.PERIPHERAL FIASCO.

2011-06-22T18:45:00.002-04:00

According to the newspaper in my hand, it was Monday.

My head was pounding. I had vomited, twice.

I sat in the diner for what seemed to be hours, looking at the same page of the paper.

If I actually tried to read, the nausia returned. I could not focus my eyes.

My cigarette burned to the filter.

What remained a mystery is, what happened the night before?

According to the newspaper in my hand, that would have been Sunday.

Christmas Vacation View-off 2010 - week 4

2010-12-24T12:11:00.002-05:00

It's a barn burner!
Ho, Ho, Ho.

Listen

2010-12-10T18:40:00.001-05:00

Just because there is a banjo it does not make it Bluegrass. Understand?

Christmas Vacation View-off 2010 - week 2

2010-12-10T13:19:00.000-05:00

Christmas Vacation View-off 2010

2010-12-03T11:42:00.005-05:00

It's that time of year, the 2010 version of the Christmas Vacation view-off is in full swing. We are off to a feverish pace this year. See the results from the first week below. Wishing you and yours a great holiday season... from this side of the nuthouse.

I love fermented honey too!

2010-11-16T15:25:00.001-05:00

2010-11-12T10:18:00.002-05:00

I love beer.

2010-11-08T13:07:00.003-05:00

2010-05-01T01:12:00.008-04:00

More...

Resume 1984-2009

2010-05-01T00:37:00.015-04:00

Here in the red dawn heat my young blood heats and ventures to dirty dance. Then the mid-day sun steels it away and growls like a Warsaw tiger. So drive me to the back alley, the fringe, the road house. And notify my next of kin. Even the ghosts have their breaking point.

Humbly still I thank God this city knows joy. And thank Bill Cosby for the joys in fatherhood. Because real life won't thank Wong Foo for anything. You, friend, get three wishes. And don't waste them on a black dog turd dream. Killers forever write letters to Lulu. While green snap peas and puffed dragons shun killers.

Fear not the dark, Donnie. Oh the Reno sunrise! Can't we dance, if only once, knowing the bus leaves at 11:14? Let British people tell their mums that we were animals, you a fox and I the hound. And for each other, there was no way but "jump". And to know we had a Wonderland Christmas leaves my otherwise bruised heart powder blue.

Honorable Mention:
Skatetown, U.S.A. (1979) - Ace Johnson
The Outsiders (1983) - Darrel Curtis
Uncommon Valor (1983) - Kevin Scott
Grandview, U.S.A. (1984) - Ernie 'Slam' Webster

Spoon

2010-04-23T11:16:00.002-04:00

I am pretty sure I've gone on in detail somewhere, be it this space or elsewhere, about my lunching habits. Like some, I work at a job. I have a desk and a computer. A lamp too. Around 12:00 noon everyday my tummy rumbles and the only way to appease the gasto-god is to offer sacrifice. I tend to skew most often to bringing vittles from home. And if I am honest, cost is the main determination in this decision. But I also find solstice in that 60 minutes at my desk.

My lunch routine and my reasoning behind it are purely meant as set-up though so please prepare yourself, now that the formalities are behind us, to be shocked and awed. Awed and shocked.

Are you ready for it?

Spoon. Yes I said it. Bam!

No not the indie band that Pitchfork once describes as " a dark horse in an industry that values the easily, tritely categorized; every album was a shift in sound, subtly tweaking prior formulas, distilling an already minimal sound into something even more distant".

I shall melt your mind with the utensil that the dictionary on my computers calls "an implement consisting of a small, shallow oval or round bowl on a long handle, used for eating, stirring, and serving food." Funny that I say "melt your mind" cause some folks claim to be able to melt spoons with their minds. Did you see the cleverness there? No? Oh.

I have decided to spice things up because to me life is not filled solely with grand moments but rather I tend to live within minor revolts and mini movements. Its less messy that way. Along those lines I have decreed that from this day forward all my lunches with be eaten with a spoon. No fork. No knife. No. A spoon.

I'd love to say that I plan to document this journey here with you, but as I said this my revolt. My movement with spoon. So go get your own.

Honey,wine?

2009-12-09T14:00:00.003-05:00

Played God. Set forth a struggle between foes that stretches back millennia.

Mated regurgitated nectar in its raw state clustered with pollen and wax with two parts hydrogen, one oxygen; the Purifier. The two amalgamate. No longer themselves but reborn as Must.

Simultaneously the mighty K1-V1116,from the kingdom of Fungi also converged with the Purifier and amassed an army. Unlike the delicate meld of the prior this marriage incited riots in the street.

Density. Bound to do my bidding these grand adversaries were forced together to wage my war. At first silent and still. Waiting for the conditions to be right. Slowly in the dark, Saccharomyces cerevisiae gathered strength and began its relentless attack gaining nourishment from each blow. Stronger and more frantic. Their numbers swelled. Turmoil, foam, chaos, bedlam teemed. It went on for weeks until the scale tipped.

Punch. Drunk and spent. The veracity of the battle dwindled, and so the health of the strain. Thousands sacrificed for the grand design. Endurance tested on a epic scale.

Yet neither side prevailed in this endeavor; the culmination needing much time to clear. Eventually the prize for such toil will bloom into a sweet, intoxicating ambrosia fit for the Gods.

The Bull Pucker

2009-08-09T15:20:00.005-04:00

12 oz Pucker, any flavor
3 oz Red Bull
1 oz Bull Semen

On the rocks
Swirly straw
In a trucker's big plastic coffee mug

Read more

Sinning Mormon Margarita

2009-08-08T19:55:00.004-04:00

1 oz. Patron Silver tequila, chilled
8 oz. Water, Brita

White Hall

2009-07-09T09:45:00.000-04:00

Wedding
Beers at the lake
Stones in a vessel
Sturgeon vs. Brown Trout
Let's just say...
Trout always wins
Carmen/Peter
OBERON
Typical
Car bomb - Irish persuasion
Pink shots with the Reverend
Instruments and campfire
Wish I could remember
Do you?
What a great time!
Classic

an axe is indispensable and sublime

2009-06-03T13:34:00.002-04:00

But then, you already knew that.

Born in The W.T.F

2009-05-25T00:27:00.004-04:00

Don't let freedom fool you
There is no price to pay
What you see is what you get
Guaranteed the same each day

All the propaganda aimed
At cheapening the goods
Is ludicrous, amateur
Not misunderstood

But compared to other places where
Humpers reproduce
Nothing hardly quite compares
With red, white, blue and Bruce.

2009-04-22T14:53:00.002-04:00

At every bar

on streets

and on corners

all over Detroit

Where smoke rises

gin quenches

draft beer flows

and lies do too

Patrons educated

in ways of the world

discuss life's

all important issues

The Big Three

Recession

Race Relations

Suburbs vs. City

Holy shit...

give it a rest.

A Long Drive Through Aztlan

2009-03-20T23:13:00.009-04:00

Should you drive to an alien convention perhaps you'll do well

To roll past the Spaceport north of Las Cruces

And the old Civil War era watering hole

Where wooden crosses poked holes in thirsty dead travelers

Rewarding their aimless journeys from Durango City Mexico.

And float across White Sands to the military checkpoint where

Dusty soldiers stop

Every highway traveler.

And climb through the Lincoln National Forest where Bob Dylan's Desire

Plays somehow better.

Or detour through the Gila National Forest where Smokey the first Bear was born

And so was Geronimo at the headwaters of the Gila River.

medicated

2009-03-14T13:26:00.002-04:00

The soufflees are a bit lighter these days.
The sass is a little less sassier. Actually, quite a bit less, truth be told.
In fact conversation in general has seen quite a drop off.
Yep, she's one well-medicated lass, roaming the rooms of our house, haunting them like a pale, sallow spector.
As you can see, she still casts quite a spell in the kitchen.
So I've got that going for me.
Which is nice.

Top That

2009-03-03T12:08:00.003-05:00

How? That is what I've asked myself each time I have visited this here Blog hoping each time that I wasn't the first poster in '09. But I suppose the saying is true: with a great title comes great responsibility. So it is up to me. But what runs through my mind for the first post of 2009? It isn't of the approaching Spring, or of baseball season, or cuttlefish; no my mind is 8 months ahead. What should I shave into the back of my skull this year? A full beard? Or is shaving fascial hair in the back of one's head so 2008?

It's hard to say how inspiration works. The idea of the head-stache came many months before the fated Cainmas. Like a fetus, it had time to incubate inside my mellon for some time until that winter evening at my sister-in-laws, where through electric shears the stache entered this world.

Perhaps I have it all wrong. It might be that I can not top the splendor that was the head-stache. If Cainmas has taught me nothing in the many years of its existence it's that I am not one built for one-up-man-ship. The infamous meatball eating contest of several years ago that spawned the even more infamous meatball meltdown the following year is a prime example. The winning tally of 50 at the original meat-off is held by our very own Mardi Gras. (A tip of the hat to you my friend)

The following year my attempts to beat said record of 50 resulted in me puking early in the evening just shy of the goal line. Instead of enjoying that party and all its goers I was losing the contents of my tummy in the downstairs bathroom. And so it goes.

So instead I have decided to spend this year reveling in my title as Mister Mustache. I will spend my time extolling the virtues of the stache and spreading word far and wide of its majesty, awaiting this years Cainmas where one of the party-goers is sure to top it. Of this I am sure.

Mr. Mustache 2008

2009-01-06T18:29:00.013-05:00

A big round of applause as our own Fathand has recently been named Mr. Mustache 2008.

This award is given by the Flint area Chamber of Commerce and Fiasco Inc. to the person who does the most as an ambassador for the mustache. Fathand received this award for his recent showing at this years Cainmas, where he came dressed to the nines with a mustache beautifully sculpted in the back of his head.

Genius isn't a word I use a lot.

Here's to you Fathand! On behalf of friends of the mustache everywhere, thank you and keep up the good work.

More Cainmas photos here

Until next year, Merry Mustache everyone!

Christmas Vacation viewing - final standings

2008-12-31T14:12:00.001-05:00

Christmas Vacation viewing standings - week 4 (graphless)

2008-12-23T14:51:00.004-05:00

Week 4 (Dec. 15-22 2008)
DeBalt - 14
MGD - 10
Tom - 6
Huffer - 4
SmithJ - 2
-------------- (the line of shame)-----------------
Fathand - na
Kentucky Smooth - na
Cain - na

Christmas Vacation viewing standings - week 3

2008-12-15T17:25:00.002-05:00

Challenge Maternal

2008-12-10T22:52:00.002-05:00

Views of your mom walking pantsless through the vaseline jungle today: 1
Views of your mom in vaseline context to date: 344

Challenge Diverted

2008-12-10T16:21:00.002-05:00

Views of squirrels I saw in Sarina yesterday: 8
Views to date of squirrels I saw in Sarina yesterday: 8

Christmas Vacation veiwing Standings

2008-12-10T16:16:00.005-05:00

Zip. Nada. Nothing. Big fat zero.

Christmas Vacation veiwing Standings

2008-12-08T15:39:00.000-05:00

challenge accepted

2008-12-07T11:22:00.002-05:00

Views today: 1
Views to date: 4

challenge accepted

2008-12-06T16:39:00.001-05:00

Views today: 1
Views to date: 3

Economy Afrowig

2008-12-03T10:29:00.002-05:00

Dec. 02

2008-12-02T18:52:00.003-05:00

Behold the wicked invigoration,
of a cold toilet seat
on an early December morning.
For that is what is it to be alive.
To be aware.

challenge accepted

2008-11-28T20:01:00.004-05:00

Views today: 2
Views to date: 2

Jurassic Lincoln

2008-11-15T23:49:00.015-05:00

"After I shag this would-be hippy chick dinosaur dinner

I'm gonna save them black folks from slavery."

Read more here

I'm EXCITED.

2008-11-11T15:33:00.003-05:00

I'm having meatloaf tonight.

No, not that meatloaf. This loaf.

Deciduous splendor

2008-11-09T12:18:00.009-05:00

My sweet Indian summer, I turned and you were gone.
See more here. Indian summer: Deciduous splendor

Renaissance Self Exploration

2008-11-08T13:06:00.010-05:00

"Caaaastle Grayskull...I have two of them?"

Orchestra Pranks New Guy

2008-11-08T12:41:00.005-05:00

[Sung to the tune of Jethro Tull's Locomotive Breath]

My felt hat wearing madness
My wired hopeful fate
Cause me to eat no dinner
I need no fucking plate

From my chair I watch them sweetly
Blinking not my eyes
And when the crowd they grab the handles
Of their dollar store squirt guns
No way I’ll live this down

Read more here

libation creation station

2008-11-07T20:36:00.008-05:00

I sat window-side, in order to soak up the atmosphere. Besides the sights and sounds of a bustling Detroit summer evening, I was planning on soaking up about three times the daily recommended allowance of Armenian martinis.

From the bar comes the clink of glass and the slush of ice. The pleasant sound of drinks being prepared has aroused my liver and turned on my saliva faucet.

From the bar comes the pleasant sight of a young woman with a big glass of gin.

“Was this gin hand-squeezed?” I ask her as she sets down the drink.

She smiles and laughs uneasily, as attractive young things are wont to do when a stranger in a plaid sport coat throws them the social equivalent of a boot to the uterus.

“I’m sure it is.” She smiles again and turns to leave me with my refreshment. I’m pretty sure she’s lying…but I hope to god she’s not.

The windows are huge and the city sprawls out in front of me, occasionally broken up by the passing pedestrian. Even though I’m the one looking out, I feel like the city is swimming around inside my fishbowl. I’m actually looking in, through the glass, watching. My chair…my beverage…surrounded by my creature comforts.

My fishbowl is so clean. I’ve noticed how clear the glass is, how transparent – like I could toss my coaster into the trashcan on the corner. I’m now in quite an agreeable mood, thanks to the gin and my unsullied surroundings.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind slugging down Stroh’s in a cesspool of dimly lit litter and deviants. Hell, I’ve probably even nodded off in such an establishment after the high life got a little too high…I’m just saying…I’m not in the mood for that type of ambiance right now. Plus, I’m not looking to soil the plaid.

Right now, I’m looking to watch Fox and Tiger foot traffic.

Right now, I want to drink gin and vodka, long and luxuriously, until my brain begins to hum along. And then I want to wash it all down with a couple glasses of porter.

I want to reprise the playful banter with the waitress now that I have gin as my wingman. After all, I’m wittier with a drink in hand…

Speak your mind!

2008-11-04T14:05:00.004-05:00

R.I.P. Studs Terkel

2008-11-01T13:46:00.008-04:00

Your penchant for coherent observance and the understanding of the brilliance of the everyman will be missed. More than you could imagine.

"Curiosity did not kill this cat."

your fortune cookie

2008-10-31T14:55:00.001-04:00

It's over dude.

The Stork Debunked

2008-10-29T23:42:00.016-04:00

Son: Dad, where do babies come from?
Dad: Son, all human life originates from the center of the universe.
Son: I don’t unders---
Dad: Well you see, the Bible says the center of the universe is this mushy Bisquick biscuit looking thing that floats like a brown jewel…out there [pointing], out there in outer space. [in his best fatherly voice] And God said, in the beginning there was the darkness. And the darkness was scary and boring. And its only comfort was the thought of a scantily clad woman laying face down in the stars.
Son: Wow! Can I see the center of the universe from here?
Dad: No son, the center of the universe is far far away.
Son: Well are there other people in the universe?
Dad: Yes, for sure. They live on planets just like our own, planets that also orbit [gesturing with his hand] the center of the universe. Lucky for us we have a nice orbit. Some other folks, well let’s just say it’s hot and smelly where they live.
Son: So if the babies come from the center of the universe, how do they get from there to here?
Dad: Son, this is a conversation that we should keep between just you…and me…OK?
Son: Yes Dad, anything!
Dad: Ok, when babies are born they land on the big dark floating biscuit, right?
Son: Yes?!
Dad: And you know the fastest way from Oz to Kansas, right?
Son: Duh Dad, click your heels!
Dad: Ok son, right. Now Oz is some fake TV bullshit, but the real world works sorta the same way. And that’s how Moses came up with the idea for that movie in the first place, Dorothy, the robot lions, the whole thing. Most people don’t know but Moses was also big into some…
Son: Dad! The babies!
Dad: Ok, right. Between you and me and the Bible, [getting excited] all the babies do is, crouch down, get real quiet…wiggle their big toe and Bing Bing! Smack dab to Main Street USA! It’s a miracle [getting more serious] but it’s a prophecy that is fulfilled time and time again and all over the whole wide universe of ours. What do you think, amazing?!
Son: [matter of factly] I love biscuits Dad.
Dad: [proud] Me too son, me too.

Hand Shake

2008-10-29T13:00:00.003-04:00

Now that you've been granted permission to join there are few ground rules we must go over...

1 Pants must be worn at all times.
2 Tomatoes are a fruit. I don't care what anybody else says.
3 Bob Barker is a national treasure and Drew Carry is not fit to goose the ass of any model on that show.
4 The attached chart is the secret handshake. Learn it. Know it. Live it. You will be tested on it.

second urinal on the right

2008-10-28T15:22:00.001-04:00

Four Mondays ago, there was vomit in the second urinal on the right in the men’s room.
Three Mondays ago, the water was continuously running in the second urinal on the right in the men’s room. It kept spilling out onto the floor and sliding towards a drain.
Two Mondays ago, I did not make it to the men’s room.
This past Monday, I was filled with anticipation as to what I would find happening in and around the second urinal on the right in the men’s room.
Alas, this past Monday, there was nothing happening in or around the second urinal on the right in the men’s room.

Bider and Spird

2008-10-24T23:12:00.009-04:00

As we hung legs and wings entangled,
I swore the feeling of joy would overcome me.
So I buried my fangs deep into your abdomen,
Entering first through your esophagus.

For minutes and more I sucked your juice and smiled;
Never stopping only joyous
Until you failed to give up the fluid.
I hastily filled my guts with your eyes and shit out the remainders.

Read More

true and lonesome

2008-10-24T15:06:00.002-04:00

A few years back, a young man said something to me. He was talking about another person, no one of consequence. He said that this person “got blasted all the way to heaven, but he was still all alone.”
I thought it was pretty deep.
I still think it’s pretty deep.
Was this young man waxing astronomical, pondering how alone and inconsequential it must feel to orbit our earth, surrounded by the complete vastness and silence of outer space?
Maybe he was chewing on his mortality, or mankind’s collective mortality. Maybe he was talking about our desire to understand an after-life…a higher power…only to realize in the end that we’ve been chasing a rabbit down a foxhole, a pot of gold, a pipe dream.
If I ever get the chance, I’d like to ask that young man just what exactly he meant.
I hope we all have the chance to get blasted to heaven. I feel like I’ve already tried it once or twice. It was kind of lonely. Or maybe it was the lonesomeness that brought on the blasting…chicken or the egg, right?
A few years back a stranger said something to me, right after that young man blasted my mind to heaven. He said “I don't know about you but I take comfort in that. It's good knowin' he's out there. That young man. I sure hope he makes the finals.”
I sure hope he makes it, too.

10.22.08

2008-10-22T19:17:00.003-04:00

I just had a conversation. This is it:
Him: Hey brother, how's it going? Long time man. This place looks good. Used to be a shoe store you know? I'm a gourmet chef.
Me: Whatcha got man?
Him: Listen, I just got out of receiving. They are breaking both of my arms in the morning.
Me: Get to the point.
Him: I need 22 cents to go down here and get a prescription, I just need this one pill.
Me: Nope, can't do it man.
Him: Look here, I have all my credentials, it's just 22 cents man.
Me: No. Head out bro.
Him: How about 10 cents, can I just get a dime.
Me: No.

10/22

2008-10-22T16:11:00.002-04:00

Sometimes you don't act your age, and I wonder "what the hell..."
But then, I am often twenty too.

I love you. I'm leaving.

2008-10-22T16:08:00.001-04:00

When you turn real close and I hear you breathing
I know I love you but I know I’m leaving
You’ll wake up in the daylight and I’ll be gone

Oh the time I carried you up these stairs
So young so in love so without a care
I’ll never lead you up these stairs again

Out the door and onto the road
She alone knows what I know
She’s never right, she’s never wrong
I loved you once but now I’m getting on
Her and I we’ll never fight
She won’t throw things, she won’t bite
Stand by my side for mile after mile
That road’s been runnin’ for the longest time
And callin’ me, sayin’ she’s mine
Her and I’ll run away and find our home

Now things have changed, they often do
Sure there’s love, but you and I are through
Tell your dad I couldn’t keep my word

One day I’ll send a letter by the U.S. mail
And it’ll find you through the rain and the hail
It’ll say I love you but I’m still leaving
I’m leaving without telling you “so long”

Wallets

2008-10-22T14:20:00.003-04:00

A lot of people have been asking me, "where do you get your wallets?"

To which I reply, "I usually get them at TJ Maxx. It's a good place to get a wallet on the cheap. You just have to dig."

I then resist telling them that I always think about how easy it would be to steal a wallet from TJ Maxx when I am wallet shopping there. Mostly because I don't need people thinking I am a thief, or that I have thief-like thoughts.

I always forget to tell the people asking that I have also received wallets as gifts in the past.

Friday Links.

2008-10-10T12:10:00.004-04:00

FLICKR SETS
The rail life.
For the packaging people. You know who you are.

WHATNOT
Mindless populism
The world is your canvas. At least part of it.

Friday Links.

2008-10-03T09:38:00.009-04:00

FLICKR SETS
Hand dryers from around the world.
View-Master
European cinema postcards

VIDEO
Worldwide air traffic
HBO Graphics of the 80s
Motion logos
The sprinkler rainbow conspiracy.
The Tiddy Bear REALLY??

WHATNOT
The facial-haired deeds of one man!
Russian sausage art
Food art (non-Russian)
A flow chart of procrastination.
Enter the world of Eichler Design. (check out the house tour)
Get the boot
Some political illustrations
Planet of the Apes spaceship whereabouts

R.I.P. Paul Newman

2008-09-28T09:39:00.002-04:00

Rest assured that pumpkins will be carved in your honor every year.
Circles for eyes. Circles for eyes.

Friday Links.

2008-09-26T10:27:00.006-04:00

This week in distractions.
FLICKR SETS
Lots of great paper ephemera
Cruiser ads of the past

VIDEO
Behind the scenes at The Price is Right 1982
Mapmaking is England 1953
Journeys in time and space

WHATNOT
Animation backgrounds, the art behind the art.
Dr. Strangelove beautifully recreated with everyday objects.
Embroidered text messages
The wonder, mystery, and loneliness of the monowheel
Books.

Old

2008-09-26T01:22:00.002-04:00

Young Harrelson Learns To Boner

2008-09-26T00:52:00.005-04:00

China's Cell Phone In My Butt Team

2008-09-26T00:10:00.007-04:00

Jonestown, China-- Three Asian guys woke up this morning with vigor and zeal. They laid some Yen on the table and entered into a legally binding contract. Each man stood on his own. And bet the other that his rectum could hold the most mid-90's cellular phones.

http://www.usatoday.com/tech/science/space/2008-09-24-chinaspace_N.htm

Androgynous Salespersons Unite

2008-09-25T23:52:00.007-04:00

Hi Friends,
I found a barrel. ‘Twas Covered in barnacles. You know, clams and such. If I crush them barnacles I get a smell. If I rub that smell I get youth. If I drink that smell I get drunk on the time space continuum. And I'm drinking tons of it. Pick me up yesterday at tomorrow o'clock.

Delner Tor Champson

http://www.stuff.co.nz/4703332a11.html

scuttlebut at the o

2008-09-23T10:00:00.002-04:00

Welcome, good to see you again. Have a seat, won’t you? Yes, that one there is fine.

What’s that? Lindsay Evans? Why yes, I have met her before. Delightful young woman, isn’t she? She fancies herself quite the gamer, you know…

No – not those kinds of games. Those are quite unsafe, I believe. No…I’ve heard something more like trivia, Scrabble, crossword puzzles – you know, the classics.

Hmm? Yes, you’re absolutely right! Hit the proverbial nail on the head, you have! She was a lucky find for the Proposal team. Quite an asset. Years of big agency writing for radio, TV, print…a freelance magazine and newspaper writer…quite diverse.

Yes.

Yes. She’s written for all of those outlets.

Well now that you mention it, she actually has written a screenplay…the Olympics, I believe, though I’m not 100% on that. Something about a woman’s struggle to bake her way into the 2012 summer games…

No, I don’t think that would be a good idea - she’s married. Newlywed, in fact. Yes, I’m quite sure…perhaps a note of congratulations-slash-apology?

Ah, yes. Good point. Well now – would you care for a muffin? Or a scone perhaps? There’s a lovely tray of baked goods here.

That’s right, forgive me. And you know, that reminds me: Evans has family with celiac disease and nut allergies. It’s true. Forgive my use of the word, but there could be some synergy there.

What? Where are you going? Please sit back down…you have my word: I won’t pepper the conversation with any further “synergies.”

No, I don’t think it affects her. But you’re right - we should cancel the new hire walnut-and-gluten factory tour.

You must be going? I understand completely. Travis Dickens is not the type of man you keep waiting…stop by later, won’t you?

Yes, of course you will.

Ah yes, I almost forgot! Ice cream, cookies, cake, pie…

A fantastic collection

2008-09-18T18:49:00.010-04:00

FLICKR SETS (get ready for a wasted day.)
Typewriter Ribbon Tins. Beautiful!
A fantastic collection of beauty.
Mad Men Illustrated.
An orgy of color and pattern. Zanis Waldheims.

COLLECTIONS
First read this. Then hum along while you check out these number crunchers.
The Flags of Tokyo. Long may they wave.
Who doesn't like a good gig poster?
Suspicious vans?
Pelican book covers 1930s - 1980s. The Pelican Project.

ARTICLES
Photographing John McCain. An interesting photo shoot for The Atlantic.
Where all the Dicks live. This place sure has a lot of dicks.
How long could you survive chained to a bunk bed with a velociraptor? Take the quiz.

VIDEO
1950s Italian Police Motorcycle Drill Team - a model of synchronization. Video.
Tips for surviving the new depression. Video.
You know him you love him. Everyones favorite man-beast. Bigfoot..

AUDIO
Zingers from hollywood squares. Audio.

Early morning drinker

2008-09-16T00:39:00.005-04:00

I sat watching a man in the airport terminal. Like myself, I assumed he was waiting for a flight. I noticed a small bottle of jack daniels in his hand, the cap removed, half the whiskey consumed. Although he had a newspaper in his lap, it was unopened. He stared into space, deep in thought. Slowly he turned the small cap around in his fingers. I found myself wondering what would drive a man to drink at the airport at 6:30 in the morning. What made me wonder further was the look on his face. The helpless blank stare that told me his mind was already hard at work. Maybe something had happened. Maybe something was about to happen. Maybe, just maybe, this man hated to fly and found a bit of comfort in that small bottle. Then a pinch, "stop staring," my travel companion said to me. Later, after sitting down on the plane, I continued to think about that lonely man in the airport and his whiskey. I realized that I wasn't all that concerned with what was going on with him after all, I just wanted some whiskey.

Friday Links.

2008-09-12T11:31:00.007-04:00

Test your color IQ. Or see what sort of sorter you are. here.
The beauty of a Soviet book cover.
Exhibit A in the case for convenience leading to the downfall of our society. I guess you don't want to talk to me anymore.
Beautiful illustrations of Radios, among other things.
Courthouse Confessions.

shut the fuck up donny!

2008-09-11T10:58:00.002-04:00

Captain Embarrassment's cape is yellow like sun
a beer in his hand he gets his best work done
the ladies find him unsettling, fellas question his worth
a result of his apathy and its massive girth

but fret not friends he's here to save the day
by fucking it up in some major way
with a stain on his T and a joint on his knee
The Dude incarnate; shut the fuck up donny!

The Mark of Fashion

2008-09-11T09:42:00.011-04:00

1970 Sears The Men's Store.
To see a full Flickr set click here.

Fine mind for foresight, or just out of coffee filters? (It's such a fine line)

2008-09-10T10:31:00.004-04:00

It was a good 45 minutes from the time I woke up and heard the particle accelerator test went smoothly, until I finally left my house and saw another human. The whole time all I could think about was that it didn't go smoothly and my blackhole-proof pajamas worked and now I was the only one left. I was going to make the Sears Tower my residence, a la the main character in Vonnegut's Slapstick.
Anyway, I am kinda bummed because I thought if we were to go down in a blackhole I was pretty proud of the fact that I was on my last coffee filter today. I thought that was some pretty accurate estimating of ones need of coffee filters. Now instead of bragging it up on the underside of a blackhole, I am just out of coffee filters. So it goes.

Summer Vacation where you done gone?

2008-09-02T19:29:00.004-04:00

So here I am, back at PF headquarters... I can see no one dusted while I was gone... and someone ate my pickle stash. No matter. I am back and ready to welcome fall in all her deciduous glory. Nothing will deter me from my mind. And today my mind happens to have it in itself to tell you of my summer vacation.

Since you have last heard from my I have sunned myself on a beach towel that looks like the Puerto Rican flag, came unwillingly within inches of 2 coyotes, jokesters, switched to sheep cheese, been told with a straight face that it has a "barnyardy" taste, fought with elevation and came to a draw, smiled a lot, driven a minivan, had my identity stolen, luckily I don't really know who I am anyway, so they didn't get far, made a conscious effort to use apostrophes in my contractions, bought a paper shredder, overestimated the power of that shredder, need a new shredder, seen some really good music, not played enough really good music, saw the planets align, fished so much that my wrists hurt like hell, had some really good dreams, thought about giving a speech so much that I could probably give a wicked good speech about thinking about giving speeches, laughed at repetitive jokes, laughed at repetitive jokes, fell in love with the north woods, written songs in my head about stuff I don't know about, cared about politics like I never really thought I might, sent an egg in the mail (safely), made lists like it was my job, seldom crossed things off those lists, note: look into list-making job, played multiple games of badminton on the Fourth of July, that same day played croquet with a chip on my shoulder, left my Don Rickles Hello Dummy! record at Dan's house, tried to do my best, had raffle fever, golfed, bought some new seersucker, heard tell of a friend using the, "baby please, I am not from Havana!" line in context, and fell asleep during a PBS documentary on Alexander Hamilton.

The whole time a little part of me was looking forward to getting back to the PF grind. Dusting off my old milk crate, sitting down at my TV tray desk, and blogging like a bloggin' bloggy-blogger. It seems that day has come... so here is to sweatshirt weather, pumpkin patches, playoff baseball, and wood burning stoves. It is good to see you again, do you think I can borrow 40 bucks, just 'til payday?

Oh, I am between jobs right now... you know just taking it easy and thinking things through... but you know I am good for it right? You don't care if I drank some of your beers, right?

in lieu of pay, check out some pictures of Signs and Doorways.

Why do I always get a warped one?

comet bar

2008-08-20T16:42:00.000-04:00

The place is dripping with class. I left there one night and some crazy half dressed lady down the street was yelling at me. The street was dark except for a single light hanging from a wire that ran diagonally across the intersection of 2 streets. She was in the middle of the road underneath the light, shuffling in my direction. I made anonymous love to her underneath that light. I took her right there - there on the broken asphalt...under the hum of a single burning streetlight. And then, like two ships passing in the night, we went our separate ways. Her to the abandoned building across the street, me to my car. I had a case to crack...she had crack to freebase.

Indestructible (mr.) T

2008-08-01T15:37:00.002-04:00

I loves me a good T-shirt. Hell I'm even found of the shoddy ones. The love-affair began back in high school when I acquired a bright green T with a yellow lawnmower on it; above it the words: John Deere. It was a fucking awesome T.

Through the years I have gone through many a cotton/poly blend. Some of my favorites are: the white number with the face of Spanky from the Little Rascals on it; a canary-yellow shirt with blue writing I got in New Orleans (when the time came to discard this buddy I couldn't do it and it now lives inside my mandolin case as a shammy); the Dead shirt from that little Headshop in Pontaic that served as my uniform when I washed dishes until it literally disintegrated due to countless washings. I could could go on and on, but shan't. Instead please allow me to wax your upper-lip poetically (of course).

My most prized specimen ( at this point in time) is a blue T that I got when I signed on to bus tables at a local family eatery. Must have been 1995 or 96. This sucka is over 10 years old and it looks not a day over 3. No really. The logo of said eatery is plastered on the back and it looks pristine and new even after all these years. I'm not sure what PANTONE might call this shade of blue. Me I'd say its Navy and it makes me feel like a Sea Captain. That or a slightly balding middle-aged male wearing a vestige of his youth. Really depends on how much I've had to drink.

Desert Solitaire for Johnny Spirit

2008-05-30T23:44:00.007-04:00

Dear Mystery Companions,
As I was cleaning ones and zeros from my electric and all encompassing computer hard drive I came across a book report. This report I authored dutifully for a graduate level course of the Parks, Recreation and Tourism Resources Department at Michigan State University. Never mind the absolute shit-bagginess that I feel now knowing that my Master of Science degree, in part or in whole, was earned on the grounds of a fucking book report. Academia, how convincingly challenging you were. And how confidently hindsight says you were bunk steel on wheels. That said, I felt good about reading my book report. Felt good like a man feels good having shit on a rock after a hard day of smoking pot in the woods. Please enjoy this in all its verbatim goodness.

Voice of a Traveler
3/19/04

Edward Abbey wrote Desert Solitaire: A Season in the Wilderness over the course of two summer season employment terms at Arches National Monument, Utah. The book was “pasted together-composed would be too generous a word” (p. x) from his journal entries. The reader floats swiftly along on Abbey’s stream of consciousness stopping periodically to speak with tourists at the front gate of the monument, push a cattle herd to summer pasture, follow General Powell’s expedition through Glen Canyon, or rappel into The Maze. The current flows with brutal arguments for wilderness, the myth of American culture, the failure of the government’s land management agencies and the anti-climactic destiny of mankind. As each of these sentiments uncovers the core of the Edward Abbey the man, they also whittle away at the primitive dirt-loving morality that is common in today’s headstrong environmentalists.

This book is either damning evidence that some people just don’t worry so much about why they are doing something as much as the fact that they are doing something; or a well orchestrated cover-up job. Given Abbey’s history as a free-spirit, activist and harsh critic of popular culture the conclusion is therefore the former. The essence of the free spirited human, mythical or factual, cannot be captured by assumption, speculation, thinking about the “why?” of it all. But the attention of the readers and the graders cannot be harnessed without these things. So this paper will assemble, because Desert Solitaire wasn’t telling, the basis of Edward Abbey’s motivations to get up and go and the satisfaction he experienced as a consequence thereof.

Eric Temple’s video (Edward Abbey: A Voice in the Wilderness, 1993) provides the basis for the argument that Abbey was just born for a life on the road. He had an early fascination with the American West and spent a great deal of his time riding the rails and hitchhiking there. John De Puy, illustrator of Desert Solitaire, speculates that it was a love of both the landscape and the sense of freedom that attracted Abbey to the West. In his own words Abbey states, “Once caught by this golden lure you become a prospector for life, condemned, doomed, exalted” (p. 242).

But one dares not assume that hopes of reliving old country songs or pages from paperback novels motivated him to move west. On the contrary Abbey believed, “a man could be a lover and defender of the wilderness without ever in his lifetime leaving the boundaries of asphalt, powerlines, and right-angled surfaces” (p. 129). A more realistic assumption is that Abbey may have foreseen the extinction of the American West and chose to witness its final days. Chronicles of the demise of the cowboy way of life are found in two chapters (Cowboys and Indians I & II). Obviously dissatisfied with the state of the modern West, he states with spite “cowboyism rides rampant as never before on a field of golden neon dollar signs” (p. 109) and “the make-believe cowboys flourish and multiply like flies on pecan pie” (p. 110). In closing, with eulogistic overtones he summarizes, “cowboys and indians disappear, dying off or transforming themselves by tortuous degrees into something quite different…the originals are nearly gone and will soon be lost forever in the overwhelming crowd” (p.111).

His desire to witness the fading American west may have also been coupled by a need to escape modern society. Abbey’s trip tracing General Powell’s journey down the Colorado supports the escapism argument:

(My God! I’m thinking what incredible shit we put up with most of our lives – the domestic routine (same dreams every night), the stupid and useless and degrading jobs, the insufferable arrogance of elected officials, the crafty cheating and the slimy advertising of the businessmen, the tedious wars in which we kill our buddies instead of our real enemies back at the capital, the foul diseased and hideous cities and towns we live in…what intolerable garbage and what utterly useless crap we bury ourselves in day by day, while patiently enduring at the same time the creeping strangulation of the clean white collar and the rich but modest four-in-hand garrote!) (p.155)

The desert was a venue for Abbey’s escape from modern culture and for this purpose it seems to have satisfied him greatly. He states, “Wilderness. The word itself is music” (p. 166).

In the end, with his skepticism, aphorism, cynicism, anarchism and near-mysticism temporarily aside Abbey reveals that all the perfections he sees and feels in Canyon Country cannot snuff the flames of the “insane compulsion to be gone, to be elsewhere, to go, to go (p. 269). It seems he gains satisfaction by peering, no, hanging by fingertips, over an edge. Whether by rope over the physical edge of The Maze or by thought over the philosophical edge of the status quo Abbey claims, “Balance, that’s the secret. Moderate extremism. The best of both worlds” (p. 265). Bedrock and Paradox, the concluding chapter of Desert Solitaire, permits the reader to interpret, loosely of course, that Abbey’s inspiration to travel is cyclical. Some motivation, in his case birth, leads to total self-immersion in some experience. Abbey’s style of immersion is like a rock grinding ritual where all the dimensions of his experiences are momentarily converted to fine sand and stored in thoughts and words. This process itself seems a source of motivation, thus with the circle completed he is off again. The cycle is perpetual, and in this student’s understanding, is the blood of his writings. In the case of Desert Solitaire, his stay at Arches National Monument motivated Abbey to begin a new adventure on the flipside of the canyon’s coin in “Megalomania, U.S.A.” (p. 265), better known as the East Coast.

It is these kinds of radical changes in behavior that support an argument that Abbey was operating under shotgun style productions of internal motivations. His stream of consciousness does not reveal a process that governs menial decision making. Instead it argues for the existence of some non-process which allows an individual to experience his or her surroundings without being dominated by the passage of time, cause and effect relationships, or feelings of displacement, awkwardness or the longing for material comfort. Abbey’s satisfactions, like everyone’s, are a product of the war between reality and expectation. Through Desert Solitaire he reveals that wilderness, humankind’s only true reality, is his greatest satisfaction.

recap

2008-05-12T14:17:00.001-04:00

20,000 years ago, water boiled and a city crumbled. Deserts blew from left to right.

5,000 years ago, blue became light green. Parrots got feathers. Pictures were invented.

1 hour ago I had a sandwich for lunch.

Star Named in Tabby Love Scandal

2008-05-04T00:07:00.010-04:00

Hollywood, CA--- And you thought your neighbor’s “Meow If You’re Muscular” bumper sticker was crazy. Some residents of a posh Beverly Hills community are calling for swift vigilante justice having learned of videos confiscated by local authorities in a routine body cavity search. Cameron Diaz, appearing in court for a simple urinating in public offense, behaved erratically in the courtroom prompting authorities to conduct a routine investigation into her state of mind. “She had on a funny kitty cat hat and at one point regurgitated what appeared to be at least a plateful of homemade lasagna onto the floor” said courtroom bailiff Trent Dyson. “It had canned mushrooms in it, too”

And the deeper they probed the more they found. Among the treasures of the day was an hour-long video of Diaz’s horny escapades with feline sensation Garfield. The pro shot DVD video was found lodged approximately twelve linear feet from her rectum in the lower intestine. Jalyn Tennyson of local Girl Scout Troop #4317 said, "Just thinking about humping cats makes me feel grody, I'd like to get some of my friends to gang up on [Diaz] and punch her in her f*#king face".

Other residents were optimistic, “I see it as both a true medical miracle and a tasteful contribution to the American art form” commented Dr. David Janz, founder of Proctology to the Stars a local astronomy club for hemorrhoid sufferers. “If only more people had her brand of courage.”

Neither Garfield nor Diaz could be reached for comment.

Clubs Trump

2008-05-02T23:32:00.016-04:00

Some jackasses are building a machine that could accidentally unleash mini-black holes on your neighborhood.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/23844529/

If it were me, I'd rather not have mini-black holes unleashed on my neighborhood. If God were to come clean today and tell me, all black hole opinions aside, that the world must endure a mini catastrophic event to fulfill some divine scripture or something, I would certainly lobby against the mini-black holes. No matter what the consequences.

Of course old God could trump me up by suggesting eerier alternatives. And crooked smilingly force me to choose from these alternatives a new fate for Earth. You know, the "choose wisely my son" routine. I'd rise to the occasion, in fulfillment of some milder scripture. A second rate scripture perhaps. But one sans mini-black holes.

Fellow Earthlings, I would ensure our cosmic prevalence by choosing one of these alternatives:

- Mini butt rapings by mini prison guards
- Mini eye gougings by three mini stooges
- Mini bowl cuts by mini second rate female hair stylists
- Mini herpes infections spread by mini non-disclosing rural high school aged queens of the "outdoor party"
- Mini white holes

what the...

2008-04-04T21:14:00.002-04:00

As I traveled south down the freeway, I glanced to my left as I sometimes do. There lay on the side of the road a prosthetic leg. This was not the prosthetic leg of an African American, or that of a Caucasian...no sir. This was the prosthetic leg of a Native American. Judging by the color of the missing "limb" I determined that it had to be that of a Native American. When I was younger I read a few Hardy Boys mystery books, so I'm fairly certain that I am correct in this assessment. Then again, it may not have been a prosthetic limb at all. After all, I was doing 80.

Laxative bunnies

2008-03-25T11:11:00.003-04:00

This time of year always reminds of a funny prank, that I think should be pulled more often. The Laxative Bunny. Great at work, Church, easter egg hunts, and metadone clinics. 100% comedy.

Joy comes in Eights

2008-03-07T09:22:00.000-05:00

I have been learning to play the mandolin for over 8 years. I feel I'm a pretty competent player and overall I'm pleased with my progress. My mandolin is a great little instrument that has served me well. However, being an entry level instrument it's not what's referred to as a "banjo-killer". Regardless, I like its tone and feel blessed to have it.

The other night while my wife was at work and the kids were put to bed I did like I normally do and pulled out my binder of music, my mando, and settled in to pick for awhile. It was one of those nights where all the hard work you put in prior seems to really pay off. My playing felt fluid; my left hand glided above the fretboard. My pick brushed across the 8 strings with such ease that there was a true joy and abandonment in my playing that night. Looking back now I should not have been surprised by what happen next.

I got up from the couch to go grab something from the other room and proceeded to pick along the way. When I got to my destination I paused and finished up the passage I was playing, and there it was. Something that had never been there before. Upon my torso I could feel the vibration of the music I was making.

It might seem insignificant. After all sound is vibrations that travel through the air. For guitar players this commonplace, a large box that allows a large amount of air to move. But with the small body of a mando, especially an entry level one, the vibrations are barely noticeable. Not on this night.

I kid you not when I say a huge grin the size of Omaha filled by face. All alone in my front-room I continued to play, gradually intensifying my attack as the vibrations that had begun in my belly spread throughout my entire body.

I stood there for next twenty minutes reveling in the music I was making and the air I was displacing.

2008-02-19T16:45:00.001-05:00

Now or never
Covered in chocolate is better

SUPER MONDAY!!

2008-02-04T15:18:00.001-05:00

I don't think that Super Monday is getting enough coverage. I heard a whole lot about Super Bowl Sunday and the Television box has really been trying to form my opinions about Super Tuesday, but nobody is talking about today. Super Monday.

It doesn't matter if you are a Democrat or a Republican, for the AFC or the NFC, I encourage everyone to get out today and vote for their favorite football player. Then go home and liberally spread that leftover guacamole about your groinal region, put some sweatpants on, and go ask the neighbor to borrow his snowblower.

The Florida Rockies?

2008-02-01T22:49:00.000-05:00

I'm not political. I'm not even apolitical. That said, I tried to find my polling place 4 days prior to Super Tuesday and this is what I found. Just so you know, it says:

File not found: /polling_place/index.cfm

So what you're saying is I can't find my polling place on Jefferson County's website 4 days prior to Super Tuesday? How inconvenient for me the voter.

double EntendrE double

2008-02-01T15:18:00.000-05:00

The world in which we live is filled with impatience and gluttony. Every day images of obese children and acts of road rage flash across our TV screens. Our five minute wait in line at the bank is a form of torture. "How dare you keep me from important tasks! Don't those tellers know who I am"!

I find it hard that anyone would disagree with my point. But, for the sake of argument if you do, I present Exhibit A - Cheeseburger in a Can.

When did we become such assholes?

These questions are too big for me, and this blog. Perhaps. But find consolation in the fact that I have seen what could return us to a sedated state. You too have gazed upon its splendor. Of this I know.

A simple device who's origins date back to Africa and can be fashioned by combining ordinary household items; one standard issue comb plus a generous slice of wax paper. A singing membranphone, or kazoo to the lay-person, is a wondrous marriage in which the human voice is in sympathy with a vibrating skin. Sounds kinky.

The modern variant was created by Alabama Vest in the 19th century and manufactured in Macon Georgia to Vest's specifications by German clockmaker Thaddeus von Clegg. Long before Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson this pair made beautiful music together. The low guttural buzz of the glorious kazoo. So simple. So elegant. Like Om, the primordial sound from which the whole universe was created kazoo's harmonious buzz is the perfect mantra of the modern day.

So firmly grasp the shaft, gently place it to your lips and blow. All your troubles away.

!

2008-02-01T13:34:00.000-05:00

As a general rule, I find you about as funny as cancer.

Although I will say that your hair has possessed a healthy sheen and lively bounce as of late.

Pulverized placenta you say? I might try it myself...

Really? Peruvian? Alpaca? How exotic.

ying yang

2008-02-01T13:27:00.000-05:00

What is my idea of earthly happiness?
A photo of a man wearing a 3 piece suit and necktie. Instead of pants, his lower body is clad solely in boxer shorts and dark socks held up by calf suspenders (perhaps the lack of pants makes it a 2 piece suit?). He is pushing a lawnmower through the woods. Obviously, there is no grass in sight. The caption reads “Somerville Amateur Literary Society”.

What do I regard as the lowest depth of misery?
The man in the photo has a single tear running down one cheek. The right one. His right, my left.

From Pre-Pay to the PPA

2008-01-30T16:24:00.000-05:00

Am I the only one who's noticed that when you pre-pay for gas the pump slows down like 9 minutes too early. I mean come on...seriously. Who's reaction time is this slow? Yesterday I had time to run across the street and help an elderly woman, Evelyn, needlepoint a life size canvas of Wilford Brimley (a special thank you for the Liberty One hook up) deliver it to him at his home in Martha's Vineyard and take the bus back. Funny story actually, the bus I happened to get on was the Montel bus, Partners for Prescription Assistance. Everything worked out great and boy was Evelyn happy when we swung that fat orange coach into her drive. I haven't seen her that high in days. She made me promise I'd help her out with another needlepoint the next time I pre-pay for gas.

A sly lapful of frottage

2008-01-25T12:25:00.000-05:00

Recently a coworker of mine and I were playing a game of vocabularic badminton when he scored a 3 pointer with... Frottage.
I had never heard the word before and when I learned the definition it quickly shot into my top 10.
Go ahead look it up I will wait....

I know! The fact that this act has a word to describe it is great, the fact that that word is frottage is even better.
So I implore you to go forth this fine winter weekend and celebrate everything that is "frottage". By showing strangers and loved ones alike the most unabashed display of frotteurism since the white coats came to take Thrustin' Justin from that spaghetti dinner.

adventures in banjositting

2008-01-21T21:30:00.000-05:00

The banjo was made by the Kay Company, Chicago, IL. They were in business from 1931 to 1968, mainly making student grade instruments.

Insert Here: That Dog Don't Hunt

2008-01-11T13:11:00.000-05:00

The idea behind "Insert Here" is that we will give you a phrase or word and over the next several days you will try and work this word or phrase into your conversation. You will quickly see how rewarding this can be. You may see that others sometimes will react strangely to your choice of words. Fretnot, this is squarely on them.

The second step in this process is you reporting back in the comment section with the happenings of your wordplay shenanigans.

Todays "Insert Here":
That dog don't hunt

for extra points work these phrases into the same conversation:
neither here nor there
might as well take a flying fuck at a rolling donut

Rumors

2008-01-02T16:00:00.000-05:00

I sent out an e mail this morning to help settle just one of the popular rumors presented to me on a daily basis. It was brought to my attention that I should post this to PF to help others, who also may be wondering what to watch. So, here it is. I would like to inform you all that, contrary to popular belief, you do not need to watch Busty Cops I before you watch Busty Cops II. You, like me, may have thought that BC II would have picked up right where BC I left off. Not so. They are two completely separate movies. So, if BC II is on, go ahead and watch...and be assured, you haven't missed anything in BC I.

Monkeys and the things they do for fun

2008-01-02T14:12:00.000-05:00

I am not a very creative person. Sometimes I pretend I am and dress in an ascot and monocle in my mind. I suppose if I were "really" creative I would wear a
banana-hammock and suspenders. But I digress.

I work for a company that most folks would deem "Creative". We have Art Directors and Copy Writers and our sole product is printed material that when put to match, blazes like the sun. Not sure if that last bit has anything to do with creativity but it sure is pretty to ponder. All day long Muse is fluttering about; having coffee, scolding the printer, necking in the broom closet. It makes for a fun environment.

I am also lucky to have very good friends, who I feel, are very creative. This here blog is a testament to that. But what this intra-fodder does not show you is that their creativity is not limited to this here site. Their cup runith over. Creativity is like B.O. and my friends reek of it.

I am not gushing like a schoolgirl to be boastful. On the contrary. I hope to inspire, like these folks inspire me. So in this new year I resolve to be more "creative". And to wear more banana-hammocks.

Jesus Was Stoked

2007-12-24T23:00:00.000-05:00

Jesus had it easy.

Not only was his mom hot.

But she was tall, skinny, and a raging virgin.

That basically excluded him from all of the popular Jerusalem mom jokes.

the fork (spit) in the road...

2007-12-11T19:51:00.000-05:00

we've all been there. Talking to a group of people. Driving home a point. You have the floor, their undivided attention. Then all of a sudden you spit upon enunciation. There it sits, the point you were so passionately trying to make, in all its drooly glory on the desk. You know they saw it.

What do you do?

Me? I pound my fist on the desk and say, "Who's with me?" Then I stand up and ride my imaginary horse (Bernie Mac) out of the office. Smacking my ass and whinnying. The joke quickly turns on me, though. Once around the corner, I realize that it was my own office that I just rode Bernie Mac out of. Now I have to wait for those (who so obviously were not with me) to awkwardly leave.

They look at me all weird-like when they pass. I just pretend to feed Bernie Mac some oats. They may think I have flipped my lid, but you know what? I guarantee that not one of those poor horseless bastards says one thing about me spitting on the desk.

Crisis averted, America.

Insert Here: Soup to Nuts

2007-11-30T13:39:00.000-05:00

In the first of a new series here at PF, today I introduce you to "Insert Here"

The idea behind "Insert Here" is that we will give you a phrase or word and over the next several days you will try and work this word or phrase into your conversation. You will quickly see how rewarding this can be. Just last weekend, I had the pleasure of telling a guy that bore a striking resemblance to Willie Aames "... you my friend, have just run into a buzzsaw." It felt damn good. You may see that others sometimes will react strangely to your choice of words. Fretnot, this is squarely on them.

The second step in this process is you reporting back in the comment section with the happenings of your wordplay shenanigans.

Ok, now that you have said, "Yeah, yeah... I like this" and clapped your hands together in approval, lets get this started.

Todays "Insert Here":
Soup to Nuts

phlegm

2007-11-30T01:10:00.000-05:00

I have some phlegm deep within me.
It wants to be freed, of this I'm quite sure.
I cough it out, then sneeze it out, making every attempt to breath.

As they say, it may get worse before it gets better.
Sleepless nights I spend, keeping the town awake with awful coughing.
I hope they won't hold a grudge.

It seems to last forever, what a limitless supply.
If only I could bottle my phlegm and sell it.
I would be rich...but not for long.

wanted: a bad operation

2007-11-13T14:38:00.000-05:00

I need a bad operation. Something with old scissors, a roughed-up hammer, or a flame.

I need a bad operation. Something with clumsy stabbing, uncompromising jamming, and fraying, second-hand gauze pads.

I need a bad operation. Something performed by an english-as-a-second-language, degree-via-internet, runs-their-own-pharmacy, unsavory sort of fellow.

gene hackman wants to build something with me

2007-11-13T14:36:00.000-05:00

Gene Hackman wants to build something with me. Just the two of us. Together. He told me so yesterday. I was sitting in the tub, drinking whiskey and listening to Hall & Oates...thinking about asking the 13" black and white panasonic to get up off the sink counter and come join me. That's when the man who brought The French Connection to the silver screen asked me to build something with him. "Let's build something together". Those were his exact words.

To be honest, I wasn't really paying attention to what was going on before this little invitation came my way. I was staring at the tile. Hating those tiles… But when the weathered pipes of Royal Tennenbaum pipe up, your ears prick up. When the calloused hands of Unforgiven's Little Bill knock on your door, you extend a laurel and a hearty handshake.

What to build? He didn’t say. But the answer will come in due time. He’ll let me know. I’m sure of it. As long as I stay in this tub.

toxic fog for a cyber professional

2007-11-13T14:35:00.000-05:00

You’re a cruel cracker, aren’t you? Yes. Sailing your jungle ship through my playground. But I shan’t let your words flicker on me with brimstone zing. Like snail bingo in tree fresh captain’s quarters they are. And as such they’ll most likely stay.
Were it up to you, an oral snail would offer a lost shark a golden shimmer. “Let me fetch some nylon rubber” he would intone. Wouldn’t he?
You fail to grasp the appeal of kite saviors. The allure of whale hickies. Or the need for sundries, various or otherwise.

Revenge

2007-11-09T14:44:00.000-05:00

Yea, I know who you are.
Your a card player, a thief, and a killer.
That man taught you everything you know.
How could you do it? To just leave him there on the side of the road...dead.
Well friend, I have some bad news for you.
Your luck has run out.
He may have been your uncle...but he was my dad.
And he taught me too.
Now, grab a seat...and deal.

Friday Links

2007-11-09T12:08:00.000-05:00

It occured to me that I have been filling the inboxes of friends and acquaintances with a lot of random links this week. In a model of redundancy, I will again post some of them here. In a model of redundancy, I will again post some of them here.

Movember: grow a mustache.

Amy Sedaris.

Old Slumpy. A testament to urban decay. Detroit, Mi.
More Slumpy.

Help get the Tampa Bay Rays in stirrups for 2008.

Bell's beer might be coming back to IL!

Go see Don Rickles.

What's that you say about free time?

Letters: Stoneyfield Farm

2007-11-07T13:49:00.000-05:00

In my profession as a dairy manager I've grown quite familiar with your product. Its helpful to have sampled theses little treasures so I'm able to give accurate feedback to the anxious customer. So from your Wild Berry Probiotic Smoothie to your Low Fat Carmel Underground Yogurt, you could say I've had the buffet. Generally speaking I'm quite satisfied from spoon to stomach. That is, of course, until my last encounter. It was a Tuesday afternoon, much like yesterday. I had just returned home after a long day of buying, backstocking and shelving thousands of dollars of your product along of course with your competitors, when I sat down to enjoy a 6oz portion of Whole Milk Vanilla Truffle yogurt. Well needless to say I was surprised to learn that 6 live active cultures are not the only treats inside, but could someone please explain to me the health benefits of a TWO INCH CODDER PIN!!! (pictures available on my camera phone). Clearly it was my bad though because I failed to read your organic guarantee "made without the use of antibiotics, synthetic growth hormornes and toxic pesticides." I see now that codder pins aren't listed anywhere on there...so, thank you for your time and carry on.

An Ode to Big Mac

2007-11-01T14:29:00.000-04:00

What can I say?
Today, Bro, its your day.
Wow 50, the big 5. O.
That really is a long time, you know?
Across the strait,
that's great!
The link between the glove
and fudge island. Much love!
So many more I hope for you
I love you Big Mac, I do.