The Leap

I used to have dreams as a youngster, where I could see almost all of our farm from a birdseye view. Had it for years, and then told my ma about it. Come to find out, when I was three, I climbed the silo all the way to the top, and stood in the little crow's nest checkin' the place out. About the time my dad started to climb up, I decided it was time to come down, so I made my way, yelling at my father to "get out of the way, Daddy, I'm coming down!" When I reached arms' level, I was yanked off of the silo, and my little bottom blistered. I never had a problem remembering the spankin', but I did forget what had brought it on!

As I got older, I never feared going places that I probably shouldn't, jumping off of things that I knew I shouldn't... no fears, no worries. Except about getting my ass beat. But the unknown was a fun thing.

Even as an adult I was that way. Part of why I joined the Marines at 24. Something I wanted to do, and I wanted to do it now. Times at my job had slowed down, so I wasn't too worried about that, I just wanted to be a part of the Corps.

My whole life, I've never truly feared the unknown... it may have made me nervous at times, but I was never scared.

So why, now that my situation is the same as walking the plank, but within swimming distance of land, am I afraid to take the jump? Weird how things change.

Dueces Wild

I've only celebrated one milestone since I started this thing over a year ago, and that was to celebrate my first 1000 hits. But sometime late Friday, or early Saturday, I should hit 22,222. Used to be my old clock number, believe it or not.

Oh, I know it's not that many... some blogs have been around just as long, and are over the 100,000 mark. That's cool. They have important things to say!

So I'm trying to figure out what, if anything, I should do for the 22222^th visitor. So far, a glass from the infamous Fritz's is the best I can do... Eric already had the old sock idea, and Velociman the Popeye hand puppet. Those were for 200,000.

Maybe the glass will have to do...

Sleep

Sleep is a fleeting thing... it's like a small town on a county highway. Blink, and it's gone.

'Course, some nights see many towns.

My Choice

Saturday, a good friend of mine was supposed to be in town from Iowa, so I went up to his sister's place to meet him. He was coming over to present some pyramid deal, but I was hoping just to visit with him. Originally, I was going to sit outside until the presentation was done, but Hey, I'm a nice guy... I sat through the presentation. And found that the bout of IJS (irritable Joe syndrome) that I've had recently was in full effect.

At one point, the presenter (not my friend) asked us the question I asked you below. He asked me about a truck, however, and not a car. So I answered first with, "I don't really know, other than something basic." He immediately points at me and says that I'm an example of what happens to us as we get older... we lose our imaginations. Heh... me losing my imagination. My mind, maybe... imagination, no.

This pissed me off, but I sat and listened to it until he said, "If someone would offer to buy you whatever you wanted, you'd get a pimped out ride, with spinner rims and decked out with everything." I was just opening my mouth to call bullshit, when my friend looked at him and said, "T, you don't know Joe. He'd have nothing to do with that. You don't know him at all." Did my heart good.

I kept quiet 'til he started talking about how this deal works... you buy your personal supplies through their outfit. Now, I'm on antibiotics, and trying hard to do things right, so I've not partaken of any alcohol, while most everyone else there had. No one was flat out plastered, but a couple were trying. So the presenter boy was getting heckled. I tried to be nice, and was acting like I was listening, 'though he already knew I wasn't.

Anyway, when he explained how you buy everything from them, he mentioned that they had everything you could think of... from diapers to building supplies, energy drinks to hunting gear. Everything. Everything? I wondered. So I asked, "How about beer? Beer's the only thing I use in bulk." He got irritated and mentioned something about drunks... which pissed me right the hell off. "Dude, I'm probably the most sober person here... I haven't touched a f*&kin' drop of anything but water. I wouldn't call me drunk." My friend started saying almost the same thing, and presenter apologized.

After it was all over with, I was still stewing over his dumbass comments, so I went up to talk to him. Now I didn't go up and try to be a dick to him. I just talked to him, and let him know that he shouldn't be trying to tell people how they think. That can't be good when you're trying to sell something. I explained that were someone to buy me a truck, a basic four wheel drive is all I need. An oldie but goody. Something I can smack into trees in the woods, and not worry about scratching paint.

But a car? Ah..... the endless possibilities! Most likely I'd go with an American muscle car late sixties, early seventies. Sure, a Jag, Ferrari, Lamborghini, Aston Martin, Porsche... many other fine European cars would be sweet. But I've kinda got a thing for 442's. Or maybe even a Camaro... 69 SS, or even better, '67 Yenko....

I suppose there are a couple of different reasons for this post:
First, to bitch about people trying to tell others how YOU think. Something I hate more and more as I get older. I will admit to being a fine example of that.
And second, to see if maybe the prick was right... maybe we do lose a little of our ability to dream.

I'd like to think not.

F...ing Thieves

This article is probably old news... but it's still pretty F...ing funny. It's about a small town in Austria that just can't seem to keep their town signs around. Most of the thievery is blamed on the Brits, but I've gotta say, I'd be interested in more than just the "Sound of Music."

I thought it may be a joke, so I checked... it's true. And there's a couple of pictures of the signs.

F...ing childish? Maybe. But it's still funny stuff.

Question Time

I was asked this question the other night: If some one were to offer to buy you any car, or truck, with no strings attached, and no limits as far as spending, what would you ask for?

I'll post my answer when I get back from work.

Humbled

I think I'm going to have to notify the Big Guy when I'm making a joke...

After posting about my ride down to Tennessee, I emptied the dryer, shook out the clothes and folded them, grabbed my work shirt and left. I ran into the gas station to grab a Powerade (blue) and a breakfast sandwich. Walking from one side of the store to the other.

Got to work, and on the way in, stood in the aisle talking with one of my friends. Then hurried over to the time clock, punched in, and headed over to my area.

I put down my chow, walked over to my day guy, and got the lowdown on the jobs. Then I turned around and saw it...

A dryer sheet. I don't know where it was hiding, but I lugged it around for all to see. At least it wasn't toilet paper.

Heaven

Watching the sunrise, I was taken to another place, as my thoughts drifted.

I had ridden through the outlands of Hell for most of the night. Lightning strikes were close, and looked like demons shaking their long fingers at me. Every now and then, one would waggle his finger in my face, the flash and thunder simultaneous. For most of eight hours, I was bathed in the tears of lost souls. At one point, hailstones rained, as I tried to protect my hands from their crushing sting.

The wind had literally slid my bike across my lane of traffic, giving me an uncomfortable view of the ditch. And somewhere out there, there lurked at least one beast, twisting violenty and destroying all in it's path. Fortunately, I never met up with him.

I was cold, wet, and tired... no, exhausted as I turned towards Knoxville heading out of Lexington. As I rode, I shivered and waited for dawn, only an hour or so away. Soon, I entered heaven.

The darkness slowly gave way to an ambient light as I rode through the mountains, revealing scenes that gave me goosebumps upon my goosebumps. I was one of only four vehicles on the road, so we didn't have to share the pictures with many others.

Fingers of smoke drifted across the road, though no smoke could be detected. The Sun, an ominous red eye, could be seen trying to force it's way through the haze, and over the mountain tops. Our path was well lit, while in the valley to my right, the lights of a small town twinkled in the darkness. To descibe the scene in a word: ineffable. I know. Lame description, but it truly could not be described properly... at least not by me.

This is where riding a bike is so cool. While the other vehicles on the road got to enjoy this scene, I was part of it. I was it. Out in the open, on the bike, you become one with all around you, and it is one with you. Nearly god-like.

Now, I'm not saying I'm a god, ' least not in this instance, but should the Big Man Himself choose to buy me a beer in a moment like this, He could never be accused of fraternization.

Countdown

One week with no caffeine and no beer. Four days since the last two gin and tonics. No alcohol for another eight.

My thought process has been jacked with... I feel good, and I feel pissy all at once.

Officer Krupke

Perhaps I overthought my post about the East Coast Story... I awoke to "Gee, Officer Krupke" echoing through my head.

I'm going to have to throw the movie in now for background noise as I clean. Or at least try to clean. I may just start dancing.

Vote By Beer

My kind of survey.

The "Waehle mit der Kehle" poll allows beer drinkers at the Bundespressestrand to choose between the "Schroeder tap", which is painted in the SPD colour red, or the "Merkel tap", painted in Merkel's CDU banner colour of black.

Great for an opinion poll, but I'm not so sure you could use it for an election. Results could be interesting.

East Coast Story

A co-worker and I were discussing football today, and the Dolphins came up. I have them as one of my defenses in fantasy football... not hoping huge things, but they do have some pretty good games. Anyway, he asked me why it was that Miami would choose Dolphins as their name, as opposed to Sharks, since Florida has had a few incidents lately, and sharks are just plain vicious by nature. I gave him my answer, then came home to research it, just to prove that I was right.

1959: The American Football League is organized. Joe Foss, a former Marine major, Air Force colonel, and South Dakota National Guard brigadier general, is the commisioner. One of the original teams is the New York Titans.

1961: West Side Story, featuring the delicious Natalie Wood, Rita Moreno, and a whole bunch of other people, is released.

1963: The Titans come under new ownership. Their name is changed to the Jets... most likely because the new owner really liked that movie. Foss is worried.

1965: Joe Robbie meets with Foss, who advises him to apply for a franchise in Miami. Everything falls into place as Miami becomes the first expansion team of the AFL. Robbie applies for the team name Sharks. Foss begins to have nightmares of team captains snapping their fingers as they approach each other for the coin toss. After visions of pirouetting linemen start, Foss tells Robbie that he needs to change the team name. Robbie is crushed, but decides to go with Miami Dolphins instead.

Foss was worried that half time celebrations would include knifings and stealing of the other team's cheerleaders. Choreographed tackles would not have been that far into the future. Thank the football gods for Joe Foss, and Joe Robbie's willingness to change.

After researching all of this, I found out that I may have been wrong about a couple of details. But I don't really think so.

Gettin' Better

After eating a couple of loaves of moldy bread, I decided to get some modern antibiotics. Recovery has officially begun... thinking is kicking into low gear. But at least it's working. And I don't have to deal with mold spores anymore.

Thank you for the well wishes, and stopping by.

Hell?

I'm thinking that this guy lives in Hell.

I hate snakes.

Alive

Yeah, I'm still alive, although I've been wishing for death. Sinus infection has caused my brain to leak out as a mixture of snot and pus. Thinking isn't happening on a regular enough basis, therefore no blogging.

I'll try to get better... like that time I was turned to a newt.

Helpin Out... Again (NSFW)

Once again, out of the goodness of my heart, I've decided to help someone out. As always.

As you may know, this guy is one of my blog faddahs. He's going through some rough times, so he's decided to sell his dining room table.

Or, perhaps this is just his way of asking for some new clothes.

Don't get it?

Click the links, and notice the photography style. Check the mirrors.

A Beer Question

Just a bit curious... does anyone know what "Heineken" actually means? It was the beer destroyed last evening, and while not that tasty, it wasn't bad. Today, I've been pondering the name.

After the wake up this morning, I am convinced that Heineken is Dutch for "Heinie From A Can." Literal translation: Butt beer. Ugh.

Picture Perfect pt. 2

Last week, Silk started Picture Perfect where she give you three images, and you write 1000 words about the image of your choice, or all three if you're feeling adventurous. She also posted the images for this week's assignment. Well, this week's edition is up, as are the images for next week's. Make sure you head over there, and check the stories out! There are some really good ones there!

All Part of Being So Damn Nice

Velociman doesn't do this much, but he's asking for some help. I'm sure that most of you already read him, but for those that don't, go on over and vote. Hell, that goes for those that do read him, too!

Recycle?

I haven't hardly had any time to blog, or read blogs lately, and tonight was a fine example of why.

Had someone lined up to cut the weeds grass, but he hasn't been able to do it all week. Miscellaneous reasons. I decide that tonight it's off with the weeds' heads.

Just got in. 8:30. Dark. Hot. Humidity is up around 178.6%. I am soaked. I fear that I may have truly sweated my balls off. I'm a bit worried about that bit.

So I take off the clothes that look like I just got out of the pool, and I wonder: Most of this sweat is probably from beer, or Christmas tree juice (gin). Maybe I could wring it out of the clothes and imbibe once again.

But as I thought about it, I decided to pass. I don't want any grass clippings in my drink.

UPDATE: Good news... and it's got nothing to do with car insurance. Just got out of the shower, and I'm happy to announce: "The satchel is still there, and occupied. I repeat... there, and occupied. Thank you."

I'm off to seek liquid refreshment.

Cleese Auction

Are you a fan of John Cleese? You really, really like him?

Really? Well, you're in luck. He's offering to share a piece of himself with his highest bidding fans.

A piece of John Cleese? Yes... his colon. Luck to all of you bidders.

UPDATE: If that link didn't work, try this one and scroll down to "Gutsy Role."

A Question

From the back of Velocity, by Dean Koontz, comes an idea for a question. (And, yes, I had to buy the book.)

Suppose someone left you a note that said this:

"If you don't take this note to the police and get them involved, I will kill a lovely blond schoolteacher somewhere in Napa County. If you do take this note to the police, I will instead kill an elderly woman active in charity work. You have six hours to decide. The choice is yours."

Tasty Tip

You want ranch dressing with a bit of zip?

Add some tabasco and mix well. Goes really good on spuds... especially fries.

Probably not an original idea, but DAMN it's good.

Personal Ads

An interesting way to post a personal ad. I thought it pretty damned ingenious, if not desperate, although he did say that it was in fun.

It's much better than my idea to do the same with beer bottles... the fines for littering are adding up way too damn fast. Perhaps I shouldn't have included the arrow pointing to my house.

Size

As time goes, so goes my post. Hopefully I can give ya long one, soon. Until then, Shorty is my name.

Advisory Follow Up

VW asked me to let you know how I brought up the topic of pubic hair at our advisory meeting.

Well, the meeting was yesterday, and I'm kinda ashamed to say that I brought it up in a different way than I had mentioned. I just informed them that we had small furry animals living in the urinals. The woman taking the minutes looked at me funny, so I explained that there were so many hairs in them, that it looked like there were a least two different hamsters in residence. I thought she was going to barf. Heheh....

• Study Describes Bar at Center of Milky Way

Heaven, possibly? Nah, wrong kind of bar. Bastards.

A Clever Trap

I've said before, women can be tricky. Once they're after you, you're pretty much done for.

Check out the latest snare. Notice the strategic placement of the scented decal. Chocolate and boobs. Mmmmmmmm.....

2008

Things are lookin' up for the 2008 elections, with the return of the Whig party. V-man outlines the platform. For more details, click the damn link.

Heheh... the world already seems like a brighter place!

The Cut

After much deliberation, I finally decided to do it. But even after I pressed the blade to my skin, I was hesitant. I mean, I haven't actually shaved since April, using instead a beard trimmer without the guard.

Damn, this feels weird. Face feels... nekkid.

Autumn

Got to see the new niece yesterday. Nope, no pictures... sorry about that. Truly. But there'll be some, soon. She's a little cutie. Long red hair (already... it showed up on the ultrasound). I never got a good look at her eyes, but they may be green... she tried to open them, and I got a quick peek.

Her big brother is funny as hell to watch. Always trying to hug or kiss on her. Little man's a riot.

Got to hold the wee little lass, and she's tiny. She was five pounds, twelve ounces, and seventeen inches long. Almost a perfect fit along my forearm. As I held the little princess, I noticed quite the family resemblence. Nah, I'm not talking looks... she looks alot like her mother's side. That's probably a good thing.

As I cradled her, my hand under her little bottom, she filled her pants. And brother, did that little one stink!! That's the resemblence I was talkin' about! I was so proud. 'Course, I passed her off to her mother when it came diaper changing time.

Almost a perfect little kid. Almost. I mean, she seems kinda dense... four days old, and still not potty trained. Her mother assured me that she'll be just fine, but I don't know. I can only hope.

Peevish

Mark, over at WitNit, had a post up the other day concerning pet peeves. I left a couple of things that can irritate me, but they aren't really peeves. I started thinking about what pisses me off, and foolishly began to think that nothing really, truly sets me off unless I choose to let it. That lasted for all of a day.

I was reminded the following day of a couple different things that almost violently irritate me. Whistling, and not asking for a favor, but instead... well, I'll explain. We've got a new dispatcher. He drops off stock to each machine, and places the order sheets on top of the container. The old dispatcher would pull his forktruck around so he could just set or drop the paperwork on top. New guy gets off of the forklift to do this.

Being nicer than Gott himself, I placed the orders on the jobs for him a couple of weeks ago. It's not my job, but it's also no big deal... usually. Last week he pulls up, drops off the stock, and then leans out of the forktruck and shakes the paperwork at me. Instantly pissed, I just looked at him. So he shakes them again. Let me say right now, while not a violent person, if he had been close enough, I would have busted his hand. I was. that. pissed. I yelled at him, "WTF is that supposed to mean? I can't read your f*ckin' mind... am I a f*ckin cur, and that's my f*ckin' treat? WTF?" He apologized and asked me to put the orders on the jobs. I let him know that if he would ask, it's no real problem, but shake shit at me, and I ain't gonna help you!

The whistling bit is along the same lines. Whistling tunes doesn't bother me. It's whistling to gain someone's attention. They have a name. Call them. You whistle like that, I ignore you. Hell, I get pissed when people whistle for others' attention, not just mine. I don't care if you have my paycheck. You whistle, you ain't talking to me. Frustrates the boss when he's whistling behind you, trying to give you your check, and you just ignore him... I know. Heheh....

What are some of your pet peeves?

Picture Perfect

Silk has taken up the mantle worn by Christina, and is now hosting Fictional Fridays. She's offering up a different variation of Take Two, as she presents three images, and the writer is to write a story of about 1000 words. The story can be of one image, or a combination of all three.

She's got some of the entries up, here, and here. My mind has been running in too many directions of late, so I've been easily distracted and put off. My entry is running very late, but I promised I would work up a story,
so here it is... though not a literary work of art.


The rains were falling, as Joe grabbed a beer, popped the top, and settled back in his desk chair. He checked through his e-mails, and found the writing assignment from Silk. She would give him three images, and he was to write a thousand words or less about the image of his choosing, unless he thought he might try to work all three together. It would be his call.

He watched as the first image started loading, complaining quietly to himself about the inadequacies of dial-up internet services. His complaints ceased as he viewed the first picture. With a slow smile spreading across his face, he was filled with thoughts of a past love. Things that had been, could have been, and maybe should have been, had he done things a bit differently. He chuckled to himself, "This may not be that hard of an assignment after all." He began typing.

As the second picture finished loading, another idea hit. It wouldn't just be a story of love gone wrong, but it would be a tragic story. A haunting tale. His mind spun with the possibilities that this could bring. "A ghost story," he finally decided. A story of a love thwarted by others. A love lost due to a brutal tragedy. The spirit of a sobbing woman searching eternally for that love lost. He grinned. "I could make this incredibly creepy." He deleted what small amount of story he had, and began typing in earnest, the stuttering click of the keys the only sound in the tiny room.

As he started laying the outline and various notes out, he began to think of tying all three images to his story, so he clicked on the download button for image number three. As he waited, he listened to the pouring rain, took a long pull of dopplebock, and sat back, savoring the full bodied malty taste. "Nothing like a good beer to kick the brain into overdrive," he murmured to himself.

As the third picture finished loading and appeared on his monitor, the unfinished bottle crashed to the floor, a knot forming in his gut. Sweat beaded on his brow, his face glowing pale as he stared at the last image. "This ain't funny! Why'd she send this?" His mind was filled with flashes of bright lights. Lightning? Or were these memories?

Unconsciously, he began rubbing the small lump at the base of his skull, as memories began piling up behind his eyes. Playing in the old barn as a child, when he felt himself flying through the roof. The tall bald stranger with the deep black eyes who appeared in the haymow from seemingly nowhere. Nosebleeds.

His encounters as a child were relatively harmless. Painless. Gray strangers, watching him. Talking to him, but not. Communication through thoughts. Some type of ESP. What the hell had they told him?

They kept coming as he got older. Less friendly. Taking samples of his skin. Sharp instruments displayed. Lost time, and cuts and bruises unexplained.

They were calling him even now, forcing him to get up and walk outside. The light in the sky. The bright light overhead, the cold table. The grays. Don't stick me with that! No emotion from the bastards. Pain shooting through his genitals. Blackness.

A warm trickle woke him, a droplet of blood coursing down the corner of his mouth, and landing on his arm. Joe wiped the blood away, and looked around. Visibly relieved, he was still sitting at his desk, clothing damp from sweat, bottle of beer on the floor. "That's a sin," he thought to himself. He examined the third image, looking at it scornfully. "How in the hell is a person supposed to pull a story from that?!" He wiped a new trickle of blood away, as he thought, pondered the possibilities. Realizing that he would not be able to tie all three images together, he resumed his ghost story.

As he started typing again, the trickle became a steady flow, and he reached for a kleenex to staunch the flow of blood, then stopped cold. There were wet footprints leading to his desk...

Quick News

My ma's been having a stressful time lately. To the point it's starting to affect her health. Well, today, one of the pieces of the serenity puzzle looks as if it's going to drop into place. Very cool.

And speaking of cool things... I've got a new niece! Cute little bugger. I was trying to check out the pictures, but I kept getting dust in my eyes. Yeah, that's what happened. I'm planning on going up to see her Sunday, so maybe there'll be a picture posted.

Cyber cigars for everyone!

Dancing

There's something about a woman moving to music. Soft, slow, subtle movements, a slight smile on her face... sexy. Whether she's unaware of being watched, or just doesn't give a damn, it's hot.

Once aware of being observed, however, things can change. Especially if she puts on the "Look, I'm Sexy" face. Things can go from hot to hilarious in a matter of seconds. (I have been known to actually start laughing, which doesn't go over well in a strip club.)

Last Saturday, at Ozzfest, I saw an exhibition that nearly had me rolling on the ground laughing. Shadows Fall (there's music on the link) were playing a thrash metal song, and I noticed a woman dancing to it... or trying to. Not a bad looking girl, she had the "Sexy" face on to full setting. Her head was hardly moving. Meanwhile, the rest of her looked like she was having some sort of siezure... appendages going in all directions.

Maybe it's one of those "you had to be there" moments, but it killed me. And best, or maybe worse... she saw me laughing. I think I may have hurt her feelings. Oops. Sorry. Heheh....

Another Question

One thing that used to piss me off while growing up, was my friends' parents' denial of any wrongdoing on their sons' part. "No, my son would never do that. No way." Maybe it was because we grew up in religious households, and to admit that your kid had done wrong was to admit sin. I don't know.

I do know that it didn't work that way in our house. At all. Not that my mom would believe everything that was told to her, but she considered it possible. She'd ask us, and we told her the truth. It didn't pay to try and pull a fast one on her.

I've seen it more often now, and to greater extremes. No longer just denial, but covering things up as well. I can't follow it, but then again, I am without spawn. There is no way in hell that my mother would have covered for us... if we did something, we payed for it.

All that, just to intro a question: As a parent, would you ever cover for your child after he/she had done something considered wrong? And if so, where would you draw the line?

WTF?

Seems like I've be out and about on some of the evenings I've chosen to imbibe. Typing out comments freely.

I've been looking at some of them, and I don't know what the hell they're supposed to mean. A fine example is one I left for Harvey. "Wake the f*ck up, and drink your Cheerios!" I was laughing my ass off when I left that, but when I came back the next day, I hadn't a clue as to what I was trying to say.

I know that there really is a hidden brilliance in these comments. You just need to be in the right state of mind, and I will then be found a hero. You see a comment from me that makes no sense at all, drink. Drink plenty. Your life will be brighter. Guaranteed.

Bull...ied

Been seeing things like this, and it just pisses me off. During the trial, the media was busy painting up the framing of Ms Jackson, and trying to show his innocence. Now they are hopping onto stories concerning jurors having second thoughts.

To them all, I say this: The trial is done and over with. You bastards had your chance to do what was right. The Queen of Poop is free, and you all can live with it, either in pride, or shame. Now sit down, shut the hell up, and accept what you've done.

A classic line:

"I kept asking myself, is there any slight possibility that this boy might lie at all? And my answer was yes," she said.

I feel like puking when I read about "I was bullied, or I was threatened." You're fricking grownups, not MJ targets.

Bastards will make a killing off of their "stories" anyway.

I think I may possibly hate them all.

The Flying Numbskull

Did ya see the White Sox beat theYankees? (Sorry, Ogre!) Great game. Been a great series so far, with a split between the two. Today's matchup of Freddie Garcia (CWS) vs. Aaron Small (NY) should be just as good.

Anyway, if you were watching the game last night, you probably saw a Yankee fan, hovering in mid-air. Okay, he wasn't actually hovering, but the idiot was on top of the safety screen behind home plate. It was pretty funny seeing him knock himself silly. And he did... he did it to himself. No one tossed him over, he decided he'd test the strength of the net, and dropped forty feet to the net below. Darwin comes to mind.

The best line from the article was this:

"After the final out, he was carried from the ballpark on a stretcher, his head immobilized in a neck brace, and taken to Lincoln Medical Center, where he was in stable condition at early Wednesday, hospital spokeswoman Jill Brooker said..."

It's not that I feel sorry for the guy, because he asked for it. I just found that line funny when compared to what happened.

Aww Crap!

My blog reading of late has been lacking... time isn't in my favor lately. But I do try to hit all the bloggers I've met, then alternating Bad Example Family members (if I don't have time to hit them all), and finally a couple of favorites that I try to catch everyday.

Well, one of my favorites is calling it quits. The reasons given are true to self and good, but it doesn't mean I'm not going to miss reading that blog. She's done a hell of a lot with other bloggers, as far as inspiring them to write, and has truly changed the way that many of us look at blogs.

The only positive that I can see about her departure, is that I'll have more time to try and read other blogs. Heh... no offense to any of you, but I'd rather keep trying to cram time.

I truly wish you the best in all you do, Chrissy. You'll be missed.

Money Making Op

Am I drunk? And if so, why?

Guess correctly, and you could win five whole US dollars. Guess wrong, and it'll only cost you a measly four ninety. A bargain! Paypal button to be set up pending amount of losers.

Pot Roast

Walking past a co-worker today, I was reminded of a promise that I had forgotten. He said nothing, but he was eating pot roast.

I said before that I would let you know how, by quoting a movie line, I kept a friend from getting sick. Here it is.

J and I were going up to Madison to check into prices for some tattoos that we were going to get done. We decided to make a day of it, and brought his fiancee and her mother along.

When we got to the tat shop, the artist that we wanted to talk to had a family emergency, and had to bolt. C, J's fiancee, suggested that we go over to where she had been working, and check out what they had been working on... meet some co-workers.

She and her mother were all excited as we pulled up. (C is involved with bio-medical crap, and her mother is a nurse). We followed C through hallways until we came to the room that she had been working in.

As we entered the room, we were greeted with a strong chemical smell, and three long stainless steel tubs... her co-workers. Yes, if you haven't guessed by now, CADAVERS.

She popped the covers off, and started explaining about each one, and some of what they were working on. J and I watched as she and her mother held up organs, and poked and prodded the bodies. I can't say that I was totally thrilled, but it was interesting.

She noticed that we were just hanging back in silent fascination, so she asked if we wanted to handle one. You know how guys are... so half-heartedly, we agreed. J made himself touch a deltoid, and he was done. I touched the deltoid (felt kinda cool), and as C started talking about the tendons in the hand, I played with them. Creepy, but very cool when you think of how it all works.

About this time, J was starting to look a little pale... sweating. He reminded me of Haley Joel Osment in "The Sixth Sense." So I looked up from the cadaver to him, and whispered, "I see dead people." It got us both to laughing, and got our minds off of the residents of the tubs. A good thing, too, since the reality of them being ex-humans was starting to set in.

Anyways, for the rest of our time there, whenever things got creepy, one of us would toss that out, and get us laughing again. Worked even at the restaurant afterwards. I was okay after the first bite of shredded beef, but that first bite was a little rough. See, the deltoid that we were checkin' out, had a section cut out of it. The way the muscle was layered, and looked, closely resembled pot roast. As I pondered my shredded deltoid beef, J says, "I eat dead people." I'm not sure that really helped, but it was funny. Later. Much later.

I'm sure I know of at least one who has, but anyone else ever had the opportunity to check out a gift to science?

Ozzfest Observation

Perhaps it's just me, but I found it more than a little disturbing to see couples start making out to death metal.

I love metal, but damned if I can ever find romance in it. More of a blues guy, when it comes to that.

Corndog

My sister's boys have christened "The Perfect One's" (my brother) little boy with a new nickname. He is now known as "Corndog." When I asked why, her eldest said, "Don't tell him,* but he has a rectangle shaped head."
*Like he would understand... he's not yet sixteen months old!

While the reasoning is a little lacking, I do like the fact that they are already passing out new names for others. Seems to be a family trait.

Because I Care

Again, I endure so that others may know. Disgusting displays of flesh. Bared midriffs. Bared mammary units. Loud music. Hot sun. Bikini tops. Drunken idiots. Great bands. Watching a clown in a dunk tank try to electrocute himself by grabbing a microphone. (I still bust up laughing about the choked off scream.) $6 bottles of water. New gum samples: Mint Tingle, by Trojan...errrr.... wait. Now I know why that tasted so damn weird!

Why do I do this? For you. It's because I care about you. I will throw myself into harm's way so that you ungrateful bastards don't have to suffer through Ozzfest, but can still hear of it's evils. And I will do it again next year, no matter how little my sacrifice is appreciated.

Advisory Concern

My Advisory Committee meeting is coming up next Tuesday, and I've got a strange concern to bring up. Well, strange to some. Urinal mints.

Men's restrooms are not a bouqet of pleasant fragrances wafting through the air. They smell funky. I don't care how clean they are, they reek. One thing for killing/hiding this aroma is urinal cakes... or mints, as we call them. (Don't try them... they usually taste nothing like what you'd think.)

We must have just switched, because we no longer have the "almost clean smelling" pink urinal mints, which didn't taste like cherry, strawberry, or any pleasant thing. Now, we have the "doesn't this remind you of a public park outhouse" scented green tabs. (I can't get close enough to taste them, so you'll have no description.) Rancid.

I'm not sure if it's just the mint, or maybe a chemical reaction going on. No, not urine. I'm talking about public hair. (Yes, I know)

I swear to Gott that some bastard, or bastards, are shaving their pubes, or maybe even each other's, and leaving the piles in the urinals. I mean, there are HEAPS of hair in these things. And of course, no one is in a hairy to clean them out, either.

Who can blame them? Piss soaked pubes fermenting on a rancid urinal mint.

Wonder how I can bring this up tactfully.

Duff's Law

Just thought that I'd share something with you. While at Eric's, he asked me about Illinois' strange gun laws. It wasn't a long conversation, but I told him that as it goes in Chicago, so goes Illinois. Governor Daley uses his dummy governor, "Blagojevich" (he does look like a dummy, doesn't he?), to do his bidding, as Daley poses as mayor of Chi-town. Ah, but I'm drifting yet again.

Found this little piece that just kind of illustrates how messed up things can be around here. I'm not going to go on a rant, for there are others that can get the job done right... I'm just offering this up for your consideration.

A woman is told by a judge that she must give a gun to her convicted felon ex-husband. Against the law. She refuses, and goes to jail for a few hours. Now, I'm thinking that she probably did get a little belligerent. The jail time was for contempt.

The gun was a nine millimeter pistol, a gift from the ex's father, to him. I can understand wanting it back, but to ask for it in a legal proceeding... I'm thinking he didn't get any brains as a gift from old dad. Anyway, it is illegal... ILLEGAL... for a convicted felon to own a firearm!

This also gives weight to the saying, "We don't need to draft any new gun laws... just to enforce the ones already in place." If a judge can't even follow the law, how is it to be expected that anyone else will? What good will new laws do?

What think you?

Yet Another Birthday!

VW is celebrating her 29^th birthday, again! I know it's a little late, but go on over and wish her a good one! While you're there, make sure you check out her nekkid photos!

Happy Birthday, VW!!!

Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap! It's also Pam's b-day, too! Get thee hence, and wish them well!

Tardsday

Okay, I know that there is still time remaining in the day, but I'm getting worried about Sissy leaving us without a "It's Tardsday" post. Tardsday was in full swing here, so I'll give you a recap.

Going to work this morning, I get to see an excellent exhibition of road rage... and it wasn't by me. I watched stunned as a moron pulled in front of another vehicle. The other driver had to stand on the brakes, but he missed. Didn't even end up getting too close to the moron's vehicle.

What got me, was the driver that just had to pull out, in such a hurry, was only doing 40 mph in a 55 zone. As the other vehicle made to pass him, moron sped up. I think they had to be approaching 70 before the other vehicle accomplished the pass. The whole time, moron is waving his hands all over, and, it appeared, screaming.

Best part was the fact that this display of speed lasted for roughly a mile before we all came upon a long chain of cars... stuck behind a driver's education driver. Heheh... that was worth it!

Get to work, and find out that due to major mis-communication between our engineers and the customer's, I ran a complete job as scrap. Not my fault, but damn if that doesn't piss me off. I take quality issues personally. You should have seen the paperwork for this order, though... contradictions left and right, and not all were between the different groups of engineers!

Of course, I made my own contribution to the day. I was working on an air cylinder, and forgot to bring my brain with me.

Air cylinders have two ports: alternating which one becomes intake controls the cylinder movement. This cylinder was starting to run a little rough, so I got some light oil, disconnected the air lines, and started to work it manually. With each cycle, I sprayed some oil in the port.

Well, that only lasted for one cycle before the oil that I had sprayed in what had previously been the "intake," came spraying out of the new "exhaust." Did I catch on? Nope. Did it one more time, and good. I have these really cool looking safety glasses now... can't see, but I look cool.

How was your Tardsday?

Eye Catching

Brilliant bit of advertising, this is.

Some people have no sense of humor.

Just Curious

I'm awfully tired, yet kinda happy. Spent 14 1/2 hours doing a tear down and rebuild of a machine at work. Kinda like my old job! Felt good to actually see that you did something, instead of standing in front of a frickin' machine watching and checking parts.

Anyway, I was going to do a bit of research about this next bit, but I'm hittin' the hay as soon as I'm done with this post.

An acquaintance wrecked his bike after a deer ran out in front of him. Hit the deer, and wrecked badly. They just had a benefit for him, because his medical bills were not covered by his insurance. Bike was payed for, while he and his passenger were not. I thought this sounded fishy, but he swore that his insurance, and he had found others, would not cover medical in the event of "an act of God."

A deer running out in front of you is an act of God? Seems more like an act of a deer... with a death wish.

And who's to take the blame for the act if an atheist were to have this accident? Can't possibly be an act of something that isn't there! At least not to him. How do you make this fly?

And while you can't collect from your insurance company, is it possible to slap God with a civil lawsuit, and how would one go about it?

I'm just curious.

Question... Again

Hypothetically, you've lost your license due to a DUI... or more. You are drivin' home, when you see an oncoming vehicle flash their lights at you. You think you see a shadow, then all hell breaks loose. You find that you've hit a very large animal... car totalled. The oncoming vehicle stops to make sure you're alright, and calls police.

What would you do to avoid getting busted?

Strange Dream

I'm walking through a beautiful park, all's quiet and still. Too still. As I hit an unlit area, I see a figure motioning me towards him. Cautiously, I make my way towards the shape.

It's a guy who looks a lot like Rob Zombie. He says, "Hey, you wanna see something cool? Stay right there," then walks a short distance away. He then begins calling for a cop.

Cop appears on the scene, Zombie-lookin' guy starts pointing at me, and talking very emphatically. Cop unholsters his sidearm, and yells at me to "freeze."

He works his way towards me, with Zombie-dude right behind. As he nears, a knife is suddenly visible in Z-man's hand. A big knife. There's a flash, and a huge gash appears in the officer's neck. I'm showered with blood.

After, another slash, the head is tossed in my direction, with the body somersaulting right behind. "Cool, huh?"

I wake up.

Yeah, I know... weird. But at least I didn't get gutted in this one.

Sixth Sense

"I see dead people..."

I love that movie...

Also the catch phrase that can keep a person from getting sick... explained some other time.

Power Of The Mind

You ever caught yourself dreaming about blogging something? I'm pretty sure you have.

But did you ever bring yourself back from the brink of sleep with an idea, or past event, that just had to be told? So you rush to your computer to begin jotting down your notes, and then realize that the event never happened? You literally just dreamed it up? And then, as you realize that it was just a dream, you feel as if you've lost part of your past...

I have. Many times.