To Whom It May Concern,
Today I had a mid-afternoon craving. Familiar with this yearning, I opened my desk drawer, retrieved 70 cents and headed to the cafeteria. I inserted the coins in the almighty vending machine, pushed A7, and watched the coil retract and my favorite snack plummet to freedom. I reached in and grabbed what I so desired. I smiled, knowing that soon my hunger would be bludgeoned by a simple recipe of whole corn, corn oil, and salt. Fritos to the rescue. Oh thank you, old pal.
I opened the bag as I walked back to my desk. I started to chew with a smile. I sat down, and slowly realized something was different. I had never experienced this before. My Fritos® weren’t good! THEY WERE STALE! Aaaahhhhh, how could this happen? I have been disappointed by many things that I hold dear in my life (my friends, my family, the human race in general) but not you Fritos®. What is this world coming to?
My love of Fritos® goes back as far as I can remember. It was always the chip of choice in our house. I remember many carefree days as a kid drinking Pepsi® out of a glass bottle and enjoying the finest corn chips ever made. Eventually I gave up the Pepsi®, but I never outgrew the Fritos®. When I was in college, I boasted that I had accumulated the largest Frito® bag collection in the Midwest. I eventually sold off my collection, but I could never sell off my love of Fritos®.
Now this! My world is turned upside down! What am I to do when mid-afternoon hunger strikes? Next time I go to the vending machine, I will actually have to think, “maybe an Almond Joy® at D4 or some Munchos® at B6.” I don’t want D4 or B6, I want A7, I want you, Fritos®!
Now, I sincerely hope that this was one of those freak accidents. God knows it can’t be an easy task bringing corn-chip bliss to the masses. At the same time, I am sure that you, the good people of Frito Lay, would want to know that some bad Fritos® made it into the hands of the unsuspecting corn chip-loving community.
I hope that this serves as a wake up call to you, Frito Lay. You have an obligation to serve the corn chip community. I challenge you to rise to the challenge and produce nothing but the freshest corn chips that today’s corn chipping technology will allow. To make sure that you get them quickly, not only to slot A7 in the vending machine in the cafeteria down the hall in my office, but to every slot A7 in every cafeteria down the hall everywhere.
I leave you with the faithful words of the Frito Bandito.
Ayiee, yie-yie-yieeee,
I am dee Frito Bandito.
I love Frito's Corn Chips,
I love dem I do.
I love Frito's Corn Chips,
I take dem from you.
Yours in whole corn, corn oil, and salt.
Respectfully,
7.27.2006
7.25.2006
Huge Calculator
Does anyone else think that those really big calculators are ridiculous? What is it about the calculator that makes it think it can shrug off the downhill tumble that is technological betterment?
In an age where cell phones are smaller, thinner, and shinier than forks this defiant slave to long division stands still. Like your 268 pound neighbor in his running shorts bending over to pick up his keys. It seems to be bragging, "look at me I am obnoxiously huge, pay heed!"
I have come up with a plan. Next time you see someone using one of those huge calculators, simply go up to them and start singing "smooth operator", but instead of the real words substitute "Huge Calculator", if that doesn't work take them to see your neighbor drop his keys.
note: my cell phone has a calculator in it. It also has the ability to take a picture of my 268 pound neighbor. Pay heed, the downhill tumble will be triggered by convenience. I'll call you and we can talk about it.
In an age where cell phones are smaller, thinner, and shinier than forks this defiant slave to long division stands still. Like your 268 pound neighbor in his running shorts bending over to pick up his keys. It seems to be bragging, "look at me I am obnoxiously huge, pay heed!"
I have come up with a plan. Next time you see someone using one of those huge calculators, simply go up to them and start singing "smooth operator", but instead of the real words substitute "Huge Calculator", if that doesn't work take them to see your neighbor drop his keys.
note: my cell phone has a calculator in it. It also has the ability to take a picture of my 268 pound neighbor. Pay heed, the downhill tumble will be triggered by convenience. I'll call you and we can talk about it.
7.19.2006
The token first post: My brother, strong ale, and the Gulf
Last week when I ran into my brother Jay at the bar he was sipping on an ale and munching on some stale pizza. As he dined on the crust, he told me about a Time magazine article he had read. It was an article about a siege in the gulf of Arabia in which the WHIG party (White Heterosexual Irish Gangsters) made a move to drive their enemy, the AX party (Arabian X-patriots) off their bit of land. Like a sly fox the WHIG party had a major break with a move that can only be described as a pogo offense. They flung a log of meat at their opponents. Waco indeed. In a need not to be out done the AX party countered with a grenade that consisted of a mixture of tofu and poi. This was their yin, to the WHIG's yang. Alas it was a dud.
So as AX pined like a baby to their ma, a drastic change occurred. A tini collection of Ewe people from Ghana arrived. Often compared to the Mars rover, the Ewe confronted the warring parties and made them see the error of their ways. To insure no hard feelings the groups sat around with stong ale, a game of Scrabble, and paints.
Thomas Edison: Son of El Alacran
Is it any wonder jello is made from horse hooves? Is it any wonder there is a space-missle silo buried in the Rocky Mountains and under your rose garden? Is it any wonder there are tiny little maggots living in the pores beneath your eyebrows? Fame.
You, sir, are desensitized to wonderment, fantasy, truth, fiasco. Thomas Edison's middle name is Alva, and you don't blink. Alva was his mother's name and your heart beats, thump thump, American Idol, thump thump, ground fault interrupted. Thomas Alva Edison from the magical Mexican City of Durango played soccer in the streets. Streets where the mighty Spanish were forced to sign-in at the door to the New World. On Saturday Thomas Edison swam the English Channel, on Sunday he invented electricity. On Monday he counted his rubles and asked the girls to call him Tommy. And they sang:
Listening to Tom, I hear a hat dance, Mexican
I hear a light switch, coming from Tom
He is inventing
And in Durango, El Alacran
Hail Son of El Alacran! Mighty wizard of sand and stone. Inventor and space aviator, father of a well known Sea Captain. Let the pale faces sweat your name. And let them pay royalties to whomever does your taxes.
7.18.2006
Carpi Diem
I've lurked. I've read. I've commented. Now...I POST.
I am known by many a name but here, now, I am fAtHanD.
My inclusion begins.
I am known by many a name but here, now, I am fAtHanD.
My inclusion begins.
7.14.2006
Tony Imperial gets a trim
There’s a bar I’ve hit up with Mardi Gras on many occasions. It sits on main street in downtown Utica. “Main street” and “downtown” are misleading as it’s a quiet street with old businesses – some fairly rundown. Every time we’ve patronized that watering hole I’ve noticed this building just down the street, a barbershop. Cement blocks that were painted white many years ago are now dingy, crumbling, and comprise the structure. Plants overrun the window space inside. Outside a barber pole sits unspinning. I’ve always wanted to walk in and get a cut. So much so that I have concocted elaborated fantasies as to how the whole affair would play out. Yesterday I grew up and replaced those fantasies with a tangible reality.
It had an underlying odor, none too pleasant. Indeed, the glass door gave way to dinginess. The plants were overrunning the bay area by the long street side window. That ledge undeniably belonged to the flora. Old bottles of hair tonic and the like (and I mean real old) were scattered here and there on the counter. Old tools like hand held driers, combs with faded plastic, scissors, massive electric razors and the like gently littered the work area. Three absolutely ancient barber chairs ran the length of the floor. Carl would turn out to be from Poland and have 77 years under his belt. Forty of which were spent in this little shop turning mortal men into Adonises. He was working on a Macedonian, maybe five years his junior.
I sat in a crappy chair and leafed through the day’s Free Press, but only half interested. I basically took in the place and listened to the old guys talk about the stuff old guys talk about: the “old country”, the weather, the crazy people the Macedonian rented apartments to – you get the idea. When my turn came I was really excited to sit in this gigantic old barber chair. It had this ridiculously big wrought iron foot rest. As Carl spun the smock around me I could smell him. Slightly more than faint, but not completely overpowering, he didn’t appear to favor deodorant or an anti-perspirant. I told him to take about half an inch to three quarters off. He pulled out his electric clippers.
As he began to take a generous amount of hair off the top of my head, he began to make outrageous claims. He told me that people get fat because of the ice in their drinks. He related a detailed itinerary of how the ice methodically deterred the body from properly digesting food. He also asserted that eating different foods in one sitting was extremely bad for people. In his words, if you were to “eat fish, then you get the clam chowder. Not a vegetable or a beef soup.” He continued to hypothesize that the mixing of animals or plants was a culinary and gastro-intestinal no-no. He continued to fashion my hair in a manner I was sure I had just
seen on the Macedonian, filled his brush with talc, and administered a sound brushing. Next came the hot foam. My one disappoint arrived with the absence of a long thick cut of leather upon which the blade would be sharpened, but he did produce a straight razor and proceed to shave me, including around the ears and the back of my neck. While this may be the piéce de resistance of the barbershop excursion, as I sat there I sincerely believe that he was shaving me with the exact same blade he had just worked on the Macedonian with, sans sanitization of any kind. I could be wrong here, but I doubt it and that bothers me a bit. The shave was sequentially followed by a soothing tonic applied by 77 year old polish hands, another talc-infused brushing, and the proclamation that I would now be “the most
handsome young man out on the street”. I told him that was why I was there, and paid the man nine dollars for the cut and an extra two for his sage advice.
---
a footnote from Mardi Gras Dave...
This account of one mans barbering experience has brought a tear to my eye for a couple of reasons. One, I just got home from getting my hair cut. I paid way more than $9, and the lady working over the mop ontop of my head had quite the runny nose. The tissue she used to absorb the mucus leaking from her nose was kept in her smock. This very same tissue traveled from her smock to her nose via her hand...with no washings in between. The second reason is that I have been lucky enough to see said barber shop, and heard the dreams of T. Imperial about one day...oh, one day, getting his hair sculpted in that building. I'm happy this day has come to fruition my friend. And the last reason I was so happy to read this story is that last night, on my way home from a nice brisk evening walk with Mac I stopped by Mr. Imperials abode. We chatted, he had a beer...there was a pipe. I noticed, altough I decided not to mention, someone had gotten a haircut....and it looked good!! My friends, and fellow hairy guys alike, this was no $9 haircut. Congratulations Mr. Imperial, on one hell of a haircut...as well as another checkmark off the list of things to do before your time here on earth has expired.
MGD
It had an underlying odor, none too pleasant. Indeed, the glass door gave way to dinginess. The plants were overrunning the bay area by the long street side window. That ledge undeniably belonged to the flora. Old bottles of hair tonic and the like (and I mean real old) were scattered here and there on the counter. Old tools like hand held driers, combs with faded plastic, scissors, massive electric razors and the like gently littered the work area. Three absolutely ancient barber chairs ran the length of the floor. Carl would turn out to be from Poland and have 77 years under his belt. Forty of which were spent in this little shop turning mortal men into Adonises. He was working on a Macedonian, maybe five years his junior.
I sat in a crappy chair and leafed through the day’s Free Press, but only half interested. I basically took in the place and listened to the old guys talk about the stuff old guys talk about: the “old country”, the weather, the crazy people the Macedonian rented apartments to – you get the idea. When my turn came I was really excited to sit in this gigantic old barber chair. It had this ridiculously big wrought iron foot rest. As Carl spun the smock around me I could smell him. Slightly more than faint, but not completely overpowering, he didn’t appear to favor deodorant or an anti-perspirant. I told him to take about half an inch to three quarters off. He pulled out his electric clippers.
As he began to take a generous amount of hair off the top of my head, he began to make outrageous claims. He told me that people get fat because of the ice in their drinks. He related a detailed itinerary of how the ice methodically deterred the body from properly digesting food. He also asserted that eating different foods in one sitting was extremely bad for people. In his words, if you were to “eat fish, then you get the clam chowder. Not a vegetable or a beef soup.” He continued to hypothesize that the mixing of animals or plants was a culinary and gastro-intestinal no-no. He continued to fashion my hair in a manner I was sure I had just
seen on the Macedonian, filled his brush with talc, and administered a sound brushing. Next came the hot foam. My one disappoint arrived with the absence of a long thick cut of leather upon which the blade would be sharpened, but he did produce a straight razor and proceed to shave me, including around the ears and the back of my neck. While this may be the piéce de resistance of the barbershop excursion, as I sat there I sincerely believe that he was shaving me with the exact same blade he had just worked on the Macedonian with, sans sanitization of any kind. I could be wrong here, but I doubt it and that bothers me a bit. The shave was sequentially followed by a soothing tonic applied by 77 year old polish hands, another talc-infused brushing, and the proclamation that I would now be “the most
handsome young man out on the street”. I told him that was why I was there, and paid the man nine dollars for the cut and an extra two for his sage advice.
---
a footnote from Mardi Gras Dave...
This account of one mans barbering experience has brought a tear to my eye for a couple of reasons. One, I just got home from getting my hair cut. I paid way more than $9, and the lady working over the mop ontop of my head had quite the runny nose. The tissue she used to absorb the mucus leaking from her nose was kept in her smock. This very same tissue traveled from her smock to her nose via her hand...with no washings in between. The second reason is that I have been lucky enough to see said barber shop, and heard the dreams of T. Imperial about one day...oh, one day, getting his hair sculpted in that building. I'm happy this day has come to fruition my friend. And the last reason I was so happy to read this story is that last night, on my way home from a nice brisk evening walk with Mac I stopped by Mr. Imperials abode. We chatted, he had a beer...there was a pipe. I noticed, altough I decided not to mention, someone had gotten a haircut....and it looked good!! My friends, and fellow hairy guys alike, this was no $9 haircut. Congratulations Mr. Imperial, on one hell of a haircut...as well as another checkmark off the list of things to do before your time here on earth has expired.
MGD
7.13.2006
Today's "Outrageously Successful" Tip
An excerpt from "How to be Outrageously Successful with Women: A Guide to Surviving the Sexual Revolution" by John Mack Carter& Lois Wyse. Published in 1975 by William Morrow and Company.
THE BRIDE:
(page 34)
If she married you less than a year ago, you're right. She is your bride. Anything more, and she's your wife. The gray-haired man who peers over his potbelly to introduce "my bride" is not enhancing her role. He is demeaning it.
Women have a right to be known as "my wife," and men have no right to treat them like duitifully decorative objects with an insipid introduction like "my bride."
Incidentally, that also holds true for men who speak of "the old lady,"* "the little woman," and "my better half." They are all cliches for what these husbands obviously regard as the all-time cliche of their lives: marriage.
* Not to be confused with "my old lady," a reference made by unmarried men to the women who live with them.
... now get out there and knock em dead, slugger!
THE BRIDE:
(page 34)
If she married you less than a year ago, you're right. She is your bride. Anything more, and she's your wife. The gray-haired man who peers over his potbelly to introduce "my bride" is not enhancing her role. He is demeaning it.
Women have a right to be known as "my wife," and men have no right to treat them like duitifully decorative objects with an insipid introduction like "my bride."
Incidentally, that also holds true for men who speak of "the old lady,"* "the little woman," and "my better half." They are all cliches for what these husbands obviously regard as the all-time cliche of their lives: marriage.
* Not to be confused with "my old lady," a reference made by unmarried men to the women who live with them.
... now get out there and knock em dead, slugger!
7.10.2006
In Capotugtry legend
Glen Does, and likely Sally Does 2
Glen Does wore a large domed bead in the shape of a tire which hung from his emaciated neck like a pendulum and swung with grand purpose as he spent his morning tending the herd. At the age of 84 he found no greater joy than shepherding his herd of alpacas through the quiet mountain dells of his native Capotugtry, careful not to mar the picturesque flora that speckled the meadow like constellations on the night sky. The locals of Capotugtry had all known Glen for an eon and several would, on occasion, join him in minding the alpacas against their one sworn enemy…the silver fox. But this day, Glen was alone.
The foxes were sly as their reputation precedes and would lie in a shallow pit bordering the lea by which Glen tottered. This pasture sprawls for 400 acres from the Does family home, a modest dwelling that is the pride of Capotugtry and has been for centuries. Generally their goal was to snipe out any alpaca lagging behind the main cell. On this day however, the foxes had an altered brand of revelry in mind.
When Glen came past the pit trailing the herd, two foxes lit after him with a pace that warmed the earth. Out of sheer terror he fell toward the ground reaching in his furry man-purse for anything he might use as a weapon. To his chagrin, it’s only contents were an awl which he used for making holes, especially in leather or wood, and two ticket stubs from a John Tesh concert which he attended with his younger sister Sally 2, named after her grandmother on her fathers side, she was not Sally the 2nd she was Sally 2. Glen was as close with no one in the world as he was with his sister Sally and he confided in her everything.
When the foxes approached they tried to bite his ankles but instead got hold of his pants which would frequently sag loosely around his feet. Tugging at the pants they began dragging him toward the pit which most certainly held a family of hungry foxes. Afraid for his life Glen grabbed for the large domed bead around his neck and swung it at his attackers knocking them both immediately unconscious. In shock and filled with adrenaline he reached for the ticket stubs and swiftly slit their throats.
To this day when asked if I know who killed two foxes with a bead and some John Tesh ticket stubs I invariably reply Glen Does and likely Sally Does 2
Glen Does wore a large domed bead in the shape of a tire which hung from his emaciated neck like a pendulum and swung with grand purpose as he spent his morning tending the herd. At the age of 84 he found no greater joy than shepherding his herd of alpacas through the quiet mountain dells of his native Capotugtry, careful not to mar the picturesque flora that speckled the meadow like constellations on the night sky. The locals of Capotugtry had all known Glen for an eon and several would, on occasion, join him in minding the alpacas against their one sworn enemy…the silver fox. But this day, Glen was alone.
The foxes were sly as their reputation precedes and would lie in a shallow pit bordering the lea by which Glen tottered. This pasture sprawls for 400 acres from the Does family home, a modest dwelling that is the pride of Capotugtry and has been for centuries. Generally their goal was to snipe out any alpaca lagging behind the main cell. On this day however, the foxes had an altered brand of revelry in mind.
When Glen came past the pit trailing the herd, two foxes lit after him with a pace that warmed the earth. Out of sheer terror he fell toward the ground reaching in his furry man-purse for anything he might use as a weapon. To his chagrin, it’s only contents were an awl which he used for making holes, especially in leather or wood, and two ticket stubs from a John Tesh concert which he attended with his younger sister Sally 2, named after her grandmother on her fathers side, she was not Sally the 2nd she was Sally 2. Glen was as close with no one in the world as he was with his sister Sally and he confided in her everything.
When the foxes approached they tried to bite his ankles but instead got hold of his pants which would frequently sag loosely around his feet. Tugging at the pants they began dragging him toward the pit which most certainly held a family of hungry foxes. Afraid for his life Glen grabbed for the large domed bead around his neck and swung it at his attackers knocking them both immediately unconscious. In shock and filled with adrenaline he reached for the ticket stubs and swiftly slit their throats.
To this day when asked if I know who killed two foxes with a bead and some John Tesh ticket stubs I invariably reply Glen Does and likely Sally Does 2
7.08.2006
THE FIRST SPY AT THE IDLE LUAU WILL FEAST ON POI AND DANCE WITH DAWN... TIL DAWN!!!
The following story was written using the words (in bold) from the scrabble game pictured below.
I took a drink of my Coors Light, swallowed. The next thing I know I woke up, cold and confused. I looked to my right, and saw two middle aged women one was wearing sweatpants and a Seattle Seahawks t-shirt the other wore a toga. Both women wore boas, one green and one pink. They were watching the Ultimate Fighting Championship on a very small television. One of them must have noticed that I was awake, she came over to me and shoved a brat in my mouth, then instructed me to chew. I resisted at first, but then I realized that this was the best brat that I had ever tasted. I wolfed the entire thing down then turned to the woman in the green boa. "Where am I? And what's with the brats?"
She assured me that everything was fine. She said her name was Iris, and the other woman, the one in the toga, went by Dawn. Iris told me I was in no danger, that the brats were imported from Mali, and that I would find no finer brat in all the land. I said "NO SHIT!!" with my mouth full and focused on my second brat, which was just as good as the first. All of a sudden Dawn turned to me, looked me in the eye and yelled, "THE FIRST SPY AT THE IDLE LUAU WILL FEAST ON POI AND DANCE WITH DAWN... TIL DAWN!!!"
Maybe it was the brats, maybe the excitement of the Ultimate Fighting Championship match but her wild outburst didn't startle me at all. I just looked at her and said, "AHHHHHHH!" which made her smile and blink. As she continued to blink I heard a faint sound. It slowly grew louder, it seemed familiar. The louder it got the more familiar it seemed, I finally realized that it was the beginning of the song "Sober" by Tool. I looked back at Dawn and realized that she was blinking along to the song. I slapped her in the face and told her to "cut it out", then to lighten the mood I did the hand signals that Dave Coulier did on Full House when he said that. It worked, and she just turned and continued watching the Ultimate Fighting Championship on the small TV.
Just then a commercial came on the small television advertising the county fair, it encouraged us to "come on down and bring the kids..." The commercial promised "big fun!" and most importantly the star of Knight Rider "KIT" was to be there signing autographs. I was sold, and much to my surprise both Iris and Dawn were excited too. It seems that they liked Knight Rider even more than Ultimate Fighting Championship. Dawn opened a closet door and pulled out 3 backpacks, one she packed with what looked to be small wads of meat and gave to Dawn. In the next backpack, she place a shiny silver urn, and 3 packages of Big League Chew. She gave this bag to me and said, "you earned this one!" She then picked up the rug she had been standing on folded it neatly and placed it in her backpack. With our goods safely backpacked, we set out for the fairgrounds.
I was happy to get out of that little room, it was homey but smelled like jail and for some reason it made me think about Jason Barnes, he was a kid I went to elementary school with. He had lice in 2nd grade, I wonder what the long term psychological ramifications of having lice in second grade are... But enough about that we were on our way to see Kit at the county fair.
It seemed like it took forever to get there, we got lost several times and wound up in some interesting parts of town. We finally stopped and axed for directions, and it is a good thing we did because if we would have continued on the route we were on we would have wound up in the wrong county, and when looking for a county fair it is fairly important that you look in the correct county.
Once we found our way to the fair, it was like a little piece of heaven on a muddy lot. They had it all, big blue stuffed animal dogs, Van Halen mirrors, GOLDFISH!!! Dawn and Iris made a bee-line for the game where you shoot the clown in the mouth with the water pistol, which makes a balloon fill with air. They claimed to be really good at it, they really weren't, but they seemed to be having a lot of fun. This was one of the nicer squirt-the-clown-in-the-mouth games that I had seen. The guns were not pistols but uzis, I took some sweet pictures of Dawn holding the uzi gangster style, she looked really bad ass. But how can you not look bad ass wearing a toga and sporting an uzi? After about 45 minutes of errant squirting Iris finally won, much to her dismay her prize was a small box of Gain laundry detergent. Seems weird, but to some folks I suppose it is just as good as a mirror with a wrestler on it and everyone knows that only the biggest spenders get the huge purple bears.
Now that the girls had won something we could finally go and see Kit. To our delight, there was a very small line when we got there. In no time, we were face to bumper with Kit. He was very nice, and much shorter than he looks on TV. He posed for a bunch of pictures with us, then he signed the rug Iris had in her backpack. Iris then reached in my backpack and pulled out the urn, she offered Kit $20 if we could have some of his oil. To my surprise, he was more than willing to let us take some of his essential fluids. This saddened me a bit, but I guess you gotta do what you gotta do to get by. We got to hang out with Kit for quite some time. He told us how he had been arrested in the late 80s for aiding and abetting an underground Shetland pony smuggling ring. It seems he thought it was a Shetland collie smuggling ring. "I thought they were smuggling doggys" is what he said. For the most part he was very nice, and aside from him referring to us as "Michael" I really thought he was a swell guy.
As we walked back down the midway toward the car we stopped to play one more game of chance, this one you tried to make Tarzan climb a vine by throwing ping pong balls at a cup. Dawn challenged me to win something, she said I couldn't do it. "Ho, I'll show you!", I exclaimed. Turns out I was quite good at this game and in no time I had won the girls a roach clip that had yellow and red feathers on it. They were happy and it really was the great way to end the day.
On the way home, we stopped at a gas station to get a snack. I choose a Hersey's bar, Dawn a roll of sprees, and Iris an Almond Joy and some corn nuts. On the way back to the car, I bit into my slab of chocolate delight and the next thing I know I woke up on my couch with a half full bottle of Coors Light in my hand and the Ultimate Fighting Championship on television.
Before I could think, the phone rang, a voice on the line said, "It's dawn"... I looked out the window and it was indeed daybreak. I asked the voice on the phone, "who is this?" the voice said, "It's Dawn" and then said something about wanting the "doubles of the toga uzi pictures and the ones with kit". I hung up.
I took a drink of my Coors Light, swallowed. The next thing I know I woke up, cold and confused. I looked to my right, and saw two middle aged women one was wearing sweatpants and a Seattle Seahawks t-shirt the other wore a toga. Both women wore boas, one green and one pink. They were watching the Ultimate Fighting Championship on a very small television. One of them must have noticed that I was awake, she came over to me and shoved a brat in my mouth, then instructed me to chew. I resisted at first, but then I realized that this was the best brat that I had ever tasted. I wolfed the entire thing down then turned to the woman in the green boa. "Where am I? And what's with the brats?"
She assured me that everything was fine. She said her name was Iris, and the other woman, the one in the toga, went by Dawn. Iris told me I was in no danger, that the brats were imported from Mali, and that I would find no finer brat in all the land. I said "NO SHIT!!" with my mouth full and focused on my second brat, which was just as good as the first. All of a sudden Dawn turned to me, looked me in the eye and yelled, "THE FIRST SPY AT THE IDLE LUAU WILL FEAST ON POI AND DANCE WITH DAWN... TIL DAWN!!!"
Maybe it was the brats, maybe the excitement of the Ultimate Fighting Championship match but her wild outburst didn't startle me at all. I just looked at her and said, "AHHHHHHH!" which made her smile and blink. As she continued to blink I heard a faint sound. It slowly grew louder, it seemed familiar. The louder it got the more familiar it seemed, I finally realized that it was the beginning of the song "Sober" by Tool. I looked back at Dawn and realized that she was blinking along to the song. I slapped her in the face and told her to "cut it out", then to lighten the mood I did the hand signals that Dave Coulier did on Full House when he said that. It worked, and she just turned and continued watching the Ultimate Fighting Championship on the small TV.
Just then a commercial came on the small television advertising the county fair, it encouraged us to "come on down and bring the kids..." The commercial promised "big fun!" and most importantly the star of Knight Rider "KIT" was to be there signing autographs. I was sold, and much to my surprise both Iris and Dawn were excited too. It seems that they liked Knight Rider even more than Ultimate Fighting Championship. Dawn opened a closet door and pulled out 3 backpacks, one she packed with what looked to be small wads of meat and gave to Dawn. In the next backpack, she place a shiny silver urn, and 3 packages of Big League Chew. She gave this bag to me and said, "you earned this one!" She then picked up the rug she had been standing on folded it neatly and placed it in her backpack. With our goods safely backpacked, we set out for the fairgrounds.
I was happy to get out of that little room, it was homey but smelled like jail and for some reason it made me think about Jason Barnes, he was a kid I went to elementary school with. He had lice in 2nd grade, I wonder what the long term psychological ramifications of having lice in second grade are... But enough about that we were on our way to see Kit at the county fair.
It seemed like it took forever to get there, we got lost several times and wound up in some interesting parts of town. We finally stopped and axed for directions, and it is a good thing we did because if we would have continued on the route we were on we would have wound up in the wrong county, and when looking for a county fair it is fairly important that you look in the correct county.
Once we found our way to the fair, it was like a little piece of heaven on a muddy lot. They had it all, big blue stuffed animal dogs, Van Halen mirrors, GOLDFISH!!! Dawn and Iris made a bee-line for the game where you shoot the clown in the mouth with the water pistol, which makes a balloon fill with air. They claimed to be really good at it, they really weren't, but they seemed to be having a lot of fun. This was one of the nicer squirt-the-clown-in-the-mouth games that I had seen. The guns were not pistols but uzis, I took some sweet pictures of Dawn holding the uzi gangster style, she looked really bad ass. But how can you not look bad ass wearing a toga and sporting an uzi? After about 45 minutes of errant squirting Iris finally won, much to her dismay her prize was a small box of Gain laundry detergent. Seems weird, but to some folks I suppose it is just as good as a mirror with a wrestler on it and everyone knows that only the biggest spenders get the huge purple bears.
Now that the girls had won something we could finally go and see Kit. To our delight, there was a very small line when we got there. In no time, we were face to bumper with Kit. He was very nice, and much shorter than he looks on TV. He posed for a bunch of pictures with us, then he signed the rug Iris had in her backpack. Iris then reached in my backpack and pulled out the urn, she offered Kit $20 if we could have some of his oil. To my surprise, he was more than willing to let us take some of his essential fluids. This saddened me a bit, but I guess you gotta do what you gotta do to get by. We got to hang out with Kit for quite some time. He told us how he had been arrested in the late 80s for aiding and abetting an underground Shetland pony smuggling ring. It seems he thought it was a Shetland collie smuggling ring. "I thought they were smuggling doggys" is what he said. For the most part he was very nice, and aside from him referring to us as "Michael" I really thought he was a swell guy.
As we walked back down the midway toward the car we stopped to play one more game of chance, this one you tried to make Tarzan climb a vine by throwing ping pong balls at a cup. Dawn challenged me to win something, she said I couldn't do it. "Ho, I'll show you!", I exclaimed. Turns out I was quite good at this game and in no time I had won the girls a roach clip that had yellow and red feathers on it. They were happy and it really was the great way to end the day.
On the way home, we stopped at a gas station to get a snack. I choose a Hersey's bar, Dawn a roll of sprees, and Iris an Almond Joy and some corn nuts. On the way back to the car, I bit into my slab of chocolate delight and the next thing I know I woke up on my couch with a half full bottle of Coors Light in my hand and the Ultimate Fighting Championship on television.
Before I could think, the phone rang, a voice on the line said, "It's dawn"... I looked out the window and it was indeed daybreak. I asked the voice on the phone, "who is this?" the voice said, "It's Dawn" and then said something about wanting the "doubles of the toga uzi pictures and the ones with kit". I hung up.
7.07.2006
a distasteful genesis
Here’s how I remember us getting started....
Who could’ve known that the corn dog had become quietly rancid? It was, truth be told, resting atop one of the many overflowing garbage pots that littered the Tri City Fairgrounds that afternoon. And it was, to continue in this truth business, a particularly sweltering day. But the corn dog looked fine. After all, it had already been nibbled: someone, at sometime, had found this delectable fair fare palatable.
And who could’ve known that not one, but five individuals would separately happen upon that corn dog perched on its rubbish pile? What special, intangible qualities must this little breaded weiner have possessed to catch the eye of these passers-by?
And what were the odds that this little dog would not only call the eye of each of these gentlemen, but that its charms would rival that of the Sirens, tempting each to sample its forbidden delights?
When the stars are aligned, who can resist their pull? And when 5 men in adjoining rooms of the Tri City Hospital are having the contents of their stomachs pumped from their respective gullets, who can deny fate?
The rest, as has been said, is fine.
Who could’ve known that the corn dog had become quietly rancid? It was, truth be told, resting atop one of the many overflowing garbage pots that littered the Tri City Fairgrounds that afternoon. And it was, to continue in this truth business, a particularly sweltering day. But the corn dog looked fine. After all, it had already been nibbled: someone, at sometime, had found this delectable fair fare palatable.
And who could’ve known that not one, but five individuals would separately happen upon that corn dog perched on its rubbish pile? What special, intangible qualities must this little breaded weiner have possessed to catch the eye of these passers-by?
And what were the odds that this little dog would not only call the eye of each of these gentlemen, but that its charms would rival that of the Sirens, tempting each to sample its forbidden delights?
When the stars are aligned, who can resist their pull? And when 5 men in adjoining rooms of the Tri City Hospital are having the contents of their stomachs pumped from their respective gullets, who can deny fate?
The rest, as has been said, is fine.
Today's "Outrageously Successful" Tip
An excerpt from "How to be Outrageously Successful with Women: A Guide to Surviving the Sexual Revolution" by John Mack Carter & Lois Wyse. Published in 1975 by William Morrow and Company.
CASTRATING WOMEN AND OTHER CONTEMPORARY BITCHES
(page 35)
There is a lot that is new about women. But some things are not. There are still castrating women and bitches.
Castrating women are not easily recognizable. Some people believe that a woman with power is automatically a castrating woman. False. A woman with power is nothing but a woman with power.
However, a woman with power is castrating when she fails to hire strong men and women to work under her, but delights instead in hiring people with heavy problems such as drug addiction, alcoholism, or wife-beating. A castrating woman then uses these problems to keep her employees locked in place through a combination of fear and gratitude.
Castrating women have long operated on husbands and sons. Now they are at work in work. But only in middle and upper management.
Bitches, both male and female, are at every level of business. And you don't need a book to recognize one.
... now get out there and knock em dead, slugger!
CASTRATING WOMEN AND OTHER CONTEMPORARY BITCHES
(page 35)
There is a lot that is new about women. But some things are not. There are still castrating women and bitches.
Castrating women are not easily recognizable. Some people believe that a woman with power is automatically a castrating woman. False. A woman with power is nothing but a woman with power.
However, a woman with power is castrating when she fails to hire strong men and women to work under her, but delights instead in hiring people with heavy problems such as drug addiction, alcoholism, or wife-beating. A castrating woman then uses these problems to keep her employees locked in place through a combination of fear and gratitude.
Castrating women have long operated on husbands and sons. Now they are at work in work. But only in middle and upper management.
Bitches, both male and female, are at every level of business. And you don't need a book to recognize one.
... now get out there and knock em dead, slugger!
Blazen My Poor Heart
As told by Menistucles at the gathering of The Many:
"As we formulate this new civilization, importance should be placed on the fundamentals by which we operate. By Zues I have a mission, and my mission is what binds me. Binds me to the stars and to their prison. To the planets and their lonely drift. To the Sun and its heavenly reign. I have traveled the dark sea, I have slept with fallen angels. I have climbed the highest mountain, and my nude feta woes will not cease."
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