tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67218151637925321522024-03-13T07:54:45.427-07:00Inward SingingMeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-67556368449909676662008-10-28T19:08:00.001-07:002008-10-28T19:12:37.987-07:00Times are a Changin'I haven't supported this blog in quite a while now, but have no fear. I am now featured on another site that you may or may not enjoy.<br />Check out:<br /><a href="http://www.review-spew.com/"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">www.review-spew.com</span></strong></a>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-16710518178429082192008-08-21T21:47:00.000-07:002008-08-21T21:55:51.980-07:00Huffing made easy.<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I can honestly say that I have never thought of sucking on a can of computer duster, but whatever floats your boat, I guess. What happened to the good old days when people would just "Spark the Owl", "Smoke a Bowl", "Torch a Fatty", or "Dance with Mary Jane"? </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">New druggies really give good, old fashioned, stoners a bad name. Check it out. This was a compilation from a reality intervention show. Enjoy the freak show.</span><br /><br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Nv8Kkts1G-0;hl=en"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Nv8Kkts1G-0;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-35336902180733808952008-08-20T07:00:00.000-07:002008-08-20T07:00:01.114-07:00Love is blind.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirGnyQN0KqeIFyjamyGnGlYPwTWI8trsJCYNaf_wtQSRsiujgxOzaqIMlPulXQ4aaTyp8uFPK6hw8QyIurrxAtQFBuM2BRw3i2bu-eQnf0iS-mBbT85r5JeW6G3-u2n_Mfo5WCcPG1wqM/s1600-h/aughra.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235240944378569298" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirGnyQN0KqeIFyjamyGnGlYPwTWI8trsJCYNaf_wtQSRsiujgxOzaqIMlPulXQ4aaTyp8uFPK6hw8QyIurrxAtQFBuM2BRw3i2bu-eQnf0iS-mBbT85r5JeW6G3-u2n_Mfo5WCcPG1wqM/s320/aughra.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">No joke, it really is. I’m not speaking about how a young woman in love is blind to the jerk they share their bed with, or the fact that he hasn’t had a job in 5 years and is living with his parents. That is true enough, but I am speaking quite literally, that love makes you see something visually different than other people see. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I never would have agreed with this hypothesis until it happened to me. My daughter was born severely premature. When she finally came home from the NICU, her hair had all fallen out and she was still only 4lbs after months and months of all kinds of hell and triumph that I won’t go into here. I watched her grow and develop from 1lb 9oz to that beautiful 4 pounder. I was holding her one day and was staring at her little face and mentioned to my brother-in-law how I was amazed that some people have the ugliest kids and don’t know it. He says “Well, yours isn’t exactly winning any beauty contests…but she has been through a lot, and that is to be expected.” I was floored. I honestly saw the cutest little one in the world when I looked at her. Was he blind, or was I? Eight years have passed and I look back at those pictures and see a baby that had many medical issues and can almost understand how someone used to seeing a chubby infant would think my child looked skinny and sickly….almost. It has never crossed my mind that she wasn’t always adorable, except for that one comment by my brother-in-law. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Another example is a woman I saw through social circles many, many times. I would giggle to myself that she looked exactly like Aughra from The Dark Crystal (note the picture above). Then, my wife and I got to know her and her family and we all became quite good friends. We have now known her for seven years and I really don’t see it anymore. I remember mocking her, but now her hideousness has been reduced exponentially. I would say she is of average attractiveness like anyone. Seven years ago, I didn’t see that at all. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">This is really a remarkable thing. Why can feelings change the lines and colors that our eyes take in? How can an emotion bend light? I really don’t know the answer, but I do know that when every parent says their kids are the cutest in the world; they aren’t lying. To them, the really are. To all of those women who want the light off because of a few extra pounds, know this: if your lover really loves you, his eyes don’t see you the way you think they do. Shapes are shifted and light is bent by a process that boggles the mind.<br /></span>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-85762315254461897372008-08-16T14:24:00.000-07:002008-08-16T14:36:41.596-07:00Bigfoot has been found!<span style="color:#000000;">Well, it is official. Bigfoot has been found and currently resides in redneck’s freezer. He is always in the last place you look. The undeniable photographic evidence shows a 7 foot 7 inch 500 pound Bigfoot stuffed in a small chest freezer. I say small chest freezer because a second picture later released shows three 5’5” studs standing next to it, and the freezer is pretty much dwarfed. That makes sense though, because you can really fold up the big guy, especially after the rigor mortis sets in. The other interesting part of the photo is the fact that it says it is a picture of a thawed Bigfoot. Correct me if I am wrong, but does thawed mean it was frozen, but now is not? Doesn’t the freezer do the freezing? …and it is still in a freezer, as we can see. I know people get that word mixed up. I can’t tell you how many times I have had to murder someone because they asked me to dethaw something from the freezer. It is already frozen moron, if I dethaw it, it only becomes more frozen. That’s right, more frozen, it gets way colder when you put it back in the freezer. Sorry, I digress, one may want to keep that bad boy on ice though, cause he is gonna be a little ripe if you keep him thawed. I included the pictures below.<br /></span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh46PClfSFani4G8twsJidYacd291MOSUem3zjmHlfkXYGV0dRhhnGGzHo1Goo2K_QQN3WhUwOtnlG4VHtG3uiDqBZWHvM-AyzNEgwXzEtBaimGpYuaTcciortrpQFgPtVoOdJ-JkhEIMM/s1600-h/thawedcreature.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235230889414747650" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="200" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh46PClfSFani4G8twsJidYacd291MOSUem3zjmHlfkXYGV0dRhhnGGzHo1Goo2K_QQN3WhUwOtnlG4VHtG3uiDqBZWHvM-AyzNEgwXzEtBaimGpYuaTcciortrpQFgPtVoOdJ-JkhEIMM/s320/thawedcreature.jpg" width="280" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTjvuhV-0dI8r2vDW5brTWKUjpbMz4quh24Kdnbh44V-Ozax62ZX8JBIXavzQvrhKoRM51FrkbFuiyFKsrBIJVjvl23vssYcjdPJirlNOE0kTFO7YRojkpY7IhO10kivh2kpg0EVaofNA/s1600-h/hunters.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235230891207034370" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="200" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTjvuhV-0dI8r2vDW5brTWKUjpbMz4quh24Kdnbh44V-Ozax62ZX8JBIXavzQvrhKoRM51FrkbFuiyFKsrBIJVjvl23vssYcjdPJirlNOE0kTFO7YRojkpY7IhO10kivh2kpg0EVaofNA/s320/hunters.jpg" width="280" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">The three geniuses had a press conference on Friday where they had planned to release the DNA testing results proving the rolled up carpet with a Chewbacca mask stuffed in a freezer is really a Sasquatch, but it seems the data wasn’t quite ready. Surprise, surprise. More info was uncovered though as they now say that they had a camcorder with them on their hike and they have some video proof of a family of Bigfeet…Bigfoots…Bigfooties that actually stalked them. I was a skeptic before, but after seeing a photo released from this footage, I am a believer. I am a little ashamed to admit that after seeing the freezer photo and reading the size specifications, I was worried they had actually accidentally bagged Patrick Ewing.<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#000000;">Anyhow, click</span> <a href="http://www.monorails.org/webpix%202/FilmHarryHendersons.jpg"><strong>HERE</strong></a> <span style="color:#000000;">for the remarkable photo of one of the stalking creatures that puts a big foot in the mouth of all skeptics.</span>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-91686095079196460732008-08-13T07:00:00.000-07:002008-08-13T07:00:05.494-07:00IT Guys Rock<span style="color:#000000;">IT guys..you rock! I'm a computer geek myself, but there is a whole other class that I like to call the computer-douche. No where else in the world will you find 300lb, pimple faced asses so full of themselves and their "knowledge". Knowledge that only came to them by way of dateless Friday nights and countless hours entrenched in "Guild Wars" building up their level 77 Paladin Shadow Mage.<br /><br />This is a long one, but classic. The more you work with computers, the funnier you will find this. Stick it out for the duration. It is worth it.<br /><br /></span><br /><br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/p_0FR5NgNmo;hl=en"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/p_0FR5NgNmo;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-84215668436957614022008-08-11T18:05:00.000-07:002008-08-11T18:11:14.612-07:00Hells Ya<span style="color:#000000;">That's what I am talking about. The only thing that would have made it better is if it was the opening dance scene and he dumped water over his sessy bod....in slow-mo stop-mo.</span><br /><br /><br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/rykTElDjFN4;hl=en"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/rykTElDjFN4;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-55829947154248335452008-08-08T07:00:00.000-07:002008-08-08T07:00:17.180-07:00EBay Ruined Everything<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9D2ijmx2H_JUuO3mwzE_NCbcDbwjuP4X8tMqAXhqQX8TdAm542dXvrDQa6qQNhmqpXWTm4Xl8pJxupTAINwhAG4rEO77wPKmb67eeTPVAAdqsRdsBRz2N3sYdpOOzaxXI6B59X4G7UxI/s1600-h/mickeymantle.jpg"><span style="color:#000000;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230494962352277074" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9D2ijmx2H_JUuO3mwzE_NCbcDbwjuP4X8tMqAXhqQX8TdAm542dXvrDQa6qQNhmqpXWTm4Xl8pJxupTAINwhAG4rEO77wPKmb67eeTPVAAdqsRdsBRz2N3sYdpOOzaxXI6B59X4G7UxI/s320/mickeymantle.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> I used to be a collector, a psycho really. I loved the hunt, the acquisition, and the placement of the piece in my collective puzzle. I collected toys and sports cards. Don’t say it, I know. So when EBay came around, I was thrilled. No longer was I confined to local shops, the world was opened like monstrous floodgates and I was there for the buying. I filled my collections, found the impossible to find, and watched as package after package of the previously impossible was delivered right to my door. Oh I paid handsomely for much of it, but it was worth it. It was a passion and an investment, well come to find out, a passion anyhow. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">Then came the problem. Those flood gates were opened up to everyone else too. Before, if you walked into a card shop and found a Jerry Rice rookie card on the shelf, it was quite a find. You had to find the shop and be lucky enough to find the card there too. Now, everyone’s PC was linked to the same shop and there were always 20 or so of every rookie card always on the shelf. All of the sudden, it wasn’t that great of a find because they were always available. Owning the card wasn’t enough. You needed it in pristine shape, with the picture centered and the borders square. Mint didn’t mean mint any more. Mint had ridiculous requirements, and the near mint became worthless. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">This happened with all of the collectable toys too. As EBay got bigger, everything became more and more available and hence more and more worthless. I have thousands of cards that literally are worth less than the paper they are printed on. I don’t see that ever changing in my lifetime. All of my toys are just toys, despite the amount I paid under the pretense of collecting. They are worth less than they were when you could find them on every Kmart shelf. Thank you, EBay. </span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"><br />Go take a look, even the most coveted collector's items in history are all sitting on EBay right now waiting for a bidder. Mickey Mantle rookie, there are three for sale right now. Go get one. Your Terry Bradshaw rookie you have been keeping for the last 30 years is worthless, because it is considered C8+ grade as the manufacturer didn’t get the card cut exactly right. Your card protector is worth more than the card in it. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">EBay is a cruel mistress. I thought it was the greatest thing a collector could ever want, but by its very nature, it killed collecting. Oh, don’t get me wrong, they had help. George Lucas did his part too.<br /></span>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-11463877405086499752008-08-06T07:00:00.000-07:002008-08-06T07:00:18.421-07:00Old Dogs are a Dying Breed<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdOGNCUFEKRKOK2sA3W97ip5nR0BC6I4wFty1Gu9U3GLpvCIGJduKyaRgukLj1qAx7OT8cDTnjSfVhfBucn0g54HtZ10xOj6gPI4-yO6PaxZ8wxXY9T33_tL3gIs-CMViEvh0etHL4Hs/s1600-h/old-dog.gif"><span style="color:#000000;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5230116600704057650" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfdOGNCUFEKRKOK2sA3W97ip5nR0BC6I4wFty1Gu9U3GLpvCIGJduKyaRgukLj1qAx7OT8cDTnjSfVhfBucn0g54HtZ10xOj6gPI4-yO6PaxZ8wxXY9T33_tL3gIs-CMViEvh0etHL4Hs/s320/old-dog.gif" border="0" /></span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> I am not that old, but I sure feel disconnected these days. Nostalgia has been washing over me and I feel like an old man with archaic ideas. Here are a few of my thoughts. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">Points and condensers are a thing of the past, but what about the old “Condenser trick”. You know, you grab a condenser, ground the body on the frame of the car, pull a plug wire and with the engine running, arc a couple thousand volts into that bad boy. Throw it to a buddy and when he touches both ends…Yowzer. That is a shock. It is a classic…and it is gone. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">Muscle cars – No 4 cylinder car is ever going to be a muscle car. Displacement, noise, and power are prerequisite. I know, I saw <em>The Fast and the Furious </em>and your Rice-burner may blow my doors off, but a muscle car it is not, and will never be. Remember when you bragged about your cam and carb? No, I guess you wouldn’t. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">Semi-Classic movies – Everything is getting remade, which makes the original obsolete or at least tainted by the remake. Another 10 years and nobody will ever remember Jamie Lee Curtis as the “Queen of Scream”. Rob Zombie did a much better job with Halloween…but in doing so, he buried history. Even the movies that don’t get remade have crappy sequels. Disney classics have cartoon TV series and 16 sequels that make the original masterpiece nothing but a little white noise in the monstrous engine that is marketing. BTW, if you didn't know, Zach Effron is Ren in the new Footloose remake....way to kill a classic with a High School Musical nightmare. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">Oak Furniture – What the hell are people going to buy as antiques 100 years in the future? “Next up for auction is this classic do it yourself oak veneer desk from Wal-Mart that remarkably still has the cardboard backing intact….do I hear $4?” Here’s an experiment, go to Oak Express and try to find anything that is solid oak. You won’t find it, they may tell you it is solid, but if you look, only the trim is solid wood. “Packing significant lumber” means something entirely different these days. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">Big Mac – Remember when a Big Mac was big? Compare that to the Double Six Dollar Burger from Carl’s and it isn’t even a warm-up. Perception is an amazing thing. No wonder our kids out weigh us by the age of seven. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">Gym class – Back in my day we were required to do push-ups, sit-ups, and run to pass the class. Now, I actually have an in-law whose child is taking her high school gym class via internet. No joke. She doesn’t even go to a gym, or a school. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">Military – Remember when the military kicked your ever-loving ass to train you. Made you enter a gas chamber until you puked blood so you knew the effects of gas. Spit in your face and made you a hardened fighting machine. Now they can’t even get in your face without fear of a lawsuit. They are a politically-correct, equal opportunity employer,. So you can’t run a mile, come on in, we’ll find something for you. Call me crazy, but I would prefer the physically elite as my country’s bodyguard. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">Grades – I read an article where some schools have forbidden red ink being used to correct tests. They say it has a bad association for the kids and seeing the red marks makes them feel bad. Way to prepare kids for the vicious world out there you idiots. When they are out of a job, I wonder if they will ask the bank not to use red ink when describing the negative $600 balance in their checking account. It should make them feel better. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">Yellow Pages – Remember when it wasn’t just a link on the internet? </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">These are just a couple of things that make me fear for our future and pine for our past. I won’t touch on current music because if you have ears, you already know. Wow, if I am this disconnected by 32, I’m going to be insufferable by the age of 50.<br /></span>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-14657780942953549712008-08-04T07:00:00.000-07:002008-08-04T07:00:01.207-07:00Damn You Vacuum Man!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNq4UYf_pYq6Xmc_g92ZilwvMXaOMytVX3DdJ7H8AT5IsLX_EzicPvNq_EolOM6HW108a1eoSHfZLnonrpxH52939GEQScuWHcaVGgfrzCkCpWLNK4DZ0ktMYJLSJpUAI0BQgRFwM5KCg/s1600-h/vacuum.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5229982593218718642" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNq4UYf_pYq6Xmc_g92ZilwvMXaOMytVX3DdJ7H8AT5IsLX_EzicPvNq_EolOM6HW108a1eoSHfZLnonrpxH52939GEQScuWHcaVGgfrzCkCpWLNK4DZ0ktMYJLSJpUAI0BQgRFwM5KCg/s320/vacuum.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="color:#000000;">Five years ago I needed a new vacuum cleaner for the house, so I start checking the local stores to find something to replace the ol’ Phantom Fury. After talking with a friend, I head down to a little, independent vacuum salesman with a tiny shop in the worst part of town. When your vacuum dealer is wedged between an auto body paint supply and a pawn shop, and across the street is the porn store, you might want to keep driving. Nonetheless, I stop and head inside to see what he has.<br /><br />I couldn’t imagine what this guy could offer because, let’s just say, if he sells one vacuum every week, he is probably ecstatic. I find a Hoover and he sells me on the 5 years of free bags and 2 years of in-house warranty including free belts. Free belts?...You kidding me? He is also a repair man, so I think it might be nice to have a local place to drop it off if we have problems. Plus, 5 years of bags? That is a whole lot of free bags. (BTW: He strongly opposed the bagless vacs and I listened.)<br /><br />I head up to the counter and pay and then ask for my bags. Then it hits he…he has no intentions of giving anyone 5 years of bags, and here’s why. He hands me a little punch card with 10 circles on it. In order to get your free bags, you must come in for a single package every six months. My months were Jan. and July. If you don’t come in during those months, in the years indicated on the punch card, you are out of luck. Further, he will keep no record of your purchase, so you must have the original punch card to get your bags. I’ve already paid, but am a little angry that he is setting up a seemingly impossible scenario.<br /><br />How often do you think about vacuum bags? Can you keep a punched business card for 5 years? Of course not, nobody can…but me. I decided right then and there that this guy wouldn’t beat me. He sold on me on something and then, like mail-in rebates, set up so many hoops to jump through that nobody could negotiate successfully. He had no idea who the hell he was dealing with.<br /><br />So my wife and I make a vow right then and there to beat the vacuum man. We had our months marked and took in that raggedy little punch card every 6 months for 4 ½ years. We had some close call, hitting the last week, if not the last day of the month. I could see the disgust in this eyes every time we walked in for free bags and didn’t buy a thing. It was a thing of beauty. I had him on the ropes, we were so close.<br /><br />But alas, we lost. Yesterday, August first, my wife calls me in horror.<br /><br />“I forgot the vacuum bags” is all she says. She didn’t have to remind me that July was our month, gone, never to return, no more bags for you.<br /><br />“Nnnnnnnnnooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” I shriek, as the receiver drops from my shaking hand.<br /><br />The vacuum bag Nazi won. He knew it the whole time. Game over.<br /><br />Vacuum man, I’ll see YOU in HELL!<br /><br /></span>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-84109481550311609372008-08-01T07:00:00.000-07:002008-08-01T07:00:01.103-07:00You Can't Go Home Again.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieY9XGd32yjMddgcIxWfJNWrVraZidQ1clbvrzRl4ZOxmTUt9w4fvuckDlD81MZQ7u8rLgoRX2mh7CmggCFE5k1lwcXS5Seu9gBuxUuAHeE1HSTf7Ect94qrzbj8IgD_0E0ufDud5_HEQ/s1600-h/trashyard.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227899676324429522" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieY9XGd32yjMddgcIxWfJNWrVraZidQ1clbvrzRl4ZOxmTUt9w4fvuckDlD81MZQ7u8rLgoRX2mh7CmggCFE5k1lwcXS5Seu9gBuxUuAHeE1HSTf7Ect94qrzbj8IgD_0E0ufDud5_HEQ/s320/trashyard.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> I went to my hometown last weekend for a wedding and did a little nostalgic site seeing.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Wow, things change.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I cruised by the house I grew up in and it now resides smack dab in the middle of trailer trash alley.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I tried to turn around in the cul-de-sac but the mountain trash had so many cars lined up on the street that I had to do a three point turn on the circle drive. </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"></span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I glanced over at my old buddy Dusty’s house and it is now a run down pile of garbage.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">It’s funny because I always thought it was so nice compared to our house.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I looked through the fence that was missing most of the pickets to see a hoodless Fiero sitting in the back yard.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">No, there isn’t an RV access to the back yard. Why do poor people have so many cars? </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"></span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Where do they get them and why do they keep them.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Cars on blocks in the yard is a cliché….someone should tell these people that.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">The entire town is comprised of people stuck in the 80’s driving cars from the 70’s.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I guess having an emissions test does more than cut down on the smog, it also cuts down on the 1972 Chev. Blazers that are missing the hart tops too.</span><br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I also noticed that abundance of 70’s vintage home-built, wanna-be, monster trucks where the mullet clad driver had his 15 year old mate sidled right up beside him in the middle of that bench seat.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Seat belts be damned!</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I honestly haven’t seen this driving phenomenon since 1987.</span><br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I had several hours to myself so I hit more of the old haunts.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I went to the bowling alley that was a favorite hang-out.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:time style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)" st="on" minute="0" hour="12">Noon</st1:time><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> on a Saturday and not a soul to be found.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I went to the Skateland, to see if it was still around.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">It was, but not a person there either.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">The whole ½ of the town that I spent most of my childhood was now ghost-like and abandoned.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I went to my Junior High and hiked up to the track where I spent so many nights trying to shed my blubber.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">It was cracked and old and the only person out there was practicing Frisbee.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Alone.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Frisbee is a two person game at least; unless you are really, really sad and lonely.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Maybe he was getting his chops up for a big game later.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Oh, and he was at least in his 40’s.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Then, I headed to my old elementary school and it was still close to what I remembered with the exception of the four add on buildings and a parking lot where the soccer field used to be.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Kids don’t need to run when you can get a couple dozen more cars in there.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Of course, I wouldn’t let my kid walk to school in that neighborhood these days either. </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Even the park that was famous for its WWII tank had changed.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The tank is gone and was replaced with a skate park.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Those WWII guys are all almost dead anyhow, who needs to remember that crap when you can have a sweet-ass skate park for the little baggy pants bastards.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I tried to go down to a fish farm in the canyon where I used to practice my fly fishing casts, but it is now obviously owned by Randy Weaver’s extended family as is it plastered with No Trespassing signs and threats of death, dogs, and guns. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><span style="font-size:0;"></span>As an auto parts delivery driver of yester year, I also ran a couple of my old routes to see the old delivery spots.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Everyone is gone, closed down, and out of business.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I realize that it has been 15 years or more, but doesn’t any business have staying power anymore?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Every single dealership now has a different name as well.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It is like a bizzaro world.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Café Ole is now Café Meza, Taco John’s is now Indian Joes.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I felt sad, a little mad, and disgusted all at the same time.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Luckily, I have XM radio so I could go to the 80’s station to make the feeling of quazi-bizzaro time-travel complete.</p>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-40354197704783216892008-07-30T07:00:00.000-07:002008-07-30T07:00:01.139-07:00Filthy Desk<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ZqAYnxNPe-w3FYPKZuNOTVfVu-AJhq9SXnbDMI8Q-M8EOUkn6J9yfBsV_Y89yMvtcD1LX83_pjKRGr3ukLA2KF-gswsf4DzHA_mBBjDMEJ5dXg8BoOBJujB310nze7FpkW5hKymoJ8E/s1600-h/junkdesk.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227898809319484690" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ZqAYnxNPe-w3FYPKZuNOTVfVu-AJhq9SXnbDMI8Q-M8EOUkn6J9yfBsV_Y89yMvtcD1LX83_pjKRGr3ukLA2KF-gswsf4DzHA_mBBjDMEJ5dXg8BoOBJujB310nze7FpkW5hKymoJ8E/s320/junkdesk.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="color:#000000;">Clean it up!<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I live in a sea of grey cubicles, no windows, fluorescent hazy lights, and the soft glow of computer monitors staring at me from every angle.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The environment sucks bad enough naturally.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I don’t need to look at and smell your filthy garbage too.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Engineers are disgusting.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Most of us share cubicles and have about as much work space as a those Asian kids making linens for Martha Stuart. 2000 thread count sheets don't sew themselves.</span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:0;"></span>Even the most tidy of our ilk have the problem of space, so keeping complete order is difficult.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>However, exacerbating the problem with your four day old Starbucks cups, 32oz Wendy’s carafe from lunch, and no less than six empty diet Mt. Dew cans, is simply unacceptable.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>With these tight quarters, your space IS my space so give me a break and throw out some of that crap.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:0;"></span>What’s worse is the fact that we take care of our own trash where I work, so those that choose to throw away their wrappers and banana peels often do so under their desk.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>That doesn’t help when you don’t dump your garbage until the bin is overflowing.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The remaining half of Monday’s tuna sub is smoldering from hot CPU sitting next to your trash creating a make-shift kiln.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I’m holding back the bile over here.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>So here are a few rules.</p><p class="MsoNormal">No wet or decomposing garbage in the waste baskets under your desk.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">Replacement policy: if you get a new drink, the old one must be removed from your desk and disposed of in the proper place.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Go dump out that flat, watered-down Dr. Pepper in the drinking fountain if you must.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>At least it gets cleaned.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">No tuna at your desk – ever.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I used to break this rule, but now know better.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I’m here to spread the word. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Recognize proximity – If you can smell your food/drink, I can smell it.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>We are literally 3 feet from one another.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">Empty your trash – Do this once a week whether you think you need to or not.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Bread molds, milk sours, and the Chinese take-out carton stinks more than ever.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I wouldn’t have to give you this rule if you would have followed Rule 1.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:0;"></span>If your houses are anything like your desks, please don’t invite me over for dinner.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I’m not coming.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Again, I am amazed at the number of educated, inconsiderate slobs I encounter everywhere….and they complain that I am a clean freak.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Call me what you will, but at least you won’t be smelling any old apple cores or last-night’s goulash coming from my side of the room. If anything, you will get the soothing aromatic waft of some watermelon hand sanitizer, and for that, I say “You’re welcome.”</p>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-91968893339694320792008-07-28T07:00:00.000-07:002008-07-28T07:00:03.977-07:00RMS<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIW8STyvmQ-oruipg4rxgzg-18K_3kt-k8a0lwGMgQ_LFEnWvwfIN5D5ftDjQ6EMKCrX5ExdByUslGhsxhO9HkEHgJzIxU0y7tYog998uig2ImflV2pVSBS9DxluJwVAiYRRU1CW3u_5M/s1600-h/stinkbug.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227898350316546354" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIW8STyvmQ-oruipg4rxgzg-18K_3kt-k8a0lwGMgQ_LFEnWvwfIN5D5ftDjQ6EMKCrX5ExdByUslGhsxhO9HkEHgJzIxU0y7tYog998uig2ImflV2pVSBS9DxluJwVAiYRRU1CW3u_5M/s320/stinkbug.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="color:#000000;">Adolescence is a weird time.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Puberty, sexuality, dating; all of this hits you at once like a cruel joke.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I went through the normal crap, some of it never going away actually.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>For instance, I am bound to have acne until the day I die, and my beard is still as patchy as a 12 year old.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>My baby fat never went away, but at least I’m balding.<br /><br />There is one thing that happened to me that I believe is unique, however.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It was fleeting, lasting only 2 weeks..but it was so fowl and so nasty, that over 15 years later, my family still brings it up and mocks me as if it was yesterday…as if it was something I could control.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I am speaking of something know to my family as RMS.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It stands for Rotten Milk Shit.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Nothing else quite sums up the combination of utter bile that seemed to weep from my pores.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>For two weeks of my life I had the over powering aroma of Rotten Milk Shit.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:0;"></span>I don’t know where it came from.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I was a psycho about hygiene.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I showered twice a day, wore my green, fresh scent, Speedstick, I ate mints, I doused myself in Drakkar, I chewed 18 pieces of spearmint gum a day…yet I reeked like three week old sewage, trapped in jar, sitting in the hot sun for days.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>More interesting, I couldn’t smell it.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It permeated my soul but was undetectable to my own senses, yet it was there.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Everyone talked about it. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:0;"></span>We tried to find the origin, was it from my mouth….from my ass?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>No one could tell, but it was nasty.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Even my girlfriend at the time mentioned my interesting aroma.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>She tried to be nice, but her upturned shnoz made it abundantly clear.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>My brother coined the RMS phrase, and ever since, it has been attributed to me and a time in history that nobody wants to remember.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Now I am self conscious, to say the least.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Having this stinky knowledge, and being 16 years old, I damn near quit high school and moved to the hills.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:0;"></span>I made it through, and like all things, time healed our nostrils and the stench subsided.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I grew and got married, had kids and all is well, but the perplexing question of my unbearable stench for that two weeks of hell still plagues my mind.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Has this happened to you?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>What was it?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Did I have an anal slug?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Did my armpits get infested with black mold?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Did a rancid sea snake crawl down my throat and crap in my lungs, then burst in my belly releasing thousands of rotten undead baby snakes?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Why me, why then?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>For those of you that have been ostracized for something out of your control, I feel your pain.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I’ve been there.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I was one stinky teenage bastard.</p>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-26481793268571118142008-07-25T06:00:00.000-07:002008-07-25T06:00:03.541-07:00Horror-rific<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIUcibCcMmzax34TLROk7a8ikOevRM7vEP6j3-irpLgA4YiFYypf_3vKf0ubdp7KD0UK9ZyLsrnJCwlsVL4Jv-KOkM_mPfEVF3c_e8m7Ymih48APLrDsF4UTktdgNEtmSToqc2KH4P7Y/s1600-h/freddy.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224981678515302098" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSIUcibCcMmzax34TLROk7a8ikOevRM7vEP6j3-irpLgA4YiFYypf_3vKf0ubdp7KD0UK9ZyLsrnJCwlsVL4Jv-KOkM_mPfEVF3c_e8m7Ymih48APLrDsF4UTktdgNEtmSToqc2KH4P7Y/s320/freddy.jpg" border="0" /></a> <p>I love them, my wife hates them.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I’ve watched them my entire life and see pretty much every horror movie that comes out.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I rarely find adults that will even sit through them.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>High quality, B-horror, independent swill, nothing is off limits to me.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I even bought Fangoria magazine when I was a kid to give you an idea of how demented I truly was.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Now, at 32, I still watch and love them, and I really have no idea why.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Maybe it is my way of keeping the demons inside at bay.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Maybe it is just a connection with that part of the brain that makes us stare at a car crash.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Maybe I should be locked up or at least be forced to see a counselor for my many, many issues.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Anyhow, here is my list of “Must See” gruesome flicks for those with a taste for gore.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>They are horror-rific. Muhaaahaaha.</p><p><b><i>Poltergeist</i></b> – I still can’t sleep with dolls of any kind in the room.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Clowns ruined for everyone forever.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Worst of all, that <a href="http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/blogon/upload/2007/10/zelda3.jpg">Zelda Rubinstein</a> is the scariest little person I’ve ever seen in my life.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I still have nightmares about her….and that voice.<span style="font-size:78%;"> </span>Meatwad.<span style="font-size:78%;"> <span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Meatwad. Stay away from <span style="font-size:85%;">the <span style="font-size:78%;">light</span>.</span></span> </span>(Just typing her name gives me the shivers)</p><p><b><i>Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003)</i></b> – Wow, that had some disturbing scenes, even for me…and I have no soul.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Rock salt on a stump, while the guy is twisting on a meat hook?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>What kind of sick…</p><p><b><i>House of 1000 Corpses</i></b> minus the ending – Rob Zombie had a fantastic movie going with the demented family…the ending ruined it, but the first ¾ was great.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The clown guy is ridiculously foul.</p><p><b><i>Last house on the left</i></b> – Many writers put this movie in their top 10 list.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It was brutal for its time and still has you finishing the movie with that icky feeling.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>How long are you going to hold “Shocker” over Wes Craven’s head?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>This was good.</p><p><b><i>Halloween (2007)</i></b>– Rob Zombie has an uncanny ability when depicting the lowest common denominator in society.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>When the stepdad comments on the stepdaughter’s “nice little dumper”, I wanted to slit his throat myself.</p><p><b><i>Jaws</i></b> – You know you can’t even swim in a swimming pool at night….and it’s been 30 years.</p><p><b><i>Hellraiser</i></b> – This series introduced us to the “Tortured Souls”.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It is the kind of imagery that would make Satan weep.</p><p><b><i>The Shining</i></b> – All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy….and those twins, come on.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Kubrick is a creepy bastard.</p><p><b><i>Dawn of the Dead</i></b> – The opening scene, with the neighbor girl in the hallway, good.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Undead baby being born, awesome. Sniper taking shots at a zombie Rosie O’Donnell from the rooftop, Priceless. Zombie movies rock, and this is probably the best.</p><p><b><i>The Ring</i></b> – That girl coming out of the well freaks me big time.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>And the dead girl in the closet, damn that’s nasty.</p><p><b><i>Faces of Death</i></b> – These were popular when I was young.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Supposedly all real stuff.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Poor little monkey.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>If you know what I’m talking about you are a sick freak.</p><p><b><i>The Hills Have Eyes (2006)</i></b> – Gotta love the deformed Cannibals, it’s a “can’t go wrong” formula, with the exception of Wrong Turn 2, that is.</p><p><b><i>Children of the Corn</i></b> – Question me not Malachi, for I am the Giver of the Word!</p><p><b><i>Candyman</i></b> – Y<span style="font-family:georgia;">ou know you w</span>on’t say it….look in a mirror and try.</p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span style="line-height: 115%;">Seven</span></i></b><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';" ><span style="font-family:georgia;"> –<span style="font-family:georgia;"> </span>I walked out of the theater with a dull ache in the pit of my stomach. They broke all the rules and left me furious and disgusted. Well done.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span style="line-height: 115%;">Evil Dead</span></i></b><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';" ><span style="font-family:georgia;"> – Gotta give props to my boy Bruce Campbell. He is awesome. Farewell to Arms was on the nightstand, that is some funny shiznit.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:georgia;" ><o:p><strong><em>Ghost Ship</em></strong> – The opening scene alone merits mention here. An anchor line filleting an entire dance floor? Oh my dear, sweet, feathery, Lord.</o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p><b><i>Nightmare on Elm Street</i></b> – This is my number one of all time.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I spent a great deal of my childhood idolizing Freddy.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Every other movie in this series is laughable, but the first was excellent in every way.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Don’t try to argue, it’s perfect.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I’ll blog about my own Freddy gloves sometime.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Yes gloves, there have been several.</p>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-75863099262266646602008-07-23T07:00:00.000-07:002008-07-23T07:00:05.144-07:00Douche Squared<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">The guy on this phone message is awesome. I admittedly haven't been in the dating scene for a while....ever really, but I'm pretty sure I would be a fantastic catch if this is my competition. I'm not sure what the plural of douche is, douchi, douchon, douchod....but this guy goes way beyond singular doucheness...He is at least douche squared. Possibly even douche to the power of douche.</span><br /><br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RwjXxEKRmu0;hl=en"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RwjXxEKRmu0;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-39946735629653965692008-07-21T07:00:00.001-07:002008-07-21T07:00:08.099-07:00A Letter to a Friend<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqyd4oZCktqbNU-P1rUA3qKfMVHAUJcUJqomReaThRM3OeyXKN-0uA4yECBZngv_x5Zs0rp_SBFSCg15ZhvGJ1BVwNbJnJY0RMQaav0xGXaWztqBGjyi9HFwOTbnYEJcSt5V0JheeBzBA/s1600-h/Streets_of_fire57.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225257479049542610" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqyd4oZCktqbNU-P1rUA3qKfMVHAUJcUJqomReaThRM3OeyXKN-0uA4yECBZngv_x5Zs0rp_SBFSCg15ZhvGJ1BVwNbJnJY0RMQaav0xGXaWztqBGjyi9HFwOTbnYEJcSt5V0JheeBzBA/s200/Streets_of_fire57.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="color:#000000;">Dear Friend (you know who you are),<br /><br />Please never, ever …ever recommend a “classic” movie to me again. You have tried and I have tried, but this isn’t working out. Remember when we were going to see <em><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0329101/"><span style="color:#000099;">Freddy vs. Jason</span></a></em> in the theater on that fateful Friday night? As I was leaving work on Thursday, you said “You absolutely have to watch <em><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0107254/"><span style="color:#000099;">Jason Goes to Hell</span></a></em><span style="color:#000099;"> </span>tonight because it ties directly into the movie we are seeing tomorrow.” I venture to the local Hastings and to my dismay; they don’t have a copy for rent. To my further dismay, the only copy they have for sale is $23. You said I must watch it, so I fork over the cash and take it home. If memory serves me correct, there is a point in the movie where Jason’s HEART crawls across the floor, lifts one of its ventricles, could have been an aorta, and the vein screams before it scurries off like an oversized spider. It screamed. It frickin’ screamed. What’s worse, the tie in part you mentioned was exactly 4 seconds long, I timed it. Jason’s mask is laying on the sand and a Freddy glove pops up and pulls in under. Wow, I wouldn’t really consider that a must see event, but even if it were, it couldn’t be worth the $6/second I was forced to pay.<br /><br />I also remember a little show that you said was fantastic by the name of <em><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0088194/"><span style="color:#000099;">Streets of Fire</span></a></em>. It did have Willem Defoe, but then again, he was shirtless and wearing rubber chest waders through the whole thing. Need I say more? OK, I will. You also said </span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0085475/"><span style="color:#000099;"><em>Eddy and the Cruisers</em> </span></a><span style="color:#000000;">was right up my alley. Tripe is delicious, big bursting mouthfuls of coagulated tripe, compared to this pile of garbage. It isn’t unknown because it was under the radar of Hollywood; it is unknown because it sucks major rhino.<br /><br />Then we come to last night’s flick. I remember a long conversation where you stood and looked at me in amazement that I hadn’t seen one of the best movies ever made. You went on and on about the cast and the movie. So I got </span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0086856/"><span style="color:#000000;"><em><span style="color:#000099;">The Adventures of Buckaroo Bonsai Across the 8th Dimension</span></em> </span></a><span style="color:#000000;">from Netflix and sat down for some entertainment. I still don’t know how it ended, because nobody knows how it ends. If you can sit through that entire movie, you are a better man than I. I sat through <em><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0365513/"><span style="color:#000099;">Monster Man</span></a></em> and <em><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0315411/"><span style="color:#000099;">Serial Slayer</span></a></em> which were both filmed with a Sony Hi8 camcorder, yet I couldn’t sit through Bonsai. <em>Monster Man</em> actually had a sex scene where the girl used a Yoda voice and said “Take me you will, with your light saber, you must.” Oscar winning writing compared to Buckaroo.<br /><br />We are obviously not in the same place when it comes to movies. I also need to publicly state that <em><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120591/"><span style="color:#000099;">Armageddon</span><span style="color:#000099;">,</span></a></em> while an entertaining film, is not the end-all, be-all of writing, cinematography, and acting. No, I didn’t cry at the end and no, it didn’t change my life as it did yours. As for the Bonsai recommendation, I can say only this. Damn you my friend, damn you straight to the hot place. Fifth ring, turn left, fourth spit…and roast slowly.<br /><br /><br /></span>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-6170833058653217332008-07-19T15:54:00.000-07:002008-07-19T15:57:57.373-07:00Feeding the Ducks - Karma is a Be-otch 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiew7wpNYegnGoHBo-KXyAdib_Dg2w4TbGYXOgTuYv3wB2IPLBmU61scpZ6JsbHJ9CpeucYr_Ds4R5PLQcYoz98FTGqWbmboPKUh_7sSWqaWIUpkjkj96-MrLxc5T5YOSwz4RNsHE7vDUk/s1600-h/ducks.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiew7wpNYegnGoHBo-KXyAdib_Dg2w4TbGYXOgTuYv3wB2IPLBmU61scpZ6JsbHJ9CpeucYr_Ds4R5PLQcYoz98FTGqWbmboPKUh_7sSWqaWIUpkjkj96-MrLxc5T5YOSwz4RNsHE7vDUk/s320/ducks.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224862702198271906" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">If you have read some of my other blogs you already know that I used to be a hunter.<span style=""> </span>Duck hunting was probably my favorite, but I killed pretty much anything.<span style=""> </span>The killing has mostly stopped, but Karma has kicked in again and my kids and I are paying for it in little ways.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I took my kids to the park the other day to feed the ducks.<span style=""> </span>We took some bread and strolled down to the water where we threw out chunks to the overstuffed fat mallards and the strange looking mixed breeds that after years of hunting, I can’t even identify.<span style=""> </span>My kids were loving it, laughing and giggling as they watched the little vacuum bills suck up the goodies.<span style=""> </span>I think it is great because we are so close to them and the kids can really get a good look at them.<span style=""> </span>The colors were bright even for the time of year.<span style=""> </span>No eclipse drakes here (for the hunters out there).<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then it happens…again.<span style=""> </span>Some old couple comes up to us with a disgusted look on their faces and start yelling at me and the kids.<span style=""> </span>“Why are you doing that?<span style=""> </span>That kills the birds.<span style=""> </span>Feeding them causes them to stay here and rely on people for food.<span style=""> </span>It screws up their migration.<span style=""> </span>Don’t you know the damage you are doing?”<span style=""> </span>My kids are scared and confused but I listen, gritting my teeth, begging them to leave in my mind, before the demons come out.<span style=""> </span>Again, my kids are there, so I apologize quietly.<span style=""> </span>Satisfied that my children were sufficiently saddened and I was adequately reprimanded, they walk off so very proud.<span style=""> </span>My hands are shaking and all I can see are crosshairs on the back of their heads as they leave.<span style=""> </span>I wanted to say so much, but I couldn’t in front of my kids.<span style=""> </span>I am proud to say, that on occasion, I maintain my self control.<span style=""> </span>Here is what I should have said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I hate ducks and plan to feed them to death with bread and grains and maybe even corn….the primary crops they feed on in Idaho anyhow, but I’ll feed them until they burst.<span style=""> </span>It will be fantastic and messy at the same time.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“The bag limit for hunting ducks in Idaho is 7/day for the three months of hunting season.<span style=""> </span>I hunted for 15 years which equates to thousands of dead ducks by my hands.<span style=""> </span>(Raising the bread) Here is to a thousand more. “ <span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Have you ever wrung a wounded ducks neck?<span style=""> </span>You hold it by the head and swing the body around very hard and fast until the neck breaks.<span style=""> </span>It is the humane thing to do when you only wound one.<span style=""> </span>Let me demonstrate, it may be a little trickier with a healthy one.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I plan to kill these ducks in a couple of months, it is only right that I fatten them up first.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“You think the bread is going to kill them?<span style=""> </span>Nah, it is the Cyanide I laced it with.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Do you know what else screws up their migration?<span style=""> </span>4-shot travelling at 2200 feet per second.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I understand that these people thought they were helping the planet and the ducks, but leave me and my kids the hell alone.<span style=""> </span>If they knew the cold blooded damned killer they were talking to, they really wouldn’t be bugging me about feeding the ducks.<span style=""> </span>Trust me, you want me feeding the ducks and trying to be a good dad with my kids.<span style=""> </span>I know the other guy.<span style=""> </span>The one I used to be.<span style=""> </span>The one that is lying just underneath the skin.<span style=""> </span>If he comes out, the only comment the coroner will have for their family is…..”They probably would have lived, if he hadn’t gutted them.”</p>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-50274564836621513382008-07-17T06:20:00.001-07:002008-07-17T08:03:53.112-07:00Karma is a Be-otch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKP05_Rke6aF3kKG8-XhrK23Dg5x5KaJyZhhbhOX4lEkHuBUM1EkkKj8ocj-4BnqIuPV_o7hYGR-DrVyLNNYvnmFWwVegdtfzYRibNePlA-oF-QmpNv6R8kexc3Y7OqH0CwrTceDVAdxU/s1600-h/Police-Gloves-Corrections.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKP05_Rke6aF3kKG8-XhrK23Dg5x5KaJyZhhbhOX4lEkHuBUM1EkkKj8ocj-4BnqIuPV_o7hYGR-DrVyLNNYvnmFWwVegdtfzYRibNePlA-oF-QmpNv6R8kexc3Y7OqH0CwrTceDVAdxU/s320/Police-Gloves-Corrections.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223972313597727570" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I finally got my due.<span style=""> </span>I was busted for fireworks this year.<span style=""> </span>The ironic thing is, I didn’t break any laws, I thought.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">My wife and kids were out of town the week before the 4<sup>th</sup>.<span style=""> </span>They were supposed to be home by Wed. but an airline issue prevented that, so they had stay until Sunday.<span style=""> </span>The 4<sup>th</sup> was Friday night.<span style=""> </span>My kids are 3 and 8 and were really excited about doing fireworks so I told them I would buy some and we would let them off when they got home.<span style=""> </span>They were instantly happy, as was I.<span style=""> </span>My kids are awesome and I love to see them get excited and enjoy these types of things. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Friday, the 4<sup>th</sup> : I head to a stand and buy a meager amount of miscellaneous fireworks.<span style=""> </span>I get some smoke bombs and snakes, ground bloom flowers and sparklers, and about 5 cones.<span style=""> </span>I told the guy I wanted no screamers, because they scare the kids.<span style=""> </span>So I don’t have much at all.<span style=""> </span>That night, on the phone, I relay that the mission was accomplished and they wouldn’t miss a thing.<span style=""> </span>They were thrilled.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> Sunday rolls around and they fly in.<span style=""> </span>Everything was pretty hectic so I tell them we should wait until Monday night so they can enjoy them.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">So it is Monday night, 9:30pm.<span style=""> </span>It isn’t quite dark yet, but I tell them we should get started so we don’t break the noise ordinance that goes into effect at <st1:time hour="22" minute="0" st="on">10pm</st1:time>.<span style=""> </span>My wife and kids come out on the front lawn and we start our 10 min. worth of kiddie-works.<span style=""> </span>Pop, fizzle…ooohh.<span style=""> </span>Doesn’t matter, the kids love it.<span style=""> </span>8 min. in, a robust elderly lady rounds the corner swaddling a dog like a nursing child.<span style=""> </span>Being considerate, I stop lighting off charges and wait for her to pass.<span style=""> </span>I didn’t want to scare the puppy.<span style=""> </span>She doesn’t pass.<span style=""> </span>She stops and then instantly starts yelling at me.<span style=""> </span>She barks “It is illegal to set off fireworks after the 4<sup>th</sup> and it’s the 7<sup>th</sup> so the 4<sup>th</sup> is long over.<span style=""> </span>My dog has to be sedated every night because of the noise. Someone is lighting off firecrackers. I have had to put up with so much of this crap.” And on and on and on and on and on.<span style=""> </span>Now at first, I apologized and explained that I literally had only one cone left and we were done and that I was only doing this because of my kids missing the 4<sup>th</sup>.<span style=""> </span>I also explain that I have nothing illegal and only have these little kid fireworks, which I show to her.<span style=""> </span>I’m keeping my cool in front of my kids because I know I’m not doing anything wrong.<span style=""> </span>I just let her keep ranting… but she won’t stop.<span style=""> </span>I understand I may be bothering you, but finish saying your piece and go.<span style=""> </span>She started in again, “I don’t care anything about your kids, you stop, now.<span style=""> </span>I can have the police here in no time.”<span style=""> </span>So right before I black out, I just quietly say “Then go call them.”<span style=""> </span>She takes my house number and walks away in a huff.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Now my kids are stressed, they don’t understand what was wrong.<span style=""> </span>My three year old little boy was jumping up and down clapping a minute earlier and now we are all looking at each other and I have that heart pounding, someone is going to die feeling in the pit of my stomach.<span style=""> </span>I wait for her to round the corner and light off the last cone, which none of us enjoy, and we head inside.<span style=""> </span>It is now <st1:time hour="21" minute="45" st="on">9:45pm</st1:time>.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> We get the kids in bed, I have my 5<sup>th</sup> snack for the night, and then at 10:45pm I get a knock at the door.<span style=""> </span>The police are there and ask me outside.<span style=""> </span>They explain that they are sick of getting calls like this and start to reprimand me.<span style=""> </span>I tell them that I was just looking on the internet and I can’t find any law that says you can’t light legal fireworks off on any day but the 4<sup>th</sup>.<span style=""> </span>He assures me it is illegal I the county although not technically the city and I can get a fine of up to $1000.<span style=""> </span>I tell him that I kept all the spent fireworks and took the two cops around the side of my house where I had exactly 5 mini cones and a couple of spent ground bloom flowers.<span style=""> </span>He looks at them and says “This is all you had?”<span style=""> </span>“Well are you done?”<span style=""> </span>I tell him that I was done 15min before <st1:time hour="22" minute="0" st="on">10pm</st1:time> so that I wouldn’t bug my neighbors.<span style=""> </span>He says he is not going to waste any more time on this and apologized for wasting my time and disturbing me. Then he left.<span style=""> </span>No fine.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Here is the irony, for probably 15 years, I not only purchased illegal fireworks, but put on displays that rivaled the Statue of Liberty show.<span style=""> </span>I’ve blown up everything in the world and never been bugged by anyone.<span style=""> </span>I’ve done more dry ice bombs, mortars, and m80s than the National Guard.<span style=""> </span>I did stop this once I had kids…and was investigated by the ATF and OSHA, but that is another story.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I also spent the first 3 years in this house in agony because of barking dogs.<span style=""> </span>They disturbed me constantly, barking all night, every night, but I never called the cops.<span style=""> </span>The first time, ever, I disturb one of these bastard’s dogs…I have a cop show up.<span style=""> </span>I realize she is old and lonely and isn’t happy unless she knows that one more person in this world hates her every single day.<span style=""> </span>I know that she is so atrocious to live with that she even has to sedate her dog to get him to stay.<span style=""> </span>I fully understand that she is a miserable person with nothing else to do, hence she stands at the window waiting for someone to bitch at. <span style=""> </span>So why does she bother carrying on?<span style=""> </span>Grab a hearty handful of the pill of your choice and….bottoms up.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I need to move to the country and move soon, because if I see that woman and her dog again, I can’t promise I won’t be wearing a suit made from her skin with a nice poodle pelt collar the next time you see me.<span style=""> </span>The only question I will ask as she drifts off in her eternal sleep is “Was it really worth it?”<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">So Karma caught up with me, finally.<span style=""> </span>I hope my kids don’t really have to continue to pay for the sins of the father, because if they do…my kids are in for a hell of a ride.</p>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-30391684299254716242008-07-15T00:43:00.001-07:002008-07-15T00:47:40.250-07:00Competition and Pressure Ruin another Hobby<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitM2jxFViIOhb1Wf-T76EqpK8g0ZABjq1wS4odyI39BGXg7bpnOC2HkxzAyp6_FiBU0GJV9LXiQD_bg5XAvJDtBBEm3-Nb0sLyMU6dRQzB8f2MAD1pN5bF_nFqY408UWRMNc1CsqSPu5k/s1600-h/Traxxas_T_Maxx_3_3_Rtr.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitM2jxFViIOhb1Wf-T76EqpK8g0ZABjq1wS4odyI39BGXg7bpnOC2HkxzAyp6_FiBU0GJV9LXiQD_bg5XAvJDtBBEm3-Nb0sLyMU6dRQzB8f2MAD1pN5bF_nFqY408UWRMNc1CsqSPu5k/s320/Traxxas_T_Maxx_3_3_Rtr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223143384525261202" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">I consider myself a Jack of all trades when it comes to hobbies.<span style=""> </span>I like to try lots of things and admittedly go overboard for short periods of time with whatever happens to be the interest of the month. <span style=""> </span>I do have fun though and usually involve friends.<span style=""> </span>The friendly involvement is the source of my problem, however.<span style=""> </span>I’ve been at my current job for over 7 years and since, I have been pushed out of many of the things I love to do, because of competition and unrelenting pressure. Let me give some examples.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Duck hunting:<span style=""> </span>My high school buddy and I watched the calendar for opening day and went as much as possible.<span style=""> </span>We had a fantastic time even when we didn’t see a thing.<span style=""> </span>Now, fast forward to my current situation; I have someone at work that likes duck hunting, but he is relentless.<span style=""> </span>I have a wife and kids, so I can’t go out every week end.<span style=""> </span>Apparently he can.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>So I head out a couple of times.<span style=""> </span>The guy takes every shot to show how fast he is and he bags every bird.<span style=""> </span>I let him take them to be polite, and not get shot. <span style=""> </span>After a couple days he starts in and I hear about how little I go.<span style=""> </span>This was right after we went, and it goes on <span style=""> </span>continually.<span style=""> </span>I’m hearing this every day.<span style=""> </span>“When we going?” “Are you ever going to use those decoys again?” “Why don’t you store your Camo and guns at my house, you’re never going to use them again.”<span style=""> </span>So I quit.<span style=""> </span>I don’t go.<span style=""> </span>Every time he asks I just say no.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Fishing:<span style=""> </span>Exact same story as above.<span style=""> </span>I quit.<span style=""> </span>Not worth it.<span style=""> </span>I have to be around these people 8 to 10 hours a day and I get so sick of hearing about it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wood Working:<span style=""> </span>Same thing.<span style=""> </span>I built quite a bit of furniture when I moved into my house which allowed me to purchase some fun wood working tools.<span style=""> </span>Guys at work hear about it and then the hassle starts.<span style=""> </span>“What you building now?”<span style=""> </span>“Those tools are expensive, have you used the plainer much?”<span style=""> </span>“Are you ever going to build anything again?”<span style=""> </span>“Why don’t you let me use them, you don’t need them anymore.” <span style=""> </span>So I quit talking about any project that I work on, and I don’t work on much anymore.<span style=""> </span>They think I don’t work on anything anymore.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Music:<span style=""> </span>I bought some instruments and got into guitar.<span style=""> </span>I took lessons for a couple of years.<span style=""> </span>I practiced regularly.<span style=""> </span>Then I start talking to the guys at work.<span style=""> </span>Some are into music, and are quite talented.<span style=""> </span>There isn’t much competition as they are experienced and I am a newbie, but they also know that fact and make it quite known to me as well.<span style=""> </span>So again it starts.<span style=""> </span>Every day.<span style=""> </span>“Did you play last night?”<span style=""> </span>“Your music is so easy and uncomplicated.” “How many hours did you actually practice last week?”<span style=""> </span>“Do you even use the drums?”<span style=""> </span>So I quit, as far as they are concerned.<span style=""> </span>They get together to play and I don’t act remotely interested.<span style=""> </span>I fiddle around with my toys on my time, but never mention it.<span style=""> </span>If they ask, I say no chance and the instruments are in storage.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">RC:<span style=""> </span>Several of us got into RC trucks.<span style=""> </span>I know, I know.<span style=""> </span>I built it up, dropped a ton of cash…and heard incessant hounding about how little I use it.<span style=""> </span>The competition was fierce, who’s was fastest, who’s had more aluminum, who had newest parts.<span style=""> </span>So I sold it at a fraction of its value and quit.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now Blogging:<span style=""> </span>A small group of current and old work buddies stared up blogs to vent and give the world a little of our twisted humor.<span style=""> </span>It started fun, but soon turned into a competition.<span style=""> </span>How many hits, how many international readers, how are you rated.<span style=""> </span>They started advertising and hitting other blogs and promoting on websites and registering and voting and…whatever.<span style=""> </span>I couldn’t do it.<span style=""> </span>It takes too much time, and frankly, my work doesn’t allow me to do it there, so home is my only option.<span style=""> </span>Nevertheless, I posted daily for a while for my own reasons, mostly fun.<span style=""> </span>Last week was a rough one in many ways, so I haven’t had a post since last Tuesday.<span style=""> </span>So it is midnight and I log on to their blogs to catch up and see that they both, independently, pulled my link from their pages.<span style=""> </span>A week off, and I’m out.<span style=""> </span>These are personal friends.<span style=""> </span>I feel a little slighted, and I may kick a little ass.<span style=""> </span>They are close enough friends that I can safely call them pricks, big fat pricks.<span style=""> </span>I know they have got to save those 14 characters for a better link, meaning someone that generates more traffic and has at least one post a day, but come on.<span style=""> </span>If they never posted again, I wouldn’t pull their link, frankly, because some of their old posts are hilarious.<span style=""> </span>I'm prone to over reaction but it just proves my point again, it is about the competition, not what we started, but how everything inevitably ends.<span style=""> </span>So I quit.<span style=""> </span>Not completely, but as far as they are concerned, I quit.<span style=""> </span></p> <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-family:";font-size:11;" ></span></span> <p class="MsoNormal">Like all of my hobbies, they are only fun if you can do them when you like, with people you like.<span style=""> </span>Once it becomes a chore and a competition….screw it.<span style=""> </span>I’m out.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span></p>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-33955547931487978312008-07-08T06:19:00.001-07:002008-07-08T06:21:07.053-07:00Mullets<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQAAv6123bJD3bEs-d0oPBxlxE4GJLnmRsDwwV-P1A97wTRkySpTvrqpVYVkwjmRXC6qDDRN2Mmugd-W7AIHnGgxbFDxNgn-iF-aWn9dVmZ6eBDbg3DjTtwFDaSRmh_61iz7uHcNPEDc/s1600-h/mullet3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQAAv6123bJD3bEs-d0oPBxlxE4GJLnmRsDwwV-P1A97wTRkySpTvrqpVYVkwjmRXC6qDDRN2Mmugd-W7AIHnGgxbFDxNgn-iF-aWn9dVmZ6eBDbg3DjTtwFDaSRmh_61iz7uHcNPEDc/s320/mullet3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220632402081558898" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">My hair was awesome.<span style=""> </span>During high school I sported a fantastic business up front, party in the back mullet.<span style=""> </span>I wore it with pride as if the length of my hair was somehow proportionate to the length of my…..<span style=""> </span>Mine fell to the center of my back and was always in perfect form.<span style=""> </span>The all-one-length grunge look that was emerging disgusted me.<span style=""> </span>I had to blow dry and brush it methodically every morning, it took an extra 20 min or so to get ready for school, but I loved my hair.<span style=""> </span>To those women who chop off their hair and say “You have no idea how much work it is to keep hair that long” I say “Yes, I absolutely do, and it is worth every second.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The mullet has gotten a bad rap but I’m sure it will be back.<span style=""> </span>It now seems to go hand in hand with the trailer trash, but no one was saying that when Metallica wore them (or maybe they did).<span style=""> </span>If people actually brought back bell bottoms, I’m sure the mullets will get another run….I’m waiting patiently, but at the rate I’m losing hair, I don’t think I’m going to make it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My wife and I dated right after high school and she hated my hair from day one.<span style=""> </span>(She says that, but I was a black leather jacket wearing, AC/DC playing, red Trans Am driving, punk that she ended up marrying.<span style=""> </span>So I think she was a closet mullet freak.)<span style=""> </span>Compound that with the fact that I was going to attend a very conservative University, and the hair had to go.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was adorned with those luscious locks for four years and was sick at the prospect of cutting them.<span style=""> </span>So I took it a step at a time.<span style=""> </span>I went to a hairdresser and had her cut one to two inches a week for the several weeks leading up to my departure to college.<span style=""> </span>The one thing I did get out of the deal was an agreement I made with my then girlfriend, now wife.<span style=""> </span>I cut my hair because that is what she wanted; so she had to agree not to cut her hair, because that is what I wanted.<span style=""> </span>Her hair was and is still quite long and very sexy.<span style=""> </span>The agreement: the day she cuts her hair is the day I stop cutting mine.<span style=""> </span>If she wants the short and sassy look, she knows that I will bring back my mullet and wear it with authority.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Aside: Skiing just isn’t the same when you don’t have 14” of hair pushed out the back of your Denver Broncos baseball cap.<span style=""> </span>As you dart down the hill, it gets pulled back by the wind creating a might flag of speed and grace.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">If you are unfamiliar with the life and times of the Mullet clad, check out the classifications on this site.<span style=""> </span>It is hilarious.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.mulletsgalore.com/">http://www.mulletsgalore.com/</a></p>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-43531984276710266572008-07-06T18:00:00.000-07:002008-07-06T18:00:01.369-07:00The Great White-Trash Ninja - Part III<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEDFCys1G-u1ddIn0byM5Pjfs-66O-Q_mdV0Mw5YSuVd5erMxVOQsjx_zjA9MimccySzsD8aO_TZxEtSGWB4MMUv-ZO7UjeK_fhPdIwV-8USYIC4bvclAHzb9e0NUE80jZFLrBZi6M72E/s1600-h/Ninja3.gif"><span style="color:#000000;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219371029239104626" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEDFCys1G-u1ddIn0byM5Pjfs-66O-Q_mdV0Mw5YSuVd5erMxVOQsjx_zjA9MimccySzsD8aO_TZxEtSGWB4MMUv-ZO7UjeK_fhPdIwV-8USYIC4bvclAHzb9e0NUE80jZFLrBZi6M72E/s320/Ninja3.gif" border="0" /></span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> The training was brutal, but the test was still to come. Becoming a hired assassin in a rural community is difficult, compound that with the fact that I was nine, and it is nearly impossible. My trials must therefore be manufactured in the form of an obstacle course and a night time run through “The Gauntlet”.<br /><br />To prepare for the trials I had to wear appropriate Ninja clothing. I picked my darkest pajamas, my mother’s robe belt, and a dark pillowcase with a slit cut for my eyes as a headdress.<br /><br />The course consisted of sprinting, undetected past the cows, scaling the wall of the barn, and diving into the upper door. You must land on the stack of hay and then get to the walls quickly. There was a railing that went along the wall that one must shimmy across until you got to the window on the other side of the barn. Once you exit the barn, you had to get to the fence without touching the ground and sprint along the upper rail. A fall, would mean failure, if a cow turned its head, you’re done.<br /><br />At the end of the fence there was a ditch that had to be cleared with a single jump. At this point you would be exactly behind the next door neighbor’s house. From there you had to move, undetected by the neighbors, through their trees, back to our back yard. The weapons were waiting, along with several cardboard foes. First, the bow. My single arrow had to hit the target fatally and then you would need to dash at the dying cardboard and finish it with the second weapon of your choosing. You know the Nunchaku was my choice to finish the job. You would then turn and throw your stars and spikes at a second enemy and then use the blowgun on the third. Every shot had to be true.<br /><br />I will spare you the drama; I passed the course in record time. There were a few places that tested my skill to their very limit, but the training had paid off. I don’t believe any Ninja since has done as well. The course record will remain mine, and mine alone.<br /><br />The Gauntlet was next. We had a concrete breezeway on the side of our house that became “The Guantlet”. The night was black as pitch and my brothers went out first to set booby-traps for me. Boxes, sticks, trip wires, whatever were fair game. My job, to get through alive. They had blow guns and paper stars and all I had were my wits and my training.<br /><br />I sprinted through jumping and dodging, calculating and assessing. I dodged most but took some hits too. I darted for the exit door, it was just in reach. I would barrel through and down the two steps to my well deserved victory. In my elation, I lost focus and missed the tiny, invisible, razor wire that my brothers had placed at ankle level across the exit doorframe. I hit it and flew forward, down the steps skinning my hands and knees in a bloody disappointment. Who the hell puts a trip wire in front of steps…in the dark? I digress. I was about to give in to the pain when I remembered my training, controlled my thoughts and pain, and stood up with honor. I was victorious, I was still alive and I was on the other side of “The Guantlet”.<br /><br />Now that I was a Ninja, I could put my weapons in their rightful place. Every one of them was hung on the wall next to my bed. A couple of Asian bandanas were tacked up as well to emphasize my new roots. No need to keep them a secret. I had earned them.<br /><br />The tests were difficult but something special got me through. I repeated a song in my head when things got tough, “You’re the best, around. Nothings gonna ever keep you down”. It worked for Ralph Macchio, and it worked for me. I was nine. I was a Ninja.<br /><br /></span>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-58278462202987136382008-07-05T18:00:00.000-07:002008-07-05T18:00:00.720-07:00The Great White-Trash Ninja - Part II<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsIlo6Mf6miz9_NmVHgksgGBmSk6v0QTxiu8KHDNeZOnAdNih0kXONBR2-Px9YQH0-UPqaQvKUxd7PEca1kxN9VTudWTlwj0Pyr_nmolzIDKeJqHZMe15KzwYJHLH0O_s1yG19MAzPDD8/s1600-h/ninja2.jpg"><span style="color:#000000;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219259497635516610" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsIlo6Mf6miz9_NmVHgksgGBmSk6v0QTxiu8KHDNeZOnAdNih0kXONBR2-Px9YQH0-UPqaQvKUxd7PEca1kxN9VTudWTlwj0Pyr_nmolzIDKeJqHZMe15KzwYJHLH0O_s1yG19MAzPDD8/s320/ninja2.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> A Ninja’s training is rigorous and requires mastery over the mind, body, and spirit. As a nine year old, I broke my training into these three categories. </span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"><br /><strong><em>The Mind</em></strong>: As a Ninja, I had to be sharp and constantly aware of my changing surroundings. I would create exercises where I would run through a room and then write down everything I saw. Any potential hiding spots, potential points of entry and exit for me or an attacker, even the color of the towel lying across the chair were all facts that my mind must capture and assess in a flash. With a split-second glance, a Ninja must be able to completely evaluate the situation and recreate to perfection that which he just saw. Any miscalculation could result in the death of yourself or an innocent bystander. You will be battling other Ninjas remember, not your typical 3rd grade bullies. </span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"><br /><em><strong>The Body</strong></em>: Mastery of all of Ninja weapons is prerequisite to embarking on any umm……Ninja mission that requires a Ninja. Nunchaku was my specialty and I spent hours in the back yard perfecting my craft. The ability to strike with said weapon is really not the point. Most foes will cower in fear when they see you flip those sticks in a blur about your face, chest, neck, and head. I spun them across my legs, waist, armpits, and hands leaving some bruised flesh which, to me, were really badges of honor showing my expertise in an ancient art. </span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"><br />The other weapons were secondary but I did practice them all. Side note, trying to throw a Chinese Star with your toes is not as easy as it seems. Specifically, without a split-toe Ninja boot, you’re playing with fire when using sharp Swather blades for stars. Also, I’ve hacked and beaten apart countless cardboard boxes with various Ninja tools. A cardboard box when adorned with a drawn face and body becomes a very lifelike training dummy. </span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"><br />When conventional weapons fail, you are left with the most deadly Ninja weapon of all, your body. The knuckles must be hardened and callused so I would practice punching a wooden fence. I would focus all of my energy into the slab of my hand and practice the “Dim Mock” by breaking stick after stick, pencil after pencil, board after board. The feet and legs must be limber so I would stretch and volley a flurry of round house kicks into the air. I would punch and backhand, crouch and pose. Every digit became honed, every digit became deadly. </span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"><br />Reflexes are also an imperative. To hone this skill, I would go to the back yard with my brother or sister and play a deadly game of <a href="http://www.cpsc.gov/CPSCPUB/PUBS/5053.html">lawn darts</a>. These are illegal now for a reason. The twist was, instead of just trying to hit the little loop, we had to catch the darts mid-flight. You learn very quickly to reach late rather than early. After this became too easy, we moved to arrows. Every quality Ninja movie shows a Ninja catching an arrow. True to form, I had a friend shoot my arrow at the fence. Using lightning speed, I would strike down with my hand and try to catch the flying spear. I don’t wish to brag as the Ninja is always humble, but I will just say that they can be caught. Don’t try this at home kids…I am a Ninja. </span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"><br />A Ninja must have perfect balance. To train I would study the animal with perfect balance, the cat. Note that it always lands on its feet. As an exercise, I would lie on my back and try to flip over onto all fours as quickly and quietly as possible. Further, we also had many wooden fences that I would walk across. I would run from fence post to fence post on the top rail where I would then stand and practice the infamous Crane-Kick. I would also stand on the ground and jump up onto the lower fencing rail and try to stick the landing without using my hands.<br /><br /><strong><em>The Spirit</em></strong>: Mediation is a Ninjas best ally. If you were captured by, let’s say, 500 evil Ninjas (because that's how many it would take), and were subjected to torture, you must be able to step your mind outside of your body so that you feel nothing. <a href="http://www.ninjaa.com/kuji2.htm">Kuju</a> must therefore be regularly practiced. Closing one’s eyes and meditating while making shadow puppets and gang signs is the only true way to connect with your Qi. </span><br /><span style="color:#000000;"><br />Now that my mind, body, and spirit form a perfect triangle of death, I have but one thing to do…put my skills to the test.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="color:#000000;"></span><span style="color:#000000;"></span><span style="color:#000000;"></span>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-16515663845242424702008-07-04T18:00:00.000-07:002008-07-04T19:58:38.657-07:00The Great White-Trash Ninja - Part I<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJFfzIh-4RzCHxZR72d__b8xmZWDcPeFsQruMXWVhCZ1fz7kDpKDNaRs2xcQ3RVgzF5iiV_6f9SSv3RwWfhzN2iQG1C4BlpPtPO-etA1zITZtbwjDGJ3aC-ktacvyaKVVXrcskPOTlXzc/s1600-h/ninja.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219237699452408914" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJFfzIh-4RzCHxZR72d__b8xmZWDcPeFsQruMXWVhCZ1fz7kDpKDNaRs2xcQ3RVgzF5iiV_6f9SSv3RwWfhzN2iQG1C4BlpPtPO-etA1zITZtbwjDGJ3aC-ktacvyaKVVXrcskPOTlXzc/s320/ninja.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">This is part one of a multipart series illustrating how at a very young age I became nothing less than a full-on, phantom of the night, havoc reaping, fearless Ninja Warrior.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Thus my story begins.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">It is 1984, you’re nine years old, and you want to become a Ninja.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>You watch the popular American Ninja series, Enter the Dragon, anything starring Chuck Norris, and a host of other “training” videos to study your moves and to learn about your implements of death.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Your path to becoming a Ninja requires martial arts, but let’s forget about that for now, you’ve got to get some weapons.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Problem is, you are also poor white trash and couldn’t rub two nickels together if your life depended on it.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Ninja weapons don’t look cheap, so like Luke constructing his light saber, you must build your own.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The following is a true account of how I did precisely that.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The gear:<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Nunchaku (Nunchuks):<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>First, let me say, if you call them numb-chucks…I will kill you with a throwing star.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Now, we need the wood to start.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I checked the shed and sized up the handles on all of the yard tools, but knew my father would end me quickly if I cut them up.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>So I opted for mom’s broom handle.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I took a hack saw and cut two 12” lengths.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I screwed a couple of eyelets into one end of each of them and then hacked off a 5” chunk of chain from the tire snow chains in the back of the Pinto.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Nobody would know.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I attached the eyelets to the chain but still only had a semblance of a real weapon.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Then it hit me, I took the black electrical tape from the garage and wrapped each handle completely in the midnight black sheathing.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I now had my first set of authentic Nunchaku. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Tri-chucks or Segmented Staff:<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>See Nunchaku, but add a center section so that you have three sections of wood separated by two lengths of chains.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>You can then hold two sections and whip the third around in a tornado of death.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Bo staff:<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Take an entire broom handle (yes had to steal another broom) and cut off only the threads.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Wrap entire length in electrical tape.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Tape mod – try wrapping the handle in one direction leaving a gap between wraps, then wrap using the same technique in the other direction.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>A pleasing zigzag of terror is the result.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Shuko (Ninja climbing claws):<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Ever wonder how those Ninjas scale a building?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>They use climbing claws strapped to their feet and hands.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>This one took some ingenuity.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The strapping had to be very tough as it had to support my ample, nine year old, weight.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I found the perfect stuff back in that Pinto.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I cut out the back seatbelt and used the material as the base for my claws.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I then took the pre-mentioned hack-saw and cut two, 4 tine sections out of my dad’s metal yard rake.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>We didn’t rake, we didn’t mow, what the hell would we rake?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I then poked four holes in the wrap that goes around the palm and pushed the rake sections through.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I repeated this for the other side and I had my climbing claws.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Side note: I did try to scale a brick wall, but the seat belt just folded up in my hand.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>This still needs a little work and I wasn’t sure where to put the electrical tape either.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Ninja Throwing Spikes:<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>You ever throw a pencil into the ceiling?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>That little parlor trick originated in ancient Japan with throwing spikes.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>A Ninja can drop a man at 20 yards with these little beauts.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Take a 16-penny nail and cut the flat part off.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Strap 4 of them to your wrist with some Velcro and you’re set.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Throwing-Star:<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The bulk of these were made with folded paper.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Not as effective as the real ones, but good for diversions.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I made a real one with Swather blades riveted together.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I didn’t have a riveter, so I had to smash the rivet with a large rock.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>This was a little bulky to throw, but very sharp.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>If you don’t know what a Swather is, then you didn’t grow up on a farm….click <a href="http://www.alibaba.com/product-gs/203248920/Swather_Blade.html">here</a>. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Long Bow:<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I found a super cheap (free), yellow, plastic, re-curve bow at a yard sell that didn’t have a string, or an arrow for that matter.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I found some ½” cotton rope and cut it to the proper length.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I opened up the mesh and pulled out the cotton center.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>What was left was the stringy outer mesh, that when stretched, became the perfect bow string.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>All of this is so true it is scary.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>So I tied it to the bow and was set.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The yellow color was not a problem after I wrapped the entire thing in electrical tape.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I rounded up a single target arrow from a friend and shot that thing at the fence at least a thousand times.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Blow gun:<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>We had some ½ inch aluminum pipe in the garage from something.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I cut a 12” length of it and wrapped it in electrical tape.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It was perfect for shooting uncooked pinto beans.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I could nail you in the back of the neck from 15 feet with that thing.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>You would never see it coming.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Whhhhpppt.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Ow!</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Grappling Hook:<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Tried and tried.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>This can’t be built without a welder.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Sorry, no grappling hook for this Ninja…trials included bent pipes tied to string, the remains of the rake tied to string, lashed together bent pipes tied to string.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Alas, I failed.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Kama (Ninja Tomahawk): <span style="font-size:0;"></span>I actually found a Swather blade that was welded to the end of a 12” steel rod.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It was the find of the century and, when painted black, was the perfect Kama.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Manriki-Gusari (Some kind of trip chain Ninjas throw):<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>See Nunchaku but use a 3 foot chunk of chain and little 3” handles.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Throw it correctly and it will wrap around your victims feet rendering them immobile.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It is almost too easy.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Tetsu-Bishi (Ninja tacks):<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Just use regular tacks.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>When used in combination with marbles, this becomes deadly.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Consider an attacker chasing you.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>You drop a few hundred tacks with about 20 marbles behind you as you run.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>They hit those marbles like a wet banana peel and whoopsi-daiz, down they come on a whole lot of pain.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Tanto (Ninja knife):<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Any old knife becomes a Tanto when the handle is wrapped in black electrical tape.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I had several.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Steak knives can work in a pinch, but really try for something non-serrated if you want to stay authentic.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Bokken (Wooden training sword):<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Wrapping paper tubes are your best bet for this.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It is relatively painless when you are a beginner and has an amazing likeness to a real Ninja sword.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Ninja Sword: I had a friend give me an old, broken, fencing sword.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">It was nothing like a Ninja sword except I could strap it to my back with my father’s belt and it had a straight blade.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Fools may believe a Ninja has a curved sword, but the diehards know that only the Samurai had a curved blade.</span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Ninjas, like me, use a straight blade for killin’.</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000000;">I had my tools, now I needed some skills. On to the training....</span>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-63392744163927611422008-07-03T18:00:00.000-07:002008-07-03T19:45:55.554-07:00Inventions<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDz_ebP0grFVROh72GmLDIbeOLp9AWELVeXCKnPG4JClzhQO0fdxqJ6kiW_53P4b51tZiCRb49w07X5Cn3X0D_eTZYUhILwS1WtnT2u5DbqUN5BlBRMQmum2KHBSFSDc3eOnuqori0Jt0/s1600-h/Topsy-Main.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDz_ebP0grFVROh72GmLDIbeOLp9AWELVeXCKnPG4JClzhQO0fdxqJ6kiW_53P4b51tZiCRb49w07X5Cn3X0D_eTZYUhILwS1WtnT2u5DbqUN5BlBRMQmum2KHBSFSDc3eOnuqori0Jt0/s320/Topsy-Main.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217180322428937906" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Several close friends and family members know about some things that I have invented.<span style=""> </span>By invented, I mean that I came up with an idea on my own, but others obviously had similar ideas as many were and are currently available.<span style=""> </span>A have a couple more that will likely go commercial by someone else leaving me with regret and that “I should have tried to sell that” feeling.<span style=""> </span>Also, because of personal beliefs, I couldn’t go public with a couple of excellent ideas that I know would have made me money….and I thought really hard about it too.<span style=""> </span>I will leave it at that, but let’s just say they would have been marketed on some pretty scandalous web sites and I wouldn’t have wanted to tell anyone that the ideas came from me.<span style=""> </span>Here are some other gems.<span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style=""><span style="">1)<span style=""> </span></span></span>Topsy Tail – I don’t know if you remember this, but it was a little plastic loop that allowed you to take a pony tail and flip it back inside itself.<span style=""> </span>I did this with my sister’s hair and a makeshift Topsy Tail approximately 2 years before we saw it on TV.<span style=""> </span>I was a kid but actually thought that it would be a cool hair thingy to be able to buy.<span style=""> </span>It made plenty of money.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style=""><span style="">2)<span style=""> </span></span></span>Camping Totes – I thought someone should just compile camping necessities in an easy tote and just market the entire thing.<span style=""> </span>Then, when you head out, you don’t need to do anything but grab the tote, and you never forget anything.<span style=""> </span>Several years after this idea, which was really just a marketing idea, I walked into a sporting goods store and saw exactly this.<span style=""> </span>I missed again.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style=""><span style="">3)<span style=""> </span></span></span>A buddy and I wanted to sell a daily calendar that had funny names for sexual positions like “The Ultimate Warrior”, “The Stranger”, or “Ruty, Tuty, Fresh, and Fruity” on each day and have the definitions on the back.<span style=""> </span>We know it would have been huge for college kids and guys in general.<span style=""> </span>This one almost went to fruition, but we both had second thoughts about making bank on some pretty nasty stuff.<span style=""> </span>A couple of months ago, we saw it in a store.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style=""><span style="">4)<span style=""> </span></span></span>CPCs – Cotton Penis Caps.<span style=""> </span>Women have no understanding of this, but after a man urinates, there is often a little drip left which can cause an embarrassing wet spot in the front of the pants.<span style=""> </span>Dockers are the worst.<span style=""> </span>I’ve tried tapping, shaking, wiggling, flicking, milking, and nothing seems to fix this.<span style=""> </span>You think you are done, put it away and boom, wet spot.<span style=""> </span>So we could really use a little manpon of sorts to block the floodgates.<span style=""> </span>I haven’t seen this on the market and the details aren’t worked out, but I could really use a little capper.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style=""><span style="">5)<span style=""> </span></span></span><span style=""> </span>Wet wipes for adults – A buddy and I discussed this because let’s be honest, if you got feces on your hands, you wouldn’t just wipe it off with a dry paper towel and go about eating your sandwich.<span style=""> </span>‘Nuff said.<span style=""> </span>I hear they have this now too.<span style=""> </span>BTW…Clorox wipes should NEVER be used for this.<span style=""> </span>Wow, that stings.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style=""><span style="">6)<span style=""> </span></span></span><span style=""> </span>Doughnuts filled with Soft Serve Ice Cream – If people buy deep fried Twinkies, they will buy hot, fresh doughnuts filled with soft serve.<span style=""> </span>I haven’t seen this yet, but a county fair would be a great starting place to market it.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style=""><span style="">7)<span style=""> </span></span></span>Handimals – I thought kids might like little animal puppets that had individual finger slots for the legs where the body rests on top of the hand.<span style=""> </span>I did some searching and found that this had already been marketed and was actually called Handimals as well.<span style=""> </span>Missed another one, name and all.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0in;">I realize that I have given away a couple here, but I have to be honest with myself, I will never do anything with them.<span style=""> </span>I’ve proven that over and over.<span style=""> </span>If you do perfect the CPC, let me know and I’ll buy some.<span style=""> </span>These are just a sample of some of the stupid things I come up with. If you think these are all lame ideas please remember that the only difference between a stupid idea and an ingenious one is the amount of money it makes.<br /></p>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-88944516803124675742008-07-02T21:03:00.000-07:002008-07-03T08:10:19.167-07:00You Can't Handle the Truth!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Itiyo7sqPLgeJfFmhaHO-soa2vtue7f2Vv-fto60KXxWtzOMs3Qht6wLTdvvsKPwuGnOoZRJLFXi-w4R0qiGNsuNKLkdIoQDsAKexNfB8TgKWU3xUly0X1sj0epWPVK3186BiVAXhxM/s1600-h/loincloth.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218634869208096434" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Itiyo7sqPLgeJfFmhaHO-soa2vtue7f2Vv-fto60KXxWtzOMs3Qht6wLTdvvsKPwuGnOoZRJLFXi-w4R0qiGNsuNKLkdIoQDsAKexNfB8TgKWU3xUly0X1sj0epWPVK3186BiVAXhxM/s320/loincloth.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">You want answers?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>You want the truth?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Well then here it is.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Here are some lies that all men tell.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>You asked for it.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>And men, whether directly or by omission, you are guilty, my brothers.</p><br /><br /><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0.25in; TEXT-INDENT: -0.25in">1)I beat Mike Tyson on Mike Tyson’s Punch Out.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>You lying sack.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>You didn’t last through the first round, because nobody lasts through the first round.</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0.25in; TEXT-INDENT: -0.25in">2)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I used to bench 300.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Unless you have lifted for quite some time, you have no concept of how much 300lbs actually weighs.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I know you look at a little guy like me and say, if he pushed it, I must bench 500lbs.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Go to the gym and be humbled, 99.999% of you were never even close.</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0.25in; TEXT-INDENT: -0.25in">3)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></span></span>I wasn’t in band in high school.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Yes you were.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I am the only person that didn’t subject themselves to band.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>You lugged that tuba for four years, quit denying it.</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0.25in; TEXT-INDENT: -0.25in">4)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></span></span>I don’t cheat on my Taxes.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Oh ya, what about those internet purchases that you are supposed to claim for state sales tax?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0.25in; TEXT-INDENT: -0.25in">5)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></span></span>I’ve never crapped my pants (as an adult).<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>The average guy breaks wind about 15 times a day.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Over 365 days a year, that’s 5,475 bombs a year.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>One of those bad boys pulled a little liquid from the rim.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Besides, why else were you throwing those tidy not-so-whiteys into the dumpster outside the break room?<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Because they won’t flush, that’s why.</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0.25in; TEXT-INDENT: -0.25in">6)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></span></span>I don’t pee in the shower.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>We all pee in the shower.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>It saves 2 gal of water and is the “green” thing to do.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0.25in; TEXT-INDENT: -0.25in">7)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></span></span>The condom broke.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Your girlfriend didn’t get prego because of a faulty condom.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>They test those things with two gallons of water.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I’m afraid your little “release” didn’t even fill the reservoir tip.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>You barebacked it, just admit it.</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0.25in; TEXT-INDENT: -0.25in">8)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></span></span>I’ve never tried on a women’s underwear.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>They are silky and sexy and feel wonderful.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>You had to try it..you know you did.</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0.25in; TEXT-INDENT: -0.25in">9)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></span></span>I have never seen porn, it’s gross.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Ya, all those hot naked women performing acts we all dream about with lots of other naked hot women just make me sick.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Who do you think you are talking to?</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0.25in; TEXT-INDENT: -0.25in">10)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></span></span>I’ve never pleasured myself.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I have a friend at work that is over 40 and claims never, ever, not even once, ever, even accidently have a misfire.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>He said, and I quote “I don’t even think I would know how to do it.”<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Shut your filthy lying mouth.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I’ve been set-off by a bumpy car ride…and you have too.</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0.25in; TEXT-INDENT: -0.25in">11)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size:0;"></span>I don’t drink and drive.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Every one of you SOBs that drink, drink and drive.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Designated driver my ass.</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0.25in; TEXT-INDENT: -0.25in">12)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></span></span>Honey, your pet ran away.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Nope, it died.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>You just didn’t want to tell the kiddies.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>You buried it, flushed it, put it in a baggy and stuffed it in the trash, either way..you were an accessory.</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0.25in; TEXT-INDENT: -0.25in">13)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></span></span>I’ve never sniffed panties.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>I have never done this, but I know you have….Sicko.</p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0.25in; TEXT-INDENT: -0.25in">14)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></span></span>I’ve never tucked my penis back between my legs to see what I would look like as a girl.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>We all saw Silence of the Lambs and stood in front of a mirror in the days following and pulled the old tuck and roll.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>If you put on lipstick while doing it, you need to be in a hospital.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 0.25in; TEXT-INDENT: -0.25in">15)<span style="font-size:0;"> </span></span></span>I’ve never cut up an old pillow case to make it into a makeshift loin cloth and then after everyone left the house tore off all of my clothes, put on the loin cloth, and run around with an invisible hatchet attacking the imaginary villagers.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>Come on…fess up.</p>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6721815163792532152.post-78191833996914063602008-07-01T18:00:00.000-07:002008-07-01T18:05:16.123-07:001-8-4-3-6-5-7-2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwpzbop6Tnm2vGQdNuSAokZmmL0kOVZoHrVLsSyBUwymiaHqORBCf9WB95UNDBVLBOv3oamXQs0JvHR4AigN9ZyQn4QGohppz_RUMEZgDs493o3VsVrBBRGM7tLbTMoeLa-awYUU7n3Dw/s1600-h/chev350.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwpzbop6Tnm2vGQdNuSAokZmmL0kOVZoHrVLsSyBUwymiaHqORBCf9WB95UNDBVLBOv3oamXQs0JvHR4AigN9ZyQn4QGohppz_RUMEZgDs493o3VsVrBBRGM7tLbTMoeLa-awYUU7n3Dw/s320/chev350.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217349366886486370" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">That’s it, that’s all I remember about cars.<span style=""> </span>That is the firing order of a small block Chev 350.<span style=""> </span>Everything else is gone.<span style=""> </span>I spent 8 years working in an auto parts store and my entire childhood around people working on cars and I know absolutely nothing.<span style=""> </span>I take my car to AutoZone to get the codes read when I get a check engine light, and they tell me to tighten my gas cap.<span style=""> </span>Huh? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">People at work ask me questions because of my background but I couldn’t tell them the difference between a ball joint and a tie rod.<span style=""> </span>Do cars even have tie rods anymore?<span style=""> </span>The really bad part is the fact that I rebuilt almost every component on my sweetazz 82’ T-top Trans Am.<span style=""> </span>(Side note: Mullets and creepers don’t go together.<span style=""> </span>You get your mullet stuck in the creeper wheels while under a car and you’re SOL my friend, just grab the scissors) I knew that thing up and down and even rebuilt the wiring harness wire by wire after a fire melted the entire electrical system.<span style=""> </span>I had a sweet deal where my father would pay for my parts if I put them in.<span style=""> </span>It was awesome and I learned a ton, but all gone now.<span style=""> </span>One of my mentors at the auto parts store made me memorize the firing order and showed me how to adjust valve lash on a stand by understanding the states of each valve at different crank angles; and then adjusting them accordingly.<span style=""> </span>Great lessons, but with time, they went bye- bye.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So that was about 10 years ago but other things are lost too.<span style=""> </span>I remember the McDonalds menu song, yup, the long one, but I can’t remember your name…anyone’s name really.<span style=""> </span>I work with people for years and have no idea what their name is.<span style=""> </span>My wife mentions people from our past, no clue who the hell she is talking about.<span style=""> </span>I even had my brother tell me an old friend of mine worked with him now.<span style=""> </span>The guy told him everything about me and my friends in high school.<span style=""> </span>No idea who he is.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I know our brains must be like hard drives, with a fixed density.<span style=""> </span>I really wish I would have known this earlier prior to memorizing every C.W. McCall song and the “I want the TRUTH!” scene from “A Few Good Men.”<span style=""> </span>Further, I think I must be getting some bad blocks too because my initial fixed density is reducing with age which sucks because I’m still just a pup.<span style=""> </span>My long term memory is shot, and my brain is full so I have no chance remembering the short term either.<span style=""> </span>So I guess there is only one question to ask…”Can I borrow some cash?”<span style=""> </span></p>MeatWadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16843024566141414615noreply@blogger.com4