Hawaiian Adventure: Geothermal Pools, Nuts and Deck Shots

This is the second part of an ongoing series of posts, regarding our trip to the Hawaiian islands.  Click here for the first part.  We took a 7 day cruise, during the last week of September and the first week of October of 2012.  Our first day and night, before the cruise, we stayed at the Marriott hotel in Honolulu.

The Pride of America cruisehip

And no, the last part of the title to this post should not be read as "nuts and dick shots."  I just want to clear that up, right away.  In fact, if you keep reading the post and checking out the pics, you might see puffy goat vaginae and exceedingly horny lesbian handmaidens, left alone on the farm so long, that they naturally held Goat Clitoris Licking contests to see who would win the BIG PRIZE.  The prize would usually be a fresh, slippery tongue, cut away from an annoying old cow, the human type or animal.

That's why you don't hear much from Rosie O' Donnell these days.

One of the most thrilling and educational parts of our cruise to the five Hawaiian islands of O'ahu, Maui, Hilo, Kona, and Kaua'i was the excursion in Hilo.

In Hilo, we chose the Hawaiian Explorer excursion.  We figured we could get the biggest bang for our buck because it actually included three events in one during the course of a six hour period.  First, our shuttle bus driver, who had a very dry sense of humor, took us to Pana`ewa Rainforest Zoo and Botanical Gardens, America's only rainforest zoo, in fact.

Trees at the Botanical Gardens, mostly destroyed by lava and encased in lava rock.  And you thought the fucked up tree  on the right was a Rock Giant's dick?  What the hell have you been smokin'?

While it's true you'll see over 100 varieties of palms, native and introduced plants, you'll also want to be careful not to accidentally go off the paved provided trails and fall down into a giant crack in the Earth.  There are signs, all around the area, that say you shouldn't do that.  They didn't say the giant cracks and holes led to Hell, exactly, but I did see Hitler, fuher of Germany's Third Reich, poke his head up from the biggest, seemingly bottomless opening, wiggling his nose a bit, while happily chewing the dismembered arm of Idi Amin.

Ol' Idi could be heard screaming, down below.

Hitler stopped, momentarily and said, "I can't wait for Mitt Romney to join our party in Hell.  I've never eaten a Mormon before.  I wonder if they're as tangy as Catholics."  After that, he went back down into the tremendous hole, spiraling downward like a screw being driven into wood.  I heard Idi scream again, seconds afterwards, shouting, "Now I got you sucka!"

Then I let go of the cool looking mushroom I had picked up and moved on.

All the passengers from the comfortable air conditioned bus were treated to scenes of all types of wild looking, beautiful flora and fauna.  The trees, that had been partially eaten away and covered by hardened lava were spectacular.  There were a lot of them.  A guide mentioned that volcanoes had erupted in the late 1700's and the lava had risen twelve feet high in the area where the zoo is located.  The lava ate away a lot of the trees and all of the plants, creating, as a result, deformed, rock-like encasing of trees and plants growing out of little lava rock mounds.

Don't fall into a crack in the earth!  You'll go to hell, get eaten by Hitler and strapped to a chair where you'll continuously view movies of Rosie O' Donnell licking a goat's clit.  Where they got those movies is a true mystery.  If you solve it, you may win the BIG PRIZE!

It was bizarre and fun at the zoo.  It wasn't too long of a walk and there were wooden shelters you could stop, sit and rest if you wanted.  But I couldn't.  Being the"nature boy" that I am, I was almost manic with delight at my surroundings. I was running around like a chicken with his head cut off, (because a lot of Hawaiian people don't like chickens, as I pointed out in the first part of this series, that very idea excites them more than seeing Rosie O' Donnell's angry red clit) and taking pictures of everything while my poor wife trailed along behind me, at times, trying to keep up.  I felt bad that I left her stranded, sometimes, so would hobble back to her and ask her if she was okay.

She didn't complain and let me go off like a kid in a candy shop, snapping pics of this flower or this tree or whatever.  I found that I would pay for it later during the excursion.

Do you like my groovy outfit?  Great combination of tops and bottoms, eh?  I can't explain the shirt but I was wearing the swim trunks because I knew we were going to go swimming and wading into a large pond that was heated up by a nearby volcano, later, during the excursion.

I think she was more impressed with the animals.  Although, one of the main reasons we went on this excursion, to see the White Bengal tiger, Namaste, couldn't be accomplished.  The tiger was in the animal infirmary and could not be shown.  He had broken his leg the week before.  Even so, the staff at the zoo, made a birthday sign and put it outside the fence of the area where he would have been seen if he was uninjured.  It was a let down because he was hurt and, also, because we didn't get to see him but I understood.  I thought it was nice of the staff to create this sign even though Namaste the Tiger probably couldn't read it.  Maybe they gave him a million dollar robotic leg for his birthday.

A lot of people, wishing Namaste well and so forth, signed this.  I'm not sure but I think all the red that you see below the tiger's neck is actually the blood of one of the zookeepers.  Happy birthday, Namaste! 

They had other animals and birds there, such as lemurs, parrots, Capauchin monkeys and more.  Like I said in the previous post, I took somewhere between 500 to 600 pictures during the entire 8 day trip and 14 movie clips (some as long as eight and a half minutes in duration).  You or really, anyone else could say I went a little overboard but I highly doubt we'll ever be able to go on another trip to Hawaii and I wanted to capture as many memories that I could.  Besides, I come from a family of amateur photographers.  My mom, at one time, had close to fifty photo albums.  They would be filled with our trips out west to Wyoming or south to Florida or west, again, to Arizona, to name only a few, not to mention everyone's birthdays and family gatherings.

Next, our laid back shuttle bus driver, who at one point joked that if anyone could pronounce his native Hawaiian name, correctly, would win a prize, took us to the Mauna Loa Nut Factory.

This is where my wife got her revenge for me leaving her behind on the trail, at times.

On a self-guided tour, you could walk up the steps of the processing plant to see how they get the nuts prepared for public consumption.  Usually, I just shave mine.  But be warned:  It is not for public or private consumption.  I'm too ticklish for that nonsense.

We left some product for the rest of the passengers on the shuttle bus to purchase and enjoy.  Yes, we both wore tie dye shirts that day.  Call us nuts if you want.

Our shuttle bus driver explained, on the way there, that the workers/gatherers of the nuts had to be careful when picking a good or bad nut, proceeding to de-shell it and put them in a container that was later loaded on a truck.

We passed Macadamia nut trees and huge areas of hardened lava rock, scattered about, along the narrow road.  As I pointed out before, most of the roads are partially made from hardened lava rock.  If you click on the link above, you can read the story of how the Macadamia nut tree actually originated in Australia and was introduced to Hawaii in 1882.

After my wife and I quickly toured the processing plant, we made a bee line to the big gift shop.

I said, "Let's go!  I hear they're giving out free samples and they have Macadamia nut and coconut flavored ice cream!"

This is where she bought out almost half the store.  We bought 6 different flavored Macadamia nuts, various bags of Hawaiian coffee, souvenirs and the ice cream- that we ate at the provided tables and chairs.  When we got up to the counter, I couldn't believe how much stuff we got and how much we spent.  But like I was saying before, and my wife looked at me and repeated, at that point, "We should get this stuff now because when do you think we'll ever get to Hawaii again."

Ah-Ha!  Revenge complete!

The highlight of the excursion for me, besides the zoo, was going to the Ahalanui Park.  There, you could wade and float about in this substantially sized, natural geothermal pool that was heated to a relaxing 90 degrees F. by a nearby volcano. Heat would come out of the hardened lava walls, from holes, surrounding the pond.  Most people visiting, got in.  I did, despite the signs that were posted on the path going toward the pool.

One sign cautioned about it not being advisable to go into the pond if you had any cuts on your body- due to the bacteria in the water possibly infecting you.  Another warned you about eels and flesh biting fish.  Another sign would warn you about deep cracks at the bottom of the pool.

I couldn't care less about any of it.  I was going in.  I felt like I was bursting with enthusiasm, eager for adventure.  To hell with any danger!

I slowly made my way into the pond.  There was only one metal handrail and a few lava rock stones you could use for steps at the entrance of it.  Or you could just jump in, cannonball style and let the bacteria, eels and tiny skin-biting fish have a go at you, all at once.  What fun!

The water was clear, warm and inviting.

There was an older guy, there, in his late sixties.  His name was Nova (like the show on the PBS station).  He stayed kinda close, at times, toward the entrance.  He was funny, always cracking jokes and he made friends with me, and eventually, my wife, who joined me later and discovered I wasn't being killed devoured, felt welcome and he sort of escorted us around.

We were surprised to find out Nova was from the original state where we lived.  He had lived in Hawaii the last twenty years.  I think he gave us preferential treatment because we were from his home state.  He guided us to the ledge of the wall where we could feel the heat coming from the hardened lava walls and it's many holes.  The tiny flesh biting fish were only an inch long and when they nibbled on ONLY your dead skin (mostly your heels), they sort of tickled you.  They didn't pose a danger and I've heard of spas in Japan using fish like this or these exact same fish to act as a natural exfoliant to remove dead skin cells.  In other words, they didn't matter to me or my wife.  Nova said if they started to tickle you too much, to just wave your arms around you and they would swim away for awhile before coming back to gently feed off of you.  :)

By the way, nobody saw any eels and Nova said that out of all the times he had visited the big geothermal pool, he had only seen a few of them but they didn't bother him or anyone else he knew about.  Maybe they were afraid of his beard.

This is Nova, an unofficial, friendly greeter of the geothermal pool we experienced.  I liked this guy.  He was humorous, informative and helped me go around this boulder in the pool without breaking open my knee cap on it, tearing open my flesh and possibly exposing myself to some kind of bacteria.  He had that old hippie look to him and he was one of the nicest guys I've ever met.

On the other end of the pool, you could see the ocean, quite visibly.  There was a boundary of lava rock wall, separating the ocean and the pond.  I took several pictures along this area.

After the Hilo island excursion, we were slightly exhausted by the time we made it back to our ship.  It was a long, rewarding day.  We rested a bit before eating a meal at the Aloha Cafe, on board the cruise ship.  You could eat, almost non-stop, at the buffet, if that were your desire.  You could eat until you bloat yourself to whale sized proportions if that's how you got your kicks.  Some people, I noticed, did that.

I was satisfied with usually eating just four meals a day and a couple of snacks you would take from the buffet back to your cabin.  lol.  Again, some folks like us, would take entire platefuls of cookies and fruit or whatever you had an appetite for, to munch on before going to bed or to eat with taking your medication.

That's how we did it, anyway.

Here's a few shots of the outside of the decks of the cruise ship:

Do you see the rainbow?  It's not because of the magical mushroom you may or may not have taken, I can assure you.  I loved this shot.

The guy standing in front of the gigantic chess board and pieces might be thinking he's hallucinating.  I'm not going to tell him differently.

The pool area, at night.  I was peepin' in at a couple at one of the hot tubs.  :)

That's all for now, folks.  Hope you're enjoying the tours, thus far.    

Jokes I Just Thought Up Because I'm Drunk and Reportedly Speak A Foreign Language

While crossing the street, a nun is accidentally hit by a bus.  It doesn't look good.  Sister Ruby Goodshoes appears to be bleeding from every orifice of her body.   A crowd gathers round the nun and a few text their friends about the incident while others take photos with their camera phones.  The concern over the young woman is beginning to get overwhelming.  One man, in an expensive suit, even considers calling the number for medical emergencies but calls his stockbroker, instead.

Suddenly, a man of much heft, waddles forward through the throng of onlookers and texters.

"Stand back!" the surly man commands.

The elderly man, driving the bus, comes out, visibly shaking and asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

"I can handle this", says the fat, bald-headed man, with complete calm, "I'm a doctor."

With that said, he quickly rips open the nun's shirt, tears off her bra and then pulls down his pants and commences to masturbate, furiously.  In a matter of minutes, the fat man spews forth his jism upon the nun's shuddering chest.  After his last squirt, her heaving breasts become still.

"Huh," said one concerned female pedestrian, previously chewing a wad of gum, "I think she's, like dead, or somethin'."

The fat, bald-headed man threw his arms toward the sky and exclaimed, "Well, I CAME as fast as I could!"

---------

This is a bus.  It has wheels.  Every so often, the wheels go round and round... round and round.

Several cops are pepper spraying a group of activists, outside the building where the G8 meeting is taking place.  One of the activists, despite being blinded by the pepper spray, coughs profusely, yet still manages to shout, "Corporate interests are dominating what is reported and the world's governments and this forum of puppeteer-ed leaders is nothing but an insulting charade!"

Then the incapacitated man shakes and coughs, violently, before falling down and going into the fetal position.  The cops quickly come to his aid by merrily beating him with their clubs after one officer falsely accuses the man, through a megaphone, of carrying a gun.

After the cops are done beating him and handcuffing him, a corporate executive walks up, pats the cops on the back and says to the cops, "These dummies certainly don't know when to quit.  "

Bob, the policeman, replies, "Tell me about it.  Five minutes ago, one of them was telling me "Global Warming" is real.  After I laughed, I punched him in the belly and kicked him in the head and then I said, "You don't know what you're saying, friend.  We still get snow here, about a couple times a year, when years before, we had actual seasons, when the weather patterns were relatively normal."

After Bob said that, he looked to his fellow officer and the corporate executive, awaiting comments, concerning his little speech he had given the rotten punk.

The other cop says, "Yeah... and the city was only flooded a couple months, straight, in a row."

The businessman said, "Yeah... and the temperatures are well above average only 364 days a year, here."

Suddenly, an intelligent man came up to all of them and said, "I couldn't help but to overhear your conversation.  I just wanted to tell you people that you're just proving that the statements you've just made actually prove that victim's point- if you dare to think about it."

While laughing at the intelligent man, a bus abruptly jumps the curb and runs over everyone but him.  Luckily, a fat bald-headed man hurriedly ran up, said he was a doctor and quickly jacked off on them as they took their last few breaths of life.

-------

Q: What do you get when you cross a squirrel with a turtle?

A: A fat, bald-headed dude ejaculating on somebody.

On that note... Have a great weekend!  Oh, wait!  I just thought up my quote of the day: Sometimes absurdity presents itself on many different levels in many different ways during this time, in which we live.  One of the greatest qualities of the human race is that they are likely to progress through the absurdity, the tragic events we sometimes encounter.  We need to laugh, love each other and remember the good times and the good contributions that mankind has made.  


I think I need to go to bed.  Gooooooooodnight.

Good Food on 420 Day or Any Other Day

The following is a fictional tale of intrigue and wisdom and stuff.

The three guys were sitting around the living room and enjoying their bowls of stew.  They had just finished smoking a couple joints only an hour ago and they were hungrily gobbling down the contents of their bowls.

Dave managed to stop eating for a moment and said, "What am I eating?  It's fucking delicious!"

Kyle, the dude who cooked the stew, said, without missing a beat, "It's unborn fetuses in a health-minded chunky soup.  The meatier bits were gingerly sauteed and I mashed the undeveloped eyeballs into a paste before adding the hearty broth that I shit from my ass this morning."

Dave nodded his head, understanding.  Then he added, "Well, it tastes great .  Hope you didn't go to too much trouble."

Dig in!

Kyle remarked, "Not at all, my good friends."

Then Kyle, Dave and Rick laughed, simultaneously, knowing that what was said simply wasn't true.  You know, the part about the fetuses, eyeballs and excrement juices.  But Kyle did cook the concoction.

It was actually Kyle's Slow N' Easy Deer Chili that they were eating.  A special recipe he had thought up the night before.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Here, let me give you the recipe.  You can copy it if you like.  But if you don't, I will gut you and use your intestines as a jump rope.  Ha ha.  I'm just kidding.  Look... See the smiley face?  :) People add these to the end of comments to let you know they're joking or that they're trying really hard to be cute or funny or sincere.  I have to add them all the time... on Fartbook, Twitter, sticky notes and sometimes this blog or wherever- because if I don't, some good, yet not particularly intelligent folks might get the wrong idea.  :)

Wouldn't want that to happen.  :)

In any case, if you don't want to eat the meat of Bambi, you can substitute ground beef, ground sausage, ground turkey or semi-fresh finely chopped unborn fetuses.  Also: You will need a Crock Pot or slow cooker.  Don't try making this with the hollowed out skull of a long dead hobo.  The ingredients simply will not fit and will not be cooked properly.

First, the ingredients to this simple, delicious recipe:


2lbs. ground venison
1 1/2  30 oz. cans of tomato puree
A big jar (roughly 24-28 ounces) of medium to hot spicy salsa
A bag of frozen chopped peppers and onions (or, if you're fancy, find the peppers and onions your own damn self and chop them up- fresh)
Add a 15 oz. can or 30 oz. can of chili or kidney beans (optional- depends on how much you want to fart later)
and a 1lb box of elbow macaroni or whatever pasta you want
Add about five to six tablespoons of chili powder 

The basic ingredients

Cook or boil what needs to be cooked or boiled (I hope I'm not making this too complicated for ya) and put it all in a Crock Pot or slow cooker.  Pour water into the mix til it almost reaches the rim.  Leave about a one inch space.  You don't want it to bubble over and make a mess.  I won't help you clean it up.  I'll be busy.  You don't want to know.  :)

Look closely, on the right and you'll see the Pillsbury Doughboy getting his wife, Poppie Fresh, brutally hard, up the ass.  His unique penis has the form and bend-ability of a long white elephant trunk.  But don't let their crazy, lustful actions shake and knock over your kitchen items!  Sometimes, I'll watch them for hours, go at it.   Envy is thy shame!

Lastly, stir it all up with a big fuckin' spoon or your big hairy arm.  Set the cooker on low for 6 to 8 hours. Put the glass cover over the slow cooker or Crock Pot.  Don't forget to take your spoon or arm out!  If you wish, after it's done, mix in a couple tablespoons of pepper sauce.


During your waiting time, be sure to catch up on some important projects you've been putting off.  Masturbate furiously to monkey porn.


And wallah... after it's done, eat up.

MMMMmmmmm.  It really is good.  And hearty.

Have a great day and night, everyone! 

Absentee Blogger, Super Blogger, Dumbass Commenter and Unsolicited Advice

Absentee Blogger


That's how I'd best describe myself these days.  I think the last time I posted anything on the blog was about the middle of last month.  I'm reminded of that line from Al Pacino from one of his movies.  I know I won't get it right and I'm too lazy to look it up but it went something like... "No matter how hard I try to get away, they keep pulling me back in."

Feel free to correct me on that or tell me the movie reference as I know somebody reading this probably will.  That is, if somebody took the six to ten seconds to read the first paragraph.  More on that topic later.

Absentee Bloggers will usually go on temporary or permanent absences away from their blogs because of all types of situations.  Deaths in the family.  A project at work.  Having a real job, in general.  Responsibilities.  Vacations.  Unhealthy children.  Or, yes... even having a real life that sometimes keeps you away from your fucking hobby-  Which what blogging is... it's only a hobby folks.  Sometimes, it's a bit of self therapy.  Sometimes, it's you wanting to educate or entertain the strangers out there online.  But, in the end, it's just a hobby.  If you think it's anything more than that, here's your straitjacket!  Do not pass GO.  Instead, check yourself into the mental institution, you hopelessly addicted fucker.  Or seek psychological help of some kind.  I did and it certainly helped me.  Seeeeeeeeee????  :)  And the lopsided smiley face makes it all okay, huh?  

Yes, I know.  My goddamn keyboard is dusty as fuck.  Desk tray is, as well, I know.  Don't care, though.   You may "advise" me to get one of those cans of compressed air or one of those crazy American Republican  presidential wannabes to use their hot air to blow the dust away.  On second thought... no thanks on that idea.  They're all so flagrantly stupid, they would probably just slobber on my keyboard, making a bigger mess than a dude that's heavily addicted to Internet porn- if you catch my drift.  Hope I'm not being my usual subtle self.  :)  You'll note that I have a portable phone that's always nearby or stuck up my ass whenever the next personal or family emergency arises.  Which it will.

Remember:  If you feel absolutely compelled to post something each and every fucking day, you may be a Super Duper Dumbass Blogger (see topic below, later) that needs professional help, not to mention any type of responsibility and/or a goddamn job.

In reference to the previous "pulling me back" quote, the last four weeks have claimed my last strand of sanity and my time.  During my absentee blogger time, I was hit with all manner of health scares stemming from my Dad's Vascular Dementia, his hospital stays where he fell down due to low blood pressure or something else, my wife's own health problems where I was meticulously wrapping her swollen legs up every day, my own insulin prescription crisis (I'm severely diabetic) and last, but certainly not least, my Dad wrecking his car into someone else.  That last incident was expected.  We warned the authorities for years.  We did what we could to prevent it.  Legal, persuasive and everything else kind of ways- beyond imagination.  Luckily, no one got hurt.  And, of course, that's what it took for the right people to finally take action.  A damn accident.

My sister and I could write entire thousand page novels on what we've had to go through the last six years since Dad accidentally left the car running in the basement, which in turn, poisoned my mom to death through the air vents upstairs.  It took me a long time before I could even talk about that.

By the way, Dad is living in an assisted living facility.  His second one.  It's nice.  Amazingly nice.  It's a I-want-to-live-there-when-I-can't-take-care-of-myself kind of nice.  The first one he was living at, well, that, in itself, is a 9 part miniseries, featuring dramatic manhunts, threats to staff from him, breaking rules and full on breakdowns on my part and my sister's end of it.  It wasn't a bad place either, but, things wouldn't stop happening.

NO SOLICITED ADVICE HERE, PLEASE!!!!!


Just in case I wasn't clear, I thought I'd helpfully add a few exclamation points above.  Wonderful of me, wasn't it? 

If you've never read my blog or haven't read about that saddest part of my life, click these links for only a small piece of the never ending saga:

Sorry If I've Caused Concern
Sorry If I've Caused Concern- Part 2 
Sorry If I've Caused Concern- Part 3

I made the mistake of saying a couple sentences about the difficulty of caring for Dad on Facebook and somebody gave me unsolicited advice, assuming that in the 6 years of dealing with his problems- which became our problems, that we had never attempted what he suggested before.  When I read his suggestion, I was only looking to spout off a little to get mild, brief relief on Fuckbook or whatever they call it, I laughed and freaked out just a little when I read the suggestion/assumption and I didn't communicate to the assuming person because I'm not into debating and this person, I knew, would debate and argue something until pigs learned to talk.  It certainly didn't help during "my little freak out" that I was extremely stressed from everything hitting me at once from my wife's problems to my own- which are the same if you get down to it.  When you're married, it's like that.  FYI.

Clue 1: One of the biggest mistakes you can make with me is assuming.  Don't do it!  I've had it done to me far too many times.  Also:  Don't fill in the blanks and tell lies just because you don't know the person or the situation.  Questions are welcomed as long as assumption aren't sneakily thrown in.  My motto has always been:  Always ask, Never assume. 

Clue 1.5:  Unsolicited advice is also a big no no with me, just in case I haven't mentioned that two or three hundred times during the 6 years this blog has been around.  If I ask for advice, only then you can give it to me.

Sometimes, believe it or not, people say shit to just get whatever is troubling them off of their chest or out of their minds for a bit of relief.  Imagine that!

Clue 2: Once I've made my point, I don't argue or debate about the topic any longer.  I might give you a couple paragraphs worth of words back and forth between you and I but that's about it.  And that's if I don't have anything better or more productive to do. In person, if you are errationally determined and choose to "win" the argument or "make your case" or "see the gray areas" (also known as 'splitting hairs', I believe) in everything I say, I will leave you standing, talking to yourself or getting zip for response from me.  Feel free to believe you've "won" the argument or debate when I don't return your brilliant comeback with another brilliant comeback.  It matters not to me.  And when you do it on the internet, I think you're an absolute fool for doing so.  I don't care if both "great debaters" become the best of pals at the end of their battle of words, charts, facts supporting their views that will change after the next day or whatever, it's idiotic.  Period.  Go.  Fuck.  Thyself.  The same goes double for Grammar Nazis.  Please... GET A FUCKING LIFE OR AT LEAST TRY TO ENGAGE IN ACTIVITIES OR RESPONSIBILITIES OUTSIDE OF THE INTERNET.  UNGLUE THY ASS FROM THY OFFICE OR COMPUTER CHAIR, FUCKWAD.  Oh, there goes my delightful subtle side of me exposing itself again.  I gotta watch that.

I'm sure you've seen this before... but have you actually read the words and let their meaning sink inside that big ol' human brain of yours.  Mentally handicapped people have my full respect.  They make people who argue and endlessly debate on the net look like deranged imbeciles that are deserving of being slowly trampled by a hyped up herd of people leaving a Disturbed concert.  I respect the hyped up concert folks more than the "great debaters", as well.  Crush on, dudes and dudettes!  

Anyway, during this last hiatus, I would have much preferred to being in this chair, happily blogging about shit people could laugh and/or think about instead of being imprisoned in endless health scare and moving issues.

Super Blogger

Speaking of irritating people, isn't it about time we got rid of these "Super Bloggers".  You know... these ego-maniacal assholes who need a gazillion fucking followers.  Don't get me wrong!  Or fucking assume!  I don't care how many followers you, I or the next person has but when they promote themselves to death by joining every site, blog and advertise... not to mention sell products bearing their website names, without a drop of true substantial content- it speaks volumes to me about what they're all about.  Superficiality and ego-boosting.  It's a cry for help.  No need to assume.  They flagrantly show IT, celebrate IT and glorify IT, themselves and their site.  Link dropping after every comment on someone's blog post is strategy in their strange game of potential profits or ego-boosting.  They want you to click their ads, buy their shit and follow them like the next messiah.  And if you're "lucky" you may get a comment from them on your own blog once a year.   Again, to those who engage in this self-serving practice... GO.  FUCK.  THYSELF.

If you go to my blog pal, Gary and his funny, observant blog, klahanie, you will see he has posted a bit on this subject, as well.  I advise you to check out his excellent, well written site, too.  Here's the link to the post I'm referring to here.

Did you see where I capitalized the words above where I called no one, in particular, a fuckwad?  I did that in the hopes that you would read those words- which brings me to...

Dumbass Commenter

The Dumbass Commenter excels in leaving comments that shows he, she or it did not read much or any of the post.  Maybe they looked for keywords, big words, bold type words or a tiny chunk of the post to comment on.  Maybe they briefly looked at the pretty or bizarre pictures.  Who knows?  Some will say, "Your site is good.  I follow.  My website is Blahblahblah."  You may call them spammers.  I call them imbeciles.  I say, if you're not interested in my post or someone else's, don't read it and attempt a lay a lame comment in the comment area.  Keep your "following me icon" and your shitty three word or lame comment to yourself.  Gary, of klahanie, also wrote his perspective on this subject.  Look here.  I have to admit.  It's more amusing than my somewhat cutthroat, yet still honest, perspective.  I also have to admit that I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy today, joyfully spreading good cheer to one and all.

Did I happen to mention I'm the King of Subtlety?  Or would that be a mere admirer, user or student of sarcasm or sardonic humor?  It's so hard to tell.

On the bright side, things are finally looking up a little.  No, I'm not talking about my penis becoming erect.  Not that far up.  I'm just saying that through all the bleakness, I see a tiny particle of light at the end of this long, dark, melancholy, jagged tunnel of misery.  Maybe, in a few more weeks, things will get even better.  It depends.

Have you read this far down?  Do you have ADHD?  Or is Lil' Puddin' bored that he or she didn't have a laugh-a-second post to read this time around?  If so... Gosh.  I care a lot.

I'm just kidding, folks.  It's all in good, well meaning fun.  Move along now.  See you or not see you next time I post a delightful story or raging diatribe.  Take care.  I love you.  Would you follow me?  I desperately need  that type of ego boost. Hahahahahahahahaha.  I'm okay. 

The Holidays Are Over and The Joy of Putting Xmas Gifts Together

First of all, as if you can't tell by my latest posting, I survived Christmas Hell once again.  The one Christmas gathering my significant other and I hosted for her side of the family didn't cause me to flip out, fall down on my knees, sob openly and then get up, retrieve my flamethrower from under the bed, go back and set everyone on fire this time around.

I only had two instances where I had to leave a heavily populated room due to stress.  For me, a heavily populated room is anything over five or six people.  I feel like I'm trapped in a herd of insane, babbling bison in that situation.  I can't handle it.  One thing that sets me over the friggin' edge is when three people are talking to you at the same time about three extremely different topics.  My head is turning faster than a possessed girl in a 70's horror movie in order to focus and hear what each buffalo has to say.  For whatever reason, people have a tendency to pull this hilarious routine on me-  intentional or not.  Maybe they want me to pull out the flamethrower.  I must seem like someone who will calmly listen to the subject matter presented and, in turn, shoot wisdom out of every orifice for the talker's benefit or possibly cause the talker to laugh by spurting out an absurd or observational joke that may have something to do with what they're rambling about.

You say you made a macaroni and cheese dish with less flavor than Styrofoam cups covering a decrepit whore's wrinkly worn down nipples?

Well, I can't wait to try to digest that dish you made for our supposedly joyous Christmas meal without spitting it out and blinding your baby with unappetizing chunks of what you jokingly refer to as food.

It's all a pretty picture I paint, I know.

Then someone else may talk about trains and fishing lures.  I will attempt interest while also fantasize about fucking Mila Kunis deep in her tiny, puckered asshole.

Ta-dah!

Here's a joke I made up for ya that's both absurd and observational.  Best of all, it's an easy one to remember.

Question: What's the difference between a monetarily wealthy kid on Christmas morning and a poor kid, that same day, that lives in a run down apartment with a bunch of relatives that are also poor?

Answer: The wealthy kid will likely probably not give too much of a shit about what he gets when he opens his gifts because he already has everything without asking.  He might grow up, feeling entitled.  Maybe not.   Now the poor kid is likely just grateful that he has a big family that loves him.  He may envy the rich kid every so often but he ultimately knows what is important and what's not.  Does he feel entitled?  Hell, he's just trying to survive.  Living his life is all the gift he needs.

Spoiled girl secretly enters the room at night, then carefully binds mother and father's limbs while they slumber peacefully, dreaming of new things to acquire and gingerly scoops parent's eyes out with a spoon because she didn't get that latest technological piece of shit that will go out of style in a couple weeks and no longer make her friends green with envy.  Later, after the merry mayhem and profuse bloodshed and disemboweling of daddy, she'll get her own reality show, thanks to the hyperventilating, over publicized rabid press coverage.  A happy ending that will certainly appeal to today's wonderfully sane society.

It's not so much a joke but it's something I think people should think about.  I think the poverty stricken people around the world think the wealthy in America suck for a lot of reasons.  It's not completely envy.  Maybe not at all.  You tell me.  I wonder if they believe we're arrogant and entitled, too, to a greater degree.

The wife and I overdid the gift giving to each other this year.  Made all the Christmas gift givings in the past look a might tame.  TV.  Camera.  Exercise machine for me.  I put that together that today.  Jewelry.  A cool graphics tablet thingamajiggy that allows you to draw with a pen while your drawing shows up on the PC monitor.  I forget what else.  Too excessive.  In a way, it gave me a bad case of "the guilts."  Perhaps I shall shed these feelings of guilt, layer by layer, by distributing free bars of soap to the hobos under the bridge.  Sorry.  That isn't right.

I really wish the lady would have come, shipped in a special container with this item, when I ordered it.  She could have made me some delicious mac and cheese.  Darn it.

But, at the moment, I'm feeling kinda vulnerable and anxious now that I've said what we got this festive holiday season.  Don't rob me!  I'm nuts.  Who knows what type of funny rascally rabbit I'll pull out of my hat?  For real. Fair warning, my friends.  Group hug?  No?

I've figured out how this thing goes with that thing, for the most part.  I'm learning how to do new stuff that's normally a little above my intelligence capabilities.  But I'm still one hell of a guy, after all.  There are still hook ups and procedures I don't quite understand.  But I'm going to make a real attempt at being patient with understanding things and more patient with people- this year and beyond.  I'll try working on that.  No more Mr. Flamethrower Guy.  Unless I'm provoked.  :-D

Side Note: So far the comments I've been getting about the exercise machine suggest that I got it as a gift from a family member.  This is not the case.  My wife and I purchased it and had it delivered to myself to help lower my blood sugar and high blood pressure counts and more.  Thank you and have a rip-roaring day, damn it.  

Barreling Through Christmas With Determination and Valium

So far, I haven't allowed my depression from not having Mom around get to me this year.  It's been 6 years since she's been gone and she was truly the glue, along with my grandpa, holding the family together.  Now the family is fragmented.  One won't attend a Christmas gathering because so and so will be there and another will make it impossible to reach because they don't care about getting together for one reason or another and on and on it goes.

You would think everyone could put aside their differences and petty hates to get along but nah... no such luck.

Still, I'm barreling through the four and possibly five different family Christmas gatherings that I have attended and possibly will attend- that is determined if we can ever reach him.  One of these gatherings is coming up Christmas day.  Unfortunately, we're hosting it.  It is exhausting so far, with the house cleaning part, decorating windows, food preparation and so on.  Nope, not my idea.  I'm doing all of this strictly for my significant other.

She deserves it, wants it and it will make her happy as long as I don't lose my temper, become frustrated and stick the tree up somebody's ass, completely obliterating their colon.  That last part, knowing the in-laws, could happen.  I can count on them to make things even more difficult and convoluted than they need to be.  An old story.

This never worked for me.  Not even with that toothless meth addicted midget I found in the alley.  Her oozing sores were a dark Christmas red and green.

I'm usually an old grouch, Grinch and sometimes, a full on bastard around the holidays.  I don't want to be but that's just how it is.  My depression, frustration with crowds, family, traffic and all things stressful, pushes me to the edge. I feel a tremendous amount of guilt for being a little less than festive- well, a lot less festive the last 6 years and I'm desperately trying to make up for it.  Yes, this time around, I am really trying to make things as good as they can be this Christmas- for the wifey and for lovable ol' me.

What a beautifully festive display.  Someone finally gets it right.

The positive approach is better than being negative.  No matter what obstacle has been thrown my way, I've tried to make the best of it.  Hell... why not?  And you should see all the nice gifts I got my Sweety this year.  Jewelry, even!  Gosh, I'm a hell of a guy.  And I haven't broken the bones in my hand with all of the patting myself on the back one bit.

What a happy-go-lucky elf I am.  Not at all driven to insanity with all this holiday cheer and shit.

Yesterday, it was raining for the 10th day in a row.  I hurriedly got in my truck, got my rain poncho out and came back inside, on the bottom floor.  I was bound and determined to go for a walk in the park.  Fuck the monsoon we were having around this goddamn area.  I didn't feel like going up the stairs to my apartment and putting it on.  Instead, I put the rain poncho on downstairs in front of the neighbor's door at the bottom of the stairs.  Sure enough, while my head was buried and I was scrambling to get this rain poncho on right, the neighbor woman below, with her baby in her arms, pops out her door, suddenly and scares the shit out of me.

"Goddamn!," yelled I.  I added, "Holy shit!"

The neighbor smiled and then asked a stupid question, "Is it raining?"

I was soaked from my head down to my boots.

I do so much love it when people do this.  When people ask me obvious questions, I immediately get a boner.  In fact, anytime someone does something ridiculous in front of me, I sport wood.  Fuck, I must be hard all the time, eh?  Pull out in front of me, suddenly, with your crappy little Smart car and I'll pitch a tent in my pants like no other.  Of course, I will run over your Tonka Toy piece-o-shit with my big V-8 pickup truck while doing so, but hey, isn't that showing some Christmas spirit?

Anyway, after ranting away about how dismal the weather has been in the area, I told the neighbor to have a Merry Christmas.  Maybe a little forcibly, in tone, though I didn't meant to say it like that.  She wished me the same, politely, and said she had to go to work.  I wondered how she was going to go to work with a baby in her arms, but, oh well.

Maybe I'll be give her a little Christmas cheer and let her have the close parking space next to the main apartment door below a couple times.  I'm a real giver this year.

Anyway, Merry Christmas, everyone.  Unfortunately, I'm gonna have to disrupt my blog posting challenge for the next few days because of the overwhelming upcoming events I'll be working on.  Family feasts and more.  That means I won't be able to post anything for the next two days, at least.  Believe me.  I would much rather do the blogging thing than- wait a minute- I gotta be positive no matter what.

Wish me luck!

A Praying Mantis by my door, waiting to ponce on me and bite my head off.  I did mate with her, after all, and that's how they do it in Praying Mantis World.  Begone, vile fucked up looking monster!  I will forever regret fucking you in the ass.  Especially now that my head has been bitten off.

Adventures While Camping at The Gorge (Part Two)

To read the first part of this series click here.

After we helped each other set up our tents, we were finally able to relax. You've got to remember: We're a couple of middle-aged, overweight men who if either of us had to do a push-up, there's a ninety percent chance we would snap our arms in half and shit our pants, simultaneously.

I say that with pride as I scratch my man nuggets.

Of course, each of us had cushioned air mattresses with battery operated air pumps. Too old to sleep on a floor. Too old and out of shape to manually blow up an air mattress. Unlike the old days, when we were in our twenties, we wouldn't have been able to survive the night in the present, lying directly on the floor of a tent.

When we were in our twenties, we would hike up these insane mountains, carrying heavy backpacks and later sleep on the ground at night, on the edge of cliffs.

After the tiresome event of setting up camp, unloading our stuff from the truck and carrying this or that 3000 lb object here or there, we rewarded ourselves by sitting in fold up chairs, feeling as used up as a toothless crack ho named Lameeshqua.

I was so flippin' beat, I couldn't pour myself a drink. We did manage to build a fire, that first night, if I recall. We sat before that fire, staring into the flames, chatting about the The Firebucket Man. You'll have to read Part One of this story in order to know who I'm talking about.

We both turned in for the night, going into our tents. Then sometime in the middle of the night, I have a surreal experience in the dark of my tent. I feel like I'm going bat shit crazy. I feel like someone is attacking me inside my tent. I don't know if I'm dreaming this or half dreaming this or what. My sister suffers from night terrors but to my knowledge, I don't remember ever having an incident of that type.

My friend, Steve, said he awoke from this terrible guttural, growling noise emanating from my tent sometime that night. Now Steve is a very sound sleeper. He lives in an apartment near the railroad tracks in the busiest part of town and he can sleep through pretty much anything. Sirens going off. Fireworks. You name it. So when he says that I woke him up, that's significant news.

He thought maybe there was a bear and a dog fighting outside over food. My friend was desperately trying to remember if we had left any food outside, due to carelessness and utter exhaustion.

Every few seconds, I would let out a shriek in the previous calm of the night. He said he heard noises he couldn't describe coming from my tent and it was causing him major concern. At one point, he slowly unzipped his tent window and saw the bottom portion of my tent bucking around, like I was kicking it. I do remember kicking at my imagined attacker and punching at it's body.

Steve said he didn't know whether to go out of his tent and ask if I was alright or perform an exorcism.

Fearing that I would stab him in the chest, if he tried unzipping my tent door, with the Bowie knife I had brought with me, Steve stayed away. All of the commotion was apparently that bad.

The next morning, I was groggy and my throat was hoarse (I guess from all the noises I had made). My friend told me what happened throughout the night and I told him I thought maybe I was dreaming or that I had a panic attack of some kind. I offered to him the fact that I'm not a big fan of being in complete darkness. That may have instigated a chain of reactions in me that night but I'm not really sure what it was. Maybe it was Steve's infamous god-awful snoring that can be heard from two towns away that made me go mad. It's still a mystery.

The following nights, I doubled up on my prescription Valium to help me sleep and to help defeat the ear-bleeding decibels of snoring coming from Steve's tent. It worked. No more bear/dog/Satanic noises came from me, according to Steve. No more "dreams", either, other than a few boring ones involving a toothless crack ho and a Pee Wee Herman bobble-head. You know... the usual.

The following days we enjoyed moments of serenity as we walked on some trails and over and under a few natural sandstone bridges. There were spots along the trails where the views of Red River Gorge could truly invigorate your soul.

At one point, we saw this lizard with a chopped off tail, sitting on a trail sign, and we, in our drunken state, competed with each other in seeing how good of a close up shot we could take with our cameras. Each shot, we got increasingly closer and closer. The lizard thought we were probably nuts. Amazingly, he didn't move the whole time. After twenty minutes or so of this nonsense, we finally walked the trail to Gray's Arch. Likely, much to the lizard's relief.

Here are some pics of plants, mushrooms, trees and berries. None of which were ingested. Especially, the trees. They're kind of hard to swallow.

There were trails that had a shitload of steps to travel up and down. Though they provided a challenge, they were worth the scenic viewpoints we were lucky to be immersed in.

This year, there had been a number of incidents where bears had come into the campsites and were freaking people out, which is understandable. A few people have been attacked by bears, in the past, at The Gorge. The area is also famous for people falling off the cliffs along the trails. Here's one memorial, out of a dozen or so, dedicated to those who have died while hiking the high altitude trails. Ya gotta be careful, folks! Tee hee.

Every so often, you'll encounter signs like these at the beginning or along the trails.

Enlarge and read the cautionary print for a chuckle.

On the trail leading to Half Moon Arch, we met a guy with two dogs that had little red "saddles" on their backs. Each "doggie backpack" had two big pockets. My friend asked the pet owner what the dogs were carrying. The guy said, without missing a beat, "Bottled water and their poop."

This dude was so conscientious about his dogs leaving poop on these rough trails, hardly walked paths, that he had his dogs carry their own shit with them wherever they went. I thought that was particularly nice and thoughtful of him. Especially the part where he had his dogs packing and lugging his bottled water for him, as well.*

*snicker

And hey, at least they weren't carrying his shit.

We met a lot of interesting folks during our stay at The Gorge. Tomorrow, I will offer up the 3rd installment to this adventure. In this next episode, you will learn how to cook a deer over an open fire and you'll encounter other odd and wonderful sights along the way. See you there!

Toadie in "Haunted Bordello" (Part 2)

Click right here, folks, in order to read the first part of this classic type of ultra fine and sophisticated American Literature so you can make sense of the whole story. I wouldn't want you to be "lost in the woods", so to speak. Or would I? Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha.

Upon closer inspection, the slightly mentally challenged Toadie realized the people in the old photograph were his great-great grandparents, Gregory McKelly and Donna Mae McKelly. Toadie remembered seeing similar photos of his great-great grandparents in a family album when he was a kid. His sweet Auntie Kay had told him that "his great-great grandparents were outlaws of the Old West and were fond of drinkin', raising a lil' hell and robbin' banks- but that they were beloved by many because of their good-natured sense of humor and the fact that they gave a lot of their money away."

While looking intently at the photo, the characters in the photo mysteriously began to move. Instead of his late grandfather pointing his gun upward, he was dropping his arm downward, allowing the gun to point to the side. Then, surprisingly, the photo began to change in varying colors. But what was most unnerving, was that the frame around the photo changed, as well, with the indented pattern in the wood, unraveling, curling into twisted flowers, then returning back into it's original form.

Toadie jumped back, tripping over an old brass spittoon and screamed. The photograph immediately returned to it's original state, which was followed by laughter echoing from the rooms upstairs. These were the same rooms where prostitutes cheerfully entertained patrons of the saloons by humping them until their semen had been thoroughly depleted from their scrotal sac.

Toadie stuttered a bit, expelled a long, awkward fart and finally was able to blurt out, "Toadie needs Valerie to come here!"

When Valerie joined him, Toadie explained what he had seen and that the people in the photograph were his great-great grandparents.

Startled, Valerie held Toadie tight and said, "That photo is remarkably clear for how old it is. It's like it was taken just a year ago."

Toadie said, nervously, "Toadie's afraid. Will you comfort Toadie by giving him head, please?"

Suddenly, a blonde haired woman, garbed in a black dress, was sitting on an old piano across the saloon. She had appeared from a gathering mist and, almost immediately, began to speak.

"If she doesn't suck the venom from your snake, Sugar Buns, I would be willing to give it a try."

Frozen with fright, Toadie and Valerie stared at the ghost, feeling helpless.

The ghost said, "The name's Annie and pleasure is my business."

She smiled, seductively and drifted over to where the engaged couple were standing.

Annie warned, "If you know what's good for you, you'll head on upstairs before "Bent Joe" Paulson comes in here. He doesn't like strangers in HIS TOWN."

Valerie paused anxiously, before inquiring, "Who's Bent Joe?"

The ghost circled around the brunette and whispered, "He's the most evil bastard you NEVER wanna lay eyes on, sweetie. He'll tear you apart, whether you want it or not."

Annie turned to Toadie and placed her cold hand on the crotch of his pants. Even though he was scared, Toadie still sported wood and drooled a bit. His "snake" drooled a bit, too.

Annie remarked, "Besides, if you two follow me upstairs, I promise you won't be bored." She giggled at that and gave Val a little peck on the cheek.

Without warning, the saloon doors were thrown open. A glowing orb passed through the entrance. It seemed to be burning with red flames. Annie, Val and Toadie could feel the hostility emanating from it.

"Time to go," warned Annie.

Toadie and Val quickly followed the ghost upstairs into one of the rooms. When they were inside, the old wooden door slammed shut.

Toadie and Valerie stared at each other, shaking. Toadie said, "Toadie doesn't see the hot blonde anymore."

Valerie gave him a stern look. "So you think she's hot, huh?"

Toadie pointed to his dick and said, "The penis doesn't lie." And then he laughed, scratched his ass and plopped onto the bed like a big sack of creamy, maggot-infested potatoes.

A few quiet moments passed until Valerie, aroused by the sight of Toadie's meaty totem pole, joined Toadie on the other side of the bed. She looked out the window and said, "Do you think we'll be okay in here for awhile?"

Toadie saw how the moonlight reflected on Valerie's face and allowed his gaze to travel down to the outline of her soft, firm breasts beneath her shirt. He imagined sucking on her tits and blowing his wad on them. But not vice versa, of course. Toadie would think that to be uncouth.

"Toadie loves you," said Toadie, "Toadie won't let anything happen to you."

Valerie leaned over, kissed her fiancee gently on the lips and complimented him. "You're so romantic, Toadie"

Toadie said, "Can Toadie fuck you in the ass now?"

No longer being able to hold herself back from the suave gentleman, Valerie took off her clothes. Toadie hurriedly removed his clothes, as well. Moments afterwards, the engaged couple were happily fornicating.

And then a mist appeared next to them. Annie made herself visible. Without asking if she could join in, she began rubbing Valerie's wet, glistening love button. At first, the ghost's hand was cold but then it quickly warmed up. Valerie moaned, realizing the ghost was back in their presence and was, nevertheless, enjoying her touch. Annie then turned her attention to Toadie, pulling his walloping prick from Valerie's wide open beaver gobbler and sucking it with terrific fervor.

Toadie shouted, "Hurrah!"

Further pleasures were exhibited and felt throughout the night. Bodily fluids were exchanged. Annie the ghost rode Toadie like a crazed, horny baboon. At one point, Valerie lapped at Annie's ghostly nips. And so on.

Abruptly, a fiery orb passed through the door and entered the room. Val, Toadie and Annie hadn't noticed. The orb slowly transformed into the spirit of "Bent Joe" Paulson. The cowboy was seething with rage as he shook his fists and screamed, "I'll teach you!"

Stay tuned for Part 3, the last chapter to this story, next time. Hope you have a great weekend!