Idle Adjustah

As if my pointless little life isn't miserable enough, now my goddamn car is giving me some serious shit. You see, I have an hour's commute to get to work. Then I'm out at midnight, rarin' to get home so I can do some serious drinkin' and internet porn research before the sun comes up. I have a 1986 VW Gulf that had 200,000+ miles on it before the odometer quit working last summer.

Now, when ever it's cold - a rare occurrence in New England during balmy January - the throttle sticks exactly 1/2 hour into my journey. And much like a Viagra erection, I can't get the fucking thing to go down. It's only a real problem in two places - the toll booth and the sleepy little neighborhood in which I live. Seriously, when ever I put the clutch in when it's like this, the engine revs right to the red line.

I'm sure you can imagine the fear in the faces of the toll collectors as I come chugging in, my foot full force on the brake and at the last second putting the clutch in to toss them the change, the engine breaking out into a scream reminiscent of a formula one car. And then a few minutes later screaming to a stop in front of my house, brakes smoking, waking all the babies in the 'hood. I'll admit, I thought it was funny at first. Now I don't.

Took the damned thing to a mechanic the other day. He said he lubed up the throttle linkage "some good" but it seemed pretty lubed up to begin with. That's because I've sprayed it with WD-40 about ten times, Einstein. Ah, then it's probably the "idle adjustah" the wise old buck said. "Them things is p'aht mechanical and p'aht 'lectricle. And y'ahs is gettin' long in the tooth, by Jesus." What ever happened to the good old days of carburetors when you could adjust the idle with just a screw driver or long fingernail for chrissakes?

I didn't stick around long enough to find out how much it would cost to replace the idle adjuster since the car is worth maybe $60 and I need to buy an MP3 player so I don't go insane during the commute trying to find one or two good songs on the shitty radio.

A World Free Of Tierney

I was watching a replay of our spectacularly insane president's inaugural speech the other night. I nearly fudged my drawers! I must of done about 6 or 7 spit takes whilst drinking my 40. I mean, I knew the guy was a megalomaniacal moron with a messianic complex but now he wants to rid the world of "tyranny"!

I was pretty drunk, so at first I thought he said he was going to rid the world of "Tierney." Now that would make more sense. Jim Tierney is a guitar player who used to be in my band. Jim would put up one hell of a fight and I would be there to help him.

So just what the fuck is going on in that indecipherable nanorealm known as George Bush's mind? Have I missed something? Aren't we still up to our necks in Iraq with no end in sight? And now Dubya wants to go galloping off to the rest of the world to promote "freedom." And what would he do about our tyrannical "allies" like Bush family pals and terrorist felators The Saudi Royal family? Good God. Prepare for the draft, my friends.

Why the hell did I watch that speech? Now I will be in a bad mood for days. Should of just looked at some online pawn and put down the man...

Johnny Won't Be Down For Breakfast Anymore

He's a question - Do you really think Ed McMahon thought Johnny Carson was ever that funny? Carson just assumed room temperature recently. As a chronic insomniac when I was younger, I probably watched him a thousand times or more. He was good but always seemed bored. I would be too if I had to interview Angie Dickinson for the 150th time. At least he didn't have to interview Totie Fields, who lost her legs to diabetes, a million times like Merv did or have weird little Mason Reese as a co-host for a whole week like Mike Douglas did. Man those were the days. Makes me feel old.

And boy do I look old. I made the mistake of looking into the mirror today. Yikes! I look like some old crazed homeless guy. I think I have aged 20 years in the last 5. I guess hard livin will do that to you. Or in my case, too many Little Debbie snack cakes and beer. And Have you noticed how much older our vacuous president looks lately? Too much lying. The only president who didn't age so obviously while in office was Clinton. That's because he was getting his crooked little willie nibbled on a regular basis. That'll keep you young even if you are a festering liar.

I was in the tonight show audience once when I was visiting a friend out west. The two things I remember most were how small the place seemed in real life and how goddamned badly I had to piss from drinking so many beers beforehand. I also remember the Tonight Show band being really good.

I don't watch any talk shows anymore. They're all lame as shit. Maybe I will come up with a proposal for my own talk show and submit it to some cable channel. It would be like the Howard Stern show except smart and funny. Maybe the tag line would be "thought provoking filth." And I would have weird little co-hosts like Mason Reece. Hey, I could get Pedro's midget! Does anyone know how to get a hold of him (I mean besides by the scruff of the neck)?

How My Balls Feel

My balls ache. I mean not literally. Figuratively. It's fucking Monday, I'm hungover and last but not least, I'm at work. But I'm not sad. The Patriots handed the Steelers an old fashioned ass rape last night. Hah!

Now it's on to the Eagles from Swilladelphia, the city of brother on brother love. Did you guys see the fucking dumb ads for the city of Philadelphia last year that always ran during Red Sox games? You know the ones hyping the "culture" and cheese steaks? At the end there were a bunch of clowns dancing in the street. Say no more. The Patriots are going to take a nice big, hot, gooey, fatty, cheese steak sub and ram it up the Eagle's sit-upon.

Hey wasn't Donovan McNabb the QB that that fat sack of shit Rush Dimbulb thought was over rated because he was black? Well he's not over rated. He's damned good. Too bad he's going to loose the Super Bowl in two weeks. And, by the way, Rush ain't fit to lick McNabb's prodigious jock strap.

Three more hours Monday will be over and I will be home. A couple shots of JD later and my balls will feel just fine, thank you very much.

I'll Call Bill!

So ends another week. And a week, I might add, of stupendously dull blogs by yours truly. This just might end my less than note worthy blogging career. Why? Because it takes 15 - 20 mins. out of my already busy day in which I could be doing something else like roughing up the suspect, no one reads them and because I really don't have much more to say.

I tried to convince my nephew B-Face to do a guest blog in my stead tonight but he's too busy agonizing over 3 day old broccoli (hee-hee, I told him that it would be OK to eat - little does he know that broccoli goes bad in about six hours! Man, his anus will get some work in tonight).

So I thought I might end up with the ever popular "random thoughts" blog. It's kind of a cop out I know. I always tried to have some sort of theme. But hey, I'm leaving. So here it goes:

- I have a Rugar Black Hawk .44 magnum.

- One of my favorite shows as a kid was Candid Camera. I want to do one where you put some guy in a stall of a public bathroom and when ever someone comes in to piss, the guy starts screaming things at the top of his lungs like "Mary mother of god! Oh Shit! Please oh please! My god it hurts!". The hidden camera will record the concerned expressions of the guys pissing in the urinals. And if someone asks the guy in the stall if he's OK, he will respond in a normal but annoyed sounding voice "Hey, can't a guy take a dump in peace?" A variation could be the guy in the stall saying things in a sing song voice like "here crappy, crappy. Come out of daddy's ass. Come on, be a good little turdy and stick your little head out. Come on in, the waters fine!"

- I want to give a shout out to my old pal Jon Hoar who's in the army waiting to be deployed to Iraq. He's as insane as I. And far more talented in everything he does. God speed my friend. The stage is awaiting your return.

- Red Sox signed "Wiff Belhorn" and "Corn Rows" Arroyo. Two important bit players.

- Roger Clemens signed a record $18 million 1 year deal with Houston. What's that? About $9000 a pitch. Really.

- G.W. is going to cut Medicare. Good. Poor people smell like sour milk anyway.

- This was on the sign in page for Blogspot: "Join Molly in her video-based blogging workshops. Preview the Learning Blogger CD-ROM." What the fuck? I didn't know there was an art to throwing up on your computer and uploading it to the web.

- I saw an old episode of the Twilight Zone recently, "Little Girl Lost." It was the one were the parents are awakened by their daughter's voice calling for them. They check her room but can't find her. Then the father says to his near hysterical wife "I'll call Bill. He's a physicist. Maybe he can help." I just love that line. As it turns out he's right because the little girl fell out of bed into the "fourth dimension." An aside - Of course as we all know, the fourth dimension is time. But hey, it was 60's TV. And besides, they didn't want to piss off Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis,jr.

Jesus, I have spent almost half an hour on this shit! Fuck that. See you next week. Maybe.

Pain Killers And Tits

I'm ensconced in my little cube here at work keeping a wary eye on our world-wide network. I thought that in between shit storms, I would "blog-out." And, true to my word, I will not mention the unfortunate goings on in Washington DC today. But we will get what we deserve. Mark my words. The oaf took the oath and that's all I'll say.

I went to the doctor's today to get my bum knee looked at. There was a cute nurse who took my vitals. I asked If I could check her knees out instead. She didn't respond. The doctor came in half an hour late and gave me a quick look over and said I could get an MRI if I wanted to otherwise just take Ibruprophen or Tylenol. Fuck that! I want some serious pain killers like my nephew gets. When I mentioned this to the saw bone, he said that there was an extreme shortage of painkillers in seacoast NH due to some guy in Portsmouth named The Cod God. I guess I will just have to continue with the medicinal use of alcohol.

Hey, is it true we will get to see Paul McCartney's tit at this year's superbowl? You know how much I hate half time shows but I thought that at least last years' show started a good tend. Even though it was Janet Jackson's at least it was tit. Why not keep going and have a strip show at half time? Can you see all the football players rushing out with dollar bills in their hands? Maybe they can have strippers doing pole dances on the goal posts. Maybe John Madden can get a lap dance in the booth. It would be great if the 2nd half started and there was a great play on the field and Madden still had his face between a pair of 44 double Ds. And All he could say was be something like "br-brb-br-br-rb-umf!"

Shit, gotta go. Korea's down.

Squat And Dukakis

I promise this will be my last mention of it, but tomorrow is the day slappy the frat boy and his neocon nincompoops have their big bash in D.C. I will celebrate by drinking with gusto. As should you. Because before you know it, alcohol will be illegal. We are a Christian nation you know. So if you drink, you will be an enemy combatant and end up in Guantanamo. And if you are lucky, you will get to be stacked in a pyramid with a bunch of smelly terrorists.

I wish I had a drink now. It's almost time to go home and it's snowing hard here in Mass. Which means I have an hour of slip sliding away ahead of me. Tell you what. I will save this as a draft and when I get home I will let you know how it went. If I make it. And there better be some damned booze in the house.

Shit. I made it. The drive was gawdawful. The only thing that kept me going was listening to the "No Rules" show on WUNH radio. The chick who was DJing played a lot of great garage rock along with the usual punk. And she had an unusually mature, sexy voice for a WUNH DJ. Usually they sound like fucking valley girls. I don't care what she looks like - I want to fuck the living bejeezus out of her!

Bad news is that there is NO ALCOHOL in the whole fucking house! I am going to kill my roommates. Especially the new one, Buzz. When you drink my last beer you replace it. When you finish off my JD you go to the liquor store and get another bottle. Buzz's excuse will be that he doesn't have a car. Well guess what? You can walk to the damned liquor store from here! It's about 1,000 feet away. That's the main reason I moved in here! FUCK YOU!

Now, what would Kitty Dukakis do?

Heading For The Keys

My god it's fucking cold outside. My nuts shriveled to the size of currants within seconds of walking into that arctic air. My car hates this weather too. It barely starts since it has molasses-like 20w-50 oil in the crank case. At least it doesn't burn as much oil as it did when it had 10W-30.

It's even colder on Saturn's moon Titan where it's about -180 C. Now that's more than just a bit nippley. I wouldn't put my tongue on anything if I were that probe. And hopefully it has 5W-30 in it's crankcase.

I should move back to Washington DC where it's a little warmer. And I would be closer to all the action. One more day until Dick Cheney and his trained monkey have their inauguration. And how come I wasn't invited? Afraid I would drink all the booze? Maybe I can still get my band a gig at one of the balls. I will e-mail senator/racist/party planner Trent Lott and see. I will make up a band name that he might appreciate so as to increase our chances of getting a spot on the entertainment roster. Like "Out To Lynch."

Hey, do you suppose Lott is in contact with Martha Stewart about planning and setting up the bash? I mean isn't that what she did? I was never altogether sure what the hell it was she did. But I know what she's doing now- no doubt she's pretty busy these days avoiding getting worked over by hulking fellow inmates with strap-ons.

And I hope it's cold and snowy next weekend when The Patriots haul out their strap-ons and punish the Steelers. Maybe Martha Stewart will be the inmate on the lawn tractor that clears the field of snow so Adam Vinatelia can kick his game winning FG.

Rumor has it that my nephew B-Face is going to be the starting QB for Pittsburgh in place of that rookie. Hey, B-Face, just keep thinking to yourself "At least I'm smarter than Terry Bradshaw." Of course I've known some developmentally disabled rocks that think the same thing. Good luck, B-Face, you'll need it!

Well, I'd better go warm up 'cause my penis just informed me that it's packing it's bag and heading for The Keys.

Peyton Manning

I feel like a pile of dog shit. My back hurts, my right knee is swollen and sore and I'm tired. Good thing the Patriots won yesterday otherwise I would be in a really foul mood. I bet those football players feel like I do today, all sore and shit. But I didn't run into a single 300LB defensive lineman yesterday. So what's my excuse? I think it's my attitude more than anything else. I should try to cheer up. There are many things to look forward to.

Like The Iraq elections. I wonder if people will be having bake sales at the polling places like we do here. Perhaps you could by a cup cake made of C-4. I would love to get my hands on some C-4. A couple cases of beer, some C-4 and a gravel pit preferably with a bunch of junked cars. Talk about an afternoon of fun. Maybe I should volunteer for duty in Iraq. Except I'm too old, out of shape and mentally unbalanced. Fuck, now I'm unhappy again. Must think of good things.

Chicks. Babes. WOMEN. Now that's a good thing to think of. Tits and ass! Why do Muslims want to cover that stuff up? No wonder they're so damned cranky. Women rule. And if women really did rule, the world would be a lot better off. Less pointless wars. Starving children would be higher on the list of priorities than anti-missle defense systems. And hopefully they would take pity on us poor bastards and let us keep our titty bars. Speaking of which, I want to put a picture of a babe on my computer desktop here at work except they made me sign this long anti-sexual harassment thing. Do you think a picture of two women going at it with a double-ender or a good glistening gyno close-up on my desktop will offend any one? I will probably get fired.

Oh, and how could I forget the up-coming inauguration? Celebrating another 4 years with zippy the shit head. Now that's something to look forward to. Watching our country burn to the ground like the Rome of Nero. Only instead of playing a fiddle, Dubya will roping cattle on his fucking ranch. Man, my head hurts.

Look, there's no cheering me up. Forget it. I bet you Peyton Manning feels about the same way. Oops - I just smiled.

T.G.I. Fucking F.

It's Friday and it's almost time to get the fuck out of this cubicle and go home! Can't wait to start the goddamned weekend! Man, I have so much to do this weekend too. Like drink! I'm a little behind in my drinking. Speaking of a little behind, hopefully my girlfriend will have her ankles behind her ears when I get home. Gonna haul out my veined springboard of love and give her one hell of a pelvic cracking, buttock ripping, gut crushing, liver flipping F-U-C-K! Unless of course I forget to go home. I might just hit a bar or two on the way. Maybe even the titty bar. It's been a tough week and I need some therapy. I probably won't do any blogs for the next couple days because I will either be too hammered, hungover or too busy pumpin' the ole lady.

Oh, who the fuck do I think I'm kidding? I don't really have a girl friend. Hell, women just don't understand me. They think I'm just not "sensitive to their needs." What about my goddamned needs? I require only two things in a girlfriend - My dick and a ride home when I'm really shit-faced. Now I'll admit I'm not the most attractive guy in the world. Actually, my last girl friend used to say that if her dog was as ugly as me she would shave it's ass and make it walk backwards. And her dog was a pug! She eventually left me for this other woman who was no prize herself. She is probably gnawing out that giant wall-eyed pig as we speak.

Well at least I can go home, watch a little football this weekend and drink myself into a coma. Maybe I will start waving my .357 around in one of my blackouts and the neighbors will have to call the cops again. Perhaps one of my miscreant nephews will come over and help me wreck the town. Maybe, just maybe, my ex-girlfriend and her lover will come over and we can have a threesome. Actually considering how fucking huge her girlfriend is, it would be more like a sixsome.

That's enough for now.

America's Obesity Problem

I saw what must have been the fattest squirrel of all time today. Holy shit. This fucking rotund rodent looked like it had swallowed a soccer ball for chrissakes. It was so enormous that I almost called the National Guard to make it disperse. If this thing had been human, it would have been on the cover of the Weekly World News and Dick Gregory would have a serious boner.

The corpulent critter was on my breeze way catching it's breath when I opened the door. It reluctantly turned and looked back at me and hesitated before taking off. I'm sure it was thinking "Shit. I don't want to have to run. Fuck. Maybe this human means me on harm." Then it seemed to remember I was related to The Cod God, a.k.a. Scourge Of Squirrels, and it lumbered away. It leapt up about a foot on to a nearby tree and promptly fell off. I burst out into laughter which scared the shit out of the thing. I swear I heard it rip a fart as It waddled across the yard, a confusion of fur and blubber, off into the neighbor's back yard.

Maybe if I have time I will try to dig up some of it's nuts so it won't eat so damned much. Maybe someone should do the same for me.

Too Dimensional

This blog thing is getting old. I told you I would get sick of it. I takes a good 15 mins out of my day in which I could be visiting my online girls. It's been a couple days since I last visited albinolesbianamputees.com for example.

So what could be the theme of tonight's blog? Well, let's see, there's the announcement by our gummit that there were no weapons of mass destruction. Surprise, surprise, surprise. The fucking liberals must of hidden them! It's been hard and I know it creeps in every now and then but I really want to stay away from politics in my blogs. Besides, nothing I could ever say would make the idiots who "done votatated for Dubya" all of a sudden realize how treasonous, anti-constitutional and evil the administration is. But goddamnit, he never got a blow job from an intern - Thank God! As much as I hated Clinton, he was a petty criminal compared to Bush. Ah, but there, you see - I'm goin' on about politics! Must stop.

I could go on about the various disasters around the world instead. Every time I go into work after there's been a disaster somewhere in the world, a co-worker of mine who's a Jehova's witness will say something about how the bible portends the world going to hell. I'm sorry, but if there is a god and he let's children die horrible deaths, then he ain't deserving of any worship. But, no, this subject is too serious.

Sports is always a good blog subject. All sorts of fools make up professional sports and they are easy to poke fun at. Like the New York Yankees. A lot of fanny work going on in that club house I bet! I already pontificated about football last night. I could put my two cents in about the whole hockey strike but who gives a flying puck about hockey anyway? Fuck sports. Not in the mood.

Look, I promise I will come up with something witty tomorrow. Or at least something scatological. But right now my 2-d ladies are awaiting.

It's Up...It's God!

Here I go. I'm going to try to write about football. I mean everyone else does. Why not me? I'm not a huge fan of the game and here's why - It's just a little too homo-erotic for my tastes. Not that I have anything against gay guys. I just think it's weird when they don't really know their gay. I can just picture all the grab-assing, towel snapping and awkward sexual references that must go on in an NFL locker room. Remember high school when some of the coolest kids were obviously gay and didn't care? Then you had the meat-head football players beating them up because they were secretly jealous of their sexual honesty.

And the whole fucking god thing. There seems to be a lot of overt Christianity surrounding football. They always have a team prayer before the game. All interviewees have to thank the lord for what ever good thing happened to them that night. Like god is going to give a shit who wins or looses some damned football game. Our jackass of a president is the same way. He always ends everything he says with "God bless 'merca." Why not just say what you really want to say, George? "God bless 'merca and no one else." You know god is more concerned with America than Uzbekistan, right?

Then there is the whole blip culture, made for TV aspect about football. It's designed for the tube. If baseball is a fine aged wood then football is a cheap piece of plastic. It's also very militaristic. Don't worry, I won't repeat the George Carlin routine here. But you know what I mean.

Oh, and one more thing. The fucking rules. Too damned many of them. They hardly let the players play anymore. What ever happened to good 'ole smash mouth football? R.I.P. XFL. And you can never really cheer a good play until you are sure there are no yellow flags on the field to null and void it. You know what would help the game? If instead of yellow flags, the refs had to piss on the field when they saw some rule infraction. They would be running around madly drinking beer so they would be able to piss a lot at a moments notice. Imagine the sight of three or four streams of steaming piss after a roughing the passer call arcing down on the field of play. Hopefully the defensive linemen don't get too excited thinking it's ball juice.

And, I almost forgot, three words: Half time show. Nuff said?

I know every Patriot fan is convinced that we will beat Payton Man-thing and the Dolts this weekend. Well, I'm sure we will.

So there you have it.

9 MPG Blow Job

Hey, today is Rod Stewart's 60th birthday. Happy birthday, you hoarse voiced has-been! Remember that rumor about how Rod Stewart had to get his stomach pumped from quaffing too much cock? I once had a girlfriend who loved Rod Stewart. I tried to get her to re-enact that rumor on me. She claimed my spoo tasted like a combination of Gilley's chili dogs and PBRs. She preferred to paint. No belly full of liquid children for her. Needless to say we weren't together long.

Oh, and that reminds me. I almost ran a car off the road the other day. And Not by accident. The car in question was one of those big assed Hummer 2's. It had a yellow "support our troops" magnet attached to it's tailgate. I don't know how the idiot driving that gas sucking monster feels he's supporting the troops. No doubt the clueless mother fucker is unaware of the irony of driving a gas hog while our troops are dying for oil. Well I would of driven that un-American piece of shit off the road except I was driving a gas sipping jokeswagon and would of bounced off the damned thing. Maybe I will load up my .357 and put it under my drivers seat in case I see him again. But knowing my luck, it will be amour plated unlike a lot of the real Humvees in Iraq.

60 years old. Christ.

The Yankees Finally Have A Big Johnson

The Damned Yankees are now going to be able to haul out their Big Unit once every five days. I haul mine out every 5 minutes if I have enough beer in me. Which is quite often. Anyway, we have lard-ass David Wells to haul out every five days. One might suspect he has a sizable unit himself the way he has to adjust his cup after every pitch. Maybe he's just trying to save his tadger from drowning in a roll of fat. I should talk. I used to hate to wear a cup. It really hurt when one of my squishy bits would get squashed under the edge. Good thing I never played sports. Just liked wearing the cup. Gave me a bulge. Speaking of my package, I have re-named my junk "Blue Man Group." I haven't gotten laid in eons. Perhaps you think being fat, disgusting and generally unpleasant to be around has something to do with it. Not so! It's just that I'm not rich.

Rich is what Randy Johnson is going to be. Monitarily but not soulfully. Fuck, he's playing for the Evil Empire for chrissakes! I bet you all the ingrown hairs on Joe Torre's back that the first back to back shitty starts he has and he will wish he was playing for Tampa Bay. What the fuck are these idiots thinking? Take Pedro...please. I mean take Pedro for example. He left a city where he could do no wrong, show up late all the time, go home to the Dominican when he felt like it and bring circus freaks into the club house. Now he will be in a city were at least half the population hates his guts. And it didn't help that he dropped ugly with and face planted beloved Yank bench coach and septuagenarian idiot Don "The Gerbil" Zimmer during last year's ALCS. The mayor even called him a "punk." And for what? A few measly million more scheckles? Man, he puts together a string of bad starts and watch out! Maybe he went to The Mets because of Piazza. Not because he is a better catcher than Big V, which he sure as hell ain't, but for a little butt lovin'.

The Big Unit will get plenty of man love himself in the Yankee club house, what with Jeter and A-"small" Rod prancing about. And Giambi too if he ever gets over his case of the worms. Remember kids "worms = no play." Too bad The Gerbil's not around anymore to offer up his hemorrhoid festooned stink button to the new arrival. He's too busy givin' it up for Lou Panella these days.

Maybe Randy, A-Rod, Jeter, Pedro and Piazza can get together some time when both teams are in town. Pedro could bring in a bunch of his midgets to re-enact the legendary "Andre The Giant vs. A Lot Of Midgets" fracas. Hell, Johnson's about 6'11". Then when it was done, they could all settle in for some chamomile tea and watch the Jane Quinn Medicine Woman marathon on TV.

Filling Up The Spank Bank

I had a shitty night at work. But at least I got to the gym today. Now don't worry, I don't go to the gym to work out. Hell no. I have an aversion to exercise like Dubya has an aversion to the truth. I go to check out the chicky-boos, buddy boy. Young, scantily clad hard bodies movin' and sweatin'.

I always have a couple of stiff drinks before I go so I looked flushed and healthy. Once there, I climb on a Life Cycle and enjoy the sights. I make sure the Life Cycle is on a low level so I don't actually have to work at it. Now in my gym, the bikes are in the back on a mezzanine. So you look down at the whole place. On the floor right in front of you are the tread mills. A favorite of the Vaginal American set. Oh the asses that I see!

On occasion, when the gym is full, some chick might have to ride the cycle next to mine. This is good. But one must be prepared for just such an event. You must have the right magazine in front of you to a) Impress the ladies and b) hide the fact you are on level "0." The right magazine of course is something like The Robb Report, Wealth, Fortune or some damned yachting/sailing magazine. Popular Science or Swank just won't cut it. And it's important to dress the part. Don't wear a bright orange hunting cap and a Fuzztones t-shirt like I used to. It'll scare the piss flaps right off them. Wear what their meat-head boy friends do. Wife beaters t-shirts are good if you have the arms for them. I don't. I just make sure I have extra layers of clothing on so it won't be too obvious I'm 100% fat.

I tell you, I'm smooth with the females. When one of these sweet smelling chiseled lovelies is pumping her heart out next to me I always say something funny like "look out for the pot holes" or "you remind me of Lance Armstrong with breasts."

When I'm done with the "aerobic" portion of my work out, I go to the locker room and have a couple of long pulls of my Gatorade bottle filled with vodka and orange juice and then hit the weights. This way I can get a close up view of some serious camel toe. I usually sit on a bench with a ridiculously heavy dumb bell as if I'm going to hoist the damned thing. I'm sure it impresses them. Of course I don't really do anything with it. I couldn't. If you removed all the considerable blubber from my frame I would look an emaciated Mother Teresa.

I think the trainers and some of the meat-heads are on to me. But they don't blame me. How could they? Plus I'm sure a lot of them are closet ass-stabbers who want me as much as the girls do.

Today's highlight was the chick on the treadmill right in front of me. Nothing especially great to look at as compared to all the other beauties. Once she was done, she went to the locker room to get dressed. I was "pumping iron" when she emerged wearing a skin tight, short white slit skirt. All of a sudden I was bench pressing my weight. And not using my arms! Let me tell you something, clothes make the woman. That and a nice pair of wheels and a couple of big fun bags!

Well, I must be off now to do my real work out.

The Long And Short Of It

I spend about two hours a day in my car. Commuting to work sucks. And I work second shift which means I have to find a way to stay awake on the ride home. Masturbating is a bit difficult especially if you have a big rig and drive a small car like I do. So I listen to the radio. This may come as a shock to you but there is nothing good on the damned radio these days! Here are the options: Classic rock, "Alternative" rock, oldies, NPR, right wing talk radio, sports talk radio.

Classic rock you can hear AC/DC, Bob Seeger, Zepplin, Sabbath etc. Most of the songs they play I would be happy to die having never heard again. And I never listened to that shit when I was a teenager like everyone else did so I don't associate any good-time memories with it. I was busy listening to 50's Rock 'n Roll like a weirdo.

"Alternative" rock just means a bunch of fucking horrible bands with lead singers trying to sound like Eddie Vedder. God, it's like fingernails on a chalkboard every time I hear that way of singing. Makes me want to haul out any one of my two dozen guns and off myself. Or preferably off Eddie Veddar. Maybe I can lend my double barrel 12 gauge to Courtney Love and have her pull another assisted suicide, this time on Eddie.

Oldies is the usual 60's and 70's crappola like the Stones, Beatles, The Supremes - you know the stuff that might have been good the first 20,000 times you heard it. Case in point: The Who. Great band. Why not play "They Call Me Lightning" or something equally less beaten to death instead of "Pinball Wizard"? Shit, The Who must of recorded about a thousand songs. But you hear the same 3 or 4 on the oldies stations all the time.

Now the staid NPR is good for a while. But sometimes I just want to hate fuck Terry Gross for her breathlessly inane questions or scream at the mention of Rwanda. Plus no matter what they say, they don't "consider all things." When have they ever done a piece on fisting?

Ubiquitous Right wing talk radio used to be entertaining during the days of Bill Clinton. Now they are just part of some scary Stalinist-like government propaganda machine. Listening to Sean Hannity or Rush Dimbulb felating George Bush and swallowing his neocon agenda makes me wonder if somewhere in North Korea there isn't a similar radio program humping Kim Jong Ill. Conservative talk radio ain't conservative anymore.

Ah, and then there's sports talk radio. We have WEEI in these here parts. I listen to them quite a bit. They just aren't as much fun now that The Red Sox and Patriots rule the world. The "whiner line" isn't quite as funny. Don't get me wrong. That's OK.

So what should I do? Radio blows dog, and the tape player's broke. So I thought - How about getting satellite radio? The good thing about Sirius satellite radio is that they carry Little Steven's Underground Garage Show. Now I would listen to that! Off to Best Buy!

I'm at Best Buy looking at the satellite radio display. A sales doofus came up to me and wanted to know if I had any questions. Within twenty seconds I had exhausted all his answers. He said "Uh, dude, like let me get someone who knows a little more about this." That could have been just about anyone. A minute later, while still concentrating on the display, I heard someone ask "can I help you?" I turned around and saw nobody. Then I looked down. A midget! Or more accurately, a dwarf was standing next to me. Although slightly taken a back, I formed some semi-coherent questions that he answered with accuracy and confidence. He knew his shit.

I decided to put off my purchase of satillite radio for the time being. It's expensive. I don't need another monthly bill. But I did say to the little fellow assisting me "for god's sake man, stay the fuck away from Pedro Martinez!"

You Men Eat Your Dinner, Eat Your Pork And Beans

Well I see good 'ole Wade Boggs made it into the hall of fame. Baseball hall of fame that is. He is already enshrined in the sex addicts hall of fame. So what he had over three thousand hits. Who could forget his escapades with Margo Adams? She was the woman he was humpin with while pumpin out over two hundred hits a year. Remember the time his wife pushed him out of their moving Jeep during spring training? Why do you supposed she did that? I bet the first time Wade went 5 for 5 the night after Margo wore that special school girls uniform with split crotch panties, she had to keep wearing it until he had a slump. At bat that is. Then it all came crashing down on him. He had to tearfully admit to being a sex addict and his wife "forgave" him. Unbelievable. No wife would ever forgive a husband if he used that as an excuse. All men are addicted to sex!

So here's to the "Chicken Man" (he claimed to always eat chicken before a game - funny that he always smelled of tuna salad). Congratulations! You turned your self into a very good third baseman and had many hits. Although I wished you had hit with a little more power. Probably too tired to after bumpin uglies with Ms. Adams all night, huh? Well anyway you got more tail than a card board donkey so you make it into my hall of fame.

Oh I almost forgot. Just one small thing. You played for the Yankees after you left the Red Sox. I take all the good things I just said about you back you traitorous nickel and dime hitting little pervert! Fuck you!

Dick Clark

More thoughts while waiting for the world's oldest teenager to get out of the hospital. I was discussing voyerism with a co-worker recently and he didn't know who Chuck Berry was! I said "you know, Johnny B. Goode, Hail Hail Rock n' Roll, Sweet Little Sixteen." At which point he said somewhat unconvincingly "Oh yah." What is this world coming to when young people don't recognize one of the founding fathers of rock n' roll, let alone a world class pervert? Shit, the guy almost invented rock guitar and probably the toilet cam as well. From penning "Maybellene" to pissing on his girlfriends, Chuck Berry is a legend. He was a multi-talented singer, song writer, guitar god. He could multi-task as well, often eating a sandwich while concurrently getting his knob polished. And no doubt at the same time keeping an eye on the closed circuit TV in case a woman had to take a dump at his theme park.

It is up to us, the older generation, to teach the young'ns about our childhood heroes. I know I will.

2nd Shift Concerns

I have mentioned this situation before to my nephews. Now I will share it with the rest of the class (as if anyone but my nephews read this):

So I work in this huge building that must have several dozen bathrooms. Big bathrooms with many stalls and urinals. Here's my question - every time I go to take a piss in any one of these bathrooms there's always some poor dumb bastard taking a shit. Every goddamned time. And I work second shift so there isn't really a whole lot of people around. Why is this? Does working in a high-tech environment cause fecal urgency? But I have fecal urgency 24/7/365 and I have yet to evacuate my bowels at work. Could it be spies trying to listen for malcontents or catch someone puffing a joint? Maybe people just die there while shitting (like the KING) and no one removes the bodies.

Any thoughts? Please. It's a little unnerving to say the least. I just got back to work after 4 days off and the first time I went to take leak, guess what?

Speaking Of Anuses

What a moronic endeavor blogging is. I mean, just who am I doing this for? When I first heard of blogging I thought it would never catch on. Of course I don't have a really good track record as far as prognostication goes. Case in point: I was working in a record store years ago when the first rap records came out. Rap struck me as dull. Shit, it's just some fucking idiot talking over a mechanical beat. I put the damned things in the spoken word section right next to the Rod McKuen records. "This will never last."

My nephew The Cod God started a blog not too long ago and recently requested my help with some HTML. I figured I would sign up and test this blog thing out so I could assist him. Now look what happened. Jesus. Like I don't have anything better to do than "blog." And besides, who really wants to know what I think?

Well the whole point of this blog is that I just re-read my first few blogs and realized how stupid and uninteresting they were. Especially the one about redefining my anus. I must have been seriously into me cups when I penned that one. But don't worry folks. Like almost every thing in my sordid little life this blogging adventure won't hold my interest for long. At least we can all hope.

Speaking of anuses, I heard someone use the phrase "anal retentive" the other day. Christ, who the fuck wouldn't want to retain their anus? Maybe someone who would prefer that shit fly out of their bottom any damned time it pleased? These are the deep philosophical thoughts that keep me going. Now, is it right to share these thoughts with the world?

My New Career

So I never made much money playing music. Now I'm old and in a half-assed band that plays once every six months. I'm thinking of giving the whole silly thing up. If I did, what would be my next logical step? Usually old fucks like me are put out to pasture in some pathetic blues or cover band. But I would still have to lug my damned amp around and stay up late. No more playing for me. But I still have all this equipment and a practice space. Why not become a producer/band manager type? I've always wanted to produce and write songs for an all female band. This would be good for two reasons - 1. It would involve far less effort. 2. I could hang around 4 or 5 really cute young girls who would look up to me and perhaps even gobble my crank on occasion. In effect, I would be put out to stud and not out to pasture!

Here are some possible names I've thought for this band -

The Estro Genies
Little Girl Lost
The Beef Curtains
Box
The Cotton Ponies
Girls,Girls,Girls!
Estrogenius
Action Woman
The Muff Divas

I will keep you all posted on further developments in my new career. In the mean time, enjoy this MP3. It's The Other Half doing "Mr.Pharmacist."

New Years Goddamned Resolution

I was thinking about making a new year's resolution. I have a lot to work with. Let's see - I could loose weight, start exercising, quit drinking, stop smoking, curtail my public masturbating, torture less kittens, etc. So then I thought why not just redefine myself? A hah! So I was about to do just that when I realized how difficult it would be to redefine myself. Why not just redefine a part of me? So I did. Here it is for the world to see:

I am going to redefine my anus. From now on it will be a cross between a squeaky voiced pop diva and Godzilla nemesis.

There. I did it. And it didn't hurt a bit.