So much for waiting ten minutes

It is said that if you don't like the weather in the Ville, just wait ten minutes- it'll change.

Well, for this last week, that's a load of shit.

Luke and I have been waiting for the weather to cool about 8deg so that we can get the second hive body on the beehive so that we can have a strong enough hive to make us a lot of honey next year and keep them from swarming this year. Unfortunately, the weather being as warm as it is means that many of the bees hang out on the outside of the hive in order the lower the amount of heat in the hive, and there is no fucking way that I'm getting near the hive when there are about 400 bees on the outside of the hive not wanting to go in, not counting the number of their sisters flying in from foraging nectar and pollen. That's just a recipe for meeting the ER staff. I mean, I'm sure they're fine people, but I'd rather meet over a beer instead of signing HIPAA release forms. Call me old fashioned.

We're going to try tonight since it's supposed to rain today and cool down. Once that's done, the only thing left to do this summer is drink beer, fish at the U-boat, and eat non-salmonella produce from my garden.

Did I mention drink beer?

Byron by popular demand

I have a bunch a pictures of Lady Byron, but I have nothing for July.

Any ideas on who should be the next one? Ooh. I've got it. The perfect lady. She's cute, she cooks, she's Rachel Ray. Or, that hispanic cooking chick. She's hottern' cracklin' grease.




In other news, I got number 12 last night with the flashlight spotting help of our fine firefighting friend.

She's back!

One faithful reader sent in a picture of my bedmate, Katherine Heigl. I don't know if he just missed her, or if I started to use too many wurds and not enough pichers.

The new phrase the my brother Darell used last night to describe someone who is adamantly set on never straying from their idea of proceedures or structure is "Yeah, he's about five minutes from Wapner."

He, of course used it to describe his son, which is why I was laughing so hard I was heep-ing for about five minutes.

Now for the other picture.

Why, oh why, oh why

I had an interesting yesterday evening. It started out by not being 98 degrees, which was excellent working outside weather.

Tons of tomatoes coming in, which is good enough on its own, but when coupled with the salmonella scare, I might be sittin' on a patch of gold. The recently transplanted cuke already has three buds on it, and the bees are seriously taking care of my beans.

On to the fun:

A guy I work with broke his mirror off when he tested how hard he could back up without seeing a telephone pole in the parking lot, so we got him another, and I was to paint it last night.

I get a beer to drink, grab the can of spray paint and start shaking it. Shaking the paint while I walked around the house, I watched a little TV, walked around the yard, and back inside. On my way downstairs to paint, I switched hands with the paint so I could get another beer out da fridge. Shaking the can down the stairs, when I got to my bench I sat down the paint and went to open my beer.

cha-chik-SPLOOOOOOSH!

My dumb ass didn't switch which hand I shook, just the cans. I shook my beer for about 25 seconds before opening it.

At least I didn't drink the paint.

So the AME Zion pastor said, "Sure. God would drive a Mercedes, why can't I?"

The cabin is now habitable. I wanted to have about eight more beers, go fishing and sleep over on Saturday, but we(he) had to get back.

In other news, my friends down the alley thought that yelling at 1AM is acceptable. I thought they needed to meet the police.

I doubt they'll be making a lot of noise into the wee hours any time soon.

The only U-boat with a bar

If you're in the Appalachians, you now think that the boat comes with a bear in it.

Cousin Luke and I will be in Boston tomorrow doing some wiring and painting. Well, he'll be doing the wiring, and I'll be painting, as electricity makes Andy go ouch.

The cots will be going down there along with bed rolls and pillows (in space bags) so that whenever we're down there and too drinky or a thunderstorm parks its ass over us, we can stay overnight.

We'll get some pictures and maybe I'll catch a stick or two.

The dog looked 18, Officer!

It is officially swamp-ass hot here in da Ville, at least for the next day or two. I was walking today, and I believe that I heard my balls squeak as they rubbed against my legs because of the sweat.





Yes, this is the same town that had fifty degree nights two weeks ago, requiring, no, encouraging me to have beer/fuego nights on the porch.





I guess the good part is that my garden is exploding, including my four volunteer tomatoes and my volunteer cucumber. Hooray- garden.


The vols will probably be big enough to transplant when the Yooj is in town, so he'll have some work to do.

LOOK! A FRENCH BEAR!

Who knew?

Today is Wednesday, June 4th, the 156th day of 2008. There are 210 days left in the year.

On June 4th, 1942, the Pacific Battle of Midway began during World War II; three days later, American naval forces claimed a decisive victory over the Japanese.

In 1878, the Ottoman Empire turned over control of Cyprus to the British.

In 1896, Henry Ford made a successful pre-dawn test run of his horseless carriage, called a "quadricycle," through the streets of Detroit.

In 1940, the Allied military evacuation from Dunkirk, France, ended.

In 1989, Chinese army troops stormed Beijing to crush a pro-democracy movement, killing hundreds, possibly thousands, of people.

And in today's news:

Kari Byron talks about the night we spent together.

Maybe I'll just move the garden indoors

The roof has been leaking into my downstairs bathroom and creating a huge-ass mess. I've re shingled. I've patched, gooped, glopped, spackled, and covered the offending areas with every product that even hints at keeping the out-doors out-doors. It's time to strip off the old and re-roof and lay down new wood.

How hard could that be? You ask.

Not very is the answer.

So, I'll just get a dumpster, and put it up in the driveway...

SHIT- I STILL HAVE A FUCKING KARMAN GHIA IN THE WAY!

DAMN YOU, EVIL PEOPLE FORGETTING ABOUT YOUR SHIT AT MY HOUSE!

Do you have your fishing license?

After work today I'm going down to the U-boat at Boston to do a little fishing and a little provisioning so that we can do some over-nights and not go to bed with rumbly tummies.

I know what you're thinking, and no, you don't always catch enough fish to eat, and even if you did, we don't currently have a way to cook them, so unless you want to do a little Tom Hanks Castaway action, bring a fork and enjoy the raviolis.

I need to run some errands while at lunch today, so I'll be able to get some pictures of the place with Rastis P. Leroy Jr. out front holding the solar lamp.

I might even take the boat out.

In other news:

These hot days and cool nights are killing my pepper plants. Good thing there're more in the dining room waiting to go in.

To the moon, Alice!

Yeah, I don't have a whole lot to say seeing as I haven't been testing gravity lately, and I haven't been working in the shop much (sorry about your table, Yooj).

My brother Darrel sent this to me, and absolutely love this picture.

I didn't drop the ball. I set it down. Now go to hell.

This just in:

I won't be at work on Friday(tomorrow if you're reading today, or today if you're reading tomorrow).

I hope to finish painting the inside of the cabin and a lot of the outside. Ooh- I could stay over and go night fishing. Thank you, brain. I'm glad you're around.

So, for your viewing pleasure:

Once upon a fart

I made some hash the other night, and I thought at the time that there may have been a tad too much garlic in it, but when I let out a good one that emptied the office yesterday, I knew there was just enough.

Operation same pants fart is underway.



Quiet please for the movie.

Well, hello there!

Hillary may actually get my vote, but inadvertently

They had 2nd street closed so that we could waste $4 gallon gas waiting for Hillary's caravan to pass, and the cops were keeping everyone back. These dudes don't mess around.

I saw a cop push hand-belt droopy-shirted urbanite back onto the sidewalk after warning him several times that he couldn't cross the road.

I would pay to see that everyday.

Now, for a naked picture of Heigl:

HA HA!

Here's someone else we'll apparently never see.

Now, on with the show:

Barely had his foot on the gas

Big Brown by 5 1/4 lengths. Looks like the best chance in a long time for a triple crown winner.

And, my apologies to the Yooj, as Affirmed was '78, and Seattle Slew was '77. I don't know why I always want to put Seattle Slew right in front of Spectacular Bid ('79). Maybe it's an alliteration thing.

In other news, I'm sure by the end of this summer, my face is going to be synonymous with the phrase, "homicidal driving."

It was so nice yesterday to be at the cabin painting in the silence. It was even better catching fish (one bass, two nice sized bluegill) without hearing that jump-around thump-thump-thump sound of ghetto cruisers.

In other words, hold my gland...

Sheesh- you make one small change...

And now, so that maybe the Yooj will gain some focus:

And now for the rest of us, and especially Dan:You gentlemen have had a sneak preview to next month.

Under her dress, I did caress, I must confess...

Apparently everyone (all three of you) have been rendered speechless by the lovely Heigl, so I am therefore forced to cease posting her pictures in an effort to spawn conversation.

Instead, I give you this:

Do you know who's bum this is?

I'm sorry we lost you, but now there's more room in the boat

Instead of a grass-roots effort, I believe we need to put Yankee John under the grass.

Since he apparently can't find his computer with both hands, I shall observe one minute of silence for his departure from us...*fart*...there goes that.

Anyway, on with the show:

I took a movement on your blog

In order to get Yank-me John off his damn dead ass...no, I want him on his big damn dead ass- writing.

You're erudite. You are quite the wordsmith with many cunning slights of phrase. You're still retarded, but but you speak well for some one with three brain cells fighting for superiority. Unfortunately for you, the one called Mussolini wins in the semis, and it still has to take on Selassie in the final.

So I took off John's link and put on one that I can't read but has some neat pictures. At least John can look at those and maybe work on a poo, I mean, movement.

Speaking of pictures:

Spodaciously attired urbanites

I don't know if I'm going to make through the summer without killing someone. I'm tired of the ghetto blasting boom-boom coming from cars. I'm tired of retarded people pretty well daring me to hit them as they walk out into traffic.

Someone's not going to become a West Broadway martyr, they're going to become ghetto jelly as I continue to back up and run over them again.

I need to go fishing. Who's up for it?

woopsie

find a current. I mis-posted.

Damn computers.

In the ghetto

I was driving down fourth street here in the 'Ville on my way to a store by the university, and I was ASTONISHED at how fucking ghetto the area is. Now, I realize that working people don't want to be stacked on top of each other the way the old neighborhoods were built, but that doesn't mean the current occupiers have to wreck the area in which they reside.

I know that most of the property in that area is rental, but just because you rent doesn't give you the right to have a nasty, littered yard, park your ghettoed up fucking 70's hooptie up in your yard, and rob the stores nearby.

Two years ago hardly any store on 4th had bars over their windows. Now most of them do.

I've been living in this area of town for thirty years. Don't even stare at me like I'm invading your turf, because I have two things going for me: I too have guns, and I have enough money for a lawyer.

C'mon, you fucking aunt-jemima looking bitch; step out in front of my car.

I'm pissed. I need...

I feel better now.

Hey- what's that noise coming from under your desk?

We'll be heading back down this weekend to the U-boat to hopefully finish painting the front bedroom and common area and then start on the outside.

We had a lot of wind the last time I was there, and I got a nice shot of the flag:

Oh, and uh, this:

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.