Huffing made easy.

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"?
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.

Old Dogs are a Dying Breed

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.

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.

Muscle cars – No 4 cylinder car is ever going to be a muscle car. Displacement, noise, and power are prerequisite. I know, I saw The Fast and the Furious 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Yellow Pages – Remember when it wasn’t just a link on the internet?

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.

RMS

Adolescence is a weird time. Puberty, sexuality, dating; all of this hits you at once like a cruel joke. I went through the normal crap, some of it never going away actually. 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. My baby fat never went away, but at least I’m balding.

There is one thing that happened to me that I believe is unique, however. 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. I am speaking of something know to my family as RMS. It stands for Rotten Milk Shit. Nothing else quite sums up the combination of utter bile that seemed to weep from my pores. For two weeks of my life I had the over powering aroma of Rotten Milk Shit.

I don’t know where it came from. I was a psycho about hygiene. 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. More interesting, I couldn’t smell it. It permeated my soul but was undetectable to my own senses, yet it was there. Everyone talked about it.

We tried to find the origin, was it from my mouth….from my ass? No one could tell, but it was nasty. Even my girlfriend at the time mentioned my interesting aroma. She tried to be nice, but her upturned shnoz made it abundantly clear. 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. Now I am self conscious, to say the least. Having this stinky knowledge, and being 16 years old, I damn near quit high school and moved to the hills.

I made it through, and like all things, time healed our nostrils and the stench subsided. 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. Has this happened to you? What was it? Did I have an anal slug? Did my armpits get infested with black mold? 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? Why me, why then? For those of you that have been ostracized for something out of your control, I feel your pain. I’ve been there. I was one stinky teenage bastard.

Horror-rific

I love them, my wife hates them. I’ve watched them my entire life and see pretty much every horror movie that comes out. I rarely find adults that will even sit through them. High quality, B-horror, independent swill, nothing is off limits to me. I even bought Fangoria magazine when I was a kid to give you an idea of how demented I truly was. Now, at 32, I still watch and love them, and I really have no idea why. Maybe it is my way of keeping the demons inside at bay. Maybe it is just a connection with that part of the brain that makes us stare at a car crash. Maybe I should be locked up or at least be forced to see a counselor for my many, many issues. Anyhow, here is my list of “Must See” gruesome flicks for those with a taste for gore. They are horror-rific. Muhaaahaaha.

Poltergeist – I still can’t sleep with dolls of any kind in the room. Clowns ruined for everyone forever. Worst of all, that Zelda Rubinstein is the scariest little person I’ve ever seen in my life. I still have nightmares about her….and that voice. Meatwad. Meatwad. Stay away from the light. (Just typing her name gives me the shivers)

Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003) – Wow, that had some disturbing scenes, even for me…and I have no soul. Rock salt on a stump, while the guy is twisting on a meat hook? What kind of sick…

House of 1000 Corpses minus the ending – Rob Zombie had a fantastic movie going with the demented family…the ending ruined it, but the first ¾ was great. The clown guy is ridiculously foul.

Last house on the left – Many writers put this movie in their top 10 list. It was brutal for its time and still has you finishing the movie with that icky feeling. How long are you going to hold “Shocker” over Wes Craven’s head? This was good.

Halloween (2007)– Rob Zombie has an uncanny ability when depicting the lowest common denominator in society. When the stepdad comments on the stepdaughter’s “nice little dumper”, I wanted to slit his throat myself.

Jaws – You know you can’t even swim in a swimming pool at night….and it’s been 30 years.

Hellraiser – This series introduced us to the “Tortured Souls”. It is the kind of imagery that would make Satan weep.

The Shining – All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy….and those twins, come on. Kubrick is a creepy bastard.

Dawn of the Dead – The opening scene, with the neighbor girl in the hallway, good. 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.

The Ring – That girl coming out of the well freaks me big time. And the dead girl in the closet, damn that’s nasty.

Faces of Death – These were popular when I was young. Supposedly all real stuff. Poor little monkey. If you know what I’m talking about you are a sick freak.

The Hills Have Eyes (2006) – Gotta love the deformed Cannibals, it’s a “can’t go wrong” formula, with the exception of Wrong Turn 2, that is.

Children of the Corn – Question me not Malachi, for I am the Giver of the Word!

Candyman – You know you won’t say it….look in a mirror and try.

Seven – 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.

Evil Dead – Gotta give props to my boy Bruce Campbell. He is awesome. Farewell to Arms was on the nightstand, that is some funny shiznit.

Ghost Ship – The opening scene alone merits mention here. An anchor line filleting an entire dance floor? Oh my dear, sweet, feathery, Lord.

Nightmare on Elm Street – This is my number one of all time. I spent a great deal of my childhood idolizing Freddy. Every other movie in this series is laughable, but the first was excellent in every way. Don’t try to argue, it’s perfect. I’ll blog about my own Freddy gloves sometime. Yes gloves, there have been several.

Karma is a Be-otch

I finally got my due. I was busted for fireworks this year. The ironic thing is, I didn’t break any laws, I thought.

My wife and kids were out of town the week before the 4^th. They were supposed to be home by Wed. but an airline issue prevented that, so they had stay until Sunday. The 4^th was Friday night. 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. They were instantly happy, as was I. My kids are awesome and I love to see them get excited and enjoy these types of things.

Friday, the 4^th : I head to a stand and buy a meager amount of miscellaneous fireworks. I get some smoke bombs and snakes, ground bloom flowers and sparklers, and about 5 cones. I told the guy I wanted no screamers, because they scare the kids. So I don’t have much at all. That night, on the phone, I relay that the mission was accomplished and they wouldn’t miss a thing. They were thrilled.

Sunday rolls around and they fly in. Everything was pretty hectic so I tell them we should wait until Monday night so they can enjoy them.

So it is Monday night, 9:30pm. 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 10pm. My wife and kids come out on the front lawn and we start our 10 min. worth of kiddie-works. Pop, fizzle…ooohh. Doesn’t matter, the kids love it. 8 min. in, a robust elderly lady rounds the corner swaddling a dog like a nursing child. Being considerate, I stop lighting off charges and wait for her to pass. I didn’t want to scare the puppy. She doesn’t pass. She stops and then instantly starts yelling at me. She barks “It is illegal to set off fireworks after the 4^th and it’s the 7^th so the 4^th is long over. 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. 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^th. I also explain that I have nothing illegal and only have these little kid fireworks, which I show to her. I’m keeping my cool in front of my kids because I know I’m not doing anything wrong. I just let her keep ranting… but she won’t stop. I understand I may be bothering you, but finish saying your piece and go. She started in again, “I don’t care anything about your kids, you stop, now. I can have the police here in no time.” So right before I black out, I just quietly say “Then go call them.” She takes my house number and walks away in a huff.

Now my kids are stressed, they don’t understand what was wrong. 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. I wait for her to round the corner and light off the last cone, which none of us enjoy, and we head inside. It is now 9:45pm.

We get the kids in bed, I have my 5^th snack for the night, and then at 10:45pm I get a knock at the door. The police are there and ask me outside. They explain that they are sick of getting calls like this and start to reprimand me. 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^th. He assures me it is illegal I the county although not technically the city and I can get a fine of up to $1000. 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. He looks at them and says “This is all you had?” “Well are you done?” I tell him that I was done 15min before 10pm so that I wouldn’t bug my neighbors. 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. No fine.

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. I’ve blown up everything in the world and never been bugged by anyone. I’ve done more dry ice bombs, mortars, and m80s than the National Guard. I did stop this once I had kids…and was investigated by the ATF and OSHA, but that is another story.

I also spent the first 3 years in this house in agony because of barking dogs. They disturbed me constantly, barking all night, every night, but I never called the cops. The first time, ever, I disturb one of these bastard’s dogs…I have a cop show up. 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. I know that she is so atrocious to live with that she even has to sedate her dog to get him to stay. 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. So why does she bother carrying on? Grab a hearty handful of the pill of your choice and….bottoms up.

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. The only question I will ask as she drifts off in her eternal sleep is “Was it really worth it?”

So Karma caught up with me, finally. 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.

Competition and Pressure Ruin another Hobby

I consider myself a Jack of all trades when it comes to hobbies. 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. I do have fun though and usually involve friends. The friendly involvement is the source of my problem, however. 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.

Duck hunting: My high school buddy and I watched the calendar for opening day and went as much as possible. We had a fantastic time even when we didn’t see a thing. Now, fast forward to my current situation; I have someone at work that likes duck hunting, but he is relentless. I have a wife and kids, so I can’t go out every week end. Apparently he can. So I head out a couple of times. The guy takes every shot to show how fast he is and he bags every bird. I let him take them to be polite, and not get shot. After a couple days he starts in and I hear about how little I go. This was right after we went, and it goes on continually. I’m hearing this every day. “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.” So I quit. I don’t go. Every time he asks I just say no.

Fishing: Exact same story as above. I quit. Not worth it. I have to be around these people 8 to 10 hours a day and I get so sick of hearing about it.

Wood Working: Same thing. I built quite a bit of furniture when I moved into my house which allowed me to purchase some fun wood working tools. Guys at work hear about it and then the hassle starts. “What you building now?” “Those tools are expensive, have you used the plainer much?” “Are you ever going to build anything again?” “Why don’t you let me use them, you don’t need them anymore.” So I quit talking about any project that I work on, and I don’t work on much anymore. They think I don’t work on anything anymore.

Music: I bought some instruments and got into guitar. I took lessons for a couple of years. I practiced regularly. Then I start talking to the guys at work. Some are into music, and are quite talented. 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. So again it starts. Every day. “Did you play last night?” “Your music is so easy and uncomplicated.” “How many hours did you actually practice last week?” “Do you even use the drums?” So I quit, as far as they are concerned. They get together to play and I don’t act remotely interested. I fiddle around with my toys on my time, but never mention it. If they ask, I say no chance and the instruments are in storage.

RC: Several of us got into RC trucks. I know, I know. I built it up, dropped a ton of cash…and heard incessant hounding about how little I use it. The competition was fierce, who’s was fastest, who’s had more aluminum, who had newest parts. So I sold it at a fraction of its value and quit.

Now Blogging: A small group of current and old work buddies stared up blogs to vent and give the world a little of our twisted humor. It started fun, but soon turned into a competition. How many hits, how many international readers, how are you rated. They started advertising and hitting other blogs and promoting on websites and registering and voting and…whatever. I couldn’t do it. It takes too much time, and frankly, my work doesn’t allow me to do it there, so home is my only option. Nevertheless, I posted daily for a while for my own reasons, mostly fun. Last week was a rough one in many ways, so I haven’t had a post since last Tuesday. 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. A week off, and I’m out. These are personal friends. I feel a little slighted, and I may kick a little ass. They are close enough friends that I can safely call them pricks, big fat pricks. 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. If they never posted again, I wouldn’t pull their link, frankly, because some of their old posts are hilarious. 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. So I quit. Not completely, but as far as they are concerned, I quit.

Like all of my hobbies, they are only fun if you can do them when you like, with people you like. Once it becomes a chore and a competition….screw it. I’m out.

You Can't Handle the Truth!

You want answers? You want the truth? Well then here it is. Here are some lies that all men tell. You asked for it. And men, whether directly or by omission, you are guilty, my brothers.

1)I beat Mike Tyson on Mike Tyson’s Punch Out. You lying sack. You didn’t last through the first round, because nobody lasts through the first round.

2) I used to bench 300. Unless you have lifted for quite some time, you have no concept of how much 300lbs actually weighs. I know you look at a little guy like me and say, if he pushed it, I must bench 500lbs. Go to the gym and be humbled, 99.999% of you were never even close.

3) I wasn’t in band in high school. Yes you were. I am the only person that didn’t subject themselves to band. You lugged that tuba for four years, quit denying it.

4) I don’t cheat on my Taxes. Oh ya, what about those internet purchases that you are supposed to claim for state sales tax?

5) I’ve never crapped my pants (as an adult). The average guy breaks wind about 15 times a day. Over 365 days a year, that’s 5,475 bombs a year. One of those bad boys pulled a little liquid from the rim. Besides, why else were you throwing those tidy not-so-whiteys into the dumpster outside the break room? Because they won’t flush, that’s why.

6) I don’t pee in the shower. We all pee in the shower. It saves 2 gal of water and is the “green” thing to do.

7) The condom broke. Your girlfriend didn’t get prego because of a faulty condom. They test those things with two gallons of water. I’m afraid your little “release” didn’t even fill the reservoir tip. You barebacked it, just admit it.

8) I’ve never tried on a women’s underwear. They are silky and sexy and feel wonderful. You had to try it..you know you did.

9) I have never seen porn, it’s gross. Ya, all those hot naked women performing acts we all dream about with lots of other naked hot women just make me sick. Who do you think you are talking to?

10) I’ve never pleasured myself. I have a friend at work that is over 40 and claims never, ever, not even once, ever, even accidently have a misfire. He said, and I quote “I don’t even think I would know how to do it.” Shut your filthy lying mouth. I’ve been set-off by a bumpy car ride…and you have too.

11) I don’t drink and drive. Every one of you SOBs that drink, drink and drive. Designated driver my ass.

12) Honey, your pet ran away. Nope, it died. You just didn’t want to tell the kiddies. You buried it, flushed it, put it in a baggy and stuffed it in the trash, either way..you were an accessory.

13) I’ve never sniffed panties. I have never done this, but I know you have….Sicko.

14) I’ve never tucked my penis back between my legs to see what I would look like as a girl. 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. If you put on lipstick while doing it, you need to be in a hospital.

15) 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. Come on…fess up.

6 Minutes that will change your life.

I'm sorry, but you need to see this. It is old but still plagues my soul. The first time I watched it, I did so without any sound. I cried and then peed and then shut it down. After talking with a couple of friends that recommended this, I watched again in its entirety, with the sound. I can't really express the cornucopia of feelings that poured over me, but it can best be described by saying naaa. NAAAAP. NA. Naaaaaat. naap.
Enjoy, but if you do....may God have mercy on your soul.

Jury Duty

I had Jury Duty last week and was a little apprehensive as I had never done that before. The whole process was pretty interesting and there were several things that I didn’t expect at all. First, I didn’t realize that they called 65 people for a single 12 Juror case. Hence, there was a over 4 hours spent just on the Jury selection. I was number 65, so I didn’t even get any questions asked of me, but rather listened while they asked tons of questions to the first 27. (We were issued numbers when we began).

Let’s backtrack a little bit. The form I had said that I must be in the specified room by 8am sharp. I show up 20 min. early and realize that the lobby doesn’t even open until 8 am. The entrance is tiny and as time passes it fills to the point of bursting with the over 350 called Jurors for the various cases that day. 8:05 rolls around and the crack security squad starts to let us through. I don’t get to the room until 8:20 and when I apologize for being late, she says we don’t even need you until 9am.

Now I am in a room with my 65 peers, so I start sizing up the competition. We were asked to wear respectful clothing for the court. My mind said, button up long sleeve shirt and slacks or Dockers, probably a belt, and some dress shoes. Apparently my “peers” thought it meant cut-off jeans, tank tops, beer logo shirts, and general construction attire. I didn’t realize they still made clothing with burlap. So I sit and look and try to think about who the Lawyers would want and they start up a movie. At a little after 9 am they give us some instruction and hand us a number as we head to the courtroom.

Inside the courtroom we have the Judge, lawyers, court reporter, and the accused. We all sit and then the fun begins. The Judge tells us this is going to be a three day trial at most, so we know what we are dealing with. He then goes through some questions to eliminate any people with conflicts of interest. He starts with anyone that has ever been in a court case and we went one by one hearing the details. This seems benign but this really means that anyone that had ever been accused of a crime had to announce it to this entire group. He further asked for the outcomes in each case and how they felt about it. I’ll highlight a few here…and remember this is just out of the first 27 people.

We had 4 DUIs. We had 1 meth user. We had a person convicted of selling meth, assault and battery, resisting arrest, ….and he stopped there. We had 1 child rape victim. That was very hard to hear about.

We had a woman who said that someone in public mistakenly thought her boyfriend was beating the crap out of her and called the police who then took him to jail. She spent 2 weeks fighting with the prosecutors, who happen to be lying about everything, before she got him out. Oh….and she also just had a cancer tumor removed from her stomach two days before…and she was bawling the whole time…and she didn’t like looking at the lawyers because it was too tough..and she was quickly dismissed. I was sad to see her barely-cover-the–ass-cheek, baby-doll, trailer trash dress leave the courtroom but was surprised at how quickly she recovered, emotionally that is, when the Judge dismissed her.

We had a woman who said “I guess a wife can’t slap her husband across the face anymore without going to jail in this state”. Apparently the “Lying Prosecutors” made her husband change his story and got her 180 days in the slammer. After some other questions, she also had been charged for battery 2 other times, convicted of drug use, convicted of lying about her identity, and I honestly can’t remember the rest.

We had 1 guy charged with assault, "bar fight" he stated proudly. That is all I can remember off the top of my head, but it seemed ridiculous for the number of people questioned, to have this many thugs.

They went through tons of other questions, most about racism, because the woman on trial was originally from Iran, which was all very boring and cliché. Then the Judge asked if there were any special circumstances that would make it impossible for anyone to serve. Almost EVERY hand went up! This is still the first group of 27, as some were dismissed they pulled others into that group. Then it started again.

One woman said she wasn’t good at making decisions, then another woman, hearing this genius said, “Ya, I have a hard time making decisions too.” Several people said that work was too hard to get out of, the best of which was a bowling pro shop where the woman said “If I am not there, no one will be able to do the books…unless I can get someone to cover me.” First, it's bowling. Second, isn’t it obvious, that someone is going to have to cover you in EVERY job? Two other woman said they didn’t like being in court rooms because of previous cases, made them nervous. Then the two people who spoke other languages said they couldn’t understand English. After some questioning we found that one has been working as an RN for 15 years and has been a citizen just as long. She also took her citizenship test in English, 15 years ago. By the way, she was chit-chatting with everyone at the break, funny. The other guy had a similar story, but had only been here 8 years, but also took his test in English, 8 years ago. Frickin’ liars! And the coup de grace, a guy said that he doesn't like to get up before around 2pm, he is a big sleeper, so he wouldn't be very sharp anytime before that. He actually wasted court time giving this as a reason he couldn't serve.

Those are a few of the highlights but my point is, the person on trial was amongst her peers as they seemed to all be lying, whining, mountain trash, thugs. Yup, she was guilty, I could tell by lookin’ at her. If these were our average citizens, then I weep for their children and our court system. Amazingly sad.

One of the Worst Things I Ever Did

I lived in a somewhat rural area when I was of high school age. My best buddy and I were hunters and we killed everything we legally could. With our Ruger 10-22s in hand and a belt full of 50 round banana clips, we hit the desert in the Toyota pick-up and slew the masses.

I think it was my Junior year in high school when the farmers had an infestation of rabbits. Again, I worked at the auto parts store and the farmers would come in and beg us to come thin the herd. We would spotlight and kill hundreds of them, they were everywhere. The gore was outrageous.

One night, four of us jumped into the truck, grabbed the one million candle power spotlight, Rugers, pistols, and even a few shotguns and headed for the desert just outside a group of farms. One person driving and three rednecks in the back blasting anything that moved; ya, we were asking for trouble. Now Jack rabbits are big ugly things that were rodents to the farmers, so they were our main target. Cottontails, on the other hand, are small, fluffy, and cute, and aren’t nearly as fast, but were still abundant. We generally wouldn’t shoot them. I know you anti-hunters argument, “it’s ok to kill ugly things…”

Anyhow, I was in the back with the two other guys and a rabbit ran out. One guy has the spotlight and me and another guy are doing the shooting. We take a few shots and he yells “I’m out”. I’ve got a few more rounds in my rifle but the rabbit is getting out of range and darting away from the road. Without thinking, I jump out of the back and sprint after it. Suddenly the bunny turns on me so I stop. I’m standing in a clearing with the spotlight’s pencil beam illuminating me and the rabbit. Everything else is pitch black, like this moment is fixed on a stage and the rabbit and I are the only players. It doesn’t stop, it comes right at me so I raise my rifle to shoot and “click”, I’m out too.

Still the little fella comes until he finally stops two feet from my shoe. He looks up at me and I can see the bewildered expression in its eyes. It is a baby cottontail, probably separated from its mother in all the commotion. I see its little pink nose twitch and for a second....time stood still. From then on it is a little bit of a blur. I pull a 22 cal. revolver from my holster and fire a single shot directly into its head at point blank range. Its head went back, and to the left….back, and to the left, and then it lies twitching a few final kicks before it dies.

I holster my gun and jog back to the truck. There, I see three high school friends staring at me speechless. My best friend has a tear rolling down his left cheek and he whispers “That is the coldest thing I have ever seen.” I giggle a little at first and then realize he is dead serious. The other two guys sit down in the back and don’t say a word. My buddy puts the rig in gear and we drive off silently, done with the slaughter. You have to understand, my friends were cold blooded, damn killers. We gutted animals while eating sandwiches. We had no feelings. Our mantra, “God kills indiscriminately…and so shall we”.

To this day, they reference that event with disgust and amazement. They are certain that I am devoid of a soul. I don’t hunt much anymore, and when I do, I rarely take game. Some say I’ve gone soft, some say I’m just a poor shot. Either way, I regret killing that little bunny and I know he is going to be standing there on Judgment Day. I’m sorry little buck (a male rabbit is a buck)…I’m sorry.

Battle with Hair

My battle with hair is both manifold and multiform. Ridiculous growth and outrageous loss both plague my early-30’s body. It is worse than puberty….and I still have acne. My back looks like the beach of Normandy, 1944. My frontal baldness has subtly crept up on me, taking an unostentatious widow’s peak and turning it into something of which Bram Stoker would be proud. If I place my index fingers at the two furthest points from my face, where my forehead stops and my scalp begins, I am literally pointing to the back of my head. Outrageous.

So let’s head south. I am able to grow some facial hair, but my nickname is “Captain Patchy Beard” or “Burbs” so it isn’t exactly manly growth. My ears need weekly trimming and my nose hairs make me look like I have tiny hedgehogs burrowing into face. I’ve never had chest hair before but that is changing too. I’ve had exactly eleven nipple hairs since “the big change” when I was 14 or 15 years old. Yup, six 3” fly traps encircling the left nipple and five 3” stringers on the right. I plucked them on occasion and sometimes shaved them when they started to catch on my long sleeve button-ups, but they were basically harmless. I now have two perfect rings of fire at the exact edges of my areolas. The circles are complete and full. If you found them in nature, you would step inside and make a wish. I am also getting a nice inverted triangle betwixt my man-boobs similar to Zangief of Street Fighter, but instead of a curly bushel, Magnum P.I. style; I have long, straight, black silkies, matted to my chest with sweat and exuded oil. It is disgusting. So I now have to shave my chest and nipples regularly being careful not to uncap the whiteheads with my Mach3.

Sorry, but we are continuing south. My lower body is nothing less than Yeti-like. I have gobs of hair bursting from my pudgy hocks. My nethers, if left unkempt, would ensnare cotton, paper, lint, insects, really anything within its Velcro-y grasp. So I have to do a little tuck ‘n tails as well. Men, you may think it feminine, you may think it gross, but trust me, you have got to spruce up the undercarriage. Dude, you are disgusting, and sweaty, and rank-ass-stanky and all that hair is just holding onto your filth and smell like an enormous moldy sponge. Grab the clippers, set it to a 2, and get to work. Remember that loose skin is an electric clipper's prey, so do what you gotta do to protect yourself. Your women will thank you…I promise.

I’m fighting a battle that I can’t win, but I will continue the fight. The day I give up the trimmer is the day I start wearing pants with elastic waist bands. If this is what it is like at 32, what the hell is it going to be like at 42?

Which Way Wiper?

There are a few private issues that never get much press because most of us don’t even like to admit we do them. I do have a couple of buddies that shy from nothing so this topic arose and I was surprised at what we found. Most of our observations came from our work restroom where foot position and weight distribution on the feet conjured images of what must be happening in the stall next door. We assert that there are only five major ways to wipe after evacuation.

Front to Back: Most common attack although variations include standing, bending, and leaning against the door. I don’t personally feel this is the most effective method because you may have substantial reaching and limited finger control at max reach. This creates a “paper trail” and results in some nasty skid marks. I think this is mainly because the bending forward causes a “pucker” effect disallowing a “deep” clean.

Back to Front: When “Baby got Back” is a fair description of you, then you may be stuck with this method. Because you have limited access due to arm length and cheek girth, you access between the legs and pull forward. This is a danger zone for girls because you don’t want to pull bacteria forward…well, you understand. Advanced finger techniques must be employed involving a middle finger drag, basically pulling forward and away at the same time. I personally feel this is the best way to minimize smearage and keep the cleanest undercarriage. Many disagree, mostly because of the male genitalia to wrist convergence issue. Maybe “bigger boys” have an issue here, I am sad to say, I don’t.

Center Pinch: This is the best method in theory ,gaining the benefits of both of the previous methods. In practice, the thumb is simply too clumsy to be effective….and you can’t pinch anything without a thumb. Also, the small area of paper actually used creates a saturation effect that just won’t doo.

Sawing Lumber: None of us really knows what goes on here, but we have heard many people pull paper from the roll and then go into an ungodly see-saw sound swishing back and forth very vigorously. I’ve never tried this but I think they must be just rubbing and smearing back and forth until they rub most of the residue off, or maybe into the skin. It seems nasty, but we hear the sawing lumber technique several times a week. If you happen to employ this method, feel free to leave a comment explaining your nasty ass.

Pinch it Clean: I hear about this all the time, especially in the case of no TP to be found and they are out of ass-gaskets as well (which can be used in a pinch). No man can actually do this. Extremely hot women on the other hand can, because..let’s be honest, if they do poop….it comes out wrapped in foil.

The Chiropractor

Chiropractors don’t have the best reputation and I’ve never considered going to one until the other day. I have started up running this year and the shin splints are ridiculous. For around three weeks I’ve had constant pain, so much so that I was pretty sure my shins were cracked. I’m telling this to a buddy, who happens to be a Chiropractor, and he says..”I can fix them”. I am more than skeptical so he says he’ll treat me a couple of times for free.

I head in there the first day and he pulls out a 12” and a 15” stainless steel blade, one curved and one straight that have been purposefully dulled. Then he starts. He very forcefully runs these blades up and down my shins working extra hard on any little lumpy parts he finds. It is hands down the most painful thing I can remember. He only works on each leg for about 2 min. but it is excruciating. Then he sends me on my way and tells me to come back in two days.

Two days later, I can’t even touch the things and he pulls out the blades again. This is more brutal than the last time, but he finishes with some ultrasonic shin blasting unit which I am almost positive does absolutely nothing. He tells me to come back in another two days. I repeat the process and now he is getting concerned that I am not getting better, but actually much worse.

He pulls out a tuning fork and places it on my shins and says, “You don’t have a break because that tuning fork would have made you jump.” What if I’m not tuned to an A? X-rays must be old school. Now I am paying for the visits so I am even more skeptical. He also puts me on an ibuprofen regimen until next time. Mind you, at this point I haven’t run in a week. He also decides to adjust my back and hips just to see if it helps. Ouch!....Now my back and hips hurt.

The next week, I tell him to keep the blades away from me and he does ultrasonic therapy on just one of my legs to see if helps. After two more treatments, I go for a run and the leg that hasn’t been treated feels pretty good. The other hurts like normal….so I tell him I am done.

This is a pretty good friend but I think we both discovered that a little ibuprofen and 2 weeks off was really the best medicine and all the other painful crap just aggravated things more. Ice seemed to help too, but I could have gotten that info from any runner out there. I don’t have all the bills yet but that was a lot of pain and money and time away from work for nothing. So if you want to get rid a run related pains, save the money and time and talk to a runner, not a Dr.

Damn Cat!

I used to love animals. I was a cat person. My dad, on the other hand, seemed to hate all pets and I had a hard time understanding why. With time, that understanding has come. Here is a little background. When I was just a boy, every night I would find my cat before bedtime, snuggle in with the little fur face and start to drift off to sleep. As a matter of routine, my brother would inevitably come in and take it from me just as we both got comfortable and close to dozing. Regardless of the fact that he knew I was terrified of the dark and that cat was my much needed comfort, he would take it. I would cry and yell..didn’t matter, he had the power so he took the cat. To add insult to injury, the cat was then often much disturbed and would leave his bedroom in about 3 min. but alas, that was the way of things.

Now, that being said, I told myself that when I was in charge and had my own house, I would have my cat and it would sleep with me nightly and my ‘little meowers” would never again be ripped away. Wow, I’ve changed. I now have a home of my own and a cat, and I hate it’s ever loving, filthy guts. I despise it with a guttural, deep seeded loathing. I wish it ill, I wish it death, I wish it pain and let me tell you why.

The kitty is my daughter’s. It is relatively harmless unless you are doing two things, sleeping, or using the bathroom. If you are in the bathroom, it will pound on the door until you let it in. Yes, it pounds on the frickin’ door with both front paws banging it against the frame. You let it in and it wants to drink out of the sink. Not that big of a deal except that at least once a week I come home to a sink that has been running for about 12 hours. Which happens to be about 11 hours and 58 min. after the cat last drank from it. So I give in, leave my throne, turn on the sink for a drink, it takes a couple licks and heads back to the door and pounds to get out. Let it out, and it pounds to get in. Add an annoying mew to that pounding and you are starting to get the picture. Now imagine this every time you use the restroom. Everytime.

Settle into bed at any hour and you start to hear that faint pounding, not at the bathroom door, but the outside door. You get up and let the little bastard in, get back into bed, and then he starts the mewing and pounding to get back out. This occurs at whatever bedtime happens to be and again at 5am……Every DAY! Oh, I hate it, so severely. It is relentless, and what makes it worse is the fact that my wife sleeps soundly and rarely hears it. The torture is mine to bear alone. I love my daughter and wouldn’t want her to feel the loss of a pet at my hands, so I can’t kill it. Likewise, I can’t slug it in the guts, drop it off a cliff, or starve it and leave it for dead in the desert. So I just look it with piercing hate and wish it away. I just hope I am never left alone with it, it may be the ultimate test…..and I’m lookin’ to fail.

Why Can't I Pee?

You think when you get through with those grueling high school days, that the locker room scene is over. I assert that it is not. Every time I sidle up to a urinal in a public rest room, I’m right back in 7^th grade; taking a shower with the fellas and giving the pubes a quick inspect to see if magically a fourth one happened to show up over night. Now, pubes a plenty, and I still can’t pee with a man dangling next to me. Compound this with the fact that I drink about 8 gallons of water a day and frequent the bathroom more than a thirteen year old who just discovered Mr. Tickle, and you have a little problem.

No, I don’t have a prostate problem…I, um… check myself regularly. This is strictly a mental thing. If I am feeling defeated or low, I couldn’t start my stream if I heard someone three blocks away. If I just pushed 300lbs on the bench the night before and I am feeling “cocky”, I can blast away with the best of them. Then, no matter how I am feeling, there are certain people that create an instant stop block and I really don’t know why. ..and if there is no divider between urinals, I won’t even try. How can my Keigel muscle be inexorably tied to my emotions? Scientifically speaking, it’s ludicrous. Nevertheless, it is true.

So I practice, psych myself up, count by nines in my head (you know the same things I do for sex) but sometimes, with some people, it just won’t flow. But here is where I keep the power. If you find yourself cozying up to me in the adjacent urinal and you have the same issue as I, we have a problem. I know that cacophony of silence that roars in your ears minute after minute as you try to wait me out hoping I’ll leave so you can “get going”. Sorry guy, you have a stalemate my friend. I may not be able to pee with you standing there, but I am willing to wait you out for hours, so just zip it up and be on your way..you have no idea who you are dealing with.