Wait a minute...HEY, THOMAS-
Nov 26, 2009
I wish I were three again so I could get away with this shit
My uncle died last week, and the viewing was this last Sunday.
Little Johnny was running around, so I picked him up and walked toward the open casket. I asked him if he knew who was in the casket, and Johnny smiled, pointed at the crucifix and loudly stated, "I see Jesus!" He then pointed down at my uncle, and in the same loud voice said, "and he's dead!"
I buried my face in his jacket so people couldn't see me laughing, and then walked outside and proceeded to laugh so hard I heeped.
Uncle funeral part deux:
I was one of the pall bearers on Monday along with my brothers Darrell and three of my cousins. After the service at the Funeral home at the part where everyone walks past the open casket to either say goodbye or fuck you, each one of my uncle's grand kids put a golf ball in the box so he could play a round when he gets to Valhalla. Well, they migrated to the space under the bunting when the funeral guys moved the casket onto the box gurney, so that when we picked it up to take ole unc on his last car ride they decided to move.
Now, when I say three of my cousins along with the Darrells, you have to understand that my cousins are 6'5", 6'1" and 6'6", and my brothers are 5'7" and 5'5", so there was really no parity that would allow for evenly lifting or moving the casket, so as we made the way down the steps everyone could hear the brbrbrbbrbbrbrbrbrb of the golf balls rolling around in the metal box.
At the cemetery I decided to have some fun. I made sure that I was on the lower back corner, and as we walked, I gently lifted and lowered the casket so that there was a constant brbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbr of the balls rolling front to back and side to side.
You should have seen everyone that knew about the balls trying to cover their smiles.
I love me.
Fuck you Arlene, and fuck Santa Claus too!
Little Johnny was running around, so I picked him up and walked toward the open casket. I asked him if he knew who was in the casket, and Johnny smiled, pointed at the crucifix and loudly stated, "I see Jesus!" He then pointed down at my uncle, and in the same loud voice said, "and he's dead!"
I buried my face in his jacket so people couldn't see me laughing, and then walked outside and proceeded to laugh so hard I heeped.
Uncle funeral part deux:
I was one of the pall bearers on Monday along with my brothers Darrell and three of my cousins. After the service at the Funeral home at the part where everyone walks past the open casket to either say goodbye or fuck you, each one of my uncle's grand kids put a golf ball in the box so he could play a round when he gets to Valhalla. Well, they migrated to the space under the bunting when the funeral guys moved the casket onto the box gurney, so that when we picked it up to take ole unc on his last car ride they decided to move.
Now, when I say three of my cousins along with the Darrells, you have to understand that my cousins are 6'5", 6'1" and 6'6", and my brothers are 5'7" and 5'5", so there was really no parity that would allow for evenly lifting or moving the casket, so as we made the way down the steps everyone could hear the brbrbrbbrbbrbrbrbrb of the golf balls rolling around in the metal box.
At the cemetery I decided to have some fun. I made sure that I was on the lower back corner, and as we walked, I gently lifted and lowered the casket so that there was a constant brbrbrbrbrbrbrbrbr of the balls rolling front to back and side to side.
You should have seen everyone that knew about the balls trying to cover their smiles.
I love me.
Fuck you Arlene, and fuck Santa Claus too!
Nov 14, 2009
AS IF WE WEREN'T COOL ENOUGH ALREADY
Cousin Luke and I have decided that because we know we're going to lose our bees in the spring do to a lack of stores and no queen, we're going to make a still for personal use.
We have the skills.
We have the fuel.
We have a cooperage nearby.
Now, obviously we can't sell the stuff, but I'm sure there'll be enough to go around.
IT DOESN'T GET SPIT INTO THE STOVE, ASSHOLES.
We have the skills.
We have the fuel.
We have a cooperage nearby.
Now, obviously we can't sell the stuff, but I'm sure there'll be enough to go around.
IT DOESN'T GET SPIT INTO THE STOVE, ASSHOLES.
Nov 9, 2009
God I love this shit
I have a confession to make: I read the advice column in the Curious Urinal. They make my life seem normal, and I thank them.
This morning's had a bit of a twist. The headline reads "Beau Abhors Fiancee's Career" which could be about anyone, anywhere. Perhaps her job keeps at work too late. Perhaps there are guys at her workplace hitting on her and making rude suggestions. Perhaps both.
Let's get to the good stuff.
"I am currently engaged to an exotic dancer, and we recently found out she is pregnant. Times are tough right now, and this is the problem: I was laid off but receive unemployment while I search for a new job. My fiancee recently told me that she wants to dance more and in different venues to gain the much needed money."
You have to admit that this guy has shat and fallen back in it.
Since when was stripping a career?
Nov 4, 2009
FUEGO!!!
I reattached the flue last night, and test fired the heart of the Pot Belly Republic.
A note to the gentle readers to sweep off the top of any stove after a construction project before making the inside of it hot. I found out what 50 years of roof crud smell like when it burns.
Duraroc needs to go up over the stove, as I did start to smell the OSB off-gassing (or was it me?) as the fire heated up.
Seven beers and one Shawshank Redemption later, I let the fire die down.
I only burned myself once, and the hair that grew back on my hand while I was on vacation is now burned off.
Everything is normal. Well, as normal as I'll let it get.
A note to the gentle readers to sweep off the top of any stove after a construction project before making the inside of it hot. I found out what 50 years of roof crud smell like when it burns.
Duraroc needs to go up over the stove, as I did start to smell the OSB off-gassing (or was it me?) as the fire heated up.
Seven beers and one Shawshank Redemption later, I let the fire die down.
I only burned myself once, and the hair that grew back on my hand while I was on vacation is now burned off.
Everything is normal. Well, as normal as I'll let it get.
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