I don't wanna own 'em, darlin'; I just want to rent them for a dollar

This last weekend I accompanied my cousin Luke on a business trip to Indianoplace to help (watch) him load a van with some stuff from their warehouse up there. The hotel and gas was free, so the only real cost was beer and dinner.





So, we (he) got the work done and we each got a 12 pack for to drink in the hotel room, which started, and I don't think I'm exaggerating here, before the door shut behind us.



Dinner at Longhorn's (eat steak, eat steak, eat a big ole steer), and then back to the hotel, and sweet shit in a bucket I'm glad he was driving and not me. We got behind a fifo that couldn't drive a hard dick into a bucket of lard. Of course I got to exercise my vocabulary even though I wasn't the one behind the wheel. No-one can keep me from giving an exhibition of my talents when on the road.

The next stop was drinking beer in the lobby of the hotel waiting for a cab to take us downtown to a hockey game.


The Indianapolis Ice are a junior team, and in their program I found the line, "Players use this level to hone their skills and move up to the NHL." The line should have read, "This team wins by accident. Expect bad hockey. Players at this level wish they'd taken their guidance counselors' advice and gone to college. You're just here for the beer and the fights anyway, so just shout and act like you're having a good time."

The beer was cold, and because it was a family outing for most, I only had one beer per period in order to keep my mouth in check (try not to faint), until the middle of the third period, when I had two because sales were about to be cut off.

Ice fans were happy as their goalie let in fewer shots than the other team by the time the buzzer sounded. Lets see...where should we go next...movie? No. The Irish Pub? No. On to- THE RED GARTER!

This is where this one, ahem, lady sat down next to cousin Luke and proceeded to wear his ear out with some sob story mean, I'm sure to get him (and me, when I wasn't leaving his ass behind to go tip some lovely at the stage) to buy dances. Her stage name was Natasha (Now back to moose and squirrel), and she was laying it on thick about wanting to get custody of her kid back from her mom, who believes she is an un-fit mother. I asked her if she were in school and trying to get another job. This next exchange is lovely. First her answer:

"No."

"Then you're probably an unfit mother."

"What? How can you say that. You don't know me."

"Don't plan to, either. I'm just saying that you don't seem to be trying to make a better life for your kid."

"I DO want a better life for my kid."

"Wantin' and doin' are two different things, darlin. I suggest you leave your kid with your mom."

I then left to sample some folk dancing while Boobsie Bolschvic remained to pester Luke. It turns out that she was rubbing his sweaty-ass chest hair the whole time I was gone. Oooooh.

At $5 a beer, we only stayed for about two hours. On the way out, we asked the dude at the bar to call a cab for us. When we made it outside, I saw a mini-van cab out side. We got in, and the cabbie said rather sternly, "I'm waiting for some people who called." So, being just a lot inebriated, I said, "yeah that's us."

He then said that he had to go pick someone else up, and that he'd take us to the hotel after that. Well, we pull up to the front of some building where inside was this early twenty-something having a rather spirited discussion on the phone.

"You want me to go get her? I asked laughingly."

"Nah. She'll be out is a minute."

When she opened the door, she was complaining up one side and down another about her boyfriend and other retarded shit. We got to the hotel, and the cabbie asked what the other driver had charged us, so I cut the rate by a third, handed him the cash, and went up to the room, where I proceeded to drop a full beer smack dab in the middle of the room.

Gotta love travel.

Let my winter go

This February has reminded me of one thing: to hell with winter. Cold and windy does not Andy a happy camper make.
Yeah, yeah, I don't live in Minnisota or New York, so we don't have "real" winters, but I'm not interrested in getting my exercise from shoveling snow.
This last Sunday it got up to 62deg. I put on my kilt and chopped wood outside.

I realize that March is going to be chilly and rainy, but take this cold shit away.

In other news, I watched "History of the Joke" the other night, and it was funny as hell. It also reinforced my decision to not go into that line of work.
Why was Hellen Keller such a bad driver?
Because she was a woman.

That's precious.

fish y chips

I once had a dog that I fucked so hard his eyes popped out.

Now that I have your attention, I just wanted to say this about the trip that I had said before, but I drink a bit, so I don't know if'n I've said it to all.
I know I haven't called Ted back, but he called while I was doing taxes, and Ifound out that I have to pay the state, so everytime I pick up the phone, those dreaded feelings start to come back.
Anyway, I'm up for a camping trip, but this last fall I've found out that neither my knees nor my back will be up for backpacking. We can always dayhike, but don't look for me to blaze a trail with you.

Sept/Oct will be fine for me.

Look out world, I've got front-wheel drive

We've been having snow and ice these last few days, and even though I really miss my truck-truck, I have found that my rockin' rolla digith on the snow. I honestly don't know how I've avoided tripping the air bag, as I've been smashing through every pile of snow I can find.

I've only hit one building by sliding, and splashed the living shit out of a pedestrian that was walking in my lane.
I'm not sure how it happened, but I got sideways backing down my driveway, which was fun in its own right, but not fun when I saw a salt truck barreling down the road. An event which, when considering that my car didn't seem to have any intention toward stopping, will definitely spike one's o-shitometer.

Gotta run- the boss just got back

Ich bin von Kopf bis Vuss...

I can't help it.

Why do turds suddenly appear...when you're near?

I replaced the shingles that Dorothied off in the last windstorm this past Saturday, and my cousin Luke came over to prove two things: a) that I can do really stupid things even while supervised, and b) that he can climb a ladder with two beers in one hand.

For all of you who aren't as adept at using tools, or who, on occasion have taken an attempt at destroying my kneecap with a sledge hammer, and may say, "beer? didn't you write that you were on a roof?" Let me say this- it was Saturday, is was after 1pm, and it was only the second beer of the day. Besides, all I was going to do was kneel at the corner of my shed dormer, manuever shingles with one hand, hammer with the other hand and balance with my third hand. How hard could that be?

Thankfully there were no injuries on the roof. They came later while I was splitting wood in the basement and freed a nest of roaches. I was 48-1 battling those little brown bastards.
Helpful hint: When one climbs on your shoe to evade the two-pound hammer that has turned his homelife into a haulocaust, don't go after him- it hurts. A lot.

In other news:
The Pats lost yesterday, and I scored all the leftovers from the party. Baked beans with sausage and peppers, smoked barbeque pork, homemade mac Y cheese, and slaw. And I drank free beer all day. I made out pretty well.