Sound Familiar?

This Was Really Scary...

When I was 18, we ran into this guy who agreed to buy us beer. Actually, we waited in Chubb’s parking lot looking for the right guy to ask to buy us beer. When he came out with our beer, he was looking over his shoulder at the liquor store that he just left and said “Follow us in your car, and I will give you the beer,” We thought that he was worried about getting in trouble for buying beer for minors. I said okay, and started my car. My friend, who shall remain nameless, said “Don’t let him lose us.” We drove to the outskirts of town and stopped behind the guy and his wife’s truck, in what turned out to be their driveway. He motioned us inside and we hopped out, a little wary. Inside he opened each of us one of our beers and put the rest in the fridge. The 4 of us drank beer and exchanged names, and then he told us about the partially burned up car out back. He said it was a 67 Chevelle that he “happened upon” and needed to get rid of it temporarily. He also told us that if we took it, he would pay us $500 each to hide it for a year. Now, at the time I was making $7.00 an hour, and at that time my friend had a place to hide such a car. So, we agreed to hide it for 12 months - after he showed us the title, pictures of himself and his wife with the car (not burned), and gave us a note claiming that the car was his, and that we were storing it for him. He would not tell us why he wanted rid of the car for a while, only stating that it was a personal matter. We came back the next day, met him out back and started up the car. Just the left side had burned, but the car smelled like it had burned for a straight year. When we got the car (it was fast, a 396 4 speed!) we gave the car a once over and covered it up with a tarp. So far, so good, right? Wrong. The next day, while I was looking in the glove compartment, two guys jumped out from the left side of the garage, they were wearing satin shirts and really tight black leather pants, doing a little side step jig to some real snappy music that came out of no where. 4 or 5 girls slid over the hood of the car (right on cue) and all of them started singing “They don’t know what is in the trunk, (clap, clap) they just think the car is junk (clap, clap) what they don’t know is going to get them in trooooouuuuble!” Then the lights went down and blue and yellow lights came up. There was a disco ball, too. Then they all danced in unison while a spotlight shown on one of the women while she sang an incredible bluesy jingle about greed and youth, despite the big band style that drove the song, God as my witness, somehow it just fit! Then my friend and the husband-wife team slid through the open garage door on their knees and belted out a neat little barbershop-style rockabilly treat that really got me tapping my toes. After that I joined in with the whole “…get them in troooooouuuuble!” thing, and we ended it all in a spectacular ensemble of stomp-style, knee-hitting, stomping, and clapping crescendo.

What you have just read is an example of why I can’t sit through a musical.

Piss Fight

You know how you talk about cool-to-do scenarios with friends or coworkers, but they would just never happen because the scenarios were kinda crazy? Like hiding in your grade school overnight, or blowing up a tank of gasoline?

Well, when I was in Mrs. Goldhammer's kindergarten class, my 3 or 4 friends always talked about having a pee fight. We acted it out in the bathroom every time we were in there. We would use the stalls as cover, jumping out from our hiding spot, pinched penis in hand. You had to pinch it because you had to be ready to fire. We talked about this forever (which was probably about 2 weeks) until one day right before nap time, we actually did it. I don't remember who started it, or even who was in it, but it happened. I remember laughing so hard that I had trouble breathing and that I had on dark blue corduroy pants. When we went back to class we were soaked with piss, and Mrs. Goldhammer didn't notice. If she did, she probably realized that we were going home in 2 hours, so why not just let the parents deal with the piss boys? We walked in and it was nap time, I had my little (red, I think) mat and lay on it giggling. It was only minutes before my butt was itching, and I remember the odor being very strong. The girl next to me either had a crush on me or she was slow. Either way, she lay on her side smiling at me the whole time and I told her to knock it off, I wasn't into chicks then and her smile was scaring me. I don't remember if my mom knew I was piss soaked when she picked me up (at noon, only half days then) and I don't remember if I was dry or if I told her. But I do remember that piss fight, and sometimes I smile or laugh when I think about it. I highly recommend doing something that you always talk about doing but never think you really will. I suppose I haven't outgrown the idea of hiding in the drop ceiling at my grade school with Ziegler and Kowal. We were going to run down the halls in our socks and slide for miles. But, I have outgrown the ability to be suspended for it while remaining free without jail time, court appearances and court costs for trespassing. Somewhere out there is about 4 other guys my age with basically the same story, and I don't know who the fuck they are, but I know they have told that piss fight story.

The Stickingstons

Episode 1: Cutting Your Losses!

When I Used To Bartend: Part 3. The Kountry Karaoke Klan

I worked at this bar, "Crusadors", from 1995-1999. On Sundays, and this really sucked for the bartenders, we had karaoke. Karaoke sucks for 5 reasons:

1) A very small amount of the population wants to hear some chick trying to sing a Fleetwood Mac song. Even if she is good, it’s still not going to sound like Stevie Nicks. No One Wants To Hear It, EXCEPT HER. Which reminds me…I need to write an entry on all the pretending our population has been doing lately (Guitar Hero, Fantasy Football, American Idol, etc.)

2) The accompanying/guiding music is bad midi (electronic) music or a shitty remake recorded by 13 year olds with ‘talent’. Basically, “Welcome To The Jungle” ends up sounding like Hanson recorded it.

3) The people who run the karaoke had the same intro every night. I mean the exact same intro.

The chick would get up and sing a D version of “Let’s Give ‘Em Something To Talk About” while swaying her 260 pound frame sexily about, and half way through she would stop singing and explain the rules of how their karaoke is run. Then right on money, she would finish her rules and dovetail right into that last chorus.

Her redneck husband would then have to offer up his even redneckier version of the original, “I’ve Got Friends In Low Places”. He didn’t start talking half way through the song, but he made up for it by talking in slow motion to anyone that had the extreme misfortune of making eye contact with him while being within his 15 foot flannel perimeter. Also, he was a close talker. *shivers*.

4) The people who ran the karaoke were country, pushed country songs, and drew a country crowd. Crusadors's was not country.

5) The people who followed this karaoke troop drank, but didn’t tip.

Now to the meat of it.

This guy with long frizzy hair, always pulled back into a pony tail, drank the shit out of Miller Lite cans. He drank so much that I think, by law, Miller had to send him thank you cards on Mondays. Crazy amounts of that shit. At the time, he could buy it for $1.25, which means every time he got a beer (we have established that it was many) he would get .75 cents back. Guess how much he left as a tip? Zero. To make matters worse, he sang a song every half-hour, and yes, they were the same country songs every week. *more shivers*

After a long winter of this thrifty, repetitive, redneck shit, someone found out, I don’t remember who, but someone found out where Frizzy worked. Hallelujah, it was a bar! And Hallelujah he was a bartender in "Villeville" and "Villeville" was only 15 minutes away!

At the time Villeville was pretty redneck. Not so much now, but back then, at their McDonalds drive through, a number 3 combo meal was Skoal chew and a Busch can.

Anyway, we find out that he works Wednesday night, Saturday night, and Sunday day. A good 6 of us* had Wednesdays off. We went in, faked surprise in seeing him and proceeded to order blender drinks, mixers with 7+ ingredients and Guinness on tap, all paying separately. We also called everyone we knew and tried to get them to come in, too. Before the end of the night, we had 15 people in there running Frizzy into a sweaty fury. We all left and yelled to him ‘see you next week, this is a fun bar!” while not leaving him a dime.

Obviously, this story would be perfect if poetic justice prevailed and he came in on that next karaoke Sunday and started tipping, but that is not what happened. Instead, we didn’t see Frizzy the next week. We saw Frizzy and his friends. This went back and forth for a month, and then it fizzled, or in this case, frizzled out.

What did everyone, including Frizzy, learn?

Never underestimate a redneck.
Always tip those who serve you.

What did you learn?

I (and believe me, there are more of us out there than you think) don’t want to hear your version of “Insert Song Here”. Reason number 17 that American Idol isn’t on at our house.

*One winter we went to a movie with loads of beer bottles in our pockets. We saw that movie where Al Pacino is the devil and owns a law firm, I can’t think of the name of it right now. Anyway, we sat in the back and one of us kicked over an empty and it rolled all the way to the front of the theater. I swear it took a full 2 minutes to finally stop. Oh yeah! The movie was The Devil’s Advocate. What was that idiot-sounding guy that was the main character?

Fat Cubs Eat Iron Tires

When I got down to Wrigley, my boss called to tell me that he wouldn't be there for another 45 minutes. Since he had my ticket I went to this Goose Island bar that had tasty beers. Not long after my first sip a strong poop urge hit me (despite my full poop earlier in my hotel that morning) so I high-tailed it to the bathroom - which was upstairs. I got in the stall, got my pants down and blabooberooblaaa! Horrible. The guy next to me started laughing, as well as I did. But then the smell got me and I started gagging. I pulled my shirt up around my nose, but that was no use: it was really bad. The night before, I drank nothing but Beck's and Fat Tire, and at the (Iron Maiden) show I consumed a bunch of cheap drafts, hot dogs, and pizza. Then we went to Steak ‘n Shake and I ate a triple steak burger, bowl (not a cup) of chilli, onion rings, fries, a large chocolate shake and a large coke. Ignoring the booze, hot dogs and pizza, Steak ‘n Shake alone added up to 3032 calories. So this poop is really, really bad. And then the guy next to me lets out a little cry and starts gagging too. Now I start laughing again because his little cry was hilarious. But then I start gagging because I am breathing so much "air" in. So he gets out really quick and then I get down to the serious business of getting this cheeseburger-chilli-onion ring-pizza-shake-hot dog-German beer-Fat Tire-poop out of me. I leave the stall, wash up and get out as fast as I can before someone else comes in. I walk around upstairs for a while and act like I am looking for someone just to air out whatever has permeated my clothes.

Now I am back at the bar enjoying my beer and this guys sits down a couple of seats down from me about 3 minutes after I sat back down, and he says to the bartender, "Someone must have shit all over one of the stalls, you can't even go in there to pee." Since I had asked the hotty bartender where the pisser was 10 minutes earlier, she looks directly at me and asks me if it was bad in there, and I say, "Yeah, it is not good." And the guys says, "Not good!? You can't even go in there; I peed next door like everyone else is doing!" Then a barback shows up and is complaining to the bartender that he has to go clean up the men's bathroom because someone shit all over. Of course, I didn't shit all over, it was just that bad. I finished the beer and left, the bartender wouldn't even look at me, let alone get me another beer. Anyway, that happened.

Guess What We Don't Want...

...BUT THEN THEY WENT AND TOTALLY REDEEMED THEMSELVES!


Seriously though...

I am compelled to write about this because last week I witnessed something amazing. My wife and I went to some friends of ours house to help her with their twin 2-year old girls since mommy is recovering from ankle surgery. We were there about 2 hours, and during this time I watched the twins at the “terrible two stage” not be terrible at all. Sure one of them fell into a cabinet and got a bump on her noggin, but that is not what struck us. The girls were unbelievably well behaved, they spoke and understood what we were saying, and they played on their own, peacefully. We stayed for feeding time and what do you think that they ate? Mac and cheese? Ravioli? Nuked chicken parts? No, they had salads with actual vegetables. Then they had organic chicken and some cheese wrapped in a soft tortilla. I am not advocating organic, and there certainly isn't anything wrong with organic, its just that with the added cost I would feel the need to buy rot gut bourbon instead of Maker's. Getting back on subject: The kids had raisins for dessert. Fucking raisins! No twinkies, no cookies, just the raisins. And here is the neat part: They get really excited at the mere prospect of raisins! Our friend explained that they have never eaten surgery treats, but the nice lady at the bank gave them some once. What did the girls do? They looked at the foil wrappers and eventually stomped on them because they didn’t know what they were and weren’t fun to play with. The girls aren’t given sugar for a good reason: at that age sugar is like crack, which probably plays a part in their wonderful behavior. Besides, they can eat all they sugar they want when they are 10. Next, mommy brushed their teeth, complete with the girl’s cooperation with them making different noises and subsequently different ‘mouth manipulation’ that allowed mommy to brush all the different teeth. When that was over, they asked if they could be excused. Of course we were amazed because all my wife and I have ever seen is a madhouse of fits, crying, constant attention and want, want, want with some play mixed in here and there. Mommy then told us that if one of the girls does not get their way – she explains to them that all that crying will do is force mommy and daddy to leave the room; the outcome remains the same, except that they are left alone. Awesome. It almost made us want to have kids, but we aren’t going to, instead we are going to keep on drinking and retire early. Sorry Mom. Anyway, it was a cool and refreshing experience.

Un-Fucking-Believable

The dialogue you are about to read is true, not verbatim, but as close as I can recall. The names have not been changed because I didn’t need to protect anyone.

When I arrived at the gym at 11am on Monday I was shocked to see that the place was overrun with kids. First instinct was to cut and run, but I was already through the gate by the time I noticed. Actually, it was a pretty benign experience…until. Until, what I will call a “Center Of The Universe Syndrome” sufferer came into the weight room with his little friend.

I had just finished my 4th set on a bench and was sitting there, basically breathing and focusing in on Slayer on my ipod, when I noticed this kid (maybe a freshman) walk in and mill around, glancing in my direction and gesturing towards me while talking/complaining to his friend. I got up to get a drink from the fountain and had to walk past him. He stopped me and asked:

Mr. Center Of The Universe: “Hey, how many sets do you have left?”

So far - so good, that is good gym etiquette.

ME: “Three, but if you guys want to work in with me I…”

Mr. COTU: “Three!? Really!?”

Me: “…have no problem with letting you guys do that. My last set is a strip set. Yeah, three.”

It is considered good gym etiquette to offer another an opportunity to work in. I did.

Mr. COTU: “Three!?”

Oh fuck, I can‘t hold back. I know how this kid is, time to go deep.

Me: “How many sets are you guys wanting to do?”

Mr. COTU: “I don’t know, 5 or so.”

Me: “Well, I too will want to get in that many. Isn’t that weird?”

Mr COTU: How long will it take you!?”

Me: “OH! Well, Mr. Center Of The Universe, and I know your parents’ made you this way, so it’s not your fault, but you are going to have to wait. I would suggest that next time you either get here before me, or make arrangements with management that Mr. COTU needs to use whatever he wants, whenever he wants to use it.”

Mr. COTU: “Look, I was just asking.”

Me: “I know, and I told you. What was the Really!? and Three!? thing about? You asked and I told you. Got it? Most people do 5 or 6 sets, so why did you act like it was outlandish that I had three sets left? I know you are ultra important. Mommy and daddy have always said so, right? I am sure they pulled up as close as they could to the building when they dropped you off lest you had to walk more than 20 feet to get in here, right? You can wait or use the other one over there.”

Mr. COTU: “There is another one? Oh cool! Come on Kyle.”

Fuck Me. God help us all…

What will be arriving next week to my house, you ask?

This:



Muauahahaha!

Burn Victim Slain In Robbery Attempt At Suicide Prevention Safe House

Peoria, Arizona. Police arrested Jonathan Dean Fribs Friday for the murder of Zane Walters. Police said that on November 19th, at approximately 1:15 am, Fribs broke into Peoria County Mental Health Center. After he encountered Walters, he panicked and shot Walters in the face and neck with a small caliber handgun. He was pronounced dead yesterday after suffering for three weeks in Proctor Hospital’s intensive care unit. Readers may remember Walters when he caught fire three years ago while freebasing inside the Red Devil Turpentine warehouse where he worked. He sustained third-degree burns over 97% of his body and lost a hand, a leg, and an eye. Walters stayed in a rehabilitation center until he was released in August of last year. In September, Walters attempted suicide by crutching his way in front of one of his former employer’s trucks, but broke his back and pelvis instead. After that rehabilitation he was then was handed over to the Peoria County Mental Health Center on a suicide watch where he was then shot and killed by Fribs in the botched burglary.

It IS on the rise...

Objects In Your Man Day May Be Closer Than They Appear

I know I am crossing a line here...

Sound familiar?

Area Grandmother Finally Asked About Her Granddaughter While Wearing Her “Ask Me About My Granddaughter” Sweatshirt

Peoria, Arizona. Margaret Bloom was blind-sided Sunday when a fellow patron at the Old Country Buffet asked her about her grandchildren while she was wearing her “Ask Me About My Granddaughter” sweatshirt. “I didn’t know what to say,” said Bloom, “I was dumbfounded. What was I supposed to say? She is 3 and Emma is just a doll, but who would really care besides my family or friends?”

Bloom stated that she had worn the sweatshirt the last 2 years while Christmas shopping with no incidents, but she will not wear the shirt in public again. The patron who did the asking, Todd Ball, 22, offered his side of the story, “I have seen those damn things all over, ask me about this and ask me about that, I am just fed up with those things! So, I asked her. I knew she would get all weirded out, that is why I asked her, you know? Where do those people get off? Do you see me wearing an Ask Me About My Broken-Home-Childhood or Ask Me About My Lack Of Money Managing Skills shirt? No. How about that Ask Me About Helping Me Figure Out What The Hell I Am Going To Do Now That My Girlfriend Is Pregnant Again shirt. Nope not that either. So screw you Bloom, screw you and your damn sweatshirt.”

Myspaebardoesnotwork.

LastnightIspilledbeeronmykeyboard&thespaebardaoesnotwork-havetogetnewaaaaaaaaakeyborda.

somelettersarestickingdownandaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamaking

itveryhardtotype.

I Hate Watching Sports

Waaaa! We Lost!

Game: a competitive activity involving skill, chance, or endurance on the part of two or more persons who play according to a set of rules, usually for their own amusement or for that of spectators.

The Smell Of Suckcess

Pope Upset By 2 Deaths In Stampede, But Not Upset About Priests Nailing Little Boys

You Know It Happens

Area Fox Outfoxes Area Man

Indianainapolis, Indiana. An area man was reportedly outfoxed by an area fox on the area man’s property Saturday. Lars “John” Holdingston was entertaining some friends on his lavish estate when a skinny, a very skinny, fox ambled out of the woods. At first everyone thought it was a caterpillar with a tail and only 4 legs, but upon closer inspection it became apparent that the skinny furry creature was a fox. Guests reported that Holdingston threw the fox cheese and summer sausage until his arm was tired and cramping. The fox then promptly buried the cheese and sausage until [her] arms were tired and cramping.

Holdingston and his guests realized that they had been had when the fox began making loud stifled laugh noises and glancing in the group’s direction. It seems that the fox, an area prankster, had posed as an underfed struggling victim of the economic downturn. The fox had simply taken a few days off of eating to gain Holdingston’s trust to “allow me to bury his sausage in my holes,” laughed the fox. This isn’t the first time Holdingston has been jollysnaggled, readers may remember when he purchased speakers that turned out to be total shit from two guys in a van.

Rap Stars and Oprah Inspire (part 1)

Truthz

Public Service Message

Thanks, But No Thanks

Next winter (fuck I hate winter) someone I know is going to try to convince me to do something that I do not want to do. I know this because this person has been laying the groundwork for the last 12-18 months. I won't go into who, what or where, but suffice to say that I have no interest in it. No interest in it. None. I have never even acknowledged it when this person brings it up. And they bring it up every other time I see them. When I was 7 I didn't mind people "trying to convince me otherwise". I usually took the advice because I either knew they were right, lacked experience in decision making, or was forced because I was 7. Now, I am not trying to toot my own horn, but at 37 something I can make some pretty good decisions, and believe me that is because of lessons learned the hard way. Which is why I find it annoying and slightly disrespectful when someone tries really hard (and by hard I mean by basically repeating themselves) to convince me into making a decision that I know would be a bad one. Allow me to give an example, hypothetical, of course.

Bob wants me to go bowling one night with him and his friend, Dracula. At night. I have heard, and I'll bet a brown bushel basket of garlic cloves that you have heard too, that Dracula is capable of some pretty nasty things. Well, I tell Bob "No thanks, I don't bowl." Bob counters by attempting to entice me with beer and with one of those hot dogs that stay warm by spinning around on metal rollers. I politely decline and change the subject. After a few minutes discussing his truck tires, he "asks" me again by saying "Why don't you just go with us this once, it will be fun?". I am forced to repeat myself by telling Bob that I do not bowl, and quite frankly bowling alleys have horrible franks and beer, frankly speaking. NO THANKS. But Bob won't let it go, "Dracula is totally cool, you will like him, and this bowling alley is HUGE, you have to see it!" No I don't Bob, I don't want to go. "Dude, once you see the building, you will be all like WOW! You were right! I love everything you do and all the people you hang out with, Dude, I am telling you, wait until you hear Dracula's jokes."

What Bob doesn't get is that he is making a bad decision. Oh sure, Dracula may be quite a nice undead these days, but it would be irresponsible of me to accompany them and I wouldn't have fun because I would be uneasy, to say the least, the whole night. He wants me to make the same bad decision based on Dracula's reluctance to bite him, and I am not interested in the risk/reward ratio in front of me. Finally, I have to let him know how I feel about being with Dracula at night. What do I get? "Aw man, he isn't like that. He used to be kinda murdery, but man he just likes bowling. And you will too!".

No Bob.

This Be Droppin' On Your Ass Like A Mutha

The Stomach Flu Diet To Key West On.

PLUS




EQUALS AWESOME WEIGHT LOSS!

Five days before we were to leave for Key West for a week, I woke up after an hour of sleep to shit straight water into the toilet. Two hours after that I puked an enormous amount of purple-orange soup into a red 3 gallon bucket whilst shitting at least another gallon of straight water.

Golly. I had been at the gym 5 days a week for the last 7 weeks building muscle and losing fat. In fact, I lost 13 pounds and put enough muscle back on that I doubled my bench press. Now, here I am sick, wondering if

A) I will miss my last 4 days of the gym before the vacation.
B) Will my wife get sick and have this on vacation, before vacation or the worst of all, sick on the plane.

Well, after being quarantined for 3 days and missing some friend’s of ours dinner party the night before, we were to leave for Key West and my wife wasn’t sick. And she never did get sick. Hallelujah.

Fast forward 7 days and nights of drinking LOTS, 3 cheeseburgers in Paradise (with fries), a huge pizza one night (right before bed), and plenty of food here and there on wonderful Duvall street…and I lost weight, 3 pounds. Granted, it was probably muscle, but still. And that is with no gym time in Key West. It is true then, that you can't always get what you want, but if try sometimes, you just might find, you get whatcha need.

Hey everyone! Yesterday I inadvertently exposed myself to a 6 year-old girl!

After my workout, I head to the showers carrying my towel. Like all of you, I am naked in the shower. As I round the 1st set of lockers I see a little pink coat with fur around the hood turn towards me. At first, I just thought it was a little boy, but then I saw her face. She looked me right in the eye. And then right in the junk. I quickly covered and said “Oh shit!”, and her (I think) grandfather chuckles and gives me a big I-am-not-responsible-and-it-is-no-big-deal smile.






This is what I initially saw:









Then, I saw this:


I kept walking trying to cover my ass as I walked by. Talk about a shitty experience. I am going to tell management today – they have a day care at the gym and she can wait there until grandpa “3rd person exposure” changes his clothes and comes out to get her.


The blue line represents my path to the showers.

The gray dot represents grandpa smiley.

The pink dot represents you-know-who.

Ugh.