AS IN, "I CAN MARRY 'IM PAW; WE'RE JUST COUNTRY COUSINS, THAT'S ALL."
I believe that our blog family is just THAT intertwined, if not moreso. I'm fairly certain that every time the tree fails to branch, we can blame Acidhead. There must be something inspiring about the guy.
However, he did not want to be given "blog-daddy" credit in my case. He doesn't want to father women! He's too busy lusting them. That would be incestuous!
But the netgod has managed to hook up with a few mere mortals long enough to produce some male blog-spring.
I don't have all of the dirt on everyone. I haven't been around long enough. But let's see if I have this straight:
Acid and Indigo begat Donnie.
I adopted Donnie--who was kind enough to take me under his wing from day one--as my big blog-brother when Acid failed to publicly recognize his existance.
Acid and I begat this incredible new blogger who has already hit the ground running.
So, because Donnie and Jim share a blogdaddy, they must be half-brothers.
If Donnie is MY brother, then Jim must be my half-brother as well, meaning that I just mothered my brother.
Remind anyone of "I'm my own gran-paw?"
ACIDHEAD'S SUNDAY SEVEN
I do not think that my answers will be the most interesting in the blogosphere, but I am WILLING to answer this set, so here goes:
1) Did you ever find yourself totally in love with someone? What was it that really attracted you to them?
Yes. Intelligence, attitude, and the fact that he had the respect of his peers.
2) Have you ever driven a car at a speed in excess of 100 MPH? If so, did you enjoy the experience?
Yes. Absolutely. Speed limits suck.
3) What was the first alcoholic beverage you ever drank? (If you answer "sloe gin," you are disqualified.)
I stole sips from a young age, but the first time I ORDERED my own drink, I was 16. A girlfriend and I met at Bennigan's in Athens. (Keep in mind that we were not only hotties, we were/are TALL.) There was a wait for tables, so the hostess asked if we would like anything from the bar. We said "sure." We both ordered long island iced teas.
We were floored that we didn't get carded; this is particularly odd for a college town. We continued to drink. Of course, we didn't know what was in a long island iced tea, or what it would do to us. My father picked us up an hour later, and interrogated us.
I made up an elaborate story about this really loud, obnoxious drunk at the bar that wouldn't leave us alone and ended up spilling his drink all over us.
...I'm going to have to remember these things when my child is old enough to do that sort of sneaky shit.
4) How old were you when you lost your virginity?
Just turned 17. Back room of a party. Romantic, huh? Well, I married him one year and seven months later.
5) How often do you have really crazy dreams that make perfect sense while you are dreaming them?
6) What is the CRAZIEST thing you ever dreamed that made perfect sense as you dreamed it?
The crazy ones are more frequent, but they are easily forgotten. I had one years ago that I will never forget: I was walking down an icy road, and there was someone walking across the street from me at about the same pace. For some reason, I didn't like his presence, but I appreciated that there was some distance between us. He decided to narrow the distance. He crossed, and he was now only a few steps behind me. The street emptied ahead into another road running perpendicular, a huge church rose on the other side of the road directly in front of me. I was at a brisk pace now, and he was on my heels. I ran for the steps to the church, but they were icy, and I slid. I lay face down on the icy steps. I turned my head in time to see him catch up with me and hoist a pick axe over his shoulder. There was no time. I turned back to the step, clinched my fists and my eyes closed as my entire body tensed, and then I felt the axe repeatedly sink into my back. It was intensely painful. And it took several blows before I managed to wake myself.
A friend tried to offer insight into the meaning of it. He spoke of rebirth and starting over. I'm not sure, but that's sure as hell NOT what it felt like.
7) If you could change one thing about your physical appearence, what would it be? Explain why you want to change, please.
I would not have this. I have always wished that I were a NORMAL height with NORMAL measurements and proportion. As it stands, I am incredibly thankful every day of my life that my child was not born with this condition. She had a 50/50 chance, and I thought of nothing else the entire time that I carried her. The doctors were worried about my heart; I wasn't worried about my heart; I was worried about HERS. I feverishly plotted her growth patterns until she was a year old; it was unanimously concluded at that time that she was/is the picture of health.
Children change everything. I would suffer any burden before I would put it on her.
But, I digress. I think Acidhead REALLY wanted to hear about my boob job! ; )
WHY DO THE GUYS GET TO SIT AROUND WATCHING FOOTBALL, DRINKING BEER, AND NAPPING WHILE THE WOMEN SLAVE OVER TURKEY, SWEET-POTATO CASSEROLE, VARIOUS YUMMY THINGS, AND CONGEALED MYSTERIES. (Scroll for that one.)
Well, of course I HAD to rebel. Sort of. I spent the evening before making casseroles, pies, and cookies. I walked into my mom's the next day, set them on the counter, performed the perfunctory salutations, and then snuck my ass into the living room.
I planted myself on the sofa between the Hubster and the Step-Father. (Of course there was room, due to the necessary hetero distancing.)
"So who's playing?"
"Who has the ball?"
"Was that an interception?"
That's as far as I got before being discovered. "Honey, you want to thicken the giblet gravy for me?"
Yep. Sure do. How'd ya guess. I hopped up, "Yeah, I can do that."
After dinner I played spades with my cousins. NO mercy--mopped up the floor with them. Hey, when you're good, you're good. I'd even be willing to take on the blog-pimp-daddy. I ain't sceerd.
I don't know who won the football game. I don't even remember who was playing. It doesn't matter. I love my family.
THE IN-LAWS - THAT'S ANOTHER STORY
Oh, this is the close encounter of the third kind. Again - MEN sneaking off to Living Room.
BROTHER-IN-LAW has audacity to SNOOZE. Oh, but no. I don't think so.
I snuck in for the kill. He was on one end of the sofa; I was on the other. I scoped the place out. There was a box of dog toys to the far left, a remote control next to his right hand, and a jar of skittles to my immediate right.
I went for the skittles. I chose purple. The skittle sailed with the greatest of ease and with what turned out to be supreme accuracy. Direct hit to the frontal lobe! Okay, temple, but frontal lobe sounded better.
Yeah, he was pissed. But that didn't make it any less humorous. I have a theory: If my ass is forced to inter-mingle with the freak-in-laws, everyone present ought to be forced to do the same.
Collective thanks goes out to Hubster's gay-as-a-three-dollar-bill uncle, who for the first time in years, did NOT single anyone out and say with his obvious lisp, "Honey, you've put on a little weight this year, haven't you?"
Whew. Small favors.
I hope that everyone enjoyed their off-balance families and friends as much as I enjoyed mine!
G! E! O! R! G! I! A!
34 to 17! WAY TO GO DAWGS!
I'M MISSING IT!
I don't have tickets for Georgia/Georgia Tech, so I figure the next-bext thing is to pout about it on-line.
But I am listening to this AWESOME-AS-HELL broadcaster, whom I love with all of my heart and soul.
May he live forever.
OUR PRESIDENT ROCKS
He ROCKED when he sent Sadaam running for his mama, he ROCKED when he landed his ass on an aircraft carrier, and he ROCKED yesterday when he dined with our country's finest.
And any demoturd who dares to speweth forth any sort of "he's building a campaign" BULLSHIT, please steppeth forth so that I may kicketh your ass.
Forget the campaign, this is about PATRIOTISM.
I would like to thank this blogger and this blogger and this blogger for beating me to punch in recognizing a deed well done. I know and appreciate that he'll be recognized all over the blogosphere; that's just as far as I've gotten with my reading today.
I am off to eat turkey, AGAIN! (2 sides of the family = 2 days of Thanksgiving!)
"HOW TO COOK A TURKEY" - A second grade assignment at my daughter's school.
Here is my precious seven year old's recipe for success:
"First you need a turkey. You take the directions and you take a knife or an ax. Take the turkey and put it in the oven. You need to leave it in the oven for an hour. When it has been in there for an hour, put the thermometer in the turkey. When the turkey is hot enough, put it on a plate and eat it."
Simple enough, right? Okay, so hers isn't the funniest. What can I say? She takes her assignments very seriously. Here's one of the more humorous variety:
"You need pepper and some salt. You need a turkey to cook. You need a grill too. You need marinate. You need an oven to cook it. I will put it on 50 degrees. You need an ax to hit him. You need a knife to cut him up. You need bones to go with it."
Yeah, a little boy wrote that one....go figure. Happy Thanksgiving, guys!
IS IT COMMON KNOWLEDGE THAT ACIDHEAD IS A GRAMMATICAL JUNKIE?
He doesn't like my usage in the TO FAKE OR NOT TO FAKE post. I had stated that I enjoyed discussing it [sex] with my friends, "regardless of their gender."
According to Acidhead, "gender" should be used only in grammatical context. I should have used "sex." HaHa, yes, I HAVE used sex. But, seriously...Here's "gender" defined.
Acidman, I think this battle is over. Your usage may be #1. But, hey, mine made the cut; it's IN THERE. And, therefore, I conclude that the 2 CAN be used interchangeably.
(Yes, I DO realize that this will precipitate your "Terms that have evolved over the years so as to adopt meanings that I no longer support" post!)
IT'S NOT MY FAULT!
Has anyone ever noticed that a very LARGE percentage of the population CANNOT accept responsibility for their plight in life?
My post-before-last had me thinking about just that, and then I decided to wander over and give 'ol grouchy a visit. He ends this post with the following wish:
"Sure wish Atlanta had a professional football team."
Me, too, Denny.
Did anyone else hear Dan Reeves' radio interview a few months ago?
I must say, I was floored. The man blamed everything, no joke - EVERYTHING - on the fans, or lack there-of.
Reeve was peeved. He described (with painstaking detail) the type of fans that "could really make a difference to their game."
"What you're describing sounds like organized religion," the D.J. replied incredulously.
His response, "Why not? The Bulldogs have that kind of following."
Bad move, Dan. And RIGHT before the lines were opened for callers, too. And, oh yeah, they slaughtered him.
They just didn't get it. It was THEIR fault. If I'd called in, I would have HAD to ask, "Dan, if you had a sold-out stadium, everyone in attendance, whose fault would it be then?"
FAKING, TAKE 2
CALLING THE FAKE
Okay, guys, I appreciate many of your comments which contain confessions of you having faked it.
But what I'd really like to know is if anyone has ever faked it WITH you, and if so, did you call them on it?
Hearing the reasoning behind such an encounter would prove MOST interesting to me!
ON MY TO-DO LIST
1. SUE THE HOUSING AUTHORITY BECAUSE IT TOOK THEM TOO DAMNED LONG TO ACCOMMODATE ME WITH FREE HOUSING THAT HAS DOORS BIG ENOUGH FOR MY FAT ASS TO FIT THROUGH.
Oh, well crap, this BEHEMOTH has already beaten me to it.
HA! Again, I say, "HA!" That's what the sprout-eaters get for stressing the importance of being politically correct for SO many years now. Nanny has SPOILED its offspring.
I mean, jeez, OBVIOUSLY, if you're 800 pounds, you should neither have to work NOR use ordinary doors. If you are FORCED to do so, why THAT is discrimination!
Her most compelling evidence comes at the end of the article:
"22 firefighters and emergency medical technicians worked for 2.5 hours to move Bowen from her apartment so she could have dental work."
HAhaha. Ha. Yeah, it's funny until it becomes IRRITATING! I wonder whose fault it would be if it WASN"T the fault of the Housing Authority?
TO FAKE OR NOT TO FAKE
THAT IS THE QUESTION
Sex has to be the most interesting topic of conversation for any grown person with even a trace of a libido. Taboo topic? Says who?
Inquiring minds want to know. I discuss it with my friends, regardless of their gender.
I am surprised by the number of people, once we are on the topic, that ask me if I ever fake it.
What is this football? Hell, no, I don't fake it. WHY, pray tell, would ANYONE do that?
Most common answer: To get him off of you!
What?!? Why do I want him off of me if the job isn't done?
My answer is NO, I do not fake it - EVER. If he wants the reaction, he works for it. End of story.
I am too genuine to fake it. I have trouble faking ANYTHING. I try sometimes. I try to act interested when someone is BORING the crap out of me. Really, I do, I try. I just suck at it.
So, am I missing something? Is there some profound reason out there, which I haven't considered, to fake it? Enlighten me.
BLOGGING IS ADDICTIVE
I said it here, and I'm sayin' it again.
I've thought seriously about retiring my short run in the blogosphere FOR THAT VERY REASON. You've gotta love it to do it. Well, I do. Too much. It's consuming.
A FORUM! Finally a forum! It's just too much.
And I thoroughly enjoy reading the rants of those who are similarly inspired. The blogosphere is a wonderful world, is it not?
My justification for the endless hours that I spend in this world is simple. It's prerequisite fine-tuning which will prove invaluable to my writing career, which shall begin--oh, I don't know---in ten years or so. Right? Anyone else using that?
My spouse is certain that I've lost my mind. A love of writing simply does not make sense to some people. A love of READING simply does not make sense to some people.
I like Kelley's attitude toward this Dvorak character. If he does not LOVE writing, if he is only whoring himself out for the almighty paycheck, then he should absolutely feel threatened by those who blog for the fun of it.
He annoys me. Consequently, I shall continue to blog. Why? I'm addicted. Spiting that guy is just icing on the cake.
MY QUOTE OF THE DAY:
"I can write better than anybody who can write faster, and I can write faster than anybody who can write better." - A. J. Liebling (1904-1963)
(I'm acquainted with a certain ego that should appreciate that one.)
UGGH. I HATE TO DO THIS, BUT I FEEL THE NEED
IF YOU ARE SICK TO DEATH OF JACKSON STUFF, FEEL FREE TO SKIP IT
I have read this post and this post and this post. Somehow, I do not disagree with their opinions. They were very thoughtful as they objectively analyzed the situation. And they forced me to revisit the issue. Do I BELIEVE that as Americans we should be assumed INNOCENT UNTIL PROVEN GUILTY? Absolutely, I do.
Those of you that read my last post are raising your eyebrows. If that's the case, why didn't I WAIT for a conviction to post my rant? Because there's not going to be a conviction.
Is our justice system perfect? Well, it can't be. Those of you that have taken Poli-Sci know that if the system must err, then it is preferable to let a guilty man walk, than to let an innocent man rot.
So, what am I getting at?
Money clouds things. Reasonable doubt CAN be bought with high-priced attorneys. WE HAVE WATCHED IT! Look at O.J.; look at the guy that chopped off his neighbor's arms and legs. They walked. They were wealthy.
I think he did it. (My gut opinion.)
I don't think that he thinks that what he did was wrong.
I do not think he will EVER be convicted.
That sickens me.
That is the frame of mind that I was in when I wrote what I did. That's how I feel. And I think it's a shame that ANYONE would take a fucking dime over prosecuting. THAT clouds the issue. I will agree with that.
How many men do I KNOW for a fact molested children, yet remain pillars of society, never having seen the inside of a cell? Too fucking many. And they don't even HAVE to be rich. My knowledge is limited to three. Folks, that's TOO FUCKING MANY.
Here is the story of one.
I am not currently fostering children, but I did. I have had five children come through my home, and I could write a novel on each of them. I'll try to keep this one brief and to the point. (And no worries, no details, it's a safe read.)
She was six years old and beautiful. It took me a week or so to get her cleaned up. I reluctantly cut several inches off of her long, blonde hair to facilitate the erradication of the SERIOUS lice infestation from which the child was suffering.
We spent the next week at the beach. After a week of sun and relaxation, the child glowed. She now had a tan to accent those big blue eyes and blonde hair. And she loved her new surroundings.
She had spent several months in a crappy home with distant relatives. They beat her brother, and she was forced to watch and say nothing. Her mother had left them there after leaving their father, and not knowing what else to do with the kids.
Why did she leave? He hit her, but she would take him back. "She always did," said Hannah.
And she did. So why didn't they get their kids back? ONLY because neither of them had a job. Once your kids are taken, being able to provide for them is a necessary prerequisite of getting them back. Abuse is not investigated unless they HAVE to; it's just more work.
Hannah had nightmares. She dreamed that a man picked her up out of her sleep. She wet the bed almost every night. She didn't WANT to visit her father every Wednesday. But she would go, if her brother would go. Her father always had nice presents for her. She would get jewelry and money; the others got small stuffed animals.
I didn't want to ask. I didn't want to lead her. Months went by. He was going for disability. That counted as income. Shit. Then, one day something off happened, and I HAD to ask. She refused to live with him. But she would have no choice. I HAD to ask.
"Sweetie," I said, "if he did anything to hurt you, you have to tell someone, or we can't help." She looked frightened. Her eyes glossed over as she said angrily, "I did tell! And my mama didn't do anything to help."
That cowardly piece of shit. She ought to be dragged off and shot is what I thought. "I will help," is all I said, hoping that I wasn't lying to the girl. One thing I learned about foster parenting is that you have very little say when all is said and done.
But I raised hell. I will spare the details as they are neither enjoyable, nor concise.
An aunt appeared on the scene and wanted the kids. Fortunately, I liked the aunt, but it wouldn't have mattered if I didn't. She went to court for custody.
The father showed up. He didn't want ALL of the kids, but he wanted HER.
The aunt had secured a counselor. She was there. She discussed some of the accusations with the parents. The mother broke into sobs and confessed all.
The good news is that the children will live happily until they are eighteen with a loving aunt. The bad news is, he's still out there. He's just an average Joe that slipped between the cracks.
It is just not conceivable to most of us that this sort of perversion is so prevalent in society. Well, it is. It could be a mailman, PhysEd coach, songleader, musician, friend. I guarantee that you have met one.
Am I a little more cynical than most? probably.
But I hope that Michael Jackson is innocent. I don't want to believe that it happened. It's sick. Why would I want to believe something so horrible? Why would anyone want to believe it? I think it's wasted hope. I think it happened. I think it naive to believe otherwise. I HOPE THAT I'M WRONG, but how will I ever know? He's going to be acquitted either way.
Why is he being investigated so heavily?
Because he's NOT an average Joe that can slip between the cracks. He's rich and famous.
Why will he get off without serving a day in jail?
I've discussed two different men in two very different situations, but the ending will be the same.
A lot of them walk. It bothers me.
DAWGS OVER WILDCATS, 30 - 10
And this one:
BETTER TO HAVE 40 YEARS OF
VD THAN 1 DAY OF ADAMS!
Yeah, I think he WAS saying that he'd rather be plagued with a venereal disease than continue suffering under the administration of Michael Adams!
VINCE DOOLEY was honored during half-time formally, then throughout the remainder of the game informally by the fans.
He was given a standing ovation as he walked off of the field, and he fought several cameras so that he could turn and wave to the various sections of people along the way.
During fourth quarter, half of the stadium--that's 45,000 people--shouted VINCE while the other half shouted DOOLEY.
Thousands carried small signs that said simply: Thanks, Vince.
It has been a good run. We do indeed appreciate his forty years of hard work and achievements.
DID YOU GUYS HEAR THE ONE ABOUT
THE GUY THAT GOT A DIVORCE AND ORDERED PATERNITY TESTS ON HIS 5 KIDS?
Well, it turns out that only 2 of the 5 were actually his. Hmmm. Good thing he ordered that paternity test, huh?
Nope. The judge still ordered him to pay child support for all FIVE kids. The rationale: SOMEBODY has to pay for them.
WTF? Do I even need to rant about this? It's just too ridiculous.
This poor bastard said in a TV interview that he paid over 100K last year alone. The good news is that, s l o w l y---because that's how the government works---the situation is being addressed on a state by state basis. Unfortunately, many states have not done the first thing to address the problem.
SHE'S STILL NEWS
I wasn't going to talk about it, but, crap, SHE'S STILL NEWS.
I don't get it. Since when is a gorgeous, stupendously wealthy girl exhibiting indiscriminate behavior NEWS?!?
Of course the opportunists are going to capitalize on it!
(YES I AM having a little trouble feeling sorry for the "pretty little rich girl." ...I'll try harder next time.)
READ IT AND WEEP
Don't kill the messenger. I appreciate her letting us know. Kelley, it was easier coming from you.
MY NEW LOOK
Adam accepted my plea for help yesterday and forced me into action today. At the expense of Adam's lunch hour, my cell minutes, and a gushing tribute to himself placed in my credits, I have a new look!
Those of you that were FED UP with my ridiculous fonts, crappy comments, and complete lack of extra services such as Sitemeter---well, you can thank my favorite southern gentleman. Judging from some of the cracks that he made today, it is abundantly clear that he would like to steal the title of "pain in my ass" from the red-headed step-bro, but he doesn't have it yet.
He was just too good to me today. I think if schedules permit, I'll buy him a drink on December 5. Yeah, all of you alky-luvin bloggers are invited if you're interested, but I'm only PAYING for Adam!
UPDATE: December 5 is looking iffy. How does December 12 work for ya, Adam? Any other takers? You guys get to vote as well...We can have a very bloggy Christmas party, in a seedy bar with cheap likker and crappy presents. Does that sound like it'd be right up Adam's alley or what? (ahehehe) (that would be low, devious laughter)
A BEAUTIFUL DAY IN GEORGIA
What constitutes a beautiful day in Georgia?
Well, it starts by stepping out onto your front porch and sinking ankle-deep into a pile of multi-colored leaves. Next, you breathe in a breath of crisp air and detect not a trace of the odor usually emanating from the chickenhouses less than a mile away. Having fully enjoyed the jaunt to the driveway, you then proceed to your vehicle, and enjoy the ten or so miles to town with the sunroof open and the music of choice* blaring. And, ya know, you don't even mind that it takes THIRTY MINUTES to get there because you got stuck behind a should-be-antique pick-up with a max speed of 30 mph. That's because it's just too darn difficult to get pissy once you see just HOW MUCH that mutt in the back of that pick-up is enjoying himself. Ears perked, tongue hangin' out, wind in his coat---happiness should be so simple.
*Music of choice this morning? Well, courtesy 99x, it was, "Shake it! Shake it Like a Polaroid Picture!" Yeah, Adam, I did think of you.
And, yeah, I live in the country. The suburbanites will have quite a different tale.
I MUST NEED TO DIET
NEVERMIND GUILT, LET'S DISCUSS WEIGHT
Because if that man truly weighed in at 5'11", 120 pounds, then I think I have a whole new set of issues to discuss.
To borrow Denny's (already borrowed) phrase of the week: "Only in America can a poor black boy grow up to be a rich white woman."
I'll just leave it at that. I've got more masculinity in my phantom set of balls then he has in his whole body.
Many seem to harp on the fact that the bombing coincided with Bush's visit to the UK. As ass-backwards as it may seem, the implication is correlation, therefore causation. Okay, let's say (for the sake of argument) that that's true.
So fucking what?
Oh, I know what: "It's the alliance! It's the big, bad alliance. It's pissed off Al Quaeda, and now they've attacked again. We never should have gone into Iraq! We should pull out! Look what Bush and Blair have done! The sky is falling! The sky is falling!"
Yeah, I guess they're right. Shit, we didn't mean to piss off the terrorists. Let's just cower to them so they won't hurt us anymore.
I know that my preferred breed of individuals are not huge fans of psycho-babble, but that's called ENABLING. And we're not going to friggin do it. And you sorry-assed wimps out there had better be glad for it, or you'd have something a little bigger to bitch about.
YEAH, I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY ABOUT THE NASTY-FREAK
"Michael, you used your status to gain the attention of children. You have used their adoration as a weapon against them. You have brainwashed, cajoled, and begged your way from them. You have frightened them and robbed them of their innocence, and this excited you. You have bought people. May you quickly make your journey to that destination that you have so rightly earned, whether that be eternal damnation, or better yet, an 8 X 8 cell with a guy named Bubba."
...AND ONE MORE THING
I have to wonder about ANYONE that would defend his actions. IMHO, in order for someone to sympathize with a child molester, they must understand his motives. This means that they're attracted to children too.
Yeah, I try to stay away from judging. I'm making an exception. If you are attracted to children, you should remove yourself from society or take a bullet. You're fucking defective.
I'm in debt up to my eyeballs, and I don't have a law degree. But if I did, I know that I would vomit all over myself before I would take the millions to defend his putrid ass. I would rather whore myself out to Don King.
Okay, I think I'm finished now.
(Skip the next post if you don't have a STRONG stomach.)
THIS IS HIGHLY OFFENSIVE MATERIAL. I DID NOT WRITE IT.
I wanted to post only PART of it, but the author would not give me permission to edit.
"All or nothing," he said.
So, Here's ALL:
This was written August 31, 1993 by Young Dave.
To the tune of "We Are the World,"
I did them all
I did the children
I grabbed their crotches
And I licked their genitalia
I got them all
Dressed up like women
With black lace bras
And special pants to hide their wee-wees
There are so many boys
So little time to do them
And I just really love to probe their tight little sphincters
I did them all
I did the children
I let them watch me
While I sucked off my pet monkey
I won't do Liz
Or Brooke Shields either
But I did Rock and Richard Gere
And Patrick Swayze
There are gerbils dying
They're dying to be loved
Convulsing in my dark moist Hershey Highway
I'll do them all
I'll do your children
So please continue sending all of them to me.
WHY DIDN'T I DELETE THAT RUDE, LEWD AND BRAINLESS COMMENT?
I don't know. I guess I got tired of takin' it and decided to give a little back. Sorry I had to take a few of you down with me. Hope it was better for you than it was for me, because I seem to have no recollection of it whatsoever.
ABOUT MY PAGE
Yeah, it's ugly. I know that already. I'm trying to find someone to fix it for me. If anyone knows someone that can do a quick and dirty set-up, let me know. (For obvious reasons, this person CAN NOT be using the following I.P.: 22.214.171.124)
ARE MY FONTS HUGE?
Yeah, I enlarged the hell out of 'em, cuz I couldn't see them on my screen. Then I opened my site on my daughter's computer and it looked like mega-humungo kindergarten script. What's up with that?
LAST BUT NOT LEAST, THE COMMENT ISSUE
I'm giving enetation one more chance. I have been guaranteed an upgrade code within 24 hours. Why am I giving them one more chance? Because I've already PAID for the upgrade!
NICE TO BE APPRECIATED
It's mutual, Sam. (And I think that I'm in good company on that list.)
I like this post. Oh, and if that's not impressive enough for ya, the man cooked veal and eggplant parmesan for his wife's birthday. Nice. Very nice.
I LUV YA, W
Is he perfect? No. But he's not sceerd of the bad guys, and I like a strong President.
If you missed the speech this morning, well, you missed a good one. Here are my favorite lines:
"Americans traveling to England always observe more similarities to our country than differences. I've been here only a short time, but I've noticed that the tradition of free speech -- exercised with enthusiasm -- is alive and well here in London. We have that at home, too. They now have that right in Baghdad, as well."
Yeah, in your face, demon-strators. And to the piss-ant pansies that CANNOT get past whether or not war SHOULD HAVE HAPPENED:
"There were good-faith disagreements in your country and mine over the course and timing of military action in Iraq. Whatever has come before, we now have only two options: to keep our word, or to break our word."
Bam. We don't have a whole lot left to talk about, do we?
The good news about the demonstrations --- Well, they had some entertainment value. One sign read:
GO HOME BUSH. (TAKE BLAIR WITH YOU.)
HaHa. HaHa. Couldn't help myself. Yeah, we'll take 'em. THEY have balls.
WHY JIM NEEDS TO BLOG
This was waiting for me this morning in my skunk comments:
Pardoun vouz, mon cher?
Ahh emm ofennnnnded zat vouz has taken offense at moi, your kind, gen-teel, looooving skonk to has taken zeeee reseedohnse in madame's attique?
For eet is I, Pepe LePew, mon chere....ah am come to free vouz from zee dronkeen hoosband. Come viz me, and I weel take vouz to zee Cassssbaahhhh....mmmm ...mmm..mmm....mmm
Zo vewy Seeeencerely, no?
...Thanks for the laugh, Jim!!
OO-EEW THAT SMELL...
Yeah, that would be a SKUNK!
And it has taken up residence in my crawl space. It is alive. I can tell because the smell comes, goes, and moves through various portions of my house.
WHAT CAN I DO?!?!? My exterminator has informed me that skunks do not like moth balls. That's great. But if I go down there with the intent of sprinkling moth balls, and Mr. Skunk is home, he's going to SPRAY my ass!
And should we somehow manage to kill the booger, the smell will go from annoying to wretched! Guys, I am open for suggestions.
Is wildlife haunting me because of the whole Enviro-land thing? Jeez, I can't help but wonder...
THANK YOU FOR YOUR COMMENTS
Of course I have NO idea what you guys are telling me because my comments SUCK, and they won't even let ME in!!
So, what have I done? I have kicked some enetation ass.
No, not really. Really, I got out my credit card and donated the money for the upgrade. So, if they will GIVE ME THE NEW CODE, I will have us communicating again before the day is out.
In the mean time, I appreciate your patience with the crappy system that is in place. I will read and respond when I can.
I did manage to read a couple before it locked me out, so allow me to address a few people:
Denny, please forgive me for failing to give credit where credit is due. You are now recognized as a BRAVE SOUL.
Anna, your nephew is one big, fine hunk of Georgia Bulldog. For those of you that watch, he is #52, and I had the pleasure of viewing his backside for much of the game. (He was also standing about 10 feet away from the "sports babe" before she tucked tail and ran for the other side.)
Acidman, when I told the enetation guys that I had a troll, they read the comments and thought it was YOU! Jeez, am I fun to excoriate or what?
A GAME TO REMEMBER
EVEN IF YOU'RE NOT A BIG FOOTBALL FAN, you will likely appreciate these highlights, and I know that you'll appreciate the finale.
HIGHLY INTOXICATED SPOUSE
Well, I figured as much. I dropped him off at 9am to get the party started in the parking lot. When I showed up at 3pm to escort him to the game, what did I expect?
My first clue was during the traffic jam (people, not cars) in the stairwell. An Auburn fan sailed by trilling some stupid Auburn melody, and the guy made the mistake of making eye contact with Hubster when he did it. Then the guy realized he wasn't going anywhere. That's right, fella, we're not standing here for our health; this is one jammed up stairwell. HAHAHA! Intoxicated Hubster seizes the moment. He leans over the railing, looks the guy in the eye and SCREAMS, "IT GREAT. TO BE. A GEORGIA BULLDOG..." Oh, yeah, he had the whole stairwell in on that one. EVERYONE WAS CHANTING. The poor out-numbered bastard managed to push through the crowd, as--after what seemed like an eternity--it finally opened up. Whew. THAT was the first clue.
WHEN DID I KNOW THAT MY INHIBITED, NON-COMMUNICATIVE HUBBY HAD LOST IT?
Oh, I'd say maybe second quarter. I thought that he saw someone that he knew. See, we are on the field basically (row 4), so A LOT of people pass in front of us. "Jill!" he's yelling toward the field. "Who?" I'm wondering... "JEEEEIIIIL!!" Hmm, I think that he's yelling at that GORGEOUS BLONDE over there.... "JILL!" He is shouting quite loudly at this point. Finally I have to ask, "Isn't she..""
"...the CBS spokeschic for the game, yeah."
"Okay," I say, "but you are addressing her as though you actually EXPECT her to acknowledge you." (Now she undoubtedly HEARD him. We're talking maybe 15 feet here.)
"Yeah, I expect her to acknowledge me; I want that BITCH to LOOK at me when I flip her off!" Oh, well, crap. Is he trying to get kicked out? So now I'm HOPING she doesn't turn around.
Apparently, she's pissed off a few Dawg fans by continually wearing the opposing team's colors. Ironically, she has on Georgia colors in this photo.
Well, she never looked, but it didn't stop him from trying, "Where's your Georgia colors, Jeeiill?!?!?!"
About 15 minutes later she grabbed herself a security guard and took her fat microphone over to the Auburn side.
And, yes, he was quite pleased with himself.
Okay, I have an appreciation for a well-thrown and well-received pass. In fact, I think we ought to be doing A LOT more of it. But there's just nothing like a good run. I grew up watching Herschel STEP ALL OVER people to get into that endzone. So, when Odell picked up that fumble---oh, that was sweet---and ran 99 yards with it to score in the endzone where I am seated, well let's just say it was an exciting moment. Did I say seated? Hell, no! Me, hubster and our 20 new best friends were jumping all over each other, sloshing drinks, and REALLY pissing off the Auburn fan who was seated to my left. In, fact, he got up and left DURING the play!! Ohhh, that was nice. I had to laugh. HAD TO.
BUT NOTHING COMPARED TO WHAT HAPPENED DURING HALF-TIME
Something unexpected, something moving, something American happened.
The University of Georgia Redcoat Band did a tribute to all of those who have served.
"They played their song."
Music was played to honor each branch of the military, and those who had served were asked to stand when they "heard their song."
Our soldiers, our defenders of freedom---who had come there only to watch a little football--found themselves standing as tens of thousands applauded and cheered.
And when I was sure that the moment could not get any more powerful, it did. The audience was asked to look up and pay our respects to the graduates of Auburn and Georgia who had gone on to serve in the Air Force.
We looked up.
Four bombers flew over the stadium in formation. Oh yeah, close range.
Moving? Yeah, a little.
For that moment in time, 90,000 people were not right, left, Dawg or Tiger.
For that moment, 90,000 people stood standing in their seats, reaching for the sky with tears in their eyes and a catch in their throat. That moment was American.
Thank you Denny and Jim for accepting my challenge. If you people would like to see what brave souls are made of, take a second and read what these fellas wrote under WEEKEND HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENT in the comments section below. Of course, no one, and I DO mean NO ONE accepted my theme song challenge. Jeez, am I gonna have to write the fool thing myself?
WEEKEND HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENT:
READ SPROUTWORLD. AGAIN. WHY? 3 reasons:
1-Because I LIKE IT. (And because I'm not writing anything else today; It's DAWG time!)
2-Because THIS FELLA said so. (And he knows ALL---well, enough. Thanks, Sam.)
3-Because it could be a recurring theme, and I would like my fellow RIGHT-opinionated writers to contribute. If you can think of any more "LANDS" that should be included, e-mail me or drop your idea into a comment. (Yeah, I DO reserve the right to tweak the hell out of it.) Also, MUSICIANS, I need a theme song, "It's a world of..."
RAT ENEMA ESSENCE - Pardon the odor. It's the smell of a dying troll.
What am I talking about? An example is listed below in the P.S. section of "I'll Claim You."
Bad News- Enetation is not adequately blocking I.P. 126.96.36.199. Good News - I've discovered that comments can be traced similarly to the way a phonecall is traced. There are freaks that can give me an ID, and I have found one. Every visit leaves a smell for the essence d'enema hunter. So, wade through the filthy comments if I don't get to them first, and know that I'm getting closer to permanent extermination of the infestation.
(And, yes, that is a personal invitation. Comment right here, you PIECE OF SHIT.)
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: MAY I INTRODUCE TO YOU THE THEME PARK OF THE NEXT GENERATION (ASSUMING THAT THE SOCIALISTS IN DEMOTURD CLOTHING HAVE THEIR WAY):
S P R O U T W O R L D
A VISION, by Key Monroe.
Come one. Come all to the magical land of tofu and bean sprouts, where animals roam free rather than lay gutted and deep-fried on a platter before you. We have many lands of promise that have been built with love for your enjoyment.
Come see what the world would be like without the oppression of mankind constantly bearing itself down upon it. Explore the forests that haven't been touched in decades. Experience thick underbrush, swamps brimming with mosquito larvae, areas so rich with oil that it bubbles at the surface, wildlife so thick that it costs taxpayers a million a day to keep the boogers alive. For some reason, if we don't feed them, then we find dead, mangled, carcasses laying about everywhere drawing flies and buzzards, and the stench....Oh, the stench! But, no worries, all that is taken care of. So come and join us, bring your boots, and guys, leave the bug spray at home. It's bad for Enviroland.
THE LAND OF INDOCTRINATION
A favorite. This is where our precious youth learns everything that they need to know to carry this beautiful legacy on to the next generation. We must thank our programmers for giving up their own beliefs long ago and dedicating themselves to this noble cause.
We are most proud of our success in this arena. Countries and people alike are coming together to discuss their problems rationally. Ambassadors are a thing of the past. They have been replaced by certified counselors that are teaching the world how to communicate. Weapons have become an antique. In fact, if you'd like to view one, we have several museums that showcase primitive weaponry.
Meet our great country's leaders. Enter the smarmy gates and come face to face with the individuals who are responsible for creating the paradise that you see before you. (Please note: if you hear moaning, please wait until the intern leaves the room before entering. Thank you.)
LAND OF STANDARDIZED HEALTHCARE
Finally, a land where everyone has the same medical benefits. Now everyone suffers equally under a new plan that gets us all a little nostalgic when we think of the good 'ol HMO. Discover the program that sent the Canadian doctors RUNNING back to the border with many American doctors on their heels. Meet the ONLY two dozen doctors left in the country, and please, do not feel obligated to give to their children's college fund. Yes, they ask everyone.
Well, the name says it all. Come here and watch our country's women exercise their right to choose. But please, make reservations early. We have precious few doctors and limited space in the viewing area.
LAND OF INFLATION
The most fun of the park! Take a ride on the yo-yoing economy, or belt yourself in to the coaster of doom!*
Enjoy all of this with your FREE admission to Sproutworld. Don't worry about a thing! All of the fun that you can stomach--for that matter all of the sprouts that you can stomach are ON US! That's because we've had you bent over a barrel for years now until we finally managed to finance our billions a day project. (We apologize if this has affected your standard of living.)
*Sorry, we've had to temporarily close the coaster. It seems that a rebel brat from Georgia escaped from the School of Indoctrination, stole a bazooka from the Museum of Antiquities, fired it into Enviroland, turned it into an inferno, and sent the overpopulated animal kingdom scurrying into the Land of Inflation where they met their demise on the tracks of the coaster of doom! We apologize for the delay. We are sending our clean-up crew--who make as much as the doctors do, because that's only fair--to the scene, and the guts and ash should be out of your way in no time. I hope everyone realizes that this is the fault of that damn rebel. We had everything set up perfectly.
DONNIE HAS ISSUED A CHALLENGE
I think it has something to do with consuming an inordinate amount of alcohol.
A LITTLE LEVITY
This is a neat story. Go hang out in The Brier Patch for a while, and give it a read.
I'LL CLAIM YOU
(Course I don't have the hits that he does, but it's the thought that counts, RIGHT?!?)
I would be proud to call this fella my big blog-bro, and this one is no doubt my long lost and quite wicked, red-headed step-brother.
P.S. Yes, I deleted a comment off of this section. But I kind of wish I hadn't now. I was the "Christian Bitch" in High School. (I'll tell that story later.) This is new. Never have I been accused of having so much fun. But apparently, according to this incredibly insightful ASSCRACKLICKER (with an exraordinarily colorful vocabulary), I have had A LOT of fun with each and every one of the commenters below. So, Velociman, Acidman, Donnie, Eric, I hope that it was good for you. I know that I am feeling quite the woman.
I BRING YOU THIS FROM MY FAVORITE SOUTHERN GENTLEMAN
Yo Momma jokes...
Yo Momma so hairy, Bigfoot look at her and say, "Damn! That's a hairy b*tch!"
Why did that make me laugh? No, really. Was it because he could tell the joke, but he couldn't say BITCH?!?! I don't know, but thanks for the laugh, Adam.
OUT, DAMN TROLL!
Thank you, Donnie, for digging up the dirt on I.P. 188.8.131.52. He's copied the information into the comments section on the last post. Anyone looking for a great I.P. to ban, this would be it. I plan on doing just that, uh, as soon as I figure out how. (Remember, you guys, I'm still in html kindergarten.)
It would appear that I've missed a little action. (pun intended.) Okay, Jerk-off. Here's the attention that you've been BEGGING for. Do you feel the love, now?
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE CHICKENSHIT WHO CRIES BULLSHIT
Passive-Aggressiveness in it's purest form
I have theories. Everyone thinks that this guy is a troll. No doubt that's what he/she has become, but I have the nagging suspicion that this person started out as a friend, or more likely as a friend of a friend, or even a friend of a friend of an EX. (Disclaimer: Rob does NOT share my opinion here. He CANNOT fathom the idea of a friend being disloyal. And, frankly, it's difficult for me, too, newbie though I am.)
The person who is actually making the comments---well, that person is unstable. There is vulgarity, passion, and anger in those words. I thought initially that it could be some religious fanatic who chops people up because they are SINNERS. (Ever seen the movie, Seven?)
But now I am thinking that it is someone that is very possessive over Acidhead. If this is the case, no worries, psycho. I am REALLY not interested in having an affair. But don't hold your breath waiting for him to call. Rob and I HAVE gotten to know each other quite well. We have had deep, meaningful, beautiful conversation together. And I think I know him well enough to know that PSYCHOS ARE NOT HIS TYPE.
TROLL SUPPORT GROUP
You guys have been great. I think I have made some very worthwhile friendships. I LOVE YOU GUYS!! (sniff, sniff) But, seriously, if anyone would like to kick some IP ass, this would be the one: 184.108.40.206
FINDING YOUR SOULMATE
Do I believe that each and every person only has one person out there that they can live happily ever after with? ---Uh, no.
But I do believe that each of us (depending on the complexity of our personalities) has a varying percentage of the population with whom we are compatible. And out of that number, precious few will generate a spark. So what do most of us do? (And I use the term "us" lightly, because it's been 10 years since I've been floating the bar scene.) Well, "we" find the spark and figure the rest will work itself into place. ----Yeah.
For years I've joked that compatibility tests should be issued during pre-marital counseling. Guess what? They do that now. And my advice to all of you considering any life-altering steps, TAKE THE DAMN TEST! please, for me.
Internet love. It mixes things up. People get to know each other, THEN meet to see if there's spark. Hmmm. Interesting.
It can actually be quite thorough. Everyone's heard of this one. Go ahead, laugh it off. YOU try filling out those forms. It's very thorough. I'd like to hear a success story. Someone try it. I dare you.
Here's one success story: My grandmother met a man on the internet. At the time, he lived three states away, and he is 15 years younger. So, three weeks and they're married. Everyone thought it was sooooooooo romantic.
I thought it was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard of. "Doesn't anyone want to know if this guy's a psycho?" I demanded. Okay, maybe I rained on their parade a bit.
Conclusion: It's been several years and they couldn't be happier. So I guess I stand corrected. I'm glad he proved me wrong.
I DWARF HIM
YEAH, I SAID THAT.
Shower the man with compliments, but throw in one dig, and what do you think he remembers? For an illustration of this point, check out the comments on this post.
I'm realistic. (Somehow, I'm also idealistic, but we won't go into that right now.) I see it as it is. I am TALL. Legs up to my armpits, almost literally. I admit it. It's kinda neat to put my long hair back, throw on the black boots with the 4" heels, my leather coat, and some dark lipstick and look like a total badass. But I also must admit this. I'd consider trading it in a heartbeat to have that cute little size three frame, with the candy apple ass that looks good in a pair of jeans. No back aches. No trouble finding jeans long enough.
Wanting what we can't have---grass looks greener---blah, blah, the American dream, no?
All that to say, Acidman, you are the right height. It suits you. Any taller and you may not have developed that BIG, OFFENSIVE BARK of yours. And it wasn't really a dig. Or if it was, it was a mutual one---You think I like feeling like an Amazon?
YOU BET THEY ARE.
Give it up, demo-turds.
CHILDREN ARE NOT POLITICALLY CORRECT
DON'T ASK THEM TO BE.
The fact that they haven't got a clue about political correctness is part of their charm. Yes, they should "mind their manners." But that's no modern wonder; those of us that give a shit about parenting have been teaching our kids how to behave long before the term "political correctness" was coined.
Now D.C. schools have adopted a list of terms that are not politically correct, and they are consequently using alternate terms. How I would LOVE to get my hands on that list. I think I'll request a copy, but for the moment, I'm going on memory. I became aware of the travesty yesterday, thanks to the ramblings of Mancow.
Apparently using the term "Founding Fathers" is no longer kosher. WTF? How infuriating is that? How can it be gender-biased if there were no female signatures? (Maybe there should have been, but that's a different argument.)
No, they are no longer our "Founding Fathers." They are our "Framers."
I have always used the two interchangeably, but I've been partial to "Founding Fathers" because it is more endearing, respectful and personable. I will continue to use it. Moreso even. (The REBEL in me!) And I think it's a travesty that the PC retards continue to fuck with history, and that it is being allowed. (JMHO)
Oh, and the term "snowman" is sexist too. (No joke, on the list)
Oops, I guess that wasn't very politically correct of me.
I'm sure that you guys want that list as badly as I do. I'm working on it.
WOMEN ARE SHALLOW
Well, some are; I'll admit that.
Your typical sit-com, for example, has to have one or two scheming, materialistic bitches in the mix just to shake things up. But they are the exception, not the rule, and are portrayed as such. The singling out of the materialistic bitch is quite obvious, while the more composed, morally intact female earns the love and adoration of the audience. Okay, fine.
But what happens when humungo marketing teams placing television ads on said sit-com decide to obscure the distinction? Subtly of course, so as barely noticeable. Maybe it's a sweet, smiling face that simply has no depth.
I LIKE the distinction. Leave it alone. If not for the flighty, money-loving, brainless, scheming bimbos, then how can a real woman (balls intact) with DEPTH, intelligence, independence, and integrity be truly appreciated?
So what do I mean by "obscuring the distinction?" The example that sticks out in my mind is a jewelry commercial (of course). A man and a woman are hand-in-hand coming out of a building. He runs into the street (still holding her hand) screaming, "I love this woman! I LOVE THIS WOMAN!" She's embarrassed. "Shhhh," she laughs. He opens a jewelry case. Her attitude changes. "I love this man," she says dreamily. (GAG!)
Cute commercial. Maybe so. There's an obvious need for an appreciation of that which is materialistic; they ARE selling jewelry. Maybe if the line wasn't blurred between what I consider to be two very different types of women. Maybe if the gift had been born out of appreciation, rather than a need to prove "love." That man proved his love when he screamed it in the streets. I want HIM.
I'll take the man that will profess his love to me at the top of his lungs in the middle of a busy street, ANY DAY. She can keep the jewelry.
Kid Rock makes me FEEL LIKE TOSSING MY COOKIES.
Those of you that have enjoyed cool evenings on a porch with your booze and your buds, "Feel Like Making Love" blaring from somewhere in the house (setting the mood), are really gonna hate this remake.
I can count on one hand the number of remakes that have been properly executed. This is NOT one of them. In fact, it is pure crap. The opening lyrics are fairly unmolested, but it's downhill from there. It becomes increasingly nauseating until you are faced with the decision either to change the station or bear it, screaming in agony.
Beautiful remakes are a rarity; they are so rarely pulled off, that it would be really nice if these retards would just get a little more original and LEAVE THE CLASSICS ALONE! Some things should have no price-tag; this song was one of those things.
I DON'T THINK IT'S FUNNY (JERK-OFF!)
Fox news ran a follow-up this morning on the whole Howard Dean opening-his-mouth-and-not- knowing-what-the-hell-he's-talking-about thing.
And, of course, this gives the other demo-retards the opportunity to distinguish themselves from the relative idiocy of their peers. So what did Wesley Clark have to say? Well, regrettably, I cannot find a link to the exact quote. So allow it to serve as a disclaimer when I say that this is from memory. (If YOU have a link, send it on!)
Here is the Wesley wisdom: "I think that all Americans, and this is a joke, even if they're from the South and 'stupid,' should be represented."
Thanks Wes. It's a joke guys. We're not supposed to be offended. His intention has not eluded me. I understand that he was defending us against the people that really think we're ignorant buffoons. (I'm sure that isn't his opinion, assuming he owns one.)
Thanks, but no thanks, Wes. Those that identify with us know what to say and what not to say. If you don't know what to say, then keep you ever-luvin mouth SHUT. please.
For more on the inept pretty boy, visit this rant.
Update: Chelle has the article in her rant. Go check her out.
KELLEY AND I STOOD ON THE FRONT PORCH,
our arms heavily laden with the products of our "beer run." We weren't alone on the front porch. It was, in fact, becoming increasingly crowded as the stragglers scurried around below debating the location of the keys.
I mention Kelley specifically because as we stood there sighing in unison, I knew that we were visiting the same place mentally. "High School?" I offered. "Yep, definitely."
So, in the spirit of High School, I give you
If I leave anyone out, please do not be offended, it only means that I didn't get to know you well enough to issue a superlative on your behalf. (I'd hate to erroneously tag someone.)
CUTEST COUPLE - Donnie and his wife Danah, of course. They were truly "smiling, happy people."
FRIENDLIEST - Kelley. I was shocked. EVERYONE was supa-supa friendly. But Kelley gets the gold star. She was spreading sunshine within at least a fifteen foot radius. (I was going to give her BEST CLEAVAGE, but, well, I'd hate to embaress her.)
CRAZIEST - Georgia! She's beyond friendly. Well, our bonding began when I picked her up in the bathroom. She was kind enough to take me back to the table and introduce me to everyone, where I quickly discovered that the woman is crazy! It is a good thing that I realized this fact early on, that way it didn't shock me terribly when Georgia jumped in the laps of two unsuspecting gentlemen on the street as they were having their picture taken. Nor did it shock me (terribly) when she stopped the town mortician as he exited his mercedes. How did she stop him? Full body embrace, followed by "Ma'am, Ma'am, can you take our picture?" Yeah, that would be a picture of Georgia, the town mortician, and yours truly.
WISEST - Recondo. When the rest of us were our LOUDEST and DUMBEST, he kept his mouth shut; that's gotta be wisdom in its purest form. And when he spoke, they were wise words. Just ask Eric. (You'll have to scroll to Nov. 4; no permalink, and I know no other way.)
MOST DISTINGUISHED GENTLEMAN - Adam. A living anachronism. All of you people with your "chivalry is not dead." Show me another man that STANDS beside the table anytime the lady next to him gets up or sits down. Adam, wow. (Please don't marry a BITCH!)
LEAST GROUCHY - Denny. He was rather pleasant, actually.
MOST CLEVER - SISOFLEXX for coining a new nick-name, and then having the balls to write it in block letters across the back of his shirt. (This one's for you, Flacidman)
NOSIEST - DAX! Everyone else understood that the little memo pad was for putting YOUR info into. But Dax found everything that I had been jotting down in there much more interesting, including my grocery list.
JUST THE NICEST GUY - The one that charms with a sheepish smile. Kenny, for your sake I hope that nice guys do not actually finish last.
MOST INTRIGUING - ACIDMAN. I can't help it. I'd stare at a train wreck, too, I guess. But I don't think it's quite the same. Rob, honey, you intrigue me.
MOST HETEROSEXUAL - Duh. That would have to be the Straight White Guy. But, Eric, you are so much more than that. You're also the MOST TROUBLE, THE BIGGEST PAIN IN THE ASS, and quite possibly THE MOST FUN! I really enjoyed the debating, the abuse, and the wisecracking. I hope that we can do it again sometime. Oh, and making the MOST DISTINGUISHED GENTLEMAN squirm as we attempted to discuss the art of "ball-smacking," - well, that was just priceless.
BEST HARMONY - All of the above, plus all of the ones that I neglected to mention. We just blended well.
THE SECRET URL!!
Here it is, as aesthetically challenged as a blog can be. It will be undergoing a makeover soon enough, but this will have to do for the moment.
My identity? Well, I've had this one picked out for a while. I like it, but I'm not sure it's me. And, no, sorry, I haven't yet reached the net-comfort that you guys have in revealing your personal info on your site. Maybe I'll be there soon enough, but those of you that know me, that I've linked to---Well, you guys know who I am; I'm the chic with the previously secret url!
Bloggers are neat people. I'm the new kid on the block, but I felt like a stranger for all of 5 minutes on Saturday. I was genuinely impressed. As a result, I have added considerably to my daily reading. I've already discussed "the ringleader" in detail. I have a few others that I plan to pick on next. As for what you guys had to say about me---Well, that's just great; now I get to spend endless days trying to live up to the hype! ---I seriously thank you for your kindness.
WHAT REALLY HAPPENED IN THAT LOFT?
An exclusive interview with the one and only Acidman
So, what happened?
Well, the Earth shook. The Heavens opened, the Stars fell, and the Moon wept.
Really? Maybe not, but I hear that Acid can do that to you.
As we climbed the steps we each had our own agendas:
I was going to ask a slew of questions that I dared not ask in the midst of the jovial array scattered below.
He was going to get a piece of ass.
So we were each in for a rude awakening.
We talked. He needed it.
It was a good heart to heart. He is a good man, and I feel honored to have spent the time with him. And I am always pleased with myself when I can infuse anyone with with the caliber of anger stong enough to contemplate the destruction of their rear-view mirror.
I'm a little envious of #3, whoever she is. Alas, twill not be me. I am off the market, a little on the young side, and I dwarf him.
But somehow we are kindred spirits, and I look forward to a long-lasting friendship with the bitter old fart. (As he sees himself, not as I see him.)