Friday, August 22, 2003
Ode to an Alabamian friend...
Monday, August 18, 2003
GHC IN ACTION
Somewhere, deep within the Y-Chromosome, is a special little code called the Gastric Humor Code (GHC). The GHC controls the male response to gastric events. No matter if you (or the members of your carpool) have ripped one, dropped some wolf bait, slipped out a slient but deadly one, pooted, tooted, farted, been flatulent, broke wind, pulled your buddy's finger, or your own finger for that matter, there is something way deep down that makes us chuckle, even as we gag, cough, choke, and curse as we grope blindly for the window switch with one hand and wipe the tears from our eyes with the other... It's just one of the many joys of manhood.
Timeless laughter.
If you are driving down the Interstate on any common day. Let's say its a very hot day. AC is running.....
You are looking at your fellow drivers... one by one.
The 4 door car next to you slows to match your speed. You take a glance to see who it might be.
Then... all at once.
All 4 windows roll down at the same time.
Inside you see 4 grown men laughing.
What happened?
You are looking at your fellow drivers... one by one.
The 4 door car next to you slows to match your speed. You take a glance to see who it might be.
Then... all at once.
All 4 windows roll down at the same time.
Inside you see 4 grown men laughing.
What happened?
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
It's that time again, isn't it?
Wish that you’d call
I know that you won’t
Do what you may
I’ll say what you don’t
Always like that
Alone in my time
With or without
You on my mind
Ghosts come and go
But never stay gone
Walking that way
For only so long
Twisted and turned
Balled up like twine
Here come the switchbacks
On the trail of my mind
I know that you won’t
Do what you may
I’ll say what you don’t
Always like that
Alone in my time
With or without
You on my mind
Ghosts come and go
But never stay gone
Walking that way
For only so long
Twisted and turned
Balled up like twine
Here come the switchbacks
On the trail of my mind
Sunday, August 10, 2003
The Stub-Tail Possum
Many of you have sent cards and letters wanting to know more about the Stub Tailed Possum. So, here's the rest of the story...
Last winter we were adopted by a stray cat (Hobbes) and as a result, we have cat food on the front porch. One evening about 2 months ago my wife hollers “Come Here!” or some similar wife-like command.
Dutifully, I respond with an agitated “What?”
“There’s a possum eating the cat’s food!”
Well, that taps into my manhood on several levels.
1) Protect the castle from invaders
2) Moving target of the fuzzy rodent kind
3) Good money was plunked down to feed that silly cat.
All of which arrive at only one conclusion: Eliminate the freeloader.
Three steps later, I’m in the closet loading the 12-gauge. Two shells in the magazine, rack the slide, slam in one more. (If I’d taken out that plug from when I went quail hunting I could hold 5 shells – AARGH!). Sprint to the front door and the cagey critter was gone. “Another time”, I say.
The next evening, Mr. Moocher is back again and he’s cramming the cat food in as fast as his little possum hands can work. I dash to the closet and grab the gun. Two shells in the magazine, rack the slide, slam in one more (Why didn’t I take out that plug?). Back to the front door… The Invader sees me coming and begins his retreat to the end of the porch. I’m hot on his heels when he jumps off and stops at the corner of the porch. “I can’t shoot him here”, I think. “Shot would ricochet and tag me!” Gun Barrel firmly meets Possum Behind. Possum runs into the flower bed… and stops. Again, Mr. Gun Barrel, meet Mr. Possum Butt. Finally, the overgrown ferret makes a run for it across the no man’s land that is my front yard. 12-gauge leveled; Shot fired. The cat food bandit rolls once and comes up with this long hiss as if to say “Et tu, Brutus?” Now, I’m standing there thinking, “So long, Caesar!” when the furry little Jesse James starts high tailing it out of Dodge. 12-gauge leveled; Shot fired, again. This Demon Seed creature rolls again, gets to his feet and just keeps on trucking. Astounded, I look across the yard where the varmint vanished into the darkness and I see it – a rather large remnant of possum tail.
Ciao, stumpy.
Two months have gone by when I notice a familiar fuzziness by the cat bowl. One, two, six, I’ve got the gun. Two shells in the magazine, rack the slide, slam in one more (Cursed Plug!) I open up the front door, shotgun in hand. I’m thinking, “Beware of a frontal attack.” This possum holds his ground, looks up at me as if to say, “What? Can’t you see I’m eating here?” Gun Barrel firmly against little pink possum nose. Little Pink Possum nose turns and runs down the porch, followed by the rest of it’s weasely body. As he turns, I see the stub. Caesar lives! Down the porch he went. Staying close to the house, he turns the corner toward the back yard. He gets to the corner of the house, stops and gives me a hiss (apparently for old time sake). Again, Gun Barrel to Possum Nose. Hissing fit finished, faster now with less tail to drag, the Dark Lord of the Possum World bolts into the darkness before I can get a good shot. I shoot anyway…
The very next night, feeling quite invincible, Darth Possum returns. One, two, twelve, I’ve got the gun, again. Two shells in the magazine, rack the slide, slam in one more (THE PLUG!!!). I throw open the front door. Robo-rodent makes a mad dash off the porch. Not down to the end, but straight down the front steps and straight across the yard. The perfect dead cinch shot. Slowly and methodically, I raise and level the gun; pull the trigger and in Bullet Time we see Agent Possum go down. Hard. Twitching. Knowing that this is the Terminator’s evil pet, I fire once more and all is still. I saunter out to the carcass and look down at my nemesis. His beady little eyes, look up and say, “Luke, help me take this mask off. Let me look on you with my own eyes…” Naaaaah.
The Stub-Tail Possum will not be joining us for the rest of his life.
Last winter we were adopted by a stray cat (Hobbes) and as a result, we have cat food on the front porch. One evening about 2 months ago my wife hollers “Come Here!” or some similar wife-like command.
Dutifully, I respond with an agitated “What?”
“There’s a possum eating the cat’s food!”
Well, that taps into my manhood on several levels.
1) Protect the castle from invaders
2) Moving target of the fuzzy rodent kind
3) Good money was plunked down to feed that silly cat.
All of which arrive at only one conclusion: Eliminate the freeloader.
Three steps later, I’m in the closet loading the 12-gauge. Two shells in the magazine, rack the slide, slam in one more. (If I’d taken out that plug from when I went quail hunting I could hold 5 shells – AARGH!). Sprint to the front door and the cagey critter was gone. “Another time”, I say.
The next evening, Mr. Moocher is back again and he’s cramming the cat food in as fast as his little possum hands can work. I dash to the closet and grab the gun. Two shells in the magazine, rack the slide, slam in one more (Why didn’t I take out that plug?). Back to the front door… The Invader sees me coming and begins his retreat to the end of the porch. I’m hot on his heels when he jumps off and stops at the corner of the porch. “I can’t shoot him here”, I think. “Shot would ricochet and tag me!” Gun Barrel firmly meets Possum Behind. Possum runs into the flower bed… and stops. Again, Mr. Gun Barrel, meet Mr. Possum Butt. Finally, the overgrown ferret makes a run for it across the no man’s land that is my front yard. 12-gauge leveled; Shot fired. The cat food bandit rolls once and comes up with this long hiss as if to say “Et tu, Brutus?” Now, I’m standing there thinking, “So long, Caesar!” when the furry little Jesse James starts high tailing it out of Dodge. 12-gauge leveled; Shot fired, again. This Demon Seed creature rolls again, gets to his feet and just keeps on trucking. Astounded, I look across the yard where the varmint vanished into the darkness and I see it – a rather large remnant of possum tail.
Ciao, stumpy.
Two months have gone by when I notice a familiar fuzziness by the cat bowl. One, two, six, I’ve got the gun. Two shells in the magazine, rack the slide, slam in one more (Cursed Plug!) I open up the front door, shotgun in hand. I’m thinking, “Beware of a frontal attack.” This possum holds his ground, looks up at me as if to say, “What? Can’t you see I’m eating here?” Gun Barrel firmly against little pink possum nose. Little Pink Possum nose turns and runs down the porch, followed by the rest of it’s weasely body. As he turns, I see the stub. Caesar lives! Down the porch he went. Staying close to the house, he turns the corner toward the back yard. He gets to the corner of the house, stops and gives me a hiss (apparently for old time sake). Again, Gun Barrel to Possum Nose. Hissing fit finished, faster now with less tail to drag, the Dark Lord of the Possum World bolts into the darkness before I can get a good shot. I shoot anyway…
The very next night, feeling quite invincible, Darth Possum returns. One, two, twelve, I’ve got the gun, again. Two shells in the magazine, rack the slide, slam in one more (THE PLUG!!!). I throw open the front door. Robo-rodent makes a mad dash off the porch. Not down to the end, but straight down the front steps and straight across the yard. The perfect dead cinch shot. Slowly and methodically, I raise and level the gun; pull the trigger and in Bullet Time we see Agent Possum go down. Hard. Twitching. Knowing that this is the Terminator’s evil pet, I fire once more and all is still. I saunter out to the carcass and look down at my nemesis. His beady little eyes, look up and say, “Luke, help me take this mask off. Let me look on you with my own eyes…” Naaaaah.
The Stub-Tail Possum will not be joining us for the rest of his life.
Don't Do That!!
“Hey! What are you doing?”
”I’m opening the microwave.”
“Well, you still had 1 second left on the timer.”
“So?”
“Oh Man! You programmed it for exactly 40 seconds. It was set to deliver exactly 40 seconds worth of radiation and you opened it up after 39 seconds.”
“Again, So?”
“So, now there’s 1 second of radiation in limbo somewhere.”
“There is? Where?”
“That’s the real question, now isn’t it? It could be anywhere?”
“Huh?”
“It could be anywhere; in the air, in that oatmeal you just nuked, in your ear, in the open drawer over there. Anywhere!!”
“I do it all the time.”
“Are you nuts? I hope for your sake that all that radiation hasn’t accumulated in one spot!”
“Did you take your medicine today?”
“I can see the headlines now. Freak Accident Kills Local Resident”
“If you don’t can it, there will be a accident involving a freak!”
“OK. I’ll leave it alone. But do me a favor…”
“Sure.”
“Close that drawer very carefully.”
“Shut U-,,,”
“And don’t stand so close to me when you run your hands through your hair. Static Electricity. Might set the radiation off.”
“What? You mean like this?”
“Aaugh! No!”
“How about if I stick my pinkie in my ear and wiggle it around?”
“Not the pinkie!!”
“Or slam this drawer?”
“Take cover! He’s gone mad!! Save yourself!!”
”I’m opening the microwave.”
“Well, you still had 1 second left on the timer.”
“So?”
“Oh Man! You programmed it for exactly 40 seconds. It was set to deliver exactly 40 seconds worth of radiation and you opened it up after 39 seconds.”
“Again, So?”
“So, now there’s 1 second of radiation in limbo somewhere.”
“There is? Where?”
“That’s the real question, now isn’t it? It could be anywhere?”
“Huh?”
“It could be anywhere; in the air, in that oatmeal you just nuked, in your ear, in the open drawer over there. Anywhere!!”
“I do it all the time.”
“Are you nuts? I hope for your sake that all that radiation hasn’t accumulated in one spot!”
“Did you take your medicine today?”
“I can see the headlines now. Freak Accident Kills Local Resident”
“If you don’t can it, there will be a accident involving a freak!”
“OK. I’ll leave it alone. But do me a favor…”
“Sure.”
“Close that drawer very carefully.”
“Shut U-,,,”
“And don’t stand so close to me when you run your hands through your hair. Static Electricity. Might set the radiation off.”
“What? You mean like this?”
“Aaugh! No!”
“How about if I stick my pinkie in my ear and wiggle it around?”
“Not the pinkie!!”
“Or slam this drawer?”
“Take cover! He’s gone mad!! Save yourself!!”
Monday, August 04, 2003
Lyric of the day
the page is turned but no one's looking now
when the bridges burn you can see the light
I belive you want to change
but that don't make it right.
so tell me what you want to say
you can whisper in my ear
you can tell your tale
you can bawl and wail
but no one else will hear.
- A.J. Croce, "Uncommon Sense"
when the bridges burn you can see the light
I belive you want to change
but that don't make it right.
so tell me what you want to say
you can whisper in my ear
you can tell your tale
you can bawl and wail
but no one else will hear.
- A.J. Croce, "Uncommon Sense"
Sunday, August 03, 2003
Irony of the day
Using your $800 Child Tax Credit Refund to pay for a vasectomy...
