First, a disclaimer: the bottle said "don't operate heavy equipment." There was no mention of ,"do not operate wood stove to capacity while on this medication if you also have 6 or more beers."
Well let's just say that hair on the back of your hands is overrated. I wouldn't suggest the burnt fingernail unless you're have a Hitler party at your house and just want it to be Dachau-rific.
It was still a good ending to celebrating the birth of our Lord all day by stuffing ourselves full of ham and potato(e) salad. Nothings says "I love Christmas" more than getting fat.
Two of my cousins came over with their significant others, and we had a good time not forcibly being nice to others. When my brother Darrell showed up it was SRO, but warm as hell. 38 outside, 78 at the rudder.
We discussed all the important stuff like women who's nipples point in different directions, and what really makes us fart, and how hard you have to hit someone to knock them out. None of that fake shit like homeless people or global warming or world starvation.
Since we had enough for a quorum, it is now decreed at the PBR that:
Fuck China- they're still communist, short and yellow.
Fuck Hoosiers- they're idiots, and too close to us. We did recognize their contribution of not letting Kentucky slide into Tennessee by sucking so bad.
Fuck the Republican party- Don't forget that the thrice divorced Newt Gingrich started the "righteous rebellion" against open democracy and pushed the country toward our parliamentary system.
Fuck Ohio- Why couldn't they have been like their sister, Indiana?
Fuck cheep beer- yes, it got us through our teens and college, but we don't have to drink it again until we retire, and since social security won't be there when we're old, we won't have to worry about that!
Hooray for boobs- We're talking women's, not the hairy man tits that are shown in the travel mags about nude beaches in Europe.
Hooray strip clubs, but fuck the new no-touch ordinance.
Dec 26, 2007
Dec 22, 2007
maybe something, maybe nothing
I was listening to J. Roddy Walston and the Business the other day, and there was a lyric in one of the songs; "There's a man who had no voice because he'd rather live without a fight than die with a choice."
Dec 17, 2007
work? No thanks
Taking a break from spreadsheets yesterday led me to you tube surfing.
I don't know how this was done and don't care, but it's pretty cool.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ckh8bRv_IE
I don't know how this was done and don't care, but it's pretty cool.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ckh8bRv_IE
Dec 14, 2007
Why does it take so long to get bored?
It's been getting busier at work, and cold out when I get home, so there's not a lot going on. Luckily I have been able to get out of work at a reasonable time, but when I get home I am relegated to small tasks in the shop, as my brother Darrell has pretty well taken the thing over finishing some bed rails for his kids.
Don't get me started.
We had a fire last night, and it was 39deg outside, and 70 on the porch. Gotta love it. Except for the part where I tried to pick up a red hot coal that had popped out with my hand. "If I pick it up REAL FAST..."
It don't work like that.
If it weren't for beer, I'd have to do stupid stuff and have nothing to blame it on.
Don't get me started.
We had a fire last night, and it was 39deg outside, and 70 on the porch. Gotta love it. Except for the part where I tried to pick up a red hot coal that had popped out with my hand. "If I pick it up REAL FAST..."
It don't work like that.
If it weren't for beer, I'd have to do stupid stuff and have nothing to blame it on.
Dec 8, 2007
Fun Friday Nights
John
Last week I had the unenviable pleasure of attending traffic school due to the fact that I like to speed. It turns out that 15 over is grounds for a speeding ticket. Who knew?
Anyway, I left work at 5:30 to get to the festive gathering of vehicular malcontents that started at 6:15.
On my invitation was the sentence,"Late arrivals will not be admitted," so I figured that I best get at it and get there about 15 minutes early. This way I would have been able to eat my pizza, and calm down from the drive. Apparently all other drivers were informed of my plans and were ordered to stall me any way possible. It was so bad that I actually considered driving on the side walk, which would allow me to cut through a parking lot on the corner and miss the light. I didn't, but I did run two red lights, and speed to beat all hell when I had the chance, and arrived at 10 after 6. Not enough time to eat, and definitely not enough time to calm down.
Having no where to sit but up front, I figured I'd sit right in front of the instructor so at least I wouldn't fall asleep during my re-education. Besides, I wouldn't have anyone knocking elbows during the class. At least so I thought.
When the traffic school marm came in five minutes late, she told everyone to fill up the first four rows and leave the back row empty. She then said," Leave the door open. We always have some people showing up late."
"What the fuck?" I told the lady sitting next to me that if she heard anything that it was my tummy rumbling.
After another twenty minutes of getting everyone signed in, the lady started handing out some papers that had lists and descriptions of different driving characteristics. The object of these was to have you evaluate your driving and come to the conclusion that you're a lousy driver and decide to change your ways. I looked on them as some sort of shopping list, and began looking through trying to find out how many more bad habits I needed in order to collect the whole set.
It turns out that I pretty much have all the traits needed to open a "Do as I say, not as I do" driving school.
In class, we went over speeding, changing lanes, reaction times, alcohol, etc. When we got to the portion on road rage, the marm was looking over the class, saying that she could pick out the ragers. I was wearing a Shit Eating Grin when she look at me and said,"nah," and went on to someone others. When asked what made them rage, answers were the normal things that irk us all- people going slow in fast areas and vice-versa, cutting people off, etc. Marm made it all around the room, and then asked if anyone else raged and what set them off. I chuckled, raised my hand. When calling on me, marm looked oddly at me. I guess the collared shirt and sweater made me look more innocent.
"Pedestrians," I said. "I work downtown and they're all over. They cross in the middle of the street trying to hold their pants up 'cause they're not wearing belts. They cross against the lights and slow down in front of you when you're trying to go."
"What do you do when that happens?" she asked in an authoritative "I've seen it all" air.
"I honk, yell out the window, pull right up to them, and oh, last week I got one with the mirror"
Buckwheat has nothing on this lady's expression. Some people in the class laughed, some gasped, on one guy in the back loudly exclaimed, "oh shit!"
"That person could have gotten your license plate number!"
"Nah, he was too busy spinning around in the street. I was barely going at the time."
She warned me to be careful and that I'm 10 times more likely to get sued today than I would have been 10 years ago.
"Shit," I thought,"I didn't know I could have gotten away with that ten years ago."
Traffic purgatory lasted four hours last Friday, and when everyone got out at ten, they all rushed for the exit from the parking lot.
I yelled at someone in the parking lot as I was leaving traffic school. Life is good.
Last week I had the unenviable pleasure of attending traffic school due to the fact that I like to speed. It turns out that 15 over is grounds for a speeding ticket. Who knew?
Anyway, I left work at 5:30 to get to the festive gathering of vehicular malcontents that started at 6:15.
On my invitation was the sentence,"Late arrivals will not be admitted," so I figured that I best get at it and get there about 15 minutes early. This way I would have been able to eat my pizza, and calm down from the drive. Apparently all other drivers were informed of my plans and were ordered to stall me any way possible. It was so bad that I actually considered driving on the side walk, which would allow me to cut through a parking lot on the corner and miss the light. I didn't, but I did run two red lights, and speed to beat all hell when I had the chance, and arrived at 10 after 6. Not enough time to eat, and definitely not enough time to calm down.
Having no where to sit but up front, I figured I'd sit right in front of the instructor so at least I wouldn't fall asleep during my re-education. Besides, I wouldn't have anyone knocking elbows during the class. At least so I thought.
When the traffic school marm came in five minutes late, she told everyone to fill up the first four rows and leave the back row empty. She then said," Leave the door open. We always have some people showing up late."
"What the fuck?" I told the lady sitting next to me that if she heard anything that it was my tummy rumbling.
After another twenty minutes of getting everyone signed in, the lady started handing out some papers that had lists and descriptions of different driving characteristics. The object of these was to have you evaluate your driving and come to the conclusion that you're a lousy driver and decide to change your ways. I looked on them as some sort of shopping list, and began looking through trying to find out how many more bad habits I needed in order to collect the whole set.
It turns out that I pretty much have all the traits needed to open a "Do as I say, not as I do" driving school.
In class, we went over speeding, changing lanes, reaction times, alcohol, etc. When we got to the portion on road rage, the marm was looking over the class, saying that she could pick out the ragers. I was wearing a Shit Eating Grin when she look at me and said,"nah," and went on to someone others. When asked what made them rage, answers were the normal things that irk us all- people going slow in fast areas and vice-versa, cutting people off, etc. Marm made it all around the room, and then asked if anyone else raged and what set them off. I chuckled, raised my hand. When calling on me, marm looked oddly at me. I guess the collared shirt and sweater made me look more innocent.
"Pedestrians," I said. "I work downtown and they're all over. They cross in the middle of the street trying to hold their pants up 'cause they're not wearing belts. They cross against the lights and slow down in front of you when you're trying to go."
"What do you do when that happens?" she asked in an authoritative "I've seen it all" air.
"I honk, yell out the window, pull right up to them, and oh, last week I got one with the mirror"
Buckwheat has nothing on this lady's expression. Some people in the class laughed, some gasped, on one guy in the back loudly exclaimed, "oh shit!"
"That person could have gotten your license plate number!"
"Nah, he was too busy spinning around in the street. I was barely going at the time."
She warned me to be careful and that I'm 10 times more likely to get sued today than I would have been 10 years ago.
"Shit," I thought,"I didn't know I could have gotten away with that ten years ago."
Traffic purgatory lasted four hours last Friday, and when everyone got out at ten, they all rushed for the exit from the parking lot.
I yelled at someone in the parking lot as I was leaving traffic school. Life is good.
Nov 28, 2007
I don't know if it's the broccoli or the beer, but my shit's as green as a mossy forest floor
I don't really have too much time to post right now, but I didn't want to leave everyone hanging, so here are two jokes that I heard today:
What do you get when you cross the Atlantic with the Titanic?
About half-way.
Do you know the only part of the vegetable you can't eat?
The wheelchair.
What do you get when you cross the Atlantic with the Titanic?
About half-way.
Do you know the only part of the vegetable you can't eat?
The wheelchair.
Nov 20, 2007
Cheers!
I will be leaving tomorrow for the land of Px (just to the right of Oz) for T-giving, so there will be no posts for a while.
I have a terrific story that can't be told. It has it all: greed, politics, backstabbing, overprivilaged feeling underserved, and one man trying to defend himself against irrationality and small-mindedness.
later
KA I
I have a terrific story that can't be told. It has it all: greed, politics, backstabbing, overprivilaged feeling underserved, and one man trying to defend himself against irrationality and small-mindedness.
later
KA I
Nov 14, 2007
A greek doctor? That ain't his flashlight!
There really hasn't been a whole lot going on. Since I'm not dating, married, or have kids, I live a rather peaceful life. So for all my adoring fan, Some scraps:
Last night my brother Darryl came over and we had some beers in front of the fire. While solving some of the world's problems, the conversation somehow turned toward the Greeks. "Fuck 'em," I said," Bunch of toga-wearing dick-pullers anyhow."
Today I went to one of the departments here at work and was talking to a guy who does acting on the side, and who showed me some of the dance moves the cast will be doing. This particular part involved him moving side to side, alternately jutting his left and right legs out in a motion that could be used to demonstrate the proper technique for fending off an amorous dog. You have to remember through all of this that this gentleman is not in any way svelte. His hair sweats when he moves quickly, and his earlobes have cholesterol problems. Well, after several of these "steps" he would lift his knee about half-way up his thigh. Then several more back and forth attempts at trying to be the fitness instructor at a bowling alley, then another knee lift.
"Looks like he's trying to fart," I said.
He and the two ladies in his department laughed so hard they were crying. MC-Slomo about fell over, but made it to his chair.
On the way back to my office, my brain started to wander, since we all know driving does nothing for me, and thinking about laughing at that dude dancing started my brain to play bumper-cars. In order:
Damn that was funny. If you can't take a joke, you shouldn't do stupid stuff.
If you don't like the name greasball guinny wop dago goombah, you probably shouldn't have been born Italian. Shut up you olive skinned goat fucker.
Oh yeah, you never hear any jokes about Germans.
Who do you think's writing 'em all? Do you think that Jews write jokes about Jews?
(in best Yiddish voice for this next bit, like two guys talking to each other) Two of us walk into a bar.
That's not funny, you putz.
Shut up, you hassidich schmuck. I'll nail you to a tree. Don't worry, people vill follow you for years to come.
How about this one- Two of us walk into a blonde. One says, "Wow it's dark in here." The second one says, "I didn't know your mom was Italian!"
See? I do this while I'm driving. Beware all who walk near my car, unless you're fat enough for me to mistake for a firetruck, as I might not be paying attention to the road ahead.
Last night my brother Darryl came over and we had some beers in front of the fire. While solving some of the world's problems, the conversation somehow turned toward the Greeks. "Fuck 'em," I said," Bunch of toga-wearing dick-pullers anyhow."
Today I went to one of the departments here at work and was talking to a guy who does acting on the side, and who showed me some of the dance moves the cast will be doing. This particular part involved him moving side to side, alternately jutting his left and right legs out in a motion that could be used to demonstrate the proper technique for fending off an amorous dog. You have to remember through all of this that this gentleman is not in any way svelte. His hair sweats when he moves quickly, and his earlobes have cholesterol problems. Well, after several of these "steps" he would lift his knee about half-way up his thigh. Then several more back and forth attempts at trying to be the fitness instructor at a bowling alley, then another knee lift.
"Looks like he's trying to fart," I said.
He and the two ladies in his department laughed so hard they were crying. MC-Slomo about fell over, but made it to his chair.
On the way back to my office, my brain started to wander, since we all know driving does nothing for me, and thinking about laughing at that dude dancing started my brain to play bumper-cars. In order:
Damn that was funny. If you can't take a joke, you shouldn't do stupid stuff.
If you don't like the name greasball guinny wop dago goombah, you probably shouldn't have been born Italian. Shut up you olive skinned goat fucker.
Oh yeah, you never hear any jokes about Germans.
Who do you think's writing 'em all? Do you think that Jews write jokes about Jews?
(in best Yiddish voice for this next bit, like two guys talking to each other) Two of us walk into a bar.
That's not funny, you putz.
Shut up, you hassidich schmuck. I'll nail you to a tree. Don't worry, people vill follow you for years to come.
How about this one- Two of us walk into a blonde. One says, "Wow it's dark in here." The second one says, "I didn't know your mom was Italian!"
See? I do this while I'm driving. Beware all who walk near my car, unless you're fat enough for me to mistake for a firetruck, as I might not be paying attention to the road ahead.
Nov 8, 2007
He would probably fuck a horse if you gave him a step ladder
That's how I was described to someone at work. I guess it has to do with some side comments made to female pedeadstrians as I passed. This certain person was starting to tell some stories out-of-school about what comments get said at the office when the machines are running, and no one can hear. I put a swift end to that.
Other than that, not a whole lot has been going on. I went to Churchill Downs on Sunday, and won every time I went to the beer booth. I actually didn't do to badly, since I went with 60, won 50, and came home with 40. That's right- I came home from the track with money! And no, I didn't leave at the fifth race.
When I got home I got some beer. I opened the box to find 18 friends in there. It was truly a good day.
Since it's been cold here lately, my car windows have been up. I yelled so loudly the other day that my ears rang afterward. This does prove that I am my own worst enemy.
the real question is, how hard would I fuck the horse.
Other than that, not a whole lot has been going on. I went to Churchill Downs on Sunday, and won every time I went to the beer booth. I actually didn't do to badly, since I went with 60, won 50, and came home with 40. That's right- I came home from the track with money! And no, I didn't leave at the fifth race.
When I got home I got some beer. I opened the box to find 18 friends in there. It was truly a good day.
Since it's been cold here lately, my car windows have been up. I yelled so loudly the other day that my ears rang afterward. This does prove that I am my own worst enemy.
the real question is, how hard would I fuck the horse.
Oct 31, 2007
Quarters, Quarters everywhere, drop the Jew in the Sink
I was thinking the other day, and as we all know, that's where the trouble starts.
Why is it that people don't know how to drive? I don't mean people can't put their hands at the ten and two position, or that they can move the little twiggy thingy sticking out of the left side of the steering column and actually inform me of the intent to turn at some point in the future.
I'm talking the subtle things like "get the fuck left if you plan on turning left," or "you can tell which lane is mine, because the green opaque thing outside your window is my car," or "we can play pedestrian-bumper-lawyer."
Are people just not looking? I was behind a guy in a minivan who was on and off his cellphone, repeatedly looking at the readout in order find the next person he was going to pester. He was going slow and swerving, but when he realized I was climbing his ass, he started going slower, and swerving more so that I couldn't get by completely. I was able to get my right quarter up on his left, and I slowly started going to the right. In order to not get rubbed, he started easing right, and when I had a bit more room to where I wouldn't lose my side mirrors, I shot between him and the cars parked to my left. I immediately got in front of him, and he started yelling(with the phone still up to his ear) and tried to climb my ass. I flipped him off as I ran the orange light, and he sat at the red. It was almost as cool as the time I passed a lady on an off ramp.
I love me.
In other news: My brother Darrel and I fixed the blast door, so it's nice and cozy on the porch.
Why is it that people don't know how to drive? I don't mean people can't put their hands at the ten and two position, or that they can move the little twiggy thingy sticking out of the left side of the steering column and actually inform me of the intent to turn at some point in the future.
I'm talking the subtle things like "get the fuck left if you plan on turning left," or "you can tell which lane is mine, because the green opaque thing outside your window is my car," or "we can play pedestrian-bumper-lawyer."
Are people just not looking? I was behind a guy in a minivan who was on and off his cellphone, repeatedly looking at the readout in order find the next person he was going to pester. He was going slow and swerving, but when he realized I was climbing his ass, he started going slower, and swerving more so that I couldn't get by completely. I was able to get my right quarter up on his left, and I slowly started going to the right. In order to not get rubbed, he started easing right, and when I had a bit more room to where I wouldn't lose my side mirrors, I shot between him and the cars parked to my left. I immediately got in front of him, and he started yelling(with the phone still up to his ear) and tried to climb my ass. I flipped him off as I ran the orange light, and he sat at the red. It was almost as cool as the time I passed a lady on an off ramp.
I love me.
In other news: My brother Darrel and I fixed the blast door, so it's nice and cozy on the porch.
Oct 24, 2007
Le Pew
I learned something interresting last night. I was on beer five when I decided that 53deg and rainy should mean fire in the stove.
After beer seven, I found that I couldn't untangle the bellows from the pile of wood, so I decided to blow on the fire to get it going (or at least get it aroused). Being not effective enough at first, I got closer the opening and blew harder. It went something like this:
Hey this is working, but I need to get closer.
Better, but I have to blow harder.
What's that odd smell?
OH SHIT! MY MUSTACHE IS ON FIRE!
The burning wasn't that bad (not like John's hat), and I was able to trim everything up, but all night and so far this morning I was reminded of Birkenau.
After beer seven, I found that I couldn't untangle the bellows from the pile of wood, so I decided to blow on the fire to get it going (or at least get it aroused). Being not effective enough at first, I got closer the opening and blew harder. It went something like this:
Hey this is working, but I need to get closer.
Better, but I have to blow harder.
What's that odd smell?
OH SHIT! MY MUSTACHE IS ON FIRE!
The burning wasn't that bad (not like John's hat), and I was able to trim everything up, but all night and so far this morning I was reminded of Birkenau.
Oct 17, 2007
I'm an organ donor...to the ladies
Well, this last week has started the fifth year of fire on the porch. We had an innaugural fire Saturday night.
As a small country with a very low GDP, the PBR is eligible for other nations to donate items.
I don't want troops. I want beer. The more, the better.
And hookers.
Titties and beer...
Sorry, I had a moment. Anyway, I'm always willing to entertain contengents from other states.
Book early, book often.
As a small country with a very low GDP, the PBR is eligible for other nations to donate items.
I don't want troops. I want beer. The more, the better.
And hookers.
Titties and beer...
Sorry, I had a moment. Anyway, I'm always willing to entertain contengents from other states.
Book early, book often.
Oct 15, 2007
One war wasn't enough
As I have been listening to the radio news these last few days, one thing has occurred to me: Vladamir Putin is railing against the United States purely in order to maintain power.
Going to Iran? Then who- Libya? All he's doing is trying to stay relevant in the world, and by achieving that, he can tell all the people at home that he is strong against the U.S., and that everyone who hates America should love him for it. Well, at least the ones that he hasn't had put in prison for defying him.
He's starting another cold war solely for the purpose of retaining power. This is going to get worse than Venezuela.
For anyone keeping score out there, I'm not blaming this one entirely on Georgie Jr.
I was going to call and discuss this, but I don't like you enough to be on the phone that long.
Going to Iran? Then who- Libya? All he's doing is trying to stay relevant in the world, and by achieving that, he can tell all the people at home that he is strong against the U.S., and that everyone who hates America should love him for it. Well, at least the ones that he hasn't had put in prison for defying him.
He's starting another cold war solely for the purpose of retaining power. This is going to get worse than Venezuela.
For anyone keeping score out there, I'm not blaming this one entirely on Georgie Jr.
I was going to call and discuss this, but I don't like you enough to be on the phone that long.
Oct 8, 2007
hello, darkness my old friend
Things have been a bit hustle-bustle here in andyville, with work and then helping others work. I am by no means complaining, as anywhere I work will be beer, or there won't be any work done.
Yesterday I helped cousin Luke put up drywall, the day before was messing with a car and an aquarium, and this last week I put in new bathroom sinks in the ladies room at work.
I've a few wood working projects I need to get on, and you know how I like to work my wood.
Anyone heard of the St. James Art fair?
Here's how it is billed by the St. James art fair people:
"For the third time in four years, the St. James Court Art Show has been named the best fine art and design show in the country by Sunshine Artist magazine, America’s premier show and festival publication. Rankings are determined by artist’s vote, with St. James receiving nearly twice as many votes as its nearest competitor."
What the damn thing really should be called is the "let's shut down three main corridors to down town so that a bunch of east-end snobby assholes drive to old Louisville and try their once-annual attempt at parallel parking so they can go buy over-priced shit that looks like fucking kindergarteners made sale."
I'm serious. I've had nocturnal emissions that have dried and carry more artistic value than some of the shit I saw people cramming into their trunks. This one lady had, and this is no shit, a five foot pole that had a metal painted fish on the end and a colored, spiralish wire making some sort of holding basket. What the fuck was that? It looked like the "artist" went spear fishing and then tried to abort his catch.
It's not bad enough that there were Kentucky idiots and local hoosiers, but I saw way too many fifos. There were some walking across second street right in front of Fame, looking like they had no care in the world. I kept honking my horn, put my middle finger out the window, made train horn noises, and let them know that the Chattanooga Fuck You was high-balling it towards them.
I cussed so much that day that I had to turn around and miss church because I was so mad.
Yesterday I helped cousin Luke put up drywall, the day before was messing with a car and an aquarium, and this last week I put in new bathroom sinks in the ladies room at work.
I've a few wood working projects I need to get on, and you know how I like to work my wood.
Anyone heard of the St. James Art fair?
Here's how it is billed by the St. James art fair people:
"For the third time in four years, the St. James Court Art Show has been named the best fine art and design show in the country by Sunshine Artist magazine, America’s premier show and festival publication. Rankings are determined by artist’s vote, with St. James receiving nearly twice as many votes as its nearest competitor."
What the damn thing really should be called is the "let's shut down three main corridors to down town so that a bunch of east-end snobby assholes drive to old Louisville and try their once-annual attempt at parallel parking so they can go buy over-priced shit that looks like fucking kindergarteners made sale."
I'm serious. I've had nocturnal emissions that have dried and carry more artistic value than some of the shit I saw people cramming into their trunks. This one lady had, and this is no shit, a five foot pole that had a metal painted fish on the end and a colored, spiralish wire making some sort of holding basket. What the fuck was that? It looked like the "artist" went spear fishing and then tried to abort his catch.
It's not bad enough that there were Kentucky idiots and local hoosiers, but I saw way too many fifos. There were some walking across second street right in front of Fame, looking like they had no care in the world. I kept honking my horn, put my middle finger out the window, made train horn noises, and let them know that the Chattanooga Fuck You was high-balling it towards them.
I cussed so much that day that I had to turn around and miss church because I was so mad.
Oct 4, 2007
This'll make yer liver quiver
here are some numbers that may interest you fellas.
I drink Bud Light, and it currently costs 66.6 cents a 12 oz can. At five beers a day (which is generally laughable)-
One day is 60 oz (less than 2 qts) of beer and $3.33
One week is 420 oz(3.28 gal), and $23.31
One month (31d) is 1860 oz (14.53 gal) and $103.23
One year (365d) is 21,900 oz (171.09 gal) and $1,215.45
At this average, since Yankee John and I have been hanging out (about 9 years) I will have drank-
197,100 oz (1,539.84 gal) of beer at $10, 939.05
Now, before any Baptist not currently fishing or in a liquor store starts to lecture me about the money I spend on my hoppy friends, that amount equals up to 41 cents an hour that I am on the clock. Straight up, 40 hours a week.
Beer costs 5.55 cents an ounce. Where else can you find happiness that cheap?
I drink Bud Light, and it currently costs 66.6 cents a 12 oz can. At five beers a day (which is generally laughable)-
One day is 60 oz (less than 2 qts) of beer and $3.33
One week is 420 oz(3.28 gal), and $23.31
One month (31d) is 1860 oz (14.53 gal) and $103.23
One year (365d) is 21,900 oz (171.09 gal) and $1,215.45
At this average, since Yankee John and I have been hanging out (about 9 years) I will have drank-
197,100 oz (1,539.84 gal) of beer at $10, 939.05
Now, before any Baptist not currently fishing or in a liquor store starts to lecture me about the money I spend on my hoppy friends, that amount equals up to 41 cents an hour that I am on the clock. Straight up, 40 hours a week.
Beer costs 5.55 cents an ounce. Where else can you find happiness that cheap?
This sounds so gay, but who cares
For anyone in the area,
I've gotten away from prepared foods, and have been cooking more in these last few months, and am running into a problem- too much food.
I'm tired of making too much just because the recipe calls for so much of such and such. When I do the math and cut the recipe, the stuff winds up tasting like shit.
So my question to people who have lived by themselves is, "Do you have any recipes that don't involve zucchini or squash that are one-night meals?"
I'm kind of tired of eating the same thing for four nights in a row.
I've gotten away from prepared foods, and have been cooking more in these last few months, and am running into a problem- too much food.
I'm tired of making too much just because the recipe calls for so much of such and such. When I do the math and cut the recipe, the stuff winds up tasting like shit.
So my question to people who have lived by themselves is, "Do you have any recipes that don't involve zucchini or squash that are one-night meals?"
I'm kind of tired of eating the same thing for four nights in a row.
Oct 2, 2007
Avoid my mistakes and use less vocab
I realized something a couple of weeks ago, and I'm sure everyone will benefit. I noticed that I write long stories when I could just get to the funny stuff and let others fill in the nouns and verbs and the like.
So, in order to keep Ted awake enough to go fake-fight in his pajamas, I've decide to code my blogs from here on out. If you read JOHN at the top of the story, that entry will generally be longer and have bigger words like port-a-let in it. If you read TED at the top, then there will fewer sentences in order that the good doctor not accidentally learn something that kicks out some needed information that would be handy further down the line. That's all we need- Ted standing there getting ready to put a needle into someone, and instead of continuing some life saving function, he's staring out the window thinking of carrier pigeons in lederhosen. So here goes:
TED
Here are some things that I've learned this past week in particular order:
Traffic cops don't like to be called mother fuckers. Or fat-ass, or for you to loudly remind them that their years of being young and not-unattractive came to an abrupt end when they turned 60, and someone tap-danced on their face in golf shoes. What ever you do, don't honk at them- you will wait quite a while.
Football games are fun to go to. Not particularly because of the game; it's a nice side show. There are boobs everywhere! If I were a nursing infant, I'd go crazy with the multiple targets.
Remember- cleavage knows no age, however her dad walking behind her does.
Don't ever drive across the front of a store in a parking lot. This is true for any store, but most importantly, however you need to avoid it, don't drive in front of a Wal-Mart.
Some of the white-trashiest bitches I've seen in my life stroll in front of that place, wearing clothes that are fashionable enough, but have no earthly business being on them. It looked like someone had a handful of mashed potatoes and was squeezing it until it oozed bulges between their fingers.
It' like they told everyone it was trailer-park discount day. Uhh.
Don't make promises to God that you will try to be a better and calmer driver, as some damn Fifo will come by and straight fuck that one up, which makes you a liar to the almighty.
"Doo-de-doo-de-doo, better give this guy a little more room...HEY YOU GODDAMN FIFO, GET YOUR FUCKING ASS OFF MY STREET! THERE ARE TWO FUCKING LANES, ASSHOLE, THIS AIN'T FUCKING PACKMAN, QUIT TRYING TO EAT THE DOTS, MOTHER FUCKER!
Shit. There goes that."
If you fill an old milk jug with water and put it in the fridge, mark it, or one morning you'll fill your bowl of Cheerios with H2O instead of cow's milk.
Calling a female a wimp after she backs down from cheese-wiz-ing your car window, will giver all the gumption she needs to do exactly that. It is very hard to clean up.
I hope this helps a bit.
So, in order to keep Ted awake enough to go fake-fight in his pajamas, I've decide to code my blogs from here on out. If you read JOHN at the top of the story, that entry will generally be longer and have bigger words like port-a-let in it. If you read TED at the top, then there will fewer sentences in order that the good doctor not accidentally learn something that kicks out some needed information that would be handy further down the line. That's all we need- Ted standing there getting ready to put a needle into someone, and instead of continuing some life saving function, he's staring out the window thinking of carrier pigeons in lederhosen. So here goes:
TED
Here are some things that I've learned this past week in particular order:
Traffic cops don't like to be called mother fuckers. Or fat-ass, or for you to loudly remind them that their years of being young and not-unattractive came to an abrupt end when they turned 60, and someone tap-danced on their face in golf shoes. What ever you do, don't honk at them- you will wait quite a while.
Football games are fun to go to. Not particularly because of the game; it's a nice side show. There are boobs everywhere! If I were a nursing infant, I'd go crazy with the multiple targets.
Remember- cleavage knows no age, however her dad walking behind her does.
Don't ever drive across the front of a store in a parking lot. This is true for any store, but most importantly, however you need to avoid it, don't drive in front of a Wal-Mart.
Some of the white-trashiest bitches I've seen in my life stroll in front of that place, wearing clothes that are fashionable enough, but have no earthly business being on them. It looked like someone had a handful of mashed potatoes and was squeezing it until it oozed bulges between their fingers.
It' like they told everyone it was trailer-park discount day. Uhh.
Don't make promises to God that you will try to be a better and calmer driver, as some damn Fifo will come by and straight fuck that one up, which makes you a liar to the almighty.
"Doo-de-doo-de-doo, better give this guy a little more room...HEY YOU GODDAMN FIFO, GET YOUR FUCKING ASS OFF MY STREET! THERE ARE TWO FUCKING LANES, ASSHOLE, THIS AIN'T FUCKING PACKMAN, QUIT TRYING TO EAT THE DOTS, MOTHER FUCKER!
Shit. There goes that."
If you fill an old milk jug with water and put it in the fridge, mark it, or one morning you'll fill your bowl of Cheerios with H2O instead of cow's milk.
Calling a female a wimp after she backs down from cheese-wiz-ing your car window, will giver all the gumption she needs to do exactly that. It is very hard to clean up.
I hope this helps a bit.
Oct 1, 2007
This may be painful
For the two people out there that vaguely acknowledge my presence, I apologize for not writing the story of "how Andy gets bruises and makes people laugh" sooner, but it got busy last week at work, and I don't have the I-net at home.
Not because I'm a Luddite or anything, it's just that since my brother Darryl got married and moved out, I didn't need a general number and a cell phone number. I canceled my land line and my Juno account, and Viola! an extra $50 a month in my pocket. That's 75 beers to you and me. Well, mostly me.
Back to our regularly scheduled story.
You know something? I'm going to take William Buckland's advice and do a book on pigeons.
Not because I'm a Luddite or anything, it's just that since my brother Darryl got married and moved out, I didn't need a general number and a cell phone number. I canceled my land line and my Juno account, and Viola! an extra $50 a month in my pocket. That's 75 beers to you and me. Well, mostly me.
Back to our regularly scheduled story.
You know something? I'm going to take William Buckland's advice and do a book on pigeons.
Sep 24, 2007
Eyes on the Surprise
I was going to post, but my boss just walked in. I'll write tomorrow about hitting my head and cussing in church.
Sep 20, 2007
Chili went like hot cakes
My entire batch of chili has gone from pot to poop within 72 hours- a new record.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAnd, since my co-worker is out today, I can fart in the office. I've already buried three in his chair.
Gotta go. I got my third #2 of the day playing peek-a-boo with me.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAnd, since my co-worker is out today, I can fart in the office. I've already buried three in his chair.
Gotta go. I got my third #2 of the day playing peek-a-boo with me.
Sep 17, 2007
Paint by Blunder
I have two lessons for you today.
1) Gravity is not just a good idea, it's the law.
2) I fought the law, and the law won.
I took this last week off from work to well, work at home. It turns out that if someone complains about the state of disrepair of one's windows in Louisville, the city can make one do something about it unless one wants to face a $100 a day fine. Needless to say, I chose paint.
Besides, the level of difficulty of getting my dwarf ass with all essentials up and down the extension ladder and reaching out to paint the necessary areas gives me and my adrenal glands a good challenge and workout.
In order to shorten this post, I have removed the stories and just left the molars of the stories. You know me and how I act- fill in the story yourself.
Things that should be remembered when painting, using ladders, and trying to avoid dialing 911 (don't ask me how I learned these):
a)If you're holding a can or cup of paint in one hand, and a wet paintbrush in the other hand, there will always be one more step at the bottom of the ladder than you think. When you are starting to feel that you're taking a larger step than normal, don't look down- your brush will put more paint on your face than ever went on Tammy Fae.
b)Put tape measures back where they came from, lest they will emigrate to the top of the landing, which is where you're headed with about six pieces of broken glass that will be more than glad to turn into a thousand pieces of glass after a short but hair-raising flight down the stairs.
b1)fall slower than the glass or you will be hit. To hell with Sir Einstein newton. Do this and live.
c)The person you thought was coming over to help you paint is there really to laugh at you when you paint your forehead.
d)The piece of soffet that appears to be coming out of the retainer on the eave is under the layer of black shingles that have been out in the sun all day. Don't lay on them in order to adjust the offending piece of siding, as the smell of bacon frying is your legs.
e)You dumb shit. Just because you're on the other side of the house doesn't mean that Point A is invalid. Go wash the paint off your face.
f)Yep, that paint is sure sticky. It'll pick up every bit of grass it can when you drop the brush.
g)Sure, it's thick and creamy, but paint tastes like doody. Do not hold your mouth open when painting overhead.
h)Make sure that the tube of glazing has stopped oozing before you put it in your pocket. If not, at least make sure that there are no holes in your pockets.
My cousin Luke and I got done a day early, so we went fishing on Friday. A great wrap up to a good week. The only thing I have to say about going fishing this last Friday is, "Oh, no you fucking don't!"
1) Gravity is not just a good idea, it's the law.
2) I fought the law, and the law won.
I took this last week off from work to well, work at home. It turns out that if someone complains about the state of disrepair of one's windows in Louisville, the city can make one do something about it unless one wants to face a $100 a day fine. Needless to say, I chose paint.
Besides, the level of difficulty of getting my dwarf ass with all essentials up and down the extension ladder and reaching out to paint the necessary areas gives me and my adrenal glands a good challenge and workout.
In order to shorten this post, I have removed the stories and just left the molars of the stories. You know me and how I act- fill in the story yourself.
Things that should be remembered when painting, using ladders, and trying to avoid dialing 911 (don't ask me how I learned these):
a)If you're holding a can or cup of paint in one hand, and a wet paintbrush in the other hand, there will always be one more step at the bottom of the ladder than you think. When you are starting to feel that you're taking a larger step than normal, don't look down- your brush will put more paint on your face than ever went on Tammy Fae.
b)Put tape measures back where they came from, lest they will emigrate to the top of the landing, which is where you're headed with about six pieces of broken glass that will be more than glad to turn into a thousand pieces of glass after a short but hair-raising flight down the stairs.
b1)fall slower than the glass or you will be hit. To hell with Sir Einstein newton. Do this and live.
c)The person you thought was coming over to help you paint is there really to laugh at you when you paint your forehead.
d)The piece of soffet that appears to be coming out of the retainer on the eave is under the layer of black shingles that have been out in the sun all day. Don't lay on them in order to adjust the offending piece of siding, as the smell of bacon frying is your legs.
e)You dumb shit. Just because you're on the other side of the house doesn't mean that Point A is invalid. Go wash the paint off your face.
f)Yep, that paint is sure sticky. It'll pick up every bit of grass it can when you drop the brush.
g)Sure, it's thick and creamy, but paint tastes like doody. Do not hold your mouth open when painting overhead.
h)Make sure that the tube of glazing has stopped oozing before you put it in your pocket. If not, at least make sure that there are no holes in your pockets.
My cousin Luke and I got done a day early, so we went fishing on Friday. A great wrap up to a good week. The only thing I have to say about going fishing this last Friday is, "Oh, no you fucking don't!"
Sep 7, 2007
What you've all been waiting for
I just got an e-mail from Amerikilt confirming that my order will be shipped today.
live kilted!
http://www.amerikilt.com/
live kilted!
http://www.amerikilt.com/
I need a tow truck.
My older brother Daryll has a boat in my backyard, and my younger brother Daryll had two poor conditioned cars in the driveway. Guess who got a letter in the mail from the City of Louisville?
OD still hasn't cleaned the weeds out from around his boat, and YD has sold his truck, but his rusted-ass car is still sitting there.
The topper to all of this is that while the inspector was on the property investigating the complaints of my neighbors, he also decided that my windows needed to be reglazed and painted. Hell, I could've told him that, but I could also use a bit more time to get it done.
I'll be taking next week off from work so that I can be on a ladder glazing and painting windows.
Guess which two pole smokers won't be helping me.
OD still hasn't cleaned the weeds out from around his boat, and YD has sold his truck, but his rusted-ass car is still sitting there.
The topper to all of this is that while the inspector was on the property investigating the complaints of my neighbors, he also decided that my windows needed to be reglazed and painted. Hell, I could've told him that, but I could also use a bit more time to get it done.
I'll be taking next week off from work so that I can be on a ladder glazing and painting windows.
Guess which two pole smokers won't be helping me.
Sep 4, 2007
They don't blow holes in bands run by remote control
The storm is over, and now for the clean up. The professors I have dealt with and could contact last week are happy, and the other 90% lost my number, so I'm groovy.
Back to forty hour weeks, weekends off and so on.
Anyway, on with the show:
I was listening to Sherlock Holmes Valley of Fear on disk this weekend and carved a pipe. The stem is from a piece of beech ( a small one I guess you could call a son-of-a-beech), and the bowl is of Crab apple, which is a close family member to a maple.
The bowl style originally was planned to be in the Cavendish style, but with the grain tear out, the design changed twice, eventually becoming carved like an acorn with a bit of a flat bottom and a textured top. If I knew how to put up pictures without having to become an expert at this posting thing, I would show you what the bowl looks like.
I will be staining the top of the bowl tonight, attaching the stem, and leaving it to dry. I look forward to waxing it and having a smoke tomorrow.
BTW:
Keep your eyes posted here in October, as that begins fire season. Between that and the coons next door, viewers at home can help me keep a precise Andy/Coon injury status report.
I'll probably have some ER fodder for ya.
Back to forty hour weeks, weekends off and so on.
Anyway, on with the show:
I was listening to Sherlock Holmes Valley of Fear on disk this weekend and carved a pipe. The stem is from a piece of beech ( a small one I guess you could call a son-of-a-beech), and the bowl is of Crab apple, which is a close family member to a maple.
The bowl style originally was planned to be in the Cavendish style, but with the grain tear out, the design changed twice, eventually becoming carved like an acorn with a bit of a flat bottom and a textured top. If I knew how to put up pictures without having to become an expert at this posting thing, I would show you what the bowl looks like.
I will be staining the top of the bowl tonight, attaching the stem, and leaving it to dry. I look forward to waxing it and having a smoke tomorrow.
BTW:
Keep your eyes posted here in October, as that begins fire season. Between that and the coons next door, viewers at home can help me keep a precise Andy/Coon injury status report.
I'll probably have some ER fodder for ya.
Aug 21, 2007
when did my windows get that clear?
So, I've been busy. Third straight week at work, and many bruises to show for it, as if anyone can get hurt doing something, I can show you how.
Anyway, on my fourth trip to the local university to run yet another set of desk copies to professors, I was in a bit of a hurry. It was pouring down rain, and I thought that I would jump out of my car, and immediately be under the overhang and out of danger of melting.
I turned off my car, undid the seat belt, and got ready to spring from my car.
BAM! I smacked my face on the car door and bloodied my nose.
Today I learned that the door lock button is NOT the door handle.
I opened the door, got out, and lifted my head and put pressure on one side of my nose like I was taught to end a nose bleed. Breathing from my other nostril, I took in a load of water with my first breath. I was not yet under the overhang. I must've sneezed bloody goo for a good two minutes.
I love this week.
Anyway, on my fourth trip to the local university to run yet another set of desk copies to professors, I was in a bit of a hurry. It was pouring down rain, and I thought that I would jump out of my car, and immediately be under the overhang and out of danger of melting.
I turned off my car, undid the seat belt, and got ready to spring from my car.
BAM! I smacked my face on the car door and bloodied my nose.
Today I learned that the door lock button is NOT the door handle.
I opened the door, got out, and lifted my head and put pressure on one side of my nose like I was taught to end a nose bleed. Breathing from my other nostril, I took in a load of water with my first breath. I was not yet under the overhang. I must've sneezed bloody goo for a good two minutes.
I love this week.
Aug 15, 2007
this is why I never went to med school
As you all know, it's been a bit busy here. We increased from 10 to 12, and now 14 days. I realize to many people that is nothing, but to them I say, "go blow a goat."
I had a dream that my phone was ringing last night, and when I woke, my phone showed that a professor had called at 6:30 in the AM saying that they would be on campus at nine and would wait for my call. I called them back at 12:30 out of spite.
Here's the week so far. Let me know if I need to go back on the caffein:
I walked about 8 miles Monday if my math is correct, and that’s just around UofL. I’ve answered the cell phone while sitting on the toilet, and fell asleep with my fingers on the keyboard at 7PM.
Yesterday I called a professor, and while the phone rang I thought of my brother Darryl for some reason, and when the professor said hello, I said, “Hey diddy, what’s shakin?”
Today I walked into a door that I knew was closed because I closed it. I cut open a bag of salad, dumped some on my plate, put the twisty on the bag, and then opened my desk drawer and threw the bag in there. And just a few minutes ago, the office phone rang. I reached out without paying attention and held my calculator to my ear. The phone rang again, and I pressed the CE button on the calculator because it’s about where the TALK button is on the phone, AND STUCK IT BACK UP TO MY EAR AND TRIED TO ANSWER IT.
I have, however, been listening to Great Big Sea and singing about the night that Pat Murphy died.
Some of the boys got loaded drunk…
I had a dream that my phone was ringing last night, and when I woke, my phone showed that a professor had called at 6:30 in the AM saying that they would be on campus at nine and would wait for my call. I called them back at 12:30 out of spite.
Here's the week so far. Let me know if I need to go back on the caffein:
I walked about 8 miles Monday if my math is correct, and that’s just around UofL. I’ve answered the cell phone while sitting on the toilet, and fell asleep with my fingers on the keyboard at 7PM.
Yesterday I called a professor, and while the phone rang I thought of my brother Darryl for some reason, and when the professor said hello, I said, “Hey diddy, what’s shakin?”
Today I walked into a door that I knew was closed because I closed it. I cut open a bag of salad, dumped some on my plate, put the twisty on the bag, and then opened my desk drawer and threw the bag in there. And just a few minutes ago, the office phone rang. I reached out without paying attention and held my calculator to my ear. The phone rang again, and I pressed the CE button on the calculator because it’s about where the TALK button is on the phone, AND STUCK IT BACK UP TO MY EAR AND TRIED TO ANSWER IT.
I have, however, been listening to Great Big Sea and singing about the night that Pat Murphy died.
Some of the boys got loaded drunk…
Aug 13, 2007
A fart away from a good time
It's the busy time of year for us in the coursepack business. I took a phonecall in the car on the way to work, one in the parking lot before opening the door, two before I could finish my banana and cup of decaf, but the best one was in the head.
I had to drop the kids off at the pool, and I had my phone in my hand, knowing that as sure as God made little green apples, someone would call. Well, I was right and the timing couldn't have been better.
I had just sat down when I heard my phone ring, and as I answered it, BABLOPBLOPBLOP THHHPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP! I had completely emtied the ravioli, sauerkraut and porkchops, 1/4 bag of peanuts, and 7 beers in less than a second, followed by a three second tuba salute.
Dr. Schmenkman: "Is everything ok?"
me: "It is now."
D.S-"Is this a bad time?"
"nope. You have my full attention. How can I help you?"
"Are you sure this is a good time? I hear an echo."
"Well, I'm in a smaller room than usual when I answer the phone."
I had to drop the kids off at the pool, and I had my phone in my hand, knowing that as sure as God made little green apples, someone would call. Well, I was right and the timing couldn't have been better.
I had just sat down when I heard my phone ring, and as I answered it, BABLOPBLOPBLOP THHHPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP! I had completely emtied the ravioli, sauerkraut and porkchops, 1/4 bag of peanuts, and 7 beers in less than a second, followed by a three second tuba salute.
Dr. Schmenkman: "Is everything ok?"
me: "It is now."
D.S-"Is this a bad time?"
"nope. You have my full attention. How can I help you?"
"Are you sure this is a good time? I hear an echo."
"Well, I'm in a smaller room than usual when I answer the phone."
Aug 11, 2007
Aug 8, 2007
From trash they came, and to trash they will become
Dear Hoosiers:
You have your own state. Why must you pollute ours? I'm serious here.
I'm writing a letter to my state senator to put a bill together that I'm calling, "The two for one special." All of you dirty sad sack poor excuse for drivers would be required to find the nearest fifo and high-tail it the fuck out of Kentucky.
You want to go south on a highway? Go around. I'm not kidding. Get out and stay out.
Do you know why the Ohio River is so polluted? Because it touches both Ohio and Indiana. Don't bathe in it, you're killing the fish.
The only antidote to Hoosiers is to beat them to death with the skulls of assholes from Ohio.
This ain't over by a long shot.
You have your own state. Why must you pollute ours? I'm serious here.
I'm writing a letter to my state senator to put a bill together that I'm calling, "The two for one special." All of you dirty sad sack poor excuse for drivers would be required to find the nearest fifo and high-tail it the fuck out of Kentucky.
You want to go south on a highway? Go around. I'm not kidding. Get out and stay out.
Do you know why the Ohio River is so polluted? Because it touches both Ohio and Indiana. Don't bathe in it, you're killing the fish.
The only antidote to Hoosiers is to beat them to death with the skulls of assholes from Ohio.
This ain't over by a long shot.
Aug 4, 2007
THINGS THAT PISS ME OFF
I haven't ranted in a while, but here lately as I've been getting busier and my fuse dwindles, I've made a few observations to which I'm sure I'll get plenty of support.
1) If you have a hoosier license plate, get out of my way, no, out of my state. Your car was manufactured with a gas pedal. Find it and get the hell moving.
1a)It's called a turn signal. Sometimes we call it a blinker so that you know what fucking part of the car we're talking about. Turn on your blinker, and get into the left hand lane if you want to turn left- there is no reason other that having cateracs in both eyes to turn left from one of the middle lanes. This applies for right turns as well. I would even take one of you "got my license from a box of Captain Crunch" assholes yelling "STRAW FOOT" out the window.
2) When the light turns green, go. Save the fucking reverend pause for church, which is where I'm getting ready to send you, but in a box. Red lights are not the time to be searching in the passenger seat for a phone number so you can also talk while driving. Unless you have a toddler in the car, point your head toward the front of your vehicle.
3) Don't talk on the phone while driving unless you're on the damn freeway. If you're negotiating turns in downtown Louisville while on the phone, I will do my best to hit you and make it your fault. This ain't a Christian attitude, but I don't believe I've read "lack of road rage" in the Beatitudes, so kiss my ass and get off the phone.
4) I'm glad your car has a loud radio. Let your friends hear it in the West End, but turn that goddamn BOOMBOOMBOOM the fuck down around me, or I will continue to spit on your car.
If you worked as hard as being a good father as you do on trying to be cool, my, what a family you would have.
5) Dear lazy, talkative co-worker. Shut your mouth and help a customer. We're all replaceable, so stop acting like the doors would have to close if you weren't around. Quit dismissing others around you and wondering why no one wants to talk to you.And please, whatever you do, do not even attempt to make fun of me, or talk about me to others, for I am smarter than you, and I'm smarter ass than you. I will win, and it will hurt.
I have many other things, but my shoes seem to be on fire...
1) If you have a hoosier license plate, get out of my way, no, out of my state. Your car was manufactured with a gas pedal. Find it and get the hell moving.
1a)It's called a turn signal. Sometimes we call it a blinker so that you know what fucking part of the car we're talking about. Turn on your blinker, and get into the left hand lane if you want to turn left- there is no reason other that having cateracs in both eyes to turn left from one of the middle lanes. This applies for right turns as well. I would even take one of you "got my license from a box of Captain Crunch" assholes yelling "STRAW FOOT" out the window.
2) When the light turns green, go. Save the fucking reverend pause for church, which is where I'm getting ready to send you, but in a box. Red lights are not the time to be searching in the passenger seat for a phone number so you can also talk while driving. Unless you have a toddler in the car, point your head toward the front of your vehicle.
3) Don't talk on the phone while driving unless you're on the damn freeway. If you're negotiating turns in downtown Louisville while on the phone, I will do my best to hit you and make it your fault. This ain't a Christian attitude, but I don't believe I've read "lack of road rage" in the Beatitudes, so kiss my ass and get off the phone.
4) I'm glad your car has a loud radio. Let your friends hear it in the West End, but turn that goddamn BOOMBOOMBOOM the fuck down around me, or I will continue to spit on your car.
If you worked as hard as being a good father as you do on trying to be cool, my, what a family you would have.
5) Dear lazy, talkative co-worker. Shut your mouth and help a customer. We're all replaceable, so stop acting like the doors would have to close if you weren't around. Quit dismissing others around you and wondering why no one wants to talk to you.And please, whatever you do, do not even attempt to make fun of me, or talk about me to others, for I am smarter than you, and I'm smarter ass than you. I will win, and it will hurt.
I have many other things, but my shoes seem to be on fire...
Aug 2, 2007
Fat, Drunk and Stupid is No Way to Go Through Work
I'll make this fast(you're welcome, Ted).
I decided to stop drinking during the week this last Monday, as I just felt blah all day. Not because I felt blah only on Monday, but I was holding a piece of paper, and my hand was shaking like Tom Hanks's in the Movie Saving Private Ryan.
I was thinking back, and realized that for the last fifty-nine days I had drunk at LEAST eight beers a night- That's 472 to you and me. This was also a great opportunity to end my tobacco habit.
Fireman Ed came over last night and my two day dry spell ended. I only had six, but still felt blah. I think it's because I also had smokes for the first time in two days.
Well, here's trying for another two days.
The difficulty was that on Monday and Tuesday I felt wide awake at one in the AM even though I was waking up earlier than I did when drinking a bunch, and this is while avoiding caffeine.
Work ain't helping me not want to have a beer or smoky treat.
On the up side, I've already saved $10 on beer this week.
I decided to stop drinking during the week this last Monday, as I just felt blah all day. Not because I felt blah only on Monday, but I was holding a piece of paper, and my hand was shaking like Tom Hanks's in the Movie Saving Private Ryan.
I was thinking back, and realized that for the last fifty-nine days I had drunk at LEAST eight beers a night- That's 472 to you and me. This was also a great opportunity to end my tobacco habit.
Fireman Ed came over last night and my two day dry spell ended. I only had six, but still felt blah. I think it's because I also had smokes for the first time in two days.
Well, here's trying for another two days.
The difficulty was that on Monday and Tuesday I felt wide awake at one in the AM even though I was waking up earlier than I did when drinking a bunch, and this is while avoiding caffeine.
Work ain't helping me not want to have a beer or smoky treat.
On the up side, I've already saved $10 on beer this week.
Jul 24, 2007
And They'll know I am Cussing by my Blood
This week, only three days long so far, is turning out to be a doozy. I have, it seems, found everyway that I can appear a complete idiot without trying. Some might say that this is a pretty simple task and begin to cite instances that will ultimately prove that the odd times are when I'm not doing something stupid or rude. To these people I say, "Hah! but I wasn't drinking at the time!" Well, at least for two of these I wasn't.
WELL, HELLO OFFICER
My cousin Luke's son began working at the Gray's Warehouse last week, so I have been dropping him off in the morning on the way to the office.
This week is junk pickup in the neighborhood, and the city dumptrucks are all over the place. I don't mean there are many of them, I mean that the bastards couldn't put a hard dick in a bucket of warm lard, much less a large truck to the side of the road. I don't know who taught them to drive, but I bet she has bleach-blond hair and drives a camaro with t-tops.
This morning I was trying to get around one of these trucks, and I came upon a minivan on opposite. We were making all of the "get the hell out of my way, asshole" motions to get the other to move, with no luck. So I backed up enough so that if he knew how to drive he could get around. Well, he decided to pull along side and start to roll down his window, so I did the same, knowing that he just stepped into the road-rage-ring, and round one ALWAYS goes to Andy.
"WHAT, MOTHER FUCKER?," was my gentle request of his intentions.
He responded in the same calm manner with, "WHY THE HELL WERE YOU BLOCKING THE INTERSECTION?"
"BECAUSE YOUR FUCKING ASS CAME OUT OF NOWHERE FROM BEHIND THAT TRUCK AND WOULDN'T FUCKING MOVE!" I knew that logic generally wins people over, and that a light reminder and a kind smile go very far in defusing a situation.
Lowering the tone he said, "You better watch yourself."
"Or you'll what, Curly?" I said, curtly reminding him of his shiny bullet like dome.
This is where He shows me his badge, and I just say, "Well, hello officer" and drive away.
Round One: Officer Curly
I DISLIKE FLYING BATS
Ok, so after dark the Coon comes out on the roof of Bob's hizzy, so I think, "Get the bat and see what kind of dammage you can do." Well, did I show me what kind of damage I could do.
Standing on Bob's central air unit is no problem. Swinging a bat is no problem. Swinging a bat while standing on the central air unit is a problem. In sequence:
Andy runs between houses, hops on the air unit while swinging a bat at the coon running allong the edge of the roof.
Andy is 5' and the fully extended bat doesn't connect with the roof, coon, or any solid surface.
Momentum from running and the swinging bat makes Andy leave the surface of the air unit and hurling toward earth like a low-flying Icarus.
The bat, at the peak of its pendulum arc and still in my hand connects rather forcefully against the side of my knee.
Coon 1, Andy 0
THIS IS DEFINITELY WHERE I PARKED MY CAR
I was caught up in getting caught up, and it caught up with me. I almost missed an appointment today, so I quickly drove to UofL directly instead of parking at the store and walking over, since I would arrive sooner, and not all sweaty from the 8thof a mile walk.
I pulled up to the info booth and tell the young lady who has continents for boobs that I'm visiting one professor, that I'll only be about a half an hour, and get my parking pass. So far, so good.
After parking, I walk past the booth, wave at Hooty McHuge, and go to the education building. I talk to professor Plumb for about 10 minutes and leave. Out the door, and back over to Gray's.
I talk to the text manager, help dolly some boxes, and go to leave.
Out the east door and look- nothing.
Over to the west door, telling a young lady that i must be over there. Look- nothing.
I walk back in, think for a minute, and lowly exclaim, "Sweet bucket of shit. How retarded am I?"
That's when one of the employees said, "Pretty damn. I saw you park your car at the north lot about twenty minutes ago." I now refer to him as "Oh yeah, well fuck you."
I walked back to campus, waved to Her Boobness (who, by the way, has a nose stud. I was told that they are to keep the ejaculate from coming out while fellating), and got into my car with two minutes to spare.
Habit trumps, and I'm 0-3.
I love this week.
WELL, HELLO OFFICER
My cousin Luke's son began working at the Gray's Warehouse last week, so I have been dropping him off in the morning on the way to the office.
This week is junk pickup in the neighborhood, and the city dumptrucks are all over the place. I don't mean there are many of them, I mean that the bastards couldn't put a hard dick in a bucket of warm lard, much less a large truck to the side of the road. I don't know who taught them to drive, but I bet she has bleach-blond hair and drives a camaro with t-tops.
This morning I was trying to get around one of these trucks, and I came upon a minivan on opposite. We were making all of the "get the hell out of my way, asshole" motions to get the other to move, with no luck. So I backed up enough so that if he knew how to drive he could get around. Well, he decided to pull along side and start to roll down his window, so I did the same, knowing that he just stepped into the road-rage-ring, and round one ALWAYS goes to Andy.
"WHAT, MOTHER FUCKER?," was my gentle request of his intentions.
He responded in the same calm manner with, "WHY THE HELL WERE YOU BLOCKING THE INTERSECTION?"
"BECAUSE YOUR FUCKING ASS CAME OUT OF NOWHERE FROM BEHIND THAT TRUCK AND WOULDN'T FUCKING MOVE!" I knew that logic generally wins people over, and that a light reminder and a kind smile go very far in defusing a situation.
Lowering the tone he said, "You better watch yourself."
"Or you'll what, Curly?" I said, curtly reminding him of his shiny bullet like dome.
This is where He shows me his badge, and I just say, "Well, hello officer" and drive away.
Round One: Officer Curly
I DISLIKE FLYING BATS
Ok, so after dark the Coon comes out on the roof of Bob's hizzy, so I think, "Get the bat and see what kind of dammage you can do." Well, did I show me what kind of damage I could do.
Standing on Bob's central air unit is no problem. Swinging a bat is no problem. Swinging a bat while standing on the central air unit is a problem. In sequence:
Andy runs between houses, hops on the air unit while swinging a bat at the coon running allong the edge of the roof.
Andy is 5' and the fully extended bat doesn't connect with the roof, coon, or any solid surface.
Momentum from running and the swinging bat makes Andy leave the surface of the air unit and hurling toward earth like a low-flying Icarus.
The bat, at the peak of its pendulum arc and still in my hand connects rather forcefully against the side of my knee.
Coon 1, Andy 0
THIS IS DEFINITELY WHERE I PARKED MY CAR
I was caught up in getting caught up, and it caught up with me. I almost missed an appointment today, so I quickly drove to UofL directly instead of parking at the store and walking over, since I would arrive sooner, and not all sweaty from the 8thof a mile walk.
I pulled up to the info booth and tell the young lady who has continents for boobs that I'm visiting one professor, that I'll only be about a half an hour, and get my parking pass. So far, so good.
After parking, I walk past the booth, wave at Hooty McHuge, and go to the education building. I talk to professor Plumb for about 10 minutes and leave. Out the door, and back over to Gray's.
I talk to the text manager, help dolly some boxes, and go to leave.
Out the east door and look- nothing.
Over to the west door, telling a young lady that i must be over there. Look- nothing.
I walk back in, think for a minute, and lowly exclaim, "Sweet bucket of shit. How retarded am I?"
That's when one of the employees said, "Pretty damn. I saw you park your car at the north lot about twenty minutes ago." I now refer to him as "Oh yeah, well fuck you."
I walked back to campus, waved to Her Boobness (who, by the way, has a nose stud. I was told that they are to keep the ejaculate from coming out while fellating), and got into my car with two minutes to spare.
Habit trumps, and I'm 0-3.
I love this week.
Jul 23, 2007
My theme song will be "OUCH!"
As I was finishing up a beer last night and then un-beering from the porch, I heard something climbing on Bob Reed's/the Bank's roof. The coon, it seems, wants go round two. So be it.
I was going to start the harassing last night, but my watch read 1:30, so I figured a good night's sleep is much better to proceed a work day than a hospital trip would be.
This is going to get interesting.
I was going to start the harassing last night, but my watch read 1:30, so I figured a good night's sleep is much better to proceed a work day than a hospital trip would be.
This is going to get interesting.
Jul 16, 2007
Get your own damn beer
Death to beer moochers everywhere!
I do truely love my brother Darrel, and my cousin Luke, but I heard something out of both of their mouths this last week that was so beyond shocking that it left me to stand in front of them with no discernable expression, and no response, which was itself beyond shocking, and compounded my inability to respond. My mouth found itself tripping over over my brain's inability to come up with a retort, and my brain in a more unusual state of not hearing words come out of my mouth, due to the fact that I have on many occasions spoken without thinking, so this was a truely odd occurance.
Another distinct oddity was that the offending comment came from their gobs on different occasions.
Well, on with the show.
As you all know, everyone is welcome to come to the hizzy and have some beer. By everyone, I meant the ten, no eight people I like. You come in, open the beer drawer (beer stays colder in the crisper drawer), and holler, "ONE OR TWO?" I'll let you know if I want another, for we'll make the assumption that I'm home from work and am awake, meaning I've already had one or two.
When you come down to the basement to the shop and I ask if you're going to be over for a bit and you say yes, well...I'll just let you pick out what not to say to Andy who knows how much beer's in his frige and its time apportioning:
"Are you just stopping by?"
"Nah, I figured I'd have a couple of beers."
"Let's go make a b-double-e."
"We don't need to do that, I'm not going to have that many."
(sound of needle scratching record)-PING! W-W-W-W-W-WHAT?
After a short silence and stare my brain elbowed my mouth and told it to shit or get off the pot, and I finally said to Darrel (who was stunned at my oral confoundment as well), "After the one you're having, are the fucking beer elves going to magically restock my frige?(time out for you all to reference my stature and alcoholism) Do you want me buzzing and happy, or do you want me pissed off and more pissed off? Fuck it. You stay here and I'll be back in a minute."
When my cousin Luke said the same thing a few days later, my mouth again jumped the hurdle after several seconds. This time my witticism was a little more pointed- "Did fucking Darrel call you? You both said the same thing."
"Nope. I just gotta get back and make dinner."
Now, I don't mind people coming over and doggin' up my beer, but holy cow that was retarded.
Yankee John's got it right: Bring me beer.
"The beer that I am holding will go from full to empty," said Danny Donkey, "and I will be happy."
I do truely love my brother Darrel, and my cousin Luke, but I heard something out of both of their mouths this last week that was so beyond shocking that it left me to stand in front of them with no discernable expression, and no response, which was itself beyond shocking, and compounded my inability to respond. My mouth found itself tripping over over my brain's inability to come up with a retort, and my brain in a more unusual state of not hearing words come out of my mouth, due to the fact that I have on many occasions spoken without thinking, so this was a truely odd occurance.
Another distinct oddity was that the offending comment came from their gobs on different occasions.
Well, on with the show.
As you all know, everyone is welcome to come to the hizzy and have some beer. By everyone, I meant the ten, no eight people I like. You come in, open the beer drawer (beer stays colder in the crisper drawer), and holler, "ONE OR TWO?" I'll let you know if I want another, for we'll make the assumption that I'm home from work and am awake, meaning I've already had one or two.
When you come down to the basement to the shop and I ask if you're going to be over for a bit and you say yes, well...I'll just let you pick out what not to say to Andy who knows how much beer's in his frige and its time apportioning:
"Are you just stopping by?"
"Nah, I figured I'd have a couple of beers."
"Let's go make a b-double-e."
"We don't need to do that, I'm not going to have that many."
(sound of needle scratching record)-PING! W-W-W-W-W-WHAT?
After a short silence and stare my brain elbowed my mouth and told it to shit or get off the pot, and I finally said to Darrel (who was stunned at my oral confoundment as well), "After the one you're having, are the fucking beer elves going to magically restock my frige?(time out for you all to reference my stature and alcoholism) Do you want me buzzing and happy, or do you want me pissed off and more pissed off? Fuck it. You stay here and I'll be back in a minute."
When my cousin Luke said the same thing a few days later, my mouth again jumped the hurdle after several seconds. This time my witticism was a little more pointed- "Did fucking Darrel call you? You both said the same thing."
"Nope. I just gotta get back and make dinner."
Now, I don't mind people coming over and doggin' up my beer, but holy cow that was retarded.
Yankee John's got it right: Bring me beer.
"The beer that I am holding will go from full to empty," said Danny Donkey, "and I will be happy."
Jul 11, 2007
I think I broke my coon
As you know, my neighbor who for privacy's sake we'll call Bob Reed hasn't lived in his house since his son tried to kiln-dry the upstairs by tossing a blanket onto a space heater while sleeping.
"Didn't they have insurance?" you just asked.
Yes, they did. But when you buy a van and drink like you were born in a brewery, you ain't got much left over for the fixin o' the house.
The city cuts the grass, and we neighbors threw out a lot of his junk. I found out last week that the city has a warrant out for him. Needless to say, we've been Reed-free since '03.
Unfortunately we haven't been rodent free, so I put out the poison.
About 5 months ago I found out that some Raccoons had taken up residence in the sofets of the house. Raccoons = not fun to tangle with, as they tend to fight back, unlike the 9 opossums (ia?) that I've Louisville sluggered into the afterlife. Being a member of the bear family, coons can run fast, see at night (a distinct advantage to me after 6beers), and climb on the roof (very difficult after 6beers).
Well, after chasing and harassing them with a bat for a few months, I'd had it. Last week there were two coons in the tree climbing down. One of them was on the ground running by the time I grabbed a piece of wood from the pile to make chase, with the other descending more slowly. It stopped with its hind legs on the tree and fore limbs on the top of the wooden fence.
I was fired up and ready to beat the hell out of this coon,but when I was about five feet away, for some odd reason I looked at the piece of wood I had grabbed as a weapon. My dumb ass had snagged not the 18" long piece I had thought, but a 12" piece, which meant some of the blood shed would be mine. So instead of a club, it became a projectile hurled as hard as I could from five feet away, basically blasting the coon from its moorings and landing it in the middle of Bob's yard.
I heard a crack, and the animal make a sound that I'm sure was, "What the ever-loving fuck did I ever do to you, you fucking asshole" in coon-ese.
I haven't seen 'em since, which is a good thing, since my cousin loaned me a pellet gun that was made originally for the Bay of Pigs landing and has more steps to loading it than a flintlock. A coon would have to have a smoke and a beer and wait to get shot.
"Didn't they have insurance?" you just asked.
Yes, they did. But when you buy a van and drink like you were born in a brewery, you ain't got much left over for the fixin o' the house.
The city cuts the grass, and we neighbors threw out a lot of his junk. I found out last week that the city has a warrant out for him. Needless to say, we've been Reed-free since '03.
Unfortunately we haven't been rodent free, so I put out the poison.
About 5 months ago I found out that some Raccoons had taken up residence in the sofets of the house. Raccoons = not fun to tangle with, as they tend to fight back, unlike the 9 opossums (ia?) that I've Louisville sluggered into the afterlife. Being a member of the bear family, coons can run fast, see at night (a distinct advantage to me after 6beers), and climb on the roof (very difficult after 6beers).
Well, after chasing and harassing them with a bat for a few months, I'd had it. Last week there were two coons in the tree climbing down. One of them was on the ground running by the time I grabbed a piece of wood from the pile to make chase, with the other descending more slowly. It stopped with its hind legs on the tree and fore limbs on the top of the wooden fence.
I was fired up and ready to beat the hell out of this coon,but when I was about five feet away, for some odd reason I looked at the piece of wood I had grabbed as a weapon. My dumb ass had snagged not the 18" long piece I had thought, but a 12" piece, which meant some of the blood shed would be mine. So instead of a club, it became a projectile hurled as hard as I could from five feet away, basically blasting the coon from its moorings and landing it in the middle of Bob's yard.
I heard a crack, and the animal make a sound that I'm sure was, "What the ever-loving fuck did I ever do to you, you fucking asshole" in coon-ese.
I haven't seen 'em since, which is a good thing, since my cousin loaned me a pellet gun that was made originally for the Bay of Pigs landing and has more steps to loading it than a flintlock. A coon would have to have a smoke and a beer and wait to get shot.
Jun 29, 2007
I'm not hyperactive, I'm just an Asshole
Due to conditions being less than optimal for me to post I haven't. My brother Darryl's wedding, barge-dodging in the intercoastal with my other brother Darryl, and then a trip to Douglas lake where much of my time was taken up cringing on the bow of the potoon boat wondering how long it was going to take my other other brother Darryl to realize that playing chicken with a bridge piling was a we-lose proposition.
Basically, it's been hectic and my health has shown it. Stress leading to worrying about stress, and then my odd ability to monitor every tic of my body and suddenly think,"What was that?" like I were sleeping in the woods and heard some branches crack under the weight of some large animal. The biggest problem, however, was losing much of my appetite after going through a hyper spell. That didn't stop the beer drinking mind you, but only the healthy stuff during the day. Sorry, Ted, for not eating your burgers, I'm sure they're groovy.
I'm better now that I'm back in a rythm. I'm sure many of you will agree- I had to come back to work to get some rest.
In other news: I have had precious little caffene these last two weeks, and my energy level is up. I hate it. I can't relax, I can't concentrate, I can't just sit and watch TV. That's downright unamerican!
I'm going to go get my alcohol system checked for blood. There may be an imbalance here.
Basically, it's been hectic and my health has shown it. Stress leading to worrying about stress, and then my odd ability to monitor every tic of my body and suddenly think,"What was that?" like I were sleeping in the woods and heard some branches crack under the weight of some large animal. The biggest problem, however, was losing much of my appetite after going through a hyper spell. That didn't stop the beer drinking mind you, but only the healthy stuff during the day. Sorry, Ted, for not eating your burgers, I'm sure they're groovy.
I'm better now that I'm back in a rythm. I'm sure many of you will agree- I had to come back to work to get some rest.
In other news: I have had precious little caffene these last two weeks, and my energy level is up. I hate it. I can't relax, I can't concentrate, I can't just sit and watch TV. That's downright unamerican!
I'm going to go get my alcohol system checked for blood. There may be an imbalance here.
May 30, 2007
He's out, but I'm not alone
My younger brother was married this last Saturday, and a lovely day it was. The service went well, it was a sunny day, we wore simple tuxes, and Yankee John came to town to celebrate with us. All was going splendidly, one required reception duty after the other being hurdled easily.
I danced, I drank, and I made a groovy speech. Cake was eaten, conversations were had. And it's about this last point that I wish to pause with you for a moment.
For all those that have been married or a best man, you understand that during the reception you have little "talks" with two hundred people that you don't remember the next day, since you were allowed a full minute and a half to talk before you had to move to the next table, or felt a tap on the shoulder indicating that your current train of thought had just come to a dead end. Most will be pleasant, with a lot of "Haven't seen you in a while- how ya doin?s", and "man you cleann up wells", and the like. Guys know the drill. Well, most of them anyway. It's the females that were the difficulty at this particular gathering.
Now, I'm not sexist by any means, but I do understand that men and women are wired differently when it comes to certain situations, and there ain't no situation more feminine than a wedding, and it sets the tone for them for the rest of the day. For those people named Ted who might disagree, let me point out the differences between a wedding planned by and for the bride compared to one for and by a groom:
Bride: Church is decorated with flowers, accompanied by gentle flowing music, anticipating a lovely service followed by a beautiful reception.
Groom: Bowling alley halts play for five minutes while the preacher gets you to say I do and follow it up with "anyone who objects to this marriage- Set down your bud light."
Bride: let us pay a lot of money for shit we'll never wear again, but every year on the same day you can look at the stuff in a box you take down from a closet. (If you break down the price of the dress and the like by the number of times you view them on your anniversaries, by the time you die you will be down to $5 a viewing.)
Groom: you have a closet full of dresses. How about you wear the one you own that I thought made you look so hot that I should propose to you on the spot? Hell, it tricked me once; maybe the magic will work again.
Bride: We should have lovely music that reminds everyone of how much we love each other. It will be the music of our lives.
Groom: I got a skinnert tape, and it's already in the boom box from that time we fooled around in the stationwagon.
Bride: I want the entire thing to last as long as we need it to for everyone to have fun.
Groom: When the beer's gone, so are the people. Let's go back to the hotel and get them panties off.
TED-WAKE UP!
Anyway, my belaboured point is that all women talk to all other women in a family. In my family, we have an eight woman gossip ring. And here's the thing- they all came up to me and asked, "When are you getting married?" like they were going to go back and compare notes.
For the record, I anticipated this and answered, "When I find someone saner than my family."
The next question from the females was, "So, what are you going to do with the house." How friggin stupid is that question? Like I'm going to pick it up and move it a hundred yards so my brother will be dumbfounded when he tries to visit? To all of these females I answered. "Porn. Not only viewing it, but most likely filming some too. Whe are you coming over?"
Remember people- No conversations. Smile and small talk. The reason you haven't seen me in eight months is that I don't like talking to you. We both have phones and don't call each other. That should let you know that we ain't girlfriends.
I danced, I drank, and I made a groovy speech. Cake was eaten, conversations were had. And it's about this last point that I wish to pause with you for a moment.
For all those that have been married or a best man, you understand that during the reception you have little "talks" with two hundred people that you don't remember the next day, since you were allowed a full minute and a half to talk before you had to move to the next table, or felt a tap on the shoulder indicating that your current train of thought had just come to a dead end. Most will be pleasant, with a lot of "Haven't seen you in a while- how ya doin?s", and "man you cleann up wells", and the like. Guys know the drill. Well, most of them anyway. It's the females that were the difficulty at this particular gathering.
Now, I'm not sexist by any means, but I do understand that men and women are wired differently when it comes to certain situations, and there ain't no situation more feminine than a wedding, and it sets the tone for them for the rest of the day. For those people named Ted who might disagree, let me point out the differences between a wedding planned by and for the bride compared to one for and by a groom:
Bride: Church is decorated with flowers, accompanied by gentle flowing music, anticipating a lovely service followed by a beautiful reception.
Groom: Bowling alley halts play for five minutes while the preacher gets you to say I do and follow it up with "anyone who objects to this marriage- Set down your bud light."
Bride: let us pay a lot of money for shit we'll never wear again, but every year on the same day you can look at the stuff in a box you take down from a closet. (If you break down the price of the dress and the like by the number of times you view them on your anniversaries, by the time you die you will be down to $5 a viewing.)
Groom: you have a closet full of dresses. How about you wear the one you own that I thought made you look so hot that I should propose to you on the spot? Hell, it tricked me once; maybe the magic will work again.
Bride: We should have lovely music that reminds everyone of how much we love each other. It will be the music of our lives.
Groom: I got a skinnert tape, and it's already in the boom box from that time we fooled around in the stationwagon.
Bride: I want the entire thing to last as long as we need it to for everyone to have fun.
Groom: When the beer's gone, so are the people. Let's go back to the hotel and get them panties off.
TED-WAKE UP!
Anyway, my belaboured point is that all women talk to all other women in a family. In my family, we have an eight woman gossip ring. And here's the thing- they all came up to me and asked, "When are you getting married?" like they were going to go back and compare notes.
For the record, I anticipated this and answered, "When I find someone saner than my family."
The next question from the females was, "So, what are you going to do with the house." How friggin stupid is that question? Like I'm going to pick it up and move it a hundred yards so my brother will be dumbfounded when he tries to visit? To all of these females I answered. "Porn. Not only viewing it, but most likely filming some too. Whe are you coming over?"
Remember people- No conversations. Smile and small talk. The reason you haven't seen me in eight months is that I don't like talking to you. We both have phones and don't call each other. That should let you know that we ain't girlfriends.
May 24, 2007
Because Ted's my Bitch
I don't really have anything here. I just thought of the line for the title and figured I had to get it out there.
That is of course, if he's tired of being Yankee John's bitch.
peace-out
Mike &Andy in 08!
That is of course, if he's tired of being Yankee John's bitch.
peace-out
Mike &Andy in 08!
May 23, 2007
No Good Deed Goes Unfunded
Last year my brother asked his girlfriend to marry him, and due to her being able to make poor decisions (on this point they are a perfect match), she said yes.
He had little money being in school and all, and with them pinching pennies on the wedding, I told him that as a gift, I would pay for the bar. Actually less altruistic than acoholicly selfish, I figured that it would be about $600. Not a sum to sneeze at, but enough to beer up the guests, with a few bottles of wine for the posh.
Well, you've anticipated the joke. Last week I asked my brother if I needed to write a check to him, or to the caterer, and how much it would be. Verbatum (you'll know who's who)-
"I guess the caterer. It's only going to be fifteen hundred."
"What? Are they serving liquid gold? for 200 people? That 's over seven dollars a fucking drink!"
"Well, that's just a down payment."
"Just a down payment? Fifteen fucking hundred dollars is just a down payment?"
"No, not a down payment. It's to cover everything."
"It doesn't cover shit, it fucking buys it twice."
"If you'd shut up asshole I'll finish. You pay fifteen hundred, and what they don't use gets credited back to you."
"Do they know I'm backing the car up to the door and removing the remainder?"
"I don't think you can, due to liquer licenses and all."
"Shit. Oh well, I hope they're not dicks. If they are, I'll show them how it's done."
I don't want to ruin his day, but damn that boy's expensive.
He had little money being in school and all, and with them pinching pennies on the wedding, I told him that as a gift, I would pay for the bar. Actually less altruistic than acoholicly selfish, I figured that it would be about $600. Not a sum to sneeze at, but enough to beer up the guests, with a few bottles of wine for the posh.
Well, you've anticipated the joke. Last week I asked my brother if I needed to write a check to him, or to the caterer, and how much it would be. Verbatum (you'll know who's who)-
"I guess the caterer. It's only going to be fifteen hundred."
"What? Are they serving liquid gold? for 200 people? That 's over seven dollars a fucking drink!"
"Well, that's just a down payment."
"Just a down payment? Fifteen fucking hundred dollars is just a down payment?"
"No, not a down payment. It's to cover everything."
"It doesn't cover shit, it fucking buys it twice."
"If you'd shut up asshole I'll finish. You pay fifteen hundred, and what they don't use gets credited back to you."
"Do they know I'm backing the car up to the door and removing the remainder?"
"I don't think you can, due to liquer licenses and all."
"Shit. Oh well, I hope they're not dicks. If they are, I'll show them how it's done."
I don't want to ruin his day, but damn that boy's expensive.
May 17, 2007
HANG UP AND WELL, JUST HANG UP
One may have observed that from time to time I get rather irritated, I mean irked, I really mean pissed off when my cell phone rings. Now, you might say that "You dumb shit, you're in sales. You live by the phone. You talkie in one end, and heary in the other. That's how you make money."
I'm here to tell you, it's not the customers calling me that bug the utter can complete shit out of me- it's the others and their total lack of understanding that just because they can reach me, it doesn't mean they have to. And their non use of cell phone protocall, an d unnecessary platitudes.
If you never call me outside of work, and you need to call me because of work, and I sound curt on the line (always do), then don't start with, "Hi Andy, howya doin?," because my answer will always be, "I was doing well before the interruption." Do you think I'm going to say something about how sad I've been ever since All in the Family went off the air? Hell no! I'm going to say "fine," and then ask you what you wanted so I can get you off the phone in order that I can move on to the next schmuck. How about you start the call off with, "hey andy, I've got a question about the Engl 102 pack." Holy cow. We don't need to be friends in order to work together, because honestly, I don't care about you. Well, I care about you in the sense that I hope nothing happens to you that removes you from the ability to be of service to me.
If you are one of the few who do call me outside of work and we are on come-over-to-my-house-and-drink-beer status, and you are in the city limits, then here's the script to our entire conversation:
"this is Andy"
"You got plans tonight? maybe a fuego?"
"no plans. When you comin' over?"
See how easy that is? 'Fuego' can be replaced by "go to the 'Ville?" or "ball game tonight?"
If you live out of town and want to jaw for a bit that's fine. Since you can't physically stop by when you want, I will accomodate with a short conversation. Just remember that all I want to do is joke around, and that the more I drink the more deaf I become. Expect foul language.
If I'm in the car and I answer the phone, I ain't really paying attention to the conversation, as I have a clutch and am concentration on trying to hit pedestrians.
And last and very not least: when you ask "What're you doin'?", and I respond, "Just talking to some asshole on the phone," don't ask who, like I just put someone on hold. It's you.
Now we can all get along.
One may have observed that from time to time I get rather irritated, I mean irked, I really mean pissed off when my cell phone rings. Now, you might say that "You dumb shit, you're in sales. You live by the phone. You talkie in one end, and heary in the other. That's how you make money."
I'm here to tell you, it's not the customers calling me that bug the utter can complete shit out of me- it's the others and their total lack of understanding that just because they can reach me, it doesn't mean they have to. And their non use of cell phone protocall, an d unnecessary platitudes.
If you never call me outside of work, and you need to call me because of work, and I sound curt on the line (always do), then don't start with, "Hi Andy, howya doin?," because my answer will always be, "I was doing well before the interruption." Do you think I'm going to say something about how sad I've been ever since All in the Family went off the air? Hell no! I'm going to say "fine," and then ask you what you wanted so I can get you off the phone in order that I can move on to the next schmuck. How about you start the call off with, "hey andy, I've got a question about the Engl 102 pack." Holy cow. We don't need to be friends in order to work together, because honestly, I don't care about you. Well, I care about you in the sense that I hope nothing happens to you that removes you from the ability to be of service to me.
If you are one of the few who do call me outside of work and we are on come-over-to-my-house-and-drink-beer status, and you are in the city limits, then here's the script to our entire conversation:
"this is Andy"
"You got plans tonight? maybe a fuego?"
"no plans. When you comin' over?"
See how easy that is? 'Fuego' can be replaced by "go to the 'Ville?" or "ball game tonight?"
If you live out of town and want to jaw for a bit that's fine. Since you can't physically stop by when you want, I will accomodate with a short conversation. Just remember that all I want to do is joke around, and that the more I drink the more deaf I become. Expect foul language.
If I'm in the car and I answer the phone, I ain't really paying attention to the conversation, as I have a clutch and am concentration on trying to hit pedestrians.
And last and very not least: when you ask "What're you doin'?", and I respond, "Just talking to some asshole on the phone," don't ask who, like I just put someone on hold. It's you.
Now we can all get along.
May 11, 2007
Dang.
http://csumc.wisc.edu:16080/AmericanLanguages/writings/2_myths_official_language.html
Well, at least it wasn't Polish.
http://csumc.wisc.edu:16080/AmericanLanguages/writings/2_myths_official_language.html
Well, at least it wasn't Polish.
May 9, 2007
Quiet Night Games Are Better.
I had an apostrophe, epiphany, or what ever last night, and I was forced into it. Well, maybe not forced exactly, but it was the outcome of a chain of events that ended with me sitting alone at Louisville Bats baseball game.
Now, I'm not a loner by any means- just look at my cell phone bill and you will realize that I crave a good conversation, and when I find one, I'll let you know. Perhaps you will be part of it. Most likely not a participant, but if we are in anyway acquainted, rest assured, you have been and will be a subject of one, especially if you have done something stupid, and if we are in anyway acquainted, you can be rest assured that you have. We are, you see, a very odd lot. Very.
Well, the Ottawa Lynx are in town for a few days to show our Louisville Bats how to play baseball, and I had a pair of tickets for last night's game. My cousin and I have season tickets this year, and with 72 home games this season we obviously aren't going to every game, and aren't attending them all together.
My cousin and I stayed through 8 innings on Monday night, attempting to drink a car payment, so I was looking forward to going cheap last night with my brother who owes me a sandwich and a few beers. Little did I know that not only was I not going to get my adult beverages gratis, I wasn't even going to receive the free ride into the ball field's parking lot.
This my seem a bit trifle as the privilege to leave my car parked in a space marginally close to the field only costs four dollars, but you have to remember that parking lots become giant pedestrian through ways. And people exiting expensive cars invariably make quite poor pedestrians, as they are not used to walking anywhere except to and from their cars, and generally in the east end, so they are not aware of the rules of getting near my car that I have imposed upon them. Were they to stroll through downtown around, let's say for argument's sake, the corner of Second and Broadway, they would understand immediately that Andy and pedestrians don't mix. As if that isn't bad enough, there is always a group of children strewn across the lane of traffic looking at their shoes as they walk with their guardians in the lead, not paying a lick of attention. As expensive as children are, one would think that parent would be a little more worried about losing the tax exemption, but who am I to prevent them from becoming a headline.
I made it to my seat without having to deal with any form of law enforcement outside of a voice on the loudspeaker warning me or anyone else not to go onto the field for any reason during the game. It seemed silly, as even though the view of the game would be much better at ground level, there are no chairs out there. This announcement became even sillier as the game progressed, as it was evident that someone had to go out there and replace Louisville's pitcher.
As I sat in my seat last night not engaged in conversation I recognized some of the nuances of baseball that I had heard about, but had never observed. The way the pitcher comes in to cover home when the catcher is involved in a squeeze play, or how the out fielders move depending on who's batting is something I hadn't paid attention to before as my focus was on words exiting my mouth, and not completely on the game I had spent money to see. I was also introduced to some of the other realities of attending a ballgame, like the fact that the guy going around selling beer will pass by your seat mid beer, and then disappear for the length of time it takes you to finish your beer and wait for him for some minutes, only to reappear the moment you sit down with a beer you walked to purchase from another vendor. I avoided this disparity from reoccurring when I overheard a gentleman a couple of rows over tell the beer man to "come back at the end of the inning," and noticed that Doug (we're on a first name basis now. I call him Doug, and he calls me "another Bud Light?") did as directed. Neat.
Another aspect of not jaw-jacking through the game is that you can listen in to people around you doing exactly that. The one difficulty associated with this activity is denying myself the gratifying act of breaking into a conversation and asking the guy, and it's always a guy, if he always spouts absolute bullshit, or if he reserves speaking out of his ass for the ballpark. I listened in for about fifteen minutes to his ramble, and was privy to only one funny line that was purely unintentional, not from the guy, and only funny if you dislike Ohioans as much as I do. It went something like this-
"Where are you from?" asked one of the ladies.
"Dayton Ohio," replied the guy through a mouthful of hot dog.
"Oh, I bet you're glad to be out of there," she said in a comforting tone, as if to say, "I've been there. It's shitty."
This is where I lost it inside. "Ohioans making fun of themselves- don't that beat all. If they learn to drive, I'll be out of a job!"
I stopped listening to them at that point knowing that it couldn't get any better than that.
In the seventh inning i decided to leave when I found myself considering the absurd notion of hopping onto the field in order to show the third pitcher of the night a thing or two.
I had an apostrophe, epiphany, or what ever last night, and I was forced into it. Well, maybe not forced exactly, but it was the outcome of a chain of events that ended with me sitting alone at Louisville Bats baseball game.
Now, I'm not a loner by any means- just look at my cell phone bill and you will realize that I crave a good conversation, and when I find one, I'll let you know. Perhaps you will be part of it. Most likely not a participant, but if we are in anyway acquainted, rest assured, you have been and will be a subject of one, especially if you have done something stupid, and if we are in anyway acquainted, you can be rest assured that you have. We are, you see, a very odd lot. Very.
Well, the Ottawa Lynx are in town for a few days to show our Louisville Bats how to play baseball, and I had a pair of tickets for last night's game. My cousin and I have season tickets this year, and with 72 home games this season we obviously aren't going to every game, and aren't attending them all together.
My cousin and I stayed through 8 innings on Monday night, attempting to drink a car payment, so I was looking forward to going cheap last night with my brother who owes me a sandwich and a few beers. Little did I know that not only was I not going to get my adult beverages gratis, I wasn't even going to receive the free ride into the ball field's parking lot.
This my seem a bit trifle as the privilege to leave my car parked in a space marginally close to the field only costs four dollars, but you have to remember that parking lots become giant pedestrian through ways. And people exiting expensive cars invariably make quite poor pedestrians, as they are not used to walking anywhere except to and from their cars, and generally in the east end, so they are not aware of the rules of getting near my car that I have imposed upon them. Were they to stroll through downtown around, let's say for argument's sake, the corner of Second and Broadway, they would understand immediately that Andy and pedestrians don't mix. As if that isn't bad enough, there is always a group of children strewn across the lane of traffic looking at their shoes as they walk with their guardians in the lead, not paying a lick of attention. As expensive as children are, one would think that parent would be a little more worried about losing the tax exemption, but who am I to prevent them from becoming a headline.
I made it to my seat without having to deal with any form of law enforcement outside of a voice on the loudspeaker warning me or anyone else not to go onto the field for any reason during the game. It seemed silly, as even though the view of the game would be much better at ground level, there are no chairs out there. This announcement became even sillier as the game progressed, as it was evident that someone had to go out there and replace Louisville's pitcher.
As I sat in my seat last night not engaged in conversation I recognized some of the nuances of baseball that I had heard about, but had never observed. The way the pitcher comes in to cover home when the catcher is involved in a squeeze play, or how the out fielders move depending on who's batting is something I hadn't paid attention to before as my focus was on words exiting my mouth, and not completely on the game I had spent money to see. I was also introduced to some of the other realities of attending a ballgame, like the fact that the guy going around selling beer will pass by your seat mid beer, and then disappear for the length of time it takes you to finish your beer and wait for him for some minutes, only to reappear the moment you sit down with a beer you walked to purchase from another vendor. I avoided this disparity from reoccurring when I overheard a gentleman a couple of rows over tell the beer man to "come back at the end of the inning," and noticed that Doug (we're on a first name basis now. I call him Doug, and he calls me "another Bud Light?") did as directed. Neat.
Another aspect of not jaw-jacking through the game is that you can listen in to people around you doing exactly that. The one difficulty associated with this activity is denying myself the gratifying act of breaking into a conversation and asking the guy, and it's always a guy, if he always spouts absolute bullshit, or if he reserves speaking out of his ass for the ballpark. I listened in for about fifteen minutes to his ramble, and was privy to only one funny line that was purely unintentional, not from the guy, and only funny if you dislike Ohioans as much as I do. It went something like this-
"Where are you from?" asked one of the ladies.
"Dayton Ohio," replied the guy through a mouthful of hot dog.
"Oh, I bet you're glad to be out of there," she said in a comforting tone, as if to say, "I've been there. It's shitty."
This is where I lost it inside. "Ohioans making fun of themselves- don't that beat all. If they learn to drive, I'll be out of a job!"
I stopped listening to them at that point knowing that it couldn't get any better than that.
In the seventh inning i decided to leave when I found myself considering the absurd notion of hopping onto the field in order to show the third pitcher of the night a thing or two.
May 7, 2007
MY APOLOGIES MR. BRYSON
I decided to get some new trail hiking shoes, as I've decided to hit some of the 3 and 5 mile trails in Jefferson memorial forest nearby.
Hiking, you see, is something that completely changes the nature of exercise. It's walking in large circles, but in the shaded forest that change somehow on every circuit. It's outdoors, but close enough to home to sleep in your own bed. It's using up calories, but not on the guess-who's-fat tour of city sidewalks, in full view of the neighbors. Instead you are a hiker.
Hikers by nature come in all forms and sizes, and no one pokes any fun at any other because the woods are the great equalizer when it comes to the simple act of perambulation. I, for instance, have a difficulty getting my dwarf legs up trails with steep ledges, but I know that that tall fellow farther back that almost hit his head on a treebranch that I couldn't jump and hope to touch won't be able to get under the tree covering the path, and will eventually be covered in sticker bush scrapes later on circumventing the offending encumbrance and wondering to himself how it is that he finds this activity refreshing.
I'm sorry-I will finish this when I get Bryson out of my head. A mental act that seems at first to be simple enough, but is instead so difficult that I am actually hearing his voice right now, as if he has somehow supplanted my mental voice box and replaced it with his. Moreover, his manner becomes so very rhythmic that I cannot help but fall into the motion that is his style.
Christ, I'm doing it right now.
OUT! OUT, DAMN SPOT!
I decided to get some new trail hiking shoes, as I've decided to hit some of the 3 and 5 mile trails in Jefferson memorial forest nearby.
Hiking, you see, is something that completely changes the nature of exercise. It's walking in large circles, but in the shaded forest that change somehow on every circuit. It's outdoors, but close enough to home to sleep in your own bed. It's using up calories, but not on the guess-who's-fat tour of city sidewalks, in full view of the neighbors. Instead you are a hiker.
Hikers by nature come in all forms and sizes, and no one pokes any fun at any other because the woods are the great equalizer when it comes to the simple act of perambulation. I, for instance, have a difficulty getting my dwarf legs up trails with steep ledges, but I know that that tall fellow farther back that almost hit his head on a treebranch that I couldn't jump and hope to touch won't be able to get under the tree covering the path, and will eventually be covered in sticker bush scrapes later on circumventing the offending encumbrance and wondering to himself how it is that he finds this activity refreshing.
I'm sorry-I will finish this when I get Bryson out of my head. A mental act that seems at first to be simple enough, but is instead so difficult that I am actually hearing his voice right now, as if he has somehow supplanted my mental voice box and replaced it with his. Moreover, his manner becomes so very rhythmic that I cannot help but fall into the motion that is his style.
Christ, I'm doing it right now.
OUT! OUT, DAMN SPOT!
Apr 27, 2007
This Saturday begins Derby week. This means an influx of people wanting to party, which is fine. Other places have bigger/longer parties. Take New Orleans for instance. They had a pool party that lasted for about a month!
The difficulty arises from the standpoint that these ding-dongs believe they can just drive into town and make their ways through the maze of one-way streets and Derby road closings based upon Mapsco that hasn't updated their database since Al Gore invented the internet. This also means that speed limits will be strictly followed by gawkers that believe that since Churchill Downs is only ten blocks away, they should take their time and enjoy the view.
You know what they view? All the other FIFOS in minivans taking the same route at the same speed. All they need is a gdamn marching band and they could call it "Retards on Parade."
It's nice that people get to take time off from work in order to enjoy an annual event that involves short people riding large animals. Hell, it reminds of prom night. But remember that the rest of us have to work and get to places on a schedule, and all cars since 1910 have gas pedals on the right, and that pack man is a video game, so quit trying to eat the dots as you go down the road. If Henry Ford handed you your first set of car keys, our roads ain't where you need to be.
And above all, remember that if you sit at a light after it has turned green, the protocol for the car behind you is honk, bump, push. Paint is paint, and you're in the way. My car has right of way, because I know where I'm going, I know where my car will fit, and I know how fast it will go. My lane is down the middle, and I've been known to cut off cops in traffic.
Ask John- he'll agree.
Driving is an activity, not a passivity. Welcome to Louisville. Get off the Road.
The difficulty arises from the standpoint that these ding-dongs believe they can just drive into town and make their ways through the maze of one-way streets and Derby road closings based upon Mapsco that hasn't updated their database since Al Gore invented the internet. This also means that speed limits will be strictly followed by gawkers that believe that since Churchill Downs is only ten blocks away, they should take their time and enjoy the view.
You know what they view? All the other FIFOS in minivans taking the same route at the same speed. All they need is a gdamn marching band and they could call it "Retards on Parade."
It's nice that people get to take time off from work in order to enjoy an annual event that involves short people riding large animals. Hell, it reminds of prom night. But remember that the rest of us have to work and get to places on a schedule, and all cars since 1910 have gas pedals on the right, and that pack man is a video game, so quit trying to eat the dots as you go down the road. If Henry Ford handed you your first set of car keys, our roads ain't where you need to be.
And above all, remember that if you sit at a light after it has turned green, the protocol for the car behind you is honk, bump, push. Paint is paint, and you're in the way. My car has right of way, because I know where I'm going, I know where my car will fit, and I know how fast it will go. My lane is down the middle, and I've been known to cut off cops in traffic.
Ask John- he'll agree.
Driving is an activity, not a passivity. Welcome to Louisville. Get off the Road.
Apr 13, 2007
My car is equipped with a reverse gear specifically for backing over an idividual I have driven over two seconds previously in order to finish him off. Sure, it kills the style points, but that is made up for in pure enjoyment. There is a penalty for walking against the light. I call them pedeadstrians.
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