Crazy Joe's Internet Advice, Corny Jokes and More

Crazy Joe came up to me the other day, while I was throwing bricks against a brick wall in an alley. He nearly made me shit a brick when he tapped me on the shoulder, suddenly, from behind.  More importantly, though... Why do I throw bricks against bricks walls?  Well, because, you know, that's one of my favorite hobbies and it's really just as fulfilling as engaging in silly behavior on the InterNutz.  That latter of which seems to be the latest fad or sign of mental deficiency the days.  Confused?  So am I.

Speaking of which...

After pecking me on the shoulder, Crazy Joe said, "Man, some people are getting super loopy on the InterNutz these days?"

I said, after turning around and about to cave his forehead inward with a brick, "You scared me! I damn near smashed your fugly face in with this large brick in my hand."

I paused for a moment, realizing what he had just said before I was going to smash a brick into his skull.

Then I quickly asked, "What the hell are you talking about, Crazy Joe?"

Well, first he handed me a joke card and waited for a second while I read it.  It looked like this:

I laughed.  Crazy Joe laughed.  Then he said, "Shit like this freaks people out on the InterNutz.  Some people either do or don't get the humor of it, or they're extremely sensitive about certain language, get shitty about it or they're irate about the unimportant subject matter.  Doesn't make sense regarding the priorities in a normal person's life, really"

I stood back and replied, "Yeah, it's a loopy InterNutz world out there.  Some of them could use a brick to the head.  But you see all kinds.  Some are open minded, though.  I usually hang out with folks like that.  Kindred spirits, so to speak."

Then Crazy Joe gave me a typed document and said, "For kicks, I thought these up last night, after observing bad behavior on the InterNutz for a few hours."

At the top of the form was the title, CRAZY JOE'S INTERNET ADVICE

This is what it said:

* It's fucking impolite to verbally attack or call a specific person a negative name when you don't agree with him or her. If you don't agree with what they saying, just give your opinion on the subject or not- or ignore it, altogether and move on.  And life is too fucking short to act like children playing an " I Win/You lose" fucking type of game.  For fuck's sake! Fuckity fuck fuck!

* Do the world a favor. If you're on a social network site, stop telling your friends and family every petty detail of your life.  Throw in a funny image every fucking once in awhile, fuckers!  Break up the monotony of detailing your everyday routines to one and all.  Talk about anything you might find humorous!  Share the gift of laughter, fuckers! Or talk about something interesting, for a change!  You find that people just as open-minded as you are, are worth getting to know and enjoy interacting with, no matter what type of website you're spending time.   

* If you're too fucking overly sensitive to look at what you believe to be an offensive image, get thine ass off of whatever website or social networking page you're on and move thee fuck onward with your sensitive self.  Remember: It's A-Fucking-Okay if you don't care for the humor you happen to see but if you don't like what you see, your eyes can always look elsewhere.  

* Hey, don't start fights between friends or family while you're on one of those social networking sites, either!  If you've been given a couple dozen clues that you are prone to do that shit, then I highly advise you to take your nasty ass, trouble-making self to this one alley I know of, to get a free complimentary brick thrown at your fucking loopy head.  

* And please stop with the positive images with the light weight words that are supposedly uplifting and are supposedly "magical" in their ability that when you first lay your eyes on them and read them, you are, all of a sudden, a completely changed fucker for life.  Reality doesn't work that way.

I read the rest of what he had typed and while nodding my head, in agreement, I handed the advice list back to him and I said, "I agree with a lot of what you have to say here, Joe, but, as I've experienced in the past before, you can't change people, no matter how badly they need to change for the sake of harmony and tolerating others ."

Joe looked up at me and calmly replied, "But you can, sometimes, provoke them to open their minds and think.  And that's a start."

I said, "You may have a point there."

Crazy Joe said, "I believe I fucking do."

Then he smiled, noticing the grin on my face when he knew I got the joke of him repeatedly saying the word, "fuck" or "fucking" in every other sentence in his document or the present conversation to make a point that only the sharp minded would get.

I handed Crazy Joe a piece of paper that I had printed off my computer from a friend's email he sent me the other day.  I explained to Crazy Joe that my friend is really into corny jokes.  I said my friend knew there would be some on there that he knew would make me groan because they were moronic or silly.  But, I added, he was also nice enough to add a few jokes that he knew would give me a decent laugh, depending on how they were worded.

I asked Crazy Joe, "Do you think these corny jokes would freak certain people out?"

Crazy Joe looked at my piece of paper I had handed him and saw these jokes, along with an image down at the bottom.  Here they are:

What did the lamp say to the man?

Nothing.  A lamp is an inanimate object.

Two men walked into a bar.  The third one ducked.

What kind of shoes are made from banana skins?  

Slippers.

What kind of rooms have no walls?  

Mushrooms.

What happened to the boy who drank 8 cokes?

He burped 7-up.

Dave drowned.  So at the funeral, we got him a wreath in the shape of a life jacket.  Well, it's what he would have wanted.

A priest, a rabbi and a minister walk into a bar.  The bartender looks up and asks, "What is this?"  Some kind of joke?"

What does it smell like to go down on an eighty year old woman?

Depends.    

A daughter asked her mother how to spell "penis."

The mother said, "You should have asked me last night.  It was at the tip of my tongue"

Q: How do you make a baby float on water?

A: Try taking your foot off his head.

I saw a woman wearing a sweat shirt with the word, "Guess," on it.  So I looked at her and asked, "Implants?"

Crazy Joe laughed and laughed, even after he finished reading the jokes.  I thought he was going to just die from sheer laughter.  To save him from the possibility of laughing himself, literally, to death, I suddenly threw a brick at his head.  I think I saved the man's life.  :)     

Behold My Power of Observation

Hello.  My name is Victor, the owner of the Human, Kelly.  The human slave (I lovingly refer to him)  gives me food, drink and shelter while I carefully observe his race who call themselves Human Beings.  I, on the other hand, have a more apt name for them.  They will always be DumbAsses to me- or any other living being, besides Humans, on this planet.

Hey Humans, while you're not polluting the planet, exploiting it's resources, killing each other and treating those who don't have much of this sad excuse of an outdated medium (you call money) for the exchange of goods with great disdain, as if they have less value than a pile of roach crap, could you do something useful- like helping each other out?  Ah, fuck it... just keep texting each other about the same old mundane crap.

You think the wilderness is full of terrors, viciousness and challenges for survival for us low level animals....  Try living within the Human Race.  They actually try to make it harder on themselves.  Increasingly so with every day and year that passes.  Here's a whip, Fucko!  Go flay yourself like you know you want it- real bad.  Do the whipping of your backs and minds with your head in the "sands of denial" or in the "sands of acknowledging what's wrong but you're going along with it because it's easier that way".  Yeah, that's the way you guys do it.

Then injure or destroy someone else.  Put on another good show.  Call it a war.  Kill people for gods and/or greed!

Your big old brains, that you're so impressed by, have conjured many new and exciting ways to hurt one another with each year.  Someone who is innocent- or not- can get a taste.  And by the way, it isn't any fun unless you're engaging in one or two bloody wars at the same time.  So I've seen from most of you.  And you think I am just lying around, sleeping, licking my crotch and chasing bugs.  Ah-Ha!  Can you not see the power in these glowing yellow eyes?

I've got some very predicatable news for you, Humans.  The rest of us seemingly less worthy animals- which you also treat with your varied obvious degrees of indifference, with the exception of a minority of you, can see you've been acting like imbeciles for so long, that now you flaunt it, flamboyantly, and accept stupidity from one another like it's the greatest sunset that's ever appeared out of God's Asshole.  (Newt, Romney, Santorum, Bachmann)  Those are just a few politician's names.  I haven't mentioned any names from any other categories, like from the wealthy elite,the indifferent majority, the spectacularly cruel... and so on.  Most of you Dumbasses, I find, in the end, are interchangeable.

I was reading what this man, Ralph Nader, said about your typical  Human greed for money among politicians, and when you get down to it, everyone else.  Literally or not, you Humans stick knives in each other's backs and allow pricks to rule over you while they tell the poor and the general public, in general, to go fuck themselves as you allow it to happen.  A good many have protested such behavior of the wealthy elite among you.  I have nothing but respect for them.

When you're done destroying what you can of the planet before you cause almost complete extinction of your own kind, I will cheerfully dine on your thigh as you quiver and blubber and begin to decay.  I will do it as you go through your death rattle- or even during your last words before taking your last breath.

My advice for you, as far as last words go, would go something like this-  "I did try to, at least, do a little something about all the corruption and did do one selfless act for another Human in my lifetime- or maybe not."  But hey,  if you did do something positive, Human, about the Human Condition or help someone or animal out, then BIG KUDOS goes to you.  I'd give you a hug but I'm too busy allowing Kelly to pet my coat of fur and then go into the kitchen for a treat made of ingredients that may be healthier than the slop they serve at these places DumbAsses, er, I mean, Humans, call fast food restaurants.  Maybe it's the equivalent.  Eh.  Who knows?  Where's my catnip?  This ranting is giving me a downer.  I need a buzz.

Speaking of slop, do you know that most Humans are ruled by their egos (slop) than their brains.  Imagine the mistakes that would be made by a race like that.  Yeah.  I mean...  How concerned are they with anything but themselves?  Catnip for thought.  

Like I said, there were/are a few of you who get it.  Here's one of them now.  His name was George Carlin. He wasn't just a extraordinarily funny Human.  He was an observer, who explained in detail, what was wrong with his race.  In the last six or seven years of life, especially, he painstakingly wrote books, put on comedy concerts and gave out words of wisdom that some got and some that didn't.  Pity to those who don't get it.  Pity to those that are close minded.

Here's your typical Human doing something more constructive than destroying his own home planet.  He's making a snot bubble.  Sure, he's no Rembrandt or Da Vinci but he may just be expressing a form of art  that no Humans have ever embraced before.  Humans are not exactly the open minded type when it comes to accepting change or differences in each other.  If you look closely, you can see that this guy has snot bubbles within snot bubbles.  I wish my hairballs looked that good.

I sincerely hope I'm inspiring you with the magic I'm creating out of my left nostril.

Here's another Human that gets it.  Bernie Sanders. Don't ya love it, when every so often, some Human speaks the truth?  Sometimes they have to have something dramatic happen to them during their lives or a sudden epiphany that helps them not be afraid to be open, honest and speak the truth without fear of repercussions from DumbAsses, er, I mean, Humans, of course.

Oh well.  Meanwhile, while you Humans go about your day, ignoring everything around you and perhaps creating chaos or being part of the problem, I'm just going to lay here and wait for the smoke to clear.  But, if I'm about to be wiped out, suddenly or I end up suffering an unpleasant existence because of your Human's Love for Self-Destructive Insanity, I can at least say I didn't have anything at all to do with it.

Here we see Humans sticking their faces up fake Humans' asses instead of up in their own, attempting to put the entire head in.  That way they can see no evil, hear no evil and be completely and blissfully ignorant of the world around them

It's Humans who are always at fault, in the end.  How many Human civilizations have passed, really, on this planet?  I wonder how many civilizations have passed due to their ignorance, cruelty and indifference.  I gotta say one thing for them...   Humans have that brilliant ability and natural ease where they can pass the responsibility of their negative actions on to whoever they deem fit or not accept it at all.  Yeah... Gee... I wonder what the end result of that attitude would be in the end?  Ah, well....

Have a great day, Humans!  Now pass me the catnip before your civilization's time is up!

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. 

A Damn Breaky-Doodle-Dandy

Man. Does anyone still remember me? Is anyone out there? Anyone give a flying fucka-roonie? Don't blame ya if ya don't. Hell, I've stayed away so long from BlogLand (like that itchy anal wart you just can't reach with the ointment) that it wouldn't surprise me if you consider me some sort of pariah. Besides, I well know there's more important shit to give a fuck about these days.

Like...

*The economy

*Lack of jobs

*Wars, protests and manipulation by the super wealthy

*and this guy

Trouble is, is that there are so many of these Republican cartoon characters to choose from, laugh at or cringe towards, it's hard to decide who to ignore the most and cast off as pure, obvious dipshits. They say ol' Ricky Boy is no longer a serious contender for the presidential race of 2012 , but really, it wouldn't surprise me that much of America would embrace him. We are, for the most part, a nation of retards who can't figure out what is actually good for us and we seem to only give our attention to those who speak in broad, uncomplicated, monosyllabic verbal strokes and dramatic gestures. We simply can't be bothered to handle any more than that.

Speaking of strokes and Republican cartoon characters...

... like the insatiable, barely coherent Michele Bachmann...

I don't quite know where I was going with this but somehow it all turned into a wacky political thing-a-ma-jig.

I think what I wanted to say, but not apologize for, was that the break I took from Blogland has benefited my roller coaster state of mind. I was finding myself torn the whole time during the break because, I, for the most part, neglected my old blog buddies by not communicating or visiting their blogs. I hated that. But at the same time, I was really enjoying the summer. I have a lot of adventures and meaningful stories to share and hopefully, I will, in the near future.

Anyway, I'm not going to go into one of those tired old speeches that I and other bloggers make/have made when they've taken a long blog break. My part in the whole scheme of things is trivial and I feel that my absence isn't a big deal- except that part where I've truly missed you guys. I hope you're all doing well.

Goodbye, Congressman Pervert!

People love their trivial distractions. When Congressman Anthony Weiner resigned today, the news media broke through the regular TV programming to announce his resignation over the lewd Twitter photos he sent. I happen to catch it before going out the door and running some errands in town.

When THE BREAKING NEWS thing flashed across the screen and the reporter said he was about to give everyone some important news, I was disappointed to find out it was only this bit of unworthy poop diddley. The way the reporter was frantically jabbering away, I thought the Chinese, the terrorists and North Korea were sending bombs our way or something.

But, no, just more hype over something trivial again. Boooooor-ring.

The reporter finally let loose with the potentially life-changing news by saying a politician was resigning over the erection Twitter pics he sent a young woman and they were going to show him doing his resignation speech on live TV.

To me, it might as well had been something as irrelevant as Charlie Sheen's maniacal rantings about winning or about Hugh Hefner's 25 year old fiancee calling off their wedding. That's what passes for news these days. I guess they figure people want to hear some shit that's more messed up than their own lives so they'll tune in, maybe even buy some crap because of the advertisements during the commercial breaks. Who knows? Big MEH!

I paused at the door just long enough to hear a heckler say, "Goodbye, pervert!"

At least the heckler, in the press conference area, was sending him off with a fond farewell, I thought. I stuck around for a few more seconds.

Then I had to laugh when the heckler asked the politician, Anthony Weiner, if he was more than 7 inches. That was funny. At least that part was a little surprising and offered some laughs.

I also read on the internet that CBS later bleeped that part out (the 7 inches) of the original video clip. That's too bad. At least it was actually funny. Hell, if you're going to distract people with nonsense, you should at least give them the full load. Wait. Maybe that didn't sound right.

The heckler said a few more things but then Weiner, the man that will always be known because of his infamous Internet boner pictures until the next big news comes along, stepped down from the podium.

Shrugging my shoulders, I went out the door and went into town, continuing my life as always.

Here's the uncut version of the BIG BREAKING NEWS.

Bad Service, Truths and Perceptions

There's been a lot of false starts, bad service, unwanted absence and too much of that unwanted shit and not enough of that preferable shit going on around here.

I hate to complain (actually, I quite enjoy it since complaining acts a release valve on my usually bottled up seething rage) but as I found myself on the righteous track of coming back to the wonderful world of blogging, a series of incidents preventing me from making a triumphant stay in my own neck of the bloggy woods occurred once again.

Hell, for a couple days there, I was even able to put out a couple posts without anything falling out of the sky to cave in my head. I thought I was in a utopia or paradise or an island filled with beautiful women, cheerfully sucking my meat pole for all it's worth. And it's worth a great deal, let me tell ya. At least to me. Okay, so that part about me feeling like I was on an island filled with tasty gals slobbering on my knob was an exaggeration. But I was starting to feel not tormented for a change in life and it was pretty decent, to tell ya the truth.

My friend asked me to go to his place to wait on a cable repairman (that didn't come) while the friend went to work. I owed my friend a couple favors so I did it. Besides, I'm a helluva great buddy. It's true! Believe it or not!

But the cable guy neither called or came. So my friend calls up the company support number when he gets home, listens to instructions on pushing this numbered button for this department or reason or service which connects him to more instructions for more buttons to push until he finally reaches a real human being and then proceeds to talk about how unsatisfied he is with the service.

He has a helluva lot more patience than I do. He had been without cable service for three days and the company he was dealing with had been promising to send somebody and no one called or showed up.

So instead of being at home, I was at his place, listening to the radio, reading a book and not doing anything on my blog or visiting other blogs. It sucked. And I did this on Monday and Wednesday, for my friend, waiting for the repair dude. I know. I'm a great friend. I mentioned that, right? Of course, when my friend got home from work both of those days, he fed me. Monday, it was grilled steaks for my wife and I. Wednesday, it was a dinner at a good Mexican restaurant.

By the way, the cable repair dude finally showed up Wednesday. He ended up temporarily fixing the friend's TV reception but said that the problem was actually the tuner on his TV. In other words, it wasn't the cable company's fault for his shitty reception but they are at fault for giving him the runaround and not giving him service until he finally reached an upper management type person during that last phone call he made.

Now, Tuesday, I was without Internet service. This would be the day between the days I sat at my friend's house, waiting for an idiot repair guy. I called the tech support, as I was going through some severe withdrawal symptoms from not being able to go on the Internet and after pushing several buttons to direct me to this number or that number, I was finally told a message by an automated machine. It said: There is no Internet service (with the company I have it with) for the entire state (I was living in) for an indeterminate amount of time but our experts were working on the problem.

There was no apology for this situation but at this point I was thinking:

At least the voice was clear and not heavily accented by somebody in India or Russia or BumFuck, Egypt. Usually, when you contact tech support for whatever electronic fuck-a-ma-jig you own, you usually get some asshole you can't understand.

Bad service is getting to be like a contagious disease in this country from what I've read, heard about and seen, first hand.

Don't ya just love the push button routine you have to go through with these companies? If you're lucky, they might give you a number to push to speak to a representative. But it's usually not the case. Especially when you want service within the next 24 hours.

I could go on and on about bad restaurant service but I'm sure you've had your own unfair share of that, too. Like when they don't give you a refill on your drinks. Or don't get your order right. Or bring your salad, main entree and dessert, all at once.

Since I'm back for the moment and terribly paranoid now about attempting to actually research a subject and write up a real post without something else happening, this post will have to do for now. Please enjoy the rest of these images, featuring truths and perceptions. Good day, good weekend and I'll try to catch up on all your blogs later after I get some shit done around here.

I thought I'd offer a wonderful clue at this point in the post: If you can't make out what you're ssseeeinng, use your fucking mouse to click and enlarge the image.

I'm always the Good fucking Samaritan. I tell ya.

I really liked the not-so-subtle truth that can be found in this Saturday Night Live skit. I know it's an exaggeration but there is a bit of truth and a big heaping helping of humor to be found while watching this. Heh heh.

Pop goes the penis!

So I offered to be a guest on this blog. I was so excited when Kelly emailed me and told me I could be his Bitch for the day. So here I am on my knees typing to you.

Today you all are going to be in for a treat. Why you ask? Well because I am going to talk about my ex boyfriend’s Penis.

So “Sam” and I dated for about 6 months. I don’t know if I stayed with him so long because I was lonely, or because he took me out to dinner a lot. It is not like we even really had that great of a connection. He was a complete nerd and was into the whole “Dungeons and Dragons” kind of shit! My idea of a fun time is not role playing that I am some kind of fucking wizard or some weird shit like that. Now if you want me to role play that I am your nurse or your whore of a French maid than sign me up!

Sam was into his looks way more than I would have liked. He took more time to get ready than I did. He was so worried about his appearance, that it became so draining to constantly reassure him. Low self esteem in a man is such a turn off! One of the things that really turned me off is when he would dye his own hair because it was going gray and he would have stained black dye marks running down his neck.

Now to the Penis part. Sam had a nice sized penis when it was hard. When hard it was about 7 inches. But when he was soft he turned into a pencil dick. I have never seen a penis so small and skinny as his was when it was soft. It didn’t help his confidence either when I would giggle every time I saw it.

Well one night Sam had called me on the phone and told me he saw an infomercial on male enhancement products. I told him “Babe, don’t worry about it, you are fine.” Well he was an idiot, and did not listen to me. He ended up buying the pills they were selling, along with a penis pump.

I think products like this are just ridicules! I sold sex products for a while and we use to sell this one gel that would make the vagina hole tighter for a couple of hours. Don’t ask me how this stuff worked all I know is that it worked like a charm. You are only supposed to use a small dot sized of the gel. I explained this to one of the ladies I sold this too. What a stupid bitch she was. She squeezed the whole tube up inside her and then called me complaining that she could not even get a finger inside herself let alone a tampon.

Well I had gone over to Sam’s house one day and he was showing me his penis pump. I told him, “You know, I wish you would not use this thing. It is kind of a turn off.” He went on telling me how he would feel better to just use it a couple of more times and then he would get rid of it. So I just let it go and figured it was between him and the pump.

Well Sam was a liar. He did not get rid of it. He got so attached to that thing! It was like crack. He could not get enough! He started to take things to a whole new level and started pumping it more than is required. I told him that I did not think doing that would be a good idea because it was starting to turn his penis a purple color. He was an idiot though and kept on with it. He put his penis in the pump once again and started pumping away about as fast as a fat girl can eat a hamburger. His penis started turning purple. It was not looking right. His head and scrotum started to turn blue. I was all “Um… you might want to stop!” He kept pumping like the fucking idiot he was. I did not know if I should keep watching or turn away. I wanted to yell out, “Stop you moron! What kind of fucking wizard are you!!” All while picturing him wearing a wizard hat of course.

All I hear is, Pump, pump, pump” I am thinking “holy shit this is not going to be good!” His penis did not look right. This tube was only so big and there was no more room for his penis to expand, and right as I am standing there thinking about all that could go wrong I hear a SNAP! The penis pump tore the tip of his penis open! It is kind of like when you put a hot dog in a microwave and it tears open. Yep that is what Sam’s dick looked like!

Of course he starts crying like a son of a bitch. What a turn off! I took that fucking pump out of his hand and threw it away. I thought” This is fucking bullshit! I am dating a loser!” I ended up leaving and going home. I don’t have time for that kind of shit on my watch!

About a year ago Sam saw me on face book and wrote me a letter. He told me how he got married and he has 5 kids now and is miserable and how he wishes things would have worked out between us. I could not help but think in the back of my mind if his new wife knows about his escapades with his penis pump or not.

The point of this story is, keep your penis away from pumps. If not, at least stop pumping when you see the color purple or blue. Or even hear a SNAP for that matter.

I hope you all enjoyed my story. If you like what you see than check out my blog @

picklesinmyass.blogspot.com

- - Love Mrs. Pickle

The Endless Ice Age And A Rude Imbecile

The endless Ice Age that most of the country is suffering from is getting mighty old. You got your collapsing buildings from the snow, frozen car doors and everyday sub-freezing temperatures that cause your balls and beavers to ice up whenever you walk out the friggin' door to get the mail or go to work. It just won't stop. For once, I'd like to take a walk in the park where I'm not wearing four layers of clothes and three pairs of socks over my dingle.

And a car trip from our parking lot to the beginning of the road? It can be like taking your life in your own hands and kissing your frozen gooseberries a heartfelt goodbye. Not that I could bend over that far. Hell, if I could, I wouldn't be wasting my valuable time writing this post right now. I'd be gettin' busy.

When I went for my walk today, the temperature had risen up to a balmy 35 degrees Fahrenheit. Woo hoo. A friggin' heat wave, nowadays! As I started my stroll, I was surprised to see four kids, wearing parkas, coats, scarfs and those big woolly Russian hats, playing tennis on the courts while I was there. They were running around, batting the ball back and forth, making the best of a freezing situation. Good for them, I say. Ironically, during the summer months, you would be lucky to see the tennis courts being used even once in the park.

The other night, we went to Taco Bell to try out their new steak and cheese burritos. I know "the Bell" has gotten a bad rap, lately, due to the report or accusation that they're not using 100% ground beef in their food but that doesn't bother me much. For one thing, I think you could say a lot of shit about other fast food chains that would be worse. The McRib from McDonald's, anyone? What kind of "meat" is that? Is that something taken from the hide off of a yeti?

Below: The new steak and cheese burrito. A little spicy but tasty, nevertheless.

Anyway, while we're sitting there, a guy dressed in gangsta or punk clothing, complete with a hat being worn backwards, torn t-shirt and jeans sliding down to his ass crack, comes in and talks really, really loud. This guy wants to be heard. He is a first class Attention Craver, not to mention A-1 Asshole. First, the fashion-impaired, twenty-something year old punk complains about how cold it is in the restaurant. Then he remarks to the employees how they should start paying their heating bills so the place was warmer for him.

Meanwhile, the patrons of the restaurant are ignoring him and chowing away on their pseudo Mexican fare while the delightful dumbass continues his barrage of scintillating commentary. In between talking to my wife about how her day at work went, I can't help but to hear this dude's outbursts to the management and the employees. At one point, he leans over the counter and shouts to the employees in back, regarding his food order, to "Take care of me on that cheese!"

I'm guessing that was his cordial way of letting them know that he wanted them to put extra cheese on whatever it was he ordered. If it were me preparing his food, I would have pulled my peppy gigglestick from my trousers and spurted my own homemade type cheese onto his tacos and then see if he would have enjoyed munching on that.

Though I enjoyed the new burritos they had there, I found the imbecile's behavior a little annoying. I'm surprised the manager didn't ask him to leave. Fortunately, the guy and his quieter pal didn't stay too long. They quickly ate their food and took off. Before leaving, the guy asked a female employee, trying her best to ignore him, if she was married. When she quickly replied that she was engaged, the lout said, "Damn, that's too bad. But you know... we could still meet up after your shift's over. You feelin' me?"

Ahh... a charmer til' the end. The girl, noticeably irritated, forced herself to smile at the irresistible fuckwad and turned around to continue cleaning a table. Prince charming then walked out the door, jabbering away about how "damn cold" it was in there.

Watch the Metrodome stadium roof collapse under the weight of over two feet of snow.

Car Spins Wheels In Snow and Catches on Fire

Watch this idiot, on live TV, spin his wheels until he catches on fire.

Toadie in "The Christmas Trip" (Part 1)

Despite Rufus and Maggie's objection to Toadie leaving their mansion in Chicago, Toadie ventured out on a trip across the country during the Christmas season to take in the sights of all the decorated houses and winter festivals across America.

Rufus and Maggie, worried for their semi-retarded friend's safety, were at least able to convince Toadie that he should be escorted during his month long adventure. Maggie persuaded her younger cousin, Valerie, to escort and drive the 33 year old mentally impaired man wherever he wanted to go. At first, Valerie balked at the suggestion due to college priorities. Of course, it didn't take much persuasion from Rufus and Maggie since they had only recently become millionaires due to a huge inheritance and were able to offer Val a substantial amount of money for the task.

Fifty thousand dollars for playing a taxi driver for an imbecile wouldn't be a bad deal, she thought. Besides, the college freshman felt she badly needed a break from school. Val was feeling burned out.

A week into the trip, Valerie began to understand Toadie and realize, with in-depth discussions with him, that he wasn't as mindless as some assumed him to be. She could tell that he was just one of those type of people that you had to really talk to, on a one-to-one basis, for a certain amount of time, in order to get what he was honestly all about.

One night, on the way to Birmingham, Alabama, Valeria turned to Toadie and asked, "Well, are you ready to check in at a hotel?"

Toadie, staring straight ahead at the festively decorated lampposts along the street, replied, "Toadie farted." This was followed by a string of saliva dripping from his bottom lip.

Valerie countered, "Yes, Toadie, I know. I could smell it ten minutes ago and I still can."

Toadie wiped the spittle from his mouth and then said, "The smell makes Toadie hungry for the big bowl of chili Toadie ate this afternoon."

Valerie laughed and then said, "Well, it makes me want to puke my chili up on this dashboard."

Both travelers laughed together then, in effect, causing Toadie's penis to become erect, which happened quite often when he laughed. This odd reaction to laughter would sometimes make for awkward scenes at a Chicago grocery store that Maggie would sometimes take Toadie to, in the past.

Whenever Toadie would see someone or hear something he thought humorous, he would chuckle heartily and eventually sport a 14 inch raging boner which would often times peek out from the top of his sweatpants. Maggie would see his meaty manhood sticking out and tell him to think of something sad to deflate the size of his erection.

Normally, when these events occurred, at least one store patron would invariably see his lengthy piss weasel, stop dead in their tracks and point at Toadie's prick. Some people laughed. Some shrugged. One patron actually screamed and had a massive stroke. Her name was Mabel Strausfurg and she had just celebrated her 70th birthday the day before. When the elderly woman collapsed to the floor, Toadie was shocked and began to sob, uncontrollably.

Customers looked down at the woman breathing her last few breaths on the floor, but instead of running to get help or call for an ambulance, they stood around the old woman and twittered and private messaged their friends and relatives.

Several customers took pictures with their camera phones and other electronic gadgets.

One twenty-ish something year old girl texted this message:

Old biddy just up on dropped on the floor. lol. Most excitement I've had all day.

The bored reactions of the customers vaguely reminded Maggie of the true incident in which Bill Nye, "The Science Guy", collapsed onto the floor before reaching the podium at a college University in California. Everyone in the audience, made up of mostly college students, texted and tweeted what had just happened instead of attempting, in any degree, to help Nye.

Maggie immediately took out her cell phone and called the 911 emergency number before rushing off to alert store management. Quickly, before leaving, she turned to Toadie and said, "Put that thing away before you kill anyone else."

This made Toadie even sadder, feeling immeasurable guilt and as was often the case when he was feeling blue, Toadie would comfort himself by masturbating. This time proved to be yet another such occasion. While being so overwhelmed by emotion that he let out a long sorrowful wail, Toadie abruptly pulled down his sweatpants and urgently wanked his willy .

Toadie exclaimed, suddenly, "Toadie sad!"

With his fat, clenched fist, Toadie began pumping up on down on his love muscle until jets of plentiful semen gushed out, hitting the seemingly bored customers' faces while they tweeted. Not fazed by this in the least, a few crowd members decided to sit down on top of the dying woman and continued to text and twitter. Some of them, in fact, tweeted that they thought there could be a leak in the store ceiling.

This is the actual tweet that one of them typed out:

I think there's something leaking from the ceiling here. Something just hit the top of my head or went in my face. Whatever.

Valerie and Toadie pulled into a snow filled hotel parking lot. The area was enduring subfreezing temperatures for the last several weeks, not allowing for the snow to melt anywhere in the city. Because of this, many of the citizenry in Birmingham were angry and frustrated and took it out on each other and city property in bizarre and vicious ways. One such citizen committed the outrageous act of burning down the city's 35 foot tall Christmas tree for it's measly amount of copper. At least, that was his excuse for burning down the tree.

It seemed, during these times, people were declaring war on Christmas trees. For instance, in Germany, the police arrested a man for making a huge six foot marijuana plant his very own Christmas tree. Justification for his arrest, some had trouble figuring out. The old man wasn't hurting anyone, after all. He was just trying to have a merry Christmas the best way he knew how.

Yet another member of the Birmingham, Alabama community jumped from a bridge to his death. Curiously enough, he was a shopping mall Santa in the area. On his way to the rough waters below, he could be heard to shout, "HO HO HO!" Still alive, though taking in large quantities of river water, the man in the Santa suit thrashed about in the river current and pleaded for help, damning himself for his stupidity.

No help was given to the depressed drowning man, of course. The onlookers, instead, messaged to others on their electronic devices that they had just heard something make a splash in the water. Then they continued doing nothing.

After Valerie and Toadie checked into the hotel room, Valerie smiled at Toadie and began to undress. It wasn't long before both road weary travelers slipped beneath the sheets and....

THE NEXT POST (PART 2 of Toadie in "The Christmas Trip") WILL CONTINUE THIS STORY. MEANWHILE, YOU MAY ENJOY THESE PRECEDING ADVENTURES OF TOADIE BY CLICKING THE FOLLOWING LINKS:

Toadie in "Happy Anniversary"

Toadie in "Road Rage Spectacular"

Toadie in "First Love"

TILL NEXT TIME, "HO HO HO AND MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!"

A Typical, But Not Completely, Typical Day

I woke up, today, around 11:00, after about fours of sleep. Seems like I can't sleep any longer than that, lately, without waking up from some strange dream. They're mostly "guilt dreams". I'm only theorizing about that. But I guess I've been burying my conscious and it only escapes during my sleep. This beast has been having it's fun with me for the past month and IT is getting mighty annoying.

Pop goes the nasty shit! It's running out of my mind's door! Unfortunately, it's still in my sleepy head, where it stays trapped. Fuckin' guilt! I liked it better when I didn't dream. A decent sex dream would be welcome, for certain.

When I'm awake, I don't think about anything "I believe" I've done wrong. Normally. But, like the therapist pointed out during one session several years ago... He said I persecute myself and think I deserve punishment for things I've said or have done towards people. He also said that I seem to have the tendency to formulate it in my head like whatever I said or did- to be blown out of proportion. He based it on things I had said, when I was around this or that person, from other sessions.

Makes sense. So now the shitty goop of misplaced or unwarranted guilt is popping up in my dreams. Ah, how nice. But I'm going to confront it head on and admit that I'm not that bad a person and carry on... Even if it takes a hammer to my head to knock the evil goop out my ears. I can't afford therapy at the moment, so I'm going to do battle with my stupid brain, by myself. Like Homer Simpson, I'm going to give it a good talking to and tell it who's boss. If that doesn't work, it's HAMMER TIME, baby.

As I was saying, I woke up, made coffee, petted the cat and put two Bacon and Cheese Hot Pockets in the microwave. Soon enough, I ate them and played my messages on the answering machine. One was from the wifey, telling me she made it to work alright. Good. Next, was the receptionist from my doctor's office. She was letting me know that my insulin pens for my diabetes came in from the patient assistance program. Definitely good news. They had messed up the order of insulin last time and if I hadn't caught that it was the wrong stuff-- when I picked it up from the doctor's office, I could have taken it home, injected it into myself and.... Who knows?

After that, I showered, made supper for later tonight and got my clothes on. That's right! I was cooking in the nude! Excited? No? Alrighty then. Anyway, while I was managing to cook up some Tuna Helper, the cat started going nuts when he smelled the tuna cans I was opening. He kept leaping on my legs as the cans slowly turned round and round the electric can opener. At one point, I thought he was going to strike at my lopsided nutsack and rip into it. Then my precious jelly beans would fall out! Then I would feel blue. My solution is to give him a can of Fancy Feast cat food in a can. It's something we give him as a treat, once in awhile. It says on the can that it is Whitefish and Tuna flavored. Ah ha... That will fool him, I think, patting myself on the back.

I set the bowl of juicy, succulent cat food down on the floor (are you as horny as I am?) and he eats it like a little piggy. His normal bowl of cat food is sitting there, halfway full, next to the water bowl. He's a spoiled little bastard. But then I feel sorry for him because he is our only "child" now. Mufasa, our eldest cat, died, recently. We only have Victor now. He's loving and playful and lonely. We plan on getting him a playmate after Christmas. It's too hectic these days and it takes patience to train a kitten, which is what we'll be looking for when the time comes. No pound kitties, though. We had extremely bad luck with that. That was years ago. Max the Cat was his name and shitting behind and beneath megaton furniture, for no good reason, was his game. Sometimes we didn't find his piss and shit surprises until it was too late. Almost needless to say, Max was returned before I could kill him. We gave him four weeks too many. If I wanted to clean up shit for longer than four weeks, I would have had a friggin' kid. No thanks. There's already enough breeders in this world as it is. Many of them aren't equipped with enough brains or conscious to do battle with themselves.

But, on the same token, responsible parents are just as easy to spot.

I say we give the rotten adults an abortion. Or... Any more than two kids, then you have to give up your genitals. Sorry. Rules are rules and we know how humans love their rules. Lap dog, over breeding imbeciles that don't put on their turn signal when they're changing lanes, by damned it! What was I talking about? Damn those voices in my head.

Immediately, when I finished cooking, I got dressed, brushed my teeth, put on my jacket and hat and out the door I went. I went to doctor's office to pick up the insulin pens, went to the grocery store to pick up lunch meat and bread, went to get monetarily raped at the gas station where the gas is currently at $2.85 a gallon and then I went back home. I checked to see if they got my insulin order right this time. They did! Jackpot! I get to live a couple more months. Hooray. And stuff. After putting everything away, I got back in the truck and drove to the park, with haste.

I had to get my daily park walking done in a hurry. It would be dark soon and wifey was going to be home in a half hour. I try to be there for her so I can be a good husband and not get a beating with the baseball bat. I'm so abused. OK. I might be exaggerating just a little. But she does confide in me that she would like to cut my dick off while I'm asleep. But strangely, that's not why I have trouble sleeping at night. By the way, I laugh when she says such things because I threaten to twist her nipple off now and then. It's like an ongoing comedy routine we have going on. 21 years. Quite healthy.

So off to the park I go. The first person I see is the guy by the athletics supply building. This building sits close to the tennis court that is hardly used and still looks new and the basketball court, nearby, that is the same way. The guy, I'm guessing, is the guy who takes care of supplying the athletes with enough balls and stuff to do their thing. The door was open, obviously, with a key. He looked at me, giving off a little vibe of nervousness. Maybe I imagined it.

All I've ever seen, as far as any games being played at the park, is two Pee Wee football games attended by millions of crazed parents and the other times when a couple kids were playing a few basketball games. Anybody else you see in that park are walkers, runners, people trying to fish at a lake without fish and the park employees. Maybe once a week, you'll see a cop car run through the park. If you wanted to, you could probably get away with fucking, sucking, fisting, lickin' the va-jay-jay and other horseplay down at the large gazebo by the lake without too much trouble. Party time.

Anyway, the supply guy at the building says, ""It's getting colder out here."

I say, "Yeah, it is."

Hell, I don't know what else to say. Supply Guy didn't give me much to work with. By the way, it was getting colder. It was about 45 degrees Fahrenheit at the time. For the rest of you, in other countries, I have no idea what that is in Celsius. I won't check, either, because I'm American and don't give a shit. I think that's the American Way. The metric system can go fuck itself, too. The last person who tried to teach me the metric system was a nun from the parochial school I attended. I rammed a pencil in her eye. Not to worry, though. It was a No. 2 Pencil. And she cried out, "Praise da Lawd!"

After walking the usual path, I find a second person. He is walking toward me from the other direction. He looks like he could be crazy. He's wearing a grey coat with a black sock cap on his head. So I nod to him and do what most folks do in that situation. I say, "Hi.", without really looking at him. He does nothing but nod his head, not wanting to be bothered by my evil, intrusive greetings and keep his hands in his pockets. I wonder if he's hiding Barbie Doll heads in his pockets. Then I wonder if they still have the bathrooms locked or unlocked up ahead in the yellow building. I have problems with my butt. It likes to shit. Although I'm not at the stage of routine adult diaper wear, I have had an accident at the park because they will lock them when it gets closer to winter. During that accident, it was so cold... The turds froze to my leg underneath my pants. Talk about feeling blue... and brown.

When I got home, I was able to shake a leg to pop the turdcicles from the very bottoms of my pants legs.

Minutes go by during my walk now. I have to stop every five to ten minutes because of my foot conditions. I have inoperable 2 and a half inch heel spurs (my feet have been X-rayed so many times, I lost count) and equinus deformity on both feet. The heel spurs have connected to the rest of the bones in my footsies. It's like walking on railroad spikes with misshapen, unbalanced feet. I've tried everything so spare me the advice that I've heard a billion times. Thanks, anyway, stranger. I've done my time with the fancy insoles, shoes and whatever. I've had almost thirty years of experience with it. But I force myself to walk short distances, anyway, because I still need to exercise. It's called perseverance, people. I was going to the gym almost every day for a year and a half and lost thirty pounds but that routine got fucked up during the continuous moving fiasco with my dad's old place that lasted 6 weeks. Now, I'm just trying to keep up with my walking routine.

Regardless, I see a couple walking their pet dog. It has a pink outfit on. I restrain myself from killing the couple. I smile, then say, "Hi. How are you tonight?" They say something back but it doesn't matter. I'm not listening. I'm still thinking of the poor dog in the pink cowboy outfit. As I walk further, I wonder if it's too late to limp back and bash the couple in their heads, thus freeing the dog. Then I think, Well the next thing to happen, if successful, would be the dog rewarding me, with it's rescue of it, by biting a finger off from my hand and taking my nose off my face. Oh well. I keep walking. No good deed goes unpunished. This has always been especially true, in my experience.

In conclusion, I struggle through the rest of my walk, make it home in time before the wife, serve her and I supper and watch a couple shows that we pre-recorded the night before. We talk for awhile. My wife goes to bed early. She's tired. It's getting busier where she works. And now, I'm typing on this keyboard and telling you I'm about to sign off. Who knows? I may come to your blog and leave a comment. Ah, can you feel the excitement?

Behold! You are at the end of this journey I took you on, brave soldier. You must celebrate by flagellating yourself. Or by fixing yourself a hot cup of coffee. Your choice. I won't peek.

Oops... He Lost His Hat

LilPixi's latest post inspired me to post this video clip. Check out her hilarious post and this video for pure entertainment.

Caribbean Adventure: First Day Nearly Killed Me

August 29th 2010

The day started out as intended. The alarm clock woke us up after getting just a few hours of sleep due to packing some stuff too late, bickering about God knows what trivial doohickey to take in our carry on or main suitcase and just being too damned excited and anxious about going on the cruise and starting our adventure.

I, for one, popped a Valium before stumbling off to bed that night. I nearly leap out of bed. I might have tripped over one of our cats on the way to the shitter. Not sure. Thought I heard a meow. Though, I was so out of it because I was so fucking tired and from the pill I popped, the meowing might have come from me. Or I was hallucinating.

So the alarm wakes us at 4 in the morning. I thrust myself out of bed and realize this is it. After a little over a year of planning every last detail of this trip (except the last minute packing fiasco) the all-important first day of our highly anticipated trip of a lifetime had arrived. And by God, I was determined to get things going. Not to mention get the hell away from my family, friends, wife's co-workers, the apartment we live in and all of the rest this redneck town has to offer (which is sorrowfully not damn much)- Fuck you very much. Not to you. The people around here. To my blog pals, I bid you a sincere THANK YOU and HOWDY HO for helping to keep me halfway sane at times.

My wife grumbles, not wanting to get out of bed and I start the chaos rolling by shouting, "Hurry up! We gotta get moving!"

This pisses her the fuck off, of course. She screams back at me and I run to the bathroom to take a shower and hide until she decides not to kill me. I'm frantic, you see. I'm worried about getting to the airport on time, leaving our cats at the mercy of people who have memory problems, getting through security without much fuss or cavity searching and making it to cruise ship, Freedom of The Seas on time. Any other time, if a woman wanted to do a cavity search on me, that would be hunky dory with me. A finger up the ass, with a little knob polishing on the side from a hot chick in a uniform would be A-Okay any other day. Not that day.

After waiting for her parents to pick us up for a half hour and me going nuts because I wasn't sure if they had remembered to pick us up to take us to the airport (wife's idea... not mine), I felt like popping another Valium but I figured if I had done that, my thinking would get so freaking fuzzy that I wouldn't be able to concentrate on what and where we had to do and go. I have severe anxiety disorder which adds to the fun in all of this.

After leaving a list of instructions on the table about the cats and other stuff, we hear the phone ring. It's my wife's parents below, in our parking lot. I was so temporarily relieved, I could have cum in my pants and whistled Dixie. Instead, I grabbed our suitcase and headed down the steps in a frenzied pace. The wheels of the thing were clonk-clonk-clonking on the steps. Likely, much to the enjoyment of our neighbors trying to sleep. My wife said something like, "Don't fall before we get there."

I thought, Even if I go down these stairs, crash into a muddled mass at the bottom and break my goddamn leg so badly that my femur bone is jutting out of my thigh like a shark fin, I will, By All My Insane Might, will get on that goddamn boat! Even if I have to crawl on my belly like a big old drunken white whale with prostate cancer. Notice: I'm only mentioning marine animals thus far.

Must be a reason.

We do get to the airport on time. Getting through security at the airport was only a little annoying. Taking off your belt, shoes and the metal plate from your head is a bitch. Just kidding about the plate. I knew from talking to several people who have flown recently and checking out the airline security rules online on what to expect. The last time we flew on a plane was twenty years ago for our honeymoon. After 9/11, the difference in security is night and day, in regards to that era and now when it comes to what they want you to do in order to pass all the security checkpoints, while still keeping all of your important documents and paperwork, ready and in your hands at all times. This was tough for a nervous traveler with zero positive expectations of people like me. I figured someone would invariably fuck with us on whatever minor thing they could get crazy about. Perhaps they would think my toothbrush was a weapon of mass destruction. I don't put anything past anyone.

I've seen too much outrageous behavior during my lifetime.

Ironically, that's one of the reasons I wanted to go on this cruise. Dumbass, looney people.

Still, we passed the checkpoints with no complications and after hours of flight, continuous walking with heavy luggage that threatened to tear my arms away from my shoulders, the long boring shuttle bus ride to the ship and more miles of walking we finally make it to the cruise ship. Then it was more security checkpoints and more walking to find our cabin.

The Promenade, like a gigantic shopping mall, in the middle of Freedom of The Seas

At one of your checkpoints, they give you a plastic credit card like thing on the ship called a SeaPass, which also functions as a key to your room. But sticking the SeaPass into your cabin door slot, waiting for the little light above the handle to turn green and you turning the handle and pushing on the door at just the right second, being perfect in your timing, takes a lot of practice. We found this out the hard way the first day. And I was trying to do these manuevers without passing out.

Finally, we find our room on one of the largest cruise ship ever created. Then, after much fun of doing the old "in and out" with the fucking card, we stumble through the door. I quickly take notice of our wonderful balcony that sits just outside our cabin in the opposite direction before...

.... I collapse on our comfortable queen size bed. My wife turns on the TV. The captain of The Freedom of The Seas, Tor Olsen, is going on and on about having to go a different route that was intended. If we didn't, he said the 160,000 ton cruise ship (not including crew and passengers) might be rolled over or something by Hurricane Earl- which was a category 4 hurricane at the time. At the time, the captain on our TV was blathering on about possibly becoming shark bait after being capsized (maybe he didn't say that exactly). According to him, Earl was about to sweep across the main islands on our itinerary: St. Maarten and St. Thomas. Which was sad- because on one of those islands is a nudist beach. All that naked pussy.... just blowing in the wind.

This news came after spending (I kid you not) an hour of looking for our cabin throughout the entire length of our pro football field sized and then some- ship. We never could find someone around who could give us decent directions. I was getting frustrated and I was fading fast, due to lack of food for so long.

The first question my wife asks me, while I'm going into a diabetic coma due to lack of food for twelve hours, continuous excersize and completed depletion of glucose and patience is this:

"How are we going to get our fuckin' money back on all of our pre-paid excursions (snorkeling, quality time near the nude beach, big planned drinking fiesta on St. Thomas)?" This is quickly followed by, "Are we going to get our money back?"

I think I might have said, with spit dribbling out of the corner of my mouth, still barely breathing on the bed, "Idonnnaknowfuurrrrrkdoceiemcowweempawiejfmffufufuf."

This answer did not satisfy her. Then it dawned on her. As a diabetic, my fucking bastard self needed some sustenance.

Gosh, ya think?

So, after much poking and prodding from the wifey, I grumble, mind like spoiled jelly and follow her endlessly to a eating spot on the boat. Surprise is encountered! But not enjoyed! After searching for the restaurant that we were told was going to be open on another deck, the restaurant turns out to be closed. We are also told that-

BEEEEEE-UUUUUHHHH!!!!!

That's the sound the horn made when the captain suddenly wanted everyone, close to being in a diabetic coma or not, to come to a certain deck to go to a "you're-fucking-capsized-and-are-now-shark-bait-in-the-ocean-drill. Chaos ensues while everyone is running around and attempting to make it to their own predetermined place on the ship, which could be any one of the 15 decks.

After struggling to the drill spot we were assigned, I stand there, trying to hold myself up, while two snot nosed teenagers beside me are playing "giggle and slappity-slap" with one another. If I had the strength, I would have thrown them overboard. They could have giggled and slappity-slapped each other all the way down to the shark infested waters. Then, if I still had a wee bit of sprightliness in me, I would give a chuckle as the sharks ate idiot a la mode until they puked.

Finally, a couple crew people come out and demonstrate how to put on life jackets and kiss your ass goodbye. The captain does some narration in the background over loud speakers, telling you where to go, what to do in the case the ship goes down and how to eat human flesh with a spoon if you should make it to a deserted island. Or whatever the fuck he was saying. I was just trying to remain conscious throughout.

Our Cruise Ship, Freedom of The Seas

When he gets to the part to everyone that our course would be changed, due to the direction Hurricane Earl was going, everyone grumbles and chatters loudly. So many different languages are going back and forth. So little food in my belly. I'm guessing some of these folks didn't tune into the boob tube when whey got inside their cabins to hear the "change of itinerary because of hurricane" news. I could tell they had the same concerns as us when it came to being refunded for their prepaid for excursions on the predestined islands. Their growing disappointment was apparent because they were getting louder and louder.

The captain must have heard all of the excitement from the top deck or something because he quickly began to apologize for the change in course. It would have helped, somewhat, if he had said that everyone would be refunded their money for their prepaid for excursions but he didn't. I believe this would have quelled a lot of hostility and frustration among the 3, 634 passengers.

Instead, all of this stuff was going on with the tired, hungry, lost, disappointed passengers and all of us found ourselves at a very rocky start to our trip.

Finally, after more walking, we find a restaurant to eat at that was open. I eat. My wife grumbles about the food quality at this particular eatery. The ship rocks back and forth from a storm. And slowly, I gain enough strength and rise in my blood sugar to make my way back to our cabin, but not before getting lost a couple more times. The signs on board the ship, telling you where this or that was, were utter confusing crap.

Like I said, the first day damn near killed me. But the bed in our room was so nice and inviting. I lay there, full, content and honestly happy that we had made it this far. What was left of our night, was spent in our room, unpacking a little, watching the news and being rocked by the waves of the deep blue ocean. I secretly hoped the next day would be better.... and it was.