point they will strike.

The "unsuspecting victim" is usually me. I have constantly been classified as unsuspecting.

As I open the freezer door the ice cubes crouch down like a lion hiding behind some brush. I believe I once even saw the cubes shake their back ends like a cat about ready to attack a piece of yarn. But I may have been mistaken...or at least unsuspecting.

I grab a handful of this evil ice when, just as I am placing them into my beverage to make it cool, one flops out onto the floor. The rest make it into my drink, but the dastardly deed had been done. That one ice cube willingly sacrificed itself. It always happens! One ice cube escapes as I try to chill my refreshment. The other ice cubes bow their heads in frozen admiration in honor of their hero.

Eventually, that suicidal ice cube melts into a slippery mess into which I find my foot entering and sliding through. As I lay there on the kitchen floor I can hear their little laughs behind the freezer door.

Mock on little frigid ingots of water, I will repay.

Excuse Me, But I Just Have to Explode

2006-08-28T00:01:00.000-07:00

I sat nervously trying to color, piece, and tie together wires to styrofoam balls. My fingers had known the burning sensation of the glue gun 15 too many times. Finally I was on the last ball. A small ball colored a frosty blue (please no sick jokes here). It had to resemble something cold and icelike. Like Hillary Clinton, but not that cold.

I was 13 then and thankfully knew nothing of Hillary Clinton. What I did know was that I was 9 hours away from presenting the final science project of the school year. A good grade would guarantee happiness for one and all during the summer. The project was announced 2 weeks previously, of course I started the night before.

The last small ball was positioned onto the curved end of the wire and a glob of heated glue was added to secure it. I took hold of a string and lifted it up as high as my arms would reach. Nine balls in various shapes and colors hung from that string and slowly rotated around one large yellow styrofoam ball labeled "Sun". Like God examining his creations on the seventh day I accepted my model of the universe by saying, "It is good."

Today, that model is not so good.

Some geeks in Prague, Czech Republic denounced my model, and every other model of the universe created by kids over the last 70 years, as a big stinky pile of ant doo. "Nope, Pluto is NOT a planet. Thus sayeth the almighty overlords of all things non-important but want to feel important because we still can't get dates." Yes, in a stunning reversal of 70 years of scientific "fact" Pluto suddenly, and quite dramatically, became a non-planet. In true scientific political incorrectness they now classify Pluto a "dwarf planet". Essentially what this means is Pluto can no longer join in any planetary games, unless it is to retrieve the basketball that mistakenly under a table.

The head geek from the conference, coincidently enough wearing a blue Star Trek shirt and Spock ears, proclaimed "This is really all about science, which is all about getting new facts." New facts apparently means changing definitions and calling them "discoveries". Makes me wonder if I can talk them into lowering the IQ definition of genius.

The next morning after this announcement I awoke with thanks because the sun still came up as it always has. While observing the sunrise I couldn't help but wonder about Pluto; that poor wasteless and cold ball of something floating in an oval orbit inside and outside of Neptune. An old mnemonic saying that I was taught while memorizing the names of the nine planets came back to me: My Very Excellent Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas. I tear formed in my eye as I realized there will be no more pizzas. No more pizzas because scientists say so.

There is a one thing I have learned from all of this: when geeky scientists meet for a conference, you better watch Uranus.

Pluto during happier times.

Disappointment Haunted All My Dreams

2006-07-27T12:01:00.000-07:00

Know what I did this last weekend?

No?

I saw Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest.

Yeah, I did. Really.

Unfortunately, I was not really all that impressed.

Really.

I am sorry to those who have not seen the movie but I must reveal how the movie ended in order to validate my dismay and disappointment. Through the entire first 6 1/2 hours of the movie (yeah...it is a long movie) I was somewhat entertained. There was a lot of swashbuckling and a few "Arrrrrrr's" mixed in. Of course, Johnny Depp was just darlin' as the wacky and contorted Captain Jack Sparrow. And Keira Knightley...well...what more can you say about Keira? Except for, maybe, "Hey chick! How about eatin' a hamburger or something?"

So I was moving happily along enjoying the swashbuckling and mixture of "Arrr...ARRRR!" when the movie ended.

*sigh*

The following is definitely a movie spoiler but I can't help it. For those who saw this garbage you must agree it was a horrible way to end such a blockbuster.

As Captain Jack was about to attack the Kraken, Davy Jones jumps out and attacks!

What made it worse was that he actually sang I'm a Believer, Last Train to Clarksville, AND Rany Scouse Git.

How depressing.

PS: For the record my favorite Monkee was Micky Dolenz. What a crazy man!

And i must go, oh, no, no, no!
Oh, no, no, no!

To Worry-Worry, Super Scurry

2006-07-21T08:12:00.000-07:00

Every morning I do very much the same thing. I walk out my front door, down the porch steps and out to my car parked in the driveway. The car is parked in the driveway because, like most American families, there is no room in the garage. Somehow we have had it placed in our minds that a garage is not actually for automobiles but for a wide variety of "stuff" we think we need but in reality will be bought by yard sale vultures. "Yes, I paid $2000 for that treadmill but for you, my friend, I will sell it for 50 cents!"

My walk to the car is always uneventful. Today...was different.

Crossing the driveway to my car stood a penguin in the way of my normal path. I stopped in front of him and looked down, because penguins are kinda short. He wore a bowler style hat, carried an untitled book under his right wing and held a blue balloon in his left. With dark beady eyes he looked up at me and said, "Beware, BEWARE!"

I walked around him to my car and got in the drivers seat. As I began to start the engine I looked back at him. He had turned around and stared at me again with those dark beady eyes. "Beware, BEWARE!" he urged me.

On the freeway another car began to pass me on my left side. It slowed down so that it was beside me going the same speed. I looked over and saw the same penguin with those dark beady eyes behind the window of the passenger side. He was once again mouthing the same words while holding the book and balloon, "Beware, BEWARE!" I sped up and moved away from him.

This same event happened on the sidewalk on my way to my building ("Beware, BEWARE!"), in the hallway to my office ("Beware, BEWARE!"), and the penguin sat in one of the chairs from across me ("Beware, BEWARE!"). All the while he wore a bowler style hat, held onto a untitled book and blue balloon.

Finally, while taking a break, I went into the bathroom. There, standing on the floor, was the penguin with his dark beady eyes, bowler style hat, untitled book, and blue balloon. Once again he warns, "Beware, BEWARE!" I did my business, washed my hands, and headed out the door. Blocking my way to the door was the penguin, "Beware, BEWARE!"

I took out a pen and popped his balloon. Then I pushed open the door and walked around him. Looking back I saw him stare helplessly at the remains of the balloon. Was that a tear forming in his eye? I shrugged and continued on to go back to work.

I have never seen the penguin with the dark beady eyes, bowler style hat, untitled book, and blue balloon again.

I Want to Ride it Where I Like

2006-07-20T08:22:00.000-07:00

Hey Mr. Mountain Bike. From where did you come and to where do you go?

With your baggy blue jeans clamped on the right cuff with a shiny band you must be going somewhere important. When you get there do they appreciate how hard you peddled drawing buckets of sweat underneath your Dicks Sporting Goods backpack? I bet they don't know how difficult it was to find a clean red t-shirt that fits snuggly around your bulged out gut. But you did, and it smells so fine.

Those cycling gloves must give you some serious traction to those handlebars. I bet they even keep bugs off your hands so that when you get to the place you will soon arrive you can shake hands free of worry that no bugs will be harmed in the process.

Your Schwinn is tightly chained to the bike rack with a nice silver lock. No one will steal that machine because it is so secure. Why even try? There is respect among bike thieves for those who own such equipment. There is an invisible barrier that has an alarm which shouts, "BACK OFF SCUM!"

I see you unlock your treasure and swing your leg over the nice, fake, leather seat. I see you do it again since the first try banged your leg into seat because you can't get your leg up high enough. The third try knocks your silver cuff band off which lands about 10 feet away. After putting the band back on, I see the determination on your face that the fourth time will work. YES! The fourth time is your true friend!

As you sit on the seat your tires flatten out a bit due to the weight they suddenly find themselves under. Your right foot, the one with the silver cuff band, places itself on the raised peddle and you push off. The ride is a little shaky at first but you gain control and, I am sure, confidence.

Off you go Mr. Mountain Bike!! Go off to your destination and be one with the wind!!

(Yo Punk Tell Him Why...) The Milk is Spoiled!!

2006-07-19T07:05:00.000-07:00

There is a door in a discrete alcove off of the main hallway where I work. In this area there are two doors both labeled with a little human stick figure. There is one figure with a dress and one without a dress. After some serious deductive reasoning I came to the conclusion these were bathrooms. They were definitely not just any old bathrooms either, they once belonged exclusively to executives in a day long before my peon life came to be. I believe the executives would go in and frolic in fields of daisies wearing only frond leaves. But that is just conjecture.

On the door with the stick figure wearing the dress a new sign was added recently that peaked my curiosity. The sign boldly proclaims, "Lactation Room".

I am not a smart man but I do know what goes on in a room like this. Immediately I went to the store. I came back to that secretive alcove in the hallway and knocked on the door showing the stick figure wearing a dress. The "Lactation Room" sign slid open and an eye on the other side asked, "Did Scooby Doo Velma?" I answered, "Only on weekends with Shaggy."

The little opening closed but the door opened. In the room were 3 men wearing dresses eating a plate of brownies and drinking gallons of milk straight out of the carton as they watched the Simpsons.

You have no clue how close to heaven this really is.

Address 3rd Trash Can From the Left

2006-07-18T08:43:00.001-07:00

At work I have a daily ritual. The interesting thing it does not involve actually "working". I come into my office, sit at my desk, and it begins.

I swivel my chair to the left and hit the small trash can with my left foot. Once again, the cleaning lady emptied my trash and then placed the can under the front of my desk rather than the preferred location under the back of my desk. The back of the desk is much more convienent for me because my left foot would not be knocking it over as I swivel my chair to the left. I could try swiveling to the right, but that would not help me get out of my office very well. Or, I could continue swiveling to the right almost 360 degrees but my right foot would eventually make contact with the trash can. My right foot doesn't like touching trash cans.

I have left a note for the cleaning lady asking her to, "¡Mueva por favor la cesta del desecho a la espalda del escritorio!" To this point, nothing has changed.

So this morning I sat down at my desk, swiveled to the left, and knocked over my trash can. Somehow this felt comforting...somehow.

It's Gonna Be The End You See, It's Gonna Be The Death of Me

2006-05-27T00:01:00.000-07:00

It is late on a Friday night and here I am posting a post on my blog. It is also over a long holiday weekend so I doubt this post will get much play anyway. If that does not define "loser" I really don't know what does. Unless you are doing the same thing, which just means there are two of us. So...hey how ya doin'?

There has been some thinking going on in my brain this week. My two brain cells met up for brunch, talked about the weather, then vigorously rubbed against each other to create enough heat in order for a couple of neurons to hop across my synapse. It is an interesting organism, that brain. Just when you think you have things figured out it chugs back to life like a smoking Model T so it can reveal just how ignorant I really am.

After some violent popping of cylinders the brain quiets down and the two brain cells go back into hibernation. Only then is the ultimate culprit in this strenuous game of tic tac toe revealed: feelings.

Last weekend the wife of a very good friend passed away due to a valiant fight with cancer. They always use the term 'valiant' don't they? I don't believe I have ever read an obituary wherein it stated, "So-and-so whimpered out and ran away from cancer until it caught up to him and gave him severe noogies. He finally cried for mercy like a little boy lost in the feminine hygiene aisle of Costco." No, I have never seen that. It is always 'valiant'. It was valiant in the case of this very good friend.

If I was ever face to face with the angel of death I have pictured myself screaming obscenities to him about his bony mother. The spittle that was once resting comfortably in my mouth would drip down his skully face. After belittling him with my taunts I would then take his scythe and proceed to give him one helluva vasectomy. Finally I would turn him around and push him over the edge of a very tall cliff onto the jagged rocks below.

Of course, the angel of death could not die. I don't even think he gets pissed. His whole purpose is to snuff out the lives of people. I guess that is a lot control and not worthy to get stressed when some moron like me spits in his face. He probably will just give me a sly smile and a warm giggle then put his arm around me and say, "Come on AB, it is going to be ok...really."

With that thought in mind, including the events of this last week, everything will be ok...really.

She likes me for me, Not because I hang with Leonardo

2006-05-19T00:01:00.000-07:00

The Catholics are running amok!

Or is it amuck? I really don't know the grammar rules on this. The english language confuses me. Which, by the way, is the top reason I started this blog.

The Catholics are running amuck!

In movie theaters across the country unbridled Catholics are tipping over just purchased tubs of buttery popcorn and knocking the drinks out of the hands of the movie going public. There have also been alleged reports of old nuns jumping up in front of theater screens and doing a seriously wrinkled version of the full monty. The purpose of this exhibition is to obviously distract the audience from watching the movie.

What is all the fuss going on in the Catholic community? The Da Vinci Code comes to a theater near you today. Yes, it is the delightful film about a man and his paint brush that travel through the romantic areas of Italy and England. Although there are some that would argue there are NO romantic parts of England.

What is their quest? To seek the holy grail.

What is the holy grail? That question will be answered differently depending on who you ask. For example, some people believe the grail is the cup used by Jesus at the last supper. Others will contend it is Mary Magdelene who was the wife of Jesus. Then there are some who believe it is where you find relief in a bathroom after a day of judging a chili competition.

According to Dan Brown his holy grail is writing a lighthearted book that makes millions of dollars. Who would have guessed that his little tome would have ticked off one of the worlds major religions? But ticked them off he did. As a matter of fact they are not just ticked off they are ticketly tick tocked off. Rumor even has it that the pope has issued "one hell of a jihadic fatwa on Dan's ass." But I must admit my italian is a bit off tonight. He either said that or, "Hey Barry, get me a calzone."

All of this kind of interests me not at all. I read the book and had absolutely no desire to go out and kill catholics. Although I did give one the evil eye once. But I do that to lutherans all the time so I don't think much of it. What I do find intriquing is that the Jews felt the same way about The Passion of the Christ. Many catholics then, however, told them to stuff it in a tube sock.

So the catholics are mad and Dan Brown is bathing in his holy grail. After all is said and done it must make one wonder what Leonardo Da Vinci must think of this controversy. Again, my italian is a little weak, but I am sure he would say, "Barry, per favore darme un calzone." Which means in english "Barry, for favor darme a pants." But I think you get my point.

Who's in the house? Truckerrrrrr!

2006-05-16T00:01:00.000-07:00

I have been told by a very reliable resource that it is NOT cinco de Mayo anymore. I find this strange since the dos taquitos I had that day are still hanging around. I still haven't put away the plethora of pinatas hanging around my home from the drunken wild orgy parties I had. When I say "drunken wild orgy parties" I, of course, mean sitting around in my underwear watching a Chico and the Man marathon while eating nachos and burrrrrrrrrritos.

All of this just proves my inability to blog regularly. I get so distracted by other things that I...umm...hmmm...

Sorry, there was an ant crawling across my desk.

I mentioned once before that I am a true blue manic-depressive blogger. MDB was my new name at the time. Recently I realized I also have attention hyperact.... Hence from this point on I am now MD-ADHDB.

Oh look, a UPS truck!

As I was saying, the following are things I would like to boycott.

1) Paris Hilton
2)

It is such a pretty day. I wonder if I should go campi...man am I thirsty.

The hottest woman in the world, according to Maxim magazine, is Eva Longoria. Although this is not a bad choice there are some who disagree. According to them the hottest woman in the world is actually Kid Rock. Don't ask me why.

Oh...and it is raining in New England.

Jose Can You See?

2006-05-05T00:01:00.000-07:00

Today is Cinco de Mayo! To all my Mexican and Chicano amigos y amigas, I wish you a happy party! Save some of the candy in the pinata for me. I could use some gobstoppers!

In commemoration of this day I present to you the AB version of the history of Cinco de Mayo. Believe me, this is based on factual historical accuracy. Really....believe me...really...all true...really....what?

The history of Cinco de Mayo begins in France. Yes, I know. Doesn't make sense but please bear with me on this. You see, in 1861 the french were sitting around in cafes, smoking skinny cigarettes, and talking smack about the Americans when a note came from Mexican President Benito Juarez. The same Benito Juarez related to the Lincoln, Nebraska Jaurez's.

In the note it stated that Mexico was strapped for cash and needed some time to pay back their debts. Everyone knows you should never mess with a frenchman's franc's. The french screamed "Sock ray blue!" Which literally means, "Pass the alcoholic syrup!" The French really didn't care about money; they only cared about art and wearing silly little hats. So the Mexican president sent another note saying they have changed their french fries to mexi-fries. That did it. The french yelled, "Sock ray red!" This means, "Pass the wine and let's move to Mexico!"

Mexico also refused to pay back the Spanish and English. Those countries were more willing to start an invasion of Mexico because they really love the border tacos in Brownsville, Texas. However, what really ticked off the English and Spanish was the fact they charged them a donkey and 2 goats for the tacos. Usually you could get a good border taco for only one goat.

The war began. Eventually the English and Spanish withdrew because they had "better things to do." The French would not be so easily deterred. Over time they learned that it was easier to surrender earlier in a war. However, in this case, they really wanted to start an empire in Mexico so they could annoy Americans from a shorter distance. Napolean the III, which happens to be related to the Oak Brook, Illinois Napoleans, believed the United States would become too powerful. So to stop them he saw Mexico as great place to launch his terrorism campaigns to bring the Americans to their knees. One tactic he used was to leave bags of burning poop near Tucson.

In 1862, General Ignacio Zaragoza (related to the Bronx Zaragoza's), put together an army of 5,000 and defeated the French army in the "Batalla de Puebla". The reason such an ill-equipped group of soldiers defeated the mighty french army is a story that has been hidden. The French were sitting around a campfire eating ham and cheese sandwiches and talking about art and how stupid the English language is. One asked, "Hey Claude, can you pass me the mayonnaise?" Claude had just finished off the bottle which pissed off the other.

General Zaragoza saw this as an opportunity. In an disguised effort to be friendly he offered the french some Mexican mayonnaise which gave the French some seriously violent diarrhea. The French were easily defeated and that day become known as ¿Dónde está la mayo? It eventually took on the more sexier and marketable name "Cinco de Mayo."

This victory is celebrated today throughout the Mexican and Chicano communities as well as with some others who just want an excuse to drink beer and tequila. The United States government joins in the commemoration by going to Taco Bell and giving away free healthcare.

Viva Cinco de Mayo!

A Pair of Dutch Chimps Who Send Their Love From Amsterdam.

2006-05-04T00:01:00.000-07:00

I love monkeys.

Monkeys make me laugh. Many times I see a monkey and say, "Oh you are a funny little monkey!" Then the monkey will look at me and give me a big teethy grin followed by an, "oooo oooo ahh ahh." I have never seen a monkey actually scratch their head and under their arms. That is probably an evil rotten stereotype.

To clarify, when I say "monkey" I am also including gorillas, chimpanzees, and oragutans. I would like to add sea monkey's but they are not really monkeys. I have never seen a sea monkey perform death defying tricks high above the ground on a trapeze. It would never work.

Before you think ahead of me, I am not going to tell the story of a monkey that came to my house and asked to borrow some sugar. He knocked on the front door with his feet. As I answered he tipped his bowler hat to me and asked, "ello, care to lend me a spot of of sugar?" No, I won't tell you that story.

Today's post is only an expression of my admiration for monkeys. Monkeys have performed great and inspiring tasks. They dance so lovely as the organist plays his minstrel music. I have had breakfast with monkeys. I have also played catch with monkeys using banana peels as the thrown object. Who can ever forget the curious as well as the in-love-with-a-hot-blonde monkeys? Monkeys have played an important part in my life and will always have a warm place in my heart.

Yes, I love the monkey. Long live the monkey.

'Cause I'm Under the Influence of You

2006-05-02T12:01:00.000-07:00

I did it again. I did NOT make Time magazines list of the top 100 people who shaped our world. Word has it that I came in a close 367,022, 917th. But I have asked for a recount. There were some votes coming in from Nambia that were not included. And you know my motto, "Every vote should be, umm, counted!"

Eventually I did put my pride high on a shelf, right next to my self-respect, and accepted the inevitable role I play in life. However, looking at the ones that did make the list it does leave one to scratch their head and think, "What the hell?"

The one apparent rule is that the list contains, "the 100 men and women whose power, talent, or moral example is transforming our world." It won't surprise you that I have some comments about some of the people that made this list.

Artists & Entertainers

J. J. Abrams - He is responsible for such shows as Alias and Lost and now Mission Impossible 3. Tom Cruise wrote an eloquent review stating the top reason J.J. should be on the list. Mr. Cruise mentioned, "Look at the Jays we have now—Jay Leno, J. Lo, Jay-Z—but he's got two Js." Ummm...ok.

Ang Lee - Personally responsible for changing the thought pattern of a cowboy who bends down to pick up his saddle, if you know what I mean. *nudge nudge*

Tyra Banks - Didn't she get caught schlurping cocaine? Or was that some other anorexic drugged out supermodel?

Reese Witherspoon - Ok, she was a "dawling" in Walk the Line. That performance would make me vote for her to be on the list. Unfortunately, Legally Blonde 2 would immediately drop her off.

Stephen Colbert - Huh?

Rain - "Rain is big—big!—in Japan." So are tsunamis, typhoons, and earthquakes. But we haven't turned them into "Rain is the face—and well-muscled torso—of pop globalism." I will kill myself now.

Will Smith - Is it me or is Will Smith just not the same since he and Jazzy Jeff broke up?

George Clooney - I tried not to comment about George. I really did. It was in me not to say a thing about him. But here it is....blech.

Scientists & Thinkers

Never heard of any of them. Wait......no not one.

Leaders & Revolutionaries

George W. Bush - I am not sure what this means. But since Time is a left-wing liberal wacko of a magazine it probably means it is a joke. Or they hate black people. And our freedom.

Wen Jiabao - I don't have anything to say about the Chinese Premier, I just like to say his name. Wen Jiabao, Wen Jiabao, Wen Jiabao, Wen Jiabao. But I do bet he "speeks engrish learry good."

Jigme Sinqye Wangchuck - On second thought, I think I like saying the King of Bhutan's name. Jigme Sinqye Wangchuck, Jigme Sinqye Wangchuck, Jigme Sinqye Wangchuck. Hey! Everybody Wangchuck tonight!

Oprah Winfrey - *sigh*

Heroes and Pioneers

In my younger years I use to think of a hero as one who sacrifices his own time, money and even life for others. These people included those who give up their lives for the cause of freedom. A hero is someone who would enter a burning building to save those inside despite personal risk. I even think of those who will do what is right in the face of great adversity and personal sacrifice. Those are my heroes.

Times heroes include: Bono, Michelle Wie, Angelina Jolie, Steve Nash, Paul Simon, Ralph Lauren, Al Gore, and *gulp* Katie Couric. I guess the definition has changed over the years.

Builders & Titans

Ah, who really cares, huh?

So after all of this I give you my personal list of those who shaped my world.

Sara Lee
Dolly Madison
Betty Crocker
Cartman
Dirty Harry
Gilligan
Tennessee Tuxedo
Both Sears and JC Penny Catalogs from the early 80's.

Mouthful of Cavities

2006-05-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

I have decided to take the day off.

Just so there is no confusion, it is not in support of mi hermanos y hermanas. They seem to do very well on their own. Although it will be a little strange ordering my customary bacon cheeseburger in english. "Cheesburger de tocino, ningunos encurtidos y cebollas, por favor." Yes, it is going to be strange indeed.

I took the day off in protest of dentists.

There are too many of them and most of them are here illegally. I see them every morning down on the street corners with their little bags full of drills, flouride treatment, free floss and toothbrushes, and those little sharp pointy objects that they stick in your teeth then wiggle around like they are trying to extract ore. It is an ugly epidemic let me tell you, boy oh howdy.

Why am I so adamantly opposed to illegal dentistry? Because one of them worked on me on Friday. Sure, it started out well and dandy on Tuesday of last week. "MDB (aka AB), it seems as though you have 6 cavities that need to be filled. I am free Friday. How about you?"

I shyly said, "Sure".

Friday came and I found myself in the chair of the dentist with my mouth open and him shoving his hands in there. The worst part was sticking needles in my mouth to numb those areas of interest. He would then jiggle my cheeks like some old grandma. I was waiting for him to say, "You are a cute little patient...yes you are...just cute!" He didn't. Somehow that depressed me.

The assistant asked me if I would like any medication to relax or at least some laughing gas. I said, "No, I am a man!" By which I mean I sit around in my underwear and watch football all day while passing artistic forms of gas. What it also means is I cry like a baby when no one is watching. After the numbing needles tore into my gums a small tear ran down my cheek. I quickly wiped it off so she wouldn't see it. No man cries in front of a woman. Unless you are Ben Affleck. What a baby.

The rest of the appointment went like this: lots of drooling and dribbling of liquid, many sucking sounds from the little sucky things that suck out your gums and tongue (sounds sexy, yo), drilling with enamel smoke wafting up into the air and into my eyes, then adding a paste-like substance which was very much like super glue with a slight minty fresh taste.

I was then sent home with a pat on my back and free floss and a toothbrush in a nice bright plastic bag. It is so great of those dental sales representatives to give that stuff out for free then allow the dentists to take credit for it. That is the world I really enjoy living in.

Jesus Just Left Chicago & He's Bound for New Orleans.

2006-04-28T00:01:00.000-07:00

In my last post I made mention of my religious zealot cat. Then it occurred to me, "What if there really isn't a tooth fairy?!" After that occurrence occurred I realized that I have not told the story of the spiritual conversion of my cat. I apologize. It is like I was foreshadowing but more like backshadowing with a flair. Makes sense? Good.

My cat found Jesus.

He found him tucked in the corner of the hall closet behind some winter coats.

Hehehehe...

Sorry, that isn't right. Although it does make one wonder. Back "in the day" when Jesus walked the earth I wonder if he played a similar game to hide and seek called Find Jesus. He probably asked Peter to count to 30 then, with James and John, went looking for him. Eventually they would find him on some Judean plain feeding thousands of people with a loaf of bread and a fish. To make the miracle more dramatic I heard he used a small cornbread muffin and a sardine.

Of course, when Peter found him he would yell, "I found Jesus!" The other apostles would come running and then have a good time healing the lepers. They would never let Judas play, though.

My cat has always been one to investigate religions and try to find the meaning of life. He tried Buddhism once and even became a monk. He shaved his fur, put on an orange robe, and lived in a monastery. He soon reached nirvana by overdosing on lithium. He played that song all freaking day. Got really annoying. (For those who don't know the band Nirvana had a popular song named Lithium and...ah nevermind.) He once thought he reached true nirvana but that was only because we finally changed his litter box and put a picture of Courtney Love next to it. Somehow putting the picture in that spot seemed appropriate.

Hinduism was a good a choice...for about a day. The llama kept trying to eat him.

Madonna tried to convince him into joining her little freaked out sect of Judaism. He thought about it for awhile then realized...well...it IS Madonna. So he declined her invitation.

Other religions he tried were the Shakers, Quakers, and the Candlestick Makers. He did give Scientology a try but I refuse to give anymore space to Tom Cruise.

Just about the time he was to attend a meeting with the Jehovah’s Witnesses he had a vision. In the vision he came across a talking bush of catnip. The bush was on fire yet was not consumed. The catnip told him to not join the Jehovah Witnesses because they were "freaky". Instead he should join no religion, go home, and find Jesus.

After finding Jesus in the closet all he does is sit around all day and tell me how I am going to hell unless I find him too. But, since HE already found him I will have to go and find my own Jesus because he is not giving his up.

Hopefully I am not being too sacrilegious here. If I am may God strik

If I Could Pull the Nerves From My Skin, I Would

2006-04-26T12:01:00.000-07:00

Once I had this desire to be found on Bloggers "Blogs of Note" list. I know this was a lofty goal. I even impressed myself with it. Eventually it passed through me like some bad Mexican salsa. Occasionally, like some bad Mexican salsa, it comes back to grip me by the throat then yells, "You must get on the Blogs of Note list!". Once again the feeling leaves like a dejected gorilla after losing a mating war.

I still wonder what it would be like; then I don't.

My objective today was to actually speak of the prairie dog family that recently moved into my garage. It was on my way to my car that I noticed them huddled warmly and sleeping under an old rug in the corner. As I pulled the rug off of them I realized that there were four. My guess was there is a mother, father, daughter and son. Such a cute nuclear family of prairie rodents.

They were definitely surprised to see me. The father of the group pushed the other three back behind him and raised his claws to me with a nasty little prairie dog growl. I asked, "Who are you? What are you doing here?" All I got in response was the growls. A prairie dog doesn't really growl I guess. It is more of an evil chirp. Some say the noise a prairie dog makes can be as loud on a decibel level as a jet airplane. A real evil airplane, of course. An airplane that takes off and lands you in the very depths of hell.

I once took Prairie Dog Chirping 101 in college but dropped it after a week. So I could not understand what they were saying. Luckily the cat spent some time on a ministerial mission to a colony of poor prairie dogs, so he can speak the language.

There were some meows and hisses combined with loud and evil chirps ringing in the air. The cat came back and explained the situation. The prairie dogs (Lets just call them PD's, ok? I am tired of typing that out.) snuck into the garage after escaping from a depressed neighborhood nearby. No, it is not the same one that is being run by the guinea pig but just as bad. They heard there were better opportunities here and felt they had a right to move into my garage.

The cat further mentioned that the PD's (See? That was much better.) saw how messy my bathrooms were and said they are willing to do that work if I wasn't going to. Sure there is some underwear on the floor which I haven't moved in 7 months, but it is MY bathroom, dammit!

The last few days hasn't been too bad. I have noticed I am running out of food but those bathrooms are super clean. I know, eventually, we will end up getting along and I probably won't even care anymore.

So the latest tally is: 2 gay hamsters, a religious zealot for a cat, my driveway is being protected by a knife-wielding ferret under the orders of a guinea pig, and now a family of PD's living in my garage. All in all a great way to be a blog of note.

Revvin' up Your Engine

2006-04-21T00:01:00.000-07:00

First, a public service announcement:

It probably is NOT a good idea to spend a couple of hours installing insulation then eating two hard-boiled Easter eggs followed by buttered popcorn and topped off with a Diet Coke. Don't ask me how I know this, I just do. Oh, I really do. Believe me. It is ugly.

Now on to my message:

This blog thing is an interesting deal. Those who have made visits here know by now I am a manic-depressive blogger. You may now start calling me "MDB". I can go with multiple posts in a week, those creative and lunatic juices would be flowing, then...it stops. I am not sure why it stops. No...I actually do. Other "things" happen. Like a large guy with two tubs of popcorn and an extra-large drink trying to move his way into a theater seat in front of you; distractions just come along in life.

My distractions were many and varied. There will be no need to bore you with any of that. However, I have decided that maybe I should do this again. Maybe it is an urge to release all of this rage I feel. Or it could be a way to share my secret, and sometimes evil, inhibitions with the world yet still remain anonymous. Mostly I think it is because I need to get my mind off of this Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes crap. Millions of women, and some men who have been probed by aliens, are giving birth on a daily basis. Yet, TomKat (btw...that name is lame...I prefer CruiseHo) act like they are the only ones who can say they really know what it is like.

I hate to break it to Mr. Cruise but I do know what it is like. Essentially childbirth involves a lot of bodily fluid flying about, severe screaming, dramatic swearing, scratching, clawing, ripping of clothing, and her telling me to keep that "thing" away from her.

N...no...that is my sex life. But childbirth is eerily similar.

So, here I am...again.

Those of you still around, thank you. You have greater patience than even I have.

News & Comment - 3/23/2006

2006-03-23T00:01:00.000-08:00

I don't have much today, except the following. Slow news day. Or I am just dogged tired. *yawn*

1) KABUL, Afghanistan — An Afghan man facing a possible death penalty for converting from Islam to Christianity may be mentally unfit to stand trial, a state prosecutor said Wednesday.

Makes sense considering the people deciding this believe bus stops and outdoor cafe's are an offense to Islam. Therefore they, the infidel bus stops, must be blown up.

2) NICOSIA, Cyprus (AP) -- A 2,500-year-old sarcophagus with vivid color illustrations from Homer's epics has been discovered in western Cyprus, archaeologists said Monday.

This is one incredible find. The ancient drawings are really revealing.

3) Chef Gets Big Send-Off on 'South Park'

Yes, poor Chef. He joins a fruity little club then gets mauled by a bear and a lion. Which is much like what the Baptists believe. Or is it when you join the Baptists you get some Juicy Fruits, a beer, and lie on a nice couch all day? I always confuse that.

Me Va La Fiesta

2006-03-22T00:01:00.000-08:00

I learned something yesterday. It is that having a small plate of nachos and two tacos from a roadside vendor is NOT a good idea. It may be if you want to lose weight by only eating one meal a day that literally stays with you all day long and even into the night. Side effects include bloating, gaseous emissions (both nocturnal and...umm...dayturnal), and spontaneous outbursts of Julio Eglesias songs. There is no stopping me when rocking out to Me va, me va, me va, me va, me va.

I have also changed my stand on a hot social topic. There was a time when I thought, "Hell, let the Mexicans come across that border! Who am I to stop them from reaching towards that American dream?" That dream, apparently, involves hanging around Home Depots waiting for some angry white American to load them in the back of a pickup and have them pick weeds all day. Personally MY American dream involves Hostess Donettes and specific members of the Carolina Panthers cheerleaders. But maybe that is a post for another day.

Anyway, it has come to my attention, by a reliable resource at the Department of Defense, that all of this is part of a diabolical plan. Mexico is planning a full-scale invasion of the United States by covertly taking over the fast food, lawn care, and janitorial industries. They do this by feeding you delicious "native" Mexican food which will cause stomach and intestine spasms so severe you are knocked out for a good 24 hours. When trying to use the bathroom their elite and highly trained spies in the Janitorial Ninjas back up every toilet in town. Or they may make sure your flush is not as forceful as it should be.

I did hear from my friend at the DOD that the U.S. has launched a counter attack by putting out counterfeit Mexican products that act as a sort of anti-venom. Examples include Taco Bell, Doritos, a frustrated chain-smoking maid named Marge, frozen bean burritos, and Cheech & Chong. These items have their own side effects that can be disastrous, but we all know that some collateral damage in war is accepted.

Note: No Mexicans were harmed during the creation of this post.

News & Comment - 3/21/2006

2006-03-21T12:01:00.000-08:00

1) Bush Urges Optimism - President tells Americans to see Iraq's developing democracy beyond scenes of violence.

Every good and efficient democracy started out violent and remains violent. For example, the Gabonese Republic began with a heated game of Rocks, Paper, Scissors. Riots tore through the heartland when one representive of a native group pulled out the rarely seen but effective 'Dynamite' play. This is done by holding the hand out with the index finger in a pointing motion. The 'pointy' finger represents the fuse of a stick of dynamite. Of course, NOTHING beats dynamite. The other group protested the move complaining that a player can only use dynamite once every 4 years. They argued that their competitors used it two years early. When it appeared there would be no resolution mayhem ensued. At least 10 people suffered severe wet willeys in the civil war. Finally the groups agreed to a peace plan and democracy was born in Gabon.

Or, President Bush is just trying to distract us with juggling and hand puppets.

2) Race for space tourism blasts off

Ho ho ho, headline writers have the best jobs. I never would have seen that coming.

Apparently one can spend $24 million for a trip to many reaches of outer space just for...fun. That is also roughly the cost of a roundtrip ticket from Seattle to Pocatello, Idaho. But what, precisely, would one see after spending such money for a ride into space? A nice beach on an alien planet where your father will be downloading all of your secret desires and knowledge through a flexi-straw connected to your ear. We all know this is true, Jodi Foster proved it to us.

3) Woman With Perfect Memory Baffles Scientists - Patient Remembers Every Day and Almost Every Detail of Her Life

First off, why is it news that scientists would be baffled? Every scientist I know has been baffled. As a matter of fact, if they weren't baffled then there would be nothing for them to research anymore...like there are differences between men and women. I don't need a scientist to tell me I am different from a woman. A woman was born wrapped in a pink blanket and men wrapped in a blue blanket. Duh! For more thoughts on science see #5.

As for the woman who remembers every detail of her life...sorry, I forgot what I was going to say.

4) The Blame Game and Obesity in America

I blame food.

5) Dinosaur May Have Had Longest Neck Ever

Note to all the super smart scientists. That isn't the dinosaurs neck you are examining. I think the fossilized box of Enzyte would have given it away.

I Washed My Hands in Muddy Water

2006-03-20T00:01:00.000-08:00

Hello...

You still here?

I admire you for your patience.

I washed my hands yesterday evening using a 'stinky' soap from Bath & Body Works. It was one hanging around the home and not intentionally sought after as a cleansing agent. My hands were dirty, it was there, and it was 'Anti-Bacterial'.

The only problem is, I think it gave me skin cancer. Upon completion of the drying action I noticed my hands were full of...sparkles. There were freakin' sparkles on my hands. This may also be the first indication of leprosy (I read that in a medical textbook once. It stated, "Leprosy begins with flashy sparkles on the back of the hand until it works it's way up the arms and chokes the victim with tubes of glitter.").

So I now have leprosy but my hands smell like 'Cotton Blossom' with Green Tea Extract and Shea Butter. Which, amazingly enough, I usually have for breakfast. There is nothing like an english muffin with Shea Butter and honey.

...With a Baseball Bat

2006-03-06T00:01:00.000-08:00

It has been another one of "those" weekends. Just to sum it all up...

1. Had some major cramps and bloating. I am not sure what this means, but it happens about once a month and makes me want to eat chocolate and cry while watching Oprah. Then there is this urge to go around kicking men in the groin.

2. Brokeback didn't win best picture. This really depresses me.

3. I can't get "Peanut Butter Jelly Time" out of my head. Yet another internet phenomenon that ran it's course about 5 years ago. It is at least making a comeback in my household. My kids ran around singing it all weekend. I just know this is about some evil sexual metaphor. But it is sure cute when they sing it. "Where he at? There he go!" Of course, the best version of it is from the Family Guy...

4. Then, when I logged into Trillian this morning, I get this:

*** Error logging into AIM: Error code 29: We think this means the AIM/ICQ servers are sick of seeing connections from your IP address. Wait a few minutes and try again.

Something tells me I should be offended. That will have to wait until I over this cramping.

Just Drop Off the Key, Lee

2006-03-03T00:01:00.000-08:00

The Adventurous Adventures of Corduroy Boy!

Lurking the hallways at el lugar de mi empleo roams an unassuming hero. Most of the day you can find him sitting in his cubicle writing code as a typical mid-range developer. At these times of the day all is quiet in the office. Sure, you will hear people moving softly around picking up print jobs from the printer, talking quietly on conference calls, or tapping on keyboards. However, that quiet office environment suddenly becomes disrupted when our hero jumps into action.

You know when he has been called on for another world-saving adventure because you hear him coming down the hall with his distinctive sound, "Vrrrrrrippp Vrrrrrrippp Vrrrrrrippp Vrrrrrrippp Vrrrrrrippp". You can also tell the seriousness of the situation by how fast or slow he goes. Sometimes it is "Vrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiipppppppppp Vrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiipppppppppp Vrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiipppppppppp," while other times it is "Vrip Vrip Vrip Vrip Vrip Vrip Vrip Vrip Vrip Vrip Vrip Vrip." No matter what the problem is you can always count on Corduroy Boy to be there.

One time a team of us were engaged in a heated disagreement about how to design and implement a certain IT solution. One side argued for a specific course of action while the other vehemently denied the request and offered up their own solution. It became obvious no one was giving up any ground and the project was in serious jeopardy. Millions of dollars were at stake unless someone relinguished power.

At the very moment when we were about to let it all fall apart were heard that characteristic noise, "Vrrrrrrippp Vrrrrrrippp Vrrrrrrippp." At the door of the conference room stood our savior, Corduroy Boy!

He stood there with legs akimbo like you would see any superhero stand. Only, instead of his clinched fists against his hips, he ate an ice cream cup (chocolate and vanilla flavored). You know the kind, the ones with the wooden spoon attached? As he looked at us, and ate his ice cream, he queried, "How's it goin'?"

Like snow melting before the hot sun our disagreements vanished. We all hugged and came to an agreement that generated more revenue than anyone ever calculated could be done.

THANK YOU CORDUROY BOY!! THANK YOU!!

Dancin' and Singin' and Movin' to the Groovin'

2006-03-01T00:01:00.000-08:00

I came home from work tonight feeling a little frisky. You know how it is when friskiness gets into you. You must lay down some funky white boy mixes.

Anyway, I turned onto my driveway and was stopped by a ferret brandishing a steak knife. I don't know what your experiences are like, but talking to a ferret is never ever easy. Especially when one is holding a knife and wearing a black headband. Kind of like the one Daniel-san wore in Karate Kid.

I tried to pull around the rodent but he just stepped into the path of the vehicle with a determined look in his eyes. Of course, I first checked to see if anyone was watching before I ran that bastard over. I live in a respectable neighborhood. When the day occurs that I am arrested I want my neighbors to be able to say to reporters, "He was such a nice man. I never would have known he would have done this."

As I rolled the car slowly forward (you have to go slowly, you want to have just the right amount of bone crunching and blood squishing) the damn thing shoved the knife into my tire and caused a flat.

I got out with a menacing sounding growl of, "Why you little..." Before I could say what little thing he was he shoved the knife into my shin. I hopped around in pain and swearing the cursing only a ferret would be offended by. He wasn't.

A neighbor did witness this event and captured it in a drawing. Interestingly enough that person is a court reporter and, as all court reporters are skilled to do, caught the scene beautifully. That is one freakin' gigantic ferret.

I left my car in the street so I could run into my house to take care of the bleeding wound. My gay hamsters sat chewing on some seeds with a gleeful look in their eye. I have seen that mysterious look before and questioned them on it.

Needless to say I was shocked. Without my knowledge and approval those damned hamsters sold the rights to control my driveway and garage to a guinea pig on the other side of the neighborhood. I got that guinea pig on the phone so I could share my disapproval and to tell him to call off his knife wielding ferrets. But all I got out of him was, "Cheek, squeak, teek teek teek cheeeeee." My guinea pig language skills are not very current, but I think he said, "Suck off sewer scumass."

I am not sure where this will lead, but I really really need access to my garage.

Time is Standing Still, It's a Dangerous Meeting

2006-02-27T00:01:00.000-08:00

On Friday afternoon (not last Friday but the Friday before last Friday...you know, THAT Friday) I was busily doing my work. I work busily because that is in my job description; "Must work busily." Some time after 1:00 PM my boss calls me and says, "I need you to travel on Monday." I respond with, "Ok, you are my boss and I do what you say and love what I do as you say I should do."

He paused for a moment then I heard him say under his breath, "What an idiot." He then added, "I need you to go to hmmriffitwa."

I said, "Where is Hmmriffitwa?"

Seemingly exasperated he said, "It is in the state of Loooqamtus...what an idiot".

So I headed to Hmmriffitwa, Loooqamtus. Amazingly, I could get a non-stop flight.

I spent a whole week in all day meetings discussing things our company wants to do in an impossible timeframe and budget. But we do it, because we care.

Towards the end of those meetings the person leading the discussions started to sound more like the adults in Peanuts cartoons. "Mwaw waw waw waw, waw waw waw." I began to despise my PC like a shrimp that has a little bit of poop in it. You know you have cheap and bad shrimp when it still has poop in it.

Speaking of shrimp, each night after sitting in all day meetings, we would go to Hmmriffitwa Beach and eat seafood. I steered clear of the shrimp. We did have rousing conversations that people tend to have when they really don't want to be there with each other. You know the kind, when you work with people but you really don't want to hang out with them?

When I finally got back to the hotel room I had absolutely no desire to open up that laptop and post anything. I was tired.

I am barely getting over this and still have some trauma to work through. But, I am ok. If someone actually sent me any emails wondering where I was and if I was ok I would say "You can stop sending those now, because I am ok."

I Wish I Could Quit You!

2006-02-15T00:01:00.000-08:00

Unfortunately AB doesn't have a lot of time today to post something witty and wonderful. He is very busy with things at work and cannot be disturbed (what a moron). So today AB would like to submit to you a question 'o' the day...

Men's doubles luge: real Olympic event or something sinister and evil that needs to be squashed with a heavy facist boot?

Discuss...

FYI: The hill the luge event takes place is called Brokeback Mountain. Go figure.

FYI2: AB is very secure in his manhood.

Hey, Mr. Reporter, I'll Believe All That You Put Down

2006-02-13T00:01:00.000-08:00

When I get in moods such as the one I have been in recently I tend to turn to the news. Without fail this cheers me up, because there is so much good news around. So today I present my news and comment. I warn you, I am not your grandfathers Paul Harvey.

1. Snow Buries New York and New England.

How come every time a snowstorm hits the northeast the rest of the country has to know about it and even care? The last time I checked, they were in the...ummm....NORTHEAST! It may be an ugly assumption but usually it is cold and wet there. When you combine these things you either get the northeast or a hooker in Antarctica. But, apparently, the rest of the world needs to be surprised by the fact that they get snow in the northeast. WOOO HOOO! LOOK AT ME! I AM "MR. SURPRISED"! MAYBE I SHOULD SEND SOME EMERGENCY KITS AND THOSE LITTLE HAND WARMERS!! In case you were curious, I was just being sarcastic. So we have snow in New England...the next thing you will tell me is that a suicide bomber loves bus stops.

2. Vice President Cheney Mistakenly Shoots Hunter

I didn't think much of this because many times hunters shoot each other in a friendly game of combat after about 59 beers and a package of hashish. It is pretty tough to tell the difference between a human and a buck taking a dump in the woods. Especially when the other person is not wearing the obligatory orange coat and using the obligatory orange toilet paper. But when I found out he was quail hunting and he shot a good friend by spraying him with birdshot, there was only one reaction........HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

3. Woman Accused of Being Condom Bomber

Every man in the country is now crossing his legs and groaning in unison.

Apparently the little bombs (in my case it would be a huge bomb) contained a mixture of gasoline and drain cleaner. The lady who did it worked in a strip club and was tired of not being respected by men.......ummm.....yeah, ok.

Of course, the smell would not tip off the man during his native mating ritual. "Honey, do you think this condom that I picked up at a strip club, which appears to have been taped up, smells funny?"

4. Nigeria Fears the Bird Flu has Spread to Humans.

There is only one way, and one way only, that a human can ever get the bird flu: they have to french kiss a chicken. This has been validated over and over and over and over and over again. It is based in solid scientific fact. So there is a simple way to prevent bird flu. When you snuggle down with your chicken to watch 24 after a long day at work and you start to feel those emotions rise in you, get up and leave. It is far better for you to choke your chicken than to make out with it.

However, if you decide to continue, please use protection. As a matter of fact there are loads of agencies, backed by millions of dollars from world governments, who are willing to help you with all the preventative protection you will need should you find out those urges are just too hard to repress.

5. Delta Cancel Flights Due to Heavy Snow

In the light of #1....................duh?

But...I do believe there is probably one little sniveling businessman that needs to be in Boston for some big and important meeting. He is probably standing at the airline counter right this minute carrying on in an abusive tirade about how he will "NEVER EVER, EVER NEVER" fly that carrier again. As a matter of fact, he vows right then and there to only ride a pack mule from now on.

Den Sag Er Aldrig I Verden

2006-02-10T00:01:00.000-08:00

I really don't have anything today. It has been a surreal week.

You know, we don't use the word 'surreal' enough. Especially pseudo-intellectuals who sit around in coffee shops all day, every day, showing how intelligent they are by refusing to work then digging through a dumpster for a rat dinner. That is what I call surreal. I also call Honey Combs cereal. Sometimes I get those two words confused. For example, I woke up this morning and had a large bowl of surreal.

Sorry...I ramble.

This whole outrage over Muslim cartoons still has me in a cereal mood. All day long they spout off about how insensitive the Danish are. They will yell things like "The only gude Danish is a DED Danish!" I have also found that Muslims are not good spellers. To me, the only good danish is a cheese danish.

How many Danish have actually died in this uprising? Some flags and embassies have been torched, but all this "Death to the Danish" stuff is all a crafty ruse (we don't use the word 'ruse' enough either). Most Muslims probably really don't care. For all we know these "protests" are nothing more than the filming of a new Islamic Radical exercise video featuring Richard Simmons (who goes by his Muslim name, Ahhmudd). All of that jumping up and down and punching their fists in the air is a great workout. Have you ever seen an obese Muslim? When the filming is all done they go back to their homes and watch Palestinian Idol.

Case in point, that whole death sentence on Salman Rushdie? The last I checked his ugly mug is still around and dating hot women. Who got the 70 virgins in that deal, huh?

It is not like Denmark would be hard to overthrow. All of their buildings are made out of Lego's. A large (but not obese) Muslim could walk through the country like Godzilla knocking over all their buildings and squashing their Lego cars. Afterwards he can sit at a cafe, eat a cheese danish, and use the words 'surreal' and 'ruse' a lot.

Been Dazed and Confused for So Long it's Not True

2006-02-08T00:01:00.000-08:00

I was going to give you an intriguing postumentary on the history of dental floss today, but something else came up that I must get off my chest.

It has probably happened to all of you. You create an email, you check it for grammar and spelling, and finally decide it has passed your stringent quality assurance standards. After you click 'send' you return to your normal daily routine of comparing ingredients on shampoo bottles. What is sodium laureth sulfate anyway?

At some point in the future you get a reply to your email which also includes your original email. A quick glance at your first email reveals a monstrosity of an error. An error that you can't believe ever happened. For example, in one email I sent today I was responding with a statement that a specific piece of information should have previously been sent but was not. When I first sent the email the line read "I should have sent that to you in the beginning." Upon examination in a subsequent email that line showed as "I should I sent that in the beginning."

What the hell happened here? Are there email gremlins that switch words around in order for me to look like an idiot to others? Is Bill Gates behind it? Is this some sort of terrorist espionage that will bring down the United States by making us look like complete morons? Whatever the cause, I decided to do some research into my past emails to see if there is a pattern. I am amazed at what I found. Below are lines from emails with what was in the original and changed versions.

To My Boss:

Original - "Attached you will find my project report."
Changed - "Attached you will find a shard of glass from a beer bottle that you can shove up your ass."

To a friend:

Original - "How about getting together with our families on Sunday to watch the Super Bowl?"
Changed - "How about getting together and swapping wives? But I don't want yours, she is a skank and smells funny. So bring a hooker instead."

To a co-worker:

Original - "I am nervous about the lay-offs that are happening."
Changed - "I am nervous about the lay-offs so I told your boss you are bored and don't have anything to do."

To my Senator:

Original - "Please support legislation to stop global warming."
Changed - "Please support legislation that will legalize my sexual desires involving ferrets."

To another blogger:

Original - "Happy HNT!!"
Changed - "Happy HNT...you loser!"

A fan letter I sent:

Original - "Brett (Favre), good luck on kicking ass next year."
Changed - "Dear Mary Kate. I don't care for Ashley all that much. I (heart) you more."

To a Radical Muslim:

Original - "I sympathize with you on the offensive nature of those cartoons."
Changed - "Moohoomudd funny! He funny funny prophet man."

To a magazine publisher:

Original - "Please renew my subscription to Brokeback Monthly."
Changed - "Please renew my subscription to Brokeback Monthly."

Interesting findings, huh? Does anyone else have this same problem?

We Are The Champions - My Friend

2006-02-06T00:01:00.000-08:00

Blog Note: I had a pic of mine make it to the great Aqua Teen Central fan art section (see the King Kong pic - lower left). I personally consider this the big time. Disregard the other fan "art". They are wannabes.

Now on to our regularly scheduled programming...

Yesterday I did something that so many in the world probably had no idea was even happening; I watched the Super Bowl. Not only THE Super Bowl, but Super Bowl XL. I liked how they only invited fans who wore XL size clothing. It was really nice to remember all the big people. Next year it will be Super Bowl XLI...which means...ummm...Extra Large Imbeciles? Xylophone Lovers Increase?

The only disappointing thing about the game was the halftime show. I had my hand on the DVR reverse button the whole time waiting for Keith Richards to show a little areole. Nothing...not even cleavage. There was a little reaction when Mick Jagger removed his shirt to reveal his "old man" arms as they flopped helplessly in the dome breeze. That man is 62 years old and still getting satisfaction. There has to be a scientific law somewhere that states a man at age 62 should not be physically appealing to 20 year old women. If there isn't I would create one and call it the Law of Viagradynamics.

Another thing on the Rolling Stones: It might be me but I think that those guys may have experimented with drugs once or twice in their life.

There were only two commercials that stood out to me this year. The first was the poor caveman that had his package undelivered by a pterodactyl because it was eating by a tyrannosaurus rex. Then as he told his caveman boss his boss fired him for not using FedEx. When arguing that FedEx did not exist yet the boss explained, "That is not my problem." The guy left only to be stepped on by some large dinosaur. The other commercial was by careerbuilder.com with the guy who works with a bunch of monkeys. He is joined on a call by another one who works with jackasses.

These two commercials hit close to home for me. I have finally decided on a life changing decision; I am going to floss more.

Before finishing this post I brushed my teeth and had a really good flossing. It was one of those that make you look in the mirror and run your tongue across your teeth with a low moan of "mmmmmmmmmmmm." Normally I look in the mirror at the bloody stumps of gums in my mouth and swear never to use fishing line again. Not tonight, I admired my handiwork with great accomplishment. My dentist will be proud.

Oh. The Steelers beat the Seahawks 21-10.

Play Shades of Grey in My Black & White Strip Cartoon

2006-02-03T00:01:00.000-08:00

Today this post will be certified as 100% scat free! Except for that last line...so this post is more like 99% scat free.

There has been a lot of fuss lately about certain groups of people who got upset about some cartoons that were published. I will have to support this group to a certain extent. Cartoons are offensive in most shapes and forms. For example, that Cathy really must tick off feminists. With her constant wistful nature of longing for a man to love her, desire to lose weight but tormented by chocolate, and being beaten by a pimp for stashing cash as a hooker down on 9 Chickweed Lane. Her friends Luann and Nancy run off when the beating starts. Where is Patricia Ireland when Cathy needs her? Hell, where is Kathy Ireland? If she stops by make sure she is wearing a swimming suit. Kathy not Patricia.

The Wizard of Id, B.C., Beetle Bailey, and Herman have all run their term and need to be retired. These comics are an offense to all young people and to all old people with Alzheimer’s who can't understand the jokes yet giggle incessantly. It is time to legalize comic euthanasia and put us all out of our misery.

Don't get me started on Ziggy. That is a total offense to all short, fat, and bald people who have delightful thoughts all day. I would think that Charlie Brown would start a jihad against that bastard because they look so much alike. Charlie would grab his friends Linus, Schroeder, and Pig Pen then put black hoods around their faces and bomb packs around their waists then head to Ziggy's bus stop, cafe, open air market, or wedding at a seaside resort.

Which brings me to another point. Isn't it about time that Peppermint Patty and Marcie finally declare, in public, their lesbian love affair? This is offensive to all lesbians that have come out of the closet and probably to most closets...especially walk-in closets.

I hate to say it, but the Holy Grail and holy hand grenade of comics, Dilbert, is also very offensive. Although it is based 99.9% in fact almost all CEO's of major corporations are offended by the whole 'pointy haired boss' stereotype. Recently they had a million CEO march on Washington D.C. to voice their displeasure. Unfortunately only one CEO showed up while the others were on vacation, playing golf, giving themselves bonuses, kissing stockholder butt, laying off people they never met, and involved in all sorts of sexual perversion with ground hogs. Which is pretty difficult to do all at once if you think about it.

In my humble opinion (IMHO for my peeps) the only non-offensive comic character is Opus.

One more thing. Don't forget that today is Global Don't Piss Off an Islamic Radical Day. Wish your closest Islamic Radical a wonderful day by sending flowers and a nice card with caricatures of all their holy prophets. They'll love it...really.

I'm A Ding Dong Daddy From Dumas

2006-02-01T12:01:00.000-08:00

I have come to the realization that people are growing weary of all the "poop talk" coming out of my posts lately. So today I will not talk about feculence. Of course I wonder if people who study feces for a living ever get tired of it? In the scientific community this is called "scatology" or "coprology". It also may refer to the psychological obsession with excretion or excrement especially when it comes to sexual excitement. Who said science was boring?

We must make sure we don't confuse scatalogy with scat music. Which, of course, is the vocalization of syllables or nonsensical words. Essentially you use your voice as an instrument. Louis Armstrong was best known for this. I would think if Louis was also a scatologist he would be a scatologist scat cat. Yes...I thought that was really bad too.

In 1891 John G. Bourke wrote the book Scatalogic Rites of All Nations. This was a wonderful little "... dissertation upon the employment of excrementitious remedial agents in religion, therapeutics, divination, witchcraft, love-philters, etc. in all parts of the globe. The subject of Scatalogic or Stercoraceous Rites and Practices, however repellent it may be under some of its aspects, is none the less deserving of the profoundest consideration, if for no other reason that that from the former universal dissemination of such aberrations of the intellect, as well as of the religious impulses of the human race, and their present curtailment or restriction, the progress of humanity upward and onward may best be measured."

That is sexy, aint it? I read it twice.

The other day, on the History Channel, there was a quaint little documentary about cannibals. I know what you are thinking, "Care for some sirloin?" But I did find it interesting there was truly a scatological scientist on it showing how by studying the fecal matter of some ancient indians there were human cells in it that would only end up there if they were cannibals. Mathmaticians scoffed at such nonsense, so the scatologist ate them.

It really makes me wonder why more children don't say they want to become a scatologist when they grow up. It is probably the fear that their fathers would beat them senseless until they promise to grow up to become call center team leaders in India.

So, todays post will definitely NOT be about poop....

....damn.

Sundance Blazin' Baby

2006-01-28T00:01:00.000-08:00

The Sundance Film Festival has now come to an end. Unfortunately, my film, "Shit Into Fertilizer" didn't win any awards. As a matter of fact, only two people attended one of it's showings. The audience was Marlee Matlin and her interpreter. They left 20 minutes into the film because the interpreters hands were "tired" (if you know what I mean...nudge nudge). Gee...I hope that isn't offensive to deaf people.

Independent film festivals are interesting things. Thousands of people show up to a small town in the middle of winter in a state they never would admit to being found dead in. Actually, they go out of their way to wear the correct footwear so they can say to others that they actually never "set foot" in the state. Another interesting thing is they are seen wearing expensive ski clothing but never go skiing. Although you can find some celebrities at charitable ski events but they are usually doing interviews at the bottom of the hill. The interview typically is like this:

Reporter: Hey Ms. Big Shot what a wonderful thing it is for you to come out to this charity event.
Ms. Big Shot: Yes, it is just a neat thing to do things like this for the kids. We must do more things for the kids. The kids need more things where we all show up and work on things for the kids. I just love the kids. The kids need us...and this...for the kids. Save the kids! *peace sign*
Reporter: But this charity is to permanently eradicate erectile dysfunction in older giraffes.
Ms. Big Shot: Oh...ummm...but I bet if that is done away then they can have kids...then we will fight to save those kids.

They also walk around town talking about how wonderful the films are but actually never see them. The reason for this is no one can see THEM while sitting in a dark theater. Then they get in front of the cameras and discuss the artitistic merits and how a certain film, the one about that "one person who did that one thing", pushed against the society established morals by breaking new ground. After some more photo opportunities they head back to the "bars" and sit and talk with their friends about how Power Rangers SPD would kick Power Rangers Dino Thunders Ass.

What about my film?

It is was a dramatic creation of a mans fight against forces which ally against him in a formal struggle of ones contradicting beliefs and the society that controls the underlying sentiment to do a specific action or succumb to consequences that leaves the man with no actual freewill even though conspiratorial agencies subtley portray a faux reflection of himself allowing him to feel he still retains such freedoms. Yes...I didn't understand it either but that is how the summary was written in the film festival guide. In my own words, the flim is about the thoughts of a man who needs to clean up some dog crap on his lawn.

My movie was filmed in black and white with a handheld camera so it has that shaky movement giving it a true independent feel to it. It opens zoomed in on the handle of the front door of a house in a lower middle class neighborhood. It is a cold day and the smoke from the nearby steel factory casts a dark gloom.

The camera pulls back revealing the full door which is now being opened. Out steps a man in his mid-40's who has obviously just woke up from sleep. He is in a bathrobe, mocassin slippers, and holding a freshly brewed cup of coffee in one hand which also holds a freshly lit cigarette between two fingers.

He walks down his porch steps then down the path that leads to the front of his yard. At the end of the path lies a newspaper. The paper is picked up then the man turns around and looks at a spot on his lawn. Laying there in his lawn is a freshly dropped pile of dog crap. The heat of it still creating steam in the cold air.

The man stands staring at that spot with a blank expression on his face. He knows it is not his; he has no dog. All he can do, as if some invisible agent keeps him from being able to move, is stare at it. It becomes evident he will stand motionless for a long time with his newspaper being held in one hand his coffee and smoldering cigarette in the other. He is transfixed.

Through the course of the morning friends and neighbors come by. Curiousity claim them as they, too, stand beside the man. They are transfixed by the pile of animal waste on the ground. The people try to talk to the man, yet they keep their eyes on the ground. The conversation is one way; the man doesn't respond.

"Whose dog did this? How did it come to be here? Why haven't you cleaned it up? Why is it on the lawn and not somewhere else? What kind of dog was it?" they say among other somewhat rhetorical questions. The man still doesn't speak as the others pepper him with nonstop questions.

A gay frenchman and an italian join the gathering crowd. A true independent film MUST have gay's and foreigners. The frenchman asks, "Quel est cet idiot fait?" then the Italian responds, "Guarda lo shit. " The frenchman adds, "Oui." After which they add their eyes to the fecal stain on the grass.

Others join the group, men, women and children. Some mock him while others defend him. However, through all this the man stands still, seemingly ignoring them.

As lunchtime approaches the man becomes hungry. He finally moves by looking at his cup of coffee and the cigarette that has long gone out. He notices his paper in the other hand.

He kneels down, scoops the poop up in his paper, walks over to his trashcan, throws everything away, including the coffee cup, then walks into his house.

The crowd watches in unison all of the mans actions while standing in their spots. After the door closes the others look at each other as if wondering what to do. No one offers a suggestion so they disburse and go back to their homes.

The camera isolates the door of the house and zooms into the door knob. Fade to black.

What do you think? Please comment in an appropriate "Independent Film Festival Critic" way. Then go see my film. It hits theaters nationwide this weekend.

Hey...

2006-01-27T00:01:00.000-08:00

I really don't have anything today. Actually I do, but I will save it for a later time.

Until then, please enjoy this Sundance award-winning short film.

Tomorrow, There'll be Sun!

2006-01-25T12:01:00.000-08:00

** Warning**

Before you read the following you must know that I have done something that I don't do a lot of; I discuss poop. As a matter of fact "poop" is usually not in my vocabulary. But today it is. Well, at least a portion of it is when I describe how I feel about my post on Monday. So if toilet humor involving poop is not something you look forward to, then you can leave now. But if it is, then congratulations. You might want to check out some of my other friends who stop by here occasionally. They are full of poop (some even full of caca - you know who you are). Actually, they are so full of poop they are constipated.

Again...you have been warned. Why am I suddenly in the mood for some chocolate soft serve ice cream? *shrugs*

I know you do it, you have to. It is only a part of human nature. Go ahead, you can admit it. Every time you have a bowel movement (good or bad) when you stand up to clean "things" off I bet you have turned around and checked out your work. I bet you also stand there like an artist critiquing it. I also bet you even say things like, "Hey, not bad. That felt good going in AND coming out!" Or you have said, "GAA! After all that work and THAT is all there is?" Maybe you have said, "Huh? When did I have corn, cashews, AND Fruit Loops?"

Today, I look back on my post from Monday and think upon it as most of you do in the bathroom (you...not me....ever...I don't like to look). It was a real load of crap.

I guess that happens sometimes. A blogger cannot have his/her 'A' game in every post. So I would like to apologize. You deserved better.

To show how sincere I am today you will be allowed post TWO comments for the price of one. After leaving a sincere and loving comment on this post you can feel free to leave a comment on any of my previous posts. I know I am giving away a lot today, but I feel it is all I can do to give back to the blogger community for such a lame post.

BTW...with all that I discussed on Monday why did everyone concentrate on chicken fingers? Sure, they are good and all but it is like you have a chicken fetish (you know who you are). I did talk about other things, you know. For example, I showed off my knowledge of old time show tunes. Did you not enjoy that? No? How shameful.

When I was young man my family would travel, by car, quite a lot. I really enjoyed the trips, however, during each trip I was forced a steady diet of musical show tunes. For the longest time I thought Rodgers and Hammerstein were my brothers. It only came out later that they were not my brothers but my gay parents. That is another story.

Each trip began the same way. We packed up the old green Buick Regal, my father would drive (because that is the man's role, get over it Jane Fonda) and my mother would get out the 8-tracks then the singing would start.

The following is a sample of our greatest hits. If you can tell me what musicals they are from then you get some extra love from me and maybe you can get a bonus comment in addition to the one I gave you above. Also, you are pretty lame...but greatly admired by me.

Where am I goin'?
I don't know
Where am I headin'?
I ain't certain
All I know
Is I am on my way

When will I be there?
I don't know
When will I get there?
I ain't certain
All that I know
Is I am on my way

And...

Well a woman who'll kiss on the very first date
Is usually a hussy.
And a woman who'll kiss on the second time out
Is anything but fussy.
But a woman who waits 'til the third time around,
Head in the clouds, feet on the ground!
She's the girl he's glad he's found--she's his
Shi-Poo-Pi! Shi-Poo-Pi! Shi-Poo-Pi! Shi-Poo-Pi!

And...

C'est moi! C'est moi, I'm forced to admit.
'Tis I, I humbly reply.
That mortal who
These marvels can do,
C'est moi, c'est moi, 'tis I.

And...

Whenever I feel afraid
I hold my head erect
And whistle a happy tune
So no one will suspect
I'm afraid.

And...

Yank the whiskers from her chin
Jab her with a safety Pin
Make her drink a mickey finn
I love you, Miss Hannigan

That is about all I can handle now. If I added anymore than I will need to attack the memories that are coming back into my mind with a wicked fury of hell fire.

To balance out this endless stream of happy show tunes I included some Megadeth, WASP, Motorhead, and Venom in my music library. My childhood was awesome.

Chicks and Ducks and Geese Better Scurry

2006-01-23T12:01:00.000-08:00

Who the hell moved Monday so close to Friday? I really miss when Chickenfingerday fell between Friday and Saturday. CFD would extend the weekend by 47.5 hours because it had that many hours than the normal 24. It was a good day. The sauce was awesome.

Another thing that made this weekend go by quicker (which is a bad thing) was the Miss America pageant. Can you actually believe that someone from Oklahoma won that thing? Sure, there have been winners from Oklahoma before. The fact she is from...umm...Oklahoma really wasn't what was disappointing. It was her talent. Apparently doing a pole dance and churning butter while singing Farmer and the Cowman from the ever-popular musical Oklahoma really put her over the top.

Oh, the farmer and the cowman should be friends,
Oh, the farmer and the cowman should be friends.
The cowman ropes a cow with ease,
The farmer steals her butter and cheese,
That's no reason why they cain't be friends

Come to think of it, that would have won me over.

Come to think of it, there was actually a better performance. Unfortunately the contestant, a tarsier from Bohol (I think that place is in...ummm...New Jersey), was disqualified when the judges finally figured out she was not really a girl. I must admit that I was very impressed when she sang the ever-popular B. B. King song Bad Case of Love.

I got a bad case of love
I got a bad case of love
I got a bad case of love
I got a bad case of love
I got a bad case of love
People, my heart is filled with misery

I could tell when she found out she was kicked out, she didn't take it well. Before eating the cricket she ordered for dinner she ripped it's legs and screamed obscentities at a brick wall. No wonder the Miss America pageant is losing viewers.

After all of this I really didn't have anything else to do. So I checked out other blogs. Of course, the best way to do this is to click the ever-popular 'Next Blog' button. To me this is one of my most thrilling activities. It is like buying a box of pork rinds; you never really know what your eating.

My nextbuttoning wasn't all that thrilling. Now I remember why I stopped doing it.

What a freakin' short weekend...pass the chicken fingers.

They Came to Collect, Silver and Gold

2006-01-20T00:01:00.000-08:00

Apparently I need to make poverty history.

It is an urge I have had recently. It is a compulsion like eating, sleeping, and to make odd gurgly sounds whenever I see Kate Beckinsale. Some people say she has not been in any good movies. I really haven't notice. She's an actress?

How does one go about making poverty history? After extensive research, and two bags of theater style buttered microwave popcorn (which had some additional melted butter just to make sure the butter flavor was really really there) I have come to create the following list of things that must be done. If faithfully executed, poverty will be gone...forever...and ever...amen.

Create websites that talk about making poverty history. Market those websites by encouraging bloggers to place a little banner in the corner to make people aware how important it is to make poverty history. By only doing this, it is promised at least 500 homeless people will be able to raise themselves up from the vomit they have been sleeping in to only sleeping in their own urine. Proof, again, that every little bit helps.
Talk about poverty. The more you talk about it the more mouthwash, toothpaste, breath mints, those foul tasting melting listerine things, and tic tacs are needed to keep your breath fresh while you talk. The result is that more jobs are created for these industries. Thus making poverty history.
Come out against big corporations, little corporations, limited liability companies, and sole proprietorships, and the little bratty kid with the lemonade stand who adds too much sugar yet still charges a freakin' 50 cents a class. By doing this poverty will actually increase and not be history. But some sacrifices MUST be made. It may also help to sacrifice the lemonade kid to the volcano gods, but I will leave that up to you.
Have celebrities put on free concerts that will actually NOT raise money to make poverty history by giving money to poor people. I guess you could count the temporary workers needed to clean up the ozone depleting trash and human feces in the field after the show. Unfortunately poverty will only be temporary history but at least it will be able to pick up its paycheck at the end of its shift.
Send emails around the world telling people that poverty can be history if, and only if, they send the email to 10 other people. It might even be classy to add one of those church sign generator pictures. Oh how cute those things are. I laugh and laugh when I see them. Of course, poverty will be history in India because of the cheap programmers needed to keep the email systems running.
Build the largest Super Wal-Mart ever in Ethiopia. A senior citizen Ethiopian greeter would make approximately 46.91 Ethiopian Birr's an hour. Not bad, really. They would be able to pick up some kickin' auto floor mats. To cinch the history of poverty make sure it has a large McDonalds in the Wal-Mart. Oh, oh, oh...one more thing. Poverty living lawyers would make millions by suing the Ethiopian district of Wal-Mart because they are not fair to their workers. And, and, and...Then a union would be created for those Wal-Mart workers which will then force Wal-Mart to go out of business. Nah, nevermind; erase #6.
Take out a 180% interest payday loan. Poverty will be history until the next week when the loan comes due. Hopefully we can talk Bono into paying it back. If Bono doesn't have the cash we can always sell Canada.

Thanks for listening. Let's start NOW to make poverty history; right after some sliders at White Castle.

Make You Work-Work, Make You Work

2006-01-18T00:01:00.000-08:00

Back in the day I was known as one who could pluck the ol' four-string with the best of them. If the 'best of them' included a drunken ostrich with PMS then you would understand. Those days seem so long ago it is like they were in another life. If it was, then it was a good life.

In that day there was no internet, thin cell phones, Tivo, and Hilary Duff. What we did have was our quintet of heavy metal maniacs. Dude, we rocked!

I guess every teenager has the dream of playing to a sold out arena. The lighters would be lifted and the bras thrown on stage. It became pretty disheartening to see someone like Neil Diamond having that happen to him. That guy was old...really old. Come to think of it, he is still really old. Ninety-eight percent of the time those dreams have no basis in reality. Our band was different in one respect. We sucked AND we knew it.

The proof of our music ineptitude is backed by solid data. For example, one of our crowning achievements was competing in the battle of bands at our high school. The judges were taking samples of everyone’s music then deciding who would be able to be in the battle. Fortunately, we were picked to be in the five that competed. A short time later we found out only four turned in demo tapes. The fifth one was added as a favor to the principal. Apparently, he had a little "thing" with a student. The school newspaper exposed it but the student editor died from a mysterious illness and all the papers burned. It did seem a little strange but that sort of stuff happened all the time at my school.

The winner of the battle of the bands was chosen by a vote of those in attendance. Essentially they would put their ticket stub in a trashcan then some Chinese foreign exchange math students would be asked to count them. The band with the most stubs in their trashcan would be the winner. It was pretty scientific if you think about it. I believe the Chinese students added loads of credibility. As a matter of fact, to get a little giggle at lunchtime we would ask the Chinese to say "credibility". Oh the fun we had when we heard them say "cledibirity". Even the lunch lady snickered.

The night came and let me tell you...we rocked. Unfortunately, it was a sucky rocked. The following was the list of songs we played:

Live Wire - AC/DC
High 'n' Dry - Def Leppard
Breaking the Law - Judas Priest
Looks that Kill - Motley Crue
Living After Midnight - Judas Priest
Sonata for Flute and basso continuo in C - Johann Sebastian Bach

That last piece was thrown in at the last minute to showoff our range of skills. It also had a kickass guitar solo.

After the chinese finished counting we found out we came in 3rd place. Not bad for a suckity suck bunch of sucks like us, huh? Eventually, by the time we graduated we all got into heavy drugs, chased diseased women, opened up for Dokken, and broke up because the guitarist married one of the chinese students who then tried to manage our band. It was an ugly situation...so was she.

I relate this because I firmly believe I should get back in the music business. Why? Because I know I can write better lyrics than what is out in the world now. For example:

What you gon’ do with all that junk, all that junk inside your trunk?
I’mma get-get-get-get you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump my hump, my hump my hump my hump.
My hump my hump my hump. My lovely little lumps.
Check it out…

*sigh*

I should have stuck with it. I could have been famous...

Don't try to push your luck, just get out of my way

2006-01-16T00:01:00.000-08:00

It is finally here. After 17 long and grueling years the season premier of 24 hit the airwaves. Wait, it hasn't been that long since the last episodes of 24. I apologize. 17 years ago was the last time I had sex. I remember that day fondly. It is almost as if it was 16 1/2 years ago but not quite. I was walking down a street when a woman in a Corvette convertible drove up along side me. She asked me if there was a gas station nearby. Remarkably, to me, that sounds very similar to, "Hey handsome, want to have sex?" We never really did, but I still count it.

The last thing I am going to do today is tell you what happened during the first 2 hours of the show. I leave that to the multi-talented and extremely witty Riss. She lays the storyline down like a master mason doing brick work on a million dollar house. She is just that good, yo.

I will say this, however. Jack comes back, he kills some people (bad people, they are ALWAYS bad people), some terrorists come around and do some stuff (bad stuff...terrorists ALWAYS do bad stuff...except for the Smiley Sun Shiny Terrorists...they leave flowers and a get well card), Jack saves the day but not without people thinking him to be a renegade who must be stopped. Those people eventually get shot or their cars blow up (stupid people ALWAYS must be shot or have their cars blown up).

Every day I think of how similar my life is to Jacks. It is almost like the writers have cameras pointed at me all day long then writing every detail of my day. I can take any 24 hour period of my life, match it up to a season of 24, then agonize how hard it is to tell the difference between the two. I just can't do it.

Maybe you can. Below you will find a typical hour of my day. The challenge is to find the differences between Jacks life and my own. Please comment on what you come up with. Maybe I will send some money your way for your help...or maybe I won't.

The following takes place between the hours of 12:00 PM and 1:00 PM
*ominous clock ticking sound...chink...chink...chink*

I sit staring at the computer screen. The previous episode of my life ended with me saving the day once again. I am tired, but ready for more work.

I begin to type a routine note to a colleague telling him that the font size in his interoffice memos must be 12-point type NOT 10-point. Damn these lazy people. What do they think we are running here, a clown bordello? I think not.

Suddenly an instant message comes from out of nowhere with a threatening, "ding". I try to look away, but that is NOT my duty. My orders are to accept the mission, no matter how dangerous.

I click the window to view the message and it reads, "hey". The sweat begins to appear on my forehead but I press on. "sup?" is my reply. I wait, for what seems like minutes yet it was only seconds. Finally, the sender replies. "linch?"

Gah! I am wounded. The bastard has no clue the implications of such a thing! Why the hell can he not spell it right? Is he in THAT much of a hurry? Can he not check his spelling before hitting 'send'? Before I can respond with a lashing he corrects his error, "lunch?" All is well and my pulse returns to normal...for now.

I think of an appropriate message. It must be clear, no misconceptions or the thin thread holding the world will break in an easy "snap". Like any genius, the correct thought comes, "k, subway?" How bold and direct I was. There can be no indecision on my part. Any action must be swift or the president’s child will fall to the hands of the kidnappers. Even with all that, I still add a final blow that knocks him off, "i'll buy, i found $20 in the parking lot". I smirked the smirk of a champion.

The shock was most likely too much for him. I bet he fell back off his chair and was holding his heart in stunned disbelief. Finally, after a long time, he comes back with, "k". Then followed by a shallow, "thx".

He knows I have won. America is safe again.

A thing to have and hold, And keep forever

2006-01-13T12:01:00.000-08:00

Quite a while ago I was given a gift from someone who is an acquaintance of mine. He isn't what I would consider a close personal friend even though there have been many times in the past when he has been available as one.

The gift seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. I found it one day when I came home from work. It sat there in my house with an allure about it that was hard to resist.

The present was approximately the size of a shoebox, maybe a little wider. The thing that made it magical was the packaging. I would bet it had to have been done by a professional gift wrapper. The corners were folded perfectly, tape was strategically placed, and even the parts where the paper ends came together matched the designs in the paper up with each other. A large bow was set directly in the center and expanded out in flowing forms over the sides of the box. The wrapping paper patterns contained geometric shapes in shades of blue, yellow, and red.
In the entire world it had to have been the best wrapped and beckoning present I have ever seen. Just the look of it made me want to stare helplessly without any conscience thought to open it.

Strangely, I never did open the gift. I just couldn't do it. I had no desire whatsoever to tear apart this perfectly wrapped box. Many times I inspected it to see if there was any clean way to open it and see what was inside. If I succeeded at that I could then remove the contents and piece it back together. Unfortunately, no precise way to carry out the plan came to mind.

One day a good friend came by for a visit. Upon spotting the gift he asked, "What's this?".

"Oh, just a present from an acquaintance," I responded. "Isn't the wrapping done well?"

He answered, "Sure. What is in it?"

"I don't know. Don't you think it has to be the best wrapping job you have ever seen?"

"I guess so. You mean you have never opened it?"

"No, I just can't. The packaging would be ruined."

He gave me a quizzical look then proceeded to nonchalantly unwrap the gift. I stood stunned as I witnessed this thoughtless act. "STOP! You are going to ruin the wrapping!" He paid me no heed.

The top of the box was opened revealing a stench of mountainous proportions.

"Ehhhhh!" we both gasped and held our noses in unison. The gag reflex knocked on the upper part of my throat.

Inside the box was a smoking pile of shit.

His Western Shirts and Leather, Always Look So Boss

2006-01-11T00:01:00.000-08:00

If there is one weakness that I have, it is that I am an open-minded sort of person. To prove that point I decided to go on a little adventure over the weekend in exploration of my own heterosexualityantihomophobianess. In other words, I went to go see the highly acclaimed and heavily awarded movie Brokeback Mountain.

In humble confession, it wasn't intentional. I was coming back from getting my barrel of buttered popcorn and large Diet Soda (I am watching my weight) and accidentally walked into the wrong theater. I was actually there to see the manly movie King Kong. However, when all of the people in the audience (coincidently dressed as the cowboy from the Village People) turned to me with a glazy look of glee in their eyes, I felt obliged to stay. Also, my gay hamsters were motioning me to come sit with them.

Today I would like to give you my review of this wonderful and heartwarming movie.

Brokeback Mountain is a raw and forthright portrayal of the forbidden western love of two ranch hands in the dusty and desolate sheep herd trails of Wyoming. Ennis Del Mar (Heath "Hunky But Not Chunky" Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake "Pretty Boy But Likes Women" Gyllenhaal) must hide their poignant feelings for each other among the heated and rugged terrain in which they work. Hate for people "different from them" is rampant among the other ranchers. One night, while sitting around a campfire, one unsuspecting ranch hand was caught with salsa from New York City. The tar and feathering scene was an awakening for the forlorn characters. They realize they must dismiss their affections or suffer at the hands of society's ultra-sensitivities.

In a dramatic farewell, the two walk away from each other into separate sunsets so they can live morally appropriate lives. One would think they would be walking into the same sunset. Or, maybe, it was actually a sunset AND a sunrise. But who am I to argue with cinematic art?

Bigotry, however evil, cannot keep them apart. Ennis and Jack correspond regularly through letters laced with Stetson, IM's, and g-mail. Being from Wyoming they moved on to the only "normal" lives they could find in such a wide-open state. They both married sheep. Unfortunately, society's scrutiny catches up to them again and they have to move on from their wool of love.

There is not a lot a gay cowboy can do with his pent up frustrations and emotions. The next step, the only other thing they feel will give them welcomed relief, was obvious; a tub of Vaseline and a 1987 copy of Cosmo: For Men.

Over time, Jack becomes blind and Ennis finds he is growing hair in the palms of his hands. It becomes obvious to the people in the small towns they both live that the two are doing something that would go against the moral boundaries established by the good people of the state. Unfortunately, a posse of "believers" is rounded up by the Reverend Parker (played by Weird Al Yankovic). The cowboys are run out of town to go "live somewhere else but here." Reverend Parker then celebrates with a potluck in the church parking lot and sang killer karaoke.

The most penetrating scene comes in the end (oops...pardon the pun). Dejected and angry at society Ennis sits shaving his palms on a deserted train station platform. In the background another man, seemingly blind, makes his way up the platform stairs. Ennis notices him. A swelling of emotion moves around his heart, throat, and eyes until he bursts into tears. A tender "Jack?" moves across his lips. The other man stops and silently stumbles with the name, "Ennis?"

I don't want to give the rest of the movie away, but the men come together once again and vow to fight against laws discriminating against their right to love whomever they choose to love. However, before you think it is with each other (WARNING: SPOILER AHEAD), Jack marries a sheep named Doris in a private ceremony in Ottawa. Ennis moves in with a bottle of Vaseline he affectionately calls Erma.

Yeah, I thought it ends kinda weird too.

A Picture Clear for Watchin', The Dish is Runnin' Hot

2006-01-09T00:01:00.000-08:00

Dear Dish Network,

I would like to sincerely thank you for your outstanding service to me and to the community as a whole. One more day cannot go by without me raining accolades upon you as well as holy kisses and rose petals. When someone asks me to name a great american company, your name immediately jumps from my lips and slaps them across the face with a cosmic "slap slap". The stunned person recovers and says, "Duh! Of course!"

By now you should have noticed I am being sarcastic. You would have known by the tone inflection in my voice to a high squeal when I said "great american company" accompanied by the downward motion of two fingers on each hand.

To explain, over the last 3 days I have been constantly harassed by messages on my TV that the Dish Network ("a great american company") receiver is currently "Acquiring a Signal". Apparently I do not have connectivity to the satellite. This seems to be a bad thing.

For your information I have done all you have suggested. I have made sure there is no snow, clouds, rain, or hazy glow of radiation coming from the nearby nuclear reactor. I also checked for no other obstructions such as trees, buildings, large asian elephants, and Oprah blocking the dish. Just to be sure I removed my backyard neighbors second story from their house. They were on vacation but I am pretty sure they will be pissed when they come back. But it is only more of a hunch.

So after all this I decided my only course of action is to get on the roof and point the dish myself. I moved the dag dang thing all over the wild blue yonder to no avail. Finally, only out of frustration, I pointed it to the smoldering satellite, with the Dish Network ("a great american company") logo, that crashed Friday into the park near my home. I thought the little aliens dancing triumphantly on top of it would throw off the signal, but no. I am now perfectly satisfied with my service.

Love and constant admiration,

AB

PS: The best name for a jazz musician is "Boney James". Although "Boney Johnson" would be better.

Summer days driftin' away, to uh-oh those summer nights

2006-01-05T00:01:00.000-08:00

I called in sick today.

This is something I don't do. I just don't do it. Do it, I don't. But this morning I woke up with a little elf drilling a little elf cave on the inside of my skull. I tried to talk the little elf out of doing it, but he just laughed his little evil elf laugh and continued drilling. While looking into the mirror I noticed that he started to break through my forehead then stopped. That horrible little elf moved to another side of my skull and started drilling again. Every time he would just barely break through he would move to another spot. That damn little elf...damn him...damn him to a cold spot in Wyoming.

Needless to say my boss wasn't impressed. Apparently, he doesn't believe in little evil elves. So he tells me, "Work from home, you have access. Now kneel down and kiss right...about...here."

Working from home has its benefits. First, I can flip him off without him seeing it. I should say, I used to be able to flip him off without him seeing it. But since the Bush administration has installed the surveillance cameras in my home he can see it now. So scratch number one.

There is no number two unless you count what I just did in the bathroom. (Sorry, it has been awhile since I put out a little bathroom humor)

I am being rebellious, however. Consider it my way of getting back at the establishment. Instead of working I am posting this and watching The Munsters. (Treating her insomnia, Granpa puts Marilyn in a coma.) I must admit, I always had a little crush on Marilyn. I also had a gay crush on Grandpa, but that is a whole other story

Green Acres is on right after The Munsters. In this episode, "Both Arnold and Eb have romantic problems". Seems strange, I wonder if it is with each other? As you may or may not remember Arnold is a pig. For you man haters, I don't mean that as a symbolic description of a man. Arnold was a real pig.

There wasn't anyone on Green Acres I can admit to having a crush on. But I must admit that Arnold was pretty cool. In a previous blog life I once said that it would have been great to be Arnold. What man would not want to be a porker in a town named Hooterville?

I am such a pig.

Words of wisdom from Green Acres: "Golly, Mrs. Douglas. You ought to know better than to put whole wheat bread in a white bread toaster."

I really need to get out of TV Land and back to work. Oh, look! Grease is on VH1. Did I ever tell you the time I had a crush on Olivia Newton-John? That is until she killed her boyfriend and hid the body.

Nash Bridges is on USA. No crush ever on Don Johnson but I must admit Cheech Marin is sexy, yo.

Time to switch to The History Channel. In my next post, I may tell you about my crush on the Battle of Tripoli.

Am i supposed to change? are you supposed to change?

2006-01-03T00:01:00.000-08:00

Hey hey! How was your holidays? Huh? Great, great.

As for me it was wonderful to have some time off and do nothing. Now I am back, refreshed and ready for action. All I ask is for someone to point me in the way of some action. That would be greatly appreciated.

It is now time to let everyone know what my New Year's resolutions are for 2006. I do this for no other point than to have you help me keep them throughout the year.

I Will Lose 210 Pounds - An interesting thing with this resolution is the number of pounds I will lose far exceeds what I currently weigh. The way I figure, I might was well go all out. This way I can have Richard Simmons come to my home to give me a great big sweaty gay hug. Then he can hold me up in the palm of his hand and tell the world my inspirational story. Of course, I would just be a little poof of air but we would all have a good cry anyway.
I Will FINALLY Stop Smoking - I realize I need to actually START smoking, but that is just a minor issue. I received a case of of nicotine patches for Christmas, so I will need to put them to good use.
Get Rid of the Chat Box - I know some of you chat whores will hate me for this, but the popups need to stop. I have received hate mail and I hate hate mail. I hate it. Hurts my feelings. So chat up today because tomorrow it will be gone.
Take All of You Out to Lunch - Eh...maybe not. Unless you are paying.
Fun Fun Fun - Is there a book or instructions on this anywhere? I would really like to know more about it. When doing a search on Amazon I get this. Please tell me there is more to it than that. Just in case, I ordered 43 of them. A google search didn't bode too well either. The top item for "fun fun fun" is this. *sigh*

That is about it. I am a simple man. Make sure I live by these, ok?

He Sees You When You're Sleeping

2005-12-23T00:01:00.000-08:00

-- Fill in the Blank --

Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good _________________ !

In sincerity, I wish everyone a whatever it is you celebrate this time of year.

As for me, I wish you all a Merry Christmas and great New Year! Thanks for being a great part of 2005. I really appreciate it.

I'm bored out of my mind and i'm too stoned lazy to see

2005-12-21T00:01:00.000-08:00

Hey...what's up?

*sigh*

I am bored. You can call it my pre-Christmas funk. Notice I used the letter 'N'.

You know what makes me mad? The company I work for has many sites throughout the world. At my home office, the 20 oz bottled beverage that I routinely purchase is .75 a bottle. That means in Thailand it would be 30.69 Thai Bahts. For those of you in Canada it would cost you .88 plus a beaver pellet.

75 cents is not a bad price really. Where else can you get your daily fill of carbonated water, caramel color, and phosphoric acid for such a low amount? However, in another, undisclosed, location they actually raised the price to 1.15. (1.35 and a well intentioned "Eh!" in Canada). Do you see the problem? 1.15! Who sets a price at 1.15? I would rather pay 1.25 (1.47 and a kick to the groin in Canada) because at least I can pay with a quarter instead of fishing for a dime and a nickel.

When I am bored, these are the things that are on my mind.

I have also been thinking that a lot of people in Jonestown would have been spared if that jug of kool-aid would have busted through the walls screaming, "OH YEAH!"

I really need to find something better to do.

I have an idea, maybe I will steal things other people have done. But, of course, I have to add my own little twist.

You have probably seen them, they are the rage lately on blogs. What you have to do is make up a memory about you and me and leave it as a comment. I encourage you to be as creative as you can and include a bit of spice and garnish on the side. My little twist is, instead of a past memory, make it a future memory. Pretend you are looking into a crystal ball and seeing something happening between you and me in the future. See? That is my little twist.

*twist twist*

So go at it...I will respond with my own version of the future experience. Because I am bored.

Absorbant and yellow and poreous

2005-12-19T00:01:00.000-08:00

A funny thing happened to me over the weekend. It is so funny I still giggle about.

*giggle giggle*

See? I cannot stop the giggling.

In reality, it all began Thursday. That is the day my weekend started. You see, the "MAN" decided it would be appropriate for me to take a couple of days off. I didn't want to, of course. I love working for the "MAN". Actually, the "MAN" is a cross-dressing woman. There is also a man that I report to, but the woman does the grunt work. We all agree that it is strange that we have never seen the woman and the man in the same room together. They are on conference calls many times together, but that can be handled alone in a room and changing voices quickly. The woman is very masculine, hence the cross-dressing woman theory. Sure, it could always be a cross-dressing man, but that would just be weird.

So that isn't why I was giggling over the weekend. But it is fun to think about.

*giggle*

Sorry about that, I digress.

By the way...don't you hate it when people say that? It is one of the most overused and trite sayings on the web. "My mother has strange bowel movements...but I digress." I am sorry, but using that term does not make you smarter...as a matter of fact it is the opposite.

But I digress...

What made me giggle over the weekend...

*giggle giggle*

...is the fact that my ISP sucks. All weekend I was without internet service. However, I did make the most of it. I spent time with family, did some RamaHanuKwanzMas shopping, dressed up as Tingle the naughty elf, blah blah blah. But the most fun I had was hacking into other people's wireless home networks using my laptop. I bet these people are the same people who use the term "I digress".

There are at least two homes in my 'hood (doesn't that sound cool? 'hood) that do not apply any security to their wireless networks. So, to teach them a lesson, I surfed every fetish website I could think of. My favorite is "Wild Girls with Sea Sponges". The site is about the wonderful porn adventures of that dirty little guy named SpongeDick. He gets into many 'messy' situations with his pal Pornick the star fish. I made this site the home page on their browsers.

I also sent jobs to their printers so it seems like they are haunted. I would print text like, "Good morning, Dave," and "Dave, I don't think getting off on sea sponges is quite manly of you," and "Dave, I will kill you while you sleep," and so on.

I still continue to giggle.

When evening falls so hard, I will comfort you

2005-12-14T12:54:00.000-08:00

This will be the second post of the week. Can you believe it? Two of them!

wow

Oh, on another note, the baby isn't mine.

So today I show up to work (which I do occasionally) to find a book waiting patiently on my desk. I know the book was waiting patiently because it was humming a merry tune. The book is Uncle Johns Fast-Acting Long-Lasting Bathroom Reader. This is a co-worker Christmas present from a...co-worker.

I am not sure about you, but what kind of gift is this? What is this person telling me? Is this a gift you give to someone that spends a lot of time in the bathroom? And how, exactly, does this person know? I do all my best work at home, so it is not like anyone would be timing me.

In flipping through the book, most of the "stories" are about 2 pages long. I would think that even the slowest reader would be able to get through many of these in one "sitting". Unless you just had a mixer bowl of shredded wheat, sprinkled with metamucil, a few hours before.

One enlightening bit of information in the book is what to do if you are in certain emergency situations. For example, what to do when falling from a bridge:

If you're forced to jump from a bridge into water, try to aim for the deepest part of the water, usually near the center. Avoid piers or pylons, as debris tends to collect around them.
While in the air, keep your body as vertical as possible. Point your toes downward and protect your crotch with your hands. Also clench your buttocks to keep water from rushing in and causing internal damage.
Once you're in the water, fan out your arms and legs to slow your decent.
If there were other people or objects on the bridge that may be falling down behind you, swim away as quickly as you can.

I have no questions...makes complete sense to me.

I am going into the bathroom now.

I do believe in spooks, I do I do I do believe in spooks.

2005-12-12T08:32:00.000-08:00

I know, I know...

"Hey AB! How come you don't post very much?"

All I can say in response to that is, the pirate of my soul has hijacked the captain of my destiny.

I really have no clue what it means but it sounded cool when I thought of it. You can use it. Just give me credit. If you don't, I will be forced to shave you down like a lamb and make you call me a "baaaaahhhhhdd man".

Anyway, went to The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe over the weekend. I must admit, I was gravely offended by the overt Christian theme this film forces in my face. I went into the theater thinking that there would have to be a bloodbath of epic proportion whenever you get a Lion and Witch crossdressing. It is just the violent tendencies I have. Instead I was taught a lesson about 4 kids "growing up" in a fantasy land. If I wanted to see that I would have watch the videos from hidden cameras in Michael Jacksons house.

Early this morning I contacted my lawyer to initiate the lawsuit against Disney. The charges against them are not putting up warnings at the theaters that this is a Christian themed movie. The emotional pain is too much for me to bear. For example, on Sunday I went to church dressed as the cowardly lion from The Wizard of Oz. I stood up at the pulpit and screamed, "You freakin' white witch can't turned me into stone!" I then proceeded to rally around me all the other talking animals and we charged out the doors of the chapel to attack and kill the white witch. Coincidentally, this is actually Hillary Clinton.

Apparently, this is what Christian’s do. Therefore, I had this scene recorded which will be used as evidence in my trial.

By the way, talking beavers give me the creeps.

And I forget just why I taste

2005-12-02T00:01:00.000-08:00

Would you ever have guessed that inserting an object into a specific part of your body would ever bring you such joy? On second thought, knowing what type of people some of you are, I bet you already do. My joy was full a couple of days ago when I discovered such an object.

Before you hide your children, let me explain.

Since Thanksgiving I have had an ugly cold. It certainly wasn't an ugly cold like the guy in junior high school that was teased because of his smell and lack of any cuteness at all (by-the-way, my therapist told me to "get over it"). Never-the-less, it was an annoying cold. Annoying like that fire alarm going right now. Geesh, will someone turn that off?

So I have a cold. But, because I took the bold step of sticking an object in a hole it is now bearable. I love scientists and doctors coming up with these things. Some intelligent person somewhere thought, "what if we take this small little pump and shove it in a sick persons nose and tell them it will relieve their condition?" And I am sure another person said, "Okay! Want some nachos?"

Someday I hope to be the one to cure the common cold. But I also know that would take time and effort. In the meantime, I used one of these apparatus...apparatuses...apparatusi...things. The instructions told me to do the following:

1. Remove cap and safety clip. CHECK
2. Hold with thumb at bottom of bottle and nozzle between your fingers. CHECK
3. Before using the first time, prime pump by depressing several times. CHECK
4. Place tip of nozzle just past nasal opening (approximately 1/8"). CHECK
5. Pump two or three times into each nostril without tilting your head. CHECK
6. Sniff deeply. Do not use more often than once every 10 to 12 hours. Do not exceed two doses in any 24-hour period. Wipe nozzle clean after use. UMMM...CHECK

What is amazing is this sounds similar to my sex life. Except, in this case, it actually works. I was able to breathe and never felt better in my life. All of my life. Now I realize that I have missed some smells. Let me tell you, some of you really need a bath.

Then, I thought again, what is this fascination with doctors and shoving things in peoples body cavities then squirting some solution? (no comment here from the sickos)

Can you imagine the conversation between two doctors?

Doctor 1: We need a cure for severe dry skin.
Doctor 2: How about we take this bottle and tell people to shove it in their rears and squirt soda water into it?
D1: Sounds good!
D2: Let's call it an "enema".
D1: Great, want to get some nachos?

Hats off to Zicam and all it's peon employees who created it. You saved my life. Although I have heard there are lawsuits saying your product causes people to lose their sense of smell. To them I say, "Ppppppfffftttt, I can breathe!"

Oh...before I forget again...my FFF post today. I haven't done it in awhile so I had to go here to remind myself of it. All other participants, please let us know in the comments.

Have a lovely weekend!

A Lawyer Walks Into a Bar

2005-12-01T00:01:00.000-08:00

During recent business trips my traveling companion (no, not "that" type of companion) lent me the John Grisham book The Broker. The reading of it was completed a few of days ago. Yet, I still think about it. Why do I still think about this? There are so many other things that could fill up my brain. Like what I will be telling Santa I want for Christmas. I have an appointment with him on Saturday at the mall. He better not screw me over like he did last year. Damn you Santa!!

Thinking about The Broker isn't like I am pondering the deep meaning behind the authors words. It is more like pondering how can an author, who has become well enough off, hire a bunch of lemurs to write the rest of his books? As a matter of fact, I bet if he really let the lemurs go at it, their work could rival some of the classics. But, he doesn't let them. Instead, he chains them to walls in his damp basement so they can type on their little lemur typewriters. All the while a drum beat sets the cadence as he yells at and whips them. Poor little lemurs.

I know this to be true because Mr. Grisham seems to follow the same ole story line, which is this:

Include the word "The" in the title.
A lawyer embezzles/steals/swindles/sells sex for large gobs of money. I heard an attorney once use the word "gob", so I know it is a true legal term.
Previously mentioned shady lawyer goes through multiple struggles to hide said money.
Many weapons, poisons, explosives, and episodes of Dharma & Greg are used to threaten the lawyer. What is amazing is that no one ever really dies. Unless it is a "bad" traffic accident. Like the person dies from stubbing their toe getting in a car.
The lawyer gets involved with a sexy woman but they never have sex. Even the Amish chick in the movie Witness showed her wares. This can be very frustrating.
Eventually the crooked attorney resolves his moral dilemmas but still lives the good life off the ill gotten money in some exotic location...like Albuquerque.
The end

*sigh*

Needless to say it will be a long time before I read another Grisham book. I have coined a phrase for this type of writing, "Fast Food Fiction". It fills you up but leaves you unsatisfied. Hell, it doesn't even come with an apple pie.

With this being said, I have decided to go back to the book Ulysses by James Joyce. This was yet another one giving to me by a companion (see above "companion" reference). It hurts to read that book...it hurts a lot. Like shoving a toothpick into your brain and swirling around the grey matter. But, I do it. I do it because I enjoy good literature. I do it so I can say, "Damn you John Grisham and damn you James Joyce!!".

Gotta strut them city streets, Showin' off my eclat, yeah

2005-11-29T00:01:00.000-08:00

Do you remember my gay hamsters? If you don't, or you are new, please go here.

Unfortunately, the rabbit lost the fight. Over time he just gave up. He threw up his little bunny paws, gave me the finger, and headed out the door. To be honest it was an ugly situation and it really didn't work out. I don't think the indictment from the federal government helped the situation. Did I ever tell you his name was 'Scooter'?

To put an end to this heterophobe harassment I am getting from the hamsters I have finally done something that I never thought I would do...we got a cat.

In most situations I don't consider myself a "cat man". A good cat is one twitching on the side of a busy freeway. No, sorry. I can't say that. That is just cruel. Needless to say cats and I don't get a long. It is in my nature and I cannot change it. But change it I did.

Actually, we did not go out into the world looking for a cat. The cat found us. It knocked on the front door with its little kitty paws and walked in. Do cats walk in? No, it was more like a saunter. It sauntered over to the kitchen table, sat down, and then ordered a saucer of our finest dairy product. After taking a sip and appearing satisfied he looked at us and said with the blankest of blank expressions, "I hear you have a...gay rodent problem."

The cat wanted half now and half when the job was completed.

The job was never completed.

The next morning I woke up with a disembodied cat head on the pillow next to me. In the garage the embodied (but with lack of head) part was spread out across the hood of my car. Blood and bowels slowly slipped down forming a gruesome pile on the cement floor.

hehehehehehehehehehe....scaredya, huh?

Nah...The kitty is fine. The hamsters, however, just scoff at the attempt to rid the house of them. They mock me constantly with the little signs they write. For example, "How about a little queer ham' for the straight freakin' idiot?". Then they laugh that evil little hamster laugh. It is a squeeky laugh, so it is hard to take seriously.

Is that, is that, is that how you measure a man?

2005-11-25T00:01:00.000-08:00

After completing my secret mission to...North Carolina...I can finally reveal what I have been doing. A warning goes out to all of weak disposition. What I am about to describe is not pretty. If you applied makeup, made up the hair, dressed it in frilly lace, and added a cute pair of Brunomagli shoes, my post today will still not be pretty.

The last couple of weeks I have definitely been......working. This type of.......work.....has kept me from posting anything for quite awhile. But, I do assure you my..........job........has been very very important. Or, as they say in Mexico, muy muy importante. Unless you are my Mexican Aunt. She says........something else.

So, what have I been.......doing? Although I am not privileged to give too many details, I can say that it involves researching the origination and spread of the so called Avian Flu Virus. Or, as we say among my colleagues, the Coughing Chicken Choker.

My research has shown that this horrible influenza DID NOT start with birds in remote parts of Asia. On the contrary, it actually started in.........ummm.....North Carolina. Yes, my research has shown that Clay Aiken has been french kissing chickens. Oh, I know what you are you thinking, "Isn't Clay Aiken gay?". The easy answer is, it was a male chicken. Some people may call them roosters. I call them...roosters.

After long hours of painstakingly reviewing our notes, we determined the best way to stop this dreadful pandemic is to kill Clay Aiken.

So I am back and ready for action. Anyone willing to give me some?

In reality, work has kept me........working. The last few weeks had me traveling constantly and working long hours. I reflect back on this time and feel pretty much like a mountain climber who struggles through burning muscles, extreme temperatures, near falls, and calloused hands only to look around while standing at the top and think, "Why the hell did I do that?"

If you say, "Because it is there." I will give you a major "wet willey".

Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving!

Yes, I have a dutch accent. Isn't that weird?

2005-11-02T12:01:00.000-08:00

I am traveling for the company again. I would tell you where I am but that would give away the secrecy I am sworn to uphold due to my service as a spy to Canada. No...I am not actually in Canada this time. They kicked me out long ago after a little border "skirmish". So now I am relegated to spying on North Carolina. My apologies, I wasn't supposed to say that.

There are many benefits to business travel. One of which is the free newspaper that awaits you outside your door every morning...except on Saturdays and Sundays. Those days are not considered "newspaper-worthy". There are also many Jews, Seventh-Day Adventists, Mormons, and an occasional Peruvian Monk opposed to the distribution of news on those days. The last thing you want to do is tick off a Peruvian Monk. They do those ninja kicks that will leave you without oxygen for 20 minutes. Really...this has been documented. I think I saw it on TLC once.

This morning the newspaper arrived in it's typical way. Tiny magical fairies, surrounded by a soft sprinkling light, carried it to me on a red velvet pillow. The newspaper was already opened to the sports section. Can I just say I love being at the gold level of this chains membership program? They call me "Goldmember"...and I think you know why. *wink wink*

On days like this I enjoy mingling with the other "road warriors" down at the free breakfast; yet another traveler reward. Because I am a "Goldmember" (*wink wink*) this is another time for the hotel to spoil me. For regular travelers the menu will consist of a pastry, juice, and some fruit. For us "Goldmembers" (*wink wink*) we get a pastry, juice, some fruit, and a $300 an hour escort. Since having escorts so early in the morning has proven to be unhealthy, I declined this offer today and had two pastries.

One more amenity I must speak of are the free toiletries in the bathroom. Of course there is the usual shampoo, conditioner, and soap. But for "Goldmembers" (*wink wink*) we actually get a toilet. This is the best benefit yet because I strap that thing on and I can go anywhere. Literally, "go" anywhere.

They know how to treat their Goldmembers. Of which I am proud to be one. *wink wink*

Confusion Never Stops, Closing Walls and Ticking Clocks

2005-10-31T12:01:00.000-08:00

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...

2005-10-28T00:01:00.000-07:00

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:

CaCa Boy Goes Down Under
Newbie Jenny (Welcome to the game)
Jen Benkel shows shelf (???)
Well?

J'ai deux amours, mon art et Paris

2005-10-26T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-21T00:01:00.000-07:00

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...

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

You'll Have a Gay Old Time.

2005-10-19T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-17T11:56:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-15T10:04:00.000-07:00

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.

2005-10-10T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-07T00:01:00.000-07:00

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":

CaCa Boy has some naughty gnomes
OGO gives us multiple things (sorry, couldn't think of anything better :))
Lyvvie...uhh...you just have to go there to see it
Dementia shows toys
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

2005-10-06T00:01:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-04T00:01:00.000-07:00

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.

But I Don't Know 'cause I'm The Squid

2005-09-30T12:01:00.000-07:00

I usually don't like to stay with one theme for very long. This is normally because I have a very short attenti..........................................

Today I would like to talk about mating squid. Yes. This is starting from where I left off a couple of days ago. Call it a fetish I have. No...you better not.

I did come across a new blog containing squid erotica. It was hot, yo. I decided to share some of it with you today. It is very explicit and is intended only for mature audiences. So if you are an audience but an immature one, you must leave. Otherwise read on. But remember the following may be outlawed in your locale.

"When a male went pale and started Flickering the intensity on and off, a VERY visible signal in the shallow water, it showed a serious intent to mate. Males pass spermatophores to the female by sticking them onto her skin just below the eyes. A willing female often turns pale herself and the pair swim fairly quickly side-by-side back and forth in a Rocking motion, with him still Flickering, for a minute or so. Then he darts around in front of her and sticks the spermatophores in place; the probability of this transition is 0.3. The female can then take them and puts them in her mantle cavity, where the sperm are stored for later fertilization of her eggs.

"All this depends on the female being willing. If she isn't, she has a bag of tricks up her sleeve (well, mantle). First, she may just jet away, and if this jet isn't too fast the male may Chase her. Sometimes the chase turns into Rocking and then they mate; it could be that females are testing males for fitness by doing this. If she's only mildly resistant, she may put an agonistic pattern of rough vertical Zebra stripes on her skin. If she's really serious she can dodge when the male chases, go down to the bottom near the sand or coral, and do a linear arms-up posture with dark skin that seems to really mean business. If she does these things, the probability of a mating attempt drops to near zero.

"Courtship and mating went on mostly in the early morning and late afternoon. Consortship could be reasonably long-term; we watched one pair form about 7:30 a.m. and they mated throughout the next few hours. They mated quickly twice within an hour, then the male had a prolonged period of Flickering and eventual mating later in the morning. Near noon he Flickered and tried to pass spermatophores, but was rejected--he was more eager than her."

Doesn't that just make you hot? Wow...it sure does to...umm...nevermind.

I must admit, the above story sounds strangely familiar to my life. I suddenly feel a closeness to the male squids I never thought I would. It is almost like we are brothers. I was especially interested in the "mated throughout the next few hours" and "twice within an hour". Before you think something different, a squid has a better sex life than I do. I sure do a whole lot of flickering for nothing. I flicker and flicker until my flickerer flicks off.

Have you heard about those giant squids that are found dead on beaches? I bet $100 million it was suicide.

Before I forget, fresh from the squid erotica blog, todays FFF:

BTW...I think I am in lvoe.

Here are some others who have long tentacles and big suckers:

OGO shows her big, fat, harry...
Techy Mike shows his caulk.
Wife shows that everything is big in Texas
There are others, they are just hiding behind the curtain.

I Would Not, Could Not, With a Mouse

2005-09-28T12:01:00.000-07:00

I have nothing today. I have had nothing for a few days now and there is a good chance that I will have nothing in the future. Don't even get me started on the fact that I get nothing either. I can't go there. What I do get will be taken away. So don't tempt me. Don't do it...don't.

Because I have, and get, nothing I have decided to share some news headlines and comment on them. Which is very much like what other bloggers do. Except with me I don't have this grandiose image of myself as some wonderful human being with an idea or opinion that no one else has ever thought of. I also don't have this dream that I will be the next Matt Drudge. No, I will just go on being the self proclaimed positive-realist I have always been.

Army Pfc. Lynndie England, who said she was only trying to please her soldier boyfriend when she took part in detainee abuse at Iraq's Abu Ghraib prison.

Usually when I want to have my white trash girlfriend impress me I have her read "Green Eggs and Ham" to me. I love it when she says seductively to me, "I would not, could not, with a goat". Of course, I know she is lying. Damn, wench.

Concorde chief faces crash probe

Poor guy. I hope they are gentle to him when they do the probe. It reminds me of the time that aliens visited my neighborhood. They usually come through about once a year and sell their stuff on the street corner. I bought a laser from them that I put in my pocket too quickly and...nevermind.

Consumer Confidence Shows Biggest Drop in 15 Years

I know what this feels like. Everytime I go to a fast food place I get very intimidated when I can never get the order right.

Me: I don't want any pickles on my burger.
Them: ¿Qué?
Me: No pickles please.
Them: ¿Qué?
Me: Empuje los encurtidos en su asno
Them: ¿Qué?

Scientists Photograph Giant Squid in Wild

If I was one of these "scientists" I would take take the pics and create my own video name "Squids Gone Wild" and a web site call hotandhornyyoungsquids.com. That is the problem with scientists. They have no clue the real value of what they are doing. Eventually the squid will marry Lynndie England and then the site will generate loads of money.

Ok...I am done. Have a nice...err...day.

Love Me, Baby, Just as I am, Just as I Am

2005-09-23T12:01:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you but I really like to add excitement to the humdrum and monotonous ritual of going to the bathroom. Oh sure, I could read books, work on my PDA, have a sandwich, and even sing a little tune. I prefer the famous Everly Brothers song "Bye Bye Love" followed by the raucous Air Supply classic "Just as I Am". But over time these can get boring.

One thing I do (hehe...I said "do") is I get all my exercising done while on the toilet. It is actually a very good workout. For example, I mix in some leg lifts then do some arm twists and, of course, the kegals get stronger.

My favorite exercise is what I call "the hover". To do this put both hands on the seat of the toilet then slowly lift yourself off the porcelin. Hold it there for a count of 10 then sit yourself back down. During your hold try to split your legs out and in. You will want to do approximately 5 reps of 10. Every second one let out a loud, "GEEEEEEEYYYYYEEEEEEAAAHHHH!"

After these you can then do some "bowl ups". This is done by going up and down with your arms like you do in push ups. Except in this exercise you are pushing yourself up from a sitting position on the toilet until your arms are extended. Also extend your legs. Do some 50 sets of 49 1/3 reps of these and you will feel it burn (among other things that are burning). With each one bellow, "GGGGGRRRRRRRRRAAAHHHHH!!"

Now it is time for the squats. Stand with legs akimbo on the seat of the toilet then crouch down. Just a like a normal squat. Do 1000 of these. This exercise will definitely help with the reason you came to the John in the first place. A word of caution for public restroom users, those sanitary seat covers can be slippery.

Upon finishing your last squat, leap from the toilet and yell, "ZZZZRRRROOOMMMMAAAHHH!!"

I became very disappointed upon learning that in certain countries I will not be able to perform these exercises. How depressing. Of course, the countries are places I probably wouldn't want to visit anyway, but my point is my freedom of expression is being curtailed...somehow.

Below is proof as well as my FFF for today.

Malaysia

Saudi Arabia
(Notice I did not block out one of these - I like the silly face. Saudi Arabians are so happy when they take (or leave) a crap)

Others who got off the pot on FFF:

Let me know...I am too tired to look :)

We Got the Bubble-Headed-Bleach-Blonde

2005-09-22T12:01:00.000-07:00

It is not everyday that I post 2 days in a row...err...umm...right.

Today I just had to. Did you see that one plane have that thing that was bad with the front landing gear all crazy like? And, like, the whole thing landed and there was like this fire and all. But, like, everyone was good. It was wild.

Well, I couldn't stop watching that landing. I am glad it ended well, but I was definitely on the edge of my seat. Unfortunately, I don't think the same things can be said for a certain person (Paula Zahn) on a certain news channel (CNN).

I decided to transcribe what I heard. Please let me know if you see anything strange here.

Paula Zahn: Hello. We take a break from yet another hurricane to give you bigger news. A plane is about to crash and kill everyone on board. See, here is a video of it. Isn't this wild? Wow...can you believe I am the one who gets to narrate this? Look! The front wheel is all skeewhumpus. I bet that will cause some major problems when it lands. To help us understand what could happen we have an actual pilot on the phone. Can you believe it? I got an actual pilot to call me. This has to be a dream come true for me. Because in high school I always fantasized about getting with a pilot in a jet and going a mile high...

Exert Pilot 1: H...hello? Am I on? Hello?

PZ: Oh...yes. Hi. Could you please tell us what it will be like to hear 145 people screaming for their lives as this plane crashes in a fiery blaze?

EP1: Umm...well...the pilots are trained to handle...

PZ: How big will the crater be after a plane that size hits the ground going 400 mph?

EP1: I don't think...the pilots are very skilled...and things will be ok...

PZ: Don't you think, though, that burning off the fuel before they try to land...won't that just make the fire less exciting?

EP1: Ummm

PZ: Oh wow! We have another pilot on the phone. Can you believe it? This reminds me of my other fantasy when...

Expert Pilot 2: Hi, I fly for United and...

EP1: Was I done??

PZ: Mr. second pilot, what do you think of the first pilot I was talking to? He really wasn't very smart. I mean, don't you just think he was an idiot? Please tell me that we will have a ratings hit when this plane takes out half of LA?

EP2: I really don't know him...

PZ: Don't you want to kick his ass? What a jerk. I bet he sleeps with gerbils in his butt.

EP2: I really don't know what this has to do with...

PZ: Now we will go to our expert weather chick whom I hate because she is better looking than me. How is that hurricane going?

Weather Chick: Well Paula I am not sure. But I really like saying "Barometric Pressure". It reminds me of an italian boyfriend I had. He would do this little thing with his tongue...

PZ: Oh crap. Larry King is going to finish the plane story? I quit!

Larry King: HELLO DES MOINES!!

Things I Think About When I Don't Think

2005-09-21T00:01:00.000-07:00

1) Would any real man in his right mind wear clothes that have the name “Dickies” attached to them?

2) Kate Moss, a thin supermodel, was caught using cocaine. Immediately advertisers cancelled contracts with her. What about all the other thin supermodels that actually haven’t admitted to using cocaine but obviously they do?

3) Why does George W. Bush hate the gulf coast? That man is be sending another hurricane there. What a mean man.

4) Do you ever hear someone say peanuts but think they said “penis”? For example, I heard the other day someone say, “I really like M&M’s with penis.” Maybe it is just me.

5) There should be a law created that a person that looks like this should never win an award.

6) Why do some people confuse the mute button with the hold button? I love conference calls when someone presses hold and annoying Michael Bolton music comes on that about 30 people are forced to listen to. Maybe phone manufacturers should add a ‘Dumbass’ button.

7) When gunk gets stuck in the crevices of my watch why do I feel the compulsive urge to get a pushpin and start scraping it out? Again, maybe it is just me.

8) I really do want more than 1 ketchup packet for my Wendy’s Great Biggie fries. Maybe there is a ketchup shortage. Ketchup farmers had a really bad year.

9) I don’t like people who say “Catsup”.

10) I also don’t like people who say, “I am going to kill you, you ugly bastard.”

11) My favorite number is 11. Why do people have favorite numbers? What has a number ever done for you? One time seven ate nine and I never forgave it.

12) I apologize for number 11.

13) I don’t think we use the word “allegedly” enough.

14) I don’t think we use the word “malfeasance” enough.

15) I wonder if anyone has ever been allegedly malfeased?

16) Here is a little bit of advice for TV shows and FM DJ’s who feel the need to use a laugh track on their shows. If you have to use a laugh track, your show sucks.

17) I think in order to make baseball more exciting whenever anyone hits a home run the pitcher will need to eat the ball.

18) Golf would be more exciting if they had more big-boobed women running across the greens.

19) I once wrote a poem. I had to quit writing poetry because I got strange desires to slowly beat my head with a rock, then stick my head in a gas oven, then speak slowly to people because they are just not as intelligent as I am, and eventually kill myself.

20) I truly believe there is an ulterior motive to naming Wednesday “Hump Day”. I have solicited certain individuals to help with this. To this point I have not had any luck. Maybe it is just me.

I See People Turn Their Heads and Quickly Look Away

2005-09-19T08:16:00.000-07:00

At the office we have a bad infestation problem. At first we really didn’t know it was happening. Every so often we would see things out of place, something turned over, or noticeable bite marks. We all thought these were signs of lascivious janitors but I believe our views have changed.

Morons are overrunning us.

The critters are now more open and daring. They are all over the place.

At first they would just run away as someone turns on the lights. Now they are out in the light selling their wares of stupidity on the open market.

We would try to swat them with brooms, but they are so greasy they slip through the bristles. Traps don’t work because when the morons grab the food and their necks snap they somehow come back to life. I think we are dealing with the worst breed of morons…Zombie Morons. They will never die and will continually feast on your brains until you become one yourself.

One moron found it’s way into my Word documents. I hit it with a rolled up newspaper. All it did was sneer at me then run away giggling. I hate these guys.

One would wonder why management would allow this invasion of morons to continue.Some guess they are blind. I am of the opinion that they can get a half-assed job for 1/4^th of the money. If you think about it that is one hell of a deal.

You should not have believed me...I loved you not.

2005-09-16T12:01:00.000-07:00

I am not sure what it is but when people quote Shakespeare to me I, at first, get a small twinge of excitement. It usually starts in the lower portion of my bowels and works it way up to my ear. Which is really gross if you sit down with a committee, create some synergy within the group, then go out for chinese, and finally think about it for a minute.

After this I then curl up into a tiny ball of fury, quickly spin around, then attack the perpetrator with a swift boot to the head. I will feel guilty because I really love Shakespeare. Here, let me quote from my favorite work of his.

Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.
Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes!
Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it!
Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!

Doesn't that just make you want to strangle a goat? Yet it is so sublime and rich in context. I love it. It is almost like William has taken you beneath the bleachers and impregnated you with the son of the literature gods. Of course the lit gods will deny it is their child...that is until the DNA test results come back.

So now we have a Hurricane out there spinning around which some lonely men at the Center for Hurricane Lewdness and Depauchery decided to call Ophelia. Everyone knows that Ophelia is the name of a major female character in Shakeys play Hamlet. You know the one, "To be or not to be, I think I left my sunglasses at Starbucks." That one.

I was ticked at first, until I began to remember who Ophelia was. Instead of explaining to you I will quote those who wish to make up crap about the meaning behind the great works of literature.

"Ophelia's distinct purpose is to show at once Hamlet's warped view of women as callous sexual predators, and the innocence and virtue of women."

"Perhaps it may be granted...that what makes a woman a whore in the Hamlets' estimation is her sexual use by not one man but by more than one man...."

"To those who are not blinded by hurt and rage, Ophelia is the epitome of goodness."

Leave it to those who critique literature to always bring sex into the picture. It is always about sex. Sex sex sex. Then they go on to say that a whore is good. The only good whore is one that gives me half off.

With the the whoredom of Ophelia deeply in my mind, I give you todays FFF...

I am thinking her name should more appropriately be, "OH FEEL YA".

Now onto those others who are whoring themselves out on FFF:

Traveling in a Fried-out Combie

2005-09-14T00:01:00.000-07:00

In case you missed it, make sure you go here and dance along with it. My prayer is that it sticks in your head all day and drives you to maniacal depression. If that is even possible. I believe it is. And I am a doctor...

So, guess what? I woke up the other morning and went downstairs like I normally do. Some days I step out the upstairs windows and fall to a bone crunching awakening. This morning I wasn't feeling particularly frisky so I took the stairs.

After fixing something for breakfast (usually a piece of toast and vegemite - I am so Aussie, yo) I noticed the door to the hamster cage was open. If you need a bit of history on these hamsters please go here. No, wait. I mean here.

The one hamster, we affectionately call 'Fred', was there but the other, 'Ricky', was no where near the cage. I don't know all the instincts of free range homosexual hamsters but I had some assumptions. I looked at the rabbit for any clues, but she just sat there thinking, "Bunny bunny bunny, I love being a bunny. I hate you AB. You must die! I pwnt you!" Damn rabbit.

Under the rabbit cage, however, I noticed a piece of paper with some odd writing on it. It stated "Hamster Rave - Under AB's Refrigerator - Tonight".

Not again, I thought to myself.

Sure enough, under the refrigerator was Ricky passed out with a pacifier in his mouth and sleeping in his own vomit. The music was still thumping and flashing strobes still...flashing or strobing. The only other gay ravers were a couple of mice wearing spandex hot pants and a ferret named Sean.

Once again I cleaned up after the party and put Ricky back in his cage. Fred was indifferent and the rabbit kept sharpening a large knife while mumbling "I hate you...I hate you".

Such was my morning.

Oh, and vegemite really sucks.

And Justice for Llamas

2005-09-09T07:57:00.000-07:00

You want to know my fast and easy solution to choosing Supreme Court Justices? You don't? Oh well.

...

Here it is, I say we have the nominees compete in a contest like Battle of the Network Stars. Remember that lame show? Lame, but oh so funny and enthralling. I couldn't get enough of that tug 'o' war. Or Willie Ames falling in the dirt during the obstacle course. I laughed and laughed.

So you have the nominees compete in all these events and the winner obviously becomes the new Supreme Court justice. Just to make it interesting we allow some people who were the most intriquing guests on the Jerry Springer show compete as well. If they win then it will definitely bring balance to the court. Maybe we have a llama compete too. I bet a pack of llamas would make pretty interesting decisions in judging the constitutionality of the laws of the land.

To choose the chief justice all of the current justices (including the llama) will compete in the obstacle course. I bet Ginsberg has some moves, yo. Flaming liberals usually do.

Thereyago, what do you think? To draw interest to this idea I present to you for your FFF viewing pleasure....

A bunch of old people in robes

Am I the only one that thinks that Sandra Day O'Connor looks like George Washington?

Others who have disrobed:

The Wife Likes it Doggy Style (that just does not sound right at all)
Binsk Gets Frigid
Dragko Chokes His Chicken (i think)
OGO Shows the Bunny
Quixotic Cat and Interspecies Relations
Debi Rides a Cowboy
CaCa Boy Shows His Monkey
Freedom Girl Reveals Her...umm...Cat
Let me know of any others

"Come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm."

2005-09-06T12:01:00.000-07:00

I start this post by mentioning something a good friend once told me. I quote, “my feet are supple” and “I'm much better at bringing up the rear." I am not sure, but I think this person was coming on to me. But I can’t tell.

Although I still can’t get those quotes out of my mind I must move on to more important things.

With all of you, I extend my best wishes and as much help as I can to those affected by Hurricane Katrina. I hate hurricanes. I have been in a couple and I refuse to allow them to tick me off any further. Therefore I offer…

Things I Learned About Emergency Preparedness From That Witch Katrina

Build up a large supply of guns and ammo. There are two reasons for this: 1) To scare away looters, and 2) To get the attention of rescue helicopters.
Become close friends with a number of celebrities so they will put on a telethon. The risk with this is that although they are willing to lend their "talents" to your cause they probably won't give any of their own money, offer any of their million dollar homes for you to stay in, or get dirty in helping you cleanup.
Prepare a written statement where you blame all your problems on the President. Sure, he personally didn't plan any of your city's emergency procedures or put so many people of one race or economic status in one spot or force you to live in a bowl or actually began digging at the dikes a couple of days before the hurricane hit or fail to give more money 20 years earlier or wasn't in the hundreds of rescue teams that actually were there in the beginning. But he is a slow hick from Texas. So what the hell, huh?
Make sure you stock up on the absolute necessities of life. Items may include water, bread, Diet Pepsi, designer jeans, TV's, video games, watches, broken slot machines and ATM's etc.
Get out a map and plot a course to the nearest large indoor sports stadium. Preferably one with no running water, food, and toilets that back up.
If you own a casino, build it on dry land. If you don't own a casino, be prepared to help the owners transport their money to a safe location.
Have a large slab of styrofoam that you can float around on. Maybe a bag full of packing peanuts will work too.
Build a nice fort on your roof. You may be living there for a while. This could also work for the top of your car.
Two words: Alligator repellent.
Move to Iowa. They don't name a tornado, so that will lower the risk
Retain a lawyer and let the suing begin.

Special Edition of FFF

2005-09-03T19:07:00.000-07:00

Since it will be a long weekend (Happy Labor Day everyone! Now get back to work!!), I thought you all deserve a bonus FFF based on yesterdays theme. Or, it just shows how deeply entrenched in sin I have become. Oh well...

WARNING - Hardcore FFF - Protect the Children!

2005-09-02T12:01:00.000-07:00

I am about to do something that I didn't think I would ever do. But, like the proverbial camel in the tent (aka 'slippery slope'), it has finally come to this. Everytime, we have gone a little farther. We became a little more risky. Finally we just cross that ugly line.

Can I ever turn back? Who will save me? I have fallen into the vortex of iniquity. I hope that those who are close to me (you know who you are) will continue to find good in me. The temptation has just become too much.

Forgive me bloggers for I have sinned.

Here is todays Full Frontal Friday Post (two for one)

And a threesome...

Below is a list of others whom you might want to remember in your prayers:

Words are Weapons, Sharper Than Knives

2005-08-31T12:01:00.000-07:00

I was asked recently how I came up with my ideas and what is the process I use before I post them on my blog. Ok, ok. I really wasn't asked this by anyone...real. My imaginary friend Eduardo came up with it. However, I thought it was a good idea so I would like to tell you about it.

It usually starts out slowly. I like to play around with an idea first before I decide that I need to be really committed to it. This usually involves laying the idea out and touching every aspect of it. I slowly and gently check out every curve and pattern. As I touch them some parts get overly aroused. I tend to spend some extra time on those areas because of their reactions. After awhile I will move a little more quickly to other areas of the idea. This cannot be rushed too fast but done only in cadence with the building stimulation.

Remember not to neglect anything in this process or the entire experience could be wasted and turn into an embarrassment. For example, you don't want to post something prematurely. I have learned to control this impulse because no one likes a blog that is done too quickly.

As I continue on I make sure to caress each area of the idea. Every part of the post must be ready. Pronouns, verbs, nouns, conjunctions, and dangling participles move into their places like a choreographed anthem.

At this point you know the idea is ready to be inserted into place. A connection is made that brings me to such an enthusiasm it motivates me to give the post all the energy and stamina I have. I spend a long time working and reworking the whole post. All of the words and punctuation are put into place so that you can feel the full eloquence and passion of the essay.

This process continues until the total work falls into rythym with the idea that has expanded from just as seed and is now in full blown ebullience. Propelling final thoughts on this idea back and forth I finally know that I cannot give anymore to it. The intensification of the moment drowns out all reality until I finally ascend to the zenith of emotion when I publish the post to my blog in a climatic finale.

Coming down from this publication I rest peacefully knowing you have found pleasure in my blog and wish to return.

That is how it works for me anyway. What about you?

On the Hunt Tonight, For Love at First Sting

2005-08-29T15:01:00.000-07:00

Hurricane, hurricane, hurricane, blah, blah, blah.

Everything in the news lately has been about the hurricane. Even if the Superdome does have a hole in it's roof, it is not like the Saints are going to win any games this year. Besides, what is the big deal about a hurricane? It is just a lot of wind and water. All that does is remind me of a girlfriend I once had.

Speaking of a girlfriend, we were in New Orleans once for mardi-gras. She kept lifting her shirt, but instead of beads, people threw hammers at her. She wasn't happy about that, no.

In seriousness, I hope things are good with Bennet. Although he wasn't necessarily near the eye of the hurricane he was pretty close to the shoulder. If you have ever been near the shoulder of a hurricane you would know that when she lifts her arm a rank smell of BO eminates out and destroys things faster than 165 mph wind (which, for my Canadian friends, would be 265.5 kph - Unless you are from Alberta. There it will be converted to 'Durn Fast').

If the hurricane is of the European type then watch out. That underarm hair will lash out at you faster than a whip from Devo (Before the cream sits out too long, You must whip it). Also, not that I want to tell stories out of school, but it should not be surprising that Blog Ho has a dream that the vagina of a hurricane would pass over his house. I am, with everyone else, awaiting his post on that topic.

So, in conclusion, a big heart-felt hug goes out to all those affected by the hurricane. Now can we get back to our regularly scheduled programming?

Decision 2008 & FFF

2005-08-26T00:01:00.000-07:00

I know there are still 3 years left until the next presidential election, however, I feel I finally know who a I would vote for without any hesitation.

A delicious eclair.

Sure, the eclair is an inanimate object (not a very strong argument against this by the way) but I like eclairs a lot more than any person either party would nominate. As a matter of fact I really don't see a difference. Either party is about the same in my opinion. So why not vote for something that is nothing but decadent pastry goodness? Mix in some creamy filling and a chocolate topping and you have the best damn president since...ummm...

Vote for an eclair in 2008! Actually, why wait, vote for one for senator or mayor or governor or your local town council. In most cases (except in some parts of West Virginia) you will be better off.

Full Frontal Friday
This whole FFF thing is going crazy. I love it. Thank you. The hard part is staying creative with it. So I decided to steal something from DaVinci. From his best selling book, The DaVinci Cod Piece I present this...

Click on pic to get full effect.

Please see below those who are willing participants in this extravaganza. I love you all! *smooch*

CaCa Boy Bares All
Oh great One Goes Hairless
Crackbaby Gets Religion
Debi Does...umm...a whole farm?
Freedom Girl Spreads It
Ragko Tied Up (or something similar)
Dementia Goes Invisible. :-)
Ben Steals My Photos - I am calling the cops.
Let me know of anyone else. I just woke up so I am a little groggy.

Tires Spitting Gravel, I Commit My Weekly Crime

2005-08-24T00:01:00.000-07:00

I remember one day trying to find a place to eat lunch. It had been a long day, you see. There had been constant harassments from the client, "Do this! Do that! Why the hell did you do that? I meant do this!" Of course, I just answer with "Yes my liege" and immediately do 'that'. Ten minutes later I hear, "That is not what I wanted!!"

I am not entirely sure they found the body.

A place to eat was finally found. The name was not familiar to me but it had a familiar look.

The friendly hostess seated me in a corner. The waiter, equally as friendly as the hostess, soon arrived to take my order. "Howzit goan, eh?" he said. I returned what I thought to be a greeting and proceeded to order a meal containing the staple of life. "A hamburger and french fries please." He smiled and said, "Good deal! With oat a doat, eh?"

I was pleased to see my meal come quickly. Friendly AND quick. I must note this place for later, I thought to myself.

Unfortunately, something was missing. I searched my table and the surrounding tables. My object of desire was not there.

"Excuse me," I asked the waiter. "Could I get some ketchup?"

"Eh?" was the response.

"Ketchup," I countered. "For my french fries."

"Oh! Hoe aboat some gravy, eh?"

Gravy? For my friggin' french fries? I was puzzled. I looked around at the others in the restaraunt. To my own disbelief I did indeed see people dipping their french fries in gravy. Who puts gravy on their french fries? And it wasn't just any gravy, it was brown gravy. This is the worst kind of gravy. I would rank it as the most evil of gravys.

Was I eating in Lucifer's Bar & Grill?

Before you label me as a racist and want to call the NAABG (National Association for the Advancement of Brown Gravy), go down to your local Cracker Barrel and check out their southern white gravy. Boy howdy, that stuff is good eatin'. Especially on the chicken fried chicken! To top off the experience buy some lovely crafts in the country store. There are some items that would look good on my office door...if I had one.

My head hung heavy as I was leaving the establishment. What happened to "Friendly and quick"? Who among the sane of humanity would put gravy on their french fries?

The dawning of realization hit...

Oh yeah, Canada.

I erased my note I made earlier about the place and went back to work. I had some 'thats' to fix.

Let’s Plug a Bomb in Everyone’s Arse

2005-08-22T00:01:00.000-07:00

I need inspiration. Or a good colonoscopy. I know people that have that procedure done every spring and fall just to "get the cobwebs out". I prefer to do it about once every 4 years. Usually I do it right around the time of the Olympics. However, it has become really hard to decide which Olympics to synch it up with. At one time I had it done right between the winter and summer games. Then they decided to split them out every two years. Whoa boy, was I ever hurting.

Back to the inspiration part...

I sit here looking at a blank blogger post screen. Sure, there is the crap above about my regular "cleanings". But everyone does that. And there is now this...stuff...ummm...I am.......w...riting...NOW. That was weird.

But who really wants to read this? So I need help. I, seriously, really need help.

This doesn't happen very much to me. I usually have something to say. Not today. It is like the "Magical Writers Block Fairy With a Purple TuTu" has come to my home and sucked any grey matter that was left hanging around discussing Plutarch at the local Starbucks into its "Magical Sucking of Ideas Vacuum-Type Thingee". Let me tell you, when the fairy sucks we all pay the price.

Therefore, I beg not only for your forgiveness but help in inspiring me to post something useful. My only goal in life is to make you happy. I can't make you happy if I am not happy. And when I am not happy I start hiding WMD's in various locations around my house and wait patiently for the UN inspectors to be paid off by the Oil For Food For Old Issues of Penthouse people who will then, in turn, say I am only a misunderstood dictator who just needs a good colon cleaning.

Bennet actually gave me a good idea for a practical joke. He said that it would be funny to create an air freshener spray that would smell like crap. I think that many of the major sprays already smell like crap. Actually they smell like flowers that a bird has crapped on. However, I began to sense the idea. The spray would smell like actual human feces.

The can would be placed in a public restroom. Probably in a men's office restroom because we all know that women don't stink. They just make 'foofing' sounds then everything smells like Georgio.

So it must be in a mans bathroom. A man comes in and does his...umm...doody. It is a real scorcher of a doody too (or is it spelled 'doodie'?). Of course, he doesn't want the next guy to come in and think the fragrance came from him so he sees his way out with the can of 'air freshner'. The can would have pictures of pretty flowers on it even though a real man would actually not use a can like that. Maybe if the can had pretty flowers being held by a hot, big-chested, blonde or brunette. That would do it.

When the can is sprayed only a fecal smell would eminate from it. Here is where it gets funny...hold on...here it comes...ok...the guy would keep spraying because he would think his 'business' was really that bad smelling. He goes on spraying to try to cover it up only to make it worse. This would go on, probably another 10 minutes, until his boss comes in and fires him for
just being stupid. Everyone in HR would laugh a good hardy laugh because they are always the ones who do things like this. Don't let their "look at me, I work in HR and my foofs don't stink" attitude fool you. They would eat their own puppys if given the chance.

There you have it. I have nothing. I have resorted to stealing other peoples ideas. You might just want to visit Bennet. I owe him at least that.

And Lisa, I am sorry. I am probably not very hilarious anymore. But I will continue to try. Maybe after my colonoscopy.

The Blind Men Shout Let the Creatures Out

2005-08-19T06:37:00.000-07:00

I apologize to everyone for not posting very much this week. It has been very busy. I decided to take some time off from work but work didn't take time off for me. Which, if you think about it, is very rude. Then again, it is an interesting thing that I actually post more when I am actually at work than I do when not. Go figure. I bet none of you are like that...no.

FFF is now a growing internet phenonmenon. If you consider the fact that Hillary Duff has a greatest hits disc out then I can say anything I want about FFF. Therefore, FFF has become the greatest thing since sex. I will give you an update on those who 'bared all' as soon as they have the courage to show themselves.

**UPDATE - THOSE WHO HAVE DARED TO BARE**
(The rest of you are just plain wussies.)

For my post today I have decided to do something a little more risky yet titillating. I scoured the internet for 'Oprah Nude'. Unfortunately, the following is the best I could come up with. Please don't call the police.

Have a wonderful weekend.

Under the Anvil of the Sun

2005-08-15T12:01:00.000-07:00

The other day I took my normal lunch break during an unusually difficult day at work. Walking out into the warm sun was, at first, disheartening. The last thing I wanted to face was sweat running down the sides of my face trying to escape to the corners of my neck. Relief came over me as a cool breeze moved pass my face. It was going to be a nice lunch break.

Everyday I need to spend at least an hour out of the office. This day I was very tempted to make it an all day affair. Deadlines were not being met, responsibilities were being dropped, technical issues becoming overwhelming, and no one accepting any accountability was the order of the first half of the day. The cool breeze was refreshing.

Though it was a nice day I decided to eat my lunch in my car. However, pre-requisites to this are the windows will be down and the sunroof open. I pulled the car into a remote and shady part of the parking lot. A ham, turkey, and cheese sandwich never looked so good.

As I crumbled up the packaging that once held my lunch a few minutes before, I noticed an older man approximately 20 yards ahead of me. He was working diligently trimming the hedges of the office landscaping and cleaning out the flowerbeds. He must have been working hard because he was sweating profusely. It was as if the cool breeze did not reach him.

Then I began to wonder. I hate it when I wonder about things, because it makes me face ideas that only create feelings of insignificance in me. My resistance was weakened and the wondering began.

Was this hard working man any different than me? He works his butt off to beautify the surroundings in order for the company to display a professional appearance to its customers. I wondered if he enjoyed his job. Does he face landscaping problems like uncontrollable insects that destroy the lawn, dying trees and flowers from lack of rain, trash left by inconsiderate employees, and having to work in extreme weather conditions? Of course he continues to endure this in order to bring home a 'reward' so he can feed, shelter, and clothe his family.

The feared thoughts followed the wondering. What I do is not much different than this man. Just because I sit in an air-conditioned office, wear comfortable clean clothing, and work in a high profile job, I was in the exact same position. I, too, worked by butt off to make sure the company looks good to its customers. Sure, I may make a little more money than this person, but for what satisfaction and in the end does it really matter? We push hard to try to get 'ahead' but in reality all of us are doing the same thing but at various levels. Society then dictates who is a higher life form.

Then the depression hit. Have I been wasting my life? Should I be doing more? Should I be doing less? Maybe it was even time to change my career? Can I finally do what I really wanted to do? Am I just a specimen in a social laboratory?

Ultimately, I decided that I could either continue the fall into despair or follow what seemed to be the only choice that I had before me. The decision was simple.

I ran over the old man with my car.

Full Frontal Friday

2005-08-12T09:45:00.000-07:00

Just when I thought the interest in Full Frontal Friday was waning, Debi and Mike harshly reminded me that someone actually cares. That just warms my heart. *sniff*

So to give you your weekly FFF fix:

She's yellow, she's cute and she's smart.
Laa-Laa is sweet, there's no question about that. She could doubtless talk her way into (or out of) anything, being the little charmer that she is. She's mastered the funny look to the camera, too.

I Never Thought I'd Have an Admirer From Overseas

2005-08-11T12:01:00.000-07:00

I never thought it would happen to me. It is almost like that time when I was young and I wondered what sex was like. Then when it happened, I still wondered what sex was like.

You may have heard over the years about the internet "story" of a suddenly rich boy who inherited money from his parents. The dying wish his parents had was that he find someone in the U.S. to help him invest the money properly. In return for the assistance the helper would receive a grand portion of the money.

Well...guess what? I actually received such an email! Really! Below is what came to me...

From: Henry Traore
E-mail :henry_traore1900@yahoo.fr
Abidjan, Cote d'ivoire
Tel: +225 0738 8636

Peace Be Unto You

I am Mr Henry Traore the only son of late Mr. Christopher Traore . My father and mother were very wealthy farmers and cocoa merchant when they were both alive After the death of my father,long ago, my mother was controling his business untill she was poisoned by her business associates which she surffered and died .

Before the death of my mother on March 2005 in a private hospital here in Abidjan where she was admitted, she secretly called me on her bed side and disclosed to me about the sum of four million five hundred US dollars thousand . USD ($4.5million ) she left in suspense account in one of the bank here in Abidjan , it was the money she intended to transfer oversea for investment before she was poisoned. She instructed that I should seek for a foreign partner in any country of my choice who will assist me transfer this money in oversea account where the money will be save and invested wisely.

Because of the current political problem here in Ivory Coast I decided to transfer the money to abroad where it will be save and invested. therefore, I am crying and seeking for your kind assistance in the following ways:

(1) To provide a safe bank account into where the money will be transferred for investment .
(2) To serve as a guardian of this fund since I am a boy of 20 years old .
(3) To make arrangement for me to come over to your country to further my education and to secure a resident permit for me in your country.

As soon as I receive your urgent reply indicating your interest to assist me to successfuly transfer the money into your yet nominated account , I would give you all necessary information you may require. I have mapped out 20% of the total funds as mode of compensation for your effort for assisting me with this request. Expecting your urgent response via my email

address: henry_traore1900@yahoo.fr

Yours
Henry Traore

Of course, I couldn't just let this go unanswered. The poor boy needed help.

Here is my response...

Dear Henry,

What a sad sad thing it is to hear of the demise of your poor mother. I have no doubt in my mind that she was murdered either by the ghost of your father or a jealous lover. Yes, Henry, there would have been many jealous lovers.

It must have been heart wrenching to hear the news that your mother was a very popular prostitute. I assume you already know this. Boy oh boy, she was one of the best, too. She did this little twist move with her hand while making love that just drove her patrons crazy. I was willing to pay anything, ANYTHING, for that move.

She was a good woman (if you know what I mean…nudge nudge).

So now you have inherited her vast fortune from the…err…”cocoa merchant” business. I believe congratulations are in order. However, I must reveal another little secret. It is a secret that your mother told me not to reveal until her death. Henry, I am your father.

I know it may come as quite a shock to you, but it is true. I told your mother I would take care of you and make sure you grow into a gentleman. Have you ever read ‘Great Expectations’? Well, your life will be much like that. As a matter of fact, I shall call you ‘Pip’. You will be ‘My Little Pip’. And I will be your ‘Magwitch’.

It is a hard thing to have to take your mother’s money and raise you to be a man. But I am honored. Please leave the money in a large black garbage sack under the park bench near the old swing set at Old Mill Park. Once I have it safe in my hands I will provide room & board for you at the local Shaky Bed Motel. I know the owner there, Sal. He is a good man but has a habit of watching people take showers. There is a hole in the bathroom wall, you might want to cover that up.

At some point your education will begin. I do believe in street smarts so you may have to do a little “selling”. Prove yourself competent, my boy, then the world will be yours. I am sure some of the first lessons will be to fix your horrific english. This is America boy! Speak Spanish!!

I love you my son. I am proud of you.

AB

P.S. Just don’t forget to send the damn money.

Think he will write back? I hope so, because I could sure use some ideas for another post in the near future!

If you would like to write him and tell him how much you would like to help, please do so. Let me know how it goes. I am just not responsible for what comes back. You dig dawg?

All that matters is my alma mater.

2005-08-10T12:01:00.000-07:00

There is sure a lot of talk lately about the need to ban insulting and abusive mascot names for colleges and universities. I really don't see the big deal.

I, for one, did not go to a college that had a nickname or mascot. In the end, I don't think I missed it.

In case you are wondering, I went to the South Harbor Institute of Technology (S.H.I.T.) The school is very prestigious and has turned out impressive graduates.

As alumni, we are very proud of going to S.H.I.T. and will always remember those wonderful times. The first thing I remember is going to basketball games and the cheerleaders screaming, "Give me an S!!" We, of course, would yell "S!!" Then they would say, "GIVE ME AN H!!" We would yell back, "H!!" This would continue until the cheerleaders would finally exclaim, "WHAT HAVE YOU GOT?!" With pride we would respond at the top of our lungs, "A WHOLE LOT OF S.H.I.T.!!!" Oh that was fun.

As a matter of fact our teams were actually very good. And we did not need some silly mascot to inspire our teams onto victory. Although we did, occasionally, call them the Flying S.H.I.T.S! Our closest rival was a team from upstate. During homecoming one year a fight broke out in the stands. I am not sure who really won that riot, but the S.H.I.T.s really hit the fans.

Like any other college we would be very active in politics. There were some incredibly good movements on campus. Some were easy and our issues heard quickly and acted upon. Other times they would be a little slower which would require a lot of grunt work to get going. What a relief when everything came out well in the end.

One time there was a movement among the student body about the possibility of creating a nickname for S.H.I.T. Among the possibilities on the ballot were 1) Battling Brown Trouts, 2) JungleBugs, 3) Squat Monkeys, and my personal favorite 4) The Anal Snakes. After a hard fight the election ended in a draw. So we went back to the same old S.H.I.T.

Again, I am proud to be full of S.H.I.T. I am particularly glad of the degree I received from such a noble college. On my office wall I have an engraving of my diploma, which shows my B.S. degree in Business Management (BM).

May the Sun Live Strong

2005-08-08T11:02:00.000-07:00

There I was, trying to sell my soul on eBay (which, btw, the bidding is up to 74 cents), when my son comes in and announces to the world, "I just learned the sun is eventually going to burn out and we are all going to die!"

My younger children, upon hearing this, began to cry and say "Oh Daddy, please save us from the horrible sun!"

I proceed to comfort them by saying the sun is not going to burn out. Instead, it will expand until it eventually over takes the earth and burns us all into objects that look remarkably like Cocoa Pebbles.

My kids have yet to come up from cowering in a basement corner.

Naturally, I blame science for this. Since most scientists are poor, and without proper hygiene knowledge, I figured I would just sue the Discovery Channel. Lance Armstrong would be named in the suit as well. Not only because the Discovery Channel sponsors him but because the whole "I beat cancer and you can too" thing is getting really annoying.

I must admit, though, that riding a bike while having testicular cancer has got to be painful. Maybe I will just sue him for a million 'Live Strong' wrist bands. I will take them and throw the yellow bands down into the basement while yelling "AHHHHH!! THE BAD SUN IS COMING TO GET YOU!!"

What, you too cute to dance?

2005-08-05T15:53:00.000-07:00

Hi...

Sorry...

Very very busy....

No time...

Work is threatening...

People being separated...

Dreams crushed...

Bones broken...

Money taken...

Where is mine?? Must work work work...very very busy...no time to post...

Have a good weekend...

Before I leave...

FFF post...

Hehehehehehehehehehe...

A Stupid Blog From My Past

2005-08-03T00:01:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of teenage bloggers out there. Some of them actually do a pretty good job. I say 'pretty good' because we all know teenagers are just one step away from textbook stupidity. If you think there is no such thing as a textbook on stupidity then you haven't been to the bookstore lately. Because, I was the one the author dedicated the book to.

I am sure there are some real cool (or is it 'kewl'?) teenagers. I just don't know any. This realization was made after many (I do mean 'many' because I like to be detailed) searches for 'Hot Teens' in Google. Maybe you are one of them and you read this blog. If you read this regularly, then, yeah, you're ok. But face it, you are not the strongest Elmer's glue in the kindergarten class. You know what I mean?

Where, in hell, do I get the nerve to say this? I was a teenager once. I lived through those years and boy was I stooooooooooooopud. Therefore if Me + Teenager = Stupid then Teenagers + All = Stupid. And while I am at it:

Please solve for x

I know what you are thinking, and no I will not do THAT for any amount of money. But I will do it for some Sun Chips.

The other thing you are thinking is, "AB, where are you going with this?" I was pondering the other day what would I blog about if blogs were around when I was a teenager? Here is what I concluded:

The great profundity behind the negative affect of Bon Scott's death on the world. Especially on why the hell the group replaced him with Brian Johnson. He did rock on "Hell's Bell's", however.
My daily diary on my love for Tracy even though she moved away because of the restraining orders against me.
Political commentary on the policies of the Reagan administration. After the first post, you would never see this again.
My hatred of Mr. Stark my high school U.S. history teacher. I will never forget the day he humilated me in front of the whole class. How was I to know the Teapot Dome scandal wasn't about the time Redskins fans dumped a load of teapots into the Potomac river in protest of the ultimatum the team gave that if they didn't build a new football stadium they would move? But I must say Edwin Denby was the best Secretary of the Navy.
I would write about how utterly idiotic #4 sounds.
I would mock my spanish teacher who would constantly annoy us with "¿Cómo se dice en español? " whenever we would say things in english. Of course, we would say "¿Cómo se dice 'eat my gonads' en español? " He would then answer with "coma las gónadas". Then follow up with, "Yo lo quiero en el asno."
How much my parents just didn't understand me. Especially after they gave me a green Buick to drive. You have NO IDEA the emotional turmoil I endured with this. The hardest thing was people saying, "Nice pickle mobile!". While bludgeoning them I would yell, "¿Cómo se dice 'pickle mobile' en español?!" With a groan they would answer, "encurtir móvil". I would then yell, "IN FRENCH!" Their last words would be, "conserver au vinaigre le mobile". Afterwards we would go have a laugh at Shakey's Pizza and play Ms. PacMan.

Those are just some topics that I would probably have discussed on my blog if this medium was around in my teenage years. What would you write about it? Consider this a tag of some sorts. But if you are a teenager, don't bother...because you are stupid.

Concession Speech

2005-08-01T12:01:00.000-07:00

Dear friends and supporters,

It is with deep regret that I come before you today to concede the election of Top Blog to....umm...to....those other people. You know the ones. The ones with the boring blogs. Oh well, I am sure they are nice people. I even bet they did better than me in high school. But what you didn't know is they had sex with pidgeons in high school. Really, it is true. I have pictures.

The blog world has spoken. Despite a grueling around the clock (ok, at least 10 minutes a day) schedule, I must congratulate my opponents. They did well.

Looking back on the election I have learned many things.

It might be a good thing to start sucking up to people earlier in the week. It just seemed to help. They get all sucked out by the end of the week. Which is something only I can wish for. *sigh*
Talk about insignificant events in my life. They just seem to lure people in and catches them like a bear in a honey trap. And I also need to show pictures of mundane things. I think I have a pic of a used napkin somewhere around here. I shall call it 'Snot my Napkin'. It will someday hang in a museum
Use sex. Must use more sex. It is always about sex. And show nudity. Even if it is half naked (or nakkid) nudity. Skin sells. I have some, want to buy it?
Send more money to people.

Those are just a few things. I am sure there are many more lessons learned, but I have forgotten them now.

Therefore, I will now stop actively seeking to be the top blog and be content with #5. The number 5 is a good number. I can be happy with that. However, if you feel you want to still vote, you can click somewhere over there ---->

If nominated I will not run, if elected I will not serve beanie weanies ever again.

Now onto my boring life....

Final Voting Days & FFF

2005-07-29T08:18:00.000-07:00

There was a little disappointment last night as I saw the polls slip out of my favor for top blog. Bennet, my Vice Top Blog, being found partying naked with horny Llamas has not helped the cause. Nevertheless, I will stand by my running mate. He made a mistake, has learned from it, and knows that the people of the world are forgiving. Especially when they find out about the squirrels.

As the weekend comes near I will urge a final plea.

I am a good person. I feel your pain. I know you want a good Top Blog. A better Top Blog. A Top Blog that will work for you. Giving you everything you ever wanted and ever fantasized about. I mean it. ANYTHING!! Try me. I have the energy and the pills to get it done.

So, if you love everything that is good and right or even bad and wrong. I am your blog. Vote now and vote often. Everyday. Thank you. *sniff...sob*

Now on to my Full Frontal Friday post. FFF has become very very popular. There is one person, Nolff, doing it. Which is progress, right? Nolff is a good man and his site Kicks Ass. Plus I paid him money.

**FFF Update**

Whoa...FFF is moving quickly. TechyMike has joined the group. You go...umm...boy.

Here is my post for today:

Try and tell me that this was NOT every man's fantasy. Go ahead...try to. See? You lie. For the ladies, next week Ken.