Hanging On a Star

Been bogged down in the mumps, the ol' depressionary state, currently. The red line under "depressionary" is telling me that it's not a word and that I'm a retard. Damn, I can't do anything right. Lately, yeah, I think that title might just fit me. Retard. Maybe "Retard Extraordinaire". Ha. That could be more fitting.

I feel like I'm saying the wrongs things to quite a few people in my inner circle of friends and family. The ol' guilt thing is kickin' my ass all the way to the the moon, as of late. Time to time, I make my attempt to get off that moon of guilt, trying to hook my arm around a star and maybe, if I'm lucky, I will be able to walk down some of those stars. Maybe I'll make it back to Planet Earth soon and shake my own hand and call a truce on the guilt thing going on inside my head.

It's a battle of wills. And getting back to being comfortable with myself...

...would be dandy.

Anyway, the more I listen to this, the more I like it. The song is called The Fun Machine Took a Shit and Died

Don't listen to it if you don't want to listen to it. I don't wanna twist your arm. It's just, I think, some brand spankin' new music from Queens of The Stone Age. Supposedly, they're coming out with a new album, early in 2012. God, I hope it's early. The planet is supposedly blowing up on the 21st of December. If I find out the new album is going to be late- like after the 21st of December, 2012, well, it won't be a pretty picture.

I mean-

I'll be really steamed. I'll buy a strange bobble-head collection and take it with me to the nearest fine dining type of joint, put one of the bigger ones down my pants with just the bobble hanging out of my fly, register the looks on the faces of fellow patrons and ultimately poke my bobble into someone's martini.

A plan, conceived.

But I doubt it will happen. After all, bobble-heads freak me out. No, I won't buy a bobble-head. The name, itself, sounds perverted.

Of course, this scenario just popped into my mind:

I go up to Mrs. Claus. She's kinda old but kinda hot and wearing something red and fluffy. I guess it's a coat. And I say something suave.

"Hey! Wanna see my bobble-head, Mrs. Claus? It's got a red, Christmassy glow. Don't have any idea why. Must be the STD I got in ol' Meh-hee-go."

I often have sex fantasies about Mrs. Claus. Who doesn't?

Mexico. Hmmm....

Beats ol' GuiltLand, where I'm currently residing, nowadays. Or maybe not. Should I feel guilty about boning a mythical, beloved holiday character, by the way? No, I'm not talking about a certain high profile, female Republican candidate that's running for president.

Beloved. Heh.

I think I just watched a documentary type show on TV, detailing a true story that had a guy interviewing a group of middle aged golfer guys, involved in said story and reenactment of their individual experiences on their trip to Mexico. They end up getting robbed, almost killed and then almost getting robbed or worse again by some corrupt cops. I think it was some kind of "I survived my vacation" type show that's airs once a week on The Travel Channel. They said incidents like the ones those golfer guys had didn't happen that often.

Eh. Okay. Maybe not. I don't want to assume. Heck no.

The story before that or afterwards showed actual video of some dumbass getting his flesh torn apart by a lion. This guy, who had never dealt with lions before, happily volunteered to go into the cage with the lion. Then he begins to reach out to pet the lion, the first time, basically wearing only a hoody/sweatjacket type thing and some thin jogger's pants. Then Bippy Dippyshit gets a warning swipe, the first time, with a paw. The dude cried out, "OOOOOW". A little blood was spilled. But the dude continued. And continued. Seeing this idiot play with this lion, as if it were a kitten and then getting his leg meat tore into, like human filet mignon, before he was rescued, cheered me right up.

I know I haven't been around the blogging scene much. I've been doing too much false starting here. I've been getting sidetracked. But I think I'm going to attempt pull a blog-rabbit out of my ass again. Like I did in the Spring of this year, I think I'm going to challenge myself to another blogging duel. Yes. I shall bloggeth every day until the end of December. And I shall also endeavor to visit everyone's blogs like a man with a quest to reach the highest star. Isn't that inspiring? Doesn't it just fill your panties with a load of pungent glee?

Now when the end of December comes up, I will self destruct- or perhap I'll save my explosion until next year about this time. I wanna time it just right. Don't wanna stray from the pack too much. I really want to fit in with the crowd (just like always) and with all of the others that fateful day who will pop open like a smokey pinata. Because, as you might and maybe could tell... I'm an obedient conformist.

Mmm. I'm thinking of bacon flavored candy falling out of a big gash. Insert joke here.

If anyone wants my collection of Pepsi/Star Wars Episode One cans, before Doomsday, I may be willing to swing ya a lucrative deal that will flip you utterly out.

See you tomorrow or bust.

Contact me at pantloadfullofglee@hatemail.com about the cans. I'm feeling better already.

Friendship Flea Market (Part 2)

This post is all about the largest flea market in Indiana. The Friendship Flea Market. Here, you can find all manner of things. Knives, buckskin chaps, hats made of animal carcasses, paintings, antiques, spices, neglected children, heatwave, flash flooding, sex toys, water bongs, clothes and everything in between. Hell... Don't even get me started on the freaks you'll bear witness to while you're there.

The weekend drink-til-you-die-while-dancing bonfire parties are awesome, as well. True fun! I've joined in for some really fucked up experiences during those big red barn dancing parties. Just don't bump into any rednecks and accidentally make them spill their beer or you're dead.

Look below and see many things! Enlarge the pic to see what I mean, Oh Ye, who has yet to understand the magical ability to left click a pic with your mouse to see the details of a photo . This scene is near the entrance to the flea market. The horse drawn carriage is a treat for your feet when you're tired of walking down the acres of cement lanes, separated only by a multitude of booths that sell everything. Of course, you'll have to endure smelling the many butt droppings of the horses up front but you can relax for a ten or fifteen minutes as the horses will take you from one end of town to the next.

There is a sign to the left of the horse and carriage that says BODY PIERCING. Can you imagine subjecting your body to one of these "professionals" at the flea market?

I have broken this series up into 3 parts in order for all of you to benefit from it's detailed awesomeness better. The first part to this series on Friendship Flea Market can be found here. It's the post I put up before this one. The famous National Muzzle Loading Shoot is going on nearby.

I have captions with some of the pictures here. Some of them are edu-mu-cational. Others, according to the blog author, are fairly humorous. You decide. Choose wisely or I shall have to pierce you with a rusty needle I found at one of the body piercing booths.

Yes, you can find many unusual things to eat at the flea market. Elk burger. Alligator meat. Buffalo burger. Deer jerky. They even have Sunburned, Neglected Children, created by low lifes, destined to be poorly edu-mu-cated and live off the government one way or another or live a life of crime. Unless we eat them first and save them the trouble.

Check out the captioned picture below. Luckily, some things you may eat here are quite tasty. But then there are the booths that will give you a complimentary stomach pump with every purchase over $10.

At this booth, the vendor will sell you chocolate-covered bacon and something called Sati-Babi.

Now for the first time in the history of the flea market, there was an acupuncture booth. No shit! When my wife and I saw it, we looked at one another, laughed and then talked about the legitimacy of a couple vendors with the certification and knowledge to be able to perform acupuncture on potential customers at a flea market. Then I took more pictures of the circus like atmosphere.

Turns out, there were some folks willing to take their chances.

The "pin guns" were what they were selling at the acupuncture booth. They were too expensive for my taste. sure, I did the demo, figuring my already fucked up body could be no worse for the wear with getting this done. Besides, I had always wanted to give acupuncture a shot. I'm not sure, exactly, if they were actually using needles in this gun that went "pow-pow-pow-pow" up and down your spine and your other body parts- like the top portion of your ass and shoulders- but it didn't feel bad, whatsoever. And yes, I know this isn't acupuncture in it's truest form but it's as close as I'll likely ever get to it. I just know that after a few minutes of Acupuncture Guy's wife doing her stuff on my back (Yeah, I know how that sounds), I did feel like my blood circulation improved and my walking became less of a pain. Seriously.

The last post of the series will be put on my photo blog, Pics for Kicks, sometime during the near future. I hope you enjoyed the second tour of the flea market and will come back again. If you don't, I know that you've been shot by a muzzle loader or ate too much Sati-Babi meat and died of food poisoning.

In conclusion, going to the big flea market is a unique, humorous and sometimes odd experience. We definitely try not to miss it when it comes once in the summer and once in the fall. You have to travel down some long, winding, crumbling roads to get to it but it's worth it just to check out the different people and items.

I See That You Have a Horn Growing Out Of Your Head

I've often wondered how it would be to visit any bloggers who I've had the pleasure of interacting with for awhile now. Though it sounds like a quaint idea, this could be a dangerous action to take with serious consequences in the end. I mean- What if you surprise me by throwing me a party? Or a parade, in my honor, even? Or drug me and take advantage of me in my slumber? Gosh, my humble and modest self wouldn't know what to do except blush and act all embarrassed and stuff.

And let me tell you, when I start feeling a little disconcerted, I tend to break a mighty wind and juggle my brightly colored balls. Yes, I carry them with me in my Suitcase O' Fun. I just so happened to buy these balls off of a circus accessories type website one day. What? You didn't think I was talking about my own cojones, did ya? Nah! The only time my jolly, friendly trouser bells are brightly colored is when I paint rainbows on them. Makes me feel all peppy, festive and stuff.

So... when should I come over?

And then there's always the chance I'd come over and I would get the surprise of my life by finding out that you have a horn growing out of your head. Talk about your awkward moments. I wouldn't be able to look away, either. I mean- you might have a unicorn horn growing out of your forehead or have a kooky looking horn like this woman down below.

You could be eating a baby's leg, too, while I'm standing there, attempting to make conversation. Then what am I supposed to do? Tear the other one off and gnaw on it so you don't feel awkward eating alone, in front of me?

You could be a religious psychopath, too, pushing your beliefs in the powers of the Almighty Bullwinkle on me.

Or you could pretend to be normal for awhile and we're sitting there, all cozy and shit, in your living room and you suddenly jump out of your refried bean bag chair and shout, "Holy Toledo! I forgot to introduce my cross eyed, drooling retarded cousin, Alfonso, to ya." At that moment, Alfonso peeks around the corner at me, widens his retarded eye at me and stumbles into the living room with a bloody meat cleaver in one hand and his festering pecker in the other.

Running out the door without so much as a goodbye may be an act of rudeness to you, the generous host, but I would likely be inclined to do it. After all, I don't wish to take the chance that Alfonso gets too close for comfort and allows his pus-oozing pecker to drip into the cup of freshly brewed coffee you made just for me.

I'm all about good manners, you know, but you have to draw the line somewhere in the landscape of picturesque penile disorders.

Seriously, who's to assume exactly what to expect when visiting a fellow blogger. Still, since I'm curious about such things and I wonder if they're just as funny, interesting (in a good way) or intelligent as they portray themselves in their blogs, I would take my chances and do it. If there should be some awkward silence between us, at any point during my stay, I could handle it. There's no need to have our mouths yapping about, in a constant state of vocalization. In fact, that kind of thing can be just as bothersome to me as the quiet times.

And if you're somewhat crazy, in a non lethal way, I would likely get along better with you. I find people who are slightly touched in the head to be interesting and humorous. People who are too humdrum or try too hard to act "normal" cause me to become frustrated around them. Unlike the slightly unusual folks, they don't interest me and, in fact, kinda annoy the shit of me because they're boring me. I'm never sure if it's on purpose or just because they severely lack in the personality department.

I've actually left people standing at parties or other public places while they're still jabbering away about the most mundane of topics. You can look at this gesture as being rude but I look at it as being rude that they're taking up my time by talking about something that any ol' flesh and blood, conformist droid could and will talk about. Those that engage in that type of conversation should consider themselves just peachy-keen lucky if I come up with an oh-so-incredible excuse for leaving you with your jaw dropped in mid-sentence, too. I might offer an "I have to leave now to take a shit" or something smooth like "Your face gives me a stomach ulcer from hell."

Signs that I may be bored with those things you call words that won't stop popping, incessantly, out of your mouth would be:

Fidgeting from foot to foot

Falling asleep

Watching the clouds in the sky

Choking the living shit out of you

But, chances are, that since we are either interacting with each other between our blogs, exchanging fascinating messages on Facebook, twittering our twitters or trading emails, I will most likely enjoy your company in person and you'll be able to keep my utmost attention. Gosh, good news for you, huh? I can feel the radiant, heart-warming glow of your excitement from all the way over here. Oh, that's just a belch you just burped from all that rancid unicorn meat you've been eating. Ah, well. Sometimes we get mixed signals from one another.

So, like I said before... when should I come over? Heh heh.

In One Part of The World

In one part of the world, there is a child, crying out to it's mother, wishing to be held. The mother, upon hearing the cries of anguish, runs to her child. The child sobs while holding onto his leg. A heartbreaking scene. The mother sees he has a scratch on his knee.

"What happened, Danny?," she asks.

"I ran and jumped on Woof Woof, then I fell off and he got me with his hoof," complained the boy.

Danny's mother bent down to inspect his scratch and pointed, with her index finger, saying, "I'll take care of this and you'll feel much better."

And with that said, she stood up and went into the house to get the first aid kit. When she came back out, she cleaned his scratch, put antibiotic cream on his minor wound and covered it with a bandage adorned with cute cartoon characters of orange dinosaurs and grinning unicorns. Her son's face brightened and was smiling.

After his mom was done, she kissed his forehead and stood back up. Woof Woof, the happy-go-lucky pig suddenly ran over and rubbed up against the mother's leg. She pat him on the head and was about to go back into the house to make an ice cold pitcher of fresh lemonade until she abruptly turned around with a large military weapon, calmly aimed and caused Woof Woof to explode in many pieces of various size. Bone fragments, blood, brain matter, other odds and ends and flesh scattered in every direction.

"There you go, sweety," said Danny's mother, "All better now."

The boy plucked a wet chunk off his face and ate it. "Tastes like chicken," said Danny.

Beside him, Woof Woof's mouth was lying on the ground. It opened up and said, "Rut roh." Danny giggled.

In one part of the world, a politician find himself in a tough quandary over cutting jobs in the fire department of his city in order to keep the budget from going into the red.

The middle aged man looks up towards the ceiling and says a prayer, almost whispering, "Lord, please give me strength."

That's when Tom Berkland had an idea that would solve everything. Quickly, he got up from his office chair, grabbed his suit jacket off the hook and went out the door of the mayor's office. He couldn't believe he had wasted this much time.

Minutes later, Tom was in church. The priest walked over to Tom, kindly placed his hand on the mayor's shoulder and asked, "May I help you, Tom?"

Tom looked at the church collection plate sitting on one of the stands. Hurriedly, Tom pulled down his pants, sliced off his genitals and gingerly placed his junk on the collection plate. Bleeding profusely, Tom groaned in pain while the priest smiled and followed that with the words, "A rather small offering, isn't it?"

That's when the circus clowns came in on their mini bikes, honking and cheering and pissing on the floor. Bright, multi colored streamers fell from the ceiling as the mayor collapsed to the floor, bleeding to death and shitting himself.

In one part of the world, a single man and his two married friends go to the only local pizza joint to pick up two large deluxe pizzas that had been ordered earlier on the phone. On the way home, they encounter a homeless person standing on a curb. At least, they believe he may be a homeless person. He's holding a sign that says he is hungry and has been traveling on foot.

The single man, who is driving, stops the car at the red light beside the curb. The panhandler smiles. The driver gets a digital camera out of his coat pocket, aims it toward the panhandler. The traveler sees this and decides to crouch down and strike a happy pose for the driver.

The driver takes the picture. The occupants of the car give him a friendly wave, thanking him for allowing them to take his picture. After the light changed, the car slowly turned right and continued down the road. One of them asked, "Do you think we should have let him have a piece of pizza?"

"Oh my goodness, I can't believe I did that!," exclaimed the driver.

"What?," inquired the other male passenger, "Take a picture of the homeless guy? Not offer him any pizza?"

"No," said the driver, "Forget to ask for extra garlic sauce at the pizza place."

The woman in the back seat put her hand over her mouth and snickered.

Then the others joined in and laughed just as a semi truck suddenly jumped over the raised concrete median strip. Laughs quickly turned into screams as the car, with no time to stop, plowed into the side of the huge truck, sending glass, metal, blood and body parts everywhere.

The truck driver slowly got out, visibly shaken and was about to inspect the damage of the crash and to see if he could possibly help anyone that was still alive. When he saw the destruction, the trucker shook his head. In that moment, the man who had just posed for a picture on the curb showed up. Carefully, the man picked through the mess until he found a pizza box. He opened it, took a bite from a pizza slice and frowned.

Then the panhandler remarked, "Those fuckers didn't ask for extra garlic sauce."

That's when a jumbo jet, without warning, crashed into the middle of the wreckage, exploded on impact, killing everyone on the highway in a substantial radius and engulfed property and people in the flames of death. That very same day, there was to be no more pizza deliveries or pizza carry out orders in town. A sad day for pizza lovers.

Somehow, they struggled on. And just as the townspeople adjusted to the reality of what had transpired and the fact they were unable to order pizzas, an atomic bomb was dropped upon the town and never again, would they be able to order a pizza. Neither pepperoni or the sausage variety. But... at least they had the clowns. And really, isn't that enough?

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.

Mr. Checkers Informs The Public

With as much delight as I can possibly muster, I, Mr. Checkers, reporting the latest news on behalf of Internet sensation, PSYCHO CARNIVAL, am here to inform the public of news and information that really matters a great deal. Hold onto your hats, folks, it's going to be an awfully exciting ride.

* The meat found in food items at Taco Bell restaurants may not be entirely made of ground beef. Astonished, say you? Gosh. Who would have thought? If this seems shocking to you, wait until you read the next tidbit of news. Are you still waiting? Well, stop it and move along, please.

* Cigarettes should not be smoked. They are made of tobacco and poison. Instead, use these cancer sticks as decorative birthday candle casings or tools for magic tricks. Click this link to learn more non-hazardous usages for cigarettes and amaze your friends.

* Hot dogs should not be used for pleasuring your vagina or butt hole. Accidents may occur.Danger, Will Robinson!

* Not long ago, a 93 year old gangster by the name of John "Sonny" Franzese, was sent to prison for eight years. Mr. Checkers has heard of a lot of dumb shit in his time, but this takes the cake and the frosting, too. Why not execute "Sonny" right now? He's not going to live much longer, anyway and it will save the taxpayers a little money by depriving him room and board, courtesy of the rest of us. I say we send the old fucker on his non stop, well-earned journey to hell. Judging by his horrendous crimes, he's had reservations for a seat in the eternal inferno for quite some time.

* I, Mr. Checkers, wants all of you to know that the Great Mystery of The Burned Up Piano On A Sandbar has finally been solved. What a relief! So many have wondered about this amazing, phenomenal event- that it almost made the equally exciting news about Snooki seem tame and not very newsworthy and stuff. It just so happens that a teenager, with obviously a lot of time on his hands, put the fucked up piano on a Miami sandbar because he hoped it might get him into a prestigious art school. It might even get him laid by a smitten admirer of his "artistic" handiwork. Who knows? In any case, Mr. Checkers says, "Good job, dumb ass!"

* Speaking of getting laid... Mr. Checkers is proud to report that he is a member of a species that apparently believes that texting, Facebook and other social networking tools cause new couples to jump into bed faster and get down to business. According to this tantalizing, important news item from Reuters, in the heat of passion, some people just can't get enough of their digital devices. As a matter of fact, Mr. Checkers predicts that manufacturers will soon be equipping their i Pads, cell phones and other electronic thingamajigs with small, yet convenient, pocket pussies and Venus Butterflies for those who are unable to find a love connection by "dickering around" with their ordinary beloved electronic doodads. This type of ingenious thinking has already started to take place, in fact. See here!

This is all that I, Mr. Checkers, has for you now, in regards to news worth knowing about. Tune in next time for more excitement you can't live without and stuff you'll lose sleep over. For more news and information on the downward spiral and insanity our human race celebrates and enjoys, just look around or watch TV or go out in public. The PSYCHO CARNIVAL of life is out there and in here for you to partake, revel in and completely lose what's left of your mind.

Arrivederci!

On The Road With Kelly

Twenty miles of road separated our place and our destination, today. Even though it wasn't that long of a drive we still managed to see several things that were odd or formidable throughout. The following events I describe really took place -as hard as it may be to believe.

The first sight/challenge we encountered on our journey was a long and twisted gauntlet of orange barrels and cones. Somehow we struggled our way through on a narrow, twisted, crumbling, one lane stretch of road. The road normally has two lanes but the other side going in the opposite direction was being blocked by the heavy machinery and the road crew.

The embankments on either side of this road leads to life threatening drop offs. Before you can kiss your ass goodbye, you're a fuckin' goner, man. The road crew would halt us at different parts of the road so the others in the opposite direction could come through on the same side of the shitty road. Not only did we have to dodge barrels, cones, people and potentially lethal drop offs, there was also the huge backhoe loader.

If you can't picture what I'm talking about, look at the picture of it in the upper left hand corner of this post. That's a backhoe loader. Do you see this fucking monstrosity? See the big elephantine claw-scoop thing in the back of this monster? What's this heavy metal monster doing on something that is, presently, little more than a sidewalk? That big claw-scoop thing was swinging towards us at one point and we thought simultaneously that (A) We have nowhere to go on this hellish road to avoid this gargantuan metal beast and (B) We're going to die before we can get to the shopping mall to spend way too money on stuff that we will likely put up on a yard sale next year.

After we struggle through that mess, we finally reach the interstate highway. Ah, a sigh of relief. Finally making headway. Progress, even. But lo and behold, what is this up ahead? Why it is an ambulance. Nearby the ambulance is a slew of cop cars, medical emergency personnel, mangled vehicles and people yelling at each other. This chaos was directly in between a fork in the highway. The closer we got to this accident, the more unsure we were that we were even going to make it to where we needed to turn off. Luckily, we are able make it around this annoying festival of disarray. I have no idea if anyone was killed or not. I was too busy jammin' and gyrating in my seat to my latest Rob Zombie CD to notice such trivialities. Bleed all you want, fuckers! I'm listening to my tunes!

Just as I'm finding relief from getting through that irritating bundle of wrecks and human misery, we travel another mile to see a flaming, smoking car sitting on the right side of a long metal bridge that sits over the river. And we have no choice but to go on this bridge to make it to the money pit known as the shopping mall. I say to my wife, "Gee, I hope that car doesn't explode just as we go past. That would suck mightily." She gives me that look that I take to mean that she is shitting herself (possibly literally) with anticipation.

Lucky again, we also get past the bomb on wheels -without being blown up. After we pass the fiery vehicle, my wife asks, "Hey, do you think we should call 911 for that car behind us?"

I reply, "No way. I'm busy reading the nasty little comic book that came with my new CD. Ha ha... Look at the cartoon werewolves fucking these virgins in the ass! What fun!"

She shakes her head and laughs. After 21 years, she gets me. Good thing, too.

Only a couple miles to our goal, we see a huge bloody pile of animal carcass on the side of the road, teaming with fresh maggots and busy buzzing flies. We ask each other what animal it could have been. Its so fucked up, discombobulated and mushy in some parts (it was headless, too) that we couldn't make out what the hell it was before it became a hairy, bloody, putrid mass of freakishness.

We both said, almost simultaneously, "I'm hungry."

After dropping money off at the travel agency for our upcoming cruise, we decide to throw a bunch of cash at a better-than-decent restaurant. Finally comfortable and salivating at the menu items, a family with a herd of children are soon seated right the fuck next to us. The whole place has maybe five customers in it (due to the odd time of day we came) and they seat two adults and a small army of kids next to good ol' quiet us. Why? I figure they do that in order to make it easier on the server. Put every asshole in a single row of tables. Fuck the customer if they want to eat in peace and not have a fucker on a cell phone yappity yapping away beside them. Hell, I don't know why they always do that. You tell me!

Of course, the children commence screeching, crying and poking each other's eyes out with forks. Normally, this would be funny -the ruptured eyeballs and all -but they were creating too much noise with their persistent wailing for me too handle. I get easily stressed out nowadays, with all the ugly shit that's happened in the past five years. It makes the diabetes worse, too. I start to shake and lose focus.

Rather than say something to the server like, "Could you move us away from the screeching monkeys beside us?", I ask my wife if she wanted to help me move our glasses and silverware, glasses and napkins to the empty table next to us before the waiter comes back and takes our order.

She does and we move our stuff to the next table.

In the past, I wouldn't have done something like that because I wouldn't want to seem rude to the family of screechers beside us -but now, thankfully, I plain just don't give a fuck anymore. Hell, after talking to two complete strangers (my therapist and psychiatrist) these last 2 years, crying and telling them absolutely everything I was feeling and some heavy secrets that even my wife doesn't know about, I can pretty much do or say anything without much guilt. Plus, this medication I'm on now causes me to be a bit on the aggressive side. Happy, aggressive, energetic and impulsive.

A beautiful combination for me. But not for others. Oh, well. Tee hee.

I cheated on my diet, today and had the full rack of hickory smoked ribs with garlic roasted mashed potatoes. Mmmm. It was yummy. It definitely didn't look like that dismembered caked-with-blood thing we saw on the side of the road, earlier. Speaking of things that are creamy, I also enjoyed a piece of white chocolate banana cream pie.

In the end, it turned out to be a better day than I expected given the way it began. I wonder if that car blew up? Ha ha.

Special Gifts For Friends and Family

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Outback Surprise

So my wife and I decided to go to the Outback Steakhouse, tonight. It's the last night of her 10 day vacation and she wanted to go somewhere nice to eat before going back to her wage-slavery job. The Outback's menu basically consists of "meat" items. At the Outback, ya got yer choice of steaks, chicken, ribs and lamb. It's all good. The service is normally excellent, too. Your waitress or waiter is frequently bringing you refills and asking if you need anything. That always scores points with me.

Since I have such a damned narrow throat, it's damned hard for me to get food down my tiny gullet without turning blue in the face and passing out in my plate of sirloin. That's one of the reasons I place so much importance of a sit-down restaurant's ability to keep the drinks coming. And yeah, I chew on the same bite of food two hundred times before swallowing. I can't tell you how many times I've almost done a blue-in-the-face-head dive into my plate or vomited on the way to the restroom to the dismay of surrounding, bewildered patrons. I did puke up some orange chicken on my plate at a Chinese restaurant once. I almost felt guilty for causing some of the old ladies at the table next to us get up and leave.

Good times.

But getting back to the subject I was originally rambling on about.....

The portions tonight, at the Outback, were considerably smaller than usual. That was our first shock. My wife's meal size was especially disappointing. A tiny thing of chicken and a tiny thing of BBQ ribs looked like a kid's meal. I checked the menu to make sure it was truly an adult item. It was.

Still hungry, my wife ordered a slice of peanut butter pie. She said that was really yummy.... or something like that. All I could get out of her, when I asked how the pie was, was "Mmmm. Ummerrrum." I dared not try to fork a bite from her plate because of the fondness for my hand.

The second shock came when we looked at the bill. We expected the cost to be in the 40 to 42 dollar range. And it was. No problem. But unexpected was the tip guideline at the bottom, telling patrons what they should pay, as a tip. How outlandish! How rude! I know the "waiting staff" have families to support. I understand that. But we're not going to be told how much of our hard earned money to leave as a tip. According to them, we should have left them a $6.50 tip. Sorry. It's not happening. We left them with a reasonable tip that was half of the "required" amount. They could suck on that and be happy or else.

The Strange "Foods" People Are Willing To Eat

Recently, I've been watching "Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern" on the Travel Channel. At first, I was only disgusted by what some folks around the world thought of as edible. Of course, my morbid curiosity kicked in and now I watch the show every now and then. The last episode I caught had Andy munchin' on rooster balls, chicken heads and a big bloated frog that had it's raw guts prominently displayed in a bowl. Andy cheerfully gobbled it up, pausing only to describe the various tastes of each item. The detailed descriptions he gives really add ambiance to the images of the "food" lovingly provided by the camera man who enjoys zooming in on all the entrails, brains and myriad of juices oozing forth from the cuisine.


What really drops my jaw is when he munches on something that's still alive. One time, I watched Andy eat a large, plump spider that was writhing in agony as he bit into it.


I wonder if this guy has a girlfriend: A girlfriend willing to kiss him after some of the repulsive crap he has shoved between his lips for the sake of a tv show.



To be fair, I'm sure there are folks around the world who are equally repulsed/fascinated by the some of the things we eat here in America. Perhaps they're shocked about our consuming of beef. Maybe it's venison. It could be a lot of things.



My sister tried breaded rattlesnake when the family traveled to Wyoming one year. I've had alligator meat. Tastes like chicken. Ha ha. I've chowed down on buffalo burgers and squirrel, too.


After doing some research, I've found out more about what people on this planet consider digestible. I've provided a list of some of the most shocking "edibles" for you to enjoy. Bon appetite!



Maggot Cheese (Italy)

During the aging process, a fly called Piophila casei deposits its eggs on the cheese. When the maggots are born, they move throughout the cheese, excreting enzymes that give it an overwhelmingly pungent smell, a rotten taste, and a soft, creamy texture.

Ox Penis (Asia)

The penis is generally cooked by steaming or deep frying, and can also be eaten raw.

Rats (various parts of the world)

Balut-Duck Fetus (Philippines, Cambodia, Vietnam, Thailand)












Jellied Cow's Foot (Poland)

Unfortunately, I don't have a picture of this for you to drool over. I hope this recipe helps you, though.

Buy a cow's foot in a butcher shop, chop it up and cook for hours & hours in water with spices, garlic, salt, pepper, etc. It is a good idea to evacuate the house during cooking time to avoid the overwhelming smell. Then pour this mess into a large flat pan and refrigerate. It sets to a nice translucent grey jelly with a layer of fat on top. Cut into large cubes and serve with lots of horseradish to kill the taste.


Blood Dumplings (Sweden)

Sorry, no picture of that available either. But here's what it is made of:

It's made of flour, reindeer blood and salt, served with bacon, butter and lingonberry jam. Cooked or fried. Yummy!


Baby Bees (Japan)













Monkey Brains (China)

























Hu-Hu Grubs (New Zealand)

As an added bonus, I've included this link to a woman who cooks human placentas and even has a "special" recipe for it. I bet your mouth is watering already. Check it out if you have the guts.

The Chapwilly TubeSteak Festival

If you plan on going to a festival this year, might I suggest taking a trip to West Virginia this summer for Chapwilly's TubeSteak Festival.

Once there, you may ride the rides, taste the palate pleasing fare and enjoy watching the local talent perform amazing stunts of abject perversity during the enchanting stage shows.

And don't forget to stop by Magic Eddie's BBQ to sample some of his delicious, specially made, grilled MeatKabobs. If you don't care for ketchup or mustard, don't be afraid to ask Eddie for a dallop of his delightful magic mystery sauce. If you feel you need assistance squeezing it on, Magic Eddie will be more than happy to do it for you.

So bring the whole family for a day of wholesome, fun-filled entertainment. I promise it will be a day you'll remember for the rest of your life. Excitement awaits you!

Admission: $49.99 for Adults after 6 p.m.
$10.99 for inbred children between 8 and 8:20 a.m.
Senior Citizens are welcome to hop on Mr. Humpty's Hay Ride
The Hunt For Squirrel Berries will take place when it gets dark

Bloodshed On Father's Day

My family and I had a nice time during Father's Day. The food was good. The conversations were relaxing.

Best of all, was the entertainment after dinner. All of us went outside for the wonderful spectacle that was to begin. My sister and brother-in-law took a duck, one of many, from their barn and placed it on a wooden board. Carefully, the duck's neck was placed between rows of 4 inch nails. Once it's neck was stretched out, my brother-in-law swung the hatchet down and cut the duck's neck almost in half. The duck struggled. I think he was trying to say, "Hey, what are you doing? You've allowed me to gorge on food for months. You petted my little head when I was feeling blue. You guys treated me like a pet. So now you're cutting my head off?" On the second whack, the head came off, releasing a fountain of blood that continued to spurt out of the top of it's torso. The children quickly grabbed the head off the blood soaked ground and began to play with it.

A few moments later, my sister accepted the duck head from her five year old. Moving it's mouth up and down, she made quack-quack noises, causing us to laugh.

It was fascinating to watch. The torso of the bird was on it's back. The decapitated duck's body flapped it's wings while the feet moved as if it were still walking. I thought of that old commercial where the old lady cries out, "I've fallen and I can't get up". I had to laugh. My nine year old niece brought me the duck's head. I was curious and opened it's beak or mouth and pulled on it's tongue. It felt like rubber. It had little bump like thingies on the bottom of it, too.

Then the duck torso was brought to the old wooden table for the de-feathering and slaughter. My sister ripped the feathers from the body for the next few minutes while the knives were brought out from the kitchen. My sister and brother-in-law took turns cutting the skin away from the meat. I worked on the duck, also, delighting in this experience that was new to me.

We had cut and taken as much meat as we could. When the task was complete, my sister bagged up the duck meat and gave it to me. I was grateful. I can't remember the last time I've eaten duck. I do recall enjoying the taste of it, though. I've read where it should be prepared and cooked a certain way or else it has a gamy taste to it.

If anyone reading this post has a simple and tasty recipe for duck, please share it with me.

All in all, we had a great time during Father's Day. And I learned how to kill and skin a duck.

The Last Time I Told My Wife She Couldn't Cook....

....she did this to me.












Luckily, the doctors were able to duct tape it back on. Thank goodness for modern medicine.

For real summer fun this year, try grilling out!

All-You-Can-Eat-Disease

There was talk on the news this morning about the high levels of mercury found in tuna, as of late. It was being blamed on power plants and a couple of other sources. I say you can find a lot of undesirable things in your food without looking that hard. Let me elaborate.

When I was a kid, my parents took my sister and I to one of those all-you-can-eat-buffets. I recall being shocked at the behaviour of most of the patrons. Some of them would pick the food straight out of the pans (like chicken legs) and start eating it without going back to the table. I thought, God, how hungry do you have to be that you can't wait until you get back to your table to eat? Almost every food pan that you came across, you'd discover the serving tongs to be completely submerged in the food. Handle and all. I was disgusted by that. But worse than that, would be looking over at the ice cream dispenser and seeing kid after kid stepping up to it and sucking ice cream directly from the yellow-ish, saliva covered dispenser nozzle.

They reminded me of skuzzy little calves sucking mightily from their cow mother's crusty teats.

At the Golden Corral, you routinely see people dropping the handles of tongs in food pans. Plus, they'll use one big spoon from the gravy pan to dip into the spaghetti sauce. Many customers come in wearing sweatpants or pajamas and slippers in the middle of the day to show they don't care how they appear. I guess that kind of attire proves useful when you're gorging on your fifth plate and don't desire the exercise of having to adjust your belt.

My friend, Gerk, told me how he went to Frisch's for the breakfast buffet and saw this rather rotund woman scooping up heaps of sausage links on her plate. He said it had been her fourth or fifth trip up to the bar for her sausage gathering that morning. Anyway, the portly woman turned around, wagging her metal sausage picking tong and commenced to jabber with the friend next to her in line. Suddenly, she accidentally jammed the metal tong into the light fixture above the bar. Immediately, she was electrocuted and she flipped the plate of sausage links into the air. Everyone stood back, unsure exactly what had just transpired. The electrified woman yelled, "Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!" before someone could ask if she was alright. After she hit the floor, other customers could, at last, grab a few links for themselves. And yes, for those of you who care, she eventually made it to her feet. Fully recuperated, she went back for more sausage, later.

My cousin, a host/manager of a casino boat buffet, had an unexpected surprise one evening when he began receiving complaints from other customers. It seems they were having difficulty eating their food. A large family at a certain table were causing trouble. He went back to the room in the corner of the dining area to visit the ill-behaved customers. His jaw dropped the moment he saw them. Father, mother, sisters and brothers were all cheerfully gorging on their taters n' gravy and whatnot while allowing half of their pre-chewed food to fall out onto themselves, their plates and the table. My cousin finally asked, "Is every alright?"

More munching and slobbering ensued before the father of this charming troop nodded his ten gallon head, allowing more half-eaten gobbledy-gook to drip off his chin. The wife and the rest of the kids were covered in a variety of sauces and chunks as they also nodded.

My cousin couldn't ask them to leave. Or so he thought. Instead, he made up a little tale explaining how the casino buffet needed their table for a bigger family and asked if they could move. He politely asked a second time, not sure if they heard him over the noises their mouths were making. The father held up a greasy finger, before saying, "Fine". That one word response was muffled, however, because a blob of mushy meatloaf squeezins was trying to escape from his pie hole.

In the end, the family was escorted to a more secluded room, in an area with many walls.

At one time, my wife worked at a famous named steak restaurant where the cooks or servers, if they dropped steaks on the floors, would routinely pick the steak up and place it back on the plate and serve it to the customer.

A friend of mine told me the account of a couple of disgruntled employees at another famous named restaurant. They were angry at their supervisor. They were going to make him pay for some transgression against them. But it seems to me the patrons of this eatery paid, as well. Towards the end of the second shift, when all the employees were cleaning up and taking the food away from the buffet bar, an item was discovered at the bottom of the vegetable soup pot. The eyes of the employees discovering this item certainly must have widened at the sight of a used maxi pad stuck on the bottom of this soup pot. In retrospect, I suppose you really couldn't call it vegetable soup, could you, if there were some type of meat in it also?

In summary, I'd like to point out that there can be no debate that the United States has the highest (or one of the highest) rates of obesity in the entire world. You need to look no further than the local all-you-can-gorge-on-buffet ( a.k.a. human hog trough) or down the street or, maybe, in front of the mirror.

And please, could you not drop the tong handle in the chicken gravy! Damn it.