I like to keep my audience riveted

Due to the overwhelming request that I had for the posting of a certain actress everytime I put something up, I give you the lovely Heigl.

Even though I started out with the best picture I had, and therefore "blowing my wad" before being done (don't I hear that often enough), I had to resort to the internet.

So, while supplies last, I will offer you at least one reason a day to fold on over to Oragami.

Well, today you get a twofer.

In other news, I found what I was looking for before, so now in reverse order.

<---Compare this

with this:

Now, I don't know about you, but right now I'm dreaming of the Heigl twins making a Kaiser sammich in a fishing cabin.

Fished and Painted, and didn't come home drunk?

I got some more painting done at the U-boat. It's really brightening up.

Contrast this:

With this:

See? much better. Actually I couldn't find the picture I was looking for, so I figured Heigl would have to do. I hope you're not too distraught over me not showing you yet one more picture of a 20x20 concrete shack.

PETA CAN KISS MY LITTLE DICK

PETA assholes are calling for the suspension of the jockey that rode the ill-fated Eight Belles in the Derby until after an investigation to determine whether he felt anything during the race.

Here's what he heard and felt: hooves stomping! I can hear and feel them up in the stands, so how fucking loud do they think it is when in the middle of the scrum? Sweat shit in a bucket are they retarded.

Goodbye, Eight Belles. It stinks that you broke both of your front ankles and couldn't even make it off the track.
Guess what? In the wild, you know the wild- where horses run all the time? Well, she would have lain there in pain until she died or was attacked by some other hungry animal.

At least in death she'll be remembered. Test: who came in second in last year's Derby behind Street Sense?

I don't fucking know either.

painting, painting everywhere and not a drop of ink

Cousin Luke and I went back to the U-boat to do some painting this last Saturday, and woh Nelly how different does it look. It's almost inhabitable. Here's me doing some trim work *snort*. It was immediately evident that white paint reflects more light than 20 year-old tan.

Luke then went on to floor duty which was to be a light gray like you see on the porches of older houses. The front bedroom actually looks its ten by ten size, and you can see from this picture that it also looks one hell of a lot better than that old nasty green.

But before all the work started, there were two fun tasks that needed to happen in order to make the U-boat more man friendly. And since both Luke and I are ate-up retards, we chose to put a pulley and a cleat on the light pole and run up a pirate flag.

Not to let our lunacy end there, I mounted a fake periscope on the vent stack on the out house. Now, before you ask why the shitey-shack, remember that we are going to paint the u-boat sawfish and bull on the outside. I took an old broom handle and tapered an end and left a knob end on it. After painting it gun metal gray, I glued a mirror on it so that it will catch a few seldom-comers by surprise with a reflection of their headlights at night.

The backlight kind of sucks on this picture, but I'll take a sunny 80deg day over a terriffic photo.

Since I couldn't let a trip go without wetting a line, I went down to the dock with my 404 and proceeded to catch a HUGE log. But, alas, it got away with my lure. Such is life. Some times you win, some times you lose, some times it rains.

John, I am so ready to stay overnight and go fishing.

The cool thing is that the great baloon race (part of the Ky Derby festival) was going on as we were on the highway home. A neat end to a very productive day.

Not for the squeemish, and definitely not how I wanted to wake up

Yesterday morning I used a toothpick to clean the gookie out from under my toenails since I left my clippers and file at work. After the dredging ceased I thought threw the crusty bugger in the trash.

You know how it feels when you're about to enter REM? The peaceful sinking into the bed, every thing's right with the world, let me just slide my arm under my pillow like...OH SWEET MOTHER FUCKING GODDAMN MOTHER FUCK WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS THAT? SHIT, I'VE GOT A TOOTHPICK JAMMED UNDER MY FINGER NAIL! AHHHHHH! OH FUCKING SHIT THAT FUCKING HURTS!

Do you know what hurts more than getting one stuck an eighth-inch deep under your nail? Pulling the damned thing back out!

I don't understand this. While I was drinking and playing around bees, saws, an axe, and a sledge hammer- nothing. But I get hurt when I go to bed? Royally fuck that.

I got out of bed, put my finger on ice and had another beer down in the shop, where I knew I was safe.

smoke 'em if you got 'em

The bees are in, and will be checked in a couple of days.

Hopefully this time next year we'll be swimming in honey.

After getting them ready by smoking them and wetting them, Luke's fi'n to dump 'em in.


Brush 'em into the hive, put the lid on and wait a few days to see if the queen has been released from her own little box.

The grass in the opening is to keep others out and more of the bees inside building out comb instead of leaving to forage.

Neither one of us was stung, even though a LOT of the bees toward the middle didn't get enough water on them. It turns out that they really don't like being jostled around like you have to do to get the wet ball out of the box. There were several dozen buzzing like they were coming in on a bombing run, so he put the lid on the box, and then we went inside and had a beer.
An hour later they were all calm and going into the hive.

the yard will be abuzz

Our package of bees came in the mail yesterday and cousin Luke picked 'em up. When I went over to feed them the special bee food known as sugar water I took a few photos of the package.
Since blogger is experiencing technical difficulties with loading them, I offer you this:

mmmmm...fishing...

I went down to the cabin yesterday to get the floors ready for painting, and during breaks for beer and to un-beer I went down on the deck to fish.
Several nibbles but no real bites. Almost caught a snapping turtle to go ahead and get it out of the way for the season.

Anyway, the real story is that fucking assholes from Indiana like to drive 65 in a 70 zone FOR THIRTY MILES. Fuck Hoosiers, fuck their goddamn Fifo brethren and fuck the lady in the van in front of me that refused to relinquish the third and fastest lane to me because she apparently liked the formation flying in which she was engaged.

I'm now sufficiently pissed and want another beer.

good day fuck wads wherever you are.

These are so geeky cool

http://echosphere.net/star_trek_insp/star_trek_insp.html

cleaning out the man cave. hold on- that didn't sound right

I preparation for cleaning and painting, we have done some out tossing of old shit, like the idea that cousin Luke's son will ever get laid in the cabin.

Patio furniture and folding cots will be the replacements to old anything that can absorb water and harbor rodents and spiders

dry as a funeral drum

Deluge part dos didn't arrive, so my cousin Luke, my brother Darryl and I went down to the U-boat in Boston on Saturday for to haul away a bunch of junk in preparation for cleaning and painting. Fifteen beers later, the place was cleaned out and the truck loaded up.
We hadn't even finished unloading the truck in front of Bob's house(why have the trash in front of mine?) when a junk-scrounger pulled up for all the metal parts. He got the goods, we got the shit out of there, and things are going along well.
If my other brother Darryl doesn't need me for painting rooms in his new house, I'm going to see if I can head back down there this week for some more prep. Of course, that's only if it warms a bit.
I'll get pictures as it progresses.

Speaking of pictures, there's a familiar funny at the very bottom of the blog. Enjoy.

When the rain comes, they run and hide their heads

The rain is a pourin' down. I was going to take my lunch outside and watch the planes practice for the air show, but now I don't think that's gonna happen. Were I to stand outside now and look up for 15 minutes, the void where my brain should be would fill up with water and slosh around when I walk.

Trends being what they are, it has been historically the case that when we have good weather for Thunder over Lewavul, it'll rain on Derby Day, and vice versa, so I'll take my air show getting rained out.

Since Louisianna has horse racing, I'm sure the good doctor has been to a few races. And since Yankee and I drank a lot of beer at Churchill one Sunday I know he has, and I know damn well that Cousin Luke has, since I've lost money next to him on several occasions. For those wanting a refresher, here you are:

http://www.drf.com/flash/drf_pp_tutorial.html

The harder I handicap, it seems the worse I do.

It's the Lord, Noah

I will be building up the burm this evening, as we are to get muchos rainos this next four days. Who knows, maybe I'll start a paper boat regatta in the basement.

Is there prayer for sump-pumps?

The good news is that I'm looking forward to people drowning in the Ohio river this Saturday. Well, not looking forward to, but merely expecting.
Thunder over Louisville is this saturday, and that means a huge crowd on the waterfront to watch fireworks. Here's the catch- the city is not going to put up any sort of fence or barricade to keep people from the swollen river. The city expects people to use their best caution and exercise restraint.
Wa-wa-what? We wouldn't need traffic lights and stop signs if people were capable of that.

In other news:
http://www.derbypost.com/betting.html

and remember, no one ever wins out of the auxilliary gate. Isn't that right, John?

Don't worry, I've seen that finger before.

someone get me a snorkel

John, you're going to have fun with this one since you know the place.

Yesterday evening it began to drizzle. As it wore into night, the drizzle became rain. At midnight a thunderstorm parked its ass on top of us. I believe the meteorologist said we received an inch and a half of rain in three hours.

I heard the sump pump running in the basement, and I thought I'd check out how it looked, since I had earlier moved all the stuff out of the way that could get ruined. Holy mother of fuck what I saw- the water was coming in the basement door from AROUND THE SIDES AND FOUR INCHES UP THE DOOR.
Knowing full well that this meant there was seven inches of water at the base of the outside stairs, I thought I would be smart and snake out the drain from outside. I donned my yellow foulies and my water-proof boots and went out to do some work.
Did you know that wood ramps in the rain are slippery? Well, I picked myself and my now half-spilled beer up off the muddy yard and started down the steps. I got to the bottom step and put my foot out. Now, I've never been a math wizard, but I should have known that if my waterproofs go up my leg five inches, and I know that the water is seven inches deep, that would leave me with two inches of ice-fucking-cold water that would, without restraint or compunction, flood my boot faster than a submarine on an emergency dive. I immediately pulled my five pound boot out of the arctic sea, setting off a set of events that are funny now-if you're not me.
I wasn't expecting the extra weight on the quick-jerk reaction and put my arm out to steady myself on the edge of the step well. I was about three inches shy of where I needed to be, so instead of stopping, I found myself falling toward the concrete. "AH-HA!" I thought, "I'll spin around and my back will wind up against the door and I won't fall."
I was pretty sure my deficiencies ended with math and diplomacy, but what I didn't realize is that this decision would mean that I would have to sacrifice my smarter, drier foot.

Having successfully snaked the drain, I heard the rush of the water going through the pipe and then I heard the sump pump start. "Yeah. I have defeated Poseidon's angry hoards at my gate," I believed, failing to realize that he was sending gallons of reinforcements by air.

I looked up at the top step of the bumpy funnel that led to my now re-clogged ass drain and noticed something odd- the water was flowing down so fast from the yard that it wasn't following the normal, time-tested, step-to-step policy to flooding my basement. I instead witnessed a mini waterfall in all of its splendor.

Staying up until four in the AM is nice in college and all, but when you have to snake the drain about 2o times and build a dam out of bags of concrete and mud, not to mention dig a trench with camping maddok, fuck all of that.

While on campus today, I fell asleep sitting on the toilet. I don't know if any republicans came by and took pictures.

No Camry for Old Men

These last two weeks I have been calling around, looking on the internet and in the paper for used cars within my rockin' rolla's and bank account's peramiters. With gas rising and people thinking that they're sitting on goldmines, prices have been high, so they get the gentle 'fuck off.'

I started looking toward lots instead of individuals, because people are pricks when it comes to selling their own cars. I know, I've seen me do it. Dealers nowadays use their 150+ point checkup where they make sure that all the parts work as they are supposed to, including grabbing the car's tires and asking it to cough.
This is how I and cousin Luke found ourselves at a Toyota dealer on Dixie Highway with a fella named Bob. I told him that I was looking for used. We started over to some smaller cars to where he pointed to some Chevy compacts.
"I don't want any of the American shit. Their small cars suck. You have to go to luxury before you find something decent."
With an odd look, he looks around the lot for a few seconds employing his 6'3" height to full advantage and began steering us in the direction of some newer-used cars.
"This one's nice, and it's only twelve thou..." He looked back at me and ceased when he saw me repeatedly pointing lower and shaking my head.
"I want under ten."
"Oh, well, uh, I'll see what we can find."

Two cars fit the description.
A 200 rolla with 107k , and an 01 Camry with 89k.

I don't think he knew what he was getting into when he let me test drive them, including the term "brake check."
Assuredly, he had never seen a testdriver swerve at a pedestrian, and even less so have the driver instruct the person in the passenger seat (Luke was next to me, with Bob in the back seat) to "get 'em with the door."

Some other terms with which I don't believe he has been familiarized during test-drives:

"Shit on a stick, fella. Get moving."
"You slow mother fucker."
"The goddamned car's not shifting right."
"Drive it or park it, dickwad."

A chuckle did come from the back seat when, after pulling to a stop and eyeing the future single mom (it's PRP for pete's sake. You know I ain't lyin') in the car next to me saying, "Hey Baby!"
When the light turned green I said, "bye, baby!"

I believe in test driving like I normally drive, and I bet he's got a few new stories to tell around the salesman campfire.

I'll soon be coming to a sidewalk near you.

had to change

I have been telling myself this last year that the old color on my blog was red, and not the protestant orange that John believed.
Well, it started to look more and more orange, so out it went since I hate the protestants almost as much as the catholics, jews, especially muslims, pretty much all of the let's-meditate-and-find-our-center-of-peace asian crackpot religious stew mobs. Are mormans considered double protestant?

So I went with irish-catholic green. Anybody who can drink and fight and get up the next morning and dig sewers apparently is my role model.



In other news:
I'm currently in the hunt for another car, so I'll be driving around this weekend to different lots and private sellers, so I'm sure they're be fodder for a good rant or two.

We Return You To Your Regularly Scheduled Boredom

Wow! Did you guys see this? It turns out that this huge fucking ape climbed up a building in New York, and our air force had to take him out! Our military rocks! Support the troops! We need another surge! Four more years!

A commercial?

Shit. It was just a movie. I thought I was watching Fox news.

I'd hate to see the way you drive

Now, I don't know about you, but I find myself getting very fed up with assholes that speak very slowly on the phone. I got a call from someone the other day at work, and it was someone from one of our stores calling me. This gentleman proceeded to speak like he was in stroke therapy.
I had stopped listening since it was too hard to pay attention to what he was saying. I remember thinking, "Mother fucker, you called me- don't you know what you wanted to say?"
Making the requisite 'speed up' motion of rotating my hand toward the phone, I was nearing the counter at Whiteys. When I made it up to the cashier, I had had enough. In the middle of his next sentence I blurted out, "I'm getting ready to order lunch. I gotta go," and hung up on him.
I did it in the same way you would say, "Get off my porch, dickhead, or the only thing you're gonna witness is your ass gettin' whipped."
Not planning on getting into a long conversation? Then spit it out! Are you talking slowly because you're trying to do three things at once? Call back when you're down to one.
I enjoy talking on the phone to people I can't see every day; I don't like having to be on the phone because people can't feel for the hair and pull their heads out of their assess, and especially if it's for work.
The thing about work calls that irks me a bit more is when people call me and then say, "hold on" so they can finish other business before they return to the phone call that THEY placed. Were you surprised that I answered my phone? When it makes that funny noise and vibrates (and didn't come from your mom's sock drawer), that's the clue to answer it. That's what I do!

If I haven't seen you in a while and I like you (fat chance), then let's talk. Otherwise speak your piece and hang the fuck up.

And we'll have fun, fun, fun, till allstate takes the 'rolla away.

Woo hoo!
I'm getting $4,600 for my rockin' rolla, so I'll be able to move up a couple of years for the purchase of my next vehicle.

I'll add another K to the total and try to get something made in this decade.
Since I'm not looking to make car payments, I don't believe I'm going to be going to pay too high a price for a car.


In other news-
If you haven't been watching "John Adams" on HBO, it's your loss. The screenwriting is superb. I'm noticing things being written in the same way that the Grenada TV folks did Sherlock Holmes, writing around descriptions, and including things in conversation that were written, but were very important.

Spoiler alert- His son gets elected president.

Play me a dirge, matey!

This past Monday I was driving in Old Louisville when some yutz in a Ford Explorer decided to take a left turn from the right hand lane. I didn't have time to say "shit," much less do it.
Not too much damage was done, but it might be enough to total it purely based on market value of the car, and not based on the fact that the thing is mechanically terrific and gets 28mpg.

I did, however, manage to hit the street sign, so if you're ever at the corner of Brook and Ormsby, look for my trophy on the north-west corner.

This just in:
While I was typing this, the phone rang and Allstate wants to total my car.
"Andy? This is Ditzy Mitzy at All State, and I have some bad news."
"If you tell me you're totaling my car, I'm going to come to your house. That car gets 28 miles to the gallon."
"I'm sorry, but the estimate was over $3,000, and it's state law that when it's over 75% of the car's value..."
"State Law? don't you mean All State's law? What are my options?"

Basically, they're going to look it over, decide what they want to pay me, and we go from there. I can't believe this- I'm getting fucked by an insurance company that's not even mine.

On the bright side, the guy that hit me was pulled over about two hours earlier for speeding. Both of his events that day happened in his girlfriend's Explorer. Now, there's a relationship tester!

Pretzelrama!

I used the phrase the other day in a professor's office. She was talking about students complaining and asking for special treatment. I asked her, "Did you tell 'em what they're doin's like asking for pretzels in the Sudan? It just ain't gonna happen."

I got a chuckle out of her, but you could almost see the animated cursor in her eyes as her brain tried to work out that little hum-dinger.

Classic.

We can drink, fish, and stay overnight

Hey fellers, I just wanted to let you know why you want to come to da Ville. Cousin Luke and I are renting a cabin on a small lake about 35 miles away from Louisville. It's a cinder block two-bedroom, front room/kitchen. Electricity, but no running water.

Luke and I were replacing some wood and framing up a window this last weekend, and will be cleaning out all the old stuff and painting soon. This cabin will be pretty spartan, with all the chairs and table being the plastic patty o'furniture, with maybe a metal flip and fu, I mean futon in the front room.

This isn't a major operation; you can fish from the dock or go out on a john boat and fish for crappie, then come back up and drink more beer.
I'm going to the cabin to do some more work, so I'll get some pictures of the place.
Of course, this means I have to carve another rudder...

I just figured if you're ever in the area, we can get away for almost nothing.

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.

Shit on a stick

I got new glasses this last weekend, and wound up spending 3 hours at the mall. I had a hell of a story, and when I pressed "publish post" I got an error message, and then a blank screen.

So basically I wasted fifteen minutes typing about wasting three hours at the mall.

To hell with it.

At least the 70mph wind gusts we had a couple of nights ago are allowing me to replace some shingles on my roof. It's only 25 deg outside. What can go wrong?

I fully expect to be typing with one hand tomorrow.

Hit me days are here again

Dear hip-hop youths,
Your hand is not a belt- pull your goddamned pants up. The droopy pants thing started in prison. It was a signal to show potential "lovers" that they were open for business and wanted to get a big-ole dick shoved up their assholes. Therefore, you are telling people you are gay when you imitate them.

Either get serious about school, or go on and start your career in action packed world of auto detailing. The world doesn't owe you a living- either decide you want to learn and do better, or accept that people will look down upon you for the rest of your life, and that it is your fault, not theirs.

Turn your fucking radio down. If I wanted to listen to your radio, I'd be in your car.
You don't have the right to pollute my air. It's bad enough that you're wasting my air by breathing it, but should I have to listen to you doing it?

Hurry the fuck up when you cross the road; especially since you're in the middle of the fucking block. I realize that the wind blowing by you makes it hard for you to light your blunt, but holy shit. I mean, Colonial goddamn Williamsburg has fucking sidewalks for Christ's sake. "Halteth thine tredding, young negro boy. Thou musteth walk on the sides, not in the middle of the lane, lest thee be hit by yon hasty coach."

Stop reinforcing stereotypes if you don't like hearing about it. Life is not ALL ABOUT SHOW.
Don't let your peers (bros) pressure you out of trying to do better. If they like the gutter, let them live there. There's no reason for you to be like them.

And the reason this whole rant started- I do so hate career community college students. I know that there are many who are working into a university, but there are so many just wasting every one's time and taxpayer money.

If you jinx it, I'll punch you squah in the dick

Today is the first day of classes here at Udabell, and things are progressing well. We've planned well, printed early, and GODDAMN IT, WILL MY PHONE EVER STOP RINGING!?

Well, I was at the store, and someone asked if my day was going well. I told him thing were not bad, but I've had better days. SERIOUSLY PEOPLE, I'M TRYING TO TELL A STORY HERE. QUIT FUCKING CALLING ME!

Where was I? Oh yeah- had better days. Anyway, I told him I didn't want to talk about it. He said there was nothing wrong with having a good first day of classes.

I told him the title line and then FUCKING GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKERS. LOSE MY PHONE NUMBER ALREADY. I USED TO LIKE MY RING TONE.

Does anyone know where I can get a ring tone that is a person that yells,"Another idiot on the line for you sir!"

Fire- It Does the Body Good

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.

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."

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!"

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/

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.

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.

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.

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…

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."

no kidding

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=FIFO

a fifty dollar bag of chronic?

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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 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.