Hang up & DRIVE!!!

Funny thing happened on the way to drop off the tax deduction at school today. I almost got broadsided. Now I know you're thinking "wow, how cool is that", but it gets better. I almost got smacked today in the parking lot of the school by a lady in a nice big Lexus. Did I mention she was on the phone? Or going about 40? I wouldn't worry too much about all these little kids running around. You're MUCH too important than to have to worry about things like that!

Have people just lost absolutely every little shred of common sense that they might have had? What part of hauling-ass through an elementary school parking lot while on the phone was a good idea in her mind?

By a show of hands, who of you have texted while driving? Put your hands down goof-balls, I can't see you. We all know this is a bad idea, right? Right??? We all also know that it's a bad idea to drink and drive. Or play Texas Hold-em and drive. Or attempt to neuter your neighbors cat while you drive. Or any number of other things. Basically, it's just a bad idea to do anything other than concentrate on the road and drive.

I'm not one to throw stones. I've been known to pull some pretty dumb moves in my time. I've even been known to talk on the phone and drive at the same time. When I do, I try to be courteous to my fellow man and not sit at a traffic light and gossip while there's cars behind me waiting to go. Or I try to not follow quite as closely. But it seriously makes me madder than a hair-lipped Chihuahua when I almost get run over by some dumb doodly in an expensive car who thinks that she's so important that she's got to take the call RIGHT NOW!!!

Maybe she was calling the president with a solution to the war? Or maybe she was on the Pope's personal line asking for forvigeness? Or maybe she just found out she won the Publisher's Clearing House? But probably, she was just an inconsiderate wench!

REALITY

Remember the good old days? Back when men were men, women were barefoot & pregnant in the kitchen, kids said stuff like golly-gee and your dogs never peed on your carpet? Ya, me neither. But I do remember when there was something on the television rather than reality shows! Remember the magic of sit-coms? Or how about a game show or 2? Has everyone in Hollywood just lost all semblance of creativity?

I'm not a huge fan of the whole reality genre, but there are a couple of obvious exceptions. Survivor is my personal favorite. Now I know that some people may think it's ridiculous and make fun of me for watching it. I don't care. If you don't want to watch it, thats your prerogative.(you're insanely stupid and possibly a bed-wetter, but it's your prerogative) I like watching how the people get so desperate and attack each other. It really is gang mentality at it's finest.

The other one I think is absolutely awesome, and I just got turned on to thanks to my buddy Redfish, is Swamp People. Now that's a show! I'm guessing the producers of this show love it too, cuz they only have to pay the people in Milwaukee's Best beer and Corn-nuts. In case, (by some crazy little twist in your life called "a life"), you might have missed it, this show is about a group of highly motivated, type A personality, buttoned-up suit and tie types that get thrown in a swamp to survive. (Okay, just kidding about that part, but that would be cool, huh?) This is about a bunch of Cajuns that crawled out from under the rock when it got turned over. And they hunt alligators. And some of em have teeth. And speak legibly.(barely) As my 17 year old said, "Dad, I might enjoy this show more if I had even 1 clue what they're saying."

I'm not sure if you could actually find a 30 minute time slot anywhere on the 500 channels that didn't have at least one reality show. You've got houseflippers, garden builders, wife swappers, and pawn shops. Car fixers, motorbike builders, real wives and boot camp. There's shows about decorating cup-cakes! Shooting contests. Bachelors and Bachelorette's. Fat singles & fat couples. Plastic surgery. Housepests. You name it, it's on.

I want a reality show. I'm open to suggestions. I do have a few things I don't wanna have to do though. I don't wanna eat bugs. Don't wanna have to actually go hungry. Or thirsty. Don't wanna have to build a fire to survive. Don't wanna have to solve puzzles, or really do anything too strenuous. I'm thinking it shouldn't be a contest of any kind. More of a "what a thrill it is to be me" kind of show. Like I said, I'm open to suggestions. If you come up with something great, let me know!

The Clothes Make the Person

Is it proper to wear a wife-beater if you have no intention of beating your wife? Should you wear one if you do have intention of beating your kids? Or your dogs? Or your kids dogs? Is it still considered a wife-beater if it's a different color? Say yellow. (or is this an Asian wife-beater?) What if you beat your wife, but you happen to be wearing a Vikings jersey? Would the judge let you off easy because obviously, you're not a professional at this? Is there a corresponding "wife argue-er shirt"? (maybe it's the Hooters shirt hanging in the back of the closet)

I've seen a lot of guys wearing the really cool fishing shirts. Most of them are not fishing. (I doubt some of them even know how to fish, which is a different blog altogether) If you go fishing wearing aa '99 Spurs Championship t-shirt, what are the chances of actually catching a fish? Do the fish know what you're wearing? ("Let's not bite that one Norwood, that guy's wearing a wife-beater") Should there be some kind of law whereas you can't wear a fishing shirt without at the very least, having a tackle box in your truck?

And what's up with the "Carpenter" jeans? Just cuz they've got a special little loop where you could put a hammer doesn't mean that carpenters wear them. I've known a lot of carpenters in my day, and I've NEVER seen one wearing carpenter jeans. (they're probably actually painters dressed up like carpenters) Maybe I should get a pair and see if it helps me cut a straighter line?

And while we're on the subject, (kinda) if you're not a cowboy, but you're wearing cowboy boots, what does that make you? (a calf-boy?) What would happen if you were to actually jump on a horse wearing ballet shoes? Would the horse start to dance? And why aren't they called horse-boys?

Same goes for wearing a Hawaiin shirt in Texas! Does it mean you wish you were in Hawaii? (duh!) And why don't we have Texan shirts? Or Oklahoman shirts (that just sounded wrong), or Louisianan shirts (aren't those the wife-beaters?). Do the people in Hawaii have to wear them? I mean is it a rule or something? (probably just a "guideline")

Same question for wearing "scrubs". (not the show)(where they actually wear scrubs)(funny show actually) If you aren't a doctor or a nurse, can you wear them? What happens if you're a hair-dresser, and you're wearing scrubs and witness a car accident? Wouldn't you have to respond? (911, 911 it's an emergency! This girl has serious split ends!!!) (seriously, watch the show. It's funny) Or what if you were wearing a fishing shirt and scrub pants? Would you have to do CPR on the fish when you caught em?

And my personal favorite, Camo anything. Why do people wear camo clothes when they go to the store? Are they trying to steal stuff? If that were the case they should try the "canned goods" camo instead of the "mossy oak"! I'm not sure if they realize it, but people can still see them!

Wow, my head hurts.

HOARDING

You ever look at something and think "that just seems out of place"? Kinda like Eminem. Seems out of place, right? I looked at a house today that was out of this world.(not in a good way) Ever see that show "Hoarders"? Notice how they're basically all little shacks that these people live in? I went to a house today that was somewhere around 3500 square feet full of crap! Ladies got over 300 pairs of shoes!!! 300 PAIRS OF SHOES! My lovely spousal unit is a pretty good shoe hoarder herself. Probably has 40 pairs. 300 PAIRS!!! Every one of 'em in a little plastic tub you could see through!

There's a pile of clothes in the bedroom that's almost as high as the sliding glass doors (which are covered with 2 shower curtain liners) and about 8' in diameter. You couldn't get into one of the closets beyond opening the door to peek in. The other had a path through the middle. You could only find one sink in the bathroom because the other had so much crap stacked on it. Did I mention there was no carpet in the master bedroom? 300 frickin pairs!

Now these were the nicest people you would want to meet. One's a medical doctor, the other a book doctor. (not the kind that fixes books. I'm not sure what those people are called. I mean a P.H.D.)(which in this case turns out to stand for Pretty High Dung-pile) What I'm trying to express here is that these people aren't your typical run-of-the-mill hillbillies. These are edumecated types of folks. I'm guessing this is about a $400k house. A Lexus parked in the driveway. I'm not sure what a hoarders house should look like, but I certainly wasn't expecting this!

You know what I hoard? I hoard the genuine good feelings that I get from all my good friends and family! I hoard the smiles that I receive from my children every day! I hoard the comfortable feelings I get from knowing that every day is going to be better than the last! I hoard the knowledge that I alone am in control of my destiny! RIGHT! I don't hoard jack! If I haven't used something in the past year, I don't need it. (and I don't get enough smiles from my kids to consider it hoarding) I understand keeping a couple extra of something "just in case". But seriously people. YOU CAN'T SIT DOWN ON YOUR COUCH!!! This just ain't normal! I have decided in my life that I don't want my stuff to own me, I want to own my stuff.

So if reading any of this makes you uncomfortably glance over your shoulder, perhaps we should do an intervention. THROW IT AWAY! The chance that you'll ever actually use that pair of Leopard print leotards, or the Benjamin Franklin costume from 8th grade history, or even the custom fit bowling ball with the red and blue flames from 1987 is probably pretty slim! Go into your closet and pick up everything that "I'm gonna wear again as soon as I lose the 40 pounds" and throw it away. The velour shirts with the zippers up the front aren't ever coming back! (not that I ever had any of these!) Likewise the Earth shoes, the leisure suit (at least I hope it never comes back), the Bell bottoms with the different colored bell,(what were we thinking?), and for me personally, the hair dryer!

Simplify your life! Get rid of all the old stuff your don't want or need! (NOT your spouses or kids. Apparently the courts call this "abandonment" and force you into doing 240 hours of community service in a kids shelter, as well as giving your spouse all of your stuff and making you stay at least 300 yards away) (or so I'm told)

Libya and points beyond

So now they're talking about intervening in Libya. Great. Cuz that's just what we need. Let's go get involved in the inner workings of yet another 3rd world hell-hole instead of trying to fix ourselves. I'm all for helping out the fellow man, I'm just not for helping out the dictator, terrorist, scuz-bucket, ass-wipe people at the sake of our own country! So here's my proposal.

Pull all of our troops out of the mid-east, creating a ginormous sucking sound as we do. Station them along our borders. We have somewhere around 1,500,000 active duty troops. Based on a border length between ourselves and Mexico and Canada of around 7500 miles, we could put one active duty troop every 26 feet. Now, I personally think this is a little overkill, since most active duty troops can hit a target at a distance of at least 100 yards. So you put one person every 50 yards. If you come over the border, they shoot you. Easy!

Then we go to Alaska, clear out about 1 square mile, and put oil rigs all over that place, all drilling horizontally into Russia and Canada. When OPEC starts whining and saying they are gonna boycot us, you let them. And when their satellite is passing overhead, you have every good American in the country stand on their front lawn and moon them!

Then, once we've solved those minor little problems, you go into the inner cities and ask everyone you see if they are a gang-banger. If they say yes, or have gang signs tattood all over them, you shoot em. And when their momma's cry on the news and say "but he wuz a good boy", slap the crap out of them. Good boy my ass!

Time to stop worrying about the rest of the world, and spend a little time worrying about our own problems. And I'm not blaming either one of the major parties. I'm blaming both! Stop acting like a bunch of hyperactive weazels hopped up on fermented peaches and start doing something about the state of this country!!!

And while you're at it, Can we please find a way to get Charlie Sheen back on every newscast in the free world? I'm having a heckuva time dealing with withdrawels. I just can't seem to get quite as excited about another Lindsey Lohan drama, or the fact that the economy is recovering, no it's not, yes it is, no it's not, yes it is, no it's not. I was going to try to keep up with whether we were in a recession, or coming out of a recession, but every day I see something that contradicts the day before, so instead, I've decided to just become a turtle. Live in my little shell. Cut-off from the outside world. Not having to worry about crap. Man, sounds like my kinda life!!!

Ever have one of those days when you wake up and all you want to do is crawl in a hole somewhere? Today was my day. See normally, I'm a pretty lighthearted upbeat kinda guy (contrary to popular opinion). But today, when I rolled out of bed to fix the tax deduction a pop-tart, it felt like there was a concrete truck parked at the curb filling my sinuses with a nice dry mix. Because of this, I was probably a little on the short tempered side. My apologies to the dog with the size 12 print on his butt.

Truth be known, I've probably only missed 5 days in the past 5 years from actually being sick (surgery not included)(although I'm still not totally convinced there was anything wrong with me)(have I mentioned lately that Morphine is a wonder drug?) Today when I called in to my office, the lovely young lady who answered the phone at first didn't know who I was, then when I told her, said "you sound like crap, stay home". Now I know all you people that work in an office with 100 other people don't really find it unusual that the person who answers the phone doesn't recognize your voice. There's currently 5 people in my office. We practically wear each others underwear. That's how I realized that I actually needed to stay home. I knew I felt just like I sounded, and if I sounded that bad, well...

Now I'm no doctor, and I don't even play one on t.v., but I do know that if there is an inordinate amount of yellow, bloody gunk coming out of your nose every time you blow it, this could be the time for some good old-fashioned home remedies. I tried a couple today. One, I boiled a live chicken with some beach shells, 2 frogs, 5 cloves of garlic, 3 sugar cubes and a pair of dirty gym socks. Then I drank a beer. Didn't help. The second, I held my head over the hind-parts of a gassy dog, covering my head with a towel to keep in the yumminess. Once again, no help. (by the way, what do they put in dog food? There has to be some secret formula to make a dogs farts smell like they do! I remember when I was a little kid and we would all be packed in the station wagon, and my dad would try to blame the German Shepherd. Never worked)

Seemed so much easier when we were on the ski slopes. Drink a pint of schnapps for breakfast, and you felt pretty good. Could never figure out if I actually felt bad or if it was the effects of the previous nights shenanigans. (I've always wanted to use that in casual conversation) Apparently it could have possibly been the junk that everybody else was coughing up and hacking about all week that finally caught up to me. Whatever it is, I want it to go away. I don't like feeling bad.

This morning I actually woke up the little one with a "hey bud, time to get up for school". Then I made him scrambled eggs with toast and jelly. Then I had to tell him to hurry and get his teeth brushed so he wouldn't be late. Then I took him and dropped him off for school, telling him to have a great day. This isn't normal. I like to crawl out of bed in the morning and wake the kids up with a bright and shiny "get your ass out of bed. This ain't no hotel. If you want to sleep all day, get a job and pay me rent!" Then I go to work with the same upbeat manner and jump on somebody for making crappy coffee. Then, if everybody's lucky, I 'll find some poor schmuck who can't find his ass with both hands, and humiliate him in front of everybody. Man I miss feeling good!!!

Road-trippin!

Traveling with kids is not a vacation...it's traveling with kids. Just recently returned from a 6 day/5 night guys only roadtrip to the beautiful ski country of northern New Mexico. Pretty good, safe trip overall. One cracked rib (not mine thankfully), one puking kid (mine unfortunately), 3 teenage boys intent on "rolling on the babes" (epic failure), a couple of cases of 5-hour energy shots, a few bottles of medicinal schnapps, and a whole lot of sore muscles!

The trip up started uneventfully enough, however, right about the time the taco from breakfast hit the bottom of his gut, I remembered that I hadn't given the 8 year old any dramamine! It is absolutely amazing what comes out of a small childs belly! I'm thinking the taco didn't mix well with the 4 pounds of candy, dozen cookies, cheese crackers, and the ever present beef jerky! Thankfully, a thoughtful Mimi had packed everyone a care package, and the bag turned out to be a lifesafer (at the least a floor-mat saver). Unfortunately, the bag in question wasn't his! After a brief wipedown, disposal of a pair of shorts, a few disgusting comments from afore-mentioned teenagers, a dose of dramamine (yes, I had it in my pocket, just forgot to give it to him) and a rinse out of the mouth, we were back on the road.

Remember back when you were 20 years old, and you could take a 12 hour car trip, only stopping once for gas? Guess what? I'm not 20 anymore! Apparently, my bladder has shrunk to the size of a small walnut over the years. Anytime we came within 5 miles of a working bathroom, I was first out! (followed closely by Captain Dave) I believe the problem was perpetuated by the fact that I have become quite infatuated with a delectable drink the natives refer to as "coffee". (note to self; don't drink 60 ounces of coffee before a 12 hour road trip) (probably not a real good idea to drink 60 ounces of ANYTHING before a 12 hour road trip!)

What I did discover this week was that if you've already paid for the trip, not even a cracked rib can keep you off the skis! Day 2 on skis, Captain Dave takes a spill not unlike the one that used to roll before "The Wide World of Sports" on Saturdays. Unfortunately, Dave is also not 20! It's rumored that the avalanche started right about the time he stopped rolling, but I can't verify it! What I can verify is the fact that he hit with enough force to dent a metal flask, thereby causing an issue with spillage. To mitigate this factor, he felt forced to consume the contents quickly, so as to avoid a pocket full of minty goodness! And with enough minty goodness in your system, anything seems like a good idea! And a whole lot of this trip seemed like a good idea!

I believe the highlight of the trip for me was when the 18 year old in the group got a 40 something "cougars" phone number! Not a bad deal when she invites you and your 2 buddies over for a little hot-tub fun! (interestingly enough, she didn't include the 2 "elders" in this invite? WTH?) Upon showing up at the appointed hour, packing only a swimsuit and a smile, the wee lads were treated to the lovely physique of a 35 year old New Mexico native by the name of Pedro, who tipped the scales at just under a metric ton! Still makes me giggle! Wish I could have seen the looks on their faces! (although from what I understood, Pedro had a certain charm about him, and there was just something about the way the moonlight fell upon his moobs)

I also discovered on this trip (after, actually) that your spousal unit doesn't find the "I hunt Cougars" hat on the 8 year olds head nearly as entertaining as you did! Classic!

Again, stupidity! (they're among us)

I believe by now, everyone has come to the conclusion that I have an issue with stupidness. A wise man once said "tis better to keep your mouth shut and appear an idiot than to open it, and prove it so", or something along those lines. I go to the store yesterday, make my purchases, and I'm supposed to get $18.91 change back. I tell the kid, "I've got 9 cents", to which the kid replied "okay". Now this one little word doesn't seem like such a big deal, right? Well, I hand him the money and he looks at it in his hand like it's boogers out of one of Santa's reindeer. He looks at the cash register. Looks at me. Looks at cash register. Looks at his hand. Looks at me. Picks up the intercom and calls his manager! You can't PAY for this kind of entertainment!

This is for everyone who is thinking of pursuing a career in the world of retail...learn math!!! If something costs $21.09, and the guy gives you 2 twenties, and then 9 cents, don't hand him back $18.91, and then 9 more cents. Dumb-ass! Hand him $19.00. That's why he did it. I would have pursued a career in retail, but they won't let me mingle with children. Or stupid people.

It really irritates me when you go to a store and something costs $4.75, you give them a 5 dollar bill, and they have to look at the register to make change. I just want to scream "ARE YOU REALLY THAT MUCH OF A MORON???" Goodness gracious, my guinea pig can do better math than that, and he only made it through the 3rd grade! (I have a brick layer like this too)

Took the youngest to Dairy Queen after early release today. Ordered a small chocalate malt (my fave) and a small blizzard for the tax deduction. He changed his mind after it was rung up & wanted to change to a malt also. The blizzard cost more. I tell the girl to change it to a malt. She tells me there is a price difference. I tell her it's fine, keep the 30 cents, just change it to a malt. She calls her manager over for approval!!! Calls her manager over for approval!!! Somebody's handing you money & you have to get approval? You could have won employee of the quarter by increasing DQ's profits, but nooooooo! I don't know bout you, but if somebody hands me money, I'm taking it & not asking questions!

Sometimes, when I know that I'm dealing with one of the dimmer bulbs on the tree, I'll do stuff just to jack with him. Buy something that costs $2.04, then hand them a 5. Once they key it in the register, hand them 4 cents. (they'll get confused) Then say, "what was I thinking?" and hand them 2 more dollars, but ask for the 4 cents back.

Well, it's time for me to pull out the tutu and tights and hit the ballet class.

Happy Fat Tuesday

Happy Fat Tuesday everybody! And I'm not talking about fat tuesday like in you get to celebrate just cuz you weigh 400 pounds.(that day is actually in June) Which leads me to another question...how can people possibly let themselves get that fat? I'm not talking about the folks that need to lose a few. We all carry around a bit too much of a good thing. I'm specifically talking about the lard-asses that have to use the electric cart at the Wal-Mart to get around. You know, the ones who's shocks wear out on the drivers side twice as fast as the passenger side. The ones who can only carry 1/2 a ton in a 1 ton truck. Back boobs. Need I say more?

I have a hint for them...CLOSE THE CAKE-HOLE! Jeez, don't be tellin me how you've got some kind of chemical imbalance while you're talking around the Twinkie in your mouth. Or how you "diet and diet, you just can't seem to get rid of the weight", while you're eating a salad with 4 pounds of croutons and a quart of Ranch dressing on it. Might as well eat a Big-Mac and a hunk of chocolate cake!

I think that's probably the worst. I mean, if you weigh the equivalent of a troop of Chinese acrobats, and you realize it and don't much give a crap, I can take it. If you weigh that much, but you still look in the mirror and make yourself drool, well, that's a different story all-together.

Have you ever watched tv really late, late at night? There's absolutely nothing on, so you start chanel surfing and somewhere on one of the 867 stations is always the heartwrenching story of Paul, the 600 pound former lifeguard from Memphis. He says he has some type of rare disease that makes it impossible for his body to break down fat. He says that he never intended to get fat, and he's trying desperately to lose some weight, because he's "just not healthy". He cries. He says he just needs people to understand it's not his fault he's fat. He says this while sitting in front of a table with 11 McDonalds bags and a carton of Blue Bell on it.

I like to drink beer. I like to eat crappy food. I know that these 2 things make me fat. I also know that if I don't go to the gym in the mornings, I'm going to wake up one day and look like fat Elvis. (without the hair) I choose to go to the gym so I can keep doing what I like to do. If I don't go to the gym and I gain weight, I don't say I have a chemical imbalance. I don't blame it on some repressed feeling of inadequacy from my childhood time in Bolivia. I don't blame it on my sister. (you know who you are, remember the dog biscuit?) I blame it on the fact that I, 1) like to drink beer and 2) like to eat crappy food.

Oh yeah, Happy Fat Tuesday. When you're supposed to gorge yourself in preparation for the Lenten season! I'm not Catholic, or Methodist, or any other religion that practices Lent, (I practice lint. I ran out of dryer sheets) but I'm gonna celebrate tonight anyway!

Thank you. Thank you very much!

You ever do something to hurt yourself in a way that's so stupid, it defies all laws of logic? This past weekend, the spousal unit and I were venturing out in her Explorer. I was getting in the passenger side, not really paying attention, when I flung open the door with the same approximate force used by the booster rockets on a space shuttle to get it into orbit! Problem is, about the same time the door reached optimum speed, my head happened to wander into the path of the on-coming freight train!

Now, I'm not really sure why I needed such force to open the door, maybe it's the fact that I'm working out & don't really realize that I've built myself into this massive hulk of man-flesh. Or maybe it's just the pure animalistic nature of men. Maybe I felt like I had to prove my manliness like a Bighorn sheep ramming another. Whatever the reason, I opened the door hard! Right on my head! Hurt a lot! But like I said, it was such a moment of absolute stupidity, all I could do was laugh.

Fortunately for me, I was able to avoid any spillage of my drink, which, for some reason seemed important at the time. It doesn't appear that I've suffered any lasting brain damage, but, really, who would know?

Common Sense

When you decide to go to work for the government, (whether state, local, county, national, whatever) how long does it take for you to lose whatever shred of common sense you used to have? You could be Mr. Wizard, know how to frame a house, fix the transmission in a 68 Nova, weld a statue of a box of popcorn, do calculus problems that nobody else can do (not even the savant janitor who works construction in his spare time), run a multi-million dollar business, and then go to work for the government, and BOOM! Overnight you've turned into a moron!(at least it seems like it happens overnight. It might actually be a much slower process)(probably is a much slower process, because now you work for the government, and NOTHING moves quick in the government!)

Case in point: Some thoughtful baboon in our local city development office has decided that I can't get a permit to construct a house, because the framing details I call out are MUCH GREATER than what is called for in the code book! I (politely! :) ) pointed out to him that I was always under the assumption that the code book was minimum performance standards. His response? How can I know if this is higher than the minimums! HOW CAN YOU KNOW IF IT'S HIGHER THAN THE MINIMUMS????? How about that's what you get PAID FOR!!!!!

My question to him should have been, "how can you work here and accept a paycheck if you're too stoooooopid to actually know how to do your job? (Good lord I hope he isn't a breeder!)

He was probably a very smart guy on the outside, then when he joined up with our great city, he was put into some kind of brain sucky-thingy that coverted his grey matter to ranch dip. I kinda doubt this though. Having met him on several occasions, and (tried) had conversations with him about various things, I'm pretty sure he was a ranch dip head long before he came to work here. As a matter of fact, he was probably holding up a sign on a street corner one day, and a building official the next. (He applied for a job at Valero, but wasn't qualified)

And trust me on this, tomorrow he'll probably run for State Representative and win. (because he's currently still WAY ahead of most of that group) So my theory is this: You start at the local level, and they just convert a small part of the grey matter to ranch dip. Then you move on to the county level, and they convert a little more. Then state, and it's pretty much the whole thing! If you get past state, you get to move up to Cottage cheese! Don't even ask about the President!

Just once, we need somebody at some level of government to resist the forces of the brain sucky, and hold on to whatever common sense they once had!

I'm not special

Guess by now, everybody's heard about Charlie Sheen blowing the gasket. Apparently he's tired of pretending he's not special. Me too! I'm tired of having to act like I'm just a working stiff. Tired of waking up every morning and having to go to work to support my family. I'm tired of having to pay bills, and mow the yard, and buy groceries. All those things that normal people have to do! Doesn't ANYBODY appreciate the fact that I'm special?

Here's my advice to my good buddy Chuck. SHUT UP! Guess what Charlie, everybody else in the world is now convinced you're just a giant suckhole using up air that the rest of us could use! You had it all brother, and you frickin blew it! I hope there's not another producer (or director, or whoever hires people for movies and tv) that ever gives you another job! You can't keep it in your pants or out of your nose long enough to even enjoy the fact that you're richer than the majority of us will ever be, and have access to anything you want! You wanna whine and sue the people who stopped your show? Look in mirror LOSER!

If it's their show, and they wanna stop it, they can! Same goes for all the people in this country that own their own business. If they don't want to serve your no-good butt, they can. It's called freedom. If I owned a store, and I didn't want to serve fat, white, bald people, that should be my option.(probably wouldn't get a lot of business, but my option none the less)(also would invoke a certain degree of irony) If I saw you coming with your hooker/stripper friends, and decided I didn't want you in my store, that should be my right.(at least, not without plenty of hand(and other parts) sanitizer) If you don't like it, don't shop there.

As far as cancelling your show, you've made millions, what crap do you give? The people who are hurt by your stupid, irrational, everybody look at me attitude, are the people behind the scenes. You know, the little people you spit on when you decided your ego and penis were more important than their jobs!(by little people, I in no way meant to refer to actual little people)( I just meant "normal" people, who in the eyes of Charlie Sheen are probably considered "little people")(cuz he's an idiot)

So we've come to the conclusion that Charlie Sheen is nothing more than an irrational, whiney, egotistical, idiotic, "special" kind of loser. But the fact remains. The boy can pick up the chicks!

Dreams

You ever have a weird dream? Not talking about your typical "weird" dreams here. Nothing like the time I dreamed I was having a picnic lunch by the edge of a chocolate river with a red-assed babboon named Chuck. Or flying on the back of an orange Pteradactyl through the middle of an Irish pub on St. Patricks day, dropping informative pamphlets about the dangers of having your mind genetically altered by the little dudes in the pink lab-coats. I mean really weird stuff.

Last night I dreamed that Hulk Hogan was eating a corn-dog. No prelude. No post-script. Just Hulk Hogan eating a corn-dog. A big corn-dog. People at my work seem to think this is some sort of subconscious message about wanting to come out of the closet. Obviously, they've never seen my closet. It's too small to get into, much less come out of!

Funny thing is, I'm not even a wrestling fan (rasslin to you hillbilly's). I haven't seen Hulk Hogan on anything in years, plus I'm not a big fan of his either.(although I do like the occasional corn-dog)

So if anybody out there is a dream interpreter, or you have a dream book, or you just wanna write something funny, let me know what this means! In the meantime, I've gotta go cut the arms out of a t-shirt and get me a do-rag.