May 27, 2011
Is it getting better?
Or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you now?
You’ve got someone to blame…
Well, that didn’t go as expected. The world didn’t end last Saturday, after all.
Now I’m having to walk home from San Antonio. Although, I may not actually have a home, anymore. I met some sucker last week who didn’t know the world was ending, and he gave me $5000 in exchange for a quit claim deed on my house. Fortunately. I didn’t spend it all. I still have about 50 bucks. I’m sure I’ll be able to work things out, if I ever get back…
Anyway, I’m making good time. I should be in Louisiana by winter.
Walk with electroglide on the Blue Highway
Wave below to Christ on my highway
Yes, I almost died on a Blue Highway
I got an interesting question via “viewer mail”…
You seem to mention hot chicks quite a bit.
How do you happen upon so many hot chicks, all the time?
I’m really glad you asked this question because it does need some ‘splaining. The way I see it, there are basically three classifications for adult females (who are not related to you):
- Wives of Friends – I don’t even know what these women look like. I don’t know if your wife is cute, I don’t know if she’s athletic, I wouldn’t even notice if her head burst into flames. I’m not about to look at her that closely. If she goes missing, I probably can’t help you find her ’cause I’m not sure what she looks like. On the up-side, I’ll never be able to pick her out of a police line-up. Sorry – this is just how I roll.
- Giant Assed Flight Attendants – Most commonly found on U.S. Airways, these are not the cute flight attendants who usually work in First Class. These are the ones who don’t really fit in the corridor, down the middle of the airplane. So, if you happen to be sleeping, in an aisle seat, as she is pushing the drink cart past you, that side-to-side swinging butt will smack you in the side of your head. As you abruptly awaken in a startled state, you may catch the trail end of an “excuse me”, now in the distance.
- Hot Chicks – That’s right. If you’re not in either of the above categories, you’re a hot chick. I think that simplifies things, don’t you? When someone asks you about a female, and you’re not sure what to say, never again do you have to come up with politically vague answers like, “she has a really nice personality”. Now you can just say, “she’s a hot chick” (and, later, refer them here if they have any further questions).
Frequently Asked Questions
Q: Are you saying that my 80 year old grandmother is a hot chick?
A: Yes and No. To me she’s a hot chick. I’ll even tell her that she’s a hot chick. She’ll love it – trust me. You on the other hand, cannot call her a hot chick. She’s your grandmother you sick bastard.
Q: I have a giant ass but I’m not a flight attendant. What am I?
A: Hot chick. Remember, all Trans-Ams were Firebirds but not all Firebirds were Trans-Ams. I’m not sure how that applies here but the bottom line is that, you are mostly likely a hot chick regardless of you ass size. Just don’t go and get a job on U.S. Air and subsequently wake me up, with your giant ass, while I’m trying to sleep.
I’ve been singing with my band
Across the wire, across the land
I seen every blue-eyed floozy on the way
Speaking of giant asses…
Dry Erase Pants
I had a colossal idea. First of all, I love whiteboards. I love drawing on them. I think in whiteboard. I used to think in lyrics – I’ve moved on. Now I think in whiteboard. So the other day, I’m at a bar – there’s a big surprise – and I’m strategizing with some other alcohol enthusiasts, when suddenly, I needed a whiteboard. Bars don’t have whiteboards… They should, I know.
Next thing you know, a hot chick walks by wearing a pair of white pants. Sure. I thought of asking her if I could draw on them but bars also don’t keep markers handy. I know – it’s like a hostile work environment. But then, in a moment of brilliance, it hit me – Dry Erase Pants.
Think about this. Seriously… Wouldn’t it be great if there were people walking around wearing pants coated with whiteboard stuff, so that you could draw on them and then erase them? So then you could be at a bar, you need to whiteboard an idea and you call someone over… “”Excuse me, could we draw on your pants?”
What can they say, “Of course…they are Dry Erase Pants! Have at it.”
Naturally, you can pick who you asks according to the size of your project.
Ugh… This just keeps getting better. Maybe we can get U.S. Air to make them part of their standard issue uniform for the giant assed flight attendants… Now, that’s what I would call Business Class!
And, how easy would it be to accesorize?
Picture a belt, with different color markers hanging off the back.
Handy… and … Brilliant, I say!
She had a horror of rooms, she was tired, you can’t hide beat
When I looked in her eyes they were blue, but nobody home
She could’ve been a killer if she didn’t walk the way she do,
…and she do
She opened strange doors that we’d never close again
i was listening to a guy from HP the other day. Eventually, I decided that I had no idea what he was talking about. We were discussing Market Development Funds. This refers to when a manufacturer, such as HP is this case, gives you money for bringing them new business. Well, suddenly, this guy starts throwing in an acronym, IBMDF…and I’m like… what? This stood for Incremental Business Market Development Funds. Of course, I’m thinking that HP would never have a program that sounded so much like something belonging to IBM. So, after hearing IBMFD so many times, I start thinking, maybe I’m confused. Maybe this guy works for IBM.
Well, a little while later, after I was convinced this guy worked for IBM, he says, “and we can get someone from HP involved, if we have to”. And I’m like, what? Since when do IBM folks want to get HP involved?
It gets worse. A few more minutes go by and he starts telling me that whenever we go to use this program, the key is to make sure that we are comparing Apples & Apples. So… I’m like… How’d Apple get involved?
At the end of the day, I have no idea who this guy actually worked for.
Luckily, I had my shrink ray with me. So, I shrunk him down to about a half-inch, stuck him to a piece of 3M heavy-duty double-stick carpet tape and attached him to a friend’s car. Last time I saw him he was headed East on Interstate 10 doing about 72 miles per hour on the hood of an old Chevy pickup truck.
Speaking of heading East on Interstate 10 at 72 miles per hour, I gotta go.
See you next week, when I will be broadcasting Live from New York City.
By the way, my blog consultant, Barnsley, told me to never, ever make a blog entry with all text and not single photo. So, here’s a picture of my friend, Stonesy, holding our Bonnaroo 2011 RV Parking Passes. Woo hoo!
And, YES, we were at Wings ‘n Things in Pompano Beach.
And, YES, we were drinking Yuengling.
And, YES, I do love beer.
See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya…
May 20, 2011
Sadly enough, this will be my last blog entry…
I know, I know. Many people encouraged me to start writing again, and I’ve only been back at it for a few weeks, but it’s completely out of my control. Why are you looking at me like this? It’s not like you’re going to be around to read future blog entries. Haven’t you heard?
The world is ending tomorrow…you idiot! Here, read this…
It makes perfect sence to me. Remember how the Mayan calendar ends in 2012, so everyone was saying the world was going to end then. Not a chance. Think about it… There’s the Mayan Calendar Geniuses, working away, making lots of progress, when Head Mayan comes in and goes, “what are you guys doing?” Chief Calendar Maker, September Sanchez, speaks up and says, “we’re working on 2012″. So Head Mayan explains to him that the world will be ending in 2011, there’s no need to keep going. And that, my friends, explains the discrepancy. In fact, I think they went ahead and paid them for 2012, even though we wouldn’t be needing it….something about a Mayan Fair Labor Act of 512 BC.
Well, anyway… If we’re going to die tomorrow, I say we go down listening to Kraftwerk.
The sad part is that, I wont even be back from San Antonio by then.
I won’t be able to enjoy the rapture in the comfort of my own home.
Hmmm… I just had a wierd thought. Just in case the world doesn’t end,
maybe I shouldn’t have purchased a one way ticket to San Antonio?
Speaking of which, did I tell you about my flight over here?
Give me a ticket for an aeroplane
Ain’t got time to take a fast train
It had been months since I’d on an airplane. Unfortunately, my private pilot (and personal bartender), Barnsley, still hasn’t updated his license. Commercial airlines, here I come. I was headed to San Antonio this week, thus Continental through Houston seemed like a logical choice. So, in spite of my last Continental flight making an unexpected overnight stop in Amarillo, the flight was booked and I was on my way. I think I was secretly hoping for an unexpected overnight stop in New Orleans. I haven’t been there in a while.
But again, having not flown in a while, I was out to enjoy every moment. I was on the lookout for fun. So I get to the airport, check a bag, print my boarding pass and I’m off to tackle the multi-layered TSA security process. After “the guy” looks at my driver’s license and scribbles something on my boarding pass that no one ever looks at again, I am forwarded to the non-moving lanes for the metal detector / bag screening. There were about 5 or 6 of these gizmos but only two lanes are open. I chose the right lane since the left lane appeared to be clogged by “things with wheels”. This was a mixture of parents pushing young people in strollers, airport personnel trying to navigate old people in wheel chairs, and a guy named Al Kayda with a hand truck.
As my good luck would have it, however, I was in line behind a good smelling hot chick. So, if security was taking their time, it wasn’t going to be too terribly painful. After a little while of standing in these non-moving lines, a TSA person comes walking around instructing, “put away your boarding passes, we don’t need to see them again. We don’t need to see your boarding passes or your driver’s license – put them away”. Of course, being the highly compliant and obedient traveler that I am, I quickly shoved everything into my pockets. Then the next TSA person walks by saying, “everything has to be out of your pockets – everything, not even your boarding pass”. Hey… wait a minute, I just put my boarding pass away – in my pocket. What was I thinking?
Just then, a big Irish guy behind me goes, “uh… I accidentally brought fruit juice with me”. I look at him in disbelief. Since when do the Irish drink fruit juice? Sure enough, he has a brand new, unopened, 16 ounce container of fruit juice in his hand which had apparently stowed away in one of his pockets. So I say, “what are you going to do now, Buddy…panic?”
He starts looking around for a garbage can when, after a startling discovery, I say to him, “wait… we’re in luck. I accidentally brought vodka”….and I pull out a bottle of Grey Goose. Not to be left out of the pending festivities, the hot chick in front of us turns around holding a sleeve of Dixie cups. Next thing you know, we’re having cocktails and my new Irish friend (Jimmy) is leading us in Irish drinking songs…
The line moves a little bit and the next TSA guy is approaching. By the time I catch what he’s saying all I heard was, “everything has to come off”. Now, I’m thinking, this is getting to sound like a real party. As he gets closer, repeating himself, I hear, “everything needs to come out of your pockets – everything. Shoes, belts, jackets…everything has to come off.” Just then, Jimmy starts waiving to the TSA guy and pointing to the hot chick (let’s call her, Janice). “What about bras and panties?” Stop. Read that back again. This time, using your best Irish accent…
Just then, Jimmy starts waiving to the TSA guy and pointing to Janice…
“What about bras and panties?” It was funnier that time, wasn’t it?
By now, Janice was doing shots of vodka. I blame Jimmy.
He only brought a small container of fruit juice… slacker!
The TSA is walking in our direction, while talking into his walkie-talkie. He’s not looking happy. I can’t decide if I should be looking in other directions, as though completely unaware of Jimmy (behind me) pointing to Janice (in front of me) or if I should look him right in the eye, like a bear.
“Did you people come to the airport drunk?”, asks TSA guy.
“No Sir”, I responded, as Janice hid the bottle of Grey Goose behind her back.
“I need the three of you to come with me”, said TSA guy and started walking in a direction inconsistent with boarding any aircraft.
“What about the bras and panties?”, Jimmy insisted. (reminder: Irish accent)
The TSA guy led us to a room where I eventually signed several forms agreeing to never disclose the events that took place inside. I am at liberty to say that Janice looked quite nice in her black bra and panties. Jimmy was wearing a red bra and panties and he, surprisingly, pulled off the look quite well. Shortly after signing my confidentiality agreement, I got a text message from Barnsley. He’d been appraised of the situation and was sending help. Just then the room started getting brighter and brighter until it was nearly blinding. Suddenly…
A gathering of angels appeared above my head,
they sang to me this song of hope and this is what they said…
They said, “come sail away, come sail away,
come sail away with me lads”
As it turns out…
I thought that they were angels, but much to my surprise,
we climbed aboard their starship, we headed for the skies.
Naturally, I thought this was a direct flight to San Antonio, but no…
Similar to Continental, we had to stop off at a Houston.
Of course, we were headed to Maxwell’s to get the starship washed & waxed.
The maybe pickup up some drugs, weapons and a raccoon sandwich.
So, finally, we’re back on the starship and on the way to San Antonio
(pronounced, San Antone). Short flight, no worries… Yes?
Short flight, no worries.. No!
Because I had to sit next to the big dude who gets a middle seat and then spills over onto everyone around him. You know the guy. Well, you’ll get to meet him here in a moment.
I give you Exhibit A…
Clearly, he’s way over on my side. Now I give you, Exhibit B…
OK, so… Here he is.
If you see him coming, don’t let him sit next to you.
He’ll even be sure to cover up the controls to the DirecTV…
and even, my not-so-loving fans, and remember…
May 13, 2011
So, back in the days of Static, people used to comment on my various ramblings, mostly after the fact. These days, I keep getting suggestions as to what I should write about. Thus far, aside from being called a ”borderline tea-bagger”, which I am really not, it has been suggested that I write about:
- Fuel Prices
- Cell Phones with GPS and Location Privacy
- Bad Customer Service at AT&T and/or Comcast
- How Legalizing Drugs Would Solve All of Our Problems
What do I know about these thing?
I’m just a guy, trying to find something to eat in Tlacotalpan…
All our times have come
Here but now they’re gone
Seasons don’t fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain
[Thinks to himself: "Hmm... That could use a little more cowbell."]
Is the grizzly reaper mowing?
Here’s what I want to talk about…
Color Me “Unkindled”
Someone asked me the other day If I was going to get a Kindle. I don’t think so. When I read a book, I want to smell the paper, bend the corners of the pages, and leave it open, face-down, lying around my house, so as to not lose my place. Besides, on an airplane they make you turn off everything that has an off switch. Guess what I do during that time?
True. I haven’t seen a take-off in years because I fall asleep the moment I get settled into my seat on an airplane and don’t wake up until we’re at 10,000 feet – but what about when landing? That’s when I do most of by book reading.
But here’s the real reason that I’m never getting a Kindle: It makes book reading look just like everything else… Here’s what I mean. In the not-too-distant past, “writing” looked like a guy with a pad of paper or maybe a guy using a typewritter. Today it looks like a guy using a laptop. Not too long ago, planning a trip required looking at some magazines, maps, and maybe calling a travel agent. Today it looks like a guy using a laptop. Not too long ago, paying bills involved paper bills and paper checks, you had to do some math and exercise your brain. Today it looks like a guy using a laptop. Shopping once required that you go to a store, maybe a mall, where you would inadvertently have to interact with other humans. Today, shopping looks a lot like someone using a laptop. So when I read a book, I never want to have to charge my book or put batteries in it. I don’t want my book to generate any heat. I want to enjoy its colorful (or not) cover. I want to know how much of a book I have left to read by looking at the thickness of the unread pages. If it’s really bad, I want to throw it across the room or maybe set it on fire. I don’t care if there’s an app for that. I don’t want reading a book to look like everything else. So kill me some trees and I’ll see you at Off the Beaten Path.
One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.
Ah, there are two other important things to talk about this week.
#1 – O-Marley Bin Dead Long
That’s right. Bob Marley’s been dead for 30 years now.
Think anyone is going to give a rat’s ass about Bin Laden 30 years from now?
So in honor of the dearly departed Marley, here’s a treat.
One of favorite performers from way back, Graham Parker,
performing No Woman, No Cry. Enjoy..
You have to do your best to come up to par,
From straight off the production line like a car,
‘Til everything you put on is a put-on,
And you don’t know who’s face you’re gazing upon
And my favorite story of the week - ONLY in FLORIDA, of course…
Please Read: 3 Accused in FL with Evil Spirit Cleansing Scam
How does this happen?
First, who is sitting at home thinking, “how do I get rid of these evil spirits?”
Then later, by a stroke of luck, you stumble across someone in that business.
Next, you decide to send them money. I’m thinking that most religious cleansing should be done at no charge…or maybe for 15% of your annual income…but hardly ever in return for a Rolex. Of course, I’m only an apprentice at this religious cleansing thing. Maybe I’ll learn more after a few more Sunday schools.
But what happens next? Do you sit around waiting and then make a brilliant discovery,”hey… I sent those people money and the evil spirits are still here. I got ripped off. The whole thing was a fraud!”
Of course, they’re probably going to claim that it wasn’t a fraud and that they did actually cleanse their customers of said evil spirits. We are still innocent until proven guilty, correct? And we do still have freedom of religion, yes/no?
So the prosecutors should have to prove that Polly, Bridgitte, and Olivia took money from their customers but didn’t actually cleanse them of evil spirits. They should have to bring one of the customers to the court room and show that their evil spirits are still present. But you know, I’ll bet you that some particularly nasty evil spirits required multiple treatments. And in the evil spirit business, there can’t be guarantees. It could be like removing a computer virus. You can get rid of one today and go right out and get yourself another one tomorrow.
Maybe, similar to anti-virus software, what you need is some sort of a continuous effort where you pay a monthly fee to be enrolled in an ongoing anti-evil spirit program…and if you don’t see results in 6 months, we’ll refund your money. Thoughts?
Hans plays with Lotte, Lotte plays with Jane
Jane plays with Willi, Willi is happy again
Suki plays with Leo, Sacha plays with Britt
Adolf builds a bonfire, Enrico plays with it
Well, I probably shouldn’t be bloging and texting while sipping on a Dos Equis (amber)
and driving 86 miles an hour on I-75 through Alligator Alley.
See you in the next life, wake me up for meals.
May 6, 2011
I’m so confused. First he resisted, then he didn’t resist (much). First we killed his wife, then we only shot her in the leg. First we had the body, then we buried it at sea. First we had pictures, then we’re not showing them to anyone. First we were sure it was him, but now, no one can find Cat Stevens…
Just a litte joke there, Yusuf…
(artist formerly known as Cat, formerly known as Steven)
…I love you , man. ‘Scuse me, while I kiss this guy.
My Lady d’Arbanville,
why do you sleep so still?
I’ll wake you tomorrow
and you will be my fill,
yes, you will be my fill.
What was I talking about, Michael Jackson?
Oh, that’s right… The other dead guy.
One thing we don’t do around here is celebrate anyone’s death. And well, this guy, we’re not going to celebrate his neo maxi zoom dweebie life. I do, however, think this occasion calls for a little Hasidic Jew, Reggae, Hip Hop, Rap. Don’t you?
Excuse me while I kiss this guy, too…
The big debate in Washington this week was whether or not to release photographs of the dead guy. What do you suppose that debate sounded like?
Leon: Let’s release the photos!
Hillary: We can’t release the photos. They are graphic (as opposed to non-graphic photos) and could cause backlash against Americans everywhere.
Leon: C’mon. Let release them before Assange does.
Well, doesn’t matter that El Presidente Obama decided not to release the photographs. You don’t have to wait for the CIA, Homeland Security, WikiLeaks or even George Foreman…(?)… You guessed, our investigative reporting business unit, “ArchieLeaks – mostly in the bathroom”, has acquired certain “cables” containing a classified image which was leaked to us by an unnamed high ranking official. We have now authenticated the image as having been produced by an official Navy SEAL sketch artist, microseconds after Bin Laden was shot in the head.
Warning: The following photo may contain graphic images.
I wonder if we’ll ever find out who exactly pulled the trigger.
There’s a guy a few people would like to kiss.
Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on, Ah!…
La-la how the life goes on.
Note: Your results may vary if you
have been recenly shot in the head.
So, a few weeks ago, I was in Florida and desperately needed a a glass of wine while visiting the foreclosure capital of the world, Port St. Lucie. I know, at first it sounds like I must have lost a bet. However, much to my surprise, in this town mostly know for residents with sunburned necklines who never take down their Christmas lights, I found a pretty cool little wine and beer joint, conveniently located right off the Interstate, Vine & Barley.
That makes it it easy to find and handy for drinking and driving your four wheel drive truck on the Interstate later. Note: I’m still looking for investors for my Drinking & Driving School.
Question: Should at least the instructor be sober?
Anyway, while the Barley side is attended to by a “beerista” (I just made that up), the Vines are attended to by the Enomatic Wine Serving System. So, technically, you don’t even have to talk to anyone (much). This is good since they are probably busy anyway, thinking about taking down their Christmas lights.
But here’s the exciting part… I discovered the 2007 Silver Palm Cabernet Sauvignon. I’d been off cabs for a while, but this one is reeling me back in. It’s very smooth with a delicious taste of various fruits. I couldn’t pick them out. I was drinking…
And it just keeps getting better, street price on this guy is about $14 per bottle…but get me a decanter and I’ll put it up against a $30 bottle any day. Bring it on!
The most disturbing part of this whole event occured in the parking lot when I was leaving. When I got there it was starting to rain, I had a few Twizzlers to send, and I backed my car into the parking space… So as I’m leaving my friend says, “hey…you probably shouldn’t go around backing into parking spaces”. Next, I come to find out that, apparently, backing into a parking space, in certain circles, is some sort of a sign that some men use to indicate that they are “trolling for other men”.
No way, gay guys… You can’t have this one.
I learned to go in rear-first at the early age of 16 (maybe 17), when I could barely drive but was hired by an Italian guy named Rocco and his son, Rocco Jr., to valet park the Bentleys and Rolls Royces of the rich and famous at the, now defunct, Royal Poinciana Playhouse in Palm Beach. I’ve been backing in to parking spaces every since.
Why can’t we all just get along? Tell you what… I’ll split it with you.
You guys get to keep backing in but you also have to hang something gay off your rear-view mirror. That way we, the boring straight folk, can tell the difference between a “trolling vehicle” and one that is just possibly Valet parked… And I will get to keep backing in and you will not pull any gay stuff on me. Deal?
Excuse me – but please don’t try to kiss this guy… (yuck)
Note (mostly for the democrats): I love and respect all my brothers and sisters from this planet (Earth), regardless of your sexual preferences, creed (does not include the band, Creed), color, religion, political affiliation(s) or if you’ve chosen to name all of your kids after yourself …
Love ya, GF – but I’m done with the kisses.
By the way, it’s funny what you find on the Information Super Bad Neighborhood when you GoogaBing “Bid Laden” while trying to locate a photo so that you have something to base your sketch artist drawing on.
I leave you with my two favorites…
And, of course…
See yous all next week.
(Not a typo – I was trying to sound Long Island.)