SMELLS LIKE BULLSHIT

Shows on Black Sky Radio

2010-11-10T08:02:00.004-06:00

Some of you may Still be asking WHAT THE HELL IS BLACK SKY RADIO?? So here is a quick synopsis:

Black Sky Radio is an internet only radio station that has no genre! That simply means that if teh music is GOOD we will play it...unless it is poppy teen crap IE; Beiber, or insane non musical Hip Hop with angry misogynistic lyrics, or Rap made after 1990 (with the one exception being the Beastie Boys, because hey....it's the Beastie Boys!)

We also have GREAT specialty Shows hosted by AMAZING DJ's. Weekends you have Classic Roads with Scott Rhodes, and Friday Night we have Friday Night Fetish with Liz...here are their graphics....

So Tune in and check us out! We are AWESOME! We are AMAZING! We are BLACK SKY RADIO!

Wow to long

2010-11-09T19:30:00.001-06:00

So since I have been way to busy carving out my little niche of the internet and growing my business in leaps and bounds (See Black Sky Radio)I am now in 120 countries world wide and have 2million listeners! So join me as I continue to take over the world!

Dad and Showgirl

2010-04-13T10:30:00.000-05:00

I believe..........

2010-02-09T09:04:00.002-06:00

Stolen, But Still good.........

"I can believe things that are true and I can believe things that aren't true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they're true or not. I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and Marilyn Monroe and the Beatles and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen-I believe that people are perfectible, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkledy lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women. I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone's ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state. I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste. I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we'll all be wiped out by the common cold like the Martians in War of the Worlds. I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman. I believe that mankind's destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it's aerodynamically impossible for a bumblebee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there's a cat in a box somewhere who's alive and dead at the same time (although if they don't ever open the box to feed it it'll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself. I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn't even know that I'm alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of causal chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck. I believe that anyone who says that sex is overrated just hasn't done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what's going on will lie about the little things too. I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman's right to choose, a baby's right to live, that while all human life is sacred there's nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system. I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you're alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it."

"Girl Sam, American Gods" Neil Gaiman

ISIS the AMAZON!

2010-01-31T11:48:00.007-06:00

LIVE on Black Sky Radio!! Isis the newest wrestling sensation sweeping the nation will be back on Black Sky to chat with us, check out her site at Isis the Amazon, as well as add her to your Twitter! Listen in Wednesday Feb 3rd at 4pm EST, (3pm CST time, 1pm PST...we don't count mountain time because that is just weird)

Oh and if you aren't following me on Twitter....what the hell is wrong with you?
@nightmare54

Tune in and Listen to the greatest music show ever created by mere mortals!

Black Sky Radio

INTERVIEW TIME!!

2010-01-07T11:14:00.003-06:00

That's right football fans I will be interviewing Bill Romoanowski LIVE on Black Sky Radio January 12th 4:50 pm CST

If you don't know who Bill is here is his pedigree....

Bill Romanowski 16-year career in the NFL, playing for the San Francisco 49ers (1988–1993), Philadelphia Eagles (1994–1995), Denver Broncos (1996–2001), and Oakland Raiders (2002–2003). He played 243 consecutive games, an NFL record among linebackers, won 4 Super Bowl Championships, and is the only linebacker to start 5 Super Bowl Games (Super Bowl XXIII, Super Bowl XXIV, Super Bowl XXXII, Super Bowl XXXIII and Super Bowl XXXVII). In his rookie season, Romanowski made a big impact for the 49ers in Super Bowl XXIII, recording a third quarter interception that set up a San Francisco field goal. He is one of only three players in NFL history to win back to back Super Bowls with two different organizations (San Francisco 49ers, Denver Broncos). During his 16 year career, Romanowski compiled 1,105 tackles, 39.5 sacks, 18 forced fumbles, and 18 interceptions, which he returned for a net total of 98 yards and 1 career touchdown. Romanowski was a Pro Bowl selection twice, in 1996 and 1998, both during his tenure with the Denver Broncos."

So tune in listen long and often!

Soon.....SINBAD!!

Working for the man!

2009-12-21T10:19:00.003-06:00

What can I say? It is that time of year again and people are running around all bat shit crazy, 'cept this year everyone is broke! Including yours truly...so this year for Christmas/Yuletide, everyone gets something they can use!

Form the line to the left and be prepared for the Nightmare Bear Hug! they are free of charge and EVERYONE needs one...or two.

Keep in mind as this holiday season engulfs us, this may be the best time to remind the retailers that we DON'T want to have the Christmas ads run three weeks before Thanksgiving, and that the TRUE meaning of Christmas is to celebrate life, and joy, and family...not buy a bunch of shit from China.

Does anyone know where we got the 12 days of Christmas?

Well it is time for your old buddy Nightmare to throw some ice water on those Judeo-Christian beliefs yet again. The 12 days of Christmas started out as the 12 day celebration of Yule or Yuletide by the Nordic and Germanic tribes of Pagans.

"Yule or Yule-tide is a winter festival that was initially celebrated by the historical Germanic peoples as a pagan religious festival, though it was later absorbed into, and equated with, the Christian festival of Christmas. The festival was originally celebrated from late December to early January on a date determined by the lunar Germanic calendar. The festival was placed on December 25 when the Christian calendar (Julian calendar) was adopted. Some historians claim that the celebration is connected to the Wild Hunt[1] [2] or was influenced by Saturnalia, the Roman winter festival[3]."

So if you want to kick it Old School(really old school like year 800) You could say a Pagan Prayer for each day of the Yuletide (PS you are a day behind it starts on Dec.20).
The 12 Days of Yule

Day One Prayer- Earth Prayer

Cold and dark, this time of year,
the earth lies dormant, awaiting the return
of the sun, and with it, life.
Far beneath the frozen surface,
a heartbeat waits,
until the moment is right,
to spring.

Day Two Prayer- Sunrise Prayer

The sun returns! The light returns!
The earth begins to warm once more!
The time of darkness has passed,
and a path of light begins the new day.
Welcome, welcome, the heat of the sun,
blessing us all with its rays.

Day Three Prayer- Prayer to the Winter Goddess

O! Mighty goddess, in silvery ice,
watching over us as we sleep,
a layer of shining white,
covering the earth each night,
frost on the world and in the soul,
we thank you for visiting us.
Because of you, we seek warmth
in the comfort of our homes and hearths.

Day Four- Counting Your Blessings - A Prayer of Thanks

I am grateful for that which I have.
I am not sorrowful for that which I do not.
I have more than others, less than some,
but regardless, I am blessed with
what is mine.

Day Five- A Prayer for the Beginning of Winter

See the gray skies overhead, preparing the way
for the darkness soon to come.
See the gray skies overhead, preparing the way,
for the world to go cold and lifeless.
See the gray skies overhead, preparing the way
for the longest night of the year.
See the gray skies overhead, preparing the way
for the sun to one day return,
bringing with it light.
Day 6- Sunset Prayer - A Sunset Prayer for Yule

The longest night has come once more,
the sun has set, and darkness fallen.
The trees are bare, the earth asleep,
and the skies are cold and black.
Yet tonight we rejoice, in this longest night,
embracing the darkness that enfolds us.
We welcome the night and all that it holds,
as the light of the stars shines down.

Day 7 - A Nordic Yule Blessing

Beneath the tree of light and life,
a blessing at this season of Jul!
To all that sit at my hearth,
today we are brothers, we are family,
and I drink to your health!
Today is a day to offer hospitality
to all that cross my threshold
in the name of the season.
Day 8- Snow Prayer - A Snow Prayer for Yule

From the reaches of the north,
a place of cold blue beauty,
comes to us the first winter storm.
Wind whipping, flakes flying,
the snow has fallen upon the earth,
keeping us close,
keeping us together,
wrapped up as everything sleeps
beneath a blanket of white.
Day 9- A Prayer for the Old Gods at Yule

The Holly King is gone, and the Oak King reigns -
Yule is the time of the old winter gods!
Hail to Baldur! To Saturn! To Odin!
Hail to Ameratsu! To Demeter!
Hail to Ra! To Horus!
Hail to Frigga, Minerva Sulis and Cailleach Bheur!
It is their season, and high in the heavens,
may they grant us their blessings this winter day.

Day 10- A Celtic Yule Blessing

The food is put away for the winter,
the crops are set aside to feed us,
the cattle are come down from their fields,
and the sheep are in from the pasture.
The land is cold, the sea is stormy, the sky is gray.
The nights are dark, but we have our family,
kin and clan around the hearth,
staying warm in the midst of darkness,
our spirit and love a flame
a beacon burning brightly
in the night.
Day 11- An Elemental Blessing for Yule

As the earth grows colder,
the winds blow faster,
the fire dwindles smaller,
and the rains fall harder,
let the light of the sun
find its way home

Day 12- Prayer to the Sun God for Yule - A Yule Prayer to Ra

Great sun, wheel of fire, Ra in your glory,
hear me as I honor you
on this, the shortest day of the year.
Summer has gone, passed us by,
the fields are dead and cold,
all of earth sleeps in your absence.
Even in the darkest times,
you light the way for those who would need a beacon,
of hope, of brightness,
shining in the night.
Winter is here, and colder days coming,
the fields are bare and the livestock thin.
We light these candles in your honor,
that you might gather your strength
and bring life back to the world.
O Ra, mighty sun above us,
we ask you to return, to bring back to us
the light and the warmth of your fire.
Bring life back to earth,
Bring light back to earth.
Hail Ra! Ruler of the sun!

Happy Yuletide PEEPS! see you in 2010 if not before!

BANDWIDTH!

2009-11-30T10:40:00.003-06:00

Press Release 11.30.09:

Bandwidth is where music lovers and music makers are coming together.

Black Sky Radio, a subsidiary of Jade Monkey Broadcasting LLC, announces the launch of a new website. In an effort to exploit the gap that corporate radio has created between the musical artists and the airwaves, Black Sky Radio introduces Bandwidth. Bandwidth is a social networking site that will allow bands to upload music, photos, to place classified ads for new band members or instruments, as well as interact with like minded thinkers who enjoy music.

Bandwidth will also allow these musicians and bands to get their music played in a forum where the people can access and enjoy new music in a format akin to the radio stations of yesteryear, where the DJ’s main job was to locate and play new music and to create the buzz that would sell albums. This forum is Black Sky Radio. An internet based radio station that does what corporate radio has stopped doing: putting live people in the studio to interact with the listeners, to educate, inform and entertain.

However Bandwidth is not just for bands and musicians. It is also a destination point for the fans to get information and interact with their favorite bands whether they are the local garage band or international acts.

Go to www.blackskyradio.com/bw/ to sign up and get more information.

Let’s get back to giving the fans what they want and need:

Music for YOU people, by YOU people, and of YOU people!

Nightmare
Black Sky Radio
nightmare@blackskyradio.com
816-256-2110

Web Waves and Little kids!

2009-10-01T05:47:00.003-05:00

What a great month it was!

Our listener-ship on Black Sky Radio has grown by dozens daily! We are into our 6th week and have almost 1/2 a million hits and 12K people listening. What we need now is some advertisers that are ready to experience growth we have shown our earlier adopters! We have increased web traffic to their sites by 300% and bottom line sales by 30%!

So if you have a web based business, shoot me an email at nightmare@blackskyradio.com We'll talk!

So last weekend I went to a Pop Warner football game for 8yr olds.

If you haven't seen this, it is a must see! Cutest little football game EVER! Here pictures are better then words....but I have to tell you the best part. Each of these players have a single bead on their shoes, a red bead on the right shoe and a blue bead on the left shoe. I asked if this was to remember what shoe went on what foot and was answered "kinda". The kids have plays that start like "red 32 dive", the red is a DIRECTION! It means that the play is going to the right! so if the kid doesn't remember what the play is he can at least head in the right direction! I'm thinking that maybe the KC Chiefs need to adopt this same strategy, cause they really suck.

ok pictures.

BBQ Black Sky Style

2009-08-30T18:41:00.007-05:00

Today Nivens and Myself hosted a gathering of Black Sky Radio back end folks, the peeps what got us up and running so smoothly.

It was a HOOT and a Half, Increidipete, AnisitteKiss, Nivens and the Girlfriend, the Older brother and a friend of his, and me and Bouby. 4 other folks declined to come due to their incredibly insane bad manners, and they totally missed out on my tri-tip, grilled squish, zucchini, egg plant, green salad, and some fine cocktails.

So poop on you people of less then discriminating tastes, and I hope you know I kid because I care! Without all of you we wouldn't have had experienced 150,000 web hits, 13,000 listeners and doubling the traffic to all of our sponsors websites.

Not bad for a couple of douchebags whose only talent seems to be talking into a Nerf covered microphone!

THANK YOU ALL FOR BUILDING THE NEXT BIG THING!

And for all you people who listen....THANK YOU, without you we are just two dickheads in a secret bunker somewhere talking to each through Nerf covered microphones.

HOLY DIVER...no really not kidding!

2009-08-20T18:53:00.002-05:00

Go this image sent to me by C_Giffin....CLASSIC!

BLACK SKY RADIO

2009-08-17T19:57:00.002-05:00

For those of you who are not on my Facebook, myspace, twitter, let me tell you what I have been doing...better yet let me show you what I have been doing. You can find me here live 2-7pm DAILY,Black Sky Radio. I look forward to the banter, listenership and the fun of the web waves!

Michael Vick

2009-08-15T15:53:00.002-05:00

Ok people I have had just about enough ear and eye rape on whether or not Michael Vick has been punished enough or not.

First, the laws are pretty clear on this, and he did the time that fit the crime. If you don't like it then vote in better law MAKERS! New judges, new senators, new congressmen etc. But lay off the guy who plead guilty, went to pound me up the ass prison and is trying to make a new life for himself.

I always wonder when these typically white bread Americans get their feathers ruffled and start protesting stupid shit. if This is ONE MAN, who made a POOR choice with his friends and family members to continue acting badly when he had become a sports icon. Why don't we protest something that fucking matters for once. Do all of these people who are getting pissy about 6-8 pitbulls also get all worked up over the declining IQ's of our American kids? that the last president "no child left behind" lowered that standards of ALL education creating MANY generations of children who will be made dumber by lower standards instead of better education.

Do these same people feel like protesting the lack of industry and economic standards in Mississippi where they are the dumbest and poorest in the known 1st world countries? Or is that just their own fault and they choose to be that dumb and uneducated?

Do these protesters and angry mobs feel the same about the rampant murders and shootings that are plaguing our inner cities or is that just those other peoples problems because they should know better then to live where crime happens?

Do these wastes of oxygen really feel that in this time of crisis, where we have 3 huge banking failures yesterday, (8-14-09) a war on two fronts (as far as we know the CIA may be running a bunch more), economic shitstorm, high rates of unemployment, factories going under every day, or worse headed overseas, Obama trying to shove some bullshit health care down our throats, and the one thing on everyone's mind is whether or not Michael Vick has a right to earn a living playing a game?

SHUT THE FUCK UP, AND GET YOUR HEAD OUTTA YOUR ASSES!

goddamendmotherfuckingshitfuckcocksuckingdoorknobasslickingcunts.

Death Panels

2009-08-13T10:33:00.002-05:00

I have no idea why all of these old people are pissed about the possibilities that we may be on the short list to die...we are man, man is MADE to die, it is like we are all built in Detroit, American made, so as we get older, we rattle, we have parts replaced, and end the end we are sent to the scrap yard so the newer models can rule the highways.

BUT! What happened to doing something good on the way out? I brought this idea forth a year ago, and it went unheard by the masses, so I figured I'd better re-post it, so that we can get the fuel conversion tanks built before we start the harvest.

Friday, June 13, 2008

The energy solution!!
Ladies, Gentlemen, Troglodytes...I have finally figured it out.

The entire world is dependent on oil. We all know this and we also that sooner or later it will all run out. So today while I was at lunch I had an epiphany, I think I may have solved the energy crisis. One of the things that we humans do, and do well I feel will be able to create a constant supply of fuel. Not only constant but one that is highly useful for just about all of the fuel needs the planet has to offer.

Babies.

That's right I said babies. If there is one thing that the human race can do almost as good as rabbits or rodents is to reproduce. We create more unwanted and more useless offspring's then any other species on earth. We do not push the old, weak, worthless, or stupid to the edge of the herd and we should. Well this way we will have a place to push all of these people.

But since we don't want to wait, we'll just use crack whores, welfare moms, and other breeders that don't contribute to society. How will we decide what is a contribution to society? well we use an old scale used back in the 1600's "if you don't work you don't eat!"

So we set up some rendering plants, and start processing Baby oil. REAL baby oil, made from real babies. You can have two kids to raise as your own and then any others will need to be turned over to the department of energy.

All old people, who are out of breeding age, need to fill out their body donor cards and get ready to become fuel. There will be no more burials, no need for fancy coffins or mausoleums, we won't need the entire funeral profession, no more abortions, if you get knocked up you MUST carry it to full term and then if you do not want it you turn it over to the department of energy for proper fuel processing.

Suicide is no longer illegal, if you want to kill yourself, fine go to the department of energy and turn in your donor card, you will be processed with a last meal and your choice of sleepy time meds.

So stop worrying about the oil, the cost of gas, and whether or not you should buy that V8 or the 2.5 cylinder smart car. Babies and the elderly are the answer. With the rednecks and the lazy we will HURL ourselves into a future that isn't dependent on foreign oil any more. The beauty part of this is we will have more land for golf courses and retail space.

So there you have the answer to three HUGE questions. Health care can now be paid for by using the money we DON'T spend on foreign oil, old people will be able to do one more good thing before they die, Emo kids have a purpose, and Welfare moms can be a productive addition to our society.

And I can continue to drive my old beater that gets 8 gallons to the mile!

Win, Win, Win, and Win!

545 People by Charlie Reese

2009-08-12T19:38:00.001-05:00

545 People
By Charlie Reese

Politicians are the only people in the world who create problems and then campaign against them. Have you ever wondered why, if both the Democrats and the Republicans are against deficits, we have deficits? Have you ever wondered why, if all the politicians are against inflation and high taxes, we have inflation and high taxes?

You and I don't propose a federal budget. The president does. You and I don't have the Constitutional authority to vote on appropriations. The House of Representatives does.

You and I don't write the tax code, Congess does. You and I don't set fiscal policy, Congress does. You and I don't control monetary policy, The Federal Reserve Bank does.

One hundred senators, 435 congressmen, one president and nine Supreme Court justices - 545 human beings out of the 300 million - are directly, legally, morally and individually responsible for the domestic problems that plague this country.

I excluded the members of the Federal Reserve Board because that problem was created by the Congress. In 1913, Congress delegated its Constitutional duty to provide a sound currency to a federally chartered but private central bank.

I excluded all the special interests and lobbyists for a sound reason. They have no legal authority. They have no ability to coerce a senator, a congressman or a president to do one cotton-picking thing. I don't care if they offer a politician $1 million dollars in cash. The politician has the power to accept or reject it. No matter what the lobbyist promises, it is the legislator's responsibility to determine how he votes.

Those 545 human beings spend much of their energy convincing you that what they did is not their fault. They cooperate in this common con regardless of party.

What separates a politician from a normal human being is an excessive amount of gall. No normal human being would have the gall of a Speaker, who stood up and criticized the President for creating deficits.

The president can only propose a budget. He cannot force the Congress to accept it. The Constitution, which is the supreme law of the land, gives sole responsibility to the House of Representatives for originating and approving appropriations and taxes.

Who is the speaker of the House? She is the leader of the majority party. She and fellow House members, not the president, can approve any budget they want. If the president vetoes it, they can pass it over his veto if they agree to.

It seems inconceivable to me that a nation of 300 million cannot replace 545 people who stand convicted -- by present facts - of incompetence and irresponsibility. I can't think of a single domestic problem that is not traceable directly to those 545 people.

When you fully grasp the plain truth that 545 people exercise the power of the federal government, then it must follow that what exists is what they want to exist.

If the tax code is unfair, it's because they want it unfair.

If the budget is in the red, it's because they want it in the red.

If the Marines are in IRAQ, it's because they want them in IRAQ.

If they do not receive social security but are on an elite retirement plan not available to the people, it's because they want it that way.

There are no insoluble government problems.

Do not let these 545 people shift the blame to bureaucrats, whom they hire and whose jobs they can abolish; to lobbyists, whose gifts and advice they can reject; to regulators, to whom they give the power to regulate and from whom they can take this power.

Above all, do not let them con you into the belief that there exists disembodied mystical forces like 'the economy,' 'inflation' or 'politics' that prevent them from doing what they take an oath to do.

Those 545 people, and they alone, are responsible. They, and they alone, have the power. They, and they alone, should be held accountable by the people who are their bosses - provided the voters have the gumption to manage their own employees.

We should vote all of them out of office and clean up their mess!

If socialists had BALLS

2009-08-11T12:12:00.001-05:00

If Socialists had BALLS
By Fredrick Rohs

I was mowing the yard today and I got to thinking (that’s when I do my best thinking, btw), “Man, the world is a mess right now. Someone needs to clean it up!”
Now clearly our leaders have been trying to do… stuff. But seriously, does anyone buy that it will work? No. And you know why not. Because the problems in this country boil down to one thing. Freedom.
I know, I know, “Hold on there a second, Mister. What do you mean messing with our freedom and all?” Well, it’s basically like this. You all are just too stupid to handle freedom. Freedom allows people to do what they want. And as we all know, what we want is never good for us. Hence, all this freedom has got to go.
Now I’ve heard a lot of talk lately about our President, and how a lot of people say he’s a socialist. I disagree based on the fact that he has no balls. I do agree that he is a Liberal, and I originally thought of titling this article, “If Liberals had Balls”, but if liberals had balls they would be Socialists.
So, what we really need is one of those no-pussyfooting around old school Socialist leaders. They would know how to cut through all this freedom crap and get at the root of the problem. Of course, you might be thinking, “Aren’t there still several socialist leaders out there.” Yea, but most of them are more than lacking in the manhood department.
Canada has always been pussy. France hasn’t had a pair since WWII. Italy never had any. Cuba looks like it’s getting soft. Even Russia and China have gone nellie. Only that guy in North Korea has still got a set… even though he looks funny.
So what would happen, say if I was the most awesome socialist leader with the biggest set of nards the world has ever seen?
First problem. Health care. This one is in the news a lot right now, and of course our limp-wristed leaders will do the usual and make a screwed up mess even worse. But if you remove freedom from the equation, the answer is simple. Make fast/processed food and cigarettes illegal. Done. Next problem.
Dependence on foreign oil/energy prices/global warming and the rest of the imagined crisises. Easy. Make cars illegal. Yup.
You see how easy this is. And the beauty is how they all tie together. If cars are illegal people will have to walk or bike, and therefore get exercise improving their health. Yeah, I’ve got some balls.
Of course you are probably wondering what I’ll do with all the cry-babies walking around whining about being out of work and their feet hurting. Chill out, I’ve got this.
The other big problem with our country is that it is falling apart. Everything we’ve made here is cheap and stupid and ugly. And now broken as well.
Well, get to work America. We’re doing things right this time. A real rail system that is on time and fast and doesn’t wreck. Build it. An energy grid that doesn’t have black outs and can handle the new energy demands and power sources from my massive nuclear power plants. Nuclear Power, you say? Yes! Because nukes are for people with balls.
Another thing I get tired of is all the money we waste on fixing things that are stupid in the first place. Take New Orleans for instance. The city is on a sand bar below sea level. Hello. Doz it. Historical? Cultural? It’s dirty and smells. Not to mention it’s sinking. Sorry folks, got to go.
Every year we spend billions on repairing lines just so that they can be knocked down again by every tree limb and ice storm or tornado that happens to come along. Do I really have to figure this out for you people? Bury the lines. You, over there, rubbing your swollen feet. You wanna eat today? Then get a shovel and shut up.
My Father lives in Georgia. They’ve just come out of 5 year drought. Meanwhile we’ve had flooding in several other states, some bordering Georgia. How hard can this be? You mean to tell me we can build a pipeline for oil all the way from Alaska but we can’t get water from one state to another? What has the Corps of Engineers been doing the last 50 years anyway? Forget the Great Wall of China. We’ll build the biggest Waterslide/Aqueduct System the earth has ever seen.
I’m sure everyone is tired of hearing about the economy. Our president seems to think you can just print the problem away. But this is the kind of thing you can expect from someone who was born without balls. This has become such a colossal mess, but really the best solution is the easiest. No more money. None. Nothing. Nada. Nil. Redistribution of wealth is for pansies! Remove the problem once and for all.
Another thing I’m tired of hearing about is illegal immigrants. This is easy. We use our borders as giant national landfills. Cross that.
As for all the idle automobile factories, they’ll be part of the military, retooled to build my army of giant robots. Not another American will die in war again… unless they get stepped on. Every giant robot will be equipped with a large set of, you guessed it, BALLS! Just in case there is any doubt.
I could go on and on, but obviously you have seen the light of my brilliance and are even now wondering how we can make it happen. Well comrades, it’s simple. Lay down your freedom, join me, and grab your balls.

Lap tops 5 .........Nightmare 0

2009-08-04T08:00:00.002-05:00

Since arriving in KC 7 years ago I have had a pretty shitty run of luck with the beast we call LAPTOP.

You may remember just over a year and a half ago I had a series of mishaps with a dirty computer, a dying laptop and a new hard drive.

Yesterday that bitch gave out on me again.

However, I think I know why I have had such a horrible run of luck with this HP Pavilion. For the first year, I carried this thing with abandon, from one end of the States to the other, and it became filthy, inside and out. Which caused it to overheat and set off the auto shutdown to protect itself. I mistakenly thought this was my hard drive dying off, because hey lets face it I like to watch porn, and it is basically free on the interwebs.

I rush out and buy a new 250gb Hard drive, I clone the old one and I am off and running. 3 months later I am shitting myself because the NEW hard drive is acting all fucking crazy like it was going to die on me....I blamed Western Digital.

Yesterday after a week long series of blue screens, shut downs, and general mayhem, my OS disappeared. Well what I should say is that this pile of HP shitola, started acting like it did 2 years ago, when it went out the first time. So I remove EVERY screw I can see and get the keyboard off and the top up enough to hose out the guts with my air can and put it all back together.

and VIOLA!

It still worked great! As a 17 inch paper weight.

So pulling my hair out and cursing the Gods of Electronics everywhere, I made some calls was given some shoddy advice and decided that MAYBE, the drive I had laying around (the original replacement that I failed to destroy) would be able to snap right in and work like a fucking charm. Just call me Lucky the Leprechaun.

So I take out the hard drive again and set it aside, put the old new one in and fire it up. I try to repair it with my Windows CD and reboot, Nothing, nada, zippo, FUCK!

While waiting for this shit to boot up and facing the realization that I may be sans computer because I am unemployed, and there is no room in the budget for a new machine, I pick up my hard drive, the one that was working a short 6 hours prior and start looking at it. I see something weird stuck to the electronics face of this had drive.

Now if you know anything about replacing laptop hard drives, you know that there is an information side which when placed in the cradle faces the bottom of the hard drive compartment, and the electronics side is open so the drive can get fresh air and breathe. It was on this electronics side I see the weird anomaly.

I flick it with my finger nail it moves and I see what it is that I am working with.

It was a flattened staple.

Yes. I am not kidding, it was an actual staple, for binding pages and pages of stuff together. There was no stapler where I was working, nor any pages that would have been stapled together for any reason. So I take out the current hard drive and look at the cradle. Now every hard drive cradle I have ever seen has a protective covering on it made out of some heat shield material, or something. on the inside of this cradle, I see the imprints of the hard drive high spots....and lo and behold the outline of that fucking staple.

So I am guessing that when I had replaced the drive the first time and it died within three months and I blamed Western Digital for a crap product, I was wrong, and since the drives that I had, and the one I replaced it with, (now two completely dead paper weights)had this tiny piece of metal arcing the connections, I am guessing that this may very well be the last time I have to do that procedure.

So to refresh, three hard drives, one staple, and a total of 5 laptops in 7 years.

Where is my pencil sharpener? I'm going old school! send me your address and I'll snail mail this blog to you.

NOT QUITTING!

2009-07-16T10:19:00.002-05:00

Ok since the britsh ex-pat wrote about all of the Bloggers hanging it up I jaut wanted to let people know That I am just busy getting my new company up and running and I am not quitting, just busier then a cat trying to bury a turn on a tin roof.

So two weeks from know you will all know what it is that I am up too and I expect support from each and everyone of you. If I don't get it I will hunt you down and molest you with my sock puppet!

I'll try and get to the next chapter of Vance Manion Personal Strength Coah and Private Eye soon.

Be Cool and don't let the man keep you down.

Nightmare

The Best and Brightest the internet has to offer.

Michael, Farrah, and Ed

2009-06-25T21:03:00.002-05:00

In the last 2 weeks we lost an American Icon in Ed McMahon, THE sex symbol of the 70's Farrah, and a crazy black man who liked to touch little boys and grab his crotch. Yeah ok Micheal sang a bit too, sold some records, big fucking deal!

Farrah...well her poster hung in my bedroom, I lost my masturbatory virginity to those triple A battery sized nipples, AND even though she was only on Charlies Angels for one season, she inspired a hair style, that 30 years later still bears her name!

Old drunks and semi black pedophiles? FUCK YOU!

Farrah, thank you for your being you, and for all mankind I apologize for what you had to put up with with that wife beating asshat Ryan O'neil!

Chapter 12

2009-05-29T21:06:00.003-05:00

Chapter 12
As I wait for Pauly, I look around the “office”. It is clear this was a slapdash effort to look like a legitimate business. The trim around the floors and doorways were close but didn’t match exactly, you could see tape edges in the drywall, and an occasional brush mark. Someone bid this job really cheap, or Pauly did the job himself as he sampled the stock. I feel the receptionist’s eyes on me, as I turn and catch her looking at my crotch.

“See something you like Doll” I said laying down my best glimmer of the pearly whites. She grins the grin of a naughty vixen, mini Vance struggles to get a look.

“Can I touch it?” she asks?

“Touch it?” I reply, “Baby you can, touch it, kiss it, stroke it, rub it, grip it until it turns colors be my guest.

She looks back down and runs her tongue over her perfect lips, wetting them slightly. Mini Vance is starting to really pay attention, and I see her eyes dart over to my left thigh as she catches the slight movement in my pants leg.

Confusion sets in.

She says…”It’s so big and shiny”

Shiny? What the hell is she talking about? Mini Vance hasn’t surfaced yet.

Then I remembered the .50 jammed in my waist band…shit.

“Oh that. Sweetie, Vance would love to show you that as well.” I take a step forward - a door opens behind her, as I hear another open behind me. A trap! I quickly draw both guns, and back up until I am against the wall, aiming at opposite ends of the room. This is not good. If I cap someone, even if I just wound someone it might frighten or turn off this Polynesian Princess. If I need to shoot someone and hesitate... damn, why can’t women resist me? I wonder if the Desert Eagle is even loaded?

The man at the door behind my receptionist must be Pauly, he looks like a Pauly. When he sees me pointing the .50 at him, an angry frown covers his already threatening mug. Then his expression changes to “what the fuck.”

I notice that he isn’t really even looking at me or the hand cannon. I quickly look to my left and see why. Standing there, frozen, with a startled look on her face was the cleaning lady. I lower the 1911, then the .50. The cleaning lady lets out a loud sigh, clutches her chest with one hand and grabs her cart with the other. “Sorry ma’m, Vance didn’t mean to scare you.” She just stood there staring at me wide eyed, and breathing heavily.

“Put away the hardware, before you hurt yourself.” Pauly had moved to the receptionist’s desk and was staring straight into my skull. “Youse the one who wants to talk with me?”

“Yes sir, but Vance won’t take up much of your time”

“Vance better not take up my time, I have a dinner date and a craps game to get to.”

“This way.” Pauly turned to walk toward the door. I glanced at the receptionist. She was looking at me with her big, soft, brown eyes. I smile. She slowly winks, and lightly licks her upper lip. A shudder races from my ears, through my shoulders and down to my loins… She would have been worth getting shot.

“Shut the fuggin’ door” Pauly says, with just enough Jersey accent that told me he wasn’t long out of the Garden State. I step into a small office and shut the door behind me.

I extend my hand and say “Vance, Vance Manion Private Eye and Personal Strength Coach”

Pauly looks at me somewhat puzzled, and grips my hand in what I could only believe a vice would feel like if some crazed gorilla on steroids and crank were manning the controls. I give it my all so I wouldn’t look like some sissy from homoville, but I could feel the bones in my hand starting to grind together. He releases my hand quickly and the blood rushing back into it was almost as painful as his grip. Pauly sits down behind the desk and motions to an empty chair.

“So Vance Manion what can I do for you? You looking for a job? I seem, to have an opening in my distribution department”

“Vance has a job, but I would like to ask you about that opening, how exactly did the position become ‘open’?”

“Well Vance, let me tell you a secret, never go into business with family, sometimes it works and sometimes, well sometimes your brother catches you groping his crush and puts two in your chest in broad daylight. Know what I mean?”
I paused a little shocked…did Pauly just solve the shooting for me? What is his part in this? This guy is talkative, how much more will he tell me?

“Let Vance get this straight, the two Samoan brothers worked for you? And the dead one was your distribution guy?”

“That’s right Sherlock,” Pauly replied.

“You guys are the liquor distributor right?” I asked.

“I spoke to soon, Sierra Minerals, does that sound like liquor to you?”

“Vance noticed that there were no tax stamps on your client’s liquor bottles.”

Pauly leans forward in his chair, cocks his head, looks at me and asked, “Who’s paying you to give a shit?”

“Vance can’t say, client privilege”

Pauly leans back and opens his desk drawer, and the next thing I see is my sawed off shotguns twin aimed squarely at my face. “I asked you nicely, and now I’m telling you…who da fuck you working for?”

Unemployment Month One

2009-05-01T09:10:00.003-05:00

Irrefutable truths about being unemployed.

I have been gainfully unemployed for a month now and whereas I am not ready for polyester and paper hats I can do that when it becomes necessary for a cash flow. But I have been observing a lot of really weird things that I didn’t see while I was busy working.

Running errands; you would think that once 9am rolled around the streets would be a tad more empty. But I realized that I was not the only person trying to take advantage of down time to run errands. Did you know that old people come out in DROVES during the 9am to 2pm daylight hours? Well they do and they drive worse then they do on Sunday. At least on Sunday they have an agenda, go to church, go have breakfast at Denny’s, maybe Perkins depending on when their social security check has come in, and then head home to watch the game on TV while napping until 4 when they get up and eat dinner.
During the week they have a vague idea what they are doing, but they can’t seem to make a decision and they spend the majority of their day clogging the streets while driving in what I believe to be random concentric circles, because they haven’t organized their coupons good enough to make a comprehensive shopping, social club, coffee clutch, agenda and have to back track a lot. This isn’t too bad if you live in a town of 40K people, but when you live in a sizeable “city” this creates a metric ass load of trauma for the regular people who are just trying to get shit done.

Spending Money; I never realized how much money it cost me to go to work. I got paid on the 6th and I still have ½ that check left. And yes I have curbed some spending but not all of it. I used to blow through my checks like monopoly money. Gas, Lunches, snacks, bullshit that I thought was necessary, I find out that not only is none of it necessary, I am also being more green, by not driving as much and reducing my carbon footprint.

Honey-do List; I have got more done around my house in the last month then I have gotten done in the last 3 years. It is awesome. AND the bonus here my wife is LOVING all of the bitchen things I have completed.

Being Healthy; Yes it is true, lack of work makes you healthier. Gone are the days of fast food and canned crap. Now I do some real cooking with real food and it is healthier, and better for me. I also spend a HELL of a lot more time in the basement moving heavy weights around, preparing for the old guy invitational power lifting tournament.

Meditation and contemplation; Having some “spare” time in my day has allowed me to do some deep thinking, and life affirming contemplation. What do I want to do with the next 50 years? How long will it take some company to realize that what I have to offer them no one else has, and they will be missing the boat if they don’t hire me? Where did all of these dirty girls come from that are all naked in the interwebs? They weren’t around when I was in my teens and twenties, where the fuck did they come from?

Facebook is a TOOL; Yes that is right, facebook isn’t just a nice toy that you can keep track of friends and family or answer a seemingly endless string of top 5 lists, you can actually use it to do business. For instance yesterday I hooked up a friend with another friend so he can get started on buying a new house and if my house hunting friend says he was referred to the agent by my Wife, well she gets a referral bonus….25% of the real estate agents commission….which in California, depending on the house could be $4K-$9K…..not so bad for chatting to old chums on the FB (that is what the cools kids call it)

There are a lot of other things that I have noticed but if I tell you know what the hell would be the incentive to come back tomorrow?

Vance is about wrapped up, so look for the exciting ending coming soon!

I now leave you with a picture I took in Wisconsin back in Feb. This guy built this for what I can only assume is for parades and photo shoots.

Vance Manion Private Eye and Personal Strength Coach...Chapter 11

2009-04-23T11:36:00.002-05:00

Tig screamed back “Don’t shoot, you fucking piñata heads!, you’ll hit me!”
Jose and Juan froze, Juan still crying with his pepper laden face still burning like the day after a jalapeno eating contest, and Jose, just lay there grasping his knees in pain “Madre de dios!”
I walked out using Tig as a tiny shield. I stopped at the bar and took the hand cannon out of ½ blind Juan’s hands, I didn’t want to leave them armed with more than that had when they came in, and I knew I sure the hell didn’t want that gargoyle to wake up with a split lip, PMS AND a .50 caliber Desert Eagle…Vance lives on the edge, but that was just lunacy.
“Vance doesn’t want anyone to leave this shit hole for 5 minutes! I’ll drive up hwy 513 and drop Tig at the phone booth, how you find him, Vance leaves up to how well you listen to these instructions”
“Do as he say! Do as he say”
That was a pretty good Sheriff Bart impersonation Tig!” I say as we walk out to get into the Betsy the Goat.
“Fuck you Cracker, when I get through with you you’ll wish I was never born!”
“Sorry Tig you have to be this high to threaten Vance”
I toss Tig into the passenger seat and fire up the old GTO Betsy. As I tear out of the parking lot I spray gravel and get squirrely. God I love this car.
So as I drove and tried to block out Tig’s constant chatter and idle threats I had to do some thinking, first what was that tasty dish’s name that spanked me with the canoe paddle last time I was at the cabin? She was a beautiful blonde Swedish goddess type, well over 6 foot tall and built like one of the Alps….I was hoping to run into her again as I made my way up to the cabin and see Mike. Second, how did all this fit together? Was Pauly just a distributor? Did he have an inside man at the port authority?
I noticed that I had almost passed the phone booth where I said I was going to leave Tig , so I slowed down a bit, looked at Tig, all wrapped up like a burrito, and said “don’t for get to tuck and roll, try bending your knees when you land” Tig’s eyes got as big around as dinner plates and he started squealing like a little girl. I reached over and grabbed the door handle, and pushed Tig out.
As I looked into the rear view mirror I saw his tiny body skip and bounce right up to the edge of the phone booth…in horse shoes that shot would be worth 2 points.
Sierra Minerals was just past Reno up 395. It was an old Silver mine that they had reopened 15 years ago when a freak earthquake uncovered a vein of borax or some such shit, I heard it on the radio during a workout. As I pointed Betsy south I thought I better give Watts a call. I dug into my pocket looking for his card, not in the right pocket, not in either back pockets, where the hell did that card go. …Then it hit me, that 2 mins I was knocked out, that chump must have taken a souvenir.
Damnit.
So no call to Watts, a new lead at the mines, and I needed a power bar and a water.
45 minutes later I pull into the parking lot of the head offices of Sierra Mineral Mining Corp. As I walk into the front door I am greeted by a sight that would have made the masters weep. She was bronze, her black hair glimmered even under the harsh fluorescent lights, her immense chest was straining to bust out of her tight white blouse and then she smiled and the sun emanated from her mouth.
Vance was in a seriously deep case of lust.
”Welcome to Sierra Minerals, how can I help you?” Her voice had the unmistakable trace of a Polynesian accent, and my temperature shot up 5 degrees
“Vance needs to have your phone number and a meeting with Pauly”
“hmmm, Well Vance can have whatever he wants, my number is 513-4653, and I’ll get Pauly for you, please have a seat.”
As I sat down she turned to the left and I noticed that she was wearing a short skirt and as she stood she gave me a peek at what I would be getting when I called….Island Smoothy with a hint of coconut oil, My favorite.
I took in my surroundings as I waited. The office was like every other office I had seen in any corporate environment, harsh and bad for morale. I could never work in a place like this. If I did, I would welcome a disgruntled worker bursting in and killing me. I have a bit of a problem with people making counterfeit liquor having anything resembling a corporate office with a hot secretary.

Job Hunting is Tiring

2009-04-18T11:02:00.001-05:00

I am tired, I will get back to the story asap, but for now I am asleep.

You feel outta the loop?

2009-04-06T20:34:00.004-05:00

Well, this may come as a shock to some people but Last Wednesday, after a long and horrible road trip to California, where I worked 17 out of 18 days, got tired of being berated, treated like a second class citizen, and watching my Chief act like a spoiled, petulant 5 year old.

So I quit.

Cleaned my desk out, wrote a letter of resignation, and waited for the HR director to come in so I could give it to her. They accepted, and I am looking for a new job.

I have some voice over work ...possibly...this weekend, and I am looking to open a gym..old school style. So anyone in KC who wants to get strong by turn of the century methods...just check the site, and I'll let you know when I am up and running.

If you have something else you want to do, let me know!

I have the time.

You want an update I'll give you an update!

2009-03-12T21:52:00.004-05:00

We interrupt this story for an honest to god update of Nightmare's life.

I am busy. I have been flying all over the country since November, and I am back on the road in the morning. I am flying to Sacramento in the morning for two reasons.

One is bad, one could be life changing.

First the Bad.
I have a friend who was diagnosed with cancer last sept. they thought They got it all, two weeks ago they gave him two months. I am going to say good bye.

The Life Changing reason.

I'm going to see if an E-friend is compatible in real life for a possible business venture where I franchise his ideas, concepts and life plans in a new style of gym that centers around being strong and healthy and less about looking like you are strong and healthy. To see what I am doing go here And then buy his book and look for a way to change your life. Darrin, I'm talking to you!

The reason that this gym feels right to me is because every since I quit playing football I have been missing the camaraderie of the "team" and this place replaces it. There are no mirrors, Mr. Conrad says the people who need the gym the most ALREADY have body image issues, and don't need a reminder when they work out trying to change those issues. It is also an art gallery and the occasional live music venue.

It is a renaissance gym using archaic tools and fun. I want to spread that fun.

So for the 4 people looking for Chapter 11 of Vance Manion Private Eye and Personal Strength Coach, it is coming...sit tight I have other shit on my mind.

Does anyone remember when I said just a few months ago that enough was enough? And people repeated that "god only gives you what you can handle..the rest makes you stronger"...How much fucking stronger do I fucking need to be? Seriously would someone please call their imaginary sky friend off my ass because I'm fixing to send Thor back over there and put the Hammer on him.

Chapter 10...

2009-02-23T15:24:00.002-06:00

Chapter 10

Tig was squirming like a worm on a hook, and swinging his tiny fists in the direction of my junk, all the while spewing a string of nonsensical threats. Good thing I had him facing away from me. “Talk shrimp!” I directed. “Fuck you! You over developed sack of shit!,” Tig shouted in a squeaky voice tinged with fear. “Funny you should say shit,” I jerked both of my hands downward about six inches, driving Tig’s face very close to the world’s nastiest toilet. Still yelling, Tig stopped swinging his arms and grabbed the edge of the bowl, in an attempt to keep from getting a bath. I raised him up just enough so he couldn’t touch the bowl and tried again. “Liquor bottles with no tax stamps, talk.” Tig responded with a torrent of high pitched profanity and threats. I drove my hands downward again, harder, anticipating Tig would try to grab the bowl, which he did with one hand, but he missed with the other and I drove his head against the opposite side of the bowl with enough force to draw blood.

I was running out of time. The bathroom was a dead end, and although the goons and the bar hag were down, I was sure they would regroup and try to even the score. Again I raised him out of reach of the bowl. “Tig if you think Vance is gonna lose sleep over killing another dwarf, you’re wrong. Vance’ll stuff you right into that shitter and all the way back to the sewer you crawled out of. If you want to live, talk!” I punctuated the ‘talk’ with another jerk of my hands, this time Tig put his hands in the center of the bowl, and sank up to his little forearms into the swill. “Chill big man, chill,” Tig was seeing the light.

“Liquor.” I said as I again raised him above the bowl. “A guy comes in every week or so and drops it off.” “This guy a Samoan?” “Nah, a cracker.” “Cracker have a name?” I said lowering Tig a bit. “Pauly.” “Pauly the cracker? You think Vance is joking?” as I drove Tig down again. “Nah, nah, nah,” Tig yelled, I stopped and allowed him to grab the bowl. “No foolin’ the guy is Pauly.” “How does Vance find Pauly?” “I think he hangs at an old mine up north.” “Have to do better Tig?” “Sierra Minerals.” “Much better. Pauly have any friends?” “Sometimes.” “Black, brown, white, red, yellow what?” “Brown, white.” “You’ve been real good Tig, but if you want to live, you gotta play nice.”

Tig was muttering to himself as I backed out of the stall and walked to the sink. There was an old style endless towel dispenser on the wall, amazingly it had a towel, although one end was pulled loose. In one quick move I dropped Tig onto the floor face down, and drove the toe of my boot into the middle of his back and my leg across his waist. I let go of one foot and grabbed the towel. Tig protested and started kicking with his free foot. I was able to pull about twenty feet of cloth from the roll before the towel tore in two. I tied the end around one ankle then tied his feet together. I then raised him to his feet and instructed him to put his hands in his pants pockets. “This is…” I slammed his head into the wall “hands.” He had to pull is pants up, but he complied, and I ran the towel up his back and around his chest and stomach four times, pinning his arms to his torso. I tied the towel tight behind his back.

“This is torture asshole.” “Didn’t your mother teach you to wash your hands after you use the bathroom?” “Fuck you.”

I grabbed the collar of Tig’s little leather coat, raised him like a shield in front of me, and headed for the door. “Here is how this works, if Vance gets out of here in one piece, Tig gets out of here in one piece.” I paused, pulled the 1911 out of my pants and snagged the door handle using the barrel of the gun. I flipped the door open and yelled “do anything dumb and the runt gets it.” I took a breath and stepped into the bar, quickly scanning the room.

The door was about 30 feet away. Juan was still on the floor, and had dragged himself to the bar and was leaning against it. He started cursing loudly in Spanish and was pointing a .38 revolver with a six inch barrel at me.

Jose was behind the bar drying his face with a rag. When he heard Juan he grabbed the .50 cal and pointed it toward me, hand shaking and eyes blinking, trying to fight off the effects of the pepper facial.

Jose started cursing. Tig started screaming.

Chapter 9

2009-02-18T10:01:00.002-06:00

Courtesy of Trashman.......

"I sure do. You remember that dive nudie bar on the East side of town?" I took another sip of my club soda and thought for a minute. "Do you mean Perkys?" "It used to be Perkys now it's called Saggys." Carol told me. " Some little black fella named Tig Biddys bought the place." What do you mean little? Short or skinny?" "I mean little as in midget. He also wears a patch over his eye." "Vance needs to know which eye. Vance doesn't want to talk to the wrong little one eyed black person." " Well Vinny it depends" "It's Vance and it depends on what?" "It depends on which eye he happens to put it over. He ain't blind. He just thinks it makes him more intimidating" "More? How intimidating can a little person be?" "Real intimidating when you have a pair of 6'5" Mexican bookends following you every where you go." "Vance thanks you for the info Carol. Now Vance has to go pay a visit to a certain Tig Biddys" "You're more than welcome Vic and you be sure to stop by again next time you're up this way. That is if you survive Saggys" 'Vance the name is Vance." "OK Vince."

I left the parking lot of Carols place headed East. I just needed to find a high end organic vegetable market first

I managed to find a what I was looking for in a little neighborhood that had been taken over by hipsters and yuppies. You could always count on these people to have places to buy strange inedible foods and good looking women. Lots of good looking women.

I grabbed one of those little baskets that you carry for small purchases and made my way to the vegetable section. I picked out a few Bhut Jolokia peppers. Also known as the hottest pepper in the world. From there I walked over to the ethnic foods section and got a jar of Dave's Insanity Sauce. Possible the hottest hot sauce in the universe. Then I picked up some coffee filters, bottled water, balloons, a bowl and a funnel. I had everything I needed.

I proceeded to the checkout with my goodies. I picked a lane with a hot little number at the cash register. After waiting an eternity I finally put my shit on the counter and looked into the cashiers eyes. She looked back at me and smiled. It would have been a pretty smile too if it wasn't for the fact she was missing her two front teeth. Oh well, Vance isn't always picky. I laid it on thick. "Hey pretty lady. Vance REALLY likes what he sees. In fact Vance might be persuaded to make a little time for you this weekend. Vance could clear his schedule, just for you. If you're real lucky Vance might let you slather his ass in peanut butter." The smile disappeared quickly. Vance was glad too, that gap was starting to annoy Vance. " "Let me tell you something Vance. I got my teeth knocked out eating pussy. I'm so good at it my bitch kicked me in the mouth during an orgasm. I like pussy. Pussy likes me. So unless you have a pussy, you might want to leave your schedule the way it is. Now will that be cash or charge?" I stood in stunned silence for a bit and wondered if I could convince her my dick was really a giant clit. "Cash. Vance always pays cash." I should have kept some more of that funny money.

I made my way to my car and popped the trunk. Vance had bombs to build. Pepper bombs. I've used pepper bombs before but this time I was dealing with Mexicans. Sometimes they build up a tolerance to the heat because they grow up in the pepper fields. That's why I picked the hottest stuff I could find. My mixture should stop a charging rhino. I stretched the balloons and in the bowl I mixed the peppers, sauce and water. I shoved the funnel into a balloon inserted a coffee filter into the funnel and poured some of the concoction into the first balloon. The tricky part is holding the funnel and pouring while stretching the balloon as far as you can. Since there's no pressure you need the stretch to get in as much as you can. The cheaper the balloon the better. After I managed to get the balloons filled I put them in a backpack I had in the trunk and headed for Saggys.

I really hated going into Saggys on the offensive but a sometimes one eyed midget with a couple of Mexican bodyguards wasn't going to give up the 411 without some persuading.

Carol was right about calling Saggys a dive bar. I bet you could see day light through the bullet holes.

I saddled up to the bar and ordered a club soda from the ugliest woman I had ever seen. I turned around and faced the pole and changed my mind the dancer was the ugliest woman I had ever seen. I wasn't there for more than 45 seconds before Tig Biddys showed himself. He was flanked by twin Mexican mountains and they were headed right at me. I set my drink down and reached into my backpack and readied myself. Tig spoke first. "I hear youse is looking for me." Someone from Carols must have called and tipped him off. "Well my friend you would be misinformed. Vance isn't looking for anyone. Vance is here to watch the pretty ladies on the pole." This only pissed the little guy off. "Vance? Your name is Vance? As in Vance Manion the personal trainer and private dick?" "The one and only." "Well private dick, kiss your balls goodbye." That was the signal. The Mexicans made their move and I was ready. I yanked two of the balloons out of the backpack and smashed them both in the face. Tweedle Jose went down screaming and clawing at his face. Tweedle Juan stood there, wiped his eyes, smiled and said "Is that all you got Puto." I shrugged and kicked him in both knees rapidly breaking them. He went down like a busted pinata. I spun around, grabbed my drink and slapped the ugly bartender in the face with it. Vance doesn't normally hit women but she was bringing up a .50 caliber Desert Eagle and Vance doesn't like getting shot either.

Now it was me, Tig and one nasty dancer. The dancer turned and ran. Tig tried to run but I grabbed him by the collar and carried him into the mens room. I kicked open a stall door. The toilet was running over and full of a weeks worth of shit. I took Tig by the ankles and held him over the toilet. "Alright Tig start talking."

Chapter 8

2009-02-15T06:58:00.002-06:00

**I don't think any of you understand "Viral story"... Little help here?**

Chapter 8

"Hello, housekeeping. Are you ok?" I opened my eyes and saw a woman standing over me. My jaw was throbbing, I felt like I might throw up. I laid my head back and steadied my breathing. "Are you ok, do you need a doctor?" "No, Vance is ok," I mumbled. I reached up, touched the left side of my jaw and winced. I checked my teeth with my tongue, one was loose and I could taste blood. I could feel my 1911 in the small of my back, my wallet was still there too.

The maid helped me to my feet and said, "if you are ok, I'll come back later." "Sure." She closed the door as I walked into the bathroom. I turned on the water and splashed some on my face. I took a drink of water, rinsed, spat, repeated.

I found a towel, and dried my face as I walked into the room. I had been close, but now I had lost my advantage - the brother knew someone was looking for him, and knew what I looked like. Well, as long as I was here I might as well look for clues.

The room had two queen beds, a couple chairs a small table, along with a television and sort-of desk. There was even a small refrigerator. I opened it. Damn, no mini bar. I was hoping whoever slugged me was going to buy me a drink.

The room was nice, mostly because it was new. The bed by the window had been slept in. The other was untouched. There was no luggage. The only thing in the trashcan was a water bottle.

I checked the bathroom, nothing there either. This guy left me nothing - well, except my life. I stared into the mirror, "Vance, you got lucky today. Take it for what it is." I checked my pockets, my car keys were there too. My jaw was discolored, and slightly swollen. I grabbed a hand towel and walked out of the bathroom, stepping on the dry cleaning as I left.

Out in the hall I looked right, then left. About 40 feet down the hall and across were the ice and vending machines. I stuck the towel under the dispenser of the ice machine and pushed the button. A pile of ice fell on the towel, I picked it up, dumping half on the floor twisted the towel into an ice pack, and pressed it against my jaw.

My head was pounding like a drum line as I rode the elevator to the first floor. I walked through the lobby and outside. Betsy was right where I left her. “Very, very lucky Vance.” I got in, put the key in the ignition and just sat there. This guy made sure he left no clues, and other than clocking me, did nothing to harm me. He didn't care that I was after him didn't respect me. "That's your second mistake asshole." Still, I had hit a dead end. He wouldn't come back to this hotel, and is probably out of town - for good. So where did he go? Would he go after Mike? Would he just disappear?

By now it was late morning and I was starving. I drove to an organic market that has a café attached. Their food is good, low in sodium, saturated fat, cholesterol and complex carbs. I went inside and sat in a booth off to the side. There were only five other people in the café, plus the waitress, a waifish hippie girl with mouse brown hair and no makeup.

She handed me a menu and told me what the lunch specials were, I chose the one with meat instead tofu, and the house blend of herb tea. Maybe some weed in this crap would ease my headache.

As I sat there I planned my next move. The lady at the Chinese laundry had recognized Mathisu’s clothes and connected them with someone else, and even said one of them was a good customer. Unless she was nuts, both brothers had been there before. And since they were staying in a hotel, probably neither lived in Reno. So why come back here after the hit? Surely the cops were watching Mathisu’s credit cards, nobody with any smarts would use them, so who paid for last night’s room? There was something here in Reno, but what? This is where a real private eye makes his living, seeing the clues when there is nothing in sight.

I climbed into Betsy and just sat. The Chinese laundry lead was cold. The hotel lead was cold. The gym lead is a long shot at best. That just left the contraband liquor angle. This one actually had a chance of paying off. It was an established long-term scam that probably had dozens of “accounts” like Mike scattered all over.

Which gave me an idea.

I finished my lunch and left. As I walked out I remembered I needed to take Mike some real food.

Several years ago I met a woman who ran a dive on the north edge of Reno. The best thing about dive bars is; once a dive bar, always a dive bar. The only thing a dive bar changes into is a bait shop. In fact some of the best bait shops were once dive bars.

I found the place I was looking for. The second best thing about a dive bar is it always looks the same, or at least never looks better. Even a fresh coat of paint only makes it look worse. I walked inside, relieved it hadn’t been repainted. Carol was behind the bar, as expected.

Carol is a loud gregarious woman, who really works a room. She trys to make sure nobody leaves her bar a stranger, that’s just her personality.

Carol is over 50 and is not attractive. Her face could be the before picture for a revitalizing skin cream commercial. Her teeth are crooked and yellow from a lifetime of Camel unfiltereds. Her hair – forget it. Carol loudly proclaims she is a bye-bye-sexual. She has sex with someone and then says bye-bye. She has a great sense of humor and a ton of loyal regular customers. She carries a small hand gun in her bra.

I walked in and sat at the bar. The bar was busy for early afternoon on a Friday. Carol walked down to me as soon as she got a chance. “Afternoon. We’ve met haven’t we?” “Yeah, some time back. Vance is a friend of George’s.” “George, right. How is he?” “You know George, going strong same as always.” “George is like a force of nature isn’t he? You’re Vinny, right?” “Vance.” “That’s right, Vance the detective. What brings you here?” “Business. The bar has been here a long time. Have you ever heard of anyone selling liquor with no tax stamps?” Carol, paused as someone down the bar called to her. “Excuse me,” she said “oh, do you want something to drink?” “Club soda.” She hurried off, returning a couple minutes later with my drink. She stood directly in front of me, paused and said “many years ago a guy came in here and pitched that deal to me.” “Did you take it?” “No, this business has more than its share of people looking over your shoulder. I decided it was trouble I didn’t need.”

She had a point, bars have all sorts of official agencies crawling up their ass. Mike was very lucky to make it this long without getting caught.

“Did anyone ever approach you again?” “Not that I recall.” “Any chance the salesman was a Samoan?” “I don’t think so, I don’t remember.” “Ok, let Vance ask this. Have you ever seen two Samoan guys here in town? One very big and dresses nice, the other smaller and probably not as classy. They may not run together.” “I get a lot of people in her Vance. Sorry.” She walked off to tend her other customers. I sipped my club soda.

Carol returned several minutes later. “Carol, do you know of any bars around here that might have taken that offer?” …

Chapter 7

2009-02-07T18:58:00.000-06:00

Chapter 7

I awoke early, having hardly slept at all. Partly because it was Friday, and 5 AM Charlie was particularly noisy this morning. Mike's visit the night before had energized me. The offer he made was truly too good to pass up, or was it too good to be true. Could I trust Mike? If Mike was telling the truth I knew who the killer was, but Mike had no clues to help find him.

I showered and dressed. How was I going to find this guy? As I put my wallet in my pocket, I remembered the laundry ticket. I took it out . It was for a Chinese laundry in Reno. Not much to go on. I wondered if there was anything in the gym bag I had missed. I walked to the front window where I had dumped the contents the last night. I carefully inspected each item. Shoes, socks, shirts, pants, shorts - something fell to the floor. It was a key card from Virgin Suites. I've never been to a Virgin Suites, maybe I can break cherry there. After I stopped laughing, I remembered it was one of Sir Richard Branson's business ventures, and there was one in Reno. Laundry in Reno, liquor from Reno, hotel in Reno, Vance Manion is headed to Reno.

I threw on my jacket and tucked my Colt 1911 in my waistband. I ran outside, fired up Betsy, threw her in drive and headed toward Reno. Betsy leaped onto the highway like a race horse that wanted to run. Her big V8 growled, she was in fine voice today.

As I drove I reconstructed the time line. Monday Tonongo was in Reno and drops some clothes at a cleaner. Tuesday he takes a puddle jumper to Stagnant Falls. Why did he fly? Why not drive, or with all the cash he had, hire a car? Wednesday night he gets shot in a bar. Thursday he is the talk of the town, but can't get his name in the paper. Friday Vance Manion is on the case. Saturday - Saturday, case closed, and Vance owns his own house/gas station.

I thought back to the body lying in the bar. He was so big, but Mike said the shooter was smaller. Mike indicated he and the dead man were tight, but for safety’s sake, had kept their lives separate. He wasn’t even sure what town Mathisu lived in. His drivers license said Sacramento. I wondered if the license was real, even though it did have his real name on it. Mike knew almost nothing about Haponte, not why he was in the bar that night, or why he would shoot his own brother. How was Big City involved? And what about the second body Watts mentioned? Was that death related to the corpse in the bar? Was that the brother? Had someone already covered their tracks? This case has more loose ends than a San Francisco bathhouse. I better not drop the soap.

Traffic was light and the trip didn't take long, if I was lucky I could get to the hotel before check out time and get a solid lead.

I recognized the street on the laundry ticket, found the shop with little trouble, and parked at the curb. The laundry was in a nice, yet unobtrusive building not far from some of the bigger hotels. Bells tinkled as I opened the door. A small oriental woman scurried through a doorway and beat me to the counter. "My friend asked Vance to pick up his cleaning," I said as I handed her the ticket. "Yes, yes," she said as she hurried into the back. She returned with two dress shirts and a pair of pants bagged and on hangers. She looked at a slip of paper, and said "eightee fitty prease." Her accent was amusing. As I reached into my wallet she said "wood da uder gendremun rike his raundree arso?" "Other gentleman, sure but Vance doesn't have his ticket," I replied. "Das ok, he good custemer," as she turned and disappeared. She returned with just a suit jacket, looked at a second piece of paper, and said, "twenty six dorra." I took the money from my wallet. The stiff and his brother owe me six bone. She handed me my change and said "you terr dem I say herro." "Vance'll do that," I lifted the clothes, turned and left.

Now for the hotel. Virgin Suites was new but I was sure it was near the big casino, which was a twenty minute drive away. Once there I cruised the streets eyes scanning for the hotel. Fifteen minutes of cruising, thirty - nothing. I wish one of my clients would offer me a GPS thingamabob as payment. Didn't I just drive down this street? I turned the corner and in frustration, down shifted and punched Betsy's accelerator. I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye and stabbed the brakes. Bingo! Virgins Suites.

I backed up and steered Betsy to a parking place. I took the shirts and pants and walked toward the front entrance. I had an advantage over the killer - he didn't know who I was, or what I looked like or that I was looking for him. I knew he looked like the dead guy, only smaller and alive. Advantage Vance! Inside I walked to the front desk.

The desk clerk was a petite woman of about twenty. She had black hair, olive skin and did she? Yes, green eyes. "Vance hasn't seen an Italian woman as lovely as you since Jersey." "Excuse me," she looked up, slightly puzzled. "What time does your shift end?" "What can I do for you?" she asked, her fog clearing. "You can take Vance upstairs and deflower him." "I don't think so. Why are you here?" She was hot, and if I wasn't on a case I'd put in the time, but right now, the Samoan was more important. "Vance has some cleaning for Mr. Tonongo." "Of course, I'll take that for you," she said reaching for the clothes. "No, he prepaid and we over charged him. Which room is he in?" The clerk hesitated and turned to her computer. "Mr. Tonongo is in room 237." "Thanks toots, it's been a pleasure." She turned away, but I knew she would remember Vance Manion.

I took the elevator to the second floor, and found my way to room 237. I made sure my gun was positioned where I could grab it quickly, and knocked on the door. I knocked again. No response. I took the key card out of my pocket and slipped it into the slot, and removed it. The light lit green. I turned the lever and cautiously opened the door. That's the last thing I remember.

Chapter 6

2009-02-05T20:24:00.002-06:00

* I wrote this one. With a lot of help from Tis*

Chapter 6
I lay back on my bed watching the ceiling fan slowly turn. As the day replayed through my mind I wondered about the facts. Who killed the Samoan, where did he come from, why wasn’t anyone coming forward to claim the hit or see the hitter? I was also wondering if I would ever get my own underwear back from that dame.

I had very little go on, a bar full of blind, mute people, 5 slugs, 4 of which are in the dead islander, and my ability to scam 40 bucks of “counterfeit” cash to cover my supplement order down at GNC. Like I said not much to go on.

The more I thought about the scene at the bar as well as the slugs. Watts called it a 7.65mm, which was strange to me, most cops would have just called it by its American equivalent a .32 caliber. Why would he make that distinction so early in the investigation? He had no ballistics test to go off of, he just blurted it out.

I needed to think and I couldn’t do it laying on my back. I think best while moving large stacks of iron.

I slipped my shoes back on grabbed some shorts and headed out to the dead lift platform. I stacked 225 on for a quick set of warm ups before I got started with the serious thinking. Loose and ready, I racked 315lbs and stepped into place. As I was settling my straps on my grip, and just as the weights left the floor there was a pounding on my door.

At 11:00pm I generally don’t get many visitors, especially out in the industrial park. I let go of the bar, walked over to the wall lockers I had found when they remodeled the high school, opened the first locker and fit my hand around my “home security device”. It was my grand pappy’s scatter gun modified to suit my current needs, besides nothing says “go away” like looking down the twin barrels of a 9 inch 12 gauge.

I swing the door open and start to give my standard late night greeting “What the fuck do you want?” When I recognize my visitor.

“Mike..what the fu…”

“I don’t have time for small talk Vance” Mike replied “ and get that canon outta my face”.

I lowered the sawed off shotgun and stepped aside allowing Mike to walk past. As I shut the door, I noticed that there was no car outside and quickly wondered “how the hell did he get here?”

I turned and noticed that Mike was dripping with sweat and vaguely out of breath. I walked over to the fridge and grabbed two bottles of water. I handed him one, he mumbled his thanks, and drained it in one fluid motion.

He let out a sigh, a quick gasp and said” I’m in deep shit Vance”

“Not for nothing Mike but Vance didn’t figure this for a social call! The only people who show up in the middle of the night, sweaty and excited to see Vance aren’t guys. So what’s on your mind?”

“That Samoan was looking for ‘Big City’ ”

“Big City?”..Shit. ‘Big City’ AKA Lou Smades, he is the most well known man in town. Not only was he the local drug kingpin, he was also an Alderman with political aspirations.

It was like Ice-T said “Real Gangsters wear trench coats, wear black suits, black ties and seek votes”. Big City was about as Gangster as you could get and I only knew one thing.

No one was paying me to get this involved with some goon of a public servant.

“Sorry Mike, Vance has no idea what you think Vance can do for you, but Vance isn’t one to step in front of that train for anyone.”

“I can pay” Mike Said.

“Vance is listening” I replied.

“How would you like to be a home owner?”
That got my attention. So I ask Mike, “What do you mean home owner?”

“Just what I said Vance…How would you like to own your home / business?”

“Whose home?”

“This one – the gas station.”

Just like that my plans were now almost a reality. The thought of being able to fix up the gas station, get some Russian kettlebells and get that new compact 16 shot 9mm…then it hit me.

“How the hell can you make Vance a home owner?”

“That old man that has let you live here rent free for the last 10 years was my Pops”

I hadn’t put two and two together before now and suddenly the timeline started to mesh. It was 10 years ago when Mike got out and showed up to “own” his bar, and that was about the time that I met his “Pops” and took over living in the station.

“Let Vance ask a couple of questions before we get to the ‘take it or I die’ part of this convo. First, what did you tell the cops?, and second why did you come here?”

Mike replied “What could I tell’em Vance? I told them the truth. This big guy, the Samoan was sitting there nursing a beer and all of a sudden this smaller version of the Samoan walks up outta nowhere, I swear it was like he materialized outta thin air, and the next thing I know he got this little gun in his fist and the Samoan falls off the stool, he then casually walks up and pumps 3 more slugs into the guys chest and walks out the back door, I think it was a professional job.”

“Sounds like it”

“That ain’t the half of it that little gun, had a silencer on it, which I take to mean he planned on this mess”

That would explain why I didn’t hear any more shots, but not the one I did hear… “So if his gun was quiet, who did Vance hear shoot?”

“That I don’t know, it happened out in the ally… at least that is where it sounded like it came from”

So what brings you here? I mean it sounds like a pretty cut and dry case of ‘you’re alive, I want you dead…BANG’ how are you mixed up in a hit, and a big one at that? Vance means, it was a public snuff, and now you’re at my place wanting Vance to find the ‘mini Samo’, and someway protect you?”

“I knew Tonongo from the joint. He is the reason I have my bar.” Mike said sheepishly. “We were roomies for the last 3 years I was in, well 2 years, he got out a year before I did, with a promise that I would look him up when I got out. He gave me a number in Reno to call the minute I was a free man and he’d take care of me.”

“What the hell did you do to make friends with an animal like that?” I asked.

“Simple really, when he got thrown into my house on a simple 3-5 B&E, he was green, so I took him in and showed him the ropes…it was nothing really, just kept the Aryan brotherhood off of him and out of the way of the Mexicans”.

This did add a new piece to the puzzle but still didn’t answer my questions.

“Why does any of this mean you are in deep shit?”

“Look Vance, I shouldn’t even be here telling you this much, I know you have noticed how my alcohol bottles seem to be missing the tax stamp, every week I called Mathisu, gave him my order, and every week a truck would show up. Just like that. I paid for everything I got, full price! So my books were right in case anyone noticed, and every month a courier would stop off right before we opened and hand me an envelope…a kick back from the full price booze I was buying.”

“So let Vance get this right, you did time with the bigger Samoan, when you get out he sets you up in a bar, you order all of your booze from him, sans tax stamp, you pay retail for the booze, and you get a kick back every month from the difference?”

“Yeah pretty much.”

“So why is Tonongo here and dead on your floor” I asked.

“Well it is weird, Tonongo never came here, he was always too scared that someone would recognize him, or that somehow the bar and the booze would put him and his people at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

I start to get the feeling that I knew where this was headed. Tonongo was stealing from some very powerful people.

As I stood there wondering how I could help Mike, where I could stash him and cursing the fact that I didn’t take more money out of Tonongo’s wallet I heard a mumble…then a shout!

“HEY! Don’t think too long Vance, I ain’t got much time left” Mike said snapping me out of my trance.

“Ok Mike, Vance knows what you’re willing to pay me what is Vance going to have to do to get it?”

“Keep me alive and find the Samoan’s brother Haponte, he is your shooter”.

“Ok, First thing we need to do is get you outta town for a few days…There is a cabin Vance has free run of, thanks to a little lady who can’t keep her hands off Vance. Head down to Topaz Lake and lay low for a couple of days. Do you have someone to cover the bar shifts?”

“Yeah the bar practically runs itself, I’ll call Tom and tell him I went fishing.”

If Mike was this scared he better not go back to his place, or the bar. I told Mike to make whatever calls he needed to and then take the battery out of his phone, and only use it if he absolutely had to. I went outside and got the bag from the airport, and went back inside. I threw some power bars and a few bottles of vitamin water in the bag, along with a change of clothes, a bar of soap and a towel.

I told Mike how to get to the cabin and to stay there until he heard from me. I asked him more questions about the dead Samoan, but he didn’t know much. The arrangement between the two business partners was very compartmentalized, smart.

I shook Mike’s hand as he left, and I assured him I would fix this pronto, “don’t worry Mike, I’m Vance Manion private eye and personal strength coach.” I shouted as he disappeared into the darkness.

If I was having trouble sleeping before Mike knocked on my door, it was almost impossible now. I went back into the gym and lifted while I tried to figure out how I was going to crack this one.

Chapter 5

2009-02-02T19:18:00.000-06:00

Chapter 5

After Mrs. Carlisle left I realized I hadn’t eaten in about a day. I headed for one of my favorite diners, which just happened to be next to the airport. Outside I bought the morning paper, went inside and sat at the counter.

The waitress, Cecilia, came over, smiling as always. “Heard you were at the Come and Get It last night.” “So were a lot of other people Cee.” Who was the dead guy?” “Nobody knows for sure, just a great big guy from California.” “Yeah, yeah I seen him,” said somebody down the counter.

It was Big Jimmy. Jimmy was in his early 20’s, not retarded, but close, who worked as the janitor/odd jobs guy at the airport. He was self-sufficient and had no family anybody knew about. Jimmy wasn’t big, less than six feet tall and slight of build, but that was the name he picked for himself so that is what everyone called him.

Jimmy was very friendly and easily chatted up strangers. That was one of the things he liked about working at the airport, he got to meet lots of people, plus he was fascinated by airplanes. He couldn’t multiply seven and seven, but he knew every plane that landed at the airport, and never forgot a face.

“What was that Big Jimmy?” “I seen him the other day,” he said. “What day?” “Two, yeah two days ago.” “At the airport?” “Yeah.” “Did he fly in?” “Yeah.” “Was he alone?” “Yeah.” “Did he take a cab?” “Yeah.” “Do you know where to?” “No.” “Did you talk to him?” “”Yeah. I said he was bigger than anyone I had ever seen. He said his little sister was bigger than him.” “Is that all Jimmy?” “Well, I asked if he wanted help with his bags and he said ‘sure.’ He gave me ten bucks too.” Jimmy wasn’t too dumb, he spotted a well dressed guy and made a quick ten bucks. The kid is probably as rich as the Queen of England.

“What you askin’ about him for Vance?” “Somebody shot him last night, Jimmy.” “Is he ok?” “No.” “If he’s hurt he might want his other bag.” “What other bag?” “The one in the locker.” “Do you remember which locker it was Jimmy?” “Yeah, I think so.” “Could you show Vance?” “Yeah.” “Good, after Vance eats, ok?” “Ok.”

Cecilia looked at me a little wide eyed, I looked back. “What’ll it be Vance?” “Turkey club, 86 the mayo, substitute steamed vegetables for the fries, and peach yogurt for desert.” “Turkey club? I didn’t know bread and bacon were on your diet.” “Vance’s cholesterol, blood pressure and BMI are all low, and his you-know-what is very high,” I said with a sly smile. “You’re just afraid if you put on weight nobody will sleep with you.” “You’re jealous because Vance prefers women who fake their orgasams.” “Dream on honey,” she said laughing as she walked away. Cecilia has a nice enough face but her body looks like a couple of bobcats tied in a gunny sack clawing to get out. I nailed her sister once though.

I read the paper, not a word about the murder, either one. Not too surprising considering this rag. This murder was interesting, but there were a lot of gaps to fill. Where did this guy fly in from and where did he spend that first night? Why would he leave a bag in an airport locker? Finally, what was he doing in this town?

I finished my meal and talked to Cecilia for a while before Jimmy and I went next door to the airport.

When we got to the airport, Jimmy and I stopped at the ticket counter for Death Valley Air before going to the locker. Sue was working.

“Hi Sue.” “Howdy Vance,” she replied in her sultry Texas drawl. “Can you check something for Vance, Sue?” “Sure honey, whaddya need?” “Vance wants to know what flight a guy came in on.” “Sure, where did he come from?” “Probably Reno on Tuesday.” “We’ve got three flights a day from Reno. One at seven AM, one PM and eight PM, which one?” “Vance isn’t even sure this is the right airline. Big Jimmy, what time of day was it when you saw this guy?” “Well, I dunno.” “Was it early morning, afternoon, or at night?” “I think it was afternoon.” “Try one o’clock Sue.” She tapped at her keyboard. “Ok, what’s his name” “M-a-t-h-i-s-u T-o-n-o-n-g-o.” I spelled. She raised her eyebrows as she stared at the screen. “Yep, here he is, one o’clock flight, got on at Reno. Had another seat reserved, but the second ticket wasn’t used.” “Anything else you can tell Vance?” “The reservation was made through Priceline.com just six days ago.” Shatner! The pool of suspects was growing. “You’re a doll, Sue.” “Any time sugar.” “Bye Sue,” peeped Jimmy. “Bye sweetie,” smiled Sue. Jimmy stared.

“Ok Jimmy, show Vance that locker.” As we walked down the terminal, I pondered what might be in the bag, but couldn’t think of anything likely. I only hoped the locker wasn’t empty. Most places empty the lockers every few days or at least have dogs sniff them for drugs or explosives. Thankfully, nobody around here really worries about that stuff, so it is rarely ever done. I was still thinking when Jimmy spoke. “Hey Vance, can I go with you to take this man his bag? He was awful nice and I want to say ‘hi’” “Sorry Jimmy, he’s dead.” “Dead.” “That’s right.” “Why would somebody kill him Vance?” Jimmy asked. “Vance doesn’t know why Jimmy.” “Are you gonna catch ‘em?” “That’s detective Watts’ job, not Vance’s”

“Oh, here it is, I think anyway,” Jimmy said. “Now how do we get it open?” I thought aloud. “I can do it,” Jimmy said as he pulled something from his pocket and stuck it quickly into the lock. The door came open almost instantly. “Where did you learn that?” “I can’t tell. I promised I wouldn’t.” I looked at Jimmy cautiously as he reached in the locker and pulled out a bag.

It was a large well-made gym bag of real leather. It had no brand name, initials or other identification. I opened it. It contained nothing resembling a clue. There was a small book of poems, very contemporary, abstract stuff. A pair of size 16 Italian wingtips, two pair of socks, a pair of huge khaki shorts, a very nice Hawaiian shirt, a pair of thongs and a brown paper sack containing a collection of cheap souvenirs from Nevada – key chains, shot glasses and post cards. There was also a large object – wrapped in tissue paper. I removed the tissue paper to find a wooden, hand carved and painted marlin, about a foot long. Jimmy gasped, “wow Vance, how cool.” “You sure got a way with words Jimmy.” “I never seen anything so neat before. Can I have it?” “It’s yours,” I said. And why not, there was nothing in this bag that meant a hoot to the case, the cops didn’t know about it and the owner was dead. “But you can’t tell anyone about the locker, the bag or the fish. Got it?” I warned. “Sure Vance, thanks Vance. I’ll never tell anyone.” Jimmy turned and walked off not taking his eyes off the fish. “Thanks for your help Big Jimmy, you take care.” “Yeah,” Jimmy replied, not really paying attention.

Chapter 4

2009-01-30T22:04:00.000-06:00

Chapter Four

I live in an old gas station near the edge of town. It’s big, three bays and a car wash. I rented the place from some old coot who had ran the station out in the middle of nowhere since the mid 50’s. One day he heard someone was buying up all the land around the station. He figured it was some developer who wanted to build houses. They finally approached him with an offer, which he turned down. Then he gambled, took most of his savings and expanded the station to its current monster size.

Turned out the developer wanted to build an industrial park and land fill, but it took some time and when business dwindled to almost nothing and his health began to fail, he closed up shop. He never did sell, “just to spite the lousy suit bastards.” He rented it to me for a song knowing I was too hard up to find a better place. Sometimes I would return home and find him sitting in front of the station, cursing the semis and garbage trucks as they drove by. He also let me use the tow truck and always laughed when he saw me pulling Betsy into the drive.

When he died, he put a clause in his will to let me continue living there rent free as long as I made no changes to the outward appearance. I don’t know who owns it now, but I guess he trusted them not to sell to the suits more than he trusted me. He did leave me the tow truck; probably to remind me how much trouble I had keeping Betsy running.

The place is starting to look run down, but I’ve done some work to the inside. I left one of the hydraulic lifts, it comes in handy. I left the car wash too, mainly because I don’t know what to do with it. The other two bays I turned into a gym where I do my strength training. I was able to turn the office and storage areas into a livable apartment, although I still have to go outside to use the can.

When I got home there were two people waiting for me. Mrs. Carlisle, a local housewife who wanted to get in shape and Chuck Watts. I let Mrs. Carlisle into the gym and told her to do her stretches and then start with the elliptical, same as last time, while I changed clothes and talked with Detective Watts. Chuck and I went into the apartment. “I was beginning to worry about you Vance, but it looks like you were holed up in some love nest with one of your “honeys,” Watts said. “No need to worry about Vance Manion, he can take care of himself. And what’s it to you, didn’t your wife come home last night?” I replied. Of course she had, and I wouldn’t have said so if I thought Chuck and his wife were having problems. I did like the guy and me does fix a lot of my tickets, which I seem to collect like spankings.

Watts scowled at me and said, “what did you see at the Come and Get It?” “Nothing, Vance was down the street when he heard gun shots, Vance didn’t see anyone leave the area. Who was the guy anyway,” I queried as a low rumble was heard in the distance. “Not real sure, we’re still checking,” Watts said as the rumble grew. “What about the four slugs?” I asked as I moved to the cupboards and tied a rope around handles at opposite ends, the rumble now a roar. “We found six,” Watts’ lips moved. “What?” I yelled to be heard over the freight train rolling at about 45 miles an hour just 30 feet behind the building. “I said we found six bullets,” shouted Watts, standing toe to toe with me to be heard over the train. “Vance thought he only saw four entry wounds.” “We dug two more out of the wall behind him. One matched, the other didn’t.” “Two gunmen?” “No, the odd one had probably been there a while.” “What kind of gun?” “Probably 7.65mm.” “Foreigners,” I muttered. “Why do you say that?” Watts asked, as a plate bounced off the counter and crashed to the floor. “This is western America, everyone here carries some large caliber piece. Only foreigners use metric,” I stated, hoping all the weights in the gym were secured. “You may be right, somehow,” Watts replied. “Did anyone see anything?” “Blind as bats, what do you know about Mike, Vance?” “Very little, Vance doesn’t ask questions unless he doesn’t know the answer.” Watts frowned. “Someone said the guy was carrying funny money.” “That might explain the clothes,” I said. “Maybe, we’re checking on that too. How much longer will this racket last?” “Oh five, ten minutes tops.” “I don’t know how you can stand it.” “Free rent is how Vance can stand it. Been nice talking Chuck, but Vance has to work with Mrs. Carlisle.” “We found another body early this morning out in the hills,” Watts added. “Another Samoan?” I asked. “We can’t tell. Everything on the inside was broken and everything on the outside was burned. That will keep the forensics boys busy for a while. They’ll probably have to go for a match on the dental records, if he has enough teeth left,” Watts said flatly. This was serious. If not for what’s her name I might be out of the picture too. “You’re probably better staying away from this one Vance,” Watts cautioned. “Don’t worry about Vance, he’s a big boy,” I smiled, flexing a tawny bicep. “Besides a woman called me last week, wanted to know what it would cost to have me follow her husband. Ought to be easy, he knows some of the same broads Vance does. Never met him though,” I replied. “I guess you have bills to pay, even in this place,” Watts chuckled, then added “is that peanut butter in your ear?”

Watts left and I finished changing. I spent the next hour or so with Mrs. Carlisle. She thought there was a demand for extras in fitness shows and videos, and was determined to be one. Although she was getting into shape, she would never realize her dream. She has two left feet and uneven breasts.

Chapter 3

2009-01-26T20:13:00.000-06:00

and the Story Continues.....

Chapter Three

I saw the body almost as soon as I entered the smoke filled room. A small group of people had formed a circle around the dead man, just far enough away not to be involved, but close enough to see what was happening.

I took a second to make a mental picture of the people in the room. I recognized a few faces, but knew that none of the people in here killed this man. The men were all wimps, whose wives made their lives a living Hell, but were afraid to do anything about it but subconsciously hate themselves. The few women were mostly booze hounds with issues of their own. If they had shot him they would be draped over the body sobbing and saying how much they loved him and how sorry they were. Odds were, none of these people killed that man, but I still didn’t rule anyone out.

I reached down to tip the man’s hat back so I could see his face, but drew back just before touching him. My fingers had been within an inch of the cause of death, a small bullet hole just behind the right temple, administered at very close range, in front of all these people.

I looked up into the blank faces, each one staring back at me, probing my every movement, critiquing my every move. I knew they were wondering if I could handle this case, if I had what it takes. I could stand it no more and shouted, “didn’t anyone see who killed this man?”

Everyone in the bar looked away truly disinterested, some smiling, some laughing openly and with good reason. A true blue working detective doesn’t lose his cool so quickly or beg for clues so pitifully. Their disinterest was genuine and understandable. In this end of town violence is as common as a cold – and there isn’t a cure for either. I saw Mike working busily behind the bar serving drinks, as I again turned my attention to the body, trying not to notice the squishing sound coming from my pants, as I bent over the stiff on the floor.

The guy was huge. He looked to be Samoan, mid 30s, 6’7” and an easy 325 pounds, more muscle than not. There appeared to be three other wounds in his middle and upper chest. He was so big it probably required all four shots to bring him down.

He was wearing nice slacks and a long sleeve dress shirt. The collar was open and a real silk tie lay loosened around his neck. His shoes were very expensive, and his aftershave wasn’t Brut.

I checked his wallet. He had a California Driver’s license. It said his name was Mathisu Tonongo, and he was from Sacramento. There were a few uninteresting business cards, one credit card, several hundred dollars in cash and a laundry ticket. I kept the laundry ticket. I plucked out a twenty, rubbed it between my thumb and fingers and tucked them both in my pocket. I looked up and saw a guy staring at me. “It’s counterfeit, they all are.” I said and started to check his other pockets. Nothing, no change, no keys, no phone – nothing. He still had his watch, a Rolex, a ring on each hand, and his nails were manicured.

I stood up and glanced around. The man was still staring at me. “Did you see this?” He shook his head. “Right,” I snorted. The rest of the bar was paying no attention as the cops arrived. I headed to the bar and took a seat where I could see the door and the body.

“What’ll you have Vance?” asked Mike. “Tomato juice with a lime wedge,” I said. When Mike returned with my drink, I said, “what happened here Mike?” “You know me Vance, I was in the back checking stock.”

Mike was a good guy who had seen his share of trouble, and didn’t care for more. Mike did a stretch. When he got out some old pal set him up here as the “owner.” I didn’t know who his partner was, but there were no tax stamps on the liquor bottles, tags on the seat cushions and Mike didn’t carry insurance, or live like a business man whose overhead was too low.

The body was still warm, and things weren’t adding up. First, with his criminal past and ten plus years in the bar, Mike could spot trouble a mile away, and usually threw out troublemakers before things got exciting. So maybe he was checking stock. Second, big Samoans usually travel in pairs. Third, the guy was so well dressed he would have stood out almost anywhere; even on the good part of town, but nobody seemed to notice him. Fourth, in my haste to get dressed, did I put on my underwear or the dames?

The cops scurried around like cops do. They talked to almost everyone in the bar, nobody saw anything. I was hoping to talk with Detective Watts, a sometimes friend of mine. We were currently speaking, but I had to go. With some luck the blonde was still at the hotel, and we could get my jeans off without my losing any skin. I gave Watts a wave as I paid for my drink and left.

I awoke to a knock at the door. It was the maid. I got some clean towels from her and closed the door. I was alone, not even a sign of the dame.

As I showered, I thought about the shooting. A man was gunned down in a bar in the middle of happy hour and nobody saw anything. This sort of thing happened a lot when I was growing up in Jersey. This was typical for the mob. One of the families from Vegas has an interest in town, but I hadn’t gotten wind of any activity by them lately. I didn’t sound like the Asian gangs either. They usually slit throats and do not hang out at the Come and Get It. This could be a tough case. Wait. Nobody asked me to take it. Nobody is paying me and I’m not personally involved. Forget it, leave this one to Watts, he could use a career boost.

Chapter 2

2009-01-24T17:31:00.002-06:00

**SIDE NOTE**
I can not take credit for this story and I won't it is a DipShit Production and the Editor, Tis would like to solicit all readers to submit a paragraph in the comment section for future use in the continuing saga of Vance Manion PI/PSC....without further ado..

Chapter Two

Outside the hotel, the darkness collapsed around me as I headed down the “main drag” into town. The smell of night swept up the tree-covered slope to meet me and I felt my stomach tighten.

It seemed like the three minutes it took to walk the distance to town was an eternity, but when I entered the street to the vision of chaos, I wished it had taken longer. It was clear to me that the Grim Reaper had paid a visit to this street and had not gone away empty handed.

I focused on the far end of the block; there were still people running everywhere, more people that I had ever seen in this town at one time. A memory of last year’s Founders Day 10K came to mind, and I chuckled because only three people had entered and only one showed up. The Mayor was so upset he refused to award the prize, which prompted the sole participant to punch him square in the puss. I wondered what the Mayor would think if he saw the hundreds of people running the streets tonight.

The commotion seemed to center on a small bar on the other end of the block. I felt the knot in my stomach squeeze tight as I leaped onto the sidewalk and headed toward the blinking red and green neon sign. The red part said “come,” the green part said “and get it.” I stopped three feet shy of the sign.

Seeing the Come and Get It sign reminded me of a past I was trying so desperately to forget. I hadn’t been here since the night two years ago when they found me next to dead on the shore of the lake. All I remember of that night is coming to the bar for a stiff cocktail before retiring, and then chasing that one legged bastard near the lake. The next think I knew, I was in a medical helicopter on my way to a trauma unit in Boise. It took nearly six weeks of treatment in the psycho ward before I was allowed back on the streets.

My therapist was a long legged strawberry blonde, who worked night and day to deal with my problem. I guess I was quite a wreck when she first saw me be cause she said I was curled up in a ball, and all I would say was “look out, look out, nomads, ranchers and Eskimo pies!” When I finally came out of la la land, I could only remember part of the Come and Get It, and then running after the one-legged bastard. I also remember being surprised at how fast that one leg could carry him. The shrink said I had blocked whatever happened out of my mind and that I may never remember it or the slightest little thing could trigger a complete recall. If the latter occurred, she warned me, all hell could break loose and I would probably not be able to control my actions.

The not knowing had been eating at my guts ever since. I worried at first that people would not trust me as a private eye or personal strength coach, so I got out of the business. My friends tried to comfort me by saying my paranoia was all in my head, and that they did trust me. But I could see right through them. When I wasn’t around they talked about me, all of them. My friends, my grandmother, even my dog would get quiet when I came in the room and I could see in their eyes that they thought I was crazy.

I cracked. I went on a drinking binge that has never been equaled. Party all day, party all night. That was my motto and I was damn proud of it. Everyone was my friend when I was buying the drinks and nobody called me crazy, not in a bad way.

I didn’t care about anything. I was riding higher than I had ever ridden before and that was all that mattered.

My euphoria was short lived however, as bill collectors and hangovers started to pile up. In a rare moment of clarity I realized I had to do something and do it fast. I turned to the only thing I knew, the only thing I ever loved. I remember the day I decided to return like it was just this morning. I got out of bed, walked to the open window and shouted “I’m Vance Manion, private eye and personal strength coach and I’m back and mad as Hell!”

“Hey buddy, you got a light?” The vagrant’s words returned me to the front of the bar and the real world.

“Get away from me you walking flea hotel,” I snapped as I pushed my way into the bar.

Chapter One....

2009-01-22T08:28:00.000-06:00

Vance Manion – Murder with no Good Cause

Chapter One

The sound of the gunshot pierced through the night air and seemed to blend into the cracking of the whip as it struck my already inflamed buttocks. I tried to convince myself it was just a truck backfiring as it downshifted to make the steep grade into town, but my trained ears would not let me believe that. I had heard the pop of nearly every weapon ever fired and knew this was not a backfire. It was the sound every man in my profession dreads hearing while somehow managing to thrive on the aftermath. It’s not a pretty job, but what job really is. I earn my money only when other people have committed heinous crimes or need some sort of fitness conditioning. You see, I’m Vance Manion, private eye and personal strength coach.

I somehow convinced the big breasted beauty I was allowing to torture me, to untie me and tell me where she had hidden my clothes. She was a real prize with a figure that could stop a Japanese rush hour, and eyes so sky blue that every now and then you thought you saw birds fly across them. Sexually she was my equal, and quite possibly the only equal to me in the world. I knew I wanted to spend more time with her, get to know her, spend more time with her and perhaps fall in love with her. But what I really wished I could do is remember her name.

I rushed to dress as the blonde watched. In my haste I completely forgot about the “love potion” of honey, peanut butter, and strawberry jam, that I had encouraged her to spread over my lower body in anticipation of her licking it off. Forgot that is until I tried to slide my Levi’s 501 jeans on. (All us private eyes wear 501s).

Knowing that I didn’t have time for a shower, especially with this Goddess, I took a deep breath and forced my ooze covered butt into the jeans and buttoned them with as much speed as I could muster. I leaned over to give this sexual dynamo a peck on the cheek before leaving, when she spoke for the first time in what seemed like hours.

“Why Vance, why does it always have to be you?” she said in a voice so husky it could have pulled a dog sled. “Every time anything in this one-horse town goes wrong, I have to untie you so that you can run off and risk your life, or spend hours in the gym training some flavor of the month wrestler for his ‘Dream Match’ with the Hulk. Why does it have to be you? Why can’t it be someone else?”

The dame had a point. My recent history as a lover had more spots than an old man with liver problems. It seems I had run out on more women in the middle of sex than I cared to remember, but her questions brought it all back to me.

There was the brunette bimbo from Baltimore I bedded at the Best Western that I left to book the bank robber. I stranded the redhead at the Ramada to catch the vermin responsible for defacing the mascot in front of our middle school.

But the most painful to me was the time I lost the only true love of my life when I tossed cab fare on the night stand as I left the Marriot to track down the one legged bastard who kept leaving the phony Bigfoot tracks to alternately attract and scare the tourists who might be camping near the lake. Yeah she was right alright, I did leave a lot of women stranded, but part of what she said bothered me - the part about her having to untie me all the time. I could have sworn this was the first time I had ever seen her.

“Why you Vance?” Her cry brought me back from my memories.

I didn’t want to disappoint her, but I couldn’t lie to her either, at least not yet. I crossed the room to her and stared straight into those baby blues. She gasped as I took her hand and held it gently while reciting the only thing that would, or could, come to mind. I gave her my standard answer. “I’ll tell you why Sweetheart - because I’m Vance Manion, private eye and personal strength coach.” With that I kissed her on the forehead and headed out into the mystery the darkness outside was clinging to.

Just for the record....

2009-01-17T05:57:00.002-06:00

In case my plane goes down on the way to San Diego, I would hate that the few people that read this shit would always wonder about the 6 things that I posted that may or may not be true.

Well I am sorry and joyful to say ALL 6 are true.

I know I'm lie a Virgina Slims ad "I've come a long way Baby"

Can't wait for America to go through this!

2009-01-15T20:37:00.004-06:00

Are the same people that spent the last 24 years making fun of all the presidents that have blown through DC, going to be as hard on Obama as they were on Clinton? Both Bushes, and a Reagan? What about Carter or Ford? SNL busted all their balls, Jon Stewart spent the last 10 years with his self righteous fist elbow deep in Bush's ass...not that it wasn't warranted, but still what is gonna happen when the first black prez, stumbles? Is it going to be racist to make fun of his black ass? When he fails to do anything but raise our taxes and create more welfare moms is it going to be against the rules to point that out?

Here is a good stat for you anti gun nuts.
Australian Gun Law Update
Here's a thought to warm some of your hearts...
From: Ed Chenel , A police officer in Australia
Hi Yanks, I thought you all would like to see the real figures from Down Under.
It has now been 12 months since gun owners in Australia were forced
by a new law to surrender 640,381 personal firearms to be destroyed by
our own government, a program costing Australia taxpayers more than $500 million dollars.
The first year results are now in:
Australia-wide, homicides are up 6.2 percent,
Australia-wide, assaults are up 9.6 percent;
Australia-wide, armed robberies are up 44 percent (yes, 44 percent)!
In the state of Victoria alone, homicides with firearms are now up 300 percent.
(Note that while the law-abiding citizens turned them in, the criminals did not and criminals still possess their guns!)
While figures over the previous 25 years showed a steady decrease in armed robbery with firearms, this has changed drastically upward in the past 12 months, since the criminals now are guaranteed that their prey is unarmed
There has also been a dramatic increase in break-ins and assaults of the elderly, while the resident is at home.
Australian politicians are at a loss to explain how public safety has decreased, after such monumental effort and expense was expended in 'successfully ridding Australian society of guns.' You won't see this on the American evening news or hear your governor or members of the State Assembly disseminating this information.
The Australian experience speaks for itself. Guns in the hands of honest citizens save lives and property and, yes, gun-control laws affect only the law-abiding citizens.

And what about that CRAZY little town in Georgia that REQUIRES guns to be owned?

In March 1982, 27 years ago, the small town of Kennesaw – responding to a handgun ban in Morton Grove, Ill. – unanimously passed an ordinance requiring each head of household to own and maintain a gun. Since then, despite dire predictions of "Wild West" showdowns and increased violence and accidents, not a single resident has been involved in a fatal shooting – as a victim, attacker or defender.

The crime rate initially plummeted for several years after the passage of the ordinance, with the 2005 per capita crime rate actually significantly lower than it was in 1981, the year before passage of the law.

Prior to enactment of the law, Kennesaw had a population of just 5,242 but a crime rate significantly higher (4,332 per 100,000) than the national average (3,899 per 100,000). The latest statistics available – for the year 2005 – show the rate at 2,027 per 100,000. Meanwhile, the population has skyrocketed to 28,189. By comparison, the population of Morton Grove, the first city in Illinois to adopt a gun ban for anyone other than police officers, has actually dropped slightly and stands at 22,202, according to 2005 statistics. More significantly, perhaps, the city's crime rate increased by 15.7 percent immediately after the gun ban, even though the overall crime rate in Cook County rose only 3 percent. Today, by comparison, the township's crime rate stands at 2,268 per 100,000.

This was not what some predicted.

In a column titled "Gun Town USA," Art Buchwald suggested Kennesaw would soon become a place where routine disagreements between neighbors would be settled in shootouts. The Washington Post mocked Kennesaw as "the brave little city … soon to be pistol-packing capital of the world." Phil Donahue invited the mayor on his show.

Reuters, the European news service, today revisited the Kennesaw controversy following the Virginia Tech Massacre.

Police Lt. Craig Graydon said: "When the Kennesaw law was passed in 1982 there was a substantial drop in crime … and we have maintained a really low crime rate since then. We are sure it is one of the lowest (crime) towns in the metro area." Kennesaw is just north of Atlanta.
Take note Americans, before it's too late!

Torn between two lovers...feeling like a stool

2009-01-14T07:05:00.002-06:00

So I know that no one gives a shit about this rag of a fucking blog, and I am torn between trying to update more than once a week or less and just shutting the bitch down and saying see ya!

I love all of the peeps I have met through and around this thing but the truth be told, I am running out of fodder. My life, well the life I choose to share here, where I barely talk work because I don't feel the need to lose my job yet, and I touch on my involvement in the community service arena just a bit, because I can't really write what I want because if everyone knows that I am the douche behind the writing, and in charge of things in a business professional arena too, it might get a little more sticky then I want...Who am I kidding? I'd get run outta two organizations and more than likely the whole state of Missouri.

So what do you say when there is nothing to say? Do I just write bullshit like this? do I tell a fancy parable (can someone other then the son of god throw a parable out there?)and try and teach folk that my mistakes are everyone's mistakes?

I just don't know I guess I could be like some of the other people in the blogosphere and just lie, make stuff up and see if any one believes it. maybe I can make up a bunch of quizzes to get to know people better, or make myself look worse then I do...here try this on for size which one of these things have I done in Real life?
1) Mugged a man for cab fare
2) Stabbed my brother
3) Met Prof. Schorofsky from the TV show Fame
4) Had lunch with Crosby Kemper III
5) Stole all of my books for a complete semester
6) Never had a job interview

So out of the six things there which ones are complete bullshit?

Hell, maybe I can just make stuff up.

HUH??!!

2009-01-13T21:11:00.000-06:00

A couple of things that have been bugging the shit outta me lately.

News people. …Why on earth do you douche hammers insist on acting out the story that you are telling? I am not talking about the talking heads in the studio, I’m talking about the goofy jackasses that they send out in the field to tell us the fucking roads are slick, or that people are having trouble making the gas payment so the airhead keeps walking through her house and up to her thermostat showing us that yes indeed this is the device that some people can’t afford to turn on or keep running.

What the fuck is that? Is there a news reporter class where they teach you to point at stupid shit just in case we all forgot to wear our helmets, and we have just recently figured out to stop eating the paste? It is just condescending and lame when some reject makes the camera person wander around behind or point in a direction where there is ABSOLUTELY nothing going on, just so they tie their body language into part of the story. If you don’t know about this phenomena but if you watch any morning news you will see it. I am not naming names but for fucks sake Fox 4 is thick with stupid reporters.

The Shocker… Ok we all now that the shocker is two in the pink and one in the stink, but to me that isn’t shocking. Ok I know that a finger in the ass of some people would tilt them off of their axis and cause them to be horribly scarred for life. I think if you went for the Promised Land and tried to throw the shocker in play, and hit a ROOT, and your two in the pink become a ring around the polesy…. THAT would be a SHOCKER. Thinking that you’re heading into the apple pie and instead of sticky goodness, you hit wood…again Shocker.

American Idol…. Seriously. Where do these people fucking come from? My deaf dog can howl with better pitch then 99% of these fist fucking losers who think they can carry a tune and I bet they couldn’t carry a bucket of shit with both hands. And then bawl like a bitch when they are told they suck…do they not have friends? And if they do have friends I would seriously consider getting new ones who don’t talk you into doing REALLY stupid shit!

Guys named Clancy… Yeah I don’t get that name. What the fuck is that all about?

Doing Time With Trashman

2009-01-09T14:14:00.002-06:00

Last night after I had my fill of screaming at morons at the UPS store about the treatment of our wooden crate, which they destroyed in the 20 short hours it was in their possession, I got a call from none other then Trashman.

Since the Legend doesn't imbibe any more, I drank enough for the both of us. We sat and talked for hours on end like a couple of school girls! I haven't laughed like that in a while. So What I'm saying is some one needs to get this Ex-pimp/drug dealer/con man/bouncer/construction work a book deal because some of his best stories aren't on paper yet!

Trash, had a great time. Next time in Austin, we're BBQing at your place!

Where is Gloria Gainor when you need her?

2009-01-02T08:05:00.000-06:00

72%

Xmas RIP

2008-12-30T09:21:00.003-06:00

Xmas was off to a great start! Got to spend Xmas eve with the in-laws and eating bad food with a crowd of other people who didn’t want to cook either, It was ok , just not my favorite style! And Bouby and I made out pretty good, got some $$ and some Hunting stuff and got to give groovy toys to the in-laws.

All in all it was a pretty fun evening. Xmas morning was good, we slept in, I gave Boub her secret gift, new diamond earrings, they are very pretty and sparkle quite a bit, so she digs them. And then we started to get everything gathered to go to her Mom’s for Xmas day.

Then I got the phone call.

My dad called me and told me that my cousin Richard had died sometime last week and they just found him.

Fuck.

Rich was one of my favorite cousins. He was a renaissance man, a bachelor’s bachelor, Viet Nam Vet from the Navy Branch, college graduate with his MFA in ceramics and glass blowing, ( I know, weird huh? He made some incredible art though) and he spent the last 25 years working for a manufacturing company as a designer and AUTOCAD monkey. His death was quite a blow to the family.

I know it is quite cliché but I really do wish I would have taken more time to spend with him. He would have been 61 at the end of January.

From what we can piece together He was at work on Friday the 19th, his boss told him he looked bad and sent him home, Rich told him that he might take a couple of extra days off to try and feel better. Then Rich’s sister called and talked to him of either Friday night or Saturday night, she can’t remember and then no one heard from him until the sheriff kicked his door in and found him dead. The body was so decomposed that we had no choice but cremation, and no one is sure yet what killed him. He was rotund, borderline diabetic, LOVED whiskey, and was an amazing 5’5”, 6”3” if drunk, and had the skills to back up the invisible height.

The ironic part to this whole tale is that the family had picked out a real nice urn for him, and upon further investigation at his dad’s place his sister found a more suited jar that he had crafted himself complete with form fitting lid, so his ashes get to remain in his creation for eternity. He unwittingly made his own final resting place.

RIP

Cousin Rich

1948-2008

yesterday wasn't that good

2008-12-19T09:23:00.003-06:00

Bouby and I turned on our furnace about the same time everyone else in KC did. And this was all good. We like heat heat is good. We have enjoyed the benefits of heat since before we were born, so when we fired the ol' girl up in October and she squeaked a bit, we knew at sometime we would need to have someone look at her and make sure all was kosher.

We kind of forgot about the squeaky parts as our lives became busy as they tend to do at the end of the year, and then we got that gas bill....200 bucks! Years previous the winter time gas bill ran on average 80-90 bucks. So we decided to have someone come out and take a peek.

The inspector guy showed up yesterday at 2:00pm and Bouby showed him the furnace, and he looked inside, took off a cover panel, watched the gas ignite and then "hurumphed". Put it all back together and said "get out".

So he then went on to explain that we had a cracked heat exchanger and that the levels of carbon monoxide were way above the levels usually reserved for killing people, and the gas flames were shooting directly up the flue and were a really good fire hazard.

So Bouby called me in a panic, and I left work early to come home and deal with the furnace shopping.

Yeah RIGHT!

What the fuck do I know from furnaces? I always rent, when I wasn't shacking up with some home owner broad (Pre- you Bouby!)and when my furnace needed replacing I made a phone call to my landlord and said "Fix the fucking heat Slummy McSlummerson!". So I came home and discussed options, and made a couple of phone calls. One of those calls was to a fellow Odd Fellow and we utilized our connections and got a pretty good price.

So I am working from the Casa this morning, and am a bit chilly since we had the furnace down to 63 last night so we wouldn't asphyxiate, and now all of that stored heat is gone until the guys get the new energy efficient 80% gas furnace installed.

I also had a dentist appointment this morning, first one in 14 years. I had a tiny cavity that apparently they filled with platinum because it cost me a fucking arm and a leg! But not bad for 14 years. I was told all is well but to start coming in for a cleaning since as you get older the less your saliva gets your calcium out of your mouth so you get build up and most people lose their teeth because of gum disease and not basic rot.

Which is good to know.

We now have a new furnace...it is not warm yet....but soon.

A Puppy Check up in Pictures

2008-12-15T19:39:00.010-06:00

All of my Dad's dogs go to the Vet before they are sold to brokers and pets stores across the country. This is a photo essay of one of those check ups. I also consider this to be my first foray back into some semblance of photojournalism that I used to do....so be kind, I am a bit rusty.

Now these last five are my Step Sisters pups, she is a breeder and a broker as well. So if you need some high end French Bull Dogs, or Weimaraners...let me know.

Re-publishing .....again...wait is that redundant?

2008-12-14T16:14:00.000-06:00

I have read this a 1000 times in the last 10 years of the internet and it makes me bawl like a baby that is teething every time! Enjoy!!

A Secret Promise Kept

The appointment I was on my way to was very important; I was very late and very lost. With my male ego in check, I began to look for a place to ask directions, preferably a gas station. Since I had been crisscrossing the city, my gas gauge was perilously low and time was of the essence.

I spotted the amber glow of light outside the local fire station. What better place to ask directions?

I quickly stepped from my car and crossed the street to the station. All three overhead doors were open and I could see red fire engines with their doors ajar, chrome shining, waiting in anticipation for the bell to ring.

As I stepped inside, the aroma of the station assaulted me. It was the smell of the hoses drying in the tower, the oversized rubber boots, jackets and helmets. These smells, mixed in with the freshly washed floors and polished trucks, created that mysterious scent associated with all fire stations. Slowing down, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and was transported back to my youth, to the fire station where my father worked for 35 years as head of fire maintenance.

I looked down to the end of the fire station and there it stood, sparkling gold to the sky, the fire pole. One day my dad let me and my older brother Jay slide down the pole, twice. In the corner of the station was the “creeper” used to slide under trucks when repairing them. Dad would say, “Hold on” and he would spin me around until I was dizzy as a drunken sailor. It was better than any Tilt-A-Whirl ride I have ever been on.

Next to the creeper was an old soda machine that had the classic Coca-Cola logo on it. It still dispensed the original green 10-ounce bottles, but they were now 35 cents compared with the 10 cents they were back then. A trip to the soda machine was always the highlight of the visit with Dad to the station, my very own bottle of soda.

When I was 10 years old, I took two of my friends by the station to show off my dad and see if we could weasel some sodas out of him. After showing them around the station, I asked Dad if we could each have a soda before we went home for lunch.

I detected just the slightest hesitation in my father’s voice that day, but he said “Sure” and gave us each a dime. We raced the soda machine to see if our bottle had a cap with the illustrious star on the inside.

What a lucky day! My cap had a star. I was only two caps away from sending for my very own Davy Crockett hat.

We all thanked my father and headed home for lunch and a summer afternoon of swimming.

I came home early that day from the lake, and as I walked down the hall I heard my parents talking. Mom seemed upset with Dad, and then I heard my name mentioned: “You should have just said you didn’t have the money for sodas. Brian would have understood. That money was for your lunch. The kids have to understand that we don’t have any extra money and you need to have your lunch.”

My dad, in his usual way, just shrugged it off.

Before my mother knew I had overheard the conversation, I hurried up the stairs to the room I shared with my four brothers.

As I emptied my pockets, the bottle cap that had caused so many problems fell to the floor. I picked it up and was ready to put it with the other seven when I realized how great a sacrifice my father had made for that bottle cap.

That night I made a promise of repayment. Someday I would be able to tell my father that I knew of the sacrifice he made that afternoon and so many other days, and I would never forget him for it.

My father had his first heart attack at the young age of 47. I guess his lifestyle of working three jobs to support the nine of us finally caught up to him. On the evening of my parents’ 25th anniversary, surrounded by all his family, the biggest, loudest, strongest of us all showed the first crack in the armor we as children thought would always be impenetrable.

Over the next eight years, my father battled back and forth, suffering another three heart attacks until he ended up with a pacemaker.

One afternoon my dad’s old blue Plymouth wagon broke down, and he called me for a ride to take him to the doctor for his annual checkup. As I pulled into the station, I saw my dad outside with all the other firemen crowded around a brand-new pickup truck. It was a deep blue Ford pickup, and it was a beauty. I mentioned to my dad how nice it was, and he commented that someday he would down a truck like that.

We both laughed. This was always his dream – and it always seemed so unattainable.

At this point in my personal life, I was doing quite well in business, as were all my brothers. We offered to buy him a truck, but as he so aptly put it, “If I don’t buy it, I won’t feel like it’s mine.”

As my dad stepped out of the doctor’s office I figured the gray pasty look on his face was from being poked, prodded and pricked with needles.

“Let’s go,” was all he said.

As we got into the car, I knew something was wrong. We drove off in silence and I knew Dad would tell me what was wrong in his own way.

I took the long way back to the station. As we drove by our old house, the ball field, lake and corner store, my dad started talking about the past and the memories each place held.

That’s when I knew he was dying.

He looked at me and nodded.

I understood.

We stopped at Cabot’s Ice Cream and had an ice cream together for the first time alone in 15 years. We talked, really talked that day. He told me how proud he was of all of us and that he wasn’t afraid of dying. His fear was that he was going to be away from my mother.

I chuckled at him; never had a man been more in love with a woman than my dad.

He made me promise that day that I would never tell anyone of his impending death. As I agreed to his wishes, I knew that it was one of the toughest secrets I would ever have to keep.

At the time, my wife and I were looking for a new car or truck. My father knew the salesman at Cochituate Motors in Wayland, so I asked him if he would go with me to see what I could get for a trade-in toward a new car or truck.

As we entered the showroom, and I started talking with the salesman, I spotted Dad looking at the most beautiful, fully loaded chocolate-brown metal flake pickup truck he or I had ever seen. I saw my dad run his hand over the truck like a sculptor checking his work.

“Dad, I think I should buy a truck. I want to look at something small that is good on gas mileage.”

As the salesman left the showroom to get the dealer plate, I suggested that we take the brown truck out for a ride.

“You can’t afford this,” he said.

“I know that, and you know that, but the salesman doesn’t,” I said.

As we pulled out onto Route 27, with my father behind the wheel, we both laughed like a couple of kids at the fast one we had pulled off. He drove for 10 minutes, commenting about how beautifully it rode while I played with all the bells and whistles.

When we returned to the showroom, we took out a small blue Sundowner truck. My dad commented that this was a better truck for commuting because of gas and all the miles I would be driving. I agreed with him and we returned and finalized the deal with the salesman.

I called my dad a few nights later and asked him if he would come with me to pick up the truck. I think he agreed so quickly just to get one final look at “his brown truck,” as he called it.

When we pulled into the dealer’s yard, there was my little blue Sundowner with a sold sticker on it. Next to it was the brown pickup, all washed and shiny, with a big SOLD sign on the window.

I glanced over at my father and saw the disappointment register on his face as he said, “Someone bought himself a beautiful truck.”

I just nodded and said, “Dad, would you go inside and tell the salesman I’ll be right in as soon as I park the car?” As my father walked past the brown truck, he ran his hand along it and I could see the look of disappointment pass over him again.

I pulled my car around to the far side of the building and looked out the window at the man who had given up everything for his family. I watched as the salesman sat him down, handed him a set of keys to his truck – the brown one – and explained that it was for him from me and this was our secret.

My dad looked out the window, our eyes met, and we both nodded and laughed at each other.

I was waiting outside my house when my dad pulled up that night. As he stepped out of his truck, I gave him a big hug and a kiss and told him how much I loved him, and reminded him this was our secret.

We went for a drive that evening. Dad said he understood the truck, but what was the significance of the Coca-Cola bottle cap with the star in the center taped to the steering wheel?

By Brian Keefe

Why All Hunters are not ALL hunters...

2008-12-08T18:41:00.003-06:00

This last week I spent in the woods doing what I love to do. I was deer hunting. and it would have been an excellent week off if not for a few problems. Those problems came from a group of hunters from North Carolina.

20 years ago or so a group of men from North Carolina contacted my Grandpa, and Grandma, and asked to pheasant hunt on their property. As my G-pa was an avid hunter, and these men seemed to him, on the up and up he allowed it, and they became a yearly guest of the family. When my G-pa died, G-ma continued to allow these men to come pheasant hunt. and all was fine. Until a year ago.

Some of the older gentlemen stopped coming either due to health, or not wanting to travel all the way to Clyde KS for some Chinese chickens, either way, their spots were filled by a younger set, and these kids wanted to supplement their hunting of birds with some big Kansas whitetail deer. They asked permission and with a few rules, they were allowed to hunt certain pieces of land. Since they have been coming back for so long they naturally knew some other people in the area, and obtained permission from them as well....for specific parcels of land.

So, all is seemingly good, until last year, when people started hearing reports that these hunters were not playing by the rules that were set down by the land owners and farmers. We were told that they were seen on peoples land that they hadn't talked too, and basically went exactly where they were told to stay off. Including my cousin ad I's favorite hunting spot. It was rumored that the game warden was looking for them as well. Upon hearing that my Uncle made the decision that no one was going to hunt on ANY of our land without clearing it with my cousin...who now has that land set aside for his outfitter company.

Fast forward to this year when they asked the uncle if they could hunt and he told them to check with my cousin....they didn't. Thursday morning while we were in the trees, we watched them drive into one of the restricted parcels, see our truck, turn around and head back to the place they were supposed to be hunting, they drop three hunters off there and head out. We think they are walking the part of the creek that they have permission for, it took us a minute to think it through and if they were going to drop off their hunters in the wrong spot to begin with we guessed that they would be on another off limits parcel of land that connected to the ONLY place they had the right to be.

So we cut our hunt short, hightail it back to the truck and head out to the lower place. As we draw close we see that they had parked both trucks in an off limits are and three guys were walking through the woods. Now these guys had their game well planned out and their stories were straight. When we got there, they all agreed that they were just out for a nice leisurely pheasant hunt with their shotguns and their 6 bird dogs....yes I wrote 6, 6 damn dogs. Never mind that I have been hunting that chunk of land since I was a little kid and there have NEVER been any fucking pheasants there, but that was their story. The cousin told them that he saw them drop off the hunters and that he didn't want them in this piece of land and they said they were sorry and that they would leave immediately. At this point in time we gave them the benefit of the doubt and we drove off to ride the section to hopefully locate a spot for the afternoon.

As we circled back around 10 minutes later, their trucks were still their and they were so deep in the creek we couldn't see the blaze orange that had all over themselves. I guess they just told us what we wanted to hear. During our conversation, they told us of a monster deer that they had harvested the day before and told us we should go have a look at it since it was in G-Ma's garage. Since our morning hunt was ruined, and our honey hole was being trampled by people we were growing to hate, we headed for the bar/restaurant to talk with the uncle who was still there having coffee. On the way, we got a call from another cousin telling us that the highway patrol, and game warden were peeking into G-ma's garage windows...Interesting
We told the uncle the tale of the wayward hunters and he reiterated that it was up to the cousin to set the boundaries, and then we told him about the fuzz peeking in windows, and we all headed over to G-ma's. We looked at the deer carcass and yes it was a trophy, and confirmed their story with G-ma, that they had shot that deer on her land, it had run across the road and expired on someone else's land and they had gotten an earful from some pig farmer for trespassing.

Well this is getting too long. Bottom line is they violated the NUMBER ONE rule of out of state hunting. Treat the people and the land as if they were your momma and your own, and follow the rules set before you.

Ended up that they had shot that deer on someone elses land, which is why they got an ass chewing and that farmer and the land owner both witnessed them breaking the law and they had the deer confiscated, the kid that did the shooting was pointed out by the accusers and he was one of the hunters that wasn't supposed to be hunting deer as he didn't draw a tag, and fined $375.00. When I heard that I was shocked. He should have had the book thrown at him and his ass thrown in jail. The normal fine for hunting with out a license is loss of gun, loss of hunting license for 3 years, and a fine of $1500.00. Then there is also a "Trophy" fine that could have been assessed from between $2500-$5000. That little cocksucker got off easier than OJ.

And all though we can't prove it the coincidence is too great to over look. We found a deer that was shot, gutted and the ass meat cut off, and the carcass thrown over a bridge on the edge of our property. The rack was still on it, and when we climbed down to look at it we saw why, it was only on one side. So we guessed that they saw a rack, shot it, gutted it to make it easier to move, cut the hams off and dumped it over the bridge so they could just take some venison home.

Needless to say, they are no longer welcome anywhere near Clyde KS EVER again. It isn't hard to piss off a whole town when that town is only 700 people strong.

Oh and pics will come later...too much fun!

Christmas comes early...

2008-11-30T09:18:00.003-06:00

Thanksgiving was spent with Bouby's side of the family, on her mother's side as we have been doing it for 4 years, and as usual the spread was awesome.

But before we got there I was given my Christmas gift early. I know it is a moth early and I shouldn't have let her do it but the ENTIRE family, chipped in and got me a new camera and Bouby wanted me to have it to take pictures of her family.

Here is what they kicked down for me.

12MP Digital SLR Camera (Black) + Canon 18-55mm IS Lens + Canon 75-250mm III Lens.

I still have my film stuff, but I am already looking for the same digital lenses to replace what I had in my film bag, and like all things, there are some good deals and then there are some bad deals, it will take some time but I really REALLY dig the new camera. Just don't be surprised if this becomes a picture blog.

2008-11-18T09:55:00.002-06:00

When I was working in the bar business that was all I wanted to do. But in wanting that I made myself an asshole. I wanted people to come in and have a good time and to drink and get drunk and dance and play and be groovy.

Unfortunately I also demanded that these same people be courteous, reasonable, and respectful to each other, and my bar. (I know it wasn’t ‘my’ bar but I was in charge and I did a good job) Unfortunately, as I grew older and wiser, the people that I was serving were not ready to be respectful social drinkers. My crowd was the fraternities and sororities of Chico State.

Some of you, of a certain age, may remember Chico State from the late 80’s where they celebrated Pioneer Days and MTV even went as far as to put a map up every hour for a week solid on how you could get to Chico California for this amazing party. Playboy rated it the number one party school in the nation. That year was the last year for Pioneer Days as it was also the first time that there were 4500 arrests (none of those people Chico State students, ALL out of towners) and huge riot where a cop car and a news wagon were set on fire along with a trash bin and all the furniture out of every apartment in a complex called “the Zoo”.

At the time I was not there. I was in college elsewhere causing my own riots. April 25th 1987 were the riots and I didn’t get there until September of 88. So none of that shit was my fault.

My clients acted much like that of rioters on a nightly basis. With the exception of fighting which only happened 4 times in the 6 years I was at the bar, and only one of them a full blown street melee, it was relatively blood free. I am speaking more of the inane stupidity that is the mob mentality. I had drunks that would inevitably get so intoxicated they would think that because I was sober I was also somehow less smart then they were. One night I was repeatedly telling one of my favorite regulars to stop trying to stand on the bar stool, and he kept ignoring me because he knew that if he could just stand on the bar stool he would be able to dance 63% better than any white man in the place.

I stopped him from getting all the way erect 4 maybe 5 times, the second I would get distracted by someone at the door, he was back on the stool wanting to stand up. Well the 6th time he did this I was late in stopping him and he stuck his thick drunk skull into the ceiling fan. The thunk-thunk-thunk that the fan blades made careening off his melon were very satisfying, so as I walk over to him he was looking at me with these pained puppy eyes that seemed to ask me “ why did you make the fan try to chop off my head?” I just looked at him and told him;

“I fucking told you to stop doing that…now you know why”

I had some drunk frat rat piss on my blackjack dealer one night because he didn’t want to walk all the way across the bar to the rest room. She , god bless her, punched him in the face and threw him out the back door with his drunk little thing still sticking out.

Then there was the guy who refused to order a rum and coke, he felt the need to always call it by its scientific name, a “Cuba Libre”, not that he was a big problem, but he was always annoying.

But the point here is the reason I was an asshole is because I couldn’t figure out why more people didn’t just want to sit and talk, or dance, in a responsible drunk manner instead of a “I need a baby sitter, because I am 9 years old” drunk manner. They would break things on purpose, punch holes in the walls, the chicks…fuck, those dirty, stinky sorority whores would fill the trash can with piss every night (our bathroom was a single seater) since they travel in packs of no less than 3 they would race for the toilet, and loser squatted over the trashcan. I shit you not there has never been a more disgusting animal invented then the sorority bitch. My customers would lie, steal, cheat and think it was just hysterical.

Basically they treated the place like shit, like we owed it to them to provide a place for them to act like jerk offs because they knew that anywhere else they would get thrown in jail for ½ the shit they were doing.

And that Irked me.

So I became a royal asshole. They wanted to act like spoiled kids I would treat them like spoiled kids. I thumped their ears when they acted up, put them in time outs, and on occasion spanked them.

I was also constantly under a barrage of stupid questions, IE:

1) What can I get for you? …uuuhhh Gimme a beer! ( we served 5 on tap and 40 in bottles)

2) Walking through an open door..”Are you open? (If I wasn’t do you think the door would be open?)

3) Whysh cant eyes have more beers? Because you just yakked, I saw you! And I can smell it go away!

Now you know what caused me to be a Cranky old fucker. It was those goddamned kids!

So maybe I like it once a week

2008-11-16T20:43:00.005-06:00

It seems that when I go to Vegas, all I get is business, drunk, and blisters. I did enjoy another 10 star meal at the Golden Steer, possibly the finest steak house in all of Pangea. The history of the restaurant is somewhat incomplete as was dictated to us by the waiter who had been waiting tables there since the 60's.

The Rat Pack were some of the very first superstars to hang out at the steak house and according to our waiter, the reason was because they were the only place in Vegas that didn't try to make Sammy eat in the kitchen with the rest of the help. They recognized him as the star that he was and gave him his own booth. When you go to visit that place that is one of that coolest parts. Each of the booths are someone else's. This last time we sat in the Micky Rooney booth and I almost had to kill a family of 8 because they brought a fucking baby to the Golden Steer.

I don't care if you are visiting, or you have family come to town if you live there. Find a fucking sitter, or leave the rat at home with one of the unlucky grandparents. You don't don't bring spawn to a fucking landmark restaurant, especially when it is fucking fussy. They really have no idea how close they came to having one large pissed off land mammal land in the middle of their table and start head butting people. If rage were volume, I was the fucking Atlantic Ocean. ( I know some of you thought I was going to say I went to 11, but not this time! I went all scientific on you!)

I did get to see my good buddy "Stands on Stool" (her Indian name due to her small stature) and we talked all about her chemically altered hubby, and his bi-polar ass, and how he is a complete waste of space and needs to become a homeless divorcee. But I missed hooking up with one of my newly found regulars from the California bar days, she was in town visiting her brother or some such. And my old bosses from the same said bar days were reportedly in town as well, I'm assuming for the UFC fights, but who knows since neither one of those ass clowns bothered to return my phone calls.

Know what I say to that?

Fuck them, Fuck them in the as with out lube and then use the fist.

Let's see did I cover everything? Vegas, Top Steakhouse ever, old friends, anal rape, and fisting....that ought to get the google searches up.

OH and this is one of the funniest things I have seen in at least 10 minutes!

See you all on Tuesday...or not, you lazy sacks of crap, whatsamatter? Can't make it 3 more miles up the road. What are you? Kennedy's? Can't make it across a fucking bridge?

A whole week huh?

2008-11-08T19:29:00.004-06:00

Well some of you may have noticed that I wasn't here much this week and I assure you that it has nothing to do with my political afflictions. Nor do I think that Osama Bin Biden will do a bad job, and I can tell you assuredly that I have been enjoying all of the tasteless jokes that white people have been sharing over the course of the last week. With all of the racist bullshit I have been hearing you'd have thought that he lost the damn election.

Can't a brother catch a break around this supposed free country?

So I will not be referencing the job here anymore, it has come to my attention that certain people have let slip that Ireside here behind the Bullshit and I would hate to let anyone of my so called clients find that I have been telling their secrets to the entire world...or at least the 30 people that stop by occasionally.

So as far as we are all concerned I am the worlds greatest salesperson working for that worlds greatest company and under the best CEO that has ever graced a trade publication.

I haven't been hunting yet this year and apparently I picked the wrong year to be labeled as the continuing world champion of sales, since it seems to cut into my leisure time activities. Like stalking Bambi's daddy, and making him into a beautiful stew and some jerky.

I have started working out every morning again and I can say that I missed it greatly. I love the way the muscles burn and the weights seem to get lighter everyday as the old memories flood back into the meat and bone that used to be an athlete. I don't hold any predispositions that I will be able to be as cock-strong as I was when I was 20-25, but I can say that two years ago I out preformed kids half my age and in better shape...so maybe there is some hope not become the old and decrepit that I see so often in people that are a mere 25-30 years older than me.

But even just after a week the iron flows through me, moving in those ways set forth by the years of practice and repetition that only one who spent his youth pushing people around for fun can receive and remember. the dumbbells,pulleys and bars seem like old friends. your best friends, the type that even when you haven't seen or talked to them for a year or more, it seems like it was yesterday and you fall into the same old routines like you were never apart. My plates and Dumbbells feel like that and I am experiencing the joys of being sore.

For those who don't know the pleasure of the pain of being sore from throwing iron, then you are missing out of one of the closest things I can compare to S&M that I will ever get too, but it is also a certain feeling of accomplishment. When you have this soreness, it reminds you that you have been extending your life one second at a time.

So maybe this becomes the trials and tribulations of me desperately clinging to my youth through the art of exercise and iron tossing....who knows I may need a permanent vacation too.

Anyone have Dr. Kevorkian's number?

PS: I just watched Sweeny Todd with Johnny Depp and that crazy British bitch, and it was like Kill Bill Vol. I and II, without the plot.

Why you shouldn't vote for Obama!..or MaCain for that matter

2008-10-31T16:20:00.001-05:00

This video clip pretty much sums up everything Glenn Beck has been saying for the past months in just a few seconds. An excited woman is interviewed after an Obama rally and says she will vote for Obama because 'I won't have to worry about putting gas in my car and I won't have to worry about paying my mortgage'.

Twas the night before elections 2008

2008-10-30T06:24:00.004-05:00

Twas the Night before Elections

'Twas the night before elections
And all through the town
Tempers were flaring
Emotions all up and down!

I, in my bathrobe
With a cat in my lap
Had cut off the TV
Tired of political crap.

When all of a sudden
There arose such a noise
I peered out of my window
Saw Obama and his boys

They had come for my wallet
They wanted my pay
To give to the others
Who had not worked a day!

He snatched up my money
And quick as a wink
Jumped back on his bandwagon
As I gagged from the stink

He then rallied his henchmen
Who were pulling his cart
I could tell they were out
To tear my country apart!

' On Fannie, on Freddie,
On Biden and Ayers!
On Acorn, On Pelosi'
He screamed at the pairs!

They took off for his cause
And as he flew out of sight
I heard him laugh at the nation
Who wouldn't stand up and fight!

So I leave you to think
On this one final note-
IF YOU DON'T WANT SOCIALISM
GET OUT AND VOTE!!

Thank you Spanky for this riveting poem!

Friday Fright Night

2008-10-25T10:49:00.005-05:00

Last Night the Greater Northland Jaycees participated in the the Friday Fright Night Safe Halloween Trick or Treat extravaganza.....here are some pics!

And then Here is what me and Bouby looked like while handing out the candy...

Now that is some fucked up shit right there...

2008-10-21T22:00:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I saw the last sign of the apocalypse.

There was a bum under the overpass at 435 and Truman, normal, and dirty....wait for it.

On his fucking cell phone!

The Waiting is the hardest part.....

2008-10-16T06:49:00.001-05:00

Well I am still here.

The trip to the sand box is still happening we just don’t know when that will be. And if it drags out long enough, well then I just may NOT go! That is what we call organization! And you know what, if that’s what we call it then we have it! Organization by the metric ass load!

So as I sit here gearing up for the third and final presidential debate, I wonder why more people don’t agree with me on some of the finer issues. And I know that we all think differently and have different views of this government, past, present and future, but I can’t help but feel slightly dumb when people want to talk to me about their candidate.

And it isn’t that I don’t know where most of the big issues stand with both of these jerk offs, it just that it doesn’t seem to matter because we as a people, as the so called “governing body of citizens”, have lost the basic principles of being American. Do you think Miles Standish would approve of our welfare system? Do you think Patrick Henry would think the Patriot Act and the Military Commissions Act, makes a lot of sense?

Talking politics to me is like arguing with me the cost of the death penalty. Everyone always says it costs more to kill a criminal then it does to keep them alive. I don’t understand that gorilla math, how is 28K annually cheaper then .45 cents one time purchase? It makes no sense to me. And I’m not going to get into an argument over whether or not the death penalty is constitutional, I don’t care if you don’t think it is, or if you want to put them through like the 10 items or less lane at the supermarket. I just can’t grasp the math…that’s all I’m saying.

So let’s segue into how bad people drive in the rain shall we?!!

This morning my commute was interrupted by a couple of shitheads who couldn’t negotiate their vehicles in a rain storm. It wasn’t like we were all running from hurricane Ike, or we saw cattle fly by our car windows like in that craptastic movie Twister…it was some fucking water falling from the sky, and somehow they could not complete this maneuver without running into each other and causing a back up of hours. Why is it that people feel the need to use their brakes when simply lifting your foot off of the petal would achieve the same if not greater results? Are drivers intrinsically stupid or is this a learned behavior?

Seriously I would like an answer!

Anyone? Anyone? Beuller?

My econimic view

2008-10-10T08:07:00.001-05:00

Yeah I know there is something wrong with the economy. Greedy people fucked it up and now shit is worth less than it used to be.

The DOW reported that it was down to its lowest point in 5 years yesterday (10/9/08) for those in the future. Let me see if my feeble semi mentally retarded mind can shed some fucking light on this.

It was about 8 years ago that we first started hearing about the flex mortgage plan…give or take a few years because I am too fucking lazy to get on google and find out for sure..but it was about 5 years ago when it really started taking off. How do I know this? I know a couple of people, and I know I am probably not alone here, that got caught up in the “right” of home ownership and went out and got one of these fucked up mortgages even though they knew that couldn’t afford it.

So with my crazy gorilla math, wouldn’t that mean that this sudden down turn in the market is just taking the overblown portfolios of the greedy fucks and making it all better adjusted to the actual value of the company, homes, non stupid people who thought home OWNERSHIP is a right and not a privilege? That Big Business committed fraud to increase the value of their stock to line the upper echelon’s pockets? Complete companies created that do nothing ala Enron?

When you pour a beer you get a head of foam on it. If you let it settle down all that fluffy foam will be gone and you will have just beer! Just what you ordered, it looks like less, and it isn’t ready for a picture on the cover of Rolling Stone, and it will tastes worse than if you would have drank it with the head still on it. However the true value of that beer is shown by waiting until the foam has settled.

I just wish our government would NOT do the bailout, and I would LOVE you see all of the people who bought outside of their means, have to move back to the interior corridor, maybe then there would be enough people to keep urban crime down and get better communities developed so we can have better schools that will attract better teachers who will teach kids that when they get old enough to buy a house they know how to read ALL of the words and understand when they are being LIED to by some slick fly by night mortgage company…or stock broker like in that crazy movie Boiler room.

Join the Liberty party!

Thanks

2008-10-08T08:19:00.001-05:00

First , Thank you all for your notes of encouragement and understanding. I know that I am not the most compassionate guy on paper, but most of you know I’m the sappy fat kid that cries at a good baby commercial. That being said last Friday was hard as hell and we still have an empty spot.
So thank you all for everything.

Next tidbit of craptastic news.

I received an email yesterday morning that tells me that I am part of the first wave of installers that will be heading to Saudi Arabia. Possibly as soon as FRIDAY!

This does not sit well with the Mrs.

And I still have unresolved issues that need to be addressed before I get on a plane, I was told that this would happen today when the boss came in.
As long as I get what I was told I would get I don’t have any problem doing what is asked of me. However if there is a SNAFU somewhere my big ass doesn’t get on a plane.

Hopefully one of these concerns will allow me to get that new camera that I want. A nice 12megepixel DSLR named after a siege weapon! They have them in a treasure hunt on costco.com for a paltry 799.99 and they come with two lens standard 50MM and a 75-300 zoom. I would need to sell my film camera so if anyone is looking for a complete set up, I have a doosy for ya! Email me and I'll drop some knowledge on Ya!

All she did was love...

2008-10-03T13:55:00.002-05:00

6 years ago, I met the love of my life, and I think she knew that I was the one when her dogs, Jade and Cinnamon took a shine to me right away. It wasn’t an easy road for a while when I moved in with Bouby, the “girls” as they were referred to had to learn that there was a new Alpha in the house and that some things were going to change.
The first thing was where they slept. We moved them into the kitchen where we could better control their shedding. It was a good move especially after we made the decision to replace the carpet with hard wood. Jade the Rottweiler and I had some memorable run ins during this transition period, like for instance she is the lover, she needs to be petted at all times and likes nothing more to be rubbed on. Cinnamon, not so much. Jade likes to sit on your feet, and roll her butt in a way that allows her to look up at you and lean on your leg. It was this action that caused me much pain on at least two occasions, when she did this and hyper extended my knee, causing me to cry and my leg to swell.
Bouby got Jade when she was 6 weeks old from a puppy mill, not a groovy puppy farm like my Dad owns but your run of the mill, crappy, puppy mill that sold diseased and undernourished pups of indistinguishable breeding. Jade was so little back then she fit on Bouby’s forearm, slept, and ate, did all of the regular baby stuff, then a week later she was 140 pounds and thought she could still fit on the forearm.
I met Jade at the great age of 4 and she was a runner, used to chase all of the squirrels, bunnies, birds and any other animal that would wander into the yard. She had a plastic dinosaur that she chewed the shit out of. Bouby never taught her how to fetch or any of the regular tricks and by the time I was in the picture I think all of the learning was chased out of her head by worms or something, she just wasn’t very smart, or at least she didn’t act very smart. So we just had fun doing things she liked, like brushing her, and scratching her ass, and, well most of the same stuff woman like, paying the tiniest bit of attention to her and she was like putty in your hand. She gets so excited when we break out the leash she doesn’t even care if all she is doing is going to the vet. One time she got so excited she gave me a ride down the stairs like a pony! Jerked the leash right in between my legs and down the basement stairs we went I felt like a rodeo clown.
All she did was love.
She knows now hate, nor anger, and she has one of the best personalities I have ever had in a dog.
I know other people can talk about the unconditional love that their dog has for them, but Jade has unconditional love for everyone. When you first meet her she will bark and wag her little stubby tail, and then she will expect you to be just as happy to see her as she is to see you, so scratching is a must and then some petting. However she knows that if you have something else to do that is ok too, as long as you acknowledge that she is there and happy, a couple of ear rubs is all she needs.
Which is why doing what needs to be done today so hard.
A couple of months ago we took her in for a checkup because she wasn’t using her front leg, and we were told that her arthritis is causing this and that she will be on meds until she dies. Last week we took her in because she stopped eating and had lost a lot of weight in a week. Now the Dr thinks cancer, and so we had blood work done and the next morning we came back and the blood work is inconclusive, however it shows an infection, possible dehydration , and the kidneys may be shutting down. The prognosis is Cancer. With the kidney problem we can’t even do a biopsy the anesthesia would kill her on the table. So we have been giving her antibiotics and trying to get her to eat. Wednesday was the last day we gave her the pills, she hasn’t ate anything for 4 days, and in one hour we will be taking her to the vet for the permanent drop off.

Bouby and I are sick with grief.

Good bye Jade you were one of the best.

Enough is enough....isn't it?

2008-10-02T07:34:00.003-05:00

Do you know what I love about America? There are 200 million people (give or take a Million) who live here and every four years we parade 4 people in front of the American people that less then 20% of the people vote for and these 4 people I wouldn't trust with set of rubber chopsticks. Why can't we find, and or elect someone who isn't a complete KOOK?

Obama- has 173 days of experience as a senator...thats it.
Biden- Racist, Sexist loud mouth who is the only guy laughing at his lame jokes.
McAin- way to fucking old and crazy, he is like your crazy uncle Larry who screams at pigeons in the park because they are government spies.
Palin- Fuck, are you kidding me? She believes that every specie of animal lived within walking distance of Noah's house! That her invisible sky buddy is better then ALL of the other invisible sky friends that all of the other religious nutjobs believe in.

Out of 200 million this is the fucking best we got? I am forced to once again exercise my right as an American to NOT FUCKING VOTE FOR ANY OF THEM! I think I'll just draw a big fucking pussy on my ballot and push it into the box and giggle! Maybe I'll stink palm it first to give the census people something to think about. If we all did that maybe they would catch a clue.

If you don't know what stink palming is, just go for a long walk, get a good sweat going and then jam your hands down the back of your pants right into you ass crack...go deep, get a good fist full of moist sweaty ass stench and then wipe it on something or someone...won't come off for days. I learned this by watching Mall Rats! Awesome film.

How the fuck can we continue to put people in office that have ZERO business being there? If these people were good at anything besides bullshitting they would be doing that. This overblown sense of power and responsibility very seldom actually HELPS the people or the country.

Fuck it here are some funny pictures for you.

My association with Negros Vol. 5 The Riot

2008-09-30T08:43:00.001-05:00

The Great Race Riot of Independence Community College:

Or; How one guy can be so misunderstood.

First let me say that this probably isn’t really a riot, because we didn’t burn any cars, or break any store windows and loot the place but there was a standoff between black guys and white guys for about an hour.

It all started out with a bottle of Jack Daniels, as did most of the stories based in my two years at this particular college. I was up to 3 fifths of Jack a week and a minimum of 2 cases of beer on the weekend. Needless to say that wasn’t the best combination for academic success, but hey it worked for me!

The night started out just fine like most nights and I was drinking with some of the other football players, they had beers I was taking pulls straight out of the bottle, all was well. Naturally when you get a room full of overly testosterone laden young men that spend their free time playing a game that centers on physical violence, things can sometimes get aggressive.

Now as a team, it is a pretty well known unwritten rule that you NEVER fight amongst yourselves, and when you are part of a community that the local population of 20 something’s like to accommodate you with as many, and sometimes more, fisticuffs then you want or need, you really don’t have to wander far to find your pugilistic needs. So as we continued to drink, I started getting antsy. I was dealing with a lot typical young man stress, stuff like “when am I getting laid next”, and “What the hell was the yellow stuff we had to eat tonight”, some real concerns for the youth of America. So I mentioned that I thought it would be a lot of fun if we went up town and looked for some townies “to kick the living shit out of”.

Well the 5 guys I was drinking with didn’t seem to think this was a good idea, some had tests the next day, one guy was on probation for assault, and various other “no’s”, left me in a quandary. Then someone showed me the light at the end of the tunnel, “Why don’t you go talk to “B” dorm I heard they were looking for a scrap too”! SUCCESS! B-Dorm was where my bruthas resided! The men of color! The compatriots, guys I play football, dominoes, and chase skirt with! YES I would be able to get my fight on and have a fun time with my friends of color! My Ninjas! So I stumble across the parking lot to B-dorm.

As I enter the dorm I hear10-12 of these guys partying in one of the rooms! “Cool I don’t have to look more than one place they are all right here!”

So I walk into the doorway of this dorm room and yell a big “HOWDY!”

All of them slowly turn and look at me like I just whipped out my dick and waved it at them.

So I continue “I hear ya’ll are looking for a fight”

Now, none of these guys knew about my previous conversation with the boys in my dorm, so they had no idea that we were all on the same page and, I guess, in hindsight that probably could have been stated differently.

The smallest guy in the room stood up, Emerick W. He was a defensive corner/safety, and was about 5’5” 135lbs soaking wet with every pocket full of sand. Now even back then I was still a big assed offensive lineman, although I wasn’t the current size of “big” I was still a big sumbitch at 6’2”260lbs. Emerick stands up and gets in my face and says “yeah muthafucker, and you got a lot of fucking nerve coming in here and asking for it!”

I didn’t know what to do, this wasn’t the right response, and my booze addled mind couldn’t figure out why it was wrong, just that it was, and I had no time for this shit, I was looking to go uptown and fight someone.

I’m not sure what exactly was said next all I know is Emerick either said something to me, about me, pushed me, slugged me…I don’t know what, but I do remember what I did next which was to push Emerick hard enough to send him flying about 4 feet straight up over his bed and with enough force to bang his skull on the big plastic light that is installed over all of the dorm beds at about 7 feet off the ground. I told you he wasn’t very big.

Well the other 9 guys thought that this display was completely uncalled for and turned on me like a pack of angry thugs…which they were, but I was still drunk, dazed and confused. Not confused enough to not fight back or see the entire dorm complex, (about 100 people) clearing out and people squaring off. It all gets real hazy during this period of melees and I’m only positive of one thing, punches were thrown names were called and 50 football players were in the parking lot wondering what the fuck was going on.

I was being held by three other big motherfuckers, and my friend Dave W. was standing in front of me asking me…nay, telling me to calm the fuck down and stop fighting. Naturally I continue to struggle enough that he steps closer to yell in my face, and slap me, whereas I promptly head butt him, breaking his nose. The two guys holding me are shocked, and loosen their grip, as I am breaking free Dave has regained his composure, and has slugged me hard enough to snap me out of my rage, and leave a nasty bruise.

As I look up there are other tiny skirmishes being played out all over the parking lot, none that I feel responsible for, but I can’t help thinking that whereas I didn’t get what I wanted I did get what I asked for.

Thanks Mick Jagger for that, oh so helpful rationalization.

The next morning I was glared at, stared at, ignored, and whispered to. The entire team was wondering what the hell happened and knew somehow I was the catalyst. So I let it cook for a day, sobered up, and when I was back to me, I caught up with Emerick and made my explanation. Once he heard that he laughed and called me a bad name but this time with a smile and all was right with the world.

So not really a riot, more of a potential “Westside Story” moment, only there was no dancing, switchblades or chicks. Go figure.

Oh and Dave had a split lip, busted nose, a concussion and pissy attitude for almost a week, can’t say that blame him though, blind, drunken rage is bad motherfucker.

My association with Negros Vol. 4

2008-09-29T20:42:00.000-05:00

My association with Negros continues into my high school years, my closest friend Curtis and I continued to wreak havoc on the town of Manhappen Kansas. We spent our summers drinking beer and working on his never ending project of a Camero, and working out. We rode around town always in search of something bad to do…not evil, just bad. One day when we were seniors we were cruising around Aggieville when we stopped for lunch at what was then Mr. K’s as we were making our way back to my car we crossed paths with a pair of ladies carrying two big bags of trash out of a hair salon. Curtis being the charismatic, smooth guy that he is, asked “hey what you got in those bags?” they replied naturally “Trash..why?”
Curtis asked “Yeah but what kind of trash?”
“Well mostly hair..why?”
“Can we have those bags?”
Giggling massively, “uh well yeah I guess, if you really want them”
Curtis has the third member of our party grab the other bag and we head to my car “The Beast” and toss the bags in the trunk. When I ask what we are going to do with two big assed bags of hair and other such trash from a hair salon. His reply…”Don’t know yet but I’ll think of something”
So I spent two full days with this rotting bag of hair and chemicals in my trunk while Mr. Smarty pants came up with a good enough prank. Well Friday night came and found us doing what we did best driving around and drinking beer looking for flatheads from Ft Riley to roust. When that proved fruitless and as the night wore on it was about 12 midnight when the idea to use the trash hit him. We would throw it on someone’s lawn.
Now I know what you are thinking throwing trash on someone’s lawn big deal, but you have to remember what KIND of trash we had, hair…yes two big bags of hair that we were about dump on someone’s yard. Do you realize how hard it is to get hair out of grass? Well neither did we until we heard through the grapevine that they were still having trouble with a hairy yard two years after the deed. I’m not sure that they have ever known who did this, and I’m pretty sure they won’t read this, but it still happened and it still cracks me up.

I swear I'll skip ahead to the race riot soon!

My association with Negros Vol. 3

2008-09-26T07:21:00.001-05:00

When we were in the 8th grade we had honed our B&E skills to a fine touch, we could break into any classroom in the entire school in a matter of seconds with only our library cards. Curtis took it a step farther and took the whammy bar off his electric guitar and made the task a simple slide and glide, it was cool. We never stole anything but we did like to make a mess and write on the chalk boards. Like I said at the beginning we didn’t do illegal stuff, just mischievous stuff. We would crack a door and go in and throw paper all over, and knock over all of the desks and leave good morning messages on the board written with our left hands, so not to be recognized, and say stuff like “have a nice day from the sunshine boys” We figured since we were up so early that we were the sunshine, and we brought the chaos. Then I got caught.
I was making a last minute break into Mr. Shoemacher or whatever his name was, one of our history teachers, and I was showing off for some girls and didn’t check my 6 and was pinched by the OTHER history teacher Mr. Peaserisi . He was a dick, and I was escorted to the principal’s office . My mother being one of the cooler people on the planet, was called. She was no stranger to these calls and was known to keep her cool even when she was told that her middle son had just deliberately broken the finger of her bosses snotty kid…but that is a tale for a later date. Mrs. Lynch the horrible Vice Principal, was trying so hard to convince her that I was on a fast track to prison and that I needed to be punished harshly and strongly was asked politely to give the phone to me. As my mother grilled me as to what had happened and what we had been doing and I told her honestly, I mean we made some messes but we didn’t thieve or destroy, so they needed to prove that I was up to no good. Since all of my answers were basically yes or no, I was told to hand the phone back to Mrs. Lynch where I watched as she tried to get a word in edge wise as my mother explained that if she didn’t have more proof then me at the door with a library card that she had no case and if she wanted that she was more than willing to see her and the school board in a court of law…obviously this cavalier attitude did not transfer over to the household where I was grounded, and had all semblance of rights removed while I made good for having been in the principal’s office once again…and it curtailed our B&E for some time.

My association with Negros Vol. 2

2008-09-23T06:45:00.002-05:00

I am writing this autobiographical, so those of you wanting to read about the race riot, you will have to wait a bit...

When Curtis and I were coming up we got into a lot of trouble. Not like today’s kids we didn’t carry guns and shoot innocent people or even guilty people, we didn’t mug old ladies and torture dogs but we did cause problems in other ways. Like for instance in the winter of 1979 when we found the maintenance tunnel for our school. We were in 6th grade and like most 12 year olds always up to no good. It seemed that the winter of 79 was a heavy snow year and that was also the year that the school system decided that playing in the gym was better for the kids then going outside and playing in the cold and wet snow. I like to think of it as the slippery slope of our nations youth becoming obese. During our time in recess lockdown we were not allowed to run and play in the gym we were forced to play board games and other such crap as to occupy our time in between information regurgitation, which is all grade school really is. Naturally me being me I quickly set up a card game, most of my friends knew the basics of five card draw poker and only occasionally did we get the hands confused, generally does a flush beat a straight , and to this day I have to think before I answer that one. But it didn’t take me more then a couple recesses to have half of my friends money and Curtis to have the other half. It came down to a head to head matchup, what Curtis didn’t know and probably still doesn’t to this day was that I beat him with a royal flush artfully dealt to me from the bottom of the deck by our dealer and other close friend Joe. I can’t remember what I promised Joe to make him take my side but he did, but he made it look close by also dealing Curtis a straight flush. My ace high won it.

Naturally after that we had to find something more promising to play since I had everyone’s pocket change and no one wanted to shoot craps with me. So we decided to play hide and seek with the playground supervisors. These Supervisors were college students making $2.00 an hour to hang out on the playground and make sure we didn’t get into fights or pick on the paste eaters too much.

Small segue, the year before we had a playground supervisor whom we all loved. The girls wanted to be her and the boys wanted to date her. Yes we knew that she was out of our league and we had no chance but there wasn’t a single boy in the school that didn’t experience his first real crush with her at the helm. She was tall, beautiful , and had long legs which made a perfect ass draped in a pair of 501’s that dreams are made of, she could kick a football farther than anyone we had ever seen. Her hair was long and had a full body curl, that danced when the wind blew. Her hazel eyes could make you laugh and be ashamed at what you had done, her laugh could have powered a small town the way it lit up a room. She never talked down to us and always treated us like equals. Her name was Tamera, and she was killed in a car accident that thanksgiving, we had known her for two months and to this day I can picture her on the playground kicking spirals to a waiting bunch of prepubescent boys to catch them. When our teacher Mrs. Goatcher told us she had been killed, the entire classroom burst into tears. There was no such thing as grief counselors back then so we treated that classroom like a plane that was going down, anything said or done in it was left there in the room, never to be talked about, a brick confessional where 25 kids shared the pain of loss and the burden of memory. I can still see her face after 30 years.

Now that I’m done crying, back to the tunnel. We decided that we needed to explore the stage area. For those of you not familiar with the Midwest elementary school gymnasium , there was always a stage at one end of the building that was used for plays and assemblies, and those god awful music recitals that our parents made us do so they could sit in the audience and say things like “that is my boy up there, yes the tone deaf one that can’t carry a tune with both hands and a bucket” I am so proud of you knowing your limitations and blasting out the words to meaningless disco tunes anyway. Our music teacher was a sadist.

Anyway under the stage was where they kept the carts that held all 300 folding chairs that would get drug out in the event of one of these all school caterwauling contests. So we decided to start playing hide and seek with the supervisors by crawling into the chair area. It was probably the second week of crappy weather that we had moved our little group into the corner of the gym where the last door to the chairs kept the secret that would be greatest thing that school year.
As we were playing the hide and seek game we had talked a couple of girls into joining us and playing kissy face in the chair area, and once we had worked our way down the doors to the corner we found the tunnel. It was a maintenance tunnel, and held things like pipes and dust and other scary shit. But it was a place to escape the watchful eye of the supervisors. So we got flashlights and did some underground exploring. Once we had the place mapped out we started inviting the girls with us, most of them freaked out when we went around the corner and then turned the light out, which was just what we wanted, scared chicks in the dark. But when I found the light switch all bets were off. We took the risk and traveled to the end of the tunnel and saw that it lead to the Janitor’s hide out in the basement. His secret room where he kept the stinky pink sawdust that he sprinkled on puke, and the cases of disinfectant that made all grade school s smell alike, and his dirty desk covered in magazines and newspapers. He also had a rather nice collection of stuff that was left on the playground by accident that he was supposed to turn in but never seem to do. I got my pocket knife back, a baseball glove, 10 hot wheels cars and other assorted trinkets that didn’t belong to me but were also not his. Curtis and I used this tunnel a lot to escape a form of torture known as inside recess. 30 minutes at a time we would crawl through the dust and sneak into the office at the end of the hall and mess stuff up.

This trend of breaking and entering would follow us into the Junior High, then Middle School, and then the next year the moved the 9th grade to the high school and we lost our Junior High status and were a middle school, then we were High School students.

My association with Negros

2008-09-20T13:12:00.000-05:00

My association with Negros started when I was in third grade. You see I had never seen, been in the presence of, nor was friends with any one of color until I was in third grade. And even then I had to ease into the knowing of people by color by befriending what we called an “oreo”, or a personage of mixed race. Martin’s mother was a white woman and his father was as dark as well polished Mahogany. Martin’s dad was a garbage collector and Martin had some of the greatest stuff ever! His basement was a collection of stuff that only a true collector of crap could appreciate, every inch was covered in neat stuff, it was like a curiosity shop had exploded all over the place. Soon my association turns from casual to intimate.
The next year I had to transfer schools since my parents bought a house on the other side of town. It was then that I was put into extreme proximity with, unbeknownst to me the person that would become my best friend and closest confidant. When I first met Curtis, he was a chubby broad shouldered youth who ran towards the passive side but could be lead into temptation if pushed the right way. He was pushed the right way the day I formally met him by his friend Stacy. Stacy, it seems had singled me out as the “new” kid in class and thought that I was just a country bumpkin who could be bullied. He was half right. They approached me on my way home from school within the first week with a story of how I took their shuttle cock during gym class and for that crime I was going to get a beating. As I wrestled with Curtis, Stacy took pleasure in kicking me and punching me finally Curtis and Stacy had me pinned to the ground and it was then that Stacy left the only mark on me he ever would and the last one I would get from Curtis. As Curtis held me down Stacy raked his foot over my left eye scraping some skin off. It was then that I heard some yelling, some young college student who just so happen to be driving by stopped and pulled the two black youths off of me and they ran. As soon as they were gone I too took off like my ass was on fire…I didn’t want to be at the scene of the crime any longer then I had too.
The next day Curtis come up to me on the playground and inquired about my head, and we became friends, life long, move a body friends. The Shit we pulled would fill volumes…and I guess that I should write them down since it is free and I wouldn’t want to forget them. But later, not now.

It was through Curtis that I began my close personal association with Negros. The first such event was the summer following my beating by Curtis and Stacy, and Curtis had invited me to join him and his youth group at the Douglas Center for a trip to Worlds of Fun. Worlds of Fun, was the equivalent of Disneyworld here in the Midwest back in the late 70’s. The main attraction at the time was a new rollercoaster named “The Scream Roller” it was 75 miles an hour, 33 second speed ride that scared the weak enough that they invented the “Chicken Exit” where the weak of heart could then leave under the catcalls and jeers of the waiting crowds. And yes there was an hour wait in line to ride this speed demon of a rollercoaster, can you imagine waiting an hour to experience 33 seconds? Well we did and so did millions of other silly people. But back to my association…
Curtis asked me if I wanted to go I asked my parents if I could go, they called Curtis’ parents and a plan was hatched. I met Curtis down at the Douglas Center and promptly got on a school bus, I was one of the last people to get there and when I got on the bus it was like those scenes in the movies when the one cracker walks into the black bar, or the one black guy walks into the peckerwood saloon, the music stopped and the people turned and starred at me and I was the only piece of rice in a bowl of raisins!

I saw Curtis waving from the back row and that was what I kept my focus on, I could still hear the other kids asking who the white boy was and what did I think I was doing on the “brotha bus“ headed to Worlds of Fun. Curtis stood up and said “Don’t worry he’s wit me!” After that I was cool. He had given me my first “Black by Association” card. The day was spent eating crap and riding rides and were completely tuckered out by the 5pm deadline, they shuttled us back on the bus, and drove us back home, safe sound and cool.
From that day forward I found myself in the company of more people of color then white folks. I spent the majority of my free time on what most people used to call “the wrong side of the tracks” my closest friends were Black, Mexican, and a Japanese dude who came over with his family for a year. If you ever saw the movie Sandlot, that was us, we would play baseball all morning at the empty lot next to the Mexicans house and then when it got too hot we would go to the pool and swim all afternoon, when it was time we would race home from the pool put on the city league uniforms and play “organized” baseball all night.

My association continued on through college, both times, and I continued to hang with the brothers, I learned their ways I loved their women, drank their 40’s and beat them at spades, dominos and arm wrestling. There were some hiccups along the way like the time I stared a race riot by accident. But that will have to be a different chapter .

I didn't have to use my AK, it was a good day...

2008-09-14T20:37:00.008-05:00

Thank you Ice Cube for the intro, and yes I did go all old school on you sucka MC's!

On Friday my company held a drawing, as they do every week for the "super stars" of the work force. The Prize? Chief tickets. Or as I like to call them this week Raiders Tickets. well Since I am a company man and haven't received a raise in the ENTIRE 6.5 years that I have worked there even though I am one of the few...NAY the ONLY guy that can do everything from sales to install, to sweeping the floor naturally I was over looked. I mean really, just because my Biz card says sales and I spend some of my time on the phone while spending a lot of my time either cleaning up someone elses mess, or doing someone else's job, that never qualifies me as a "Rock Star" so I will never win the tickets.

However there are enough people farther down the food chain, that know what I give, and how much I work, and for who, that they know when to kick back to Nighty so I won't load the hand cannons and show up with out warning them first, or telling them when I will be accross the street in the bell tower.

So the winner of the tickets kicked down and Bouby and I went to the game!

And it was a great game we were surrounded by FANTASTIC Chefs fans for the second year in a row! ( the first year they were complete dicks and almost caught a fist to the face...but now I know where not to sit)Well I say surrounded but in all reality there was one gay couple that sat in front of us that was SO FUCKING CLOSE to getting a beating that the other chef fans were egging me on to toss him the 26 rows to the field. Here he is with his...I'm guessing gay lover as they shared the same shirts and brain.

If you see these guys please be cautious they can lower your IQ enough that you will revert to caveman style, and want to beat them until they are a bloody paste on the ground.

Here is a couple of pics from the game, which the OAKLAND MOTHERFUCKING RAIDERS Beat the Chefs like they were a rented mule!

And We even brought the Black Hole to KC!

Last but not least, here is a picture of the super douche...notice how he is the only one blocking the view of the people behind him...that is what he was doing to us until I told him to sit, and then the rest of the section that was behind me who couldn't see because every time he stood I stood and you know I block a lot of view!

So Ku lost, Chefs lost, and I am gong back to a thankless job that sucks the life outta me like a Vampire every day that I show up...good news is the younger brother has been in the area since last Wednesday and I get to give him his B-day present when he goes out to dinner with us Monday night!

GO RAIDERS!

Yeah I know, 1000:1 odds in Vegas...BUT it is better odds then the Chefs have!

GREAT GOOGLYMOOGLY!

Lagging

2008-09-10T06:16:00.003-05:00

This will surprise no one because of the 30 people or so that read this electronic rag, you all know that I have been absent more then usual. I have been lagging in the blog department. The truth of the matter is that I have been busy. With my involvement with two struggling community service organizations and getting shafted at work and the possibility of my side project becoming a post script in a long line of fucking great ideas that never panned out, as well as the fact that I am trying my hardest to be a less angry person....I don't have much to write about. I mean if you cut out all of the angry rants form this pile of steaming data poop...where is the substance?

I don't like talking politics because I am a "best man (or woman) for the job voter and that means that I haven't cast a ballot since Regan. I also don't take the time to learn what the candidates platforms are because I don't think it really matters, we all hear that change is coming and that the big political machine is ever gonna be what 80% (which is still a 'B' BTW)of Americans want. There will never be a government with enough power to keep the bullshit at bay because it is run by humans and we are inherently flawed, we will take the easy road 9 times out of 10, and most of the time that road is paved with the money of the evil. So until I get to be in charge, or someone like my dad gets to be in charge. fuck voting. it is a waste of fucking time and energy. fuck politics, It is a waste of valuable resources, and it is not even close to a fair system, people say we have an open government and all you need to do is get enough votes to win and you're in...yeah well tell that to Al Gore. We don't have an open system when you limit the voting and the media to only 2 parties....I know I can hear all of you poli-sci fuckers now, "There is way more then two parties, you can vote for the pot heads in the green party if you want..." yeah well until the mainstream media ACTUALLY gives equal time to all parties and covers more events then the republicrats and the democans big assed galas where all the lunatic fringe takes a week off and wears stupid hats and works themselves up in a political frenzy that Hitler would have wished he could do...fuck them and the elephanonkey they fucking road in on.

I also haven't read any good books lately, I just don't have the energy. so that medium is out the window, I watch TV but only the FX channel, and that new hole in the wall game show. I watch the Hole, because nothing makes me laugh then a stack of stupid getting pushed into a tank of water by a giant moving wall. I just wish that the tank of water was filled with sharped bamboo spikes covered in human feces....NOW that would be entertainment!

So with my culturally weak mind and complacency toward the election process, as well as my prayers going unanswered for that "planet killer" of a meteor to hit so we can start over...I ain't got much to say.

In a nutsack...
work sucks
elections suck
not reading sucks
tv sucks
traffic sucks
Bouby sucks (BUT in a GOOD WAY! Raaawwwaarr)

Ok that last one is just to see if she is paying attention!

Quick funny

2008-09-06T10:20:00.001-05:00

There's a big conference of beer producers in Amsterdam, the Netherlands.

At the end of the day, all of the presidents of all beer companies decide to have a drink in a bar. The president of 'Budweiser' orders a Bud, the president of 'Miller' orders a Miller Lite, Adolph Coors orders a Coors, and the list goes on.

Then the waitress asks Arthur Guinness what he wants to drink, and much to everybody's amazement, Mr. Guinness orders a Coke!

"Why don't you order a Guinness?" his colleagues ask.

"Naah. If you guys won't drink beer, then neither will I."

When to say fuck...

2008-08-30T19:33:00.002-05:00

I swear a lot.

I won't sugar coat it it I don't have too, When I was in radio I had to, when I was a teacher(in college LEARNING to be a teacher) I had to, when I'm with my Mom I tend to hold it back a bit.

But I swear a lot. I was always told that a man swears when he doesn't have the education or vocabulary to use better words.

I fly solely in the opposite direction. I think there is always the occasion to use a well placed "fuck" or "shit" , or "Cocksucking Doorknob". I feel that swearing is an art form and a very successful way of getting your point across. Much like in the days of Shakespeare, where biting your thumb was a unbelievable insult, and considered rude, it has gone by the wayside and has been replaced by fuck you's and your momma jokes.

Here is a list of historical times when swearing would have been more then appropriate.

Top 10 times in History when the use of the “FUCK” was appropriate

1. “Scattered Fucking showers, my ass!” - Noah, 4314 BC
2. “How the fuck did you work that out?” - Pythagoras, 126 BC
3. “You want WHAT on the fucking ceiling?” - Michelangelo, 1566
4. “Where did all those fucking Indians come from?” - Custer,1877
5. “It does so fucking look like her!” - Picasso,1926
6. “Where the fuck are we?” - Amelia Earhart, 1937
7. “Any fucking idiot could understand that.” - Einstein, 1938
8. “What the fuck was that?” - Mayor Of Hiroshima,1945
9. “I need this parade like I need a fucking hole in the head!” - JFK,1963
10. “Aw c’mon. Who the fuck is going to find out?” - Bill Clinton

So tomorrow, or tonight, go ahead and get out and about and throw some swears at people, let me know if you find one of them biting their thumb at you, or doing that arm over the elbow arm thrust that used to be so prevalent with the Italian peoples.

Nightmare...the early years

2008-08-28T21:34:00.001-05:00

501!!

2008-08-25T19:46:00.004-05:00

This is my 501st post here! I also had around 300 at Diaryland, pre-blogspot. So in honor of busting my 500th cherry, I am going to post a bunch of crazy pics, porn, and some jokes....

One sunny day in 2009, an old man approached the White House from
across Pennsylvania Avenue , where he'd been sitting on a park bench.

He spoke to the Marine standing guard and said, 'I would like to go
in and meet with President Barack Obama.'

The Marine replied, 'Sir, Mr. Obama is not President and doesn't
reside here.'

The old man said, 'Okay,' and walked away. The following day, the
same man approached the White House and said to the same Marine, 'I
would like to go in and meet with President Barack Obama'.

The Marine again told the man, 'Sir, as I said yesterday, Mr. Obama
is not President and doesn't reside here.' The man thanked him and again
walked away.

The third day, the same man approached the White House and spoke to
the very same Marine, saying 'I would like to go in and meet with
President Barack Obama'

The Marine, understandably agitated at this point, looked at the man
and said, 'Sir, this is the third day in a row you have been here asking
to speak to Mr. Obama. I've told you already several times that Mr.
Obama is not the President and doesn't reside here. Don't you
understand?'

The old man answered, 'Oh, I understand you fine. I just love hearing
your answer!'

The Marine snapped to attention, saluted, and said, 'See you tomorrow.

What is that smell?

2008-08-22T06:30:00.003-05:00

Apparently that is the business stench of burning bridges.

We have a certain vendor who has pulled our ass out of many fires and has a tendency to work within our ridiculous time lines, and when he tells us that it will take him 16 weeks to do a job and our illustrious leaders decide that "oh I'm sure that he can do it in 4 WEEKS!" then he should comply with no problems.

Sometimes when someone tells you that is the time it takes to make something...that is under THEIR ridiculous time lines and they really mean it, that MAYBE we should fucking listen and not try and fit a square peg into a NON-EXISTENT hole.

Here is the funny part. EVERY single company that we have talked to from the biggest to the very tiniest fabrication shop, and they all say 16 weeks at the BARE minimum.

That bridge that you smell burning is the reply from some of the top brass here that said "Well I guess we won't do business with Rockstar vendor any more if they can't do the job for us"

You mean the one where you didn't fucking listen to them in fucking April when they said 16 weeks? the same people who work overtime to make us shit that we then sit on for two weeks because we REALLY didn't need that part yet? The same company that bends over backwards for us no matter how many checks seem to sllllloooowwwwwlly make their way to the cash register? THOSE guys? yeah nice fucking business ethics.

This said by the same guys who asked me where I learned to rip people off when I didn't understand, nor was I privy to a situation early this year where we had received the money that I was wonder where it was and they assumed I was just trying to double bill the client....again nice job there.

So we are between a cock and hard place here. one way or another someone is about to be fucked and I really hope it starts upstairs. This way by the time it hits the REALLY important people that cock is flaccid and it will be like pushing rope.

On a completely different story, I have reverted back to the year 1992 Chico State era haircut Yes that is my head, and yes I'm digging on the retro flat top!

PS. the red eyes courtesy of Kelso's Happy Hour and Boulevard Wheat. And NO that is not a band aid, that is a breathe right strip and I am wearing one because apparently I was doing it wrong and needed some adjustment.

VIVA LE REVOLUTION

Whoa.....

2008-08-20T07:17:00.002-05:00

There is a shitstorm of COLOSSAL size happening at my day job today! OH MY! this huge gig we are working on may come to a screeching halt and we are 98% done, all that is left is some details and shipping, and it looks like EVERYONE is ready to step out and leave the place high and dry.

More updates and information warrants them.

Politics explained....REALLY GOOD!

2008-08-17T09:42:00.000-05:00

While walking down the street one day a US senator is tragically hit by a
truck and dies.

His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.

'Welcome to heaven,' says St. Peter. 'Before you settle in, it
seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these
parts, you see, so we're not sure what to do with you.'

'No problem, just let me in,' says the senator.

'Well, I'd like to, but I have orders from higher up. What we'll do is
have you spend one day in hell and one in heaven. Then you can choose
where to
spend eternity.'

'Really, I've made up my mind. I want to be in heaven,' says the senator.

'I'm sorry, but we have our rules.'

And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down,
down, down to hell. The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a
green golf course. In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of
it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him.

Everyone is very happy and in evening dress. They run to greet him, shake
his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich
at the expense of the people.

They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and
champagne.

Also present is the devil, who really is a very friendly guy who has a
good time dancing and telling jokes. They are having such a good time that
before he realizes it, it is time to go.

Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator rises ..

The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens on heaven where St.
Peter is waiting for him.

'Now it's time to visit heaven.'

So, 24 hours pass with the senator joining a group of contented souls
moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good
time and, before he realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter
returns.

'Well, then, you've spent a day in hell and another in heaven. Now choose
your eternity.'

The senator reflects for a minute, then answers: 'Well, I would never have
said it before, I mean heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be
better off in hell.'

So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to
hell.

Now the doors of the elevator open and he's in the middle of a barren land
covered with waste and garbage.

He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting
it in black bags as more trash falls from above...

The devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulder. 'I don't
understand,' stammers the senator. 'Yesterday I was here and there was a
golf course and clubhouse, and we ate lobster and caviar, drank
champagne, and danced and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland
full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What happened?'

The devil looks at him, smiles and says.......

'Yesterday we were campaigning. Today you voted.

Friday

2008-08-15T07:14:00.002-05:00

Ok it is Friday and since I was told that all of my dwelling on bad and evil was causing me to bring more bad and evil unto me and mine, I would like to apologize to anyone who has felt the wrath of the angry "Secret"...my bad, I'll try and use my powers for good from now on.

So how about this weather? Nice and cool huh? I could really go for this global warming Al keeps talking about if we get these kind of summers and winters. I mean when Pangea was still cooling off, some say the earth rotated on it's axis and what was the north pole became the middle parts, so if this is what is happening, how freaked out are the fucking Eskimos gonna be when Alaska is suddenly 80 degrees all the time and 100+ in the summer?

I bet that is when we see Edgar Cayce's prediction come true! Edgar Cayce, for those of you who don't know was called the sleeping prophet. He predicted that Omaha will become a major national seaport! Which means either we would be under water here or have some KICK ASS oceanside property!

So that is what I have been focusing on lately, I would like to see Omaha become a sea port and the world tilt on edge for the next 10 million years or so.

Just think of the diving! How cool would that be!

There is no way that I can make this up...

2008-08-12T07:04:00.003-05:00

Do you remember in Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy 5 book trilogy, the short little blurb about the guy who was a traveling salesman and had started documenting the fact that it had rained for 300 and some odd days? And then Douglas took it to the rain's perspective, and the rain drops considered him to be their god and felt he needed watered all the time?

Anyone?

Well I'm starting to feel a little wet.

Got an email from my ex-girlfriend last night, it seems that her brother had some cancerous cells in one of his lymph nodes, and so they went in to take two of them out, and then waited a week, and did another test and apparently the cancer did in fact get into his lymph system and now he has to have the rest of the nodes in his neck removed.

Her sister who was our roommate for a while, is now married and has two kids and the youngest one, the little girl, well she has this deal where she decides that it would be a LOT of fun to run a fever for no reason. Remember "Firestarter"? Well it seems that she has been in the triple digits (101-105) since last Friday, no one knows what the hell is going on.

ON a happier note the little one with the flukey heart is FINALLY growing, she has put on almost a pound since the Nephew got her home last Monday, so we are pretty happy about that!

So all you praying types add some more strangers to your list and send the family's some groovy vibes.

Whatz that?

Me?

Oh I think I'm gonna go fishing and try and commune with Mom Nature. See if I can't get her to hurry up with the mass destruction and get rid of some of these people...I'm guessing when she designed this rock she didn't have 6+billion occupancy load rating....

I am not JOB! Get off my fucking back!

2008-08-07T20:12:00.003-05:00

Let's recap Nightmare's last couple of weeks in detail shall we?

1) Great Neice in Hospital, doing the roller coaster of death ride.
2) Dog is old and falling apart slowly. (Basically has bum elbow and choices are death, drugs, or removal)
3) Water main breaks we spend all weekend boiling water and not bathing.
4) Bites lip 5 times drawing blood each and every time
5) Friend of Bouby's having risky surgery to remove an extra rib. (yeah I know weird huh?)
6) Aunt's Nephew dies in horrible motorcycle wreck, orphans 3 year old
7) I have a stress lump on my right shoulder causing me to smell like Ben-Gay for a week
8) Sliced little finger tip open with a can of corn lid..(that was awesome, right under finger nail, felt SWELL!)
9) Bouby just got a call from a co-worker telling her that a friend of hers died in a car wreck in Oklahoma yesterday... I met her, and her hubby, and their 4 yr old boy. Now the boys are solo.
**EDIT**

I almost forgot one of my roommates from college told me that the Dr.'s found a brain tumor in his dad's skull! So he is going through chemo, radiation treatments, and general malaise...nice huh?

Back to the old post...

I get it. The Christians tell me that god doesn't hand you more then you can handle, and what doesn't kill you will make you stronger.

Well I say FUCK THAT1 get the fuck off my back, leave my circle alone! I feel like Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fa;ll, ever see that? Anyone who hung out with Brad's character fucking DIED! I don't need any more testing.

So who ever is heaping this shit on me knock it the fuck off I'm too old and too bitter to fucking deal with much more.

On a lighter note I got a line on a new pistol. Compact .357 shaved hammer, trigger job, 5 shot snub nosed just perfect for conceal and carry!

Next fucking problem I have come at me...be warned I am armed.

I got nothing

2008-08-06T07:45:00.002-05:00

So Since I have nothing, here is a picture I took of my rubber band ball at my desk. If you would like a copy of this print I will sell you a 8x10 for 10 bucks.

Any more bad news and I swear I'm gonna start stabbin' folk!

2008-08-05T07:21:00.003-05:00

My Aunt called me last night, (Different family tree then the little one, who could be going home today!YAY) but back to the current tale of woe. My Aunt called me last night and one of her nephews, and for those of you scratching their head and wondering "But Nightmare, if she's your Aunt, and she has a Nephew, wouldn't that be your cousin or something?" And NO it is her brothers kid, and her family is only related to mine through the marriage thing.

So as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by SOME PEOPLES internal dialog, My Aunt's nephew was killed while driving his crotch rocket at high speeds.

My aunt thinks he was DOA, but they hooked him to a machine to keep him alive and let the family say good bye. His injuries were compounded by the fact that he was traveling better then 100 mph, hit a patch of gravel, lost control and wrapped his body around a stone fence post.

Injuies included but not limited to;
broken neck, 8 shattered vertebra, every rib broken on one side, an occluded spinal column, bruised heart, and a litany of cuts, abrasions, and basically the worst parts of the drivers ed films.

I knew this kid growing up and we all still know someone exactly like him. He was the happy go lucky life of the party, the kid with the quickest smile that can change your mood from bad to good with a sideways glance. A kid who always, ALWAYS made the wrong decision, you know what friend I am talking about, he/she always has one foot over the line, and no matter how hard they try, it's that foot that gets them in trouble.

Good kids, good people, just not someone you want behind the wheel when it is time to make the Duke's of Hazard creek jump. He struggled his whole life with drugs and alcohol, a part time hustler, he invented the mobile meth lab and made it work for almost 3 years before he was busted, smart kid...well he would have been if he would have applied himself on the side of good instead of evil. But he didn't, he was lured to the dark side, with sex, drugs and rock and roll, and apparently because they have cookies.

I for one am going to miss the little bastard and if he made it to his God's gate, I hope he is judged on joy he brought to other people and not solely on his own actions...otherwise he is gonna burn.

JH, I loved you and I will miss you, I just wish I would have had the chance to give you that beating I promised the first time you got busted with drugs, maybe you would have learned to let people love you and that life was worth playing by the rules.

What the French Toast?

2008-08-01T07:16:00.002-05:00

Well for once I think I'm good to go. I had an uneventful drive in, the little one is in recovery, they closed her up on Monday morning, the dog...well the dog is hanging in there and that's all we can ask for, I have a friend who is preggers in NY and writes about that in the perspective of the baby, which is neat, and the daily pain that is my body seems number this fine morning.

So I guess that leaves politics, religion, capital punishment, abortion, and euthanasia to talk about.

1) Politics- Yeah, until we burn Washington to the ground and start over, expect NO changes. so unless you have a suitcase nuke, your arguments are invalid.
2) Religion- All organized religions are scams invented by the monarchs to rule over the uneducated. You should have a personal belief system, and if you don't know the difference between right and wrong...expect to receive a ticket in the mail for a one way trip off my planet.
3) Capital Punishment- YES PLEASE! If you kill someone, either physically or emotionally I want to kill you right back. I hope that I get chosen to flip the switch on that psycho Rick Davis. He worked with me for over a year, he was in close contact with women that I LOVE, had he snapped at work, there would have been no need for a trial.
4) Abortion-I am a man, who is pro choice, therefore my argument ends here.
5) Euthanasia- Absolutely, if you are in pain, either physically or mentally, I think as long as you do it right and not leave a mess for other people to clean up, then by all means kill yourself. My favorite way, which I thought of as a non messy way to endure the big sleep, BIG HONKING hypodermic needle, 4 foot of surgical tubing, attach needle to tubing, get in bath tub, snake tubing down the drain, insert needle into jugular, lay still.

So there you have 5 of the 8 topics covered by my college ethics course. My friend Lizard was in that class with me and she about shit when I stood up and called the entire class with the exception of me, her, and one other A bunch of Fucking hypocrites. See they thought since they were so religious and on the side of god, that they could have a split system of morals.

"I believe in Life for unborns!" and out of the other side of their mouths "I believe in death for criminals"

It doesn't work like that people, it's life OR death, not situational, you can't be fair that way.

So check yourself before someone wrecks it for you.

Open and Shut!

2008-07-29T18:34:00.002-05:00

When we last left our tiny Heroine she was hanging on by a simple thread....

The little one is proving to be quite the fighter. I went to visit the family this morning and got the low down.

She went down and went down hard on Saturday...wait let me start over...Thursday the moved her out of ICU, Friday Mom asked if they could go ahead with the shunt surgery, because her vitals were dropping, No replied the evil Dr. (ok they are the furthest people from evil, but hey every story needs a protagonist) So they waited and Mom watched the monitor, not sleeping, not eating, just watching the monitor and praying.

Saturday- vitals looked worse then ever and again Mom asked if they could please do the surgery NOW rather then the scheduled Monday. NO replied the evil surgery attendent( that makes me feel better, some faceless bureaucrat that is the best in evil!) So Saturday afternoon the little one decided that she was ready to go home and so she left. Not wanting her to go Moms put the brakes on her depature and they revived her and upgraded her back to the comfy ICU bassinett and the hot, seriously hot, nurse type people who take care of sick babies.

Sunday morning, when tiny was stable, they opened her up from crotch to neck and butterflied her chest open to get at the offending organ. After a 4 hour surgery the stint, or shunt I don't know which one is what, was in place they packed her full of cotton and wraped her up. Apparently they leave the littler patients open for easy access.

So I stopped by this mornign and got the details. They had just finished stiching her back up, her stats never played roller coaster like they said the would so she is resting peacefully recovering from open heart surgey and all is good. She will need to come back for a month long stay in 8 months to fix the actual problem but this way she is going to be bigger, stronger, faster, and wait...she is not Lee Majors...Anyway she should be at home with the family in 7-10 days barring any unforeseen new traumas!

Thanks for all the groovy thoughts, prayers and well wishes!

Much love to my Peeps!

My commute...

2008-07-28T06:38:00.002-05:00

This morning on my way into work I was juuust entering the 435 loop where I exit 35 north, by Claycomo, and as I was driving down the ramp I notice a semi in the far left lane. Now at this point in the highway system I know that he is coming from 35 North and that is his only place to be. So as I start to accelerate to the desired speed limit, of 70 mph, I see that he is indeed playing buy the correct rules of the road, by entering into the center lane as to not block speedier traffic, for that is the fast lane!

As my little sporty SUV starts to climb the long hill by Worlds of Fun, I get almost even with this guys bumper when he decides this is the best time to go ahead and turn on his turn signal and start to move over into my lane. It was almost simultaneously really, flashy lights, tires near my fender. As I proceed to lock up the brakes on my car causing it to swerve and me to swear loudly, my road rage is ignited to the same temperature as the surface of the sun. I scamper into the center lane which thankfully was unoccupied ( usually when I need this to occur there is a van full of nuns singing show tunes in my way...today they were thankfully still at the free continental breakfast the La Quinta)

So as my blood boils and my foot takes on the properties of lead, I drive up next to the guy and we have a moment of non verbal communication as he wonders why I was blowing my horn at him and giving him the finger.

At that point I was done. My day had it's little jump start of adrenalin, I told Mr. Trucker McFuckstick what I thought of his driving and I was continuing on to my place of work. Easy as Pie.

Not quite.

Mr Trucker McStoolpusher, the Asshammer of I-35 who BTW is driving a red and white RUAN Trucking company rig, decides that it is in his best interest to blow his big diesel ground shaking horn, (That I secretly covet and want to put one in my little sporty SUV) and that my friends is when all rational thought left the confines of my pea sized lizard brain and I took reckless action.

Here is some background. My folks owned a livestock auction or a sale barn when I was a kid, one of my dad's closest friends owns a truck line where he worked on and off when he needed work. My dad ran a truck line for 15 years, and I worked for him on more then one occasion to make money for college. My uncle and his son mu cousin run a two truck independent line, needless to say I have been around truckers and trucks my entire life. Let me tell you one thing that pisses them off more then anything, and that is being slowed down for any reason. Whether it is traffic, a wreck, a big hill, or what not.

At this point I am about 30 yards ahead of him, and now in a super bad mood. So in my infinite wisdom, clouded only by my rage, I jerk my vehicle into his lane,
and stand on my brake pedal. the tail end of my car almost comes off the ground I brake so hard. At the apex of my braking skills I switch pedals and stand on the gas rocketing away from the now VERY AWAKE, and extremely pissed off, cock ass of a truck driver, whom I hope lost his on time bonus. As I was speeding away I saw him frantically try and down shift to keep his momentum going up that hill. Unfortunately he didn't have the reflexes or the horse power to pull it off, so as I sped away I gave a little wave in my rear window wishing him a safe and happy trip to deliver his cargo.

I just hope that the next time he sees me I get the opportunity to show him my batting skills. Or maybe he would like a battle of the Dozens...I can play that too!

Your Mommas so fat I saw her ride by on that last cattle truck.

Cocksucking Doorknob.

Someone is not playing fair...

2008-07-27T19:27:00.003-05:00

My pops called today to see if I had heard anything from the Nephew about the little one. I told him it had been quiet since Friday, when I was told that she was doing amazing and they were just waiting to see when they could do the surgery.

Apparently I have been out of the loop.

He talked to my Step Sister, Nephews Mom, and the little one crashed and crashed hard on Saturday. Crashed to the point of losing her once only to be brought back just in time for emergency surgery to try and keep her on this plane of existence.

Again, I have to ask you to send your happiest thoughts and prayers, (if so inclined) to my Nephews family. Our little cousin is really struggling and she needs to know that she is needed here.

Thanks in advance.

Much love to my peeps,

Nightmare

Birthday wishes

2008-07-25T08:07:00.002-05:00

Today is Older Brothers Birthday.

HAPPY BIG GAY BIRTHDAY YOU FUCKING QUEEN!

Much love Brother!

Nightmare

'Bout frigging time...

2008-07-24T06:42:00.002-05:00

Things that are putting a smile on my face today;
1) Dog is limping less
2) Little one is OUT of the ICU and into a regular room.
3) Isn't that enough? what do you want from me blood? I'm only human here I can't fix the weather. When my LB finishes his evil robot to take over the galaxy I'll remember this and you won't get to hang at the overlords palace!

So today will be more than likely a less stressful day for Moi. At least if fucking better, I don't know how much of this crap my old ass can take. Constant headache, stiff neck and shoulders from hunching them up in worry...(Well that and practicing my Snidely Whiplash hand rubbing thing for when the LB Overlord releases the robot!)

We aren't all the way out of the woods with the tot yet. The are going to decide when they want to do the surgery today. I'm voting for right now, but fuck I don't have a say in the matter I'm not an MD (I'm 3 credits short of my MD..fucking college algebra) So as soon as they know that we can start the long road of recovery and playing like a baby should.

And as far as the dog goes, well we have started to see her as what she really is. A cranky old woman with arthritis who doesn't want to take her meds. So we have a thrice a day dance party with me and her going in circles whilst I jam a plastic tube filled with her pain meds past her overly strong tongue and down her throat so she won't swell up and die. Yeah I know IT DOES sound like a blast and I encourage anyone who wants to come over and have this much fun to go ahead and come over! I can't believe I get to have this much fun three times a day.

Next week Aunt Polly says I get to whitewash the fence too! And I know that EVERYONE wants to have that kind of fun!

Stable

2008-07-22T07:17:00.003-05:00

Well when I first wrote that word I was was contemplating all of the various meanings for it.

Stable.
1) A place to keep horses and other livestock.
2) A gang of hookers working under one pimp or a specific house.
3) Mentally competent, or at least "less" psychotic.
4) Doing better or at least no worse then before.

Definition number 4 is what we are working with today. Little one's lungs decided to play the Cartman game and they tried to say "Screw you I'm going home" and they picked up their ball and headed for the gate. fortunately the big assed doctor/linebackers were ready for such an assult and they snatched those lungs up and filled the full of 'roids and told them that they would either "Straighten up and fly right" or they would be sent to the lockeroom and loose their scholarships.

So they accepted the 'roids, and started to play nice with the other organs. We are now in a holding spiral, waiting.

as the cliche says "waiting is the hardest part". Any idea why that is a cliche? because when you are forced to wait, you worry and when you worry your mind makes shit up. It is too much to ask for someone to "stay positive" when a tiny baby is laid out on a table with more wiring in and around her then the fucking space shuttle. You can't help but play the "What if" game and it never starts with "what if all is well and she grows up to be the cure for cancer"

It never starts that way and that is why the waiting is the hardest part.

Thanks for all the good vibes and prayers. I know the God of Thunder has no need for such a young warrior child, so he will not send Loki for a quick visit.

Again, THANK YOU ALL.

When it rains it pours.

2008-07-21T06:44:00.004-05:00

This will not be about my stubborn dog, whom we have tried just about every trick in the book to get her to take the medicine. We have tied hiding it in food, crushing it and mixing it with a pre-packaged gravy, I bought one of those pill tubes that I have used with great success with cattle and she will not allow it down into her throat far enough, and then thrashes about so violently we fear further injury.

No this is not about that drama.

My Pops called me yesterday morning and it seems that newest member of the ever expanding "breeder" side of the family tree is not doing so well. She is 5 weeks old and on Friday was a lovely shade of blue. Luckily the StNil (Step Niece in Law,yes it is a long story)was fed up with her daughters treatment and just so happened to see a different doctor that she was familiar with at a street festival. He glanced at the child and said 9 words that terrify all parents and most adults. "She is blue, take her to the hospital NOW"

So tearfully StNil, looked down at her other two daughters and said, "Mommy has to go." Thankfully she was standing in downtown of a village that is home to about 150 people 1/2 of them related to her husband, so the kids were in more danger of getting smothered with love then harmed in any way.

As StNiL, raced to the hospital, hubby was called and everyone met at the ER. Now some of you know that this end of the world there is isn't a lot of technology to be found, and sometimes they doctors aren't in the top 25% of their class...who am I kidding, the rural doctor is more than likely closer to the D student then the Auto Mechanic. Anyway this guy, I give him tons of credit, he knew when he was out of his league and proceeded to get the life flight on the line. It took an excruciatingly long time to coordinate the flight from BFE to Children's Mercy here in KC, but when it was said and done, and the little one was here, the crack staff of Children's mercy, wasted zero time in diagnosing, and treating the tiny princess.

Turns out that our little heroine, had a squirrely heart and all of the stuff was there but it was all backwards. My little fighter had lived for 5 weeks with a hole in her heart, (the good part) and heart valves that were reversed. So the blood wasn't getting to the right chamber for oxygen, and traveling down the right veins and arteries. The hole provided just enough mixed blood to keep this little gem alive. Yesterday morning at about 5:45, our little champ went under the knife for a preliminary work up of blasting a bigger hole in her heart and then monitoring her vitals as well as the use of a tiny respirator of which she slowly but surely was weaned off of within a matter of about 12 hours. I am happy to say that of last night she was sleeping pretty good and so were the parents. We now have to wait and see when the full blown transposition surgery will take place, they may do it this week they may wait until she is bigger.

Either way we may not be out of the woods but we can at least see the trail now. All you religious types throw an extra Hail Mary in the mix, and for those of you who follow a different path, send my nephew's family some groovy vibes, they sure could use the help.

***UPDATE***

I spoke too soon. She had a rough night and is now having trouble with her lungs. Please keep up the happy vibes! she needs them!

Drugs.....yes please.

2008-07-18T06:52:00.004-05:00

Well our dog is trying to respond to the drugs. She spends all day laying around the house, and when she goes out side she doesn't run and chase bugs, nor does she bark at the neighbor's dumb ass Lab. She just does her business and goes back inside, to lay on the floor. BUT when she is laying on the floor and you walk by she wags her whole body, sticks all 4 legs in the air and demands that you rub her belly. And I don't know if you have ever had a Rottweiler, but if not, let me tell you when she DEMANDS something you need to get it she is a 115 lb dog DOWN from 130, and let me tell you she thinks she is a PeekaPoo.

So we are going to continue to play with the meds, hoping we can find the magic mix to make her feel good. The surgery isn't and option, it is too expensive and she is too old. And more than likely it would kill her or put her through MORE pain then she has now. And typically the Rotties don't make it past 10-12 years, and she is definitely approaching that age range.

Thanks for all of the kind words I'll keep the peeps updated here!

Choices

2008-07-14T12:21:00.002-05:00

Sometimes the choices that you need to make are of the suckiest ones ever.

About a week back our Rottwieller Jade, started limping about the house. Not a new problem she has a rough case of arthritis and we have been dealing with these flair ups for a couple of years. Normally the pain goes away and she is back to her lap dogesque ways in a matter of days. This time however it was taking longer. So when she started carrying her right front leg instead of limping on it we decided we better get some better drugs in her. So we went to the vet and got another round of Tramadol and metacam, pain management, and anti inflammatory. This too in the past has been a big help, taking only a couple of days to work it's magic and get her back to lazing around the house in a normal fashion.

Again not this time.

So I got to take Jade to the vet this morning. Her right forearm is extremely swollen and we hoped that she had busted a bone, or got bit by a spider or somehow tiny gnomes had set up house. At the very least I was hoping that the swelling was caused by a malicious neighbor who may have shot the old girl, or maybe their kid, so I could then award them the "Beatin' O' the week" Jersey style complete with a bruised sack and missing teeth.

Not to be redundant, but again not this time.

As I sat in the office with the vet giving her the once over, spending a lot of time on her other parts, before even looking at her leg, all the while asking me the questions about her, How old is she, (9 by the way) and she has lost some weight (went from 135 to 115 over the last 2 years), her eyes seem a bit red, we'll give her something for that too. And then on to the swelling leg, WOW that really is swollen, how long has it been like this? we'll need x-rays, that came on quicker then I would think for a soft tissue mass or tumor, so that is good news. We'll be right back with the x-ray.

Good News! (30 mins later) there doesn't seem to be a tumor, or a pellet or a broken bone!

Hooray!

But the massive amount of arthritis is more then likely causing the swelling, and there is only three things we can do.

1) Play with her pain meds to make her comfortable. (ALARM BELLS start clanging in my head)
2) Amputate. (HOLY SHIT)
3) Euthanasia (fuck.)

Our choices seem to be limited. With the exception of her bum wheel she is a very healthy girl. She is also at the back end of her life expectancy as Rotties tend to only live 10-12 years and that is with perfect health. She has neither. So within a week we will have some serious thinking to be doing.

Choices like this, I'd rather not make any.

This Pisses me off..

2008-07-09T07:20:00.002-05:00

"Judge Skretny said that land the Senecas purchased in 2005 qualified as “Indian lands” under federal guidelines, but that it did not meet exceptions that would make it eligible for gambling."

So let me get this right, we kill, enslave, and force a race of people off of their land, hook them on booze, and treat them like 3rd class citizens, and when those same people, BUY back their land, and the feds qualify that as "Indian Lands", but they can't use it for Indian purposes?

W.T.F? This judge needs a beatin. Someone should do an inquiry into his kick back folder and ask why, he is acting so cockeyed.

Fucking douche nozzle.

C'mon Iran! NUKE Washington! Let us start over with NO politicians, or lawyers.

Shit rolls down hill

2008-07-07T08:35:00.004-05:00

That is what my father told me was the sum of his experience as a plumber. Pops was the best plumber in the tri county area when I was growing up and he HATED, nay, LOATHED that job. He was raised as a plumber, my G-pa was a plumber and back then most people did what their father did. Pops wanted to be a cowboy, and he did become one, but while becoming a cowboy he had to endure a shitload of plumbing and plumbing activities.

I now know why he hated it so much.

It takes a special breed of person to fuck with plumbing...and it helps to be smaller then a wall. Here is a little exercise for you, go into your bathroom and look where your toilet sits. 99 times out of 100 it will be up against a wall, with a sink or cabinet next to it. Now see where the water comes into the tank, and that little hose attached to the shut off valve...take your hand and pretend that you're holding a wrench, see how comfortable that is? To be laying over the toilet, trying to reach around to use both hands on the valve so when you unhook it doesn't come off the wall or bend the soft copper supply line.

Yeah lots of room to work with, now imagine you're 6' 2" and pushing 300lbs with arms the size of small trees. It is quickly becoming a clusterfuck. Well I preformed two toilet rebuilds yesterday, and I only had to make 5 trips to the fucking hardware store. Helpful tip. If you have an older shut off valve, and a solid copper pipe attached to it, just do yourself a favor and buy a whole new set up from the beginning. Don't fuck around with parts, to try and make it work better, there is a reason the total replacement parts are that cheap, it is a 1000 times easier to replace the whole valve instead of trying to fix an old one.

Now my hands hurt, my back aches, and I can add one more career onto the list of shit I don't want to do.

Since my work demanded that we were going to be open on the 4th I took Monday off so I can continue my housework and fix some more shit around the house.

YAY me....

Can you smell the sarcasm?

*UPDATE*
I have cleaned the gutters, sealed a window, hung the new ladder on the wall, and took out the trash. All that is left is to pick up and vacuum the pad and we are all done.

And build a website for my cousin who is opening up our 150+ year old homestead as a boutique Whitetail hunting sanctuary. I'll let you know how that goes! Thanks Pete for the hosting help!

You know you're old when...

2008-07-05T10:41:00.001-05:00

1. Your houseplants are alive, and you can’t smoke any of them.

2. Having sex in a twin bed is out of the question.

3. You keep more food than beer in the fridge.

4. 6:00 AM is when you get up, not when you go to bed.

5. You hear your favorite song in an elevator.

6. You watch the Weather Channel.

7. Your friends marry and divorce instead of “hook up” and “breakup.”

8. You go from 130 days of vacation time to 14.

9. Jeans and a sweater no longer qualify as “dressed up.”

10. You’re the one calling the police because those %&@# kids next door won’t turn down the stereo.

11. Older relatives feel comfortable telling sex jokes around you.

12. You don’t know what time Taco Bell closes anymore.

13. Your car insurance goes down and your car payments go up.

14. You feed your dog “Science Diet” instead of McDonald’s leftovers.

15. Sleeping on the couch makes your back hurt.

16. You take naps.

17. Dinner and a movie is the whole date instead of the beginning of one.

18. Eating a basket of chicken wings at three in the morning would severely upset, rather than settle, your stomach.

19. You go to the drug store for ibuprofen and antacid, not condoms and pregnancy tests.

20. A four dollar bottle of wine is no longer “pretty good shit.”

21. You actually eat breakfast food at breakfast time.

22. “I just can’t drink the way I used to” replaces “I’m never going to drink that much again.”

23. Ninety percent of the time you spend in front of a computer is for real work.

24. You drink at home to save money before going to a bar.

25. When you find out your friend is pregnant you congratulate them instead of asking “Oh shit what the hell happened?”

Stumble upon WINS!

2008-07-04T20:21:00.002-05:00

Last one!

2008-07-02T07:35:00.002-05:00

Well this is probably going to be that last post I write from work ever. I convinced the Powers that be that I need to have access to blogs for a few days so I could contact this kid, who my CEO thinks could be a good fit to come work here. Now I'm probably outing my blog here but at this point I don't care.

Take a look at Kyle's work, and then tell D that he is at least 38% less awesome than this kid.

On the way to work this morning I was in a race with no one and I seem to have won.

So I'm wondering if everyone thinks that we are really going to have Barak Obama as a President, and if they all REALLY think that he is nothing more than a martyr? We have had Presidents assassinated for shit equally as dumb as the color of thier skin. I'm scared that if he does get elected, some backwoods, inbreeding, Klan Kock will kill him and start a race riot that will make the riots of the 60's look a playground fight.

Am I the only one who thinks like this? It scares the hell out of me to think like this but I know a couple of people here in the metro area that are just that fucking dumb. They probably won't do the shooting, but I'm sure that their racism will allow them the leeway to laugh at it. I can't fucking stand racism, I don't understand it, and personally I feel our race, the human race, would be better off if we devolved back to the fucking trees or even further...like to the single cell organisms.

Let me know if I am the only one who is thinking this.

Phoning it in...

2008-06-27T21:14:00.002-05:00

Yeah I know I have been lax lately and have done a real shit job of writing stuff down. My job has been sucking the life out of me for the last year and I had put a lot of work into a project that would get me out of the day job and into a new gig and I was basically pissed and depressed that I couldn't do more to make it happen faster.

Well some of that have changed, I started believing in my own bullshit and have stepped back into the game, mainly because I really want to have a big ball of work rolling and then walk away from it leaving the majority of it to crash and burn.

Cynical?
Angry?
Bitter?

NOOO! Not me...can you smell the sarcasm?

So I have been doing more work and finding my way through a job that should have been done with me 3 years ago. I have no idea where I got this fucked up work ethic that tells me that if it isn't hard it isn't worth doing.

My younger brother who is by education a electrical engineer, told me that any thing I can that seems easy is a talent and to not use it would be to waste it. I have one of those and I have felt too guilty to use it. I may look into doing exactly that, using a talent that is easy for me yet could reap untold benefits.

One of these days I may share what that is.

God and Stuff

2008-06-26T20:50:00.001-05:00

Arthur Davidson of the Harley-Davidson Motorcycle Corporation died and went to heaven. At the gates, St. Peter told Arthur, "Since you've been such a good man and your motorcycles have changed the world, your reward is that you can hang out with anyone you want in Heaven."

Arthur thought about it for a minute and then said, "I want to hang out with God."

St. Peter took Arthur to the Throne Room, and introduced him to God.

Arthur then asked God, "Hey, aren't you the inventor of woman?"

God said, "Ah, yes."

"Well," said Arthur, "professional to professional, you have some major design flaws in your invention.

1. There's too much inconsistency in the front-end protrusion.
2. It chatters constantly at high speeds.
3. Most of the rear ends are too soft and wobble too much.
4. The intake is placed way too close to the exhaust. And finally,
5. The maintenance costs are outrageous."

"Hmm, you may have some good points there," replied God, "hold on." God went to his Celestial super computer, typed in a few words and waited for the results. The computer printed out a slip of paper and God read it quickly.

"Well, it may be true that my invention is flawed," God said to Arthur, "but according to these market survey numbers, more men are riding my invention than yours."

Fucking WI-FI!

2008-06-23T16:23:00.003-05:00

The stupid cocksucking doorknob motherboard WI-FI is out in my laptop and it went away to HP for FIXIN!

Pile o Shit YO!

At least this way I should be getting a new mother board and all the trimings so it may last another year!

OH and I got this from Blondie

Obama The Post Turtle

While suturing a cut on the hand of a 75 year old Texas rancher, whose hand was caught in a gate while working cattle, the doctor struck up a conversation with the old man.

Eventually, the topic got around to Obama and his bid to be our President. The old rancher said, "Well, ya know, Obama is a 'post turtle.' Not being familiar with the term, the doctor asked him what a 'post turtle' was.

The old rancher said, "When you're driving down a country road and you come across a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that's a 'post turtle.'"

The old rancher saw a puzzled look on the doctor's face, so he continued to explain. "You know he didn't get up there by himself, he doesn't belong up there, he doesn't know what to do while he is up there, and you just wonder what kind of dumb asses put him up there."

Why we are losing in teh classroom...

2008-06-22T10:33:00.000-05:00

It was the first day of school and a new student named Chandrasekhar Subrahmanyam entered the fourth grade. The teacher said, “Let’s begin by reviewing some American History.

Who said “Give me Liberty, or give me Death”? She saw a sea of blank faces, except for Chandrashekhar, who had his hand up: “Patrick Henry, 1775″ he said.

“Very good!” Who said “Government of the People, by the People, for the People, shall not perish from the Earth?” Again, no response except from Chandrashekhar. “Abraham Lincoln, 1863″ said Chandrashekhar.

The teacher snapped at the class, “Class, you should be ashamed. Chandrashekhar, who is new to our country, knows more about its history than you do.”

She heard a loud whisper: “F**k the Indians, Who said that?” she demanded.
Chandrasekhar put his hand up.. “General Custer, 1862.”

At that point, a student in the back said, “I’m gonna puke.”

The teacher glares around and asks “All right! Now, who said that?”

Again, Chandrasekhar says, “George Bush to the Japanese Prime Minister, 1991.”

Now furious, another student yells, “Oh yeah? S*ck this!”

Chandrasekhar jumps out of his chair waving his hand and shouts to the teacher, ” Bill Clinton, to Monica Lewinsky, 1997!”

Now with almost mob hysteria someone said “You little shit. If you say anything else, I’ll kill you.”
Chandrasekhar frantically yells at the top of his voice, “Gary Condit to Chandra Levy, 2001.”
The teacher fainted. And as the class gathered around the teacher on the floor, someone said, “Oh shit, we’re f**ked!”
And Chandrasekhar said quietly, “George Bush, Iraq, 2005

What if...

2008-06-18T21:36:00.002-05:00

Smokey and the Bandit took place in the Dagoba System...

The energy solution!!

2008-06-13T20:43:00.002-05:00

Ladies, Gentlemen, Troglodytes...I have finally figured it out.

The entire world is dependent on oil. We all know this and we also that sooner or later it will all run out. So today while I was at lunch I had an epiphany, I think I may have solved the energy crisis. One of the things that we humans do, and do well I feel will be able to create a constant supply of fuel. Not only constant but one that is highly useful for just about all of the fuel needs the planet has to offer.

Babies.

That's right I said babies. If there is one thing that the human race can do almost as good as rabbits or rodents is to reproduce. We create more unwanted and more useless offspring's then any other species on earth. We do not push the old, weak, worthless, or stupid to the edge of the herd and we should. Well this way we will have a place to push all of these people.

But since we don't want to wait, we'll just use crack whores, welfare moms, and other breeders that don't contribute to society. How will we decide what is a contribution to society? well we use an old scale used back in the 1600's "if you don't work you don't eat!"

So we set up some rendering plants, and start processing Baby oil. REAL baby oil, made from real babies. You can have two kids to raise as your own and then any others will need to be turned over to the department of energy. All old people, who are out of breeding age, need to fill out their body donor cards and get ready to become fuel. There will be no more burials, no need for fancy coffins or mausoleums, we won't need the entire funeral profession, no more abortions, if you get knocked up you MUST carry it to full term and then if you do not want it you turn it over to the department of energy for proper fuel processing. Suicide is no longer illegal, if you want to kill yourself, fine go to the department of energy and turn in your donor card, you will be processed with a last meal and your choice of slepy time meds.

So stop worrying about the oil, the cost of gas, and whether or not you should buy that V8 or the 2.5 cylinder smart car. Babies and the elderly are the answer. With the rednecks and the lazy we will HURL ourselves into a future that isn't dependent on foreign oil any more. The beauty part of this is we will have more land for golf courses and retail space.

The Election finally explained!!

2008-06-11T19:18:00.001-05:00