deflated...

.... I woke up on the couch at 4:30 this morning and stumbled through to check my email... a late night viewing of The Chronicles of Riddick had kicked my ass again.... but as I wandered back to bed around 5, I distinctly remember smiling to myself as I composed an incredible post in my mind... one full of wit and verve... commentary ranging from social issues to the use of butter as a lubricant... Bill Mahr, Osama, and Jesse Jackson... it was a classic... just the right length, too....

... as I began to doze, I softly chuckled to myself in self-congratulatory bliss... the sheer brilliance of that post would have all you rubberneckers cowering before my mighty mind... bent double laughing at the glowing prose of my humor... standing - slack-jawed - by my mastery of the English language...

.. fuck me... sitting here with coffee and cigarettes, I can't remember a damn word of what I planned to write..

... move along, children... there is nothing to see here...

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Asleep...

... to all veterans who have helped to give me the peace and prosperity I enjoy, you have my sincere gratitude... and as such, I offer, humbly, a poem by Wilfred Owen..

Asleep

Under his helmet, up against his pack,
After the many days of work and waking,
Sleep took him by the brow and laid him back.
And in the happy no-time of his sleeping,
Death took him by the heart. There was a quaking
Of the aborted life within him leaping...
Then chest and sleepy arms once again fell slack.
And soon the slow, stray blood came creeping
From the intrusive lead, like ants on track.

Whether his deeper sleep lie shaded by the shaking
Of great wings, and the thoughts that hung the stars,
High pillowed on calm pillows of God's making,
Above these clouds, these rains, these sheets of lead,
And these wind's scimitars;
- Or whether yet his thin and sodden head
Confuses more and more with the low mould,
His hair being one with the grey grass
And finished fields of Autumn that are old...
Who knows? Who hopes? Who troubles? Let it pass!
He sleeps. He sleeps less tremulous, less cold
Than he who must awake, and waking, say Alas!

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(3) | Poetry
» Yippee-Ki-Yay! links with: Memorial Day Around the 'Sphere

Whoo!...

.... Kelley's on a tear, folks... and it is a fine, fine thing.... personally, I don't watch NASCAR... and I vaguely even know who Robby Gordon is... (one can't live in the South without hearing the names of these preening jockeys bandied every other sentence)...

... however, after reading dear Miss Kelley, I do know one thing... Mr. Gordon is a crybaby... and just think, millions of fans think he's a stud...

"You know what, Robby, you big whiner? You just made yourself look like one of the biggest pussies of all time. I mean, here are chicks like Annika Sorenstam, just dying to compete with men in spite of all the God-given physical advantages that men have in sports like golf, even though she's pretty sure she's still going to lose. Do you get that? Sorenstam loves the sport, so she naturally wants to be able to say she's competed with the best, regardless of the fact that she can never be as tall or as strong as the men she competes with. Conversely, here you are, bitching and moaning because this tiny little woman might have a 1mph advantage over you? You abject loser. You total wimp. Yeah, you love your sport. You want to compete with the best - just as long as no wimmen git uppity. Then it suuuuucks. "

.. rock on, Ms. Blight... rock on...

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Possum Valhalla...

.. today's quote of the day comes from the tangled mind of Big Stupid Tommy...

"We locked eyes as I passed. I think in passing him by, I saw in that possum's eyes that I may have denied him his destiny.

Maybe possums live in a strange warrior-type society, where the only way to possum heaven is under the tires of a passing automobiles. A possum who dies of old age is not a true possum. He will spend his eternity at the gates of Possum Valhalla, never to sup at the Warrior's table.

Maybe. I don't know. There just hasn't been enough scientific study into the religious implications and belief structures of possum society.

If I had to think about it, and even if I didn't have to think about it, I'd say that I've seen just a handful of live possums in my life. Maybe a dozen, give or take. They're nocturnal. I'm basically a day person. They're woodsy. I like the woods, but mostly I sleep indoors. And really, possums and I just don't run in the same social circles."

.. go now, and read... they guy is a real pice of work... and I've eaten nachos with him...

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PTSD

... children, run along to the Grey Biker... the poor guy... there are some sights, sounds, and smells that people just never get over... I wish I could have been there to suffer through the experience with you, buddy... hang in there, though... it'll be a long, long road to recovery....

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Tardy...

... Pammy posted Chapter Six of the Gunslinger a few days ago, and she did a fine job... my apologies for being tardy with my praise.. if you people haven't read the previous chapters, you are missing out.. it's turning into quite a tale..

... each of the bloggers were given a deadly sin to base their chapter on... this idea has created many interesting turns... not your normal Western, that's for sure... but each sin, blogger, and chapter have given the story depth...

... next up is the mighty Velociman... and with the arch-badguy castrated, blinded, and likely dead, he certainly has his work cut out for him... especially since his sin is Pride... but have no fear, children... He's not anchoring this team for nothing...

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just imagine...

... just exactly how would this work?.. no, wait... never mind.. I don't want to know..

"AN INTERNET video involving a naked woman and an octopus could cost a lot of Dagenham Ford workers their jobs.

According to the Sun, seven workers have been suspended after being caught ogling the images "which were too explicit for a family newspaper".

Apparently the video has been doing the rounds of the network for a few weeks, sucking up bandwidth in a way that only octopussy can.

According to the Sun, workers thought it was all a laugh. Management, whose network tentacles can find suckers everywhere, were not so amused.

Although Ford stopped making cars at three years ago it has 5,000 workers making diesel engines and watching the odd "cephalopod does Dagenham" flick apparently"

... on second thought, my curiosity.. and innate compulsion to rubberneck are driving me crazy... a woman and an octopus?... damn...

... an active imagination can sometimes be a horrible, horrible thing...

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..and so it went...

... well, I'm back... our family mission has been accomplished... with the help of a case of beer, 1 pound of cheese, and an emergency pit stop at the Loudon County VFW post, each veteran we knew - or were related to - now has a fresh, crisp flag over their grave....

.... we met up with my Uncle at a breakfast joint in Madisonville and made our gameplan.. sure, we had all day to make the rounds, but we needed to mull over our options for a bit.... we first visited my Father and were surprised to find his grave already adorned with flowers and flags... I suppose one of his friends must have dropped by... everyone who knew him knew that he took Memorial Day, Veteran's Day, and November 10th very seriously... I doubt that any of my family would have been by to place a flag... other than my Mother, that is... still, I could be wrong... people's fondness for their relatives often peaks after they've waited too late to show it... in any case, his grave was already decked out, and I was very pleased....

... from there, we wandered back into the hill-country of eastern Monroe County.. curving our way through the steep roads - well past Hiwassee College - and ending up at the Keller Cemetery... overgrown and unmaintained... to decorate the gravestone of one of our Civil War ancestors..

... long ago, the cemetery had fallen into ruin and 60 year old Hickory and Maple trees sprouted from each depression... the stones, too, had been moved from their broken locations, and leaned against the posts of a fence that ran alongside of the bordering field... a thick covering of sweet ivy and poison oak covered the ground and wandered up each tree trunk... we battled through the curtain of greenery, and found ourselves inside the thicket... it was amazing.. no wind stirred there.. the stones stood white against dark and mossy trunks... the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine hung heavy as we strained to make out the names on the markers... it was not a gloomy atmosphere at all... if anything, it was an overpowering feeling of peace.. the aroma of damp soil, fresh flowers, and decaying leaves... as strange as it sounds, I actually looked at my Uncle and said... "ashes to ashes, earth to earth.. this is where it happens".. he smiled and nodded.. and said something under his breath that I didn't quite catch.. I'm not totally sure, but I think he said, "yes.. we should be so lucky when our time comes"..

... some people find unkempt graves a sore sight... and in a fancy cemetery, I might agree... however, I feel that those ancient people are exactly where they are supposed to be.. forgotten for a long time... but resting in a place of wild beauty... with only us three paying them the occasional visit....

... we visited with the rest of the relatives too.... GGreat Uncle Levi and Virgil... GGGGrandpa Petty... we even erected some flags on graves of people we didn't know... a few, in particular, I remember... we'd been out for most of the day, and I had just remarked to my Cousin how all the veterans we were honoring had survived the wars and lived long lives... no sooner had I said that when we saw the first graves of the combat deaths.. one who had been killed in action in Italy in 1944.. we three stood there and read his memorial... decorating his grave came second.. it is one thing to decorate a grave of a veteran who'd seen Hell.. and then lived to 87 years with family and friends around him... but it is a different thing, indeed, to decorate the grave of a young man snuffed in his prime....

... we saw four more combat casualties today... one was killed in October 1918.. another in January 1969... and another in February of 1972.....

... my Uncle and Cousin traded stories as I drove them from graveyard to graveyard... they sipped on beer and ate saltine crackers with sharp cheddar cheese... we laughed some... and we were quiet some times... the Sun was shining hot for most of the day, and when the conversation dwindled.. or the silence began to shade upon what we were actually doing, someone would inevitably quip... "Damn!... it sure is hot today!.. you'd almost think it is July already.".. then, of course, people would be jolted into more tales.. where so-and-so lived.. who used to own this property... remember putting up hay in the Dyer field back in 65?... and so it went... I wouldn't have missed it for the world...

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Memorial Day...

... well, I am set for another day of loafing... this time, however, I have a mission... Memorial Day weekend is upon us, and myself, my Cousin, and my Uncle will be driving through the hinterlands of three counties today placing flags on the graves of veterans.. the Civil War... WW I and II... Korea and Vietnam... McMinn, Monroe, and Loudon counties... our relatives may have roamed far and wide, but they always made it back home... either to be interred, or to continue their lives with their families...

.. my traveling companions today are both Vietnam vets... a Marine who served at Khe Sanh... and a 173rd Airborne doggie... great fellas, both of them... combat veterans who've both distinguished themselves on the battlefield... it'll be a unique honor to chauffer those two crusty gentlemen today...

... Memorial Day isn't just for remembering the fallen.. it is for the casualties as well... and in one way or another, every combat veteran is a casualty of war... we've got 200 flags to place, and an entire day to do it in...

... by the way, if you'd like to do something for the troops this Memorial Day, Blackfive has some great links to some worthy websites..

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(5) | Military Stuff
» phin's blog links with: Memorial Day

mememememe

... sweet Jesus... not in the history of meme's has one soul been as bruised as I have.. Blackfive, Mistress Cheese, and the lovely Liv have ALL tagged me with the same game.. I never knew my DVD collection held so much interest... and to think, all this time I've been blogging about drinking and watching the wildlife.. man, did I sure miss the boat.. I must say, though... I am quite honored to be the subject of your voyeuristic interests.. you guys sure know how to make a man feel special.. so, being that I'm called out, I shall fess up...

1) Total number of films I own on DVD/video:
.. 1/2 of a 6'X 9' bookshelf.. my living room is full of bookshelves... if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say around 150 are in there... lots of war movies.. a few Monty Python flicks... and, yes.. even the occasional Eddie Izzard DVD.. hey, my Wife loves the guy... of course, all the porn DVDs are locked in the closet of the blogroom.. prying eyes, you know... one can never be too careful these days..

2) The last film I bought:
.. a DVD of every ABBA video ever made.. along with a gratuitous "documentary" on side B.. stop laughing, it wasn't for me.. I was informed last week that the CD player in the Caddy also plays DVDs.. so if you find yourself being passed on I-75 by a platinum colored Cadillac going mach 2... and then you're bombarded with "Dancing Queen" as the sonic boom hits?.. wave, and say "hi"... that was the wee Wifey out on the town....

(3) The last film I watched:
... "The Usual Suspects"... that movie rocks.. every time I watch it, I see more details... a modern classic, in my humble opinion.. fat with goodness, people.. I mean, like Orca fat...

4) Five films that I watch a lot or that mean a lot to me (in no particular order):
... Lonesome Dove... one of the 10 best Western films ever made.. and I am constantly reminded of Augustus every day... "after all, life in San Francisco is still just life".. he is the man..

... Jeremiah Johnson... one of the first movies I ever watched with my Father... other than those cheesy screamers on Shock Theatre... I've got an original movie poster from this film framed and hanging on my living room wall.. you know, dramatic renewal of purpose, and all that...

... Evolution.. the "Play that funky music whiteboy" scene... absolute perfection.. plus, I'd like to think it really could happen... not the "whiteboy" scene.. the evolution deal...

... 1941... John Belushi in a P40 Warhawk over the Grand Canyon?... genius..

... The Princess Bride... I have never tired of this movie... sure, I know a lot of people have already chosen this movie.. but I have to agree.. one of my all-time favorites...

5) Tag 5 people and have them put this in their journal/blog:
.. nay, gentlepeople... I dare not tag... after you guys just dogpiled on little me, I fear of doing the same... so, if anyone would like to let us peek into their home, psyche, and warped sense-of-self.. please volunteer in the comments...

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Bitterman has left the building...

... you ever have one of those mornings when your body is screaming surrender?.. when all you really want to do is sleep till noon, but you know you've gotta get up?... well, that was me this morning... unfortunately, the Bitterman had to skedaddle back towards Corinth fairly early... so we both were up at the crack of dawn enjoying some nice Colombian roast, and great conversation before saying our goodbyes..

... I wish we'd have had more time to sit on the deck and drink beer.. I have a feeling that we had only begun to scratch the surface of our story mother-lodes.... still, we managed to enjoy a fine meeting of the Social Club last night... the Bitterman hung tight with the usual gang, and gave as much abuse as he took... I was impressed... he's a welcome visitor to my home any time...

... I had an appointment in Knoxville this morning too.. so after I bid Bitterman a bon voyage, I climbed into my own buggy and blasted off... opposite directions on I-75... strange how that happens... all in all, though, it was a great treat to meet another fine Son of Mississippi...

... early on, Sandy called and wished us luck from the Dirty Ashtray.. for some reason, I think she figured the night might end in bloodshed... (Sandy, your vote of confidence is overwhelming.. heh heh... Rhett Butler, indeed)... she spoke to us for a few minutes and said that she was performing some kind of ancient Germanic beer-drinking ceremony to ensure we would have a fine time.... well, thanks for the call all the way from Germany, doll... your juju worked a charm here in Tennessee... it really did...

.. anyway, I'm back home now... and I'm going to take a nap...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(2) | Psycho Rants
» smokingtoaster.com links with: truth in advertising

I hate purple...

... B.B. rocked the Tennessee Theatre last night, and it was a pleasure to behold... Lucille, shiny and black, was true to form and squealed out her punctuating riffs perfectly on cue... B.B. King and his ES-335 are the masters of syncopation.. cleverly hung notes and pauses... almost minimalist... when one meets a living legend, you can't help but be awed... like letting yourself become a part of history just by watching...

.. having said that, I can't help but compare this concert with Buddy Guy's a few months ago... with all due respect to Mr. King - and even though everyone enjoyed a wonderful night - I'd have to admit that I would prefer to watch Buddy bend the strings... It's not a matter of style, you see... it's just that he is more entertaining... interacting with the crowd... as for me, I enjoyed that more than listening to B.B. tell stories of his recent meeting with Dr. Viagra...

... oh, and another thing... when Guy played, I remember being hugely disappointed that they were not selling tee-shirts and merchandise... the area cordoned off for that activity in the foyer was filled with barrels of steaming pulled-pork.. baked beans.. and coleslaw... I ended up eating like a fiend, but was a bit pissed off that I didn't get a tee-shirt.. after all, these little collectibles are what we're really after, right?... a moveable billboard that screams "yep, I SAW Buddy Guy, and you didn't.. you suck"...

... well, last night the situation was reversed... and as such, I have begun to totally rethink my obsession with collecting useless tee-shirts that I'll never end up wearing... when we walked in last night, the entire foyer of the Tennessee Theatre was filled with tee-shirts.. posters.. license plates.. key chains... all emblazoned with "B.B. King".. anything a blues fan might want was there.. except for pulled-pork, baked beans, and coleslaw... believe me when I tell you this... I was crestfallen... going to a blues concert and not eating some bbq just detracts from the whole night... we ended up stopping at a Taco Bell just after midnight last night and scarfing some burritos...

... all in all, everyone had a great time... but in this bright light of day, something has left a bad taste in my mouth... sure, it might have been that shady burrito, but I doubt it.. after all, Taco Bell is known for it's late-night cleanliness... it might have been the lack of bbq at the concert.. it might even be the fact that after finally seeing one of my heroes play in person, I found the experience wanting... but, in reality, the final insult is that I sent the Wife to buy me a tee-shirt while I stood in line for beer... well, I finally saw it this morning, and the bastard is purple..

.. dammit, people... that is just wrong... I think I'd rather have had a pulled-pork sandwich..

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Roaming...

.. scattered to the four winds, that's what we are.... telephone calls were made yesterday to check up on the various and sundry... damn, we be a globetrotting bunch.. reading this site, I am sure you can tell that the SWG clan enjoys a good jaunt around the countryside.. never straying far from the reach of mayhem and misadventures... well, the relatives have me beat.. big time....

.. the in-laws are just setting off to South Uist for a fishing holiday.. braving the howling winds and clouds of midges in search of native trout... the Brother in Law is lazily floating down the Brahmaputra.. recording, for posterity and the hope of coinage, his travels on VHS... handling the tropical diseases and dangerous fauna of the sub-continent in his stride...

... me?.. I can't hang with those guys... slightly more civilized plans are unfolding for me tonight... Knoxville's Tennessee Theatre and the soulful tunes of B.B. King... sure, it's not like canoeing the Buriganga or callousing my way across The Grampians... but, hey... I ain't the whippersnapper I used to be either...

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Cheese and Bitters....

.. I've spent most of the afternoon picking at the skeleton of a rotisserie Cajun-spiced chicken and drinking Gin and Tonic.... it's actually a lot more interesting than it sounds.... what?... hey, I am unemployed... what else were you be expecting?... me sitting on the deck reading Dostoevsky?.... fat chance of that....

... anyway, at one point, I managed to hose down the garage... it was looking kinda ragged..... see, we have a special visitor gracing us this Wednesday, children... so, I have to make the joint spick and span... especially when he has already uttered such a phrase as this:

But Wednesday, dear readers..........Wednesday might be a deciding factor in how everything else on my schedule plays out. Wednesday will find me traveling across the top of Alabama and part of northwest Georgia to a secretive but infamous compound in the wilds of southeastern Tennessee. I shall be asking for an audience and lodging for an evening within the exalted court of a blogging mahatma you all hold near and dear. It is my singular goal to survive the impending primitive ritual described to me as involving the charring of a porcine sacrifice over tribal briquette, the ceremonial consumption of distilled spirits, games of competition played with decorated sticks, colorful balls, and knives, and the telling of tall tales.

.. damn.. exalted court of a blogging mahatma?... that rocks... I'm not 100% sure what it means, but it sounds awesome... I hope mahatma's get to play with firearms... because, well, we're definitely going to be doing some of that...

.. so that's right, gentle readers.. I shall be playing host to The Bitterman in the flesh... heh.. and we shall see how this Son of the Great State of Mississippi holds up under the pressure my mad hillbilly skillz.... jealous yet?... no?... well, check this out... a wee bit more grist for your mills.... I had the distinct honor of speaking with my blogsister last night... that's right, neighbors, the Mistress of Cheese, herself.... what a sweet, West Virginia peach... jealous yet, tards?... yeah, I figured as much... and well you should be....

... as far as I know, I am the only blogger in the entirety of blogdom who has personal access to the Queen of Cheese.. any time, day or night... especially now that she has reached her new, virginal, undisclosed location in the desert...

... oh, and her number is available, by the way... upon very special request.... for a small fee...

... heh.. gaze up on my list of cell phone numbers, and despair, rubberneckers....

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(8) | Psycho Rants
» the cheese stands alone links with: Bag Sans Cat

Christopher Lee...

.. you know, I've always loved watching movies with Mr. Lee in them... he could pull a Dracula stare like no other.. sure, some prefer Lugosi, but not me.... some say he was stereotyped... but I like to think he just enjoyed the Hell out of nibbling the necks of sexy 20-somethings.. I mean, if you could get a job doing that all day, wouldn't you?...

... anyway, it seems like he got duped, though, back in the 70's... inadvertently narrating a porn film based on one of de Sade's tales.... heh heh... funny, he never mentioned that when I read his biography...

.. oh, and by the way... anyone who has the nerve to call their bio "Tall, Dark, and Gruesome", is a winner in my book...Christopher Lee... now there's a guy with a sense of humor...

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World Peace..

.. in preparation for Wednesday's visitors, I'm changing my staple recipe.... I just grilled two pounds of boneless pork ribs.... the different tack I chose this time found me slathering those babies in a Caribbean jerk sauce that I'd cut with Heinz 57, Beer, and jalapeno juice...

... Good God...

... I'm now going to take pride of place on the deck, and partake of the seared goodness... so go ahead and call me an infidel... but, you want to know the real reason half the world doesn't eat swine?.. well, they've never been force-fed one of my riblets...

.. I do believe that bombing the non-pork eating World with my special-recipe ribs might trigger world peace... those people would be lining up to convert to Christianity after just one bite of my finely cooked hog...

... after all, my ribs?.. they be addictive.. hey, it could work, you know...

UPDATE: After a long night of reflection, I must admit that my thoughts were mistaken when I wrote this post.. even if the entire population of the world worshipped one God, we'd still find reasons to kill each other... even my wonderful ribs can't change that...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(4) | Psycho Rants
» smokingtoaster.com links with: old home week

Firepower...

... you know, maybe I missed it, but I've been expecting some of the big dogs to tell us about the new toys being developed in Idaho... specifically, the CheyTac M200 Intervention Sniper Rifle... firing a .408 round... so, what gives, guys?...

... a little birdie tells me that this puppy is taking out targets at 2400 yards.. now, for those of you who don't understand distance, that is over TWICE as far as Marine snipers in Fallujah - armed with the trusty M40A3 chambered in 7.62mm - have bagged kills... from what I can gather, the longest confirmed popping of a bad guy in Iraq was at 1050 yards...

... some friends in country have sparked that a few of the M200's have started circulating with the Jarheads via Special Operations Command...

... anyone else heard of this?.. I mean, c'mon... even as an old Marine, 2400 yards just boggles my little mind...

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Joining again....

... a few weeks ago, I took one of my Cousins on a daytrip around the surrounding counties... we spun the country back roads all by ourselves... I drove the car... him?... he nursed a six pack and ate hand-sliced cheese on saltine crackers.. heh.. who says I don't know how to have a good time.... high culture, people.. dead people, cheesy crackers, and beer... McMinn County entertainment simply knows no bounds... ahh, yes... back to the point.. see, having rooted around under our family tree a bit more than he, I was able to tour him through a lot of cemeteries that he'd never even been to.. most of them, he had no clue even existed.... but here's the kicker, once we'd arrive, I'd begin regaling him with tales of the escapades of the now dead (but once, quite lively), relatives... we was pretty impressed...

... well, now it looks like I have created a monster... last night, just as I was finishing up my chapter, the telephone went... I checked the caller-Id and didn't recognize the number... for some reason, I decided to answer it anyway... on the other end of the line was a very enthusiastic chap... he introduced himself, and explained that my Cousin had signed himself and I up to join a club.... he went further, and said that my cousin had called me... "The Keeper of the Family Genealogy"... indeed.. it appears that I'll be doomed to produce free copies of my thousands of hours of work to lay-about relatives for the rest of my life...

... the club we were joining?... the Sons of the American Revolution... as it turns out, the Cousin decided he wanted to join, but had no idea if we were qualified... so, he'd given this gentleman my number... the answer?.. yes.. yes, we're qualified... many, many times over... our relatives would fight at the drop of a hat.. Revolution, Insurrection, or just because they were bored... whiskey tax, stamp tax, or lets find a country to invade and TAX!... it never really mattered to my forbearers... they were a loving, yet warlike horde..

... ahhh.. I see I am rambling again... blame it on the beer gourmet hotdogs we ate this afternoon while discussing dead relatives.. anyway, what does all this mean, rubberneckers?... Hell if I know... except that I really, really thought my joining-days were over...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(7) | Psycho Rants
» Gut Rumbles links with: geneology

The Gunslinger - Chapter Five

... anyone ever tell you people that patience was a virtue?... yeah, well... with my most sincere apologies to Christina and Pammy, I humbly submit Chapter 5...

The Blog Western - or - The Gunslinger

Chapter 1 by Dax Montana
Chapter 2 by Moogie
Chapter 3 by Mark
Chapter 4 by Kelley

... next up, Miss Lollygaggin' herself... with Velociman batting clean-up...

Chapter Five....

Emily stirred from her dream but didn't wake. Disturbed by the faint sound of spurs in the distance, she only nodded slightly. A few seconds later, and the steady, plodding footsteps of the old Undertaker were echoing off the dusty wooden porch. The rhythmic sounds of the boot heels broke when he stopped near the pool of dried blood on the porch. It was Big Bill Callahan's blood. His friend's blood; spilled by the scum of the Earth. Scum that Bill himself had bought and paid for. His old eyes began to tear as he clenched his fists.

"Never trust a half-breed cur, Bill", he mumbled to himself. "I told you that land was cheap enough to buy, but it was just easier for you to steal it, now wasn't it? Right? Right. Now, who's going to take care of your girl, Bill?"

His knock on the door was louder than expected. A respectful tap had been called for, but his anger had bubbled over. This man he was coming to get, now a corpse, was once his best friend, and the loud whack his hand delivered to the doorframe startled him. Respect for the dead, he thought, that's all I've got left.

"Miss Emm", he stuttered, flustered by his own slip in manners, "Miss Emily, I'm here for Bill, ma'am."

Flushed from her dream by the hard thump on the door, Emily jolted from the chair. Her hand instinctively reached out for the pistol by the bedside. She'd already cocked the piece, and was halfway across the room when she glanced back at Roger. He was dead. Just as she had expected - just as in her dream, he was gone. A wry hint of a smile crossed her lips as she stared for a moment at the orphan no one wanted. This house that Big Bill had built was quickly becoming a house of the dead. But with Roger gone, it was finally her house alone, Home of the Dead, or not. "Goodbye, Roger", she smiled as she turned, "I'd stay and chat, but someone's at the door".

At the last stair, she saw the outline of the Undertaker through the cream lattice of the curtain. The dusty air had caused the long-ago pristine, New Orleans lace to change. In the slanting sun, she could make out the battered shadow of the man, Ragged except for his black top hat. She could almost smell the musk that oozed from his body, the smell of an unclean man. Mixed with the smells of desolation surrounding her, the idea of seeing the grave-digging man turned her stomach. The charcoaled corpses of the animals outside mixed with his heavy scent to create a curtain of fumes. His lanky form was bent from the strain of living his years on the prairie; a life of marauding Indians, lawless bandits, and the incessant bleaching of bones, skin, and livelihood that the Sun in this place demanded. It was a hard price to pay for a life that promised so little, scratching in the dirt for a meager meal. Everything around here went crooked from the strain, she thought. This ranch, this prairie, and this pioneer lifestyle are brutal and vicious mistresses. Unforgiving. She slid the pistol into the curio at the foot of the landing, and called for the Undertaker to come inside.

"Good morning, Miss Emily," came a raspy voice from behind a long mustache. Mr. Whitaker removed his hat and shuffled his tattered boots as he spoke, bowing his head as if in church. "I am sorry for your loss, miss. Bill was a great friend to me, as you know, and I am truly, truly sorry. You have my most sincere condolences, ma'am."

Jack Whitaker finally raised his head enough to catch Emily's gaze. She was just as he had remembered her. In those days before she left for Virginia at 16, he had told Bill how beautiful she was. Bill had laughed in his face for saying so. Emily was meant for a Governor's Wife, not the companion of an over-educated mortician. But now that she had returned, Jack could see that she had only grown into a more incredible creature.

"I've got some more bad news, though, Miss Emily. Sheriff Tom killed himself last night after he left here. Evidently, he started hitting the bottle once he got to town. I know you two were close, and I felt I should be the first to tell you. I asked the Doc about it, and he just shook his head and spit". As his words entered the air, his eyes traced the line of her jaw down towards her neck and downward to the floor.

"Thank you, Mr. Whitaker," Emily smiled. She had seen what he had done, and she laughed inside. "I appreciate the news and your condolences, Sir, but I've got some bad news as well. My dear Roger died during the night, and he is resting upstairs in his bed. It is a sad, sad thing for me to report, but it looks like your cart will be full when you leave here."

Tom's eyes began the dance again, and caught hers for a split second - sapphire blue and soft - and then, slow like molasses, he traced her outline of her body down to dusty boards where she stood. At rock bottom and head downward, he spoke.

"Doc said that would probably be the case this morning when I talked to him. I'd hoped he'd be wrong. Everyone always liked Roger pretty well. That Stalking Wolf and his bunch is a dangerous, dangerous crew."

Emily placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head. Her eyes studied the wiry man for a long moment before she spoke. Her voice was measured and still, but full of honey.

"Yes, yes. Indeed, they are. But if you'll excuse me, I have some chores to get on with, Mr. Whitaker." Emily knew he was watching her as she turned and entered the kitchen. She could feel the weight of his brown eyes as they took their chances with her back turned.

"I'd be pleased if you would just start your work, sir. I understand that my Father has lots of unfinished business in town, and I must not let him down. He would have wanted it that way, don't you agree?"

Stopping at the table, she glanced over her shoulder without turning around. Whitaker's eyes quickly hit the floor as she caught him staring. How pathetic, she thought, He couldn't keep his eyes off of me even for a second. I've never seen a grown man blush before.

The Undertaker began the climb up the staircase hastily, ashamed of the thoughts he'd been having. Emily was a flower. Cultured and cared for, and he knew he should not have treated her that way. Each step of his boots seemed to land like a thunderclap on the wooden stairs serving to only further his embarrassment. He wanted her, and he knew Emily could tell. All women could sense a man wanting them.

Emily listened to the plod of Mr. Whitakers boots and heard him enter Bill's room. She turned slowly and walked towards the landing to check. Yes. She could see the Undertaker closing the door to begin his work. As quietly as she could, she slid off her shoes and discarded them at the foot of the stairs. In her stocking feet, she walked to picture above the fireplace. The combination to the small safe easily opened it, and she removed the contents: Deeds, Letters of Recommendations, Water Rights, Leases, Mortgages, Stock Certificates, Mineral Rights, Bank Balances, Liens, and finally, the contracts with The Gunslinger and Stalking Wolf. She took them all. Now, these documents belonged to her and her alone. She shuffled them neatly into a pile, folded them quickly and slid them into the leather binder on the sofa. The suitcase she had packed the night before was hidden on the back porch with a fresh pair of riding boots. She looked around at the large ranch house one more time before she lit the kerosene lamp on the mantle. When they find this tomorrow, she thought, they'll think the bandits hit us again while the Gunslinger was away.

A wisp of black smoke from the lamp swirled towards the ceiling beams lazily and she watched it. It was almost time for this dusty phase of her life to be over. Soon she would be back where she belonged. Virginia and the East. Her Father had shipped her off for an education. Well, she had gotten one. Those belles from Garrett's had told her exactly what she was when she arrived - the beautiful daughter of a filthy rich cattleman. The word that had struck her most at the time was "filthy". Cow money, blood money, stealing water, and railroading small timers could make you powerful, but you were still lower class rich. In the realm of real money, you were just Circus sideshows who scraped, begged, and brutalized. Being the well-heeled daughter of a broker, magnate, banker, or politician was the only way to be respected. Big Bill hadn't understood that, but Emily did. Her time back east had taught her a few things about true wealth, and what it meant to be civilized. One thing was for sure; even when you are dirty, filthy, stinking rich you don't have dirt under your fingernails and dried blood on your front porch. You have white shirts, sweet smelling hair, and marble floors. Those frilly tarts from Norfolk and Richmond would take notice of her shortly. But first, she had business to conduct.

The flaring lamp burst easily against the steps and immediately ignited the worn bearskin on the wall. Within seconds, the house was in flames and Emily was in the buckboard heading out into the prairie. She thought she might have heard the Undertaker scream at some point, but she couldn't be sure. It almost sounded as if he was yelling "Emily! Where are you?" If he had made it down the hellish staircase, he would be searching the inferno for Emily right now. Then again, perhaps it was the wind. It does make strange noises on the open range time and again.

***********

Heavy and spent, the drunken outlaw rolled off of the lifeless teenager. She'd been quite a sport for the past few weeks, but now the heat was beginning to work her over. The outlaw grinned as he remembered her moaning like a whore after the fourth bandit was finished with her. That first night when he and the boys "broke her in" had been incredible. In his mind, she loved being the pigbitch. Hell, all white women did. Deep down, they all wanted to be used like pieces of meat until their bodies shook with the dirty, uncontrollable orgasms that only total degradation could fuel. In the end, each pigbitch had been exactly the same. Fighting it, at first. Then succumbing to the depravity like a dog in heat. And finally, craving the rough, brutal sex. Sex that would be the only type of love she'd ever know before falling prey to the blade or the elements. Each white pigbitch had performed as long as they could. After all, stopping meant death. Death by beating, or bullet, or worse, and this chubby blonde had been a real whore. She must have had a lot to live for. He turned his head spat on the ground as he remembered what a quick learner she'd been for a 17 year old. This little gem would be hard to replace. Now, though, she was no fun at all. Dusty and dead, and no fun at all. His mind began to wander as he traced the outline of the circling vultures overhead. The outlaw needed a new plaything.

Stalking Wolf's eyes began to close as he lay beside the quiet corpse. The long night, the hard ride, and pitched battle had left him tired. He needed rest and his bullet wound was aching. Having finished his fun with the full bottle and the white girl, his body began to relax. With his body numbed, and his thirst satiated, he lit a cigarette. A perfect end to a nearly perfect day, he thought. It's not often one gets to invite the Angel of Death to his cold campfire. Tonight was going to be fun. He knew they were coming, but he knew it'd be a while. He smoked in silence and watched the smoke cloud into a stagnant pool over his head. "No air in here", he breathed to himself. "No life in here either. C'mon, boys, in the morning, we dance".

The cheap tequila continued it's effect, and his mind began to focus Bill Callahan's Emily and the letter he had gotten from her two months ago. The postmark was from back east in Virginia.

"How sweet she is, indeed", he said out loud. "A real piece of work, this white woman with a heart blacker than any outlaw's"

The idea brought a laugh from his empty stomach. "And a Finishing School education to boot. Heh. If I ain't careful, she'll make a pigbitch out of me"

He ground the dying butt between his calloused fingers and broke open the paper, allowing the flecks of tobacco to scatter onto the dust. With a wipe of his heel, the evidence he had been here was erased.

The paint horse he'd caught behind Callahan's barn flared its nostrils and sniffed as Stalking Wolf rose and walked towards it.

"What are you smelling, eh? You think your owner is coming for you, do you, boy?" The horse eyed the slowly moving figure through the dusk, and pointed his ears in the direction of the half-breed.

"No, my friend. No one is coming for you. You're just like everything else around here. I caught you, and you're mine. Besides, there ain't nothing you need back at that ranch anyway." Stalking Wolf removed the crumpled letters from the inside of his quilt vest, and dropped his eyes to the paper.

"Her whisperings caused that idiot Callahan to call in this Gunslinger. With that Death Angel here, I'd finally have an excuse for gutting old, dirty Bill. She's a smart, smart woman, that Emily. I've been doing his business for too long and only getting scraps. Here in these letters, friend, it appears she feels the same way too. Well, the time is up for doing what I'm told. Not for Big Bill, and rest assured, not for his blonde daughter. Time for that educated wench to be taught a thing or two from me."

Stalking Wolf ran his hands though the paint's mane and looked into its eyes. There was no fear there. He smiled into the dark eyes of the horse. "That's alright, friend. After all, we've just met. You'll know me a little better in a few days, and you'll not look at me like that."

One more slug from the bottle, and the liquor was gone. Stalking Wolf tucked the tattered letters back into his vest and moved around the horse towards the canyon wall. He sat in the dirt and rested his back against the sandy canyon wall. From here, he knew that no one could see him from the entrance. He'd be safe enough here until daybreak.

Sleep came quietly to him there as the stars came out. He had business to conduct with a white woman in the morning and he dreamt of that. As the outlaw and his plaything each found their rest, the buzzing of the green flies seemed to hum a lullaby through the canyon.... "when you dance with the Devil"...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(15) | Crazy Fiction
» Feisty Repartee links with: Blog Western Chapter Five
» Thunder And Roses links with: Blog Western - Chapter Five
» .:.WitNit.:. links with: Gunslinger Chapter 5: Twist!
» Fistful of Fortnights links with: Meanwhile, On Planet Earth.
» The Boiling Point links with: Weekend Blog Updates
» Moogies World links with: Blog Western - Part V
» suburban blight links with: Blog Western Rides Again!
» Just Breathe links with: Home again
» Velociworld links with: I'VE BEEN REMISS...
» Feisty Repartee links with: Blog Western Chapter Six
» Moogies World links with: Chapter VI is UP!!!
» suburban blight links with: HOT DAMN!
» Velociworld links with: THE GUNSLINGER, CHAPTER 7
» Velociworld links with: THE GUNSLINGER, CHAPTER 7
» Feisty Repartee links with: Blog Western Chapter Seven
» Bad Bad Juju links with: THE GUNSLINGER
» Bad Bad Juju links with: THE GUNSLINGER
» Cadillac Tight links with: Weekend reading

doc Russia

... I was just over at Miss Cat's blog where I am attempting to guest post for her... so, as you do, I was crusing her blogroll... what can I say?.... I just found this, and it is an incredible post... and doc Russisa, dude, I feel ya, Brother...

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Banned....

... a thunderstorm blew through during the early hours of this morning.. I was awoken by the thunder that seemed to be directly overhead, and I spent the next half hour or so just watching the lightshow.. beautiful, beautiful stuff... I walked through to the kitchen in the dark, and poured myself a drink of water as the lightning lit up the backyard.. violence, people... at times, it was scary.. but you still could not help but take in the grandeur of it all... a good thunderstorm evokes the entire gambit of emotions... falling back to sleep later, I was aware of the hard rain pounding the roof and windows... man, what a secure feeling... under warm blankets with the World tearing loose Hell outside....

... after such a wonderful night, I arose this morning and wandered through to the blogroom with a cup of coffee in hand... I restructured the blogroll a few days ago to put the people I've actually met nearer the top, and I was looking forward to hearing what all my friends were saying.. well, you can imagine my shock to find that Tammi had posted last evening about lil ole me...had I written something noteworthy?... had I made someone laugh?... nope.. I've been banned by her IT Department.. what a nice present to find on this cool, wet daybreak... heh..

.. here... check it out....

Then.....I get in the office this morning to an email from our "IT Dept". (one guy) saying I violated our internet standards by visiting this site . I had a good laugh over that. Until I got called into my boss's office and asked to explain. I did laugh and apologize. I thought about explaining "blogs" to him, but didn't like where that could lead so just said it won't happen again. (Funny though - no alerts for going to Harvey's site!)

... in itself, quite an honor, I guess... but wait, it gets better.. a commenter to the post... Mr. Ogre... says that LOTS of people have banned my site... and that somewhere on the internet, I am pigeonholed as a... wait for it... a Hate Site... well, boys and girls, I tell you what... for the first time in a very long time, I have read something on the internet that has left me completely speechless... I mean, other than squirrels and people who cut people's heads off, I pretty much can hang with everyone else... right?... heh..

... this internet thing constantly amazes me... especially you daily rubberneckers... ahhh, Hell... it is what it is, I guess... but, what can I say?... only one thing, really... wow.. I think I need some more coffee...

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Flushes or Lashes?....

.. indeed... you decide, rubberneckers.. personally, I know which one I'd choose.... but still, The Evil White Guy has a point.... he doesn't often make one, but when he does, it's a beautiful sight....

... Update: note to all you masochists out there.. the ultimate in cheap thrills awaits you all... all you need for 70 lashes and no reach-around is three Holy Bibles and a ticket to Riyadh....

... heh.. let the rioting commence...

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Humbled...

.. speaking of getting sued... I'd just like to shout out to the visitor here who googled "squirrels"... yeah, you...from the grammar school in Vermont... I offer you a most humble apology... SWG is many things to many people... but an educational source, it ain't... please do not sue me for any inadvertent loss of brain cells reading that post may have caused...

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Steinbuch's Anguish...

.. uh oh... Jessica Culter is getting sued...

... "Writing under the nom de plume "Washingtonienne", Cutler last year briefly kept an X-rated online diary of her simultaneous relationships with up to six men around town, including an unidentified Bush administration appointee."

... "severe emotional distress, humiliation, embarrassment and anguish".. ouch... I kinda thought everyone in Washington was subjected to that stuff... I mean, at least Robert got laid out of the deal...

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Ye Olde Western...

... as I am sure you retards are just chomping at the bit for the next chapter, I feel I must let you in on a little secret... be careful what you wish for, children.... what is it that awaits you?... mheh...

... run-on sentences.. bad punctuation... weak ideas... verily, verily, woe is me... and more importantly, woe is YOU... Friday will be upon us before we know it, people.. and Lust ain't even half-way finished... funny, too... procrastination is usually such a wonderful thing.. and my strong point, too...

... anyway, so far I've done everything I can imagine... I sat on the deck with my Stetson on... slammed a few shots of tequila.... cleaned my Winchester 30-30... threw some John Wayne into the VCR.... Hell, I even put on my Mexican poncho and drank some bourbon... I got absolutely nothing for my trouble... you know, I've got half a mind to just have Emily gangbanged by a traveling Mariachi band that passes through town on their way to an Olde West Mariachi Convention in St. Louis... hey, it could work... the only creatures I've been able to channel so far are an incredibly aroused Festus, and Vincent Price with a speech impediment and extremely large hands... still, I'll keep trudging along... something's gotta give... however, I can tell you guys this... Emily is well and truly fucked...

UPDATE: Sidetracked again, it seems... time to shoot pool... no more working on Emily's fun & games till morning... sorry, kids....

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Turning Japanese...

... I'm not 100% sure... but if I were Japanese, I think I'd be offended... heh heh.. still, purely in the interest of Science, I thought this article was quite interesting... in a off-hand way...

"It seems, the men's weekly suggests, that a man's first step to developing a professional approach to their work requires disciplined control of the urge to get a load off his mind, so to speak.

Nakayama says frequency is important when it comes to heaving the heathen handhold.

"Combining both sex and masturbation, a man in his 20s should ejaculate 24 times a month, somebody in his 30s should aim for 10 times a month and a guy in his 40s should look at about half a dozen times," Nakayama says. "Mind you, this should be considered the absolute minimum level to be regarded as healthy. Any fewer times than this runs the risk of attracting ailments such as an enlarged prostate. Making sexual activity a regular practice also carries the benefit of stimulating the brain."

.. "heaving the heathen handhold?"... what an awesome phrase...

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COMMIES!...

... you ever meet someone, and immediately start having suspicions?... uh huh, sure you have... well, people, I just read this over at Sadie's house... shocking stuff.. scandalous, even!... I just knew something was up when she was secretly taking notes from the shadows in Jekyll... well, now we know... she was collecting data for the commies!...

... by the way, there are some seriously shady guys and gals on that blogroll, too... so be careful, rubberneckers... the wolves are among us...

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Mobility....

... from the first time man picked up a weapon and proclaimed himself a warrior, his search for better equipment has been never-ending... be it a sharper sword... a lighter rucksack... or a more accurate cruise missile... since time immemorial, he has strived to perfect his tools of war....

... reading a post from Laughing Wolf the other day, my mind went back to a time when I was taught - in no uncertain terms - what the most valuable weapon of warfare really is... what is it?... mobility... whether on horseback... skimming the battle-zone in a Sea Cobra, or slogging through the brush in soggy jungle boots... mobility is the most prized weapon a warrior has... when you lose the ability to maneuver, you've lost the battle...

... so, what's brought on all this rambling?... feet, children, feet... in Laughing Wolf's post, he asks for foot stories.. heh... well, I've got some doozies... blisters, raw flesh, and cellulitis.. I've been there and got the tee-shirt....

... the one that comes to mind first is also the bloodiest... Hell, that is probably the reason that it is seared so well into my mind...

... the scene begins at the end of the 1st Phase of boot camp... we were gearing up for the hike that would takes us looping around the island.. eventually, it would deposit us at the White Elephants across the road from the rifle range... these White Elephants were two-storied, clapboard structures... long ago white-washed... and they would be our home for the month-long quest to perfect basic weapons training and the eventual rifle quals... tall and bleak in their whiteness, these buildings signaled the first true birthings of a brand new Marine... arriving at them meant only one thing... learning the art of firing a weapon... hitting a target.. and destroying an enemy... exactly what Marines are meant to do...

... prior to the eight mile hike out to the range, we were given our first chance to visit the base exchange.... every recruit had a short list of approved items they could purchase... and I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw that Dr. Scholl's inserts were on my list... I was truly stoked, people... after a month of close order drill, my boots were well broken in... comfortable, even.... under their previous abuses, my heels had hardened, and now I knew I could walk a hundred miles in those black Cadillacs without getting a single blister... so the Scholl's were just going to be the icing on the cake... at least, that is what I thought...

... I remember the day well... a bright, humid July day in South Carolina... even at dawn, we were beginning to sweat as we stood in formation... I remember the bugs, too... sand fleas by the millions were pushed into our faces with each warm breeze... the air was heavy with moisture and the buzz of insects... I'd cut my Dr. Scholl's the night before and secured them firmly into my jungle boots... the old mesh inserts were ceremonially shit-canned, as I strode across the barracks... I was in forced-march heaven... feeling the magic of Dr. Scholl massage my feet with every step... I remember thinking, as I settled in my bunk that night, that the coming morning's eight mile hike was going to be a walk in the park...

... good God, rubberneckers... words cannot express how wrong I was... see, there was an unexpected side effect of replacing a 1/8" thick insert with a 1/4" insert... a side effect that was not immediately apparent the night before... strolling around the barracks was one thing... humping a 60lb pack through the wet sand of a South Carolina marsh was something entirely different.... at first, all I could think of was how wonderful my heel felt... how happy my toes were... how much I wanted to buy this Dr. Scholl guy a beer... but after about 45 minutes, I started to notice a burning sensation... a different sensation than getting a blister... five minutes later, I was in Hell... less than halfway through the eight miles, I was in serious trouble... I began limping.. getting slower and slower with my strides.. I tried taking longer strides to reduce the friction that the tops of my feet were enduring... nothing worked... nothing helped... and we didn't stop... it was one of the most painful days of my life....

... after the hump, our Drill Instructors made us take our boots off, and line up in front of our racks in the White Elephants for inspection.... I remember taking off my shoes and seeing the blood.. while I'd been walking, I knew I was hurting myself... but I didn't understand how much until I actually took off the boots... my socks were soaked with blood... the top of each toe had rubbed against the hard leather with a vengeance... quite literally, I had crippled myself...

... the Drill Instructor called for the corpsman to come and bandage my feet... I could see the look of disappointment on his face as he watched the sailor dress my wounds... I had let him down.. I knew better... he had taught me better... and I was ashamed.... to this day, I still have scars on the tops of my feet from that agonizing day... and to this day, the pain of knowing that I let my DI down still stings... after all, a Marine who can't walk is useless... since healing up, I have taken care of my feet religiously... sure, I have blisters from time to time, but nothing like the ones I had that day... I learned my lesson the hard way... mobility, people... if you can't maneuver, you are dead...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(5) | SWG Stories
» Cadillac Tight links with: On feet
» Boudicca's Voice links with: Left foot, left foot, right foot right

J is for Jealousy...

... sitting in the back yard this afternoon, I was enjoying the smell of freshly mown grass after a weekend spent away from home with friends.... it was a great treat to just sit out on my own deck for a change.. I dearly love traveling, but being home is something you will always miss.... totally alone - with the exception of Fred the cat - I sipped my Scotch and watched the evening unfold... it was a warm, quiet time, and it appeared that a hunt was in order...

.. at first, it was a Mockingbird that caught the cat's attention... a Blue Jay was in the tree above.... yelling menacingly... not wanting the Mockingbird to hunt his patch... and as I watched, the cat slid from the deck, and disappeared into the honeysuckle without a sound... it approached slowly as I watched.. and in a moment, it was almost upon the hapless bird.... but at the last minute, he became aware, and bolted.... but as quickly as it had fled, the Blue Jay swooped in to take his place... I think the two were acting as competitors... both were seeking bugs and worms from the same larder for their babes... my back lawn being a veritable Serengeti of bugdom....

... as it happened, though, it wasn't such a good idea to be competing here.. my savage garden has hidden dangers.... you see, Blue Jays are the original evil bastards of the Birdworld... they want everything, and they refuse to share... they are detestable creatures.... vicious, petty, and cruel... this particular bird landed about three feet from where Fred had set up shop... stalking that Mockingbird had left him lurking there with a belly pressed against the grass..... get it?... the Mockingbird had flown because he'd sensed Fred's presence.. death was stalking him, and he could feel it... he didn't leave because of the Jay's angry squawking... no... it was something else... and so the Jay descended, but in an instant, the cat sprang into action... heh... blue and white feathers flew, but it narrowly escaped.... wounded perhaps, but alive....

... finishing my evening's drink, I couldn't help but contemplate the facts.... this same thing will play out again tomorrow.... regardless of which side I am on... watching the cat, the Mockingbird, and the Jay this afternoon, I am overwhelmed by a feeling of inevitability... after all, a Jay is still a Jay... and a cat is just a cat... and a Mockingbird has to stay alive too... it's just what they do....

.... Jay, cat, or Mockingbird... some believe in fate... others in the divine.. and others, in self-determination... what do I believe?.... well, I hope that I end up being a Mockingbird...

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Paris, 1896....

... for those of you uncultured Philistines who might be wondering, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec was an inbred Frenchman of noble descent who spent the later part of the 19th century boozing it up with the cabaret crowd in Paris... downing Absinthe with Picasso and van Gogh whilst buxom lasses jiggled to the can-can... he was a short-legged man of elegance, children... having aristocratic parentage, his bearded frame was laden from birth with a genetic defect that, quite literally, cut him off at the knees.. such is the price to pay for keeping it in the family, I suppose....

... regardless, the National Gallery is currently hosting an exhibit of his work... and it's wonderful stuff... posters advertising ancient bohemian thrill-girls... pamphlets - beautifully drawn - promising the intoxicating effect of the Chat Noir... and sculptures - in miniature - of flowing gowns, heaving cleavage, and whirling madams... so say what you will about the French... but as I was walking through the exhibit, I could not help but imagine myself painting Paris red on the cusp of the 20th century... not that I'm an artist... far from it, actually.. but I do believe I could have enjoyed copping a quick feel of Yvette Guilbert as she spun by my table...

... the bohemian lifestyle of pre-WWI would have suited me well, I think.... sure, I'll always be a Hillbilly at heart... but part of me identifies with this period.. Hell, almost as much as the Paris scene of the early 1930's... the time of le Hot Club de Jazz... with Fats Waller... Django and Grappelli.. high times... reckless abandon has an almost undeniable attraction... and that's how those people lived... bringing in the year 1900 with a belly-laugh, a spilled drink, and the Art of the cabaret...

... still, you gotta admit... drinking with an insane artist who's sporting a fresh bandage on his noggin, an inbred Frenchman, and a chorus line from the Moulin Rouge would truly rock... hey, even a Tennessean can dream....

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Survived DC..

... well, I'm back safe and sound... good God, what a party... hanging at some of the most hip clubs... in cowboy boots and jeans, no less.. heh heh.. single-handed, I managed to lower the coolness factor of an entire room full of nubile college students and dazzling urbanites.... and believe me, it was my pleasure... thanks to Matt of Blackfive for the invite...

... one thing about Friday night that really kicked ass, is that there seems to be a trend in DC for purchasing entire bottles for tables... this was a new experience for me... and one that I can say that I enjoy very, very much... if you order Scotch, they arrive with an ice bucket.. tumblers... bottled water.. and a liter of 16 year old Lagavulin... if you order Vodka, the platter presents itself with orange juice, cranberry juice, and ice... you got it, rubberneckers.. you pour/mix your own drinks at the table while scantily clad 20-something's vibrate to a 200 decibel house mix... word, people... that is the way to drink in a club...

... but let me tell ya, that scene will grow on you.. and fast...

... Saturday saw three things of notable mention... we settled into the Rhino for an afternoon of libations, and the Wife immediately impressed the Hell out of Matt by comparing bungee-jumping stories... she's flown off the 900 foot bridge in New Zealand, you see... I think that is the first time I've ever seen Blackfive impressed... then, of course, there was the Bono wannabe who was nearly beatdown in the gay bar on Pennsylvania Avenue... but, hey... that's a post all its own... and lastly.. I experienced my first Irish Car Bomb... whoa... nothing improves a drunken swagger stagger like chugging a pint of Guinness just before hailing a cab at 2am... all in all, it was an incredible time... I wouldn't have missed it for the world.. I mean, c'mon... it's not often you get to meet a guy nicknamed "Pumpkin"... and having said that, it is even more rare to hear a bleary-eyed blogger - who's heading out the door to an important morning of business meetings... stop at the door, handle in hand, and turn to the pile of drunks on the couch.. and say... "goodbye, Pumpkin.. see you in a little while..".... heh heh...

... but on Sunday, we switched gears... we assisted our bodies in removing the effects of two days of abuse by walking 249 miles around Washington.. we hardly even noticed, though, as we were being escorted by the effervescent Miss Cat... a woman of the highest caliber.. and to whom we owe our undying gratitude... why, you ask?... well, she showed up at the Lincoln Memorial with a map, two large coffees, and a bottle of ibuprofen... yes, yes.. she gets the official blogger Golden Life Saver Award... also, she is a gorgeous little brunette who looks amazingly like Sandra Bullock... so, you can see why we had such a nice tour... we hit most of the monuments on the Mall, and the Toulouse-Lautrec exhibit at the National Gallery.. then dinner at Legal Seafood... 249 miles never went by so fast... oh, and she ended the evening by telling me a secret... it turns out that I am her Blogfather... well, babe.. I am truly honored.. so far, I am batting a thousand... two blogkids, and both of them are hot brunettes... not bad for a scrawny redhead... nope... not bad at all...

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Bugging Out...

... later this afternoon, I will be touching down at Ronnie Reagan Airport... from there, I plan on a short cab ride.. one which will wind me towards the pubs, bars, and clubs of Alexandria and Georgetown... the evening will be spent drinking Scotch and telling lies with Blackfive and Friends... heh, after our Chicago adventure, I believe I can hang...

... on Saturday, the Wife arrives... we'll catch a Cubs game, get a sunburn, and soothe ourselves - again - in a pub with good friends...

... thunderstorms are predicted for Sunday.. but, hey.... have Gore-Tex, will travel... oh, and the lovely Princess Cat has kindly offered to act as our personal tour guide of the Capitol.. in other words, you rubberneckers are on your own this weekend... I am flying the proverbial coop...

... you know something, children?... these weekend getaways sure are hard on an old man like me... heh heh...

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Quote of the Day...

.. I am a man with quite a few Worldly experiences under his belt... but, Yabu?.. he's been places I've never dreamt of going... behold, children.. there is wisdom in these words....

"The worse part about having a dose of the crabs is that every time you take a shower, they crawl up your ass to keep from getting wet."

... I'll just have to take your word for it, man... bad juju, indeed...

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Jaws - The Revenge...

... you know, I remember sitting on the couch with my Dad and watching Jaws for the first time... that film scared the bejesus out of me at the time... and even now, it can still work me into a frenzy of shark-o-phobic-induced palpitations... Jaws was a classic... the soundtrack... that tune.. promiscuous teens bonking on the beach... blood in the water... incredible stuff... it even instilled into my psyche the first of MANY terrifying ideas... mainly, that of being eaten alive... for that, I shall always be thankful for Steven Spielberg.. the bastard.... and to this day, I am still mortally terrified of sharks... snakes, spiders?.. no big deal... sharks?.. petrified, mortified, and shitting my pants... so thanks, Stevieboy.. I owe you one....

... all that being said, you can imagine my excitement when I happened upon Jaws - The Revenge displayed on my television's menu?.... heh.. boy, was I in for a letdown... to put it bluntly, I simply cannot state how much the movie Jaws - The Revenge sucks... it is truly a film with few equals... surely I must have watched it long ago... I mean, haven't we all?... and yet the sheer, unmitigated rankness of the film had been pushed to the back of my mind... rolled up and hidden in the dusty corners with Granny's old castration bands and my Great Uncle's vintage Playboy collection.... but yesterday the memories all came flooding back... I was idly flicking through the DirecTV channel guide when I saw it.. "Jaws!", I thought... "this'll be cool".... so I chose it as my early evening entertainment... bloody Hell, children....

.. where can I begin to describe the sheer suckitude?.... well, just one of the myriad of train wrecks that I had managed to suppress knowledge of was the actual CAST.... lo and behold, I was shocked to see Michael Caine playing a schmoozing, airplane piloting, widow-chaser... the really funny thing?.. he wasn't even on the bill as acting in the movie on the DirecTV info page... no doubt, that was on purpose... if an actor could ever pay to have the history books scrubbed, surely Mr. Caine will be at the front of the line...

... a "serious" actor of his caliber?... he spends the whole film chilling in a Hawaiian-print shirt.. holding down a stool at a fake tiki bar.. and swilling pineapple drinks in preparation for being chased by a enormous plastic shark... Lt. Bromhead is probably spinning in his grave... and I shall never watch "Educating Rita" the same way again.... frankly, Michael Caine should be stripped of his Oscars... I can forgive all of his previous infractions... but Jaws - The Revenge just takes it too damn far....

.. if you check the IMDB.COM page for this beast, you'll find a customer review at the bottom.... as you can see, I am not alone... I think they say, far better than I, why you should watch this movie...

"When all is said and done, I gave Jaws: The Revenge a one out of ten. It works as a comedy in the sense that it is a stinking pile of crap, but there are precious few moments when the people making it seem privy to the fact. As a result, the film winds up in a class all of its own. It's not just so bad its good, it is so utterly bad it is incredible."

... I couldn't agree more... well, except for the "so utterly bad it is incredible" part.....

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Game Over...

... attention to orders, gentle readers... after much pumping and frothing of the butter churn that is SWG's sitemeter, something akin to a 200,000th visitor has risen to the surface... that's right, friends and neighbors... we have a winner... and as such, kudos (and some sort of strange prize yet to be determined) will shortly be winging off towards The Offices of World Domination... and into the engine-oil covered hands of The Bitterman....

... notable mentions are That 1 Guy of Beerbrains... he slid into SWG at 199,999th place... and also, Culo Bastardsen of The School of Comparative Irrelevance.. his unlucky visit landed him with 200,001... sorry guys... no goodies for you two... however, I do find all three of your blognames to be incredibly telling of the shady types that hang here...

.. bitter?... drunken wisdom?... comparative irrelevance?... ain't no flies on you guys, that's for sure...

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Shocking...

... well, rubberneckers, you guys have finally done it... y'all should be ashamed of yourselves... truly... see, some time today I'll hit the magical, elusive, inevitable 200K mark... shocking, truly shocking... you people really have no clue, do ya...

... ah, Hell... I suppose it is the custom that I give my 200,000th visitor a present or something... problem is, I have no idea what crazy people like you would want... an autographed roll of toilet paper?... a pair of my old socks?... a post dedicated to the warped and twisted subject of your choosing?.. or maybe an audio file of me singing selected songs from "My Fair Lady"?... who knows?...

... anyway, while I try to find something suitable lying around the blogroom here, amuse yourselves with an old post from back in August... I called it a Mission Statement back then... but some think it is a Manifesto.. I really don't know the difference, and I can't find my dictionary... so I'll let you guys decide... either way, it is as true today as it was back in August...

....this is wee disclaimer for this site... along with a sort of Mission Statement, I suppose... as you people know, I don't do politics... I don't do religion.... I like stories about people being stupid... I like cleavage... I like jokes... I think GW's ears are funny... and, I think that Kerry's glorious fizzog would make any baby cry... I'm just a normal person... still, in general, I am one hell of a tolerant individual... I have my beliefs, and you have yours... hopefully, never the twain shall meet... otherwise, we're all doomed.... so, I have prepared the following list of things that must be understood before reading or commenting on this blog...

...I believe in personal responsibility.... If I did it, I'll clean it up.... If I said it, I'll stand by it... what I do is MY fault... not because I was abused, marginalized, or disenfranchised as a child, but because I am who I am... my Mother loved me, but she punished me... my Father loved me, but he punished me too.. did I hate them for it?... of course not, they were only being parents... good God, people... they punished me BECAUSE they loved me.... show your child a little discipline, and it'll go a long way...

... I really don't give a shit about your views on politics... and, I don't care who you are... what?.. you look a bit taken-aback... Hell, like reading your newspaper column, comments, or book is going to make me suddenly change my mind about MY political beliefs?... what the Hell are you, some sort of egomaniac?... you think you can change ME?... don't shove your views down my throat, because I sure as HELL don't do it to you... and, I require the very same from YOU... this is my blog, baby...

... I believe in the right to Personal Defense... be it firearms, blades, or an overly developed ability at beating the piss out of someone.... The cops are not here to defend us, people... they are here to clean up our bloody mess after we're killed... defend yourselves, people... no one else will..

... I believe in the right of freedom of expression with mutual respect... you can voice your opinion all you want... as long as you maintain a conversational posture... the minute you begin getting upset or uncivilized?... well, it is time to leave this website, or get yourself banned... my site is for commenting on the mean size of breasts in Georgia this year, and not your whining bullshit....

... I believe in the War on Terror... I believe that this is a World War.. I believe we are right, strategically AND morally to be stamping out these evil Islamic radicals who want to murder us... I don't care if you are Christian, Muslim, or Atheist.. being intolerant, disrespectful, demeaning, or otherwise uncivil to ANYONE of another faith is just fucking wrong.. worship your God, and leave everyone else alone... you have no right to lecture me, and if you try to convert me, you'll likely end up bleeding...

... I believe that women are the finest and most terrifying of all things ever created...

... I believe that I can get along with anyone... of any race, religion, creed, sexual preference, political leaning, or College Football allegiance... just as long as they are respectful, courteous, and smile a lot...

... and, lastly... I believe that blogs are supposed to be fun... when you come here, I'm not trying to change your mind about anything... I have no soapbox, children... I have no great cause... I'm just here... and, I will remain here until I see fit to be somewhere else... I write because I like language... I tell stories to you tards because I have no children to spout them to.. I post about cute brunette librarians because I dream about them every night... any questions?.. this is it... this is me... this is my blog...

... anything taken remotely seriously that has Ever Been, or Ever Shall Be written on this blog... is missing the whole point of this exercise entirely.... and, they probably need a good psychiatrist... because.. and, here is the real kicker.... if you aren't here to have fun and laugh, children... why the fuck are you here at all?...

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Fear and Loathing...

... I'm no great fan of crickets... I can take'em or leave'em... Chai-rista, on the other hand, she's a veteran of the Cricket Wars... I think when I told you guys about this, my Wife was in the process of doing the Chai-rista Cricket Dance.... check it out...

"Whenever a filth-blown cricket ricochets off my body like a Nerf kamikaze in a foam rubber plane, my right foot does a Texas two-step while my left begins a violent Hoe Down. My hands flog the air, my thighs, each other - as if suddenly and intermittently magnetized. Then I begin shrieking a song neither Bjork nor Yoko Ono has yet written. By the time I start running, the cricket is usually gone"

.. makes my drunken-Mick Jagger-strut-bop-happydance look like a friggin waltz...

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A Day Out...

... yesterday, the Wife and I opened up the sunroof and drove down to Benton.. we drove the backroads and took our time... skirting the edge of the National Forest, the view of Gee Creek and the mighty Hiwassee was wondrous... the steep mountains are covered in a dense growth that is impassable to man during the summer... tangled and jungle-like, the foliage overhangs the rivers and creeks.. it looks hungry to devour anything that doesn't move...

... we stopped by Nancy Ward's gravesite after lunch, and walked around... three large cairns and a huge cedar tree marked the spot where she'd been lain... a Cherokee Princess buried beside her son, and some person identified only as "Longfellow"... her son's stone mentioned service in the War of 1812... his name was "Five Killer"... one can only imagine how that title was earned...

... we made our way up and around the square iron fence that protected the funeral cairns.. waist high, and black with the mountains rising behind it, it was quite a view... nearby, a farmer was mowing a field of green hay... early Spring hay, bursting with life... you could see it all from Ms. Ward's grave... the deep green of the mountain.. the baby blue of the noonday sky.. the dark, coolness of the Hiwassee River below.. and the hazy heat rising from the mown field... not a bad place to spend eternity... not a bad place at all....

... as we started to leave, I noticed that small, white, cloth bags had been tied to the center portions of the fence... tied with ribbons, they were at each direction... white ribbons to the west.. black to the east... and red ribbons at north and south... they were fresh with their contents as well... I suppose a Cherokee must have been by recently to pay their respects to the dead...

.. after a while, the Sun was beginning to make us sweat... so we wandered down the small rise towards the river and the shade of the trees.. we found a clean, concrete boat ramp that slid into the water at a pleasant angle, and we sat there for a while watching the water move... we hadn't been there long when we heard the sound of a kitten coming from the riverbank... we couldn't see through the undergrowth, but when we spoke the cat would call to us... The Wife took off her shoes, rolled up the legs of her trousers, and eased herself into the fast current.. she found it almost instantly... in a hole in the river's edge just out of our view.. vines and exposed roots of trees had formed a makeshift pocket for the animal...

... once it was carried over the water and placed on the boat ramp, it began circling our legs the way only a cat can do.. brushing against your calves with the full length of a nearly starved body...

... I walked up to the car and grabbed a bag of beef jerky out of the trunk.. I offered a piece to the ravenous kitten, but the meat was too hard.. it tried to eat it, and even though it was starving, it gave up.... I opened the bag and scooped it full of fresh water from the edge of the stream.. working the bag with my hands, I could see the meat beginning to soften.. it brushed against our ankles in a never-ending series of circles and figure eights.. all the while keeping that bag of Pemmican held firmly in its gaze... heh...

... once the jerky was soft, I broke it into small chunks and doled them out to the kitten... when it'd finish one small pile, it would look up at me for more... I gave it what it wanted... The Wife was stroking and talking to it as it ate...

... I poured the remains of the bag onto a large flat rock, and we made our way back to the car... at the top of the boat ramp, we looked back towards the river and the kitten.... it was still eating... occasionally taking a break to look up at us... had it followed us to the car, we'd have taken it home... it certainly looked like it needed a home... but, it didn't follow us... perhaps it needed the meal more than companionship... either way, we left it as we'd found it... but at least it had a full stomach... I suppose that sometimes, that's all you can do...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(6) | SWG Stories
» A Swift Kick & A Band-Aid links with: Rescuing Animals

The flow continues....

.... the sins are coming hot and fast... dripping with sweat, pus, and blood... it's a sight to behold.... in the latest two installments, the bloodbath Greed wrought... has been met with continuing carnage.. this time, courtesy of Sloth.... incredible stuff.. the next sin is likely to leave you dripping in yet another bodily fluid... then again, maybe not... sweat, blood, and pus might just get the job done...

... this has been a real pleasure so far... in reading each of the four chapters, the Blog Western has borne the hallmark of the bloggers well... each of them, with their different styles and views, has told the same story... and yet you can easily identify the creative differences of each writer... as a lover of language, let me tell you.. this is great, great stuff...

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A Hard Man...

.. ouch ouch ouch ouch....

"It hurts. But we carry on a conversation about other aspects of life, as if nothing untoward is going on. Only occasionally do we dwell on the fact that my poor, pasty little Polish-Irish back is on fire. Toward the beginning of our relationship, I asked Michele if she would wear a Nazi costume during the procedure, but she declined.

Today as I once again pushed down the blood-curdling screams that were fighting their way out of me with every painful rip, I mentioned to Michele how funny the whole concept of back waxing is. "It's a standard joke for me," I said. "I tell people I'm having my back waxed. They laugh."

... Jack.. The Nazi costume would be a very nice touch... I don't have a problem with my back.. but as for the other bits, I'll stick to tweezing...

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Birds and Bars...

... today's a day of decisions.. I've been offered a quick weekend escape to DC to hit the Georgetown bars and catch a Cubs game... man, I really want to go... the problem is, I still have to wrangle a suitable conclusion out of the Audi dealer... oh, and I've got a website to work on too... you know, for an unemployed guy, I seems like I sure have a lot of shit to do... I'll keep you posted... heh heh... nah.. on second thought, you guys know me... who am I trying to kid?... I am going...

... in totally unrelated news, I spooked two whippoorwills yesterday as I was checking the property marker behind my house... sweet Jesus, rubberneckers... I've listened to their distinctive evening call ever since I can remember... but I've never actually seen one before... I'm here to tell you, those suckers are enormous... easily as big as a crow... I was impressed... hey, who knew?... I suppose I was expecting something less intimidating in appearance... after all, their song doesn't lend itself to visions of big, butch birds... I suppose, in my imagination's eye, I was expecting an extremely scaled down version of Bigbird.. but with darker plumage... not some foot-tall nighthawk looking beast...

... I suppose that is the nature of it, though... you hear something every day, and you think you know it.. you understand it.. you feel comfortable.. and then reality lays the almighty smackdown on you.. misconceptions, people... we've all got'em.... and in all my years of living... I thought whippoorwills were tiny...

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C'mon over...

.... the steaks are marinating, and my Mother will be here any minute... when I asked her what she'd like for Mother's Day, she asked for me to grill some steaks... heh... now that is the kind of gift I enjoy giving... none of your flowers, chocolate, or jewelry.. just red meat, children... scorched to perfection...

... anyway, a Happy Mother's Day to all and sundry... seeing as it's a bright, sunny day here, I'd like to extend an invitation to all the Moms on the old blogroll... y'all are welcome to join us on the deck for steak, scallops, baked potato, and salad... oh, and adult libations of your choice... as many as you wish... I promise to keep your glasses filled... heh heh...

... in other news, I've been slacking in the linkage department lately... and there's a lot going on.. here's a small sample....

... for instance, the sexy, doe-eyed Sadie has graduated... Key monroe has dropped acid and is blogging about it... the daring Boudicca is still being amused by her boys.... sweet Kelley is hot on the trail of a malady & the Blog Western... Christina is entertaining us with a tale of coming home.... ALa strikes an artistic pose with her sons... Justrose is busy teaching her baby to ride her first bike... Sandy shares some thoughts on her young'un.... Lady Mac explains to us why God made Mothers... Leslie finally gets some good news on her ailing Mom.... Miss Pammy posts a question I had never considered... Michele tells us what to do.. Hug your Mom while you still can... the Moogster is up in arms...

... see what I mean?... busy, busy Mothers... I've got more Moms on the blogroll, too... and they're all invited as well... we've got plenty of room..

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(12) | Psycho Rants
» Dizzy Girl links with: Happy Mother's Day...
» Boudicca's Voice links with: My Mother's Day

Saturday with the Rajah..

... ok.. scratch what I mentioned yesterday... it has just been overtaken by events... I'm not going to help the gardener after all... the weatherman just chirped through his chubby jowls that today is going to be a scorcher... and that, friends, is brilliant news... besides, one never toils under the glaring Sun unless forced to do so... right?... mad dogs and Englishmen, indeed...

... so, as Great Fortuna would have it, I appear to be set.... I completed a booze run on Wednesday with fine results.. my liquor cabinet is overflowing... and the Wife picked up my Punjabi from the dry cleaners on Friday.. heh heh... oh, yeah... my sweet, silken baby is back.... add to this mix the fact that the Wife is working today... and you have a recipe for creative loafing that is guaranteed to please...

... what do I have scheduled for this afternoon?... well, two things... and if I break a sweat doing either, I'll retreat back to the house... firstly, I am going to don my white silk Punjabi and ensconce myself on the deck with a pitcher of Gin and Tonics... secondly, I am going to call the Audi dealership and attempt to weasel out of my lease and into a new A4 Quattro... I think I'll go for black instead of silver this time....

... after that, I think I'll make a sandwich... if I'm not too tired, that is...

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Stand by...

... good God, children... watch out.... I've just been gifted a Thesaurus... y'all are in in trouble now...

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Let's play chess...

... you know, I have spent the last hour sipping a nice Bowmore and watching the new leaves play with the wind from my open window... everything seems to be new, and green, and vibrant.. the World is bursting at the seams with life... it's a mild Friday evening here... ahhh, Friday... once up on a time, that used to mean something to me... perhaps it will again someday... but right now, it is just another pleasant Spring evening... it could be a Monday, Sunday, or Saturday and I wouldn't mind.... but it is a Friday, and somehow that just seems funny to me...

... tomorrow the Gardener comes to mow my lawn, and in a break from long-standing tradition, I plan on helping him.. the recent rains have caused a small canyon to appear at the foot of my drive... tomorrow we'll fill it in, and batten it down...

... damn... tomorrow, we will fill it in... it seems strange to even type that.. I suppose it is only natural that holes appear and fade away as they please... ebb and flow, right?... and no, I'm not being lazy... I'm just pointing out the seeming futility... heh... the business of going about one's business is a Hell of a thing to watch, I suppose... all these drives & motivating factors... Hellfire, it's Friday... it looks like I'm becoming a citizen of the Savage Garden in more ways than one... and it's not apathy, rubberneckers.. it's enjoyable detachment...

... Jesus, what a post... time to re-watch Blazing Saddles.. Sheriff Bart, he'll see us through...

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Viva la Pajamahadeen!...

... although not a member of the esteemed pajama-clad organization myself, I have to admit... this is awesome...

... good luck fishing, Mr. Shackleford.. may the bites be big and endless...

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May the 5th...

.. does anyone else find it strange that The History Channel has an episode dedicated to the USA's kick-ass victory over the Mexican Army at Palo Alto on the anniversary of Cinco de Mayo?...

... no?... heh... that's gotta be like playing "The Battle of New Orleans" from the peanut gallery while Queen Elizabeth II is reviewing troops or something.. heh heh...

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Breaking the Cycle...

.. well, shit.... The Evil White Guy is slinging his weight around again... tagging unsuspecting bloggers with a fecal fickle finger... hey, they don't call him evil for nothing, I guess.... anyway, here goes...

Turd in a punchbowl
damned dirty drink
liquid goodness tainted
by a damned, dirty prank

Turd in a punchbowl
DT shakes anew
if I find that dirty prankster
I'll beat him with my shoe

Turd in a punchbowl
my thirst is growing fast
my throat is parched - my teeth are dry
and my Will is coming last

Turd in a punchbowl
I couldn't resist a sip
I'll never forget this party
or this stain upon my lip

... there... I am definitely done with the shit-themed posts for a while... I promise...

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Free Advice...

...during the meeting last night, I dug into a foodstuff that I hadn't eaten in a long time... and man, were they yummy... but this morning, I was violently reminded why I'd cast them aside long ago..

... now, I know you may not be able to tell from my photo on the sidebar, but I am actually a well-traveled sumbitch... and during my wanderings I have eaten some truly questionable shit.. a street-side kebab and a cup of tea served in a tin shack in deepest, darkest, Dhaka at 2am... a dilapidated MRE that had been left in the sun way too long... canned beans & franks with a sideorder of dry oatmeal near the summit of Ben Nevis... grilled goose and snails courtesy of a roadside diner outside Rotterdam... Hell, I've tried just about anything laid in front of me... haggis, beagle, rattlesnake, or kangaroo... they all have been consumed with a noted glee... but more importantly, they have been enjoyed with a very notable lack of after-effects...

... but, children I am here to tell you... for your own good peace of mind and sound rectal care... keep the Domino's Chicken Kickers at arms length... sure, I know it will be a difficult task.. they seem so harmless, don't they?... mild to the taste buds.... especially when dipped in the ranch or buttermilk goo that they're served with... but it is a trap... nothing that good comes without consequences... somehow, once swallowed, they begin releasing radioactive slime which scours your intestines... burning and mangling the helpless flesh.... and the evil result in the morning resembles a angry, steaming, lava flow of vileness... and I shit you not... your sphincter is a lot more sensitive that you imagine...

... anyway, while mopping my sweaty brow this morning, my throne room was illuminated by a blinding surety... yeah, that's right... you guess it... this whole deal, quite plainly, reeks of a conspiracy... I plan on spending the rest of my day investigating... dogged, rubberneckers... that's what I am.. dogged in my quest to prove, without a doubt, that the owners of Domino's Pizza secretly have formed a pact with the world's manufacturers of toilet paper, air fresheners, antacids... the scheming bastards...

... so take it from me... I know I don't hand out advice very often, but this time it is different.. just say "no" to Domino's Chicken Kickers... all is not as it seems...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(10) | Psycho Rants
» Boudicca's Voice links with: Posts that Got Me Giggling and Laughing
» Gut Rumbles links with: asshole
» Gut Rumbles links with: Carnival of the crappers #2

Ode to Wednesday...

... hey, shut up... I took all of 45 seconds to write... personally, I think it is some of my finest work...

... behold... A Very Quick Ode to Wednesday, by Eric...

... Wednesday evening approaches..
.. and I am dead on my feet...
.. a garage will be filled with coaches...
... aiming to cheat defeat...
.. but stern as death is my sway...
.. and my cue is as chalked as ever...
... I'll endeavor to show dismay...
.. to these pricks who think they're clever..

.. heh heh.. time to shoot some pool, children.... let the good times roll...

... good God, I love the Eagle Glen Social Club...

UPDATE:

... Acidman kicked my ass in the "write a shitty poem in under a minute category"... check it out....

Wednesday crept on little cat feet
But slapped me down and left me beat.
All I wanted was something to eat...
But it's Wednesday.

I'm picking up good vibrations
I'm feeling no hesitations
With the aid of adult libations
I'm ready for Wednesday.

So chalk your cue and rack the balls
I'm gonna show you, one and all
Which dog here is walking tall
It's Wednesday.

... let us just hope the Gods of Pool shine on me more favorably than the Gods of Quick Poetry just did.... in any case, I'm off to play... so, if any of you other retards want to try to best Acidman, have at it... gotta be under a minute, though... and no cheating, you bastards.. the Gods of Quick Poetry are a smite-happy bunch...

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More vindication...

... see?... I keep telling you people, but no one listens... yet another example of the value of porn has just been revealed...

"Diminutive STAR WARS actor KENNY BAKER stopped complaining about his discomfort inside robot R2DT during filming for the sci-fi saga's final episode - because the film crew plastered its interior with pictures of naked models."

... heh... how do you keep a 70 year old guy happy when you shove him into a tin can?... give him some photos of Joanne Guest... it'll make everything better...

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A Gentle Man...

... when I was about six months old, my Mother and Father were living in a small, rented house just outside Niota, Tennessee.... my Dad was fresh back from the Vietnam War, and had managed to land a job with Southern Railway as a laborer on a Maintenance of Way gang... Southern was big into hiring disabled and wounded vets at the time, and his wounds gave him a leg-up... it was a good job for 1973... hard work, but good pay.... the downside was that he traveled with the gang... Bristol.. Jellico.. White Pine... way up in the northeastern corner of the state... as a result, he was gone all week and returned on Friday evenings... tired, hungry, and wanting to spend the weekend with his family...

... the row of basic, clean houses were painted white.... all of them faced onto a rural road that snaked down the hillside towards highway 11 and the town... the other side of the road was dominated by a large brick mansion with a 2 acre front lawn... the owner of the row of houses lived there at the crest of the hill...

... one evening when my Father arrived home, he noticed that there was a small fire burning in a 55 gallon drum... the drum was in a small drainage ditch that separated our lawn from next door.. when he came in the door, he asked about it... Mother said that the owner across the street had brought his garbage over and burnt it... she had asked him what he was doing, and he had replied that he had "always" burnt his garbage there... so he lit the fire, and left...

... now, the problem with this scenario is that it was late Spring.. unseasonably hot... and the house had no air conditioning... so to combat the effects of the heat on her new child, she had to open the windows... when she did, the breeze carried the smoke straight into the house..

... my Father did what anyone else would have done, I suppose... he turned on the water hose, and doused the fire in the barrel... then he walked up the long driveway towards the brick house... after knocking on the door and waiting what seemed like an hour, the gentleman opened the door with a Scotch & water highball in hand...

... "Excuse me, sir", he began... "I've just got back from working away all week, and my Wife tells me that you brought your garbage over here to burn at our house... is that right?"...

... "yeah, that's right", was the polite response... he took a sip from his drink, and continued... "I've always burnt my trash in that ditch there.. is there a problem?"...

... "well, I didn't know that when I rented your house... and yeah, yeah, there is a problem.... I've got a 6 month old son over there who is breathing that smoke... it's too hot for us to keep the windows closed, and the smoke is coming right into the house... so, here's an idea.... I leave out every Sunday night heading to White Pine... if you sit your garbage at the end of your drive, I'll be happy to haul it off on my way to work once a week... that way there is no smoke, and you get rid of your trash... sound like a deal?"...

... the Landlord stood in the doorway eyeing up my Father... 6'2.. 210lbs... short blonde hair.. sky blue eyes.. a bone-deep suntan from working outdoors his whole life... and more recently, from the Southeast Asian sun... "Sure, my man.... not a problem at all.. I didn't realize the smoke was bothering your baby... think no more of it..."

... feeling that a compromise had been reached, Dad walked back to the house and ate dinner...

... the following Sunday evening, he was putting his work clothes into the back of his beat-up Impala... he looked over at the mailbox of the mansion... there were no bags of garbage....

... he arrived home late the next Friday to find a smoking barrel in the ditch... after hosing it down and extinguishing the smoldering papers, he looked up the hill towards the Brick House... the cars were not in the drive... he went inside and sat down at the kitchen table and wrote a note....

Sir,

I spoke to you last week regarding the burning of trash around my child. I offered to take your trash away on Sunday evenings. I am still willing to do this service for you, but I wanted to make myself clear. There will be no more trash burnt in my yard. I am returning your barrel. If you would like, please feel free to talk with me about this matter. I am sure that you and I can work something out.

regards,

MHS

... after finishing a now cold meal, my Father rolled the old 55 gallon drum up the hill to the house... he placed the note on the front door, and left...

... all day the next Sunday, he watched out the window... hoping to see the Landlord toting garbage bags to the road... but when the time arrived for him to leave, there were none... with a feeling of sadness, he drove the long hours to work...

... the week's work had been hot.. the kind of heat that boils up from the blackened crossties and steel rails - exposed to the eternal sun - and bakes a Man... the life of a laborer on the railroad is modernly akin to slave labor, and he was tired... wanting rest, his eyes caught the wispy smoke as he eased into his small driveway...

... covered in the grime of a day spent driving spikes and lining rail, he opened the trunk of his old Impala and retrieved a tie bar.. six feet long and an inch and a half thick... this solid steel bar is used to hold the rails in line near switches... he approached the smoking barrel slowly... methodically... and with a mighty slam, he knocked it into the street... ashes and sparks flew... but he continued... with another blow, it spun across the street and spilled garbage against the mailbox of the Landlord... again and again... the barrel spun closer and closer to the Brick House... a trail of embers and half-burnt pieces of the Chattanooga Times snaked across the 2 acre lawn... and finally, he was there.. the dented, rusty drum was resting on its side by the welcome mat...

... but for some reason, he didn't stop... he pounded and pounded the barrel with the heavy steel rod... only stopping when it had been beaten flat on the doorstep...

... he stood in the lawn for a long time... breathing heavily from the exertion.. his arms burning with pain from flailing the heavy bar... he looked to his right... yes, the cars were there... yes, they surely must have heard him outside.... yes, they were watching him through the window... he stood, and waited...

... but nothing happened... as his breathing became normal again, he turned towards his house... "typical", he thought to himself... "you just can't be fair with some people"....

... he walked down the hill towards his little home leaving the littered lawn and smoking barrel behind... once inside, he ate his supper and played with his child.... we lived in that house 18 more months after that... and no one ever burnt garbage in that tiny ditch again...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(30) | SWG Stories
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Oops....

.. dammit... looks like my slackin' days are just about over.. too bad, really... I was looking forward to actually getting a suntan this Summer.... quite a task in itself for a redhead, let me tell ya...

.. anyway, while sitting on my rear drinking coffee this morning, I picked up a call from a gentleman in Georgia.... whoa... I have just been offered a job as a website devloper... how crazy is that?... what does HTML stand for, anyway?...

... ahhh, shit.. it's all too much to fathom right now... I'm hungry... I'm going into town in search of tacos and Dos Equis... I always think better after beer tacos...

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Bound to happen...

.. well, wonders never cease... sure, it has taken some time, but after almost two years of glorious SWG fun, I have finally offended someone!... at least, I suppose that is what happened.... anyway, hot damn.. yes, children... I have been de-linked by one of my weekly reads... I feel like a big boy now... my blog is all grown up....

... while amused, I still can't help but wonder what I did... heh heh... was it the gun posts?... the offhand references to porn?.. the silver Audi in my "About Me" page?... the cave cricket story?.... I guess I'll never know... and not knowing is just sad..

... heark, though... be of good cheer, gentle rubberneckers.... bang the gongs... light some candles... and braid orange blossoms into your hair... today is a red-letter day... celebrate, each of you, in your own way... and goest thou in peace...

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Multimedia Bloggin'...

... just in case you rubberneckers missed it, Rube of You Bitch has some great photos and videos of our recent festivities... first off, he captures some horrible pool shooting and karaoke singing in my garage... hey, everybody loves Hank Jr, right?.... and secondly, he documents some high quality gunplay... head over and check out the mayhem.... the pictures are at the top of his post... and the videos are near the bottom...

... like I said, he's got a lot of stuff over there... but I've selected two of my favorite vids for you guys & gals... oh, and when you watch the videos, be sure to maximize them for the full effect...

... here's me dinging a balloon at 40 feet with my 9mm... the first click you hear is me dropping the slide, and then taking off the safety... less than a second later, you hear the bang... heh.. one shot, one kill....

.. behold, children..

.... next up is Augsburg Anna blazing away with my AR... three shots, three balloons... amazing stuff... neither Rube nor I could believe it... she put us both to shame...

... Germany's version of Annie Oakley...

... you know, I'm not 100% sure, but something tells me that they had a really good time.. heh heh....

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Sunday Visitors..

... I wandered through the house early this morning to perk some coffee... as I turned the corner into the kitchen, a large cave cricket was chilling out on the tile floor beside the liquor cabinet... I wiped my eyes, and stood for a second in disbelief... yep, it was a cave cricket..

... it looked at me soullessly and swirled his antennae... he was quite a big fella... I unfolded my pajama bottoms, and slipped them on while he watched... "fuck it", I mumbled as I wiped the sleep from my eyes... "I want coffee"...

... I staggered past, and started the brewing... the cave cricket continued waving his limbs and nibbling on something.... "wow", I thought dreamily to myself, "I wonder how he got in here?".... strange stuff, indeed... anyway, halfway through the pot's cycle, I robbed the rich, dark coffee from the machine and wandered back to the blogroom...

... an hour had passed, and I could hear The Wife stirring... she peeped a bed-frazzled head around the corner of the blogroom doorway, and asked it I'd made coffee... "Yes, dear... there's a fresh pot.. I robbed it early, so it is good and strong", came my reply.... well, just now.... sipping my coffee and reading, my quiet Sunday morning has just been split asunder... I was jerked into the real world by a bloodcurdling scream... the fear, anger, and revulsion was palpable in the reverberating roar...

... yeah.. you guessed it... I don't know for sure, but if I had to guess... I'd say she has just met Mr. Cave Cricket... and I also think that I may be trouble...

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Ecclesiastes was wrong...

... I was just reading a poet's beautiful view of humanity over at Annika's place.. the poet was Yehuda Amichai, and I had never heard of him.. again, it just proves that in writing, there are millions of undiscovered gems yet to be found...

....And his soul is seasoned, his soul
is very professional.
Only his body remains forever
an amateur....

... great stuff... give it a read...

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Higher Education..

... I once imagined that I didn't really miss out on much by not attending University... going straight to the Corps at 17 instead of off to school just seemed like the thing to do... but this morning, I just realized something... yeah, I have some regrets... namely, missing out on meeting people like Charity Ranger...

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