Friends...

.. from a Survivor, we have a letter to a Warrior.... go and read it now... I've met her and she's Grade A.... and I wish I could have met Joe... I think we'd have gotten along......

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Two Dreams...

... last night was spent tossing and turning... two distinct dreams woke me in the early hours... around five, the most erotic dream of my quiet, simple little life was experienced... mercy sakes.... I nearly had a damn heart attack.... I drank some water and had a cigarette as one does, and then returned to sleep...

... the second dream was more confusing... it involved an old barn that my Great Uncle owned... an ancient and weather-worn structure... bleached gray from years of enduring all-weathers, it stood at the edge of his tobacco patch beside a stand of hardwoods...it was tall and had a stone foundation... each end was open as to allow tractors pulling wagons to enter or exit from either side...

.... many was the day that I rode on the back of a tractor laden with thousands of pounds of freshly cut tobacco.. late August usually... hot sun and dust... hands caked with the sticky dried tobacco juice...

... once in the barn, all of us workers would take our places... climbing higher and higher into the rafters of the barn... stopping at our allocated places and balancing ourselves on the beams.... Then the tobacco would start moving... the man on the wagon would take a runner full of stalks and pass it to the first man... then up and up until the runner reached the top man... on and on this would be repeated until the barn was slowly filled - from top to bottom - with an entire field full of tobacco...

... the top man was probably fifty feet off the ground... I was always one rung below him... see, the higher you were, the less work you had to do... and as I was very young and the Top Man was very old, we took positions higher up.. lots of times I would hear his head thump the tin roof as he tried to straighten himself or swat a wasp... I'd laugh and he'd cuss... which ended up making me laugh even harder... (I wasn't old enough yet to be allowed to cuss)....

... anyway, the point of all this is to get to the dream... after all, if I could afford therapy, I surely wouldn't be writing and telling these stories to YOU people.... so, on to the dream...

... the guys on the wagon were acting up... they seemed to think that the Top Man and I were having it too easy... not pulling our weight, so to speak... but unknown to them, he and I had a problem...

... now, here are the mechanics of the situation... all of us, as we fill up our rows, are slowly backing up all the time... legs spread wide with our feet balancing on a old, slow-cured sapling that had been worn smooth by years and years of use... it was a precarious situation, to be sure.... but here is where it gets worse.... as we inched backwards, our backs were getting closer and closer to the other wall of the barn.... and it just so happened that a group of wasps had built their nest in the very top of the barn where the tin roof and wall met... the Top Man was backing up to the nest and he wasn't really too happy about it...

... so the guys down below are giving us grief... me and the Top Man were eyeball to eyeball with those wasps... the nest was a large one... about the size of a grapefruit... and it literally crawled with probably 150 red wasps...

... I asked the Top Man, since he had more experience, what we were going to do... he winked at me and said... "those fellers down on the wagon had better shet up... they're bout to see why I'm REALLY the Top Man... but don't you worry about them bees, boy... we'll be just fine up here... "

.. I watched in amazement as he took off his battered John Deere baseball cap and gingerly turned himself around on the spindly rafters.... deftly holding on to the tin, he moved both feet to the same support, spun himself, and then balanced again facing the opposite direction... and in one movement, he cupped his baseball cap over the entire nest and squeezed it hard.... he pulled it away from where it was attached to the wall and then released it... as long as I live, I will never forget watching that cap fall... it was almost in slow-motion...

.... it was like watching Slim Pickens ride that A-bomb.. the cap dropping directly towards the wagon... the doe-eyed farmboys looking up at us and laughing....

... sheer pandemonium erupted when that cap hit the wagon.... grown men and boys leaped from the wagon as a cloud of pissed off wasps began swarming... hardened, tobacco-chewing workmen loped like schoolboys and screamed like girls...

... me and the Top Man... we watched it all as it happened... safely perched as chaos ensued...

... so here I sit this morning.. half a pot of coffee down me, and I still can't figure out why I dreamed of the Top Man... and I shudder to think of the wasps..

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(13) | TrackBack (1) | SWG Stories
» Blog d'Elisson links with: PARRISH THE THOUGHT

Panic Button...

... walking out of the mall this afternoon, a 40ish woman zipped by me... cradling huge sacks of goodies from Banana Republic and Gap, she was focused on getting to her car... hey, it didn't bother me... I had just paused outside the mall entrance to light up a smoke, and I guess, well, I was in her way.... no problem, you know... I had no place to be and I was feeling pretty laid back... so I just laughed to myself as she nudged by...

.. 45 seconds later, I'm nearing the loaner-car I was given, and she is standing right behind it... frantically swinging her head from left to right... scanning the parking lot of empty vehicles for her own car.... feeling totally lost and confused...

... in retrospect, it probably wasn't the best thing to do, what I did... walking up behind the poor dear and stopping.... and then whispering the immortal words... "can't find your car, ma'am?... well.... maybe you should push your panic button... "

... I definitely think she took that the wrong way.... but hell, I ain't scary... at least in the daylight..

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Working....

... well, I'm just back from a day out on the town... it sure was a beautiful morning to be driving.. clear and cold... but now?.. it's all busted... I just walked in the door a storm started blowing in...

... the weather spigot had given portent of this yesterday, but this morning I thought he might have been mistaken... Tellico Lake looked like polished glass as I drove past.. not a ripple anywhere at 8:25 this morning....

... and now it's blowing a gale... I guess we'll be getting a storm tonight just as the prophecy said...

... anyway, the ride is now kitted out with four fresh Pirellis... so the mission was accomplished.... see?.... and you guys thought I just sat around all day and twiddled my... thumbs....

... one thing's for sure though, I'm not desperate enough yet to start saying things like "Idle hands are the Devil's playthings"... not yet anyway... maybe in a few months, sure... but not yet....

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29 January...

... I was up early this morning and watched the darkness fade into a cold, twisted twilight... with coffee in hand, the Sun came up... revealing the land....

.... everything is damp outside.... the sky is a thousand shades of gray.. mottled together and hanging low...dizzying, almost.... as the wind sweeps the branches of the stark trees, the marbled sky swirls the opposite direction... damn, what a morning... it makes my head spin...

... I think I'm going back to bed.... Spring can't get here fast enough....

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Musical Distractions...

... a question, if you will be so enjoyable this morning as to satisfy my whims... when you write in a journal or read a book, what music (if any) do you have on in the background... do you have the television on?... news or talk-show in the background?.... or what about when you are blogging or reading a blogs?... does your choice of tunes change accordingly depending on whether you are reading with a book in your lap or peering at a computer screen?.. are they the same selections?...

... just curious, that's all... see, the subject came up yesterday, and I've been mulling it over all afternoon... I have certain songs that are in my music library that distract me incredibly.. if they come on, I have to stop whatever I'm doing... reading, blogging... whatever... those songs reduce me to a retarded looking whiteboy attempting to butt-dance in his easy chair... I can't dance anyway, and I can only imagine what kind of jiggly spastic I resemble when grooving to those tunes... so no writing when that's going on... it's a hideous episode....

... other songs, though?... I put them on repeat and they just fade into the wallpaper... Zen me right the hell out... and before I know it, I've listened to the song twenty times non-stop... Sinatra's "My First Affair" or just about any version of "One For My Baby" soak through me without issue....

.. but other stuff is just too frantic.... music not only soothes the heart of a savage beast, but it also distracts the hell right out of me.. maybe I should focus on being less savage... maybe that would help...

... so, music or no music while reading/writing blogs?... what's playing where you're at right now?....

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30mm of fun....

... seeing as I am so predictable, I figured I would break from tradition here and share an email conversation I had yesterday...

... my Brother from Another Mother up in Alaska excitedly sent me this photo with the line. "Oh yeah baby! Now I've got the big gun!"...

cannon_block.jpg


... I was confused.. just as you rubberneckers probably are too...

.. our whacked-out conversation flowed along these lines:

My one-line response back: "... huh?... WTF is that thing?...."

Him: "It's my new cannon of course! When I'm done it's going to look like this:"

cannon_assembled.jpg

My response: "... great bloody hell... you are insane..."

Him: "HA! "Great Bloody Hell" Exactly the response I was wanting!"

... the conversation wandered a bit after that discussing family and such... anyway, this thing is actually made from the barrel off a 30mm GAU cannon.... the barrel came from an old, decomissioned A10.... he'll be launching a 3/4 pound projectile and will burn about 1/4 pound of powder with each shot... good God....

.. and here I was all happy with my new .357 and he goes and buys a 30mm cannon to tow behind his armored car....

... and you guys wonder why I have that Marty Feldman photo up?... that's what you people do to me... I make that exact same face a lot... a lot...

.. on the other hand... I'm really glad he's my friend... I mean, c'mon... how many friends do you have who own their own artillery?...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(6) | TrackBack (1) | Military Stuff
» Miasmatic Review links with: Do I count?

Busted...

.... I feel so exposed... so raw.... so fragile.... check this out....

I thought I'd try my hand at SWG Idling...

...today, (insert Audi quote), put on (insert music quote), and headed out for (insert "breakfast", "brunch", "lunch", "dinner", "supper") in (insert town), with (insert person) and ate (insert description of food)...(insert some kind of epiphany)...(insert more ellipses)...word, (insert "rubberneckers" or "people")...

Let me know if I can sub for you while you write the next "Idling".

Posted by Blackfive on January 27, 2006 06:47 PM

... damn, people... did he nail it, or what?... I can't put my finger on it, but I feel quite violated....

.... anyway, I'm off for a drive some backroads and catch some lunch up in the mountains... later I will deliver a jar of Branston Pickle to my Uncle... Branston Pickle really is some seriously groovy stuff... and remember, as you hurtle through your meager little life, always take time to deliver goodies to your family... that's important.... word, people.... it is....

... I'm outta here...

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The Legend.. or "Bitterman, slightly roasted"...

... way, way back... well, a few months ago, I had the pleasure of hosting the original Bitterman for a few nights here at the casa.... and what a hoot it was, people... see, for those of you who have not been joyously in his gargantuan presence... you guys are missing out... the man is a mental Goliath... I actually physically quaked a few times when he spoke knowingly of things that my mind could scarcely fathom....

... truly a man of many talents, we visited on various subjects close to his heart and mine.. blogging, philosophy, poetry, etc... being that we're both incredibly well-read and well-heeled Southern Gentlemen, the hours just flew by... I even managed to kick his ass at pool a few times...

... yep... good times, good times... funny too... initially we were both quite fearful that when the two of us met, some sort of mystical vortex would open up and doom the World to oblivion... the sheer weight of our incredible handsomeness and dizzying intellects would combine to form some kind of black hole that would expand and rip the Earth to shreds....

... luckily for all involved though, that didn't happen... instead, we ended up just drinking and partying for a while...

... anyway, now that I have a scanner, I can post proof for y'all... proof that, like the Bigfoot, there really is indeed a Bitterman..... behold:

legend_of_bitterman.jpg

... handsome feller, ain't he?.... yeah, that's him looking all pleased with himself after a few shots of moonshine...

... oh, and check this out... fucker's huge too..... I ain't no shrimp myself, and he makes me look like a twelve year old....

bitterman.jpg

... this scanner is going to be a lot of fun....

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Idling....

... en route to civilization this afternoon, I was jamming along to some Tom Waits... the two ladies present were not amused... they have so little appreciation for art, it really is depressing sometimes....

... anyway, we went for lunch at an out-of-the-way little place that serves the tastiest hotdogs around... I ate two... a "New Yorker" and a "Southern Favorite"... the "New Yorker" having Dijon mustard, diced onions, and sauer kraut... and the Southern one being decorated with chili, American mustard, and coleslaw...

... the sainted Momma had a "Chicago Style" hotdog... I have no idea what was on it, but it looked disgusting... diced tomatoes and peppers or something... and the Wife had a tuna and cucumber sandwich...

... damn, but it was civilized....

... later on we scoured a few bookstore shelves and drank coffee.... you know, just generally killing time and trying to put off dropping a wad of cash on a piece of exercise equipment we'll never use.... I did utilize the time to purchase a fine book though... "Schott's Sporting, Gaming & Idling Miscellany"... suits me right down to the ground, it does..... except for one quote in the opening few pages, I'm loving this book... see, some feller named Jerome K. Jerome (1859-1927) got my hackles up by spouting off:...

.... "it is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do."...

... my knee-jerk reaction was to yell violently and scream, "well, is THAT SO, Mr. Jerome?... if were not already moldering in a grave, I would send you some hatemail!.. you need to watch the MASTER in ACTION before you start talking about idle loafers not having fun idly loafing, Brother!".... but then, I thought... I wonder who this Jerome guy is... lest I be too hasty in my admonitions, I'd better check him out...

... imagine my surprise to find that we be soul brothers through and through... I mean, just check out the titles of his novels... "Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow"... and of course... "Second Thoughts of an Idle Fellow"... what a guy...

... and best of all, his wikipedia quote... "I like work: it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours."... now that is a quote worth remembering....

... see?... it's always best not to act on impulse... do a little research, you know... and even though I know I can Idle SO much better than poor Jerome and could show him the ropes as he's never seen them before, I still have to respect the guy... you know, as one idle loafer to another... besides, we've gotta stick together.....

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Muscles...

... today, I roadtrip down to Cleveland to purchase some sort of torture device... I've heard the description bandied, but it has done no good.. the visualization in my noggin remains evasive... a treadmill?... not really.... perhaps a Bowflex?... perish the thought.... my dumbbell is lonely enough as it is...

... as a matter of fact, it's sitting by the couch in the blogroom looking at me right now... twenty-five pounds of pure gentleness staring pleadingly up at me... mewling.... "pick me up.. stroke me... lift me... play with me... just one touch, and I'll be yours.. all yours... you need me as much as I need you..."...

... hey, it's my dumbbell... and yes, before you ask, it does say stuff like that to me... and a Bowflex can kiss my ass...

... either way, I'm off to Cleveland... cash in hand, people... focused on making a saleswoman at Sears wet her panties when she sees the size of the commission my sale will give her ...

... the Powers That Be have spoken.... and I must obey....

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Dad...

... me and my Pa....

fourth_birthday.jpg

.... it was my birthday.... I was four....

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Thoughts on Tennessee Williams..

.. ok rubberneckers, I have a question.... I've seen the play.... I've seen the movie.... hell, I've seen probably fifteen differnent renditions of Tennessee William's classic.... but tonight it finally hit me.... is Brick gay?... I mean, seriously... just think about it....

.. I mean, gay or straight.... who would not want to nail Elizabeth Taylor in her mid-twenties... Jesus, she's like Judy Garland... EVERYone wanted to lay her.. gay and straight alike... and even if Liz was as mean as a blue-striped snake, Brick shouldn't have been sleeping on that damn couch....

.... I'm sorry, but that's just wrong..... Paul Newman should be ashamed of himself.... and so should Tennessee Williams...

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Another Raindog...

... you know, never underestimate the power of blogging...

... I LOVE IT when I convert someone to the Dark Side.... just love it...

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Snow....

... not sure if you guys saw it or not, but I once told a tale about getting stuck on a mountain during a white-out... yeah, yeah... I know you guys probably didn't believe me when I wrote it... and hey, that's cool... us bloggers are tough skinned... anyway, now that I have a scanner... here are some photographs from the trip...

... I'm in the orange bag fast asleep...

ice_bag_small.jpg

... here's me peeking out to ask about breakfast...

ice_eric_small.jpg

.. and here is a close-up of the ice axe...

ice_axe_small.jpg

... mercy, we sure knew how to have fun back then....

.. bigger versions are here, here, and here if you feel so inclined...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(9) | TrackBack (1) | SWG Stories
» Boudicca's Voice links with: Hell Frozen Over

Toys...

... hot damn... I just bought a new scanner.... anyone want to see some pictures?...

... heh... this could get ugly real quick....

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Melons...

... I don't feel like myself today... something is amiss and I can't put my finger on it....

... anyway, today's random firings from the keyboard find me nibbling on honeydew melons... don't ask me why, I have no clue... it truly is strange... see, I don't diet.... I hate diets... I've always figured that I'm going to die early anyway... so I might as well enjoy myself... this hell-in-a-hand-basket philosophy has resulted on me subsisting mainly on four basic food groups... nicotine, scotch, red meat, and cheese... in that order mostly.... although sometimes I mix up the order just to keep things interesting... hey, I'm all about keeping it interesting...

... look, I'm almost 6 foot 2... and 193 pounds... hardly what you would call overweight.. and I eat like a horse... Jesus, I bet I have a tape worm...

... anyway, it's all good... I'm scheduled for lunch at a Mexican restaurant in town and I just wanted to mention to you guys that I have been eating melons...

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Samba, babies...

... stolen from Elisson and The Pea Patch.. heh ....

Ten Top Trivia Tips about The Straight White Guy!

  1. Reindeer like to eat The Straight White Guy.
  2. The Straight White Guy is the smallest of Jupiter's many moons.
  3. Michelangelo finished his great statue of The Straight White Guy in 1504, after eighteen months work.
  4. The Straight White Guy, from the movie of the same name, had green blood.
  5. The Straight White Guy can remain conscious for fifteen to twenty seconds after being decapitated.
  6. The Asteroid Belt between Mars and Jupiter is made entirely of The Straight White Guy.
  7. Native Americans never actually ate The Straight White Guy; killing such a timid prey was thought to indicate laziness.
  8. The word 'samba' means 'to rub The Straight White Guy'.
  9. Europe is the only continent that lacks The Straight White Guy.
  10. Edinburgh imports three thousand kilograms of The Straight White Guy every year.
I am interested in - do tell me about

... it's all true... all of it... well, except for the "timid" part....

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(5) | TrackBack (4) | Psycho Rants
» Drunken Wisdom links with: I Light Up Your Life
» Gut Rumbles links with: out of ideas
» Boudicca's Voice links with: So This Explains it All
» Sistaweb links with: A-Heldin Trivia

The Immortal Memory...

... well, it is that time of year again...

... so a heart-felt Happy Birthday goes out to Robert Burns... Rabbie, you magnificent bastard, cheers...

... even though you died long ago and are now crumpled into a musty heap somewhere, you still make me want to be a better man.... below is a poem for the lasses... and it's one of my most favorite... I've sung it many a time in the past... hell, I still sing it occasionally now... anyway, enjoy..


Green Grow The Rashes, a song by Robert Burns, 1783


Chor. - Green grow the rashes, O;
Green grow the rashes, O;
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O.

There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In ev'ry hour that passes, O:
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.
Green grow, &c.

The war'ly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O;
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.
Green grow, &c.

But gie me a cannie hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, O;
An' war'ly cares, an' war'ly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!
Green grow, &c.

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this;
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O:
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.
Green grow, &c.

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her prentice han' she try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.
Green grow, &c.

... for further celebratory readings.. here is my post from a few years ago... and The Maximum Leader is weighing in too...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(2) | TrackBack (1) | Poetry
» Naked Villainy links with: Robert Burns - Happy 246th

Brides...

... sitting on the veranda of The Palm this weekend waiting for Elisson and Zonker to arrive, I couldn't help but notice the goings-on across the street... the elegant mansion that houses Melissa Sweet's Bridal Gallery seemed somehow out of place in the urban sprawl... and I watched the young brides-to-be come and go through the evening rain with a smile on my face...

.. all kinds of young ladies.. many accompanied by a gaggle of giggling friends... bridesmaids, most likely... or flower girls.... brimming with the excitement of picking dresses and flowers... drunk with the heady dream of marching down a Georgia aisle with Mr. Right...

... frail, waspish brunettes... meaty blondes with cheeks flushed rosy by the cold mist that was falling... Grandmothers escorting grandchildren up the old antebellum steps.... I watched it all....

... and not in a lecherous way... even though I could have definitely slipped into that mode easily had the mood struck me... but I didn't... instead, I felt a sort of muted happiness as they came and went... piling in and out of their Volkswagens and Escalades with an infectious giddiness... dreaming dreams of a life not yet known...

... hey, I hope it all works out for those girls.. I really do... and even though they never knew it, the Wife and I raised a toast in their direction... they're in for quite a ride...

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... tastefully nude...

... my dear friend Tammi of Tammi's World is worrying about decorating her boudoir.. well, I initially went over and suggested landscapes in her comments.... after all, you really can't go wrong with a good, solid landscape painting... but now I'm having second thoughts...

... see, some friends of mine over in the Olde Country collect art... more specifically, ancient signed prints of Russell Flint's work... now, old Russell was a man after my own heart and I loved his art at first sight... his shtick was buxom farmer's daughters that were stripped to the waist... bonny lasses sporting curving hips, stout arms, sweeping mounds of cleavage and pert, unerringly upturned nipples...

... great stuff, to be sure... the women lazily casting their eyes downward towards a fountain, pail of water, or frolicking puppy... while their nipples point skyward to heaven.. as if trying to direct the gaze of the viewer upwards towards the just rewards that such chaste and plain girls were sure to reap in the afterlife... a kind of topless spirituality, if you will...

... and all of the scenes are painted in the soft, honeyed tones of the watercolors of a Man enjoying Life... here, check this one out....

figures_for_a_baroque_fountain.jpg

... see, I'm telling you.. the paintings just scream good taste... just plain scream it...

... and if I may be so bold, I would highly recommend this one and this one as the perfect decorations for a bedroom wall...

UPDATE!!... on a slightly related note, I found out today that I am Number 4 on google when searching for the term "I love nipples!"... coincidence?... fate?... you be the judge....

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Day job...

... today is one of those days where, as you look out the window with your cup of coffee in hand, you re-think the whole idea of getting out of bed to begin with... drizzling rain and overcast skies do not usually a Happy Morning make.... and yet I am content....

... anyway, after a very comforting and leisurely shower this morning, I sat myself down at my kitchen table and settled in to focus on today's tasks... errands... reading... mailing bills and writing cheques... calling up the car dealership and scheduling my ride for her 50K maintenance... creating a grocery list... planning time to shop... making up a menu for tonight's dinner... sorting out the laundry for later.. call up The Man about scheduling a guitar lesson... write a blog post... call the bank and transfer some funds...

... and then it hit me... you people who work 9 to 5 have it made... sure, you guys look at me and scoff... but hell, I'm twice as busy now that I am a Man of Leisure...

... now, if y'all will excuse me, I'm off to sit on the couch and thumb through the latest issue of Southern Living...

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A Few Thoughts....

... as I am just home and settling in again, let me give you some random thoughts on this weekend...

... Zonker's cats are total pussies....

... Elisson can cook a damn fine breakfast/brunch...

... Mrs. Elisson and Mrs. SWG are Saints... either that or they are blind and deaf...

... It frightens me when female cats stretch up and flex their claws against my testicles...

... I really need to eat smoked salmon more often...

... Melissa, the hot bartender at The Palm, likes it a lot when you call the ten year old Macallan the "baby Macallan" when you order it...

... everyone who drives in Atlanta should get some sort of medal for valor... well, that or lined up against the nearest wall and shot in the back of the head... both to put them out of their misery and to keep them out of everyone else's..

... it is possible to make crazy people leave you alone by simply saying... "Wow... you really are truly insane, aren't you?... you have a nice day, bro... talk to you later, man, but you really need to leave now.. it was nice talking to you though..." ....

... Elisson is jealous of my shoes... and it ain't pretty...

... I love Indian food with a burning passion that I shall never fully slake...

... there are very few things that are more freeing in life than performing a group moon on the master staircase of the Westin in Buckhead...

.... and it is never a good omen when each attendee of a blogmeet says the same exact thing the next morning... and yes, both men and women mouthed these words this morning between bagels and cream cheese and gulps of coffee...

... "damn.. I don't know why - or what exactly we did last night - but my ass sure hurts this morning..."...

... nope... that's never a good sign....

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(11) | TrackBack (2) | Blogging
» Gut Rumbles links with: got shoes?
» Blog d'Elisson links with: STRANGE

Moving....

... well, friends.... let us go forth towards Atlanta....

... if anyone needs me, I'll be propped in the corner of The Palm nursing a gin and tonic....

... y'all play nice while I'm gone... I sure will miss you...

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Zoom zoom...

... oh, and speaking of obsessions... I put this song on repeat on the Audi's stereo and blasted off earlier this morning...

... zero to 116mph in 20 seconds.... then I got scared and let off.... the tach never even redlined...

... yeah, I know it's sad... but I have to get my kicks somehow...

... it just so happened that today, well, I just needed to scream some lyrics at the top of my lungs while doing 116mph... it did the trick...

... hell is gone and heaven's here
... there's nothing left for you to fear
... shake your ass, come over here
... now scream...

... I do so love that song....

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Mr. Bly...

... good afternoon, Rubberneckers.... I trust y'all are doing well and stepping easy.... I sure know I am...

... anyway, today's little nugget of wisdom comes from Mr. Robert Bly.... see, he once said this... "it is surely a great calamity for a human being to have no obsessions".... man, what a guy... that quote makes me want to buy him a beer... and he was right, you know...

... me?.. I love my obsessions... I adore them... they're just that damn awesome.. sure, I'm always able to step back away when I need to.. but at times, losing my self into one of them is exactly what I need to do...

... but like Mr. Bly, I don't view them as bad things... far, far from it.. they are my treasured jewels.. like Gollum and his ring, they are My Precious... they are what I desire most deeply...

... what?... hey, relax... visit with your obsessions once in a while... it's a good thing...

... thus endeth today's sermon...

... so embrace those obsessions, people... it'll make you more sane... and some of you who are reading this definitely need to be more sane....

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Afternoon...

....the lots on either side of my house are vacant... hardwood timber stands thickly at three sides of my small property... ensuring that my neighbors, however inclined, are always foiled in their voyeur attempts.... but just a few minutes ago, my protective ramparts were overrun...

... typing away at the keyboard, I heard a strange hiss coming from the window... and as I looked out towards the woods, I saw that the whole of the ground was covered with starlings...quite literally, there were thousands of them... probably three thousand on the ground and flicking through the leaves... another two thousand in the trees... and at least a thousand in mid-flight...

... I yelled through to the Wife, and we both headed for the deck out back...

... we stood and watched them for probably twenty minutes... the powder blue of the sky marking each bird perfectly as they swirled and twisted over the eaves of the house or drifted from tree to tree.... 2:45 in the afternoon and I'm standing on the deck blocking the sun with my hand as I craned my neck skywards... January 19th and it's sunny and sixty degrees... absolutely amazing...

... a few times, I would clap my hands together loudly and every bird would take the air simultaneously... it sounded like a train as they strained to get off the ground... not at all like a covey of quail being flushed.. that is a gentle, almost heartening sound... with the starlings, it was as if the beats of so many wings were ripping the air... powerful... loud, like the tearing of a piece of cloth or denim... almost angry...

... amazing stuff...

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An Explanation....

... I was on the phone with The Hillbilly last night, and he put me in my place... see, a few months back, he and I shared some drinks up in Manhattan... and during that wonderful evening, he asked me why it was that I abused the humble ellipses so... I was taken aback, of course... after all, I'm not an abuser... I'm merely a user.. still, not that he minded, being a notorious hater of ellipses himself... but he was just curious....

... so, I told him the tale...

... last night, well, he thought it would be awfully generous of me to explain why it is that I write with such a profound disregard for punctuation....

...and thought I, why not...

.. ok, people... pay attention as here is the proverbial deal.... see, way back in the day, I used to work for the Military.... I was a cryptographer... a communicator... a techno-guy with Top Secret SCI clearance and no tuxedo....

.. did I run around like James Bond distributing the smackdown on Bad Guys and saving the world?.. no way.... did I get the hot chicks with European accents and fancy cars kitted out with rockets by Q?.... nope... not a single one....

... what DID I get?.. well, while Bond was getting exotic forms of the clap from various gorgeous European lays, I was being jelled up with a writing disease.... Ellipses Addiction...

.. ok... ok... let me explain, or rather, cut to the chase.... see, as a communicator, I had to type all day long and troubleshoot various circuits and communication lines... we did this with a workstation computer that was connected to a high-tech piece of encryption gear.... the only problem was that the computer was quicker to cipher than the crypto was to key... so, when you wanted to chat with a Distant End, you started off by typing line after line of "..........................." until you began to see the characters getting returned to you at the top of your split-screen... this meant that your crypto had achieved "sync" with the Distant End and that they were ready to receive your transmission...

... but the kicker is this... once you had gotten sync, if you left the conversation for very long your crypto would drop back out... and you'd have to start the whole "......................." thing over again.... thus if you wanted to keep your crypto keyed while you were chatting, you would throw in some dots to keep the transmission open.... get it?... yeah, encrypted ellipses keeping a channel alive... you want to talk about a waste of bandwidth?... well, search no further.. you have arrived at Wastage Central, children...

...so, what does all this mean?... well, it depends on how you look at it... see, when I get tired of talking... or if I am thinking about what to say next... what little that is left of my mind automatically goes into "keep alive" mode.... so instead of letting my train of thought drop, I just keep the "channel" open, so to speak...... some pauses are longer than others... but, hey, that is to be expected... shit, sometimes it takes longer to think of something to say..... and so, there you have it....

... Why I Abuse Ellipses, by Eric.... see?.. it's all the government's fault....

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Cayman...

.... check this out.... I have been invited to the unveiling of Porsche's latest vehicle tomorrow in Knoxville... the Cayman S... it's being held in a pub across town... imagine that...

... now, if you were me, what would you do?... man, what a burden... decisions, decisions.... my life truly sucks...

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Trimmed...

... here is a question to keep you gentle people busy for a while... who said this:

"Life without you, ma'am, is like a broken pencil."

"huh?"

"Pointless."

... and with that, I'm off to get a haircut... it's ok... I'll miss you too...

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Dangling...

... while the rest of you gentle people are suffering through a day of toil, I just witnessed a moment of cinematic bliss...

... remember that scene in "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes" when Marilyn Monroe is crawling through that porthole?... were you to have ever doubted it before, rest your selves in the fact that, yes, there is a God...

... that scene speaks so deeply to me, I can hardly even attempt to convey it... her hour-glass figure dangling from that window... on one side, her heaving cleavage and painted lips... on the other side, her bodacious booty wiggling and struggling... mercy...

... and then that little boy shows up and she begs for assistance?... remember the two reasons he agreed to help her?...

1. I'm too young to be prosecuted.

And...

2. You have a lot of animal magnetism.

... that little ten year old had a pretty damn good eye, if you ask me....

.... I'm surprised that scene made it past the censors...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(4) | TrackBack (1) | Psycho Rants
» Blog d'Elisson links with: MARILYN AND ME

Upon Awakening...

Damn.

I'm depressed.

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A Zippadee-do-dah Moment...

... I was just kicking back with the Rolling Stones and a cup of tea... enjoying the peacefulness of MLK-day.. when, out of the January blue, a robin committed suicide by smashing his little noggin against my window... scared the crap out of me, actually... I mean, peace and quiet and suddenly WHAM... I nearly spilled my lapsang..

.. I walked over to the window just in time to see his body flapping and twisting in the last throes of Life escaping his body...

... and that is when I noticed his compatriots looking on... the dogwoods were literally crawling with birds... robins, blue birds, and even a waxwing and a woodpecker.. all of them flitting about the branches as their buddy curled below them in mid-spasm..

... I couldn't help but laugh... the poor little bastard..

... what a way to go... I mean, just imagine the shame of it all... flying into a closed window and killing yourself while all your peers looked on... I bet that if birds could laugh, they were all belly-rolling...

.... "Hey! Did you just see what Roger did?!?... What a complete dumbass!!"...

... then again, maybe they got all philosophical and contemplative about it..

... personally, I like to imagine that they giggled... but I really don't know... it's pretty hard to judge the expression on a bird's face...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(14) | TrackBack (1) | Psycho Rants
» phin's blog links with: Famous last words

Yes...

... there is something very profound to be said about being picky when picking mates... after all, we all are on one level or another... but did you ever think about what gnarly paths you might wander down if you just changed your attitude a bit?... said "yes" to every offer?... well, imagine no more... it appears that this Newsweek article, however warped, has the answers... oh, and there is a book too...

Maria Dahvana Headley grew up listening to the "Just Say No" anti-drug campaign of the 1980s. As a student at New York University in the late '90s, she applied that advice to her love life, turning down most men who asked her out and dating only intellectual, literary types. Frustrated by those guys, she reversed course, resolving to spend one year responding positively to all flirting and saying yes to literally anyone who asked her out. The ensuing 150 dates included a homeless man, several non-English speakers, 10 taxi drivers, two lesbians and a mime.

.... amazing stuff.... it even has a happy ending... well, kind of.... I just wish they'd told us more in the article about that mime...

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Candygram...

... just sitting here reading and I thought I'd share a bit... here's a small selection from "How Pleasant to Ape Mr. Lear", by Ogden Nash... gaze upon his rhyming genius and tremble, rubberneckers...

A crusader's wife slipped through the garrison
And had an affair with a Saracen.
She was not oversexed
Or jealous or vexed
She just wanted to make a comparison.

A novelist of the absurd
Has a voice that will shortly be heard.
I've learned from my spies
He's about to devise
An unprintable three-letter word.

... there... that's enough... google is your friend for finding the rest of the poem... I'm off to watch Blazing Saddles and attempt to channel Sheriff Bart...

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Spit Troughs...

... ok, I just checked my sitemeter... all of you people who fret and worry about getting googled for crazy stuff can just hush now... I have the best one yet....

... courtesy of this post, ala Bitterman - the actual wordsmith who penned the lines - I am on top of the heap at google for "Even the weasels in the basement are noticeably subdued as the moon casts shadows on their spit trough"

.. have mercy... when I saw that, I thought to myself, "Cool, Bitterman is checking to see who linked to him."... but no, children, I was mistaken... the googler came from the wilds of New Jersey..

.. that's just amazing... and, if I might be so bold, more than just a little disturbing.. but hey, since Bitterman's archives are hammered, were it not for my post, that amazing sentence would have passed forever into the darkness... and that makes me proud.. very proud indeed...

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Lunch...

... the local weather-spigot is predicting snow for tomorrow.... personally, I think he's full of shit... as much as I'd like to see snow in the valley where I live, I doubt the spigot's cred.. seventy degrees with thunderstorms in mid-January is just not right.. snow, my ass..

... anyway, I'm off to drive up to the mountains and eat a bowl of over-priced soup by the river .. hey, what can I say, some days you just need an expensive bowl of soup...

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Hoarding...

... this is just out of control...

"Rose's husband believes she fell while looking for the phone in the house this week and suffocated. There were so many piles of items that the man did not realize she was dead in the home."

.. you know, I'm not the world's greatest housekeeper... but I do believe that my spouse would have complained just a bit... OCD or not...

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Getting even...

... reading Dax's tale this morning, I was dragged back into the mists of my memory... and found lying crumpled amongst the Camel cigarette packets and empty Copenhagen tins, was one of my fondest Military memories... a memory of snuff...

... it was November 1992 and I had been picked to participate in Mountain Training with 45 Commando (Royal Marines)... I wrote a bit about it here a while back, but from a slightly different angle... and here's a pretty cool article about it, if you are curious...

... anyway, those Commandos were a hard bunch... well trained, motivated, and in peak physical condition... me?... I was a scrawny little Tennessean who was in way over his head... and I was truly struggling to hang with those animals... I had pushed myself about as far as I could go... humping equipment up those mountain tracks was old hat to them, but new ground for me... Hell, I was an Intel guy...

... there were quite a few of us US Marines there, though... and we took a fairly large ration of shit from the RMs.. all of us were from non-combat specialties, and they were all ground-pounders... we survived though, and they were impressed...

... one thing that I saw near the summit of one mountain never ceases to inspire me... I saw a young Royal Marine take a pouch of loose tobacco out of his pocket in a driving sleet-storm... roll a cigarette... light it with a match, and smoke it while being pelted with frozen clods of water and forty mile-an-hour winds...

... to this day, that still amazes me... the desire for a smoke just won't be denied, I suppose... not even by an arctic blast...

.... but like I said, I felt for old Dax this morning... see, I had dipped snuff for years before discovering the wonders of smoking, and my body was acclimatized to the effects of the nicotine rush.. plus, my stomach had gotten used to the occasional swallowing of some tobacco juice... or, indeed, an entire chaw gone awry... it was all no big deal... something that probably 75% of all the local rednecks from my community could do... well, on the last day of the training, I was putting in a dip of snuff while being ribbed about looking so miserable, when one of the grunts asked what I was doing... I explained it to him... he was curious and wanted to try it...

... even though I'd been ridden pretty hard, I still didn't hold any ill-will... but the temptation was just too much for me... my heart filled with evil at the thought of teaching this fellow a lesson... still, I tried to explain that he'd get ill if he tried it... and he assured me that if I could do it, then HE could too... heh heh... and with that and a grin, I handed him the can of snuff...

... in less than two minutes, the once proud vision of machismo was literally green around the gills... within five minutes, he was puking up old chunks of our breakfast.. beans and franks, as best I can recall.. I have to hand it to him, though... he never broke ranks... and he never fell out of the yomp... just keep trudging along puking as he went... what a sight he was at the end of the trail... frozen bits of vomit dangling from his unshaven chin... a trail of black, Copenhagen tobacco snaking down his chapped cheek and disappearing down the neck of his gore-tex parka.. shades of green and yellow showing on his face...

... for me, that was a moment I'll remember forever... for him, I'd say it is one that he will never forget... as much as he'd like to try...

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Public beautification...

... I was informed a few days ago that I was to purge my closet... for reasons known only to the higher echelons of management around here, my wardrobe was deemed unfit for a man of my position.. just what position that is remains to be seen.. however, I was frog-marched into the master bedroom walk-in with three garbage bags and told to stuff'em yesterday...

... it was great...

.. every single sweater that I owned got tossed... some, years old and with the tags still affixed... once lovingly hand-picked from department store shelves by well-meaning relatives, those same garments found themselves being unceremoniously chucked into the Black Plastic Bag of Doom...

... hey, don't get me wrong... I enjoy receiving gifts as much as the next guy... but I do so hate me some sweaters....

... today I'm off to the local Goodwill to make some transient's day... after all, one man's fashion faux pas is another man's shield against hypothermia... besides, not only is it wonderful to see the extra space in my closet... I might actually get a chance to see the homeless guys dressed in some mint condition 1996 - Fall Season sweaters..

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(8) | TrackBack (1) | Psycho Rants
» Drunken Wisdom links with: Sweaters

Seventeen....

... for today's uplifting navel gaze, I give you some thoughts on Conan the Destroyer...

... a bad movie, to be sure... but still very much worth watching...

... for instance, did you know that Oliva d'Abo was only 17 when she portrayed Princess Jehnna?.. her very first film role... only 17...

... remember that scene where she's trying to put the moves on Conan while he's drunk?.. mercy sakes, people... 17 years old...

... just imagine how many men around the world - and over the past twenty-two-odd years - have mentally performed lewd acts that are totally illegal in their respective states because of that scene...

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The Spoken Word...

... I was just sitting here thinking about the act of "speaking", and a few things came to mind...

... like, I really wish I could speak Italian... not that I really want to go through the trouble of learning it or anything.. I just wish I could speak it... a "presto" kind of thing.. I am absolutely sure that when Dean Martin breaks into Italian in some of his songs, he wants me to be able to understand him... I can feel it...

... I have a passable Northern Irish accent when I'm so inclined.... comes from years of watching and yelling at the television when Rev. Paisley was on, I think.. the only problem is, to do the imitation accent properly, I have to be tossing a cuss word into the mix.. the ratio hovers around 1:4... which, if you ask me, is pretty healthy profanity...

... I can almost pull off a Londoner's accent as well... but I irritate myself and have to stop before I get too far along with it and rip my own tongue out...

.... I like to speak Japanese sometimes when no one is around... especially if I am concentrating really hard on something... I just blurt out Japanese-sounding sentences.. of course, I don't actually know any Japanese... but I remember watching that guy off of the Superfriends when I was little, and he rocked... he taught me all the Japanese I will probably ever need to know just before he turned into that cyclone-thing...

... I bet God doesn't really speak Latin like everyone thinks.. I once dated a girl who had taken lots and lots of Latin classes, and she made me once have a conversation with God in the backseat of my Mustang.. but it was all telepathic though... never learned any Latin, myself...

... I just read that cats don't meow at each other... only us... what's up with that?... that's just freaky... what the hell are they trying to tell me?.... I hate it when cats meow at me... sure, I don't mind having them around, but they should just shut up and leave me alone...

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Novels...

... via Fishtown Chatter, I was just reading P.J. O'Rourke's slamming of Ms. Cox's novel... and, boy howdy... check this out:

Creative writing teachers should be purged until every last instructor who has uttered the words "Write what you know" is confined to a labor camp. Please, talented scribblers, write what you don't. The blind guy with the funny little harp who composed The Iliad , how much combat do you think he saw?

.. damn, I just love that... luckily, my novel-in-progress is about a one-legged crack-addicted homosexual car salesman from Wichita... it should be a resounding success....

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Action!..

... good morning, rubberneckers... good news is percolating for the Arizonites... Power to the people!...

Men and women of all ages signed the petitions Monday at Buzz. However, roughly half were turned away because they were not Scottsdale residents.

But there were ways around that.

A pair of Gilbert electricians who prefer Babe's and Skin Cabaret to Phoenix's topless bars drove a friend a Scottsdale resident to sign in their stead.

As with many who signed the petition, they declined to give their names to the Tribune.

.. it's good to see citizens standing up for themselves... cheers my heart, it does...

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Wet...

.... I spent the better portion of the morning enduring a drive through the hinterlands of two counties in a drizzling rain... my goal was the town of Sweetwater where I was to do my yearly good deed... well, tis done... bought and paid for...

... strangely, though, I really don't feel too good about it... in fact, I feel very little one way or the other... and I suppose that is the root of the evil right there... not feeling anything one way or the other... after all, I didn't really know the people involved... friends of a friends, so to speak... but still, I guess it was the right thing to do... regardless of how I view it all now... Hell, maybe someone will lend me a hand down the road sometime when I need it... doubtful, I know... but hey, it could happen...

... so, here I am, back home at the keyboard... soggy and chilled... kicking back to some Cowboy Junkies tunes and trying to rejuvenate both myself and my faith in humanity with the aid of a cup of chicken soup... and although I am getting a bit warmer, I have a feeling that the whole "faith in humanity" thing is a bit too far of a stretch for some microwaved Campbell's soup....

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Lasagna...

.. my dear Mother came over last night and ate all the left-over lasagna I had stockpiled for tonight's dinner... sure, she enjoyed it... but, man, I could sure murder a plate of that stuff right now... ahh, don't get me wrong... it was a great time... we talked and reminisced about various things while she dug into that steaming pile of pasta-goodness...

... and as she was chewing gleefully on the al dente pasta, she brought up the time that my Father decided he wanted me to become an earthworm farmer...

.. I was about five at the time... I'd helped him build a wooden trough in the basement where it was cool and dark.. the perfect home for a bunch of nightcrawlers... layers and layers of dirt, cardboard, dirt, and more cardboard...

... in retrospect, I think he was trying to instill some sort of self-employment vibe into my wee frame... I can hear him saying, "Make your own way, boy. Grow these earthworms and prosper. Sell these wigglers to those bucktoothed fishermen, son. There will always be dirt, worms, and fishermen, boy."

... well, that lasted all of about a week... I was left in custody of the worms in the basement.. told to water them every evening and make sure the top layer of cardboard stayed nice and damp... after giving me my orders and promising we'd make millions, Dad headed off for a week of work in Clinton....

.. well, piss-poor, I was...a Good Steward, I was not... two days into my stint as an entrepreneur, I forgot all about my new friends in the basement and settled into watching cartoons after getting home from 1st Grade... and when my Dad came home on Friday night, every one of those damn worms had either died or jumped ship.. that soft, moist combination of cowshit, earth, and cardboard was as dry as the shifting sands of the Sahara...

... I didn't get spanked, but I probably should have been... worm murderer that I was... strange how time replays itself, though... today, just as it was 28 years ago, I sure am easily distracted...

... I think I'll order a pizza..

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Big...

... remember Terry Garr as Inga?... man, that roll-in-the-hay scene in the back of that wagon just slays me every time...

... and when she sings "great mystery of life, at last I've found you" at the very end?...

... well, I nearly shed a tear... she's such a little sweetheart... hey, what can I say, I'm a big-hearted guy...

... Hell, sometimes I go for days on end and only say "MMMMMMMHH"...

... yeah, I admit it... I really, really, really want one of these...

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Tongue...

.... I took the Wife into town this afternoon for an ice cream... we've a small, 1950's style diner on the main street that does a wickedly wonderful banana split, and the Wife had been jonesing all morning... so what do you do when you've got a dollar in your pocket, a tank full of gas, and a craving for chocolate sauce?... well, around here we head into town to scratch that itch...

... now, at this point I would like to report that everything went according to plan...that, however, would be a lie...

... it all started going pear-shaped when our ice creams arrived.. my chocolate milkshake had a cherry on top... as did her dessert... she tossed her cherry over to me and I immediately munched it... and then I ate mine... leaving two spindly little cherry stalks on the napkin...

... halfway through her treat, I mentioned that Kelley had once told a story at a blogmeet about being able to tie a cherry-stalk in a knot with her tongue... now, this piqued the Wife's interest... and determined not to be outdone, after a few seconds of mulling it over in her noggin, she popped one of the cherry things into her mouth..

... people, I thought we were going to get thrown out of the diner I was laughing so hard.. I kept my composure at first... her face contorted and her eyes rolled as her lips twisted and morphed... the look of complete concentration reading across her brow was left in the dust by the sheer pandemonium going on with her lips and cheeks... it was a horrible and entertaining thing to watch....

... but it was all too much for me... I broke... hee-haw belly-laughs erupted from deep within... I think I even slapped my knee once... my normally erudite composure was reduced to ashes by the uncontrollable spasms of my diaphragm... I choked for air... and just when I thought I could bear no more, she started laughing too.. almost swallowed the damn cherry stalk.. hyperventilated.. and then laughed some more... all the while keeping one end of that cherry stalk clamped firmly between her teeth and performing some kind of tongue-yoga back in-behind her lips...

... after five minutes of watching her look as if she were chewing a mouthful of bees, she gave up... a failure...

... ahh.. just another adventurous visit into my sleepy town... but I have to give her an A+ for effort though... that cherry stalk sure looked worn out when she was finished.... and so did she, actually....

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Prince...

... I stopped in Cookeville yesterday for dinner at their Outback Steakhouse.... pretty good grub... and an ice-cold mug of Newcastle did me a world of good...

.. as I was quietly sipping on my drink and listening to the music, I began to notice the flitting presences of the various customers and waitresses... the place seemed to be absolutely swarming with beautiful young ladies.. God bless college towns... I pointed it out to the Wife and she agreed.... even going so far as to mention the vast amount of beefcakes present... that shut me up for a while.. hey, nothing like enjoying the everyday beauty of your surroundings, I say...

... and then this Prince song came on... having never been a fan, I paid little attention... but I could not help but notice the almost hypnotic effect that his purring had on the females... especially the waitstaff... goodness me...

... totally unmindful of their doings, they worked their way to-and-fro with their trays.. and they were ever-so-slightly dancing as they went... I don't even think that they realized what they were doing... gently swaying their hips as they passed iced-teas around tables or handed people their Toowoomba Pasta plates... they were dancing to the Prince vibe... incredible... every single one of those bobby-soxers were subconsciously seriously digging them some Prince... even some girlfriends, wives, mothers who were seated with their significant others were gently grinding their tushies into those leather Outback chairs... I was totally amazed..

... then Phil Collins came on next and totally ruined the mood...

... but honestly, I had no idea that a little shrimpy black man with a girl's haircut could cause women to squirm so much...

... oh, and my Toowoomba Pasta was great... I cannot recommend the Outback in Cookeville, Tennessee highly enough... it is an oasis..

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Editors...

.... Late last night I wrote a post that was hilarious.... the kind of post that would cause readers to melt into little puddles of awe and mesmerized disgust.... I could not have been more happy with what I had done....

... I read it... then re-read it.... and then beckoned the Wife through for a gander... to my shock, gasps of horror escaped her slack maw.... even the trembling of limbs was witnessed as her peepers scanned the page.... and then, the ubiquitous smack in the back of the head....

... after regaining focus, my eyes once again steadied themselves towards the words I had written.... "no foul", I thought... "that's some pretty good shit..." ..

.. then?.. another smack in the back of the head.... "you can NOT put that on your blog"..... that was what she said... and then continued... "it's foul.. it's perverted... it is, quite possibly, the most heinous thing you have ever written.. you perv..."... personally, I think she's biased... it wasn't THAT bad...

.. hey, it was just a slightly skewed take on an old Dean Martin song..... a tale of "serial killer meets ratpack with a sharp knife and a hard-on".... and rubberneckers, I really thought it worked....

... I guess I was wrong.. but I will tell you this, you guys sure missed out...

... bloody hell... having an internal editor is one thing.... having one that smacks you upside the head is something totally different....

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Pages...

... an eight hour road-trip with my mind wandering the whole time.... what a way to spend a day...

... I now believe that I wrote this for a very, very good reason...

... I sure as hell needed it today....

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Solitude..

... there is a place I used to go.. sometimes alone... sometimes with a chosen friend... a deep valley a day's hike from the end of a bumpy gravel road that wandered back out for miles before hitting asphalt... a clear stream was fed from a spring there in the valley... and miles away, that stream became a river that eventually emptied into the North Sea..

... I've had that place on my mind recently.. the little stand of evergreens that encircled the spring on the southern slope of the valley where the steepness of a looming mountain began... I would build a small, hidden campfire among those trees when I would spend the night there... set in a shallow pit I dug by hand, the flames were only inches high and surrounded by stones that I had carried up from the bed of the stream... so that the light would not be seen by other ramblers or ghillies searching for poachers..

... building fires was forbidden there... so was camping, for that matter...

... but I spent many comfortable nights there... alone or with a companion.. hidden in plain sight...

... I dreamt of that place last night.. I want to go back there again soon..

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Crap...

... ever done the "snake run"?... I have... but only twice... and twice is enough...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(5) | TrackBack (1) | Psycho Rants
» Madfish Willie's Cyber Saloon links with: Ladies and Gentlemen

Exactly...

... remember the point I originally tried to get across here?... well, Rube cuts to the chase....

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Helping Out...

... some knuckleheads are guestposting till the weekend at Tammi's place... and it ain't pretty... feel free to pitch in, people...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(2) | TrackBack (1) | Blogging
» Madfish Willie's Cyber Saloon links with: Ladies and Gentlemen

Scary Movies....

... believe it or not, I am notoriously freaked out by horror flicks.... like an onion, people, I have many skins... monsters?... bring them on... I'll punk Godzilla in a heartbeat and manhandle King Kong with my spare arm... but ghosts?... okay, slightly freaked out.... but Demons from the Dark Side?.. well paint me pink and toss me to the lesbians... I'm a total basket-case..... a complete lost cause....

... last night was such a night.... having had my fill of television bugga-booery, I called off and headed for the blogroom... putting some distance between myself and the urethral bellowing of the demonic forces zooming around the living room.....

... the Wife yells after me as I walk by... "Chicken!"

... "nay, dear Wife, I just know my limitations", says I... "woe betide the beastie that sets me in his sights... verily, babe... doest thou not provoke me whilst watching heebie-jeebie movies... unlike the limpdicks in the flicks who run hither and nither in primeval terror, scaring the jumping Jesus out of me WILL illicit an armed response.."...

... needless to say, she hushed.. although she did giggle quite a bit... and my manhood is still intact... well, for the most part...

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by Eric | Permalink | Bullshit(9) | TrackBack (1) | Psycho Rants
» Madfish Willie's Cyber Saloon links with: Ladies and Gentlemen

Bankers...

.. today's finally over... dusk is here and the geese just flew over the house on their way to roost... like clockwork, they are... oh, and the bankers in town love me... they pretty much told me so this afternoon... charming stuff, I tell ya...

... still, it's hard to believe it is this warm for January.. even in Tennessee.... I should be dressed from head-to-toe in the finest of quilted raiment this time of year.. instead, I'm off to grill two gigantic rib-eyes wearing only pajama bottoms, un-tied combat boots, and a long-sleeved tee shirt... sing along out into the darkness to some James Taylor... and raise a glass or two towards the general direction of South Carolina and Georgia... I hear some of the crew are gathering to bay at the moon tonight...

... hey, I'm with y'all in spirit.. that's for sure... but you guys already know that.. sorry I missed the party...

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Recycled...

... because I just found this post while trolling my archives for stories about Aunt Betty, I'm going to recycle it... it was originally posted on December 7th, 2003...

E.V. Lucas and Betty

A few years ago, my wife's Great Aunt Betty died... She had never married, and had doted on my wife as if she were her Grandmother... When she died, I helped gather up all of her things from her house in Glasgow, and among her many possessions was a large collection of antique books.

Being a lover of books, my Father-in-law gave me one from her collection that I had been leafing through... it is a tiny little thing...a school primer.... entitled "Modern Poetry"... it was printed around 1920... after we finished clearing out her home, we drove back to Montrose in a gloomy mood. We sat around the dinner table that night talking about Betty and her life, and I began turning the pages of that little primer.... and I found this poem... I read it out loud to everyone at the table as we finished our meal... I don't know why I just remembered this.... but, here it is...

Jack

Every village has its Jack, but no village ever had quite so fine a Jack as ours:
So picturesque,
Versatile,
Irresponsible,
Powerful,
Hedonistic,
And lovable a Jack as ours.

How Jack lived none knew, for he rarely did any work.
True, he set nightlines for eels, and invariably caught one,
Often two,
Sometimes three;
While very occasionally he had a day's harvesting or hay-making.
And yet he always found enough money for tobacco,
With a little over for beer, though he was no soaker.

Jack had a wife.
A soulless, savage woman she was, who disapproved voluably of his idle ways.
But the only result was to make him stay out longer.
(Like Rip Van Winkle).

Jack had a big, black beard, and a red shirt, which was made for another.
And no waistcoat.
His boots were somebody else's;
He wore the Doctor's coat,
And the Vicar's trousers.
Personally, I gave him a hat, but it was too small.

Everybody liked Jack.
The Vicar liked him, although he never went to church.
Indeed, he was a cheerful Pagan, with no temptation to break more than the Eighth Commandment, and no ambition as a sinner.
The Curate liked him, although he had no simpering daughters.
The Doctor liked him, although he was never ill.
I liked him too - chiefly because of his perpetual good temper, and his intimacy with Nature, and his capacity for colouring cutties.
The girls liked him, because he brought them the first wild roses and the sweetest honeysuckle;
Also, because he could flatter so outrageously.

But the boys loved him.
They followed him in little bands:
Jack was their hero.
And no wonder, for he could hit a running rabbit with a stone.
And cut them long, straight fishing-poles and equilateral catty forks;
And he always knew of a fresh nest.
Besides, he could make a thousand things with his old pocket-knife.

How good he was a cricket too!
On the long summer evenings he would saunter to the green and watch the lads at play, and by and by someone would offer him a few knocks.
Then the Doctor's coat would be carefully detached, and Jack would spit on his hands, and brandish the bat, and away the ball would go, north and south and east and west, and sometimes bang into the zenith.
For Jack had little science:
Upon each ball he made the same terrific and magnificent onslaught,
Whether half volley, or full pitch, or long hop, or leg break, or off break, or shooter, or yorker.
And when the stumps fell he would cheerfully set them up again, while his white teeth flashed in the recesses of his beard.

The only persons who were not conspicuously fond of Jack were his wife, and the schoolmaster, and the head-keeper.
The schoolmaster had an idea that if Jack were hanged there would be no more truants; His wife would attend the funeral without an extraordinary show of grief; And the head-keeper would mutter, "There's one poacher less."

Jack was quite as much a part of the village as the church spire;
And if any of us lazied along by the river in the dusk of the evening - Waving aside nebulae of gnats,
Turning head quickly at the splash of a jumping fish, Peering where the water chucked over a vanishing water-rat - And saw not Jack's familiar form bending over his lines,
And smelt not his vile shag,
We should feel a loneliness, a vague impression that something is wrong.

For ten years Jack was always the same,
Never growing older,
Or richer,
Or tidier,
Never knowing that we had a certain pride in possessing him.
Then there came a tempter with tales of easily acquired wealth, and Jack went away in his company.

He has never come back,
And now the village is like a man who has lost an eye.
In the gloaming, no slouching figure, with colossal idleness in every line, leans against my garden wall, with prophecies of the morrow's weather;
And those who reviled Jack most wonder now what it was they found fault with.
We feel our bereavement deeply.

The Vicar, I believe, would like to offer public prayer for the return of the wanderer.
And the Doctor, I know, is a little unhinged, and curing people out of pure absence of mind.
For my part, I have hope; and the trousers I discarded last week will not be given away just yet.

E.V. Lucas.

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Scenes...

... I lay, once again, the treatise before your feet that Tom Waits is a genius... most notably, his writing of "Small Change" back in 1976... here is what Tom had to say about it once upon a time...

"It was the first time I ever covered a homocide, and the incident is a true one. I was in New York City, stayin' at the Chelsea Hotel, and a young cat was shot and killed across the street from the restaurant where I was goin' to eat - just as I walked in the door. It happened two years before I wrote anything about it. I just didn't know how to deal with it, y'know" "I was just trying to deal with the whole murder thing in New York, the whole ambience... It's all just like 'so what?, somebody got shot and killed, I don't care.' By the time you read it in the newspapers, it's gone. I mean, a newspaper doesn't weep, it's not wet, it doesn't bleed, doesn't croak. It's just facts, no ideas, no mess, no funeral, no phone calls in the middle of the night explaining it to somebody, no tears, no nothing. "The night I saw this cat blown away, the cops were sittin' around sayin', 'Hey, Charley, where you goin' on your vacation?' And there's this little cat oozin' life, lyin' in his own blood. I don't know it was just... sssshhhheeewwww," Waits said, shaking his head, unable to find the words to describe it further.

"For Waits City Life Is Small Change" by Bob Claypool. The Houston Post. December 12, 1976

... if you don't own the album "Small Change", you should do yourself a favor and buy it immediately... sure, Tom has a voice that takes some getting used to, but he is a master with language...

.... Here's the song...

... and here are the lyrics he penned.... and people, his description of a scene is one of the very best I have ever read... much less heard put to music... behold:

Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight
And nobody flinched down by the arcade
And the marquees weren't weeping, they went stark raving mad
And the cabbies were the only ones that really had it made
And his cold trousers were twisted, and the sirens high and shrill
And crumpled in his fist was a five-dollar bill
And the naked mannequins with their Cheshire grins
And the raconteurs and roustabouts said, "Buddy, come on in", cause...
Cause the dreams ain't broken down here now, they're walking with a limp
Now that Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight
And nobody flinched down by the arcade
And the burglar alarm's been disconnected and the newsmen start to rattle
And the cops are telling jokes about some whorehouse in Seattle
And the fire hydrants plead the Fifth Amendment
And the furniture is bargains galore
But the blood is by the jukebox on an old linoleum floor
And what a hot rain on 42nd Street, and now the umbrellas ain't got a chance
And the newsboy's a lunatic with stains on his pants, cause...
Cause Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight
And no one's gone over to close his eyes
And there's a racing form in his pocket, circled Blue Boots' in the third
And the cashier at the clothing store didn't say a word
As the siren tears the night in half, and someone lost his wallet
Well, it's surveillance of assailants, if that's what you wanna call it
And the whores hike up their skirts and fish for drugstore prophylactics
With their mouths cut just like razor blades and their eyes are like stilettos
And her radiator's steaming and her teeth are in a wreck
Nah, she won't let you kiss her, but what the hell did you expect?
And the Gypsies are tragic and if you want to buy perfume
Well, they'll bark you down like carneys, sell you Christmas cards in June,
but...
But Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight
And his headstone's a gumball machine
No more chewing gum or baseball cards or overcoats or dreams
Someone's hosing down the sidewalk, and he's only in his teens, cause...
Cause Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight
And a fistful of dollars can't change that
And someone copped his watch fob, and someone got his ring
And the newsboy got his pork-pie Stetson hat
And the tuberculosis old men at the Nelson wheeze and cough
And someone will head south until this whole thing cools off, cause...
Cause Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight, yeah
Small Change got rained on with his own thirty-eight

... trust me, people... buy the album... it's a work of art...

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Fireballs...

... I've said it before, and I'll say it again... only a complete and utter sadist of the very highest caliber would eat Domino's chicken kickers with blue cheese dressing the night before taking a road-trip...

... and it is true what they say... some lessons just never get learned...

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Volkswagen...

... the latest issue of Military History magazine has a wonderful article on the mighty Tuaregs of North Africa.... a "faceless" enemy that ruled parts of the Sahara back in the day before AIDS, the United Nations, and mass starvation...

... "Faceless" because they wore the head-wraps of the sand-drifters of their day.... "faceless" because they were once the Heathen of the Day...

.... but hey, it was hard to swallow all that back in Paris.... the killing of colonial Frenchmen with your face obscured... after all, those Europeans were used to the Napoleonic infractions... Charges of the Light Brigade.. Zulu, etcetera... so the Tuaregs freaked those French right the Hell out.... and even thought it was considered evil and insidious at the time, you have to admit that it was a good way of doing things in the mighty scheme... frightening the Bejesus out of the interlopers... with your bronzed face obscured by fine linen and your sword dripping with the blood of errant froggies....

... see, there is something sinister about hiding your face... and it is hard to deny that... and no, I'm not talking about cowardly hiding behind a mask, a skin, or a hide... I'm talking about the same thing George Lucas hit on when he invented the Storm Troopers ala Star Wars...

... yeah... tell me Hans Solo didn't secretly shit his bad polyester trousers when faced with those faceless and single-minded aggressors.... you KNOW he did.. and hate them as you might, Storm Troopers were the bomb...

... a new idea, this Warrior without a Face?.... not hardly.... Hey, just ask the SAS.... various US Special Forces Branches.. or even sections of the French Foreign Legion.... they know the psychological impact of attacking and killing without showing your face to the enemy...

.... see, masks hide some people... but for others, they allow them to bloom... become the killer that they could never be if they were seen by everyone.. you might even say that one man's coward is another man's nightmare because of that.... but in the case of the Tuaregs and SAS?... well, those masks are not there for the benefit of the soldiers.. or even the Tuaregs of antiquity.... those masks were worn to instill the fear of the Anonymous Killer upon the wandering terrorist, Frenchman, lost White Trader, Camel Abuser, or caught-in-the-act-evildoer... and yes, they were truly fearsome on lots of levels....

.... Hey, blindfolds are one thing, but the idea of a "Mask" is totally different..

... what is the point of this post?... shit, I don't know.... but I was behind a fucking Touareg yesterday at a redlight in Chattanooga.... and Volkswagen should be fucking ashamed of themselves.... end of history lesson, children....

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Blenders...

... ok, people... it's a brand new year... but rest your weary souls, the menu hasn't changed here... same crap, different day.... for instance, this list is making the circuit... and while I was pleasantly gratified to see so many luscious brown-haired vixens in the top 25, I do have a bone to pick with the rons at Ask Men...

... missing from the list is talented, sexy, and oh-so-lustable "Actress X"... I use that term because I don't know her name... but trust me, she's a knockout... and googling "the hot chick in the KY Jelly commercial that talks about the gentle warming action'" takes you down some sordid paths...

... and last night, in between clinks of champagne glasses, I saw her advertising some kind of Gucci blender/food processor thingy... I'll have to wait till the credit card receipt comes in, but I think I bought three of them when I called the number... the selfish bastards wouldn't let me talk to "Actress X"... and they assured me that she wasn't in the building... hey, I just wanted to wish her a Happy New Year and tell her what an inspiration she is... her warm smile.. the playful glint in her eyes...

... not the most productive way to start a new year, I guess... but hey, it's par for the course... and the Missus will love her new blenders.. see?... there is always a bright side..

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