Another Attempt

fatHand...if I may,

As an exercise of mental gymnastics a poem I will compose.
As the subject of this poem, the scary mask to your left I suppose.

Is he spooky or freaky or just not quite right?
I predict that all who look may have trouble sleeping this night.

Is it the bald head, moustache, or rosey red cheeks?
A question to ponder for weeks upon weeks.

But wait just a minute...
Maybe I'm putting to much thought in it.

Maybe this mask isn't so bad.
Maybe it's for celebrating and making us glad.

One thing is for sure
about this "gringo's delight"

I wouldn't wear it or hang it on my wall,
but you just might!

An attempt

as an exercise of mental gymnastics a poem I will compose
it is something that I dread doing, like sucking on rancid toes
but it will make me stronger because I will not die
however the struggle I am having is enough to make me cry
so there it is, my attempt at rhythmic verse, I gave it all I had
all in all I must admit it really wasn't - it sucks


weep not for the wino
the purest man I know

nowhere to go
no lawn to mow
an average joe
who's stuck in low
with his thoughts in tow
his steps are slow
and his crazy faux
a good man, and thourough

Wandering like Thoreau
He looks a bit like Ringo
with a touch of Janet Reno
the strength of Lou Farigno
with the conscious of Sonny Bono
he claims he's pure latino
but his pompadour screams Filipino

labeled as a weirdo
He's succumb to the flow,
dressed in mid-winter speedo
the mad mans tuxedo
he dances slow,
toe, heel, toe
doe-see-dee, doe-see-doe

feeding on your burrito
you think that you do know
and in passing mutter, "Oh"
Just then he screams,
"it's all so apropos
like a hippo with an afro
don't you know?"

you drop your burrito
and off you go
hope you enjoyed the show

more progess

In the early fall of last year I was saddened by some progress. A mile north of this progress, some new progress has progressed. An equally mountainous, if not more so, deposit of freshly chipped wood has sprung up. This pile doesn't steam gently in the early morning sun like the other. A cold, grey morning and a thin sheen of snow covers this heap. And the progress folks didn't even have the decency to grind down the stumps or pull them out of the ground. Rather it looked like these progress pushers had physically ripped the trees from the ground. They have left the jagged, frayed chunks of what used to be trees to stick out of the ground at odd angles. They appear to be halloweenishly-sharp teeth belonging to some hideous lamprey. One can only hope they're part of a greater plan to swallow up whatever will be erected over this gullet.
A couple years ago and another mile north of this act of progress was the original act of progress in the area. Acres were cleared for an ocean of cement. And a fucking church.


Tuesdays rang true

Ears was the name he'd had since birth.
Swollen with pride and low on self-worth.
Tuesdays rang true after a second read.
Frozen in time, slow in the mind, indeed.
Yesterdays gone, the worst is behind.
Presently the final lyrics in mind.
But a shred of a memory he hoped to retain
From what through time, became.
While the horse is on a different path
And may have changed her name.


Ocean Cowboy

Ocean Cowboy---
Western Swing was a tentacle on his mind.
Earth rose to meet sky in high toothy mountains.
He awoke confused and craving water, usually.
God forgave him, God forgave 'em.

Tuesdays was whiskey, Wednesday the same.
All of the time he left yesterday behind.
And slept out of habit and fear.
Frozen in time, slow in the mind.

Frozen time slow in the mind.
Swollen eye, true, is a sign of the times.
Frozen time slow in the mind.
Swollen eye pain and the many pretty stars shine.

Squelch and ears don't much time getalong,
Fiddles and banjos wrote the first song.
Fools and travelers wittle wood on a
Beautiful river that we like to roll around.

Frozen time slow in the mind.
Thirsty the horse and wild is divine.
Frozen time slow of the mind.
Electrify up tonight, share time in the moonlight.

Frozen time. Frozen time.
Cold moonlight.
Frozen time.


We're not going to take it!!!!

National News outlets and internet blogs are all a buzz this morning as the following news has hit the streets...

"First beaver spotted in New York City in 200 years"


Oh shit. They're backed and they are pissed. I knew it.

As is reported a single beaver, Jose, was seen but I'll tell you what, where you find one beaver you'll find a shit-load of them. An army of pissed off rodents who aren't going to take it any more. Think about it. For years the homely beaver has suffered from the hands of us humans. Poaching, deforestation, the insentient jokes about their disproportioned teeth. They've had enough.

They may seem like harmless wood-chewing balls of fur to you but I've spent time with these vermin and they have a mean steak a mile wide. And they ain't dumb. The report says that Jose was swimming up the Bronx River but no detail was given on what he was actually doing. Least we forget that NYC is an island and that beavers are nature's architects and when you stir in a nice helping of revenge you get one huge damm. Pure chaos. The largest city in the country comes to a screeching halt because an impenetrable wall of mud and sticks has been built around it. Very slick Mr. Beaver. Your assault on New York, the center of America, that is very strategic of you. I can bet you if we were to take a look at the Hudson, or the Potomac we'd see more movement. Perhaps the troops have been rallied as far west as the Mississippi. There is a lot of weight to the statement "Busy as a Beaver."

Nostradamus was right on the money when he predicted that the world would be run by Beavers. Fellow humans it was nice knowing you.

Zeus Loves You, But Everyone Else Thinks You're An Asshole

The King of Thebes had two kids, Phrixus and Helle. He also had a bitch of a second wife who threatened to kill the children. The kids were like, "fuck that", and bailed outta Thebes on a flying ram with a golden fleece. Helle was a whine ass and fell off the fucking ram into the sea. Phrixus was stoned out of his mind and thought the whole trip was mighty fine. He survived and landed the ram in Colchis. Overcome with joy, and still terribly high, Phrixus ripped out the ram's heart in the name of Zeus. Zeus was pleased and openly aroused by the heart ripping so he placed the ram among the stars. The King of Colchis, who loved a good ground score, kept the golden fleece for a rainy day.

At least two PF writers were born in Aries. Long live Phrixus. Fuck the E.L. Policia.


Last night.

Last night,
I dreamt I was a pair of the finest Tunisian trousers
I fit just right and had an air of confidence
I hung just above a wonderful pair of green shoes

You were there,
You were the button to my trouser
you held me in place,
you made it possible for me to do my beautiful trouser thing
you asked for no thanks or reward
most people gawked at me unaware of you

I was aware.
painfully so, in fact
you see, while your pant holding duties were fulfilled with flying colors
you chaffed like a bitch
you have no idea how hard it is to look suave when you are chaffed in such a manner

thank you
I love you
I hate you


The Room

There is this room that I want to get into.
I'm not sure what is inside, I just know
that I want to get in.

There are no windows, no doors, no locks.
And yet, I can't figure out how to get inside,
or why I would want to.

Finally, I get inside.
Don't ask me how it happened,
it just did.
The room is empty.

Ever changing.
Always empty.

I am the MAN

Some might consider it lazy of me to simply post an email I sent yesterday of a life changing event, and if you do I am secure enough in myself to accept that. Trust me I've been called a lot worst; hairy ape boy being one of them. But this event is too big for me not share with all the loyal readers of the PF. So here it is as it appeared in several in-boxes yesterday.

The universe does have a sense of humor.

Paczki day of all days a lifelong dream of mine was fulfilled. Today, February 20, 2007 will go down in history as the day Darren "Spanky" Vehar drove a cop car. That's right! I rolled more then 20 miles on various Michigan freeways in a Police Cruiser.

Other motorists avoided me like the plague and as I drove I could feel my mustache thicken. Did I turn on the lights? You bet your paczki-loving ass I did, be it in the seclusion of our back parking lot.

If it appears as if I am bragging, well...I am.

Officer Vehar signing off.

And lightening does strike twice because it looks like I will be able to return the Popo sledge back to where I found it. Yeah for me!


Al Knows Best

In the temple of science there are many mansions...and various indeed are they that dwell therein and the motives that led them there...
What has brought them to the temple...no single answer will cover...escape from everyday life, with its painful crudity and hopeless dreariness, from the fetters of one's own shifting desires. A finely tempered nature longs to escape from his noisy cramped surroundings into the silence of high mountains where the eye ranges freely through the still pure air and fondly traces out the restful contours apparently built for eternity.

--Albert Einstein

Apparently "humping like the devils jackhammer" was not his only passion.


Pitchers and catchers report TODAY!!!

For, lo, the winter is past,
The rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth;
The time of the singing of birds is come;
And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.

--Song of Solomon

Go Tigers & God Bless Ernie Harwell!

THE GAME FOR ALL AMERICA (A Definition of Baseball)

Baseball is a president tossing out the first ball of the season and a pudgy school boy playing catch with his dad on a Mississippi farm. A tall thin old man waving a score card from the corner of his dugout, that's Baseball.

And so is a big fat guy with a bulbous nose running home one of his 714 home runs.
There's a man in Mobile who remembers that Honus Wagner hit a triple in Pittsburgh 46 years ago, that's baseball.

And so is a scout reporting that a 16 year old pitcher in Cheyenne is a coming Walter Johnson. Baseball is a spirited game of man against man, reflex against reflex a game of inches.

Every skill is measured, every heroic, every failing, seen and cheered, or booed and then becomes a statistic. In baseball, democracy shines its clearest, the only race that matters is the race to the bag. The creed is a rule book and color mearly something to distinguish one team's uniform from another.

Baseball is a rookie, his experience no bigger than the lump in his throat as he begins fulfillment of his dream. It's a veteran too. A tired, old man of 35 hoping those aching muscles can pull him through another swealtering August and September.

Nicknames are baseball. Names like Zeke and Pie and Kiki and Home Run and Cracker and Dizzy and Dazzy. Baseball is the clear cool eyes of Rogers Hornsby, the flashing spikes of a Ty Cobb and an overaged pixie named Rabbit Moranville.

Baseball, just a game, as simple as a ball and bat and yet as complex as the American spirit it symbolizes. It's a sport, a business, sometimes almost even religion.
Why the fairy tale of Willie Mays making a brillient World Series catch and then dashing off to play stickball in the streets with his teenage pals. That's Baseball.

And so is the husky voice of a doomed Lou Gerhig saying, "I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this earth." Baseball is cigar smoke, hot roasted peanuts, ladies day, "Down in front!" "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," the seventh inning stretch, and the "Star Spangled Banner"

Baseball is a man named Campanella telling the nation's business leaders "You have to be a man to be a big leaguer, but you have to have a lot of little boy in you too."
This is a game for America, this baseball, a game for boys and for men!

—by Ernie Harwell 1955


8 years, and I ain't never going back...

The Fade

It seems like the trend of African-American men wearing their hair in braids or corn-rolls is over. Several prominent athletes, movie stars and musicians have just come home from the barber sans the naps. Richard "Rip" Hamilton, Busta Rhymes, Ludacris, and Wyclef Jean are all sporting trimmed hairdos.

This leads me to believe that in the old adage that everything old is new again we are soon to see this phase of hair style go the wayside as well. What it will lead to, I surmise, is the return of the high-top fade. Oh yes like Pookie from the movie New Jack City we will see the heads of African American men model that of the red-rocked plateaus of the Southwest.


I for one will embrace this "new" style and wish all the future wearers luck with their new do's.

Family History

Father smelled of gunpowder and stuttered when he spoke. He aroused himself by the sheer act of of waiting. He was a mule with bad intentions.

Mother saw shadows. Everything turned grey in her eyes and morning was her evil cousin. Sunshine feared her gaze. It cowered like a beaten puppy.

Sister picked daisies, even when there were no daisies. Sister saw fifteen reds in the color blue. She mumbled silly words when she knew we were looking.

I named the brown horse "Brownie". And the white horse "Whitey". I cared only for wet grass and peppermint candy. I had problems with my eyes. I squinted out of habit, it's what I had always done. Narrowed my eyes in concentration. But concentration on what? I was never sure. Thoughts floated in and out, the periphery was a broken horseshoe. Wild horses never roamed in my subconscious. Pastures bled for water, desires were droughted by an aching eye-caused pain. And I was remorseful that my eyes were so untrustworthy.

If I Were The Swollen Mind

If I were the swollen mind
I'd notice fireworks when you fly
I'd see you dancing,
Twirling, going by.

If my mind was swollen
Up like a balloon
Helium couldn't stop me
Floating off so soon.

So I take this pill and steal away
A ticket to the game
To swell my mind, but not enough
To elicit change.


How do you do? Yes, nice to meet you. Welcome to New York. May I introduce you to my secretary? Freda…

This is the finest aloe money can buy in these parts- say! Here now. Take this and wipe your nose. You can’t walk around covered in the stuff…(though I do appreciate your gusto)

Trousers. Trousers, trousers, trousers. A fine day indeed. Perhaps the finest ever for a set of trousers like these. Thank you Freda.

Those? It is a stunning collection of glossy 8x10s isn't it? Yes, thank you. Ha Ha. Yes, perhaps later – after a cuba libre? You’ll have to forgive me, I love saying cuba libre... Undoubtedly I’ll sneak a few more cuba libres in on you this evening. Indulge me, won’t you? Yes, of course you will.
Cuba libre!

Mine? 34. 34 inches. Although I do tend to have him start the measurement a little higher than most are comfortable with.

We’ll be leaving shortly. But let me get you that drink. Freda…there you are. Some cuba libres, please. Yes, the urns will do nicely.

My sister is 27, so I know you to be a liar – but a good one nonetheless. She does run in those circles. The three sided circle? Of course, of course. Very clever.

Shall we leave now? Shan’t we? No? Very well then. Enjoy your cuba libre, my friend. We have plenty of time.


Inspired by w. deBalt's SBMDAAFBW post, I would like to admit something to my fellow PF'ers. The SEACMCDI (so easy a cave man could do it) television commercials have officially become my favorite series of t.v. commercials of all time! I am fairly sure that some of you may disagree with my assessment, but I will stand true to my fondness of these commercials. Seriously, I laugh out loud every time I see one of them.

I hope you all can see the creative genius that is the SEACMCDI commercial and that it brings you the happiness that it brings me! And if not...I'm quite sure I will be hearing about it!

your fortune cookie.

Don't forget the man who leaves the newspaper in the stall, when it comes time for Christmas cards.

Let it be known...

That I was vistor 1111 to this site, I have very little in my life so don't take this away from me.

Also, let it be known that last week I broke into your house and sped up your alarm clock 6 minutes. So your clock, is now only 3 minutes fast... yeah, your whole routine is fucked now, and I think that is funny. Oh, your kitchen clock is wrong too and I took your can opener.


Oops! It's Fiascodromedom

It was love at first sight for us and we fantasized of a fairy-tale life together, happily every after and all that jazz but father fate had a different plan. I was nothing but a dead wrench fetish, new to the streets but perky and punctual. He was west side monkey basher so of course it was a match made it heaven*. We spent many an afternoon together on the beach watching tiny insects engaged in some sort of melee and laughed about its similarity to a flying car. We joked about how the word “racecar” was really the only good palindrome and anyone who thought otherwise was quite obviously a Dubach*.

That afternoon we spent in the park reading Psalms* to each other while sipping a sparkling wine*. The day was perfect…well almost perfect. Neither of us saw it coming at all. It just appeared, almost as if by magic*, an enormous flying shit machine, quite obviously part of the terrorist network, dropping life-sized Norbit clones in typical carpet bombing fashion. Park-goers* were being hit left and right, it was honestly mortifying*. I was lucky to escape with my life but my monkey basher boyfriend…well, let’s just say he’s off the bashing. It just goes to show you what can happen once you’ve been introduced to the fiascodrome.

-- Upon closer inspection and careful analysis to the word recently coined by fellow a PFer (thank you SmithJ) I believe I may have pulled a fiascodrome on the word fiascodrome. In this case you’re left with the “advertent” misuse of word or phrase more commenly referred to as fiascodromedom.

From the Fiascodromedom dictionary:

-match made in heaven = destined for failure
-Dubach = asshole
-reading Psalms = undressing each other methodically
-sipping sparkling wine = performing fellatio/cunnilingus
-appeared, almost as if by magic = we were smoking pcp
-park-goers = mostly assholes
-honestly mortifying = horribly entertaining


Dubach Didn't Like Albuquerque

The PF strives to connect its readers to the contemporary world. Sometimes we fail, sometimes we succeed, and always we couldn't care less. But readers, let it be known, we sometimes find it difficult. For we are PF-ers, born of a peripheral zygote. Or as a great red-head once said, "Trapped in a world [we] didn't make".

In the vein of bus accidents, moral reflection, speed, Speed, Speed 2, and Speed 10 ....I give you this.

ALBUQUERQUE, N.M. -- Bernalillo County sheriff's deputies and New Mexico State Police are investigating a semi truck crash in Albuquerque's North Valley.
Police said that Eric Dubach dropped off the trailer to his semi truck at a gas station near Nine Mile Hill.

They said he took methamphetamine and went on I-40 for a joy ride.
He drove on Rio Grande Boulevard, where he went through fences in several yards, eventually making his way to Alameda Boulevard, police said.
This is where Dubach left little in his wake police said. Shrubs, trees, street signs, cars and even homes were smashed by the massive truck and driver, who may have a grudge with the Duke City.

Police said that Dubach's reason for tearing up the neighborhoods is that he didn't like Albuquerque and he wanted to mess it up.
Dubach is being held on 29 counts of felony criminal damage to property. He is being held on a $100,000 cash-only bond. (http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/1779830/posts)


Bus accident.

I was in a bus accident today.

I wasn't driving the bus. I was just riding on it. The bus is ok. Please, I am not searching for your sympathy, when you are a bus rider it is just a matter of time before something like this happens. Much like smelling things you can't explain it is a hazard of the trade, a proverbial bull horn in the ass of the rodeo clown.

The short version is this. The bus was struck by a car, which had been struck by another car. As real life bus accidents it was a pretty good one. The bus was forced off the road into a parking lot of parked cars, hitting only one, it could have hit them all but the bus driver showed his prowess and did a fine job of directing the bus back towards the street, bringing the bus to a stop about 2 feet from a light pole. Top notch bus driving all the way, a star should be sewn on his bus driver sweater.

In my sick mind, I had often pondered why I had never been on a bus that had been in an accident. Today I got my wish, cross it off the list. I don't know what I was expecting but I think I am all set on bus accidents. I don't need anymore you can take that off my amazon wish list.

If yesterdays PF affliction of the day was sinus infection, todays is bus accident. Yesterday's amber hue has morphed into a grey with a slight green tint.

I still hate Norbit.


my apologies...

I offer a deeply personal post in light of recent neglect:

He's a Phillipino, decked out in his chinos.
He's a Phillipino, decked out in his chinos.

Satin or polyester
just won't do
Rolling down the avenue
with the Pacific Islander crew
Intoxicating pairings
of soft cotton blends
He'd look good in anything,
but he knows the chino is his friend
Smooth beige lines
rise from foot to hip
So confident in those pants
you know he swaggers just a bit
A refreshing breeze of style
has just drifted on past
It's left my head a-spinnin'
and thoughts barely intact

He's a Phillipino, decked out in his chinos.


I got nothing!

As J so eloquently explained in the post below the behind-the-scenes activity at the PF today is at a fever pitch and it has reminded me that today, 2/7, is my assigned day to open the flood gates of my infinite wisdom. A hearty "Thank you and Nipsey Russell" to all the parties involved.

But alas, I find myself in the desert of doubt. On the high plateau of bewilderment looking down at a pasture of ducks. Lame. That is how I feel.

Not inspired to create I'll spare you with a meaningless post. Instead I ask you to use these few minutes that you would've wasted reading my do-do (or for those knee deep in Fiascodrome - trouser rocks) to go forth to spread merriment and cheer. Hug a tree. Kiss a baby. Eat a nice piece of cheese. Drink a beer (preferably one brewed locally). Remember this...whatever you choose to do I will be proud.

The Fiascodrome

PF Readers,
I have failed you. Earlier today, in the private recesses of a group email to the PF Writers, I made the most embarrassing of mistakes. We were debating over whether E.L. Huffer should be sentenced to Dick Slap Death DSD for a certain crime, which will be left untold.

In that conversation I made a seemingly witty joke using DSD in a slightly cute palindrome. The problem: It wasn't really a palindrome. And I was made the fool, as Debalt pointed out. The bigger problem is that I'm big enough of an idiot to mistake a non-palindrome for a palindrome.

So, in embarrassment I propose the introduction of a new literary play game:

Fiascodrome-An inadvertent misuse of a word or phrase, or an excuse aspiring writers use when they totally blow it.

Example 1. Using the term "dead wrench fetish" instead if "virgin" would be a Fiascodrome.

Example 2. Using "west side monkey basher" instead of "maniacal Christian" would also be a Fiascodrome.

Example 3. Using "flying shit machine" instead of "Vitamin Fed Superduck" would also be a Fiascodrome.

Example 4. Claiming that tiny insects punching tiny insects is a metaphor for the flying car.

Example 5. Using hyphens to spell words

My apologies, I bite*.

P.S. It should also be noted that I called Debalt a DSD Rocket, which I am moderately proud of.

*I trainwrecked this post several times becuase I have a sinus infection seen here. Thanks to FatHand for editing my sinking ship back into Miami Vice speed boat formation.


A Nice Hostess

Blind fury finds me out of a deep sleep and I stir on the couch reaching for the nearest weapon. As luck would have it the only object in sight was a ho-ho. But another San Francisco treat is exactly what I had in mind. The “Swiss-filled (I’ll get back to this) chocolate cake elegantly enrobed in delectable confectionary coating” now oozing from between the fingers of my tightly clenched fist I began wondering…what the fuck does “Swiss filled” mean? Is there Swiss cheese in my ho-ho, no that’s disgusting. Or are there tiny little blond girls carving perfect powder turns on rolling vanilla layers in my ho-ho? If not, then I believe we’ve found the latest candidate for DSD. And “elegantly enrobed”…I could smash this cake in someone’s eye!

From the Oxford American Dictionary
Enrobe: (en-rohb) v. to put a robe on.

Suddenly peace comes over me as I realize what I really need right now…a tiny little blond girl elegantly enrobed in delectable confectionary coating. Now that would be a nice Hostess.


Return of the Mac

Awake and walk through open doors, your time has finally come.
Remove the shackles from your bloodied wrists and proceed on course to home.
Do not reject the blinding light as it will guide you on your path
Through flowering fields seem heaven sent to the fountain of smile and laugh.
Now drink your fill of red remorse, and step back in the sun.
Discard your troubles with your trash, your wallowing days are done.

My Super Sunday

On Super Sunday, I went to a party, watched the Super Bowl and got super full, not to mention super drunk. It was a supernatural feeling being so super full and super drunk at the same time. I felt supercharged…no, that’s not the superlative I’m looking for its…supercilious, or superb. Anyway, I felt almost superhuman, similar to superman I certainly had superpowers of all kinds, superior to all my little underlings at the party including the superintendent of the local high school! I was felling superfine for sure, like the sugar.

Well now that I’ve supersaturated this joke to a superfluous level, I suppose I’ll stop before a supervisor supervenes. With any luck, a better blog will supersede this one.


Super Sunday

As we celebrate this holiest of holy days, let us not forget the true meaning of Super Bowl Sunday. The anniversary of the first wedding of God and Elizabeth Taylor. Although their marriage may have been brief, most of Gods friends would tell you that they have never seen him happier than those few weeks. Without this holy union we would never have got to experience the wonder that is their mighty offspring, Lawrence Taylor. Football or crack addictions just wouldn't be the same.

Go Liz Taylor!
Go Football!


Food for thought

Throughout my first 31 years I have enjoyed many wonderful meals. Some cling to my memory and I often wish I could enjoy them once again. Some of you may recall the Crawfish Monica from the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. Damn, that was a delightful dish served thoughtfully in disposable bowls. I have tried to recreate that meal as one I personally love very much. My own creation turned into a Crawfish Etouffee with Cheese. It's no Crawfish Monica, but a damn fine dish if I do say so myself. Others of you may recall a hamburger from The Shamrock in Utica before it burned down. Very nice burgers served there. Also, many of you have enjoyed a Red Coat Burger from the Red Coat Tavern. This particular hamburger does hamburgers everywhere quite proud. I too have enjoyed many a shushi roll that I strongly recommend. Chinese food is okay with me too. I fancy many of these Asian dishes: General Tsao's Chicken, Beef Ala Sczuan, Chow Mein, Ginger Chicken with Broccili, and even an Almond and Cashew Chicken from time to time. I will also enjoy the Thai variey if it is presented to me. My preference here is a Pad Thai, moderatly spicy! If I had my choice however I would prefer to cook at home on the grill proper. To me, a nice grilled hamburger is a slice of heaven. I enjoy mine with mayo, lettuce, pickles, and some red onion. If I'm feeling a little crazy I may even throw on a slice of American cheese and some ketchup and mustard. There are many ways to enjoy a grilled hamburger, and respect is given to each. If your personal choice is a burger topped with grilled mushrooms and onions and topped with some swiss cheese, well I say "hell yea!" There are many things I enjoy cooking. Burrito's, taco's, a wide variety of grilled chicken dishes, salmon, and yes...yes indeed, steak! My favorite dish, cooked at home just the way I like. I enjoy a good Filet Mignon, or usually just a NY Strip Steak. I like mine cooked to a nice medium rare...or maybe just a touch on the medium side of medium rare! Mashed potatoes are a must with this fine dish. Here, I go the extra butter route! Yum!! There is room for variety in the vegtable selection here. Some of my favorites are as follows: a nice blend of steamed carrots, zucchini, and squash; asparagus, corn on the cob, and brussels sprouts. I recently learned that I like brussels sprouts on a trip to Kalkaska. To top it all of, pour yourself a nice glass of red wine. I prefer a nice red zin or even a cabernet from california! My suggestion, keep the bottle close by. You will want a second glass, and you won't want to get up for it. It conclusion, no matter what your favorite fare may be, I say..."enjoy it!" Take your time eating and savor every bite!

These Colors Are Brite: Debalt is a Communist

Fellow Peripheral Americans,
Please join with me now as I steer our lost brother back into the suburban garage of America's love. My dear friend Debalt, apparently ill with Falafel poisoning, wrote some ugly words about the recent apprehension of some corporate-sponsored terrorists:


Well let me say this to you Mr. Debalt. I've seen London and France and you sir are a communist Arab. Your recent show of support for those cartoon loving terrorist hooligans was quite Canadian. Sir. Read the article, their Judas light boxes were displaying the middle finger, middle finger! I don't know where you come from, but where I come from the middle finger means Fuck You! And Jesus only fucks on Sundays!

Here are my recommendations for alternate, Less Offensive images for terrorist to display on their Lite Brite Atomic Bomb Screens:

1. John Denver hugging a teddy bear.
2. Cindy Lauper riding bareback on an ostrich
3. Motley Crue gang raping the Olsen Twins
4. 7 tall midgets and 8 short ninjas
5. A martian buying gasoline from Jackie Chan
6. Women in love, with other women
7. The Distasteful Gentlemen
8. A nude crab tamer
9. A dirty martini with extra Britney Spears
10. Toad tits

Horse Dung in a Dead Theater

By the second act they became sullen. To them the stage bore no comfort, gave escape to none. A drape of factory smoke choked the theater so not even the mill worker could escape it. Its chilled chairs reclined only halfway, then dusty springs claimed their victims.

The fiasco died it seemed, with the sword swallower and trapeze. Horse dung laid conquered by gravity and wept until it dried. The magpies, bored of their laughing games, swept along to another terrace. One with better scenery. Even stone walls lost hope or feared the worst.

But that night, nearby in moderately priced apartments, awoke the minds of many sleeping children. They itched like thieves at a witch's bedside. Their minds, burning with unfamiliar questions, slithered toward opening doors. Remembering the theater, they felt fire on the periphery and the fiasco was rekindled.


your fortune cookie

Patience is for the needy.

That is not a hair related question.

"It had a very sinister appearance," Coakley told reporters. "It had a battery behind it, and wires."

What has this world come to, when a couple of Lite Brites can shut down an entire city? The way these two guys that are being charged in this case are dealing with it is nothing short of awesome!

read more about it here and here

Kudos to these two guys for dealing with such an absurd situation with with absurdity of their own.


Ok. I just can't take this any more. I bit my tongue when "Big Momma's House II" came out (and was the #1 movie at the box office its opening week). I can no longer sit here quietly and take this.

Hear me when I yell this:

Am I wrong here? Seriously!!

Ok, when Eddie Murphy did it in "Nutty Professor" it was kinda funny, I admit the whole "Hercules, Hercules..." thing was funny at the time. That was 1996! Then came "Nutty Professor II" in 2000 and it was already played out. 2000 was when the Skinny Black Man Dressed As A Fat Black Woman (SBMDAAFBW) trend really started to pick up steam. It was this same year that the poor man's Eddie Murphy, Martin Lawrence, also did a SBMDAAFBW film. "Big Momma's House" hit the big screen and for some god damn reason it was a success.

Why America? Seriously? I know that I am talking to the country as a whole in a very Bernie Mac-like way, but Jesus, what the hell is going on? Am I on the outside of the joke? That's fine, wouldn't be the first time, but someone please explain it to me. Do you think this is funny?

I know fat people are funny, and I have found that fat black ladies can be some of the funniest people on this planet. That is a fact. They don't give a shit and they know how to laugh. Loud! So why don't we have any movies with REAL fat black ladies? Eddie Murphy and Martin are taking all these rolls (pun)? Is there a Hollywood agent somewhere with a whole stable of hilarious plus size black women? If so, I am betting that they are funnier than Eddie and Martin in their SBMDAAFBW roles.

That brings me to what has pushed me over the edge. Skinny little Eddie Murphy has a new SBMDAAFBW movie coming out. It is called "Norbit" and as far as I can tell from the previews it follows the same equation as all the SBMDAAFBW flicks. If this movie does well at the box office, I am going to fuckin' lose it! 9 full years after the SBMDAAFBW shtick was kinda funny in "Nutty Professor!" It is 2007, the future! When I was a kid I totally thought I would be flying around in flying cars by now, not going to see movies starring men in fat suits. Give it up! That is like me thinking that the whole "knock, knock. whose there? orange...." bit is still funny.

What is it? Am I too white? Can I not identify with the humor because I am neither skinny nor fat? Do I secretly hate fat suits? I know that I have a deep dislike for Martin Lawrence, but I don't think that is solely to blame for my anger.

I will tell you one thing, if you go see this movie I will hate you!