Mirrors....

… I eased into town earlier today and enjoyed a wonderful lunch with Big Stupid Tommy…. It was a great meeting…. He even brought me a present!.... of course, it was a book about Zombies, so I ooh’ed and ahh’ed for a while and told him wonderful, thoughtful, and nice he was…. but deep down?.... it certainly threw me right off my Triple Prime Burger… even though it was seared to a hardy, well-done consistency…

.. still, though, even with the Zombies providing a bit of a mood-kill, we still managed to have a good time…. Tommy is a goodun, folks….. and as usual, it is always a pleasure to watch him gnaw on chicken breasts…..

… in other news (in regards to the destruction redecorating of the Master Bathroom), it appears that the gentlemen who built my humble home glued the mirror – a 6ft X 4ft monster – to the bathroom wall…..

…. look, I'm sorry, but WTF? …. I mean, what kind of hammerheaded mouthbreather would glue my mirror to my wall?...... answer?... one worthless motherfucker, that’s what kind of hammerheaded mouthbreather he is……

…. So, I beg upon y’alls tender mercies (and because you guys are much smarter than me)….

…Anyone know how to safely take down a huge bathroom mirror without it being smashed into a million itsy bitsy pieces?.... OR, am I looking at the problem all wrong?... is there some secret, magical way that builders hang bathroom mirrors that I am not privy to?....

… c’mon…. be nice… and help a brother out….. otherwise I’m busting that bastard up with a hammer come Monday… and we can just buy a new mirror to replace it……

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Wishes.....

….. in my next life - after God has recycled me, chastised me for my many misdemeanors, and dipped my soul back into the puddle of humanity for another go-around - I want to come back as Ron Perlman…. What a cool dude he is…. and in ‘Hellboy’, he totally rocked…. Sure, he was ok in ‘Alien Resurrection’, but not nearly the badass that he was when he was dolled up in all that red paint ala Hellboy….. besides, I think that in my next life, well, I should definitely have horns………

… and what really sealed the envelope was how when that FBI agent first saw him in the flick.... oh, yeah….Tom Waits was blasting….. me, Ron Perlman, and horns jutting from my skull?..... yeah, perfect….. .

…. I was never much into comic books, but knowing now that Hellboy was a fellow Waits addict, goodness, that just simply rocks……

….. go forth and rent the DVD, rubberneckers… trust me….. and the song that was being played in the scene that I mentioned?.... well, it is one of my favorites…. 'Heart Attack and Vine'….

…. A good groove is hard to find, children….. and once one is found, it is an even bigger sin to waste it….. so, enjoy….

… in other news, I have started remodeling the Master Bathroom here….. good God, what was I thinking…… half of the wall paper is down now, and I am already prepared to drain a vein… and I suspect that the next few days will complete the “somebody just shoot me’ scene….

…. Still, though, all is good…. I lunched upon a triple cheese cheeseburger from Steak and Shake….. chili-cheese fries.. and a peach yogurt shake….

…. It sorta makes all of those sit-ups, salads, and treadmill sessions seem all that little bit more worth the while……..

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Small....

.... today's Quote of The Day comes from this video....

... heh.... "There's a small difference there."... indeed, Stevie..... indeed...

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Pecking...

…. As proof of my nonexistent pecking order in the Great Circle of Life, even the drive-thru lackey at the local Taco Bell saw fit to be surly towards me this afternoon……

… truly, what is this world coming to when a happy, paying customer in dire need of a bean burrito before hitting the treadmill at the local YMCA is talked down-to by a bespectacled, pimply, greasy-haired little retard with a microphone and a Napoleon complex?.....

… I tell ya, kids these days need a good, old fashioned ass kickin’……

…. So did I call the little bastard out on it?.... nope…. Putting up with a lippy youngster is a small price to pay for ensuring that your burrito arrives spittle and pube free….

… but what a world….. Good Manners held hostage for a clean bite of day-old refried beans, a stale tortilla, and a steaming scoop of mystery meat with a bit of sour cream……

… anyway, for what it’s worth, the invention of the drive-thru window was the beginning of the end of western civilization…. well, that and the digital camera….. y'all will just have to trust me on that....

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Yeah.....

…. It has been a hectic two days around the old compound here…. and now with all of the pigs fed, watered, and ready to fly, today’s restful afternoon has been a welcome relief…..

… and Memorial Day is upon us….. it means a lot of things to a lot of people… for me, it has always been a day of quiet contemplation and humble gratitude…. After all, Veteran’s Day is for the veterans… Memorial Day is for the fallen….

… The Missus left early this afternoon for a day of shopping, so the houses has been silent… the only sounds here are the occasional clanking of the ice from my gin and tonic and the slow bubbling of the spaghetti sauce cooking on the hob….. it’s nice….

…. I believe that my best course of action is to put some Jimmy Buffet in the CD player, turn the ceiling fan on, and shoot a few games of pool while the sauce thickens…

yep…. Or, as my old friend Bejus would say, “Yeah” …..

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Family....

… every second year, the descendants of one of my ancient relatives get together for a bash…… and today was the pre-bash barbecue…. The Missus and I traveled the winding, narrow roads deep into the back country of Monroe County in search of the party…. and we eventually found a small group of relatives sipping iced tea under a huge awning….. we pitched in immediately and began accompanying them with their sitting and sipping….

… after a while, more and more kinfolk began to arrive… and before we knew it, the smell of charring wieners joined the sticky, sweet, nutty smell of freshly mown hay that we’d been enjoying…. And dinnertime followed quickly afterwards…..

.. it was a good time, actually…. Herds of milling relatives gathered in continuously morphing clumps of humanity… pulling away, rejoining a new group, skipping off to the grill for a hotdog or sneaking over behind Melvin’s truck to sneak a quick beer… or to Uncle Jim’s camper for a secreted nip of moonshine…

….. ageless, I suspect…. Timeless, too…. except for the cellphones clinging to each and every belt…. And those shoes with those little wheels imbedded in the heels….. which, incidentally, don’t seem to work too well in a gravel driveway…. Ohioans must have a lot more concrete than we do down here, I guess……

… Great Uncle JR was there and walking with a cane…. A feisty Iwo Jima veteran with a red-haired second wife…. He, his younger sister, Sue, and his little brother Arthur – the youngest of that clan – are the only ones left…. All of their brothers and sisters – and all but 1 of their Brothers & Sisters-in-law – have been left to the ages….

… Great Uncle JR’s sister, Geneva, was my maternal Grandma… so that’s how I’m related to that crew….

… so in two years, the Green Family will meet again in Dayton, Ohio….. and two years from that, they’ll be back down here again…. and so it goes…. At least as long those three are still shaking the proverbial bushes…. It does make you think, though…. I wonder if we’ll keep doing the family reunions once that older generation bails….. I hope we will, but if I were a betting man, I’d not place money on it…..

… in other news, there is a wonderful – and quite unexpected – benefit to having yourself surrounded by an aging group of relatives with bad hearing…. Some of the misheard conversations are out-of-this-world hilarious….

… anyway, I’m off to sip some Scotch and steel myself for tomorrow’s gathering… there are going to be 300-400 descendants of Luke and his wife all getting sunburned and sipping sweet tea at Keefaufer Park…. and if I know that bunch, if we chance to run out of hotdogs, those ducks in the duck pond are toast….

… so I am turning in early tonight…. sure, I’ve been to a goat rope before, but the idea of a duck strangling is just too much…. And I have a feeling that I am going to need all of my strength….

… hey, what can I say?.... you may transplant the hillbillies to the wilds of suburban Ohio, but there is a core that will remain forever Tennessean…… and still, they're my folks.....

... and I do like duck...

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Mojo....

… good evening, ladies and gentlemen….. I sincerely hope that whatever immortal or unearthly being that you peeps bow to is showering each and every one of you with warm biscuits, lashings of aged single malt, or whatever else it is that would get your collective cheeks rosy and your little hearts a’flutterin’….. as for me?.... not so good…..

… indeed, after my post yesterday wherein I heavily bragged about how wonderful my chicken casserole was going to be, I experienced a genuine Elisson moment…. oh yeah….. and my casserole – while edible – did very little in regards to making my taste buds leap from my tongue in sheer, orgasmic abandon….. serves me right for picturing God in a bib and wielding a wooden spoon, I guess…..

…. But, oh!... the hits just keep on coming!... this morning?.... I inadvertently locked myself out of the house and had to spend the better half of the day attempting to find a key and/or pick the lock….. sure, I ended up picking the lock, but it certainly wasn’t pretty….. AND I was assaulted by ticks and mosquitoes the entire time….. AND I think I got sunburned….

… so, there you have it, fellow travelers…. someone extremely heinous has thieved my mojo….. I mean, when you get to the point that you cant even have a quiet, sunshiny morning out on the patio with a cup of coffee and a writing pad, hey, you might as well just give it up…..

…( I will say that the first part of the morning (before I locked myself out) was very, very enjoyable…. and pretty much hearkened back to the prime of the first SWG mojo )…..

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buzzing....

…. All here is buzzing with unbridled excitement… verily, brothers and sisters, each heartbeat contained in this humble house is quietly vibrating with expectancy….

… for this afternoon, a lowly hen of the field – recently deceased – shall be magically transformed over the course of the next few hours…..

… and as if God himself had donned bib and taken up his wooden spoon, a glorious chicken casserole will materialize where there was once only broth, dead bird, mushrooms, and tins of Campbell’s soup…..

… I’m absolutely stoked…. can you tell?.....

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Townes....

.... absolutely beautiful.....

.... Margo Timmons.... my goodness.......

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Music....

….. you know, I really am a man of very few talents….. sure, I can cook, clean, play a bit of guitar, and I’m a fair shot with a rifle at ranges of less than 600 yards, but that really is just about the extent of my ability to do anything overly-productive… so I am definitely in the market for some new party tricks….

…. and stumbling around youtube today, I do believe that I have found the next notch to be carved into my hobby-list…. I mean, just check this guy out…..

…. I don’t know about you guys, but I think we should invite him to Helen this year…. He’d make a grand addition to The Elderly Brothers, eh Jimbo?….. and Denny could even let him fill in for his kazoo solos…… it’d certainly save him from the ignominy of having me slip it in at either an inopportune time or backwards…. like last year…. and the year before…. and the year before that…..

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Plunder....

…. The effervescent Glenn B from over at Ballseye’s Boomers asked an absolutely magnificent question the other day in my comments to my post about arriving back from Scotland…..

… and seeing that such subject matter as his question pertains to is so very dear to my heart, I suppose that I should give you Scotch connoisseurs out there a little information on the two beautiful malts that I brought back with me….

…. The first malt was bought at The Royal Lochnagar Distillery just outside Ballater…. It caught my eye as soon as I began checking their well-stocked shelves…. T’was a Talisker, gentle people…. casked in 1992 and bottled earlier this year by the uber-secretive distillers who run the only distillery on the Isle of Skye…..

..... the malt itself is just about as tasty as they come… and being that it is also a limited run “Distiller’s Edition”, it is only available at shops within the United Kingdom…. Indeed, none of it is ever allowed to be exported….. so it shall make a perfect ‘thank you” gift for a fellow blogger who enjoys a snifter or two of The Amber Nectar….

… secondly – and for my OWN personal consumption – I ran across a mysterious, bourbon-casked & port-finished Bowmore at The Whiskey Castle in the teensy village of Tomintoul…. The village is a regular visit of ours when we hit that area, and while out wandering the highlands one day, we suddenly found ourselves there once again….. and after methodically checking their wares, that old familiar feeling crept over me and I had to have a bottle… and Bowmore being my favorite of all the single malts from smoky, peat bog covered island of Islay, I picked one up… it was affectionately dubbed “Dawn”…. and it had two little brothers sitting beside it, too…. named “Darkest” and “Dusk”…. I decided on the lightest of the three, and I have not been disappointed in the least….

… I’d also like to add that I was pleasantly introduced to a single malt called “Clynelish” for the first time during this trip… as a matter of fact, my Father in Law took great satisfaction in handing me my first snifter – and between he, I, and my Brother in Law, we managed to put quite a dent in Aberdeenshire’s Clynelish reserves over the next five days….. but, ahhh, that is a tale for another day…… if any of you have ever enjoyed Highland Park - the Whiskey from Orkney - then you will seriously love some Clynelish.....

…. but, mercy..... all this writing of whiskey has made me begin a fierce salivation for some Bowmore…. And hey, when one has an itch, it is best to scratch it, no?..... trust me, people, it is……. so I’m off to hold down some patio furniture and watch the sun set with a fine glass in hand……

… I hope that y’all are off to do the same…..

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Guns....

… my goodness, children…. what a fine, fine, fine morning it is…. bluebirds are a’chirpin’, the sky is cheery and cloudless, and I am more wide awake at 10:15AM than I have ever been at any other 10:15AM before or since…. Yep, I know, I know…. but really, I just am THAT damned happy….

… I called up my buddy that’s in the Witness Protection Plan a few minutes ago… I need him to perform some minor surgery on a Romanian AKM that has recently fallen into my happy little paws, so I am off out the door in a bit to visit him at his secluded mountaintop location…

…. I’m even picking up a dozen or so of those raspberry-filled Krispy Kremes for us to snack on while he sorts out my assault weapon…

…. It should be quite a nice afternoon….

…. Besides, nothing says ‘contentment‘ around here quite like raspberry filling, hot coffee, and 30-round magazines….

…. So before I set off, I will give you gentle people a wonderful representation of Scottish weather… I like to call it ‘A Scottish Rainstorm Approaching The Royal Lochnagar Distillery On A Random Afternoon In May While I Was Shopping For Whiskey’….. but then, maybe that's just a bit longwinded…

storm_is_coming_small.jpg

... clicken to embiggen, as usual.....

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Rings....

…. Well, here I sit….. steadily plodding through this season’s various photographs of The Olde Country while The Missus blasts dialogue from ‘Braveheart’ northwards from the living room……

… I’ll give props to Gibson for his choice of blue eye-makeup in the flick, but I still disdain his brutalization of the Scots tongue…. Shit like that should never have made its way onto film, if you ask me….

… sure, I do a passable imitation of The Rev. Ian Paisley when I’m half-in-the-bag, but you don’t see me doing it in a forum that is viewed by billions, now do you?..... of course not...

…. Anyway, be that as it may and forsaking all others, I did happen to see a wondrous sight when I first touched down in Scotland this past week….. what glorious revelation did I witness, you ask?.... well, right there as I stole out of the arrival lounge, ole Mr. Paisley and Martin McGuinness (formerly of the Provisional IRA) were both beaming forth from the television and speaking from the same podium… side by side….

… I tell you, it does cheer the soul to see such things…… but for the life of me, I would never have imagined witnessing such a spectacle in my lifetime…… but hey, I’ve been wrong before… so there you go…

… I’m off for a bit, though – the hammock in the back yard is whispering my name and I must obey…. So I will leave you with a photo of one of my new Scottish friends….

attitude_small.jpg

… I do so love me some sheep that are bold enough to wear earrings….. these days – even in the ancient cradle of the mighty Cairngorms – it’s all about the style and attitude…. and that little fella had both in spades…

.... oh, and before I forget, I would like to thank Elisson & SWMBO for the pre-vacation hospitality.... and Bejus, Richard, Bitterman, Velociman, Elisson, and Captain SQL for keeping the pages ticking over while I was away..... you guys rock...

... and I'd also like to thank Rube for making the effort to hook up with The Missus and I while we were in London, and Groanin' Jock for buying a few wonderful rounds of drinks while we were hanging in Montrose... it was a true pleasure, gentlemen.......

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Safe....

…. Well, hammerheads, I’m back….. yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m sure that y’all missed me…..

…. I see that my scandalous collection of guestbloggers managed to keep up the joint while I was away swilling pints and sipping nips, and for that, I am truly, truly grateful… .

…. Hey, I am in y’all’s bloggy-debt….

…. Except for you, Richard, you bastard…… indeed, we were most certainly Not Amused by the horrific photoshopping of my manboobs that you created….

….. so, yes…. I’m home once again… and I shall begin pseudo-bloggy decompression of my epic European odyssey on these very blogpages in the very near future….

… so stay tuned, rubberneckers…. I even have video of The House Guards marching up and down the square ala Monty Python’s ‘Meaning of Life’……

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Hey

Who cut one in here?

I take time off my busy day of critical DB support and heavy drinking to poke my head in here, and it smells like last weeks pizza filtered through the digestive tract of a mutant albino dwarf!

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Mountains o' Etowah

[Sung to the tune of “Mountains o’ Mourne”]

Oh, Eric, your place here’s a wonderful sight
With bloggy folks drinking by day and by night
They stand by the grill and they watch you cook meat
It’s more fun than rolling around in the street
And in your garage here, it’s just a bit warmer
Playin’ pool with a guy who likes Chicken Korma
With these fine Online Writers, we’re so glad to be
At the home of Straight White Guy here in Tennessee.

We believe that when writin’ you use them ellipses
To the point where your readers all feel kinda tipsy
And let’s not forget them italics. They’re keen...
It’s a style that you learned as a young Marine
“Great American Novel” material? Maybe...
But why pay when we read your bullshit for free
With these fine Online Writers, we’re so glad to be
At the home of Straight White Guy here in Tennessee.

There’s beautiful girls here, Caltechgirl and Bou
Lovely Princess Fiona, and Morrigan, too
Say hello to That 1 Guy, and Yabu, and Dax
And that Elisson, writin’ ’bout chunks of earwax
They’re out in the back, drinking single malt scotches
And telling V-Man to stay ’way from their crotches
With these fine Online Writers, we’re so glad to be
At the home of Straight White Guy here in Tennessee.

You remember the Old Grouchy Cripple, of course
He rolled his ass here with the rest of the force
And let’s drink to Zonker, the Mulleted One
Who never writes posts but who always has fun
Let’s not forget Jimbo, who came down from New Joisey
(I heard him complaining, “Dese crickets is noisy!”)
With these fine Online Writers, we’re so glad to be
At the home of Straight White Guy here in Tennessee.

[Song performed by Elisson and Eric at Eric’s birthday blogmeet, October 2006]

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On rain, days gone by, and the cruelty of wives…

*** Cross-posted from Cadillac Tight, because it's Sunday, it's late, and I'm low-speed, high-drag these days ***

Yeah, we got rained on quite a bit yesterday in Helen. So much so that our day trip consisted pretty much of eating schnitzel at Hofer's, wandering around the candy stores, visiting Dirk's place (by the way, Dirk, sorry we missed you, but glad you got a day off) to pick up a couple bottles of wine, and heading back home.

Rainy conditions precluded any decent picture taking, unfortunately.

Right across the street from Dirk's amazing store used to be a little place that sold good priced German beer and a couple different kinds of Wurst with 'kraut. I can't for the life of me remember the name of the place (I think it was the Wurst Haus), but of an evening, they would have both live music and recorded dance music, and this little bitty dance floor, and it was a pretty cool place to have a few brews and dance with one's bride.

It's gone, folks. I mean gone to the point that the building isn't even there anymore, there's just a blank concrete lot for sale. We've been stopping by that little place for going on ten years now, and suddenly, it's just...nonexistent. Spooky.

Speaking of bridal units and days gone by, on the way through Dahlonega to Helen, there was this great big sign near the Wal-Mart proclaiming RANGER OPEN HOUSE. That got my attention, I guarantee you. A few hundred feet down the road, another sign read VISIT CAMP FRANK D. MERRILL'S OPEN HOUSE. Dear rubberneckers, I sojourned at Camp Merrill for two weeks in the mid-80's, and I'd have loved nothing more than to meet the current Ranger Detachment commander, and tour the "barracks". Yeah, those are scare quotes. They might be barracks today, but back then, the term was generous. In any case, I yelped, bellowed, and all but climbed out the passenger side window, but alas, my bride was driving, and she meant to get to Helen before the weather became too much worse.

I was forced, therefore, to gaze forlornly at Mount Yonah as we drove down route 75 towards Helen, recalling to myself the many hours I spent on it's face, climbing and rappelling. Yeah, guys and gals...the schnitzel was good, but I'd have preferred a visit to Camp Merrill. And therein lies the cruelty of wives.

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Is It Embed Night?

I didn't get the memo.

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Out to Lunch

Actually, about to sign out for my week of on-call production support. You know, just like people with real jobs have. I become disgustingly sober for this, so the writing wouldn't be as much fun anyway.

More Straight talk »

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Dick Redux...

Bitterman can't figure it out...but Elisson can.

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Hey, what happened

to my last raving post? I was writing here, enjoying a snort of Chivas Regal, or Sit Shivas when mu.nu disappeared my post without a trace? Is Mu Nu a frat, or what?

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Nary a Peep

from Eric in his booze laden trip to Scotland. Fair Scotland, home of Scott's Tissues. Place of the great distilleries of Cutty Sark, Chivas Regal, Sit Chivas, Cutty Shark, and Glenliver. He must indeed be lost while munching on the hedgerows, or bushes. Never giving a thought to those that maintain this august body of work. Or piece of work. For this, I expect a Haggis-on-a-Stick franchise at least.

More Straight talk »

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Mercy...

I see Eric hasn't learned his lesson...he'll just let any old varmint up in here.

Of course, having known the Velocigod for some years now, I'm entirely aware that he might well have recruited one of his legions of "Intrepids" to hack into the Straight White Lodging, providing him plausible deniability for the content of the post linked above.

Since the president of the Tuco Benedicto Pacifico Juan Maria Ramirez fan club has seen fit to exhume the Senator's corpse once again, in order to cast disparagement upon mine and Eric's heritage as such:

I'd rather be dead, like a bump on a log,

Than red on the head, like the dick on a dog.

I feel obligated to return fire to the extent possible, always keeping in mind the VelociOne's facility with words, and insults.

Just call me Blondie. Or Reddie, as it were.

I have, you see, witnessed the phenomenon of Velociman hung over to the nth degree, huddled over a gargantuan plate of breakfast in where else? The Huddle House. Not jut any Huddle House, mind you, but the Helen, GA location. Helen, home of waitresses missing many teeth and possessed of more than their fair share of rear end. Yes, rubberneckers, hammerheads, and pinheads...I have the goods on Velocifeller, and I demand a retraction.

Or an extra glass of Artillery punch at the next Helen throwdown.

I know about the monkeys too, Velocifeller. And the spiders. And "breaking left".

Don't make me use it.

Just don't.

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Maddie McCann

I get bent out of shape and rant and rave about all sorts of stuff, but this is one story that almost made me cry. Perhaps it's because I have three children myself, one of whom is four years old herself.

Last Thursday three year old Maddie McCann disappeared, most like abducted, from her bed in an apartment in Portugal. She and her younger brother and sister as well as their parents were on vacation. Her parents do like most parents and check on their kids every twenty or thirty minutes.

When her mother checked on them at 10PM she discovered that the window was open and Maddie was missing. A witness claims to have seen a bald man and a woman walking quickly away from the area with a young blond girl. Portuguese Police are suggesting that it is possible that Maddie was abducted for a pedophile ring. Just the thought of it makes me want to cry or perhaps go shoot one of those stupid pedophiles.

Thanks to Princesse Ecossaise for the story and the links. Since my blogs are all US based I may be of no help whatsoever, but this story really touches me and anything that I can do to help is still very little.

I am going to cross-post this at all of my sites and since he is out of town I will post this over at Eric's place as well.

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The Rat Patrol Club

I can't believe that fuckface didn't ask to me to guest blog. I'll show his sorry ass. I remember the Senator once telling a carrot top:


I'd rather be dead, like a bump on a log,

Than red on the head, like the dick on a dog.


Amen, that. With apologies to my daughter.

So, the Rat Patrol Club: when I was 10 years old, a year into the noble agrarian experience the Senator had sentenced us to (they'd already shuttered Ile du Diable) I decided a club of some sort was in order. Being an unabashed Rat Patrol fan, I enlisted the two neckbone jackanapes from across the fields, the Lamb brothers, to be charter members. The idea was to reenact pivotal scenes from the TV show, pretending our BB guns were quad 50's, shattering Nazzi body parts and such.

So far so good, for a couple of days, although the Lamb boys were completely and totally retarded fuckers. Not imbecilic, just poor white trash stupid. They had mange rashes on their necks from carrying their mangy boxers (Bo Bo and Ching) around on their necks (they was big boys) and sore-pocked skin my mother invariably referred to as fishbelly white. And they couldn't focus on the idea at hand. For instance, as I was mowing down Wermacht soldiers in North Africa they were already raping the Algerian girls. Little stuff like that.

The problem arose when my little brother wanted to join the club. I was cool with that, and so were the Lamb boys. The problem was, they insisted he needed an initiation. I was okay with an initiation, being a little elitist at heart, but I was extremely dismayed when they told us what the initiation was: they pulled my brother's pants down (in our bedroom) and the younger Lamb, who was 12 or so, pulled out his little flaccid pecker in order to cornhole my bro.

...Mercy... as Eric would say. I didn't even know what straight sex was at that point, but this struck me as a singularly bad idea. And judging from the look on my brother's face (cast, obviously, over his shoulder) he wasn't too sweet on the deal either.

Shock gave way to indignation and intervention, fortunately, and I saved the little fellow's bunghole. Although, in retrospect, it would have been a killer ace to keep up my sleeve for the next 40 years.

The Rat Patrol Club? I disbanded it that day. Wistfully, I might add.

And why do I share this story with you here? Because my brother would saw my heart out of my thorax if I posted this on my site, that's why.

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Gold...

...last fall, as I sat here in the Straight White Backyard, sipping coffee and supping on the remnants of some bacon rashers, I looked at the panoply of ever-changing colors above me...

...the greens of summer had begun their post-equinoxical change, becoming a myriad shades of red, yellow, and gold...

...it was the gold that set me to thinking about Mankind, and his ever-present quest for it...the metal of kings, the King of Metals...a store of value from generation to generation...it's one of the true unfathomables, rubberneckers, why we should lust after that singular metallic element so much...empires have risen, grown, and eventually crumbled into dust over it...

...I myself am partial to it, although I tend to take my gold in liquid form...a few wee drams of that Water of Life that the noble Scots produce from the humblest of grain and the basest of fuels...like a silk purse from a sow's ear, or a Fabergé egg from a duck's ass...

...barley and peat, rubberneckers...think on it...simple materials, really, and yet from them, a most excellent Golden Fluid is produced...a fluid that engenders inspiration in those who taste of it...

...and which, in turn, results in the production of yet another Golden Fluid...let us consider it, friends, the miracle of creation that allows us to convert the Wee Dram into a Wee-Wee Dram...

...peace...


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Git Thar the Fustest With the Mostest

Bejus done had him a whole idear 'bout what to write this mornin', but since he ain't writin' on Donnie's computer page, Bejus done changed his mind.

Shame, too, if'n y'all ask Bejus...that feller what writes a whole lot on his computer page done made Bejus ill today.

Bejus ain't studyin' that, though...this here is where Bejus' Eric's peoples come to read, an' if Bejus ain't 'bout nothin' else, he's 'bout gittin' Eric an' his peoples riled up to where they might stick a knife in Donnie. Ain't no telling what might git that done, but Bejus is here to tell y'all 'bout how bad Donnie done been, an' let Bejus' Eric's peoples make up y'all's minds 'bout what to do. Thass all I'm sayin'.

First off, Donnie ol' goat boy went to work late this mornin'. He ain't dragged his butt out of bed 'til seven o'clock, an' once he did drag it out, he spent 'round two hours washin' it. Ain't got in the road 'til seven thirty, so Bejus knows he ain't got to work 'til eight thirty. Thass a half hour late, an' a half hour extra Bejus had to spend in the fort pretendin' he was still out doin' his rounds at the trailer park. Cain't he'p y'all...thass the very half hour Bejus sneaks around the house tryin' to catch Mrs. Donnie sendin' the young'uns off to school, wearin' her unmentionables. Strike one.

All while he was at work, goat boy ain't answered the phone one time when Bejus called him to tell him bring home some mayyernaise. Bejus' Eric's peoples, Bejus asks y'all: How kin Bejus eat his baloney an' cheese an' mayyernaise sammiches without mayyernaise? Thass right, he cain't. "Jes 'cause goat boy is fat an' don't eat good food no more, ain't no reason Bejus cain't.

Wouldn't bring Bejus no cartons of Dorals back from the PX on the way home neither, said he was tired. He ain't tired, he's sorry. Them PX price Dorals bring Bejus an extra $1.00 per pack down at Social Circle, 'specially from the Criswells.

Don't tell Bobby Criswell, though. Or Luther Nix. Bejus gots a livelihood to look after.

Once he got home, goat boy got straight into the Russian likker them folk make out'n potatoes, an ain't even told Bejus he could have the Icehouses goat boy weren't drinkin'. Selfish, ain't Bejus told y'all?

Here's the worst thang, though: Donnie ain't fixin' to let Eric gaze 'pon Mrs. Donnie's breasteses. Selfish? Y'all bet it is. Ain't enough Bejus hisself gots to sneak around lookin' to get a glimpse, that bad ol' Donnie won't even let his good friend Eric get breastmatized without putting the evil Ranger eye on 'im. That ain't neither fair nor right, is it Bejus' Eric's peoples?

Here's what Bejus' word is for today, y'all. Boycott Donnie's computer page 'til he allows Bejus an' Eric to breastmatize themselves to their heart's content.

Power to Bejus' Eric's people.

Yeah.

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Something Wrong Here

Rummaging around SWG's blog. Still a pretty strange place. OK, here's the music department. Haven't been here for a while. Looks like Eric hasn't, either. Could use a little freshening up. I think I'll try this:

More Straight talk »

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Nature...

...the delicate filigree of newborn leaves makes a canopy over my driveway…fetal leaves...flush with the new life of Springtime...

...as I repose on my deck with tea and tunafish, the Western horizon darkens with looming thunderheads...mercy...it looks to be a genuine toad-choker...perhaps I should do my reposing in the indoors...

...fat drops patter down, washing the encrustation of pollen off the deck chairs...a distant rumble...

...the pink azalea blossoms were hit hard a few weeks ago by a late frost...Nature's fury takes many forms, rubberneckers...sometimes it is the violence of the thunderstorm, sometimes the insidious Frost Crystal...the azaleas look like hammered dogshit, as do the crepe myrtles...but Springtime's healing touch is upon us, even now...

...I love nature, I truly do...since I have no day job I get to contemplate it more than most...and right now I hear its call, a soft, insistent voice...

...peace on you, rubberneckers...it's time to drop the kids off at the pool...perhaps afterwards I will apply my trusty Gillette to my nethers...and then prepare some Ribs Vindaloo and a brace of gin-and-tonics...

...it’s tough being straight and white these days...

..it’s even tougher being a fedora-wearing sonofabitch working off a scotch hangover...to whom a certain heterosexual, pale gentleman has given the sacred keys... two words, people..."Feckin'. Eejit."

...that is all...

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The Truth...

...is that Eric is not actually in Scotland this week. He is cowering in his "man room" because the lovely missus found him staring obsessively into the mirror comparing his rack with those of the gentlemen over at ManBoobs. Check it out...

eric3.jpg

Disgusting really. Ever since that titty pinching incident...It's just so sick I can't even talk about it any more.

As this may very well be the last thing that I ever post here, I have thoroughly enjoyed it. I hear that Eric is catching a red-eye back to the states for some reason or other. Maybe he forgot something...and just remember...

...this post has NOT been sponsored by ManBoobs.com

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by Shadowscope | Permalink | Bullshit(8) | TrackBack (0)

I Just Flew In Here

...and man, are my arms tired! Well, Erio gave me the keys, and he knows my philosophy of humor (must be well tested, like software). Whew, long flight in, too. Everything here is brighter, and In Color too! I've gotta get my butt over to Moveable Type. Right now I'm on Immoble Type.

Let's look around the place a little. What's through this door? OK, that box on the top shelf. Very interesting. How has he managed to keep these from the wife? Hey, here's the August 1965 issue! What's in this box marked spare ammo? OK, we'll put this right back where it belongs.

Can't forget the fridge. Good. Fully stocked with Budweiser. Didn't that Chinese place down the road go out of business four years ago?

Gotta pick up this call. "Hello, I'll have a pizza to go with no anchovies". Cappy yells into the receiver "No anchovies? I spell my name Danger!".

And if you got that reference, see your nearest geriatric ward.

CaptainSQL

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Vacating....

…. Well, rubberneckers, it looks like I’ve managed to find a few housekeepers to show up here while I’m away….. which is good, of course… they are fine, fine bloggers….. and the mix should be incredibly interesting……

… as for me, well, I have bags to pack, etc…. so y’all must excuse me while I beg off to The Old Country….

…. A few of my ancient relatives hailed from Scotland long ago….. and I plan on looking up a few records pertaining to them….. and at the same time, I will make sure that I photograph most of my exploits as best I can……

…. calm, pleasant stuff like that little doggie’s statue near the grounds of The Grefriar’s in Edinburgh…… “Greyfriar’s Bobbie”, actually….. because I do know how much y’all love little yappy dogs…..

… in other news, I honestly believe with all my heart that De La Hoya got robbed last night…. mercy, I surely do love to watch that guy beat people up… watching him punch people in the face truly is a work of art…..

.... catch y'all on the flip side, rubberneckers...... I'm off!...

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Soon......

… well, boys and girls, the time has come for me to – once again – venture forth into The Land of the Great Golden Haggis… (deep-fried, of course, with a side-order of deep-fried Mars bars and chips)…

... yes, indeedy…. The Missus and I will be leaving for Scotland on the 7th of May and not returning until the 18th…..

…. I’m in the process of trying to line up some quality entertainment for you rubberneckers, but we’ll see… I definitely have not been up to serving the tables properly around here for a while, and I figure that finding good wait-staff might be a bit of a chore….. but like I said, we’ll see….

… in other news, I disassembled a Hoover 9000-XM-Ultramaximegasuck-Carpet Cleaner Of The Gods this afternoon with great zeal….. broken belt on the supersucky bit….. so I need to head over to Lowes in the morning to get a replacement belt….. can’t leave for Europe with a un-vacuumed carpet, now can we?....

… which is kinda funny, really, when you think about it…. I mean, two years ago I left for Europe with a fresh passport, a fresh knife wound, and a fresh wad of hundred dollar bills that I used to pay for my tickets out of the country while wearing dark sunglasses and muttering nervously, “just give me the first flight out of the country, ma’am…. I gotta be in a new time zone before the pain meds stop working…”

…. You guys should have seen the look on that clerk’s face….. it was classic....

… anyhoo, now y’all are in the same boat as I….. figuratively speaking…. Oh, and it’ll be an airplane, of course, not a boat… but y’all know what I mean…….

… I’ll be happily visiting with Elisson and the beautiful SWMBO all evening on May 6th and enjoying their wonderful hospitality……

… so if anyone needs me while I am away, I will be at The Craigendarroch Hilton until the Sunday following May 7th….. and then I shall be in safely perched on a stool at The Market Arms in Montrose most evenings until time to fly down to London on the 17th….

… there I hope to meet up with Rube and Anna for pints and sausages in a pub – hopefully in the Whitechapel area so that we can all soak up some “Ripper” history… otherwise, I’ll be quite happy to see them wherever….. the morning of the 18th sees us jetting across the Atlantic towards Hotlanta once again…. and a quick Audi-ride back to Tennessee……

… all in all, it should be quite a nice trip….. Scotland is, after all, the land of Scotch..

… as for the guest “entertainment”, I will have to keep you hammerheads posted…… times are hard out here on the bloggy-range these days…. too many sneaks popping up barbed-wire range fences…..

…. In any case, I will find someone to hold down the proverbial fort while I am away eating Indian food and sipping warm beer…. And if I don’t manage to scare up some guys and gals to keep y’all entertained, well, you’ll just have to wait for me to return……. I’m sure I’ll have lots of photos and stories about watching seagulls swirl when I get back….. I know how much you hammerheads love reading about swirling seagulls…….

… so there you have it…. Vacation 2007, Part I….. Part II will be in September… most likely…..

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Rock....

.... ole Felicity sits in her jammies and jams to one helluva song.......

.... I tell ya, she's got nerve..... and she's got talent.... but what is more, is that she has fearlessness..... complete and absolute.....

... may we all have such an attribute......

… so good on ye, Felicity….. you work it, ma’am…….

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Re-watching....

… over an exquisite tumbler of 21 year old Macallan last night, I re-watched that Nicholas Cage cinematic vehicle – “8MM” …..

…. A dark and foreboding film filled with murder, torture, sadomasochism, and pornography, I still couldn’t keep myself from being left feeling almost giddy after watching Nick pistol-whip that guy from The Sopranos to death with the butt of his Walther…..

… then again, yesterday was one of those days that was just filled to the brim with surprises……

… I reconnected with one of my dear Aunts and treated her to lunch at a little sandwich shop in town…. We visited for the better part of four hours on various things…. family, life, where to score the best Key Lime pie in Monroe county… you know, all of the important things in life…..

…. She had never been to my house before, so I gave her the grand tour…..

… upon entering the manroom, she nearly wept when she laid eyes on one of the old portraits…. A photo that I wrote about long, long ago right here…. it currently hangs just to the left of the blogstation above my brown suede couch…..

baby_engineer_small.jpg

… her eyes welled as she gazed at it, and then she spoke… “that is how I will always remember you, Eric… I’ll be 49 this year and will be a Grandmother in a few months, but that is how you will always be to me…. that little smiling baby that I babysat for all those years ago..” ….

… I honestly didn’t know what to say…..

…. We rallied, though, after a hug and a kiss on the cheek…. and retired to the patio out back and the shade of the dogwood trees…..

…. after she left, I found myself quite sad…. unexpectedly so, in all honesty…..

…. Time ticks by a lot faster than our reminisces realize, I guess….. one day you are a teenage babysitter and the next you’re a freshly-minted Grandma….

… I don’t suppose I’ll look at that picture the same way again…..

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Theft....

… I spent a lot of time today thinking about stealing…. Theft….. both the physical act of actually taking someone’s shit AND the mental state that one must be in to purp such an excursion.….

…. and so far, well, my thoughts have been leading me in ever-tightening circles…. under what circumstances would it ever become “ethical” to steal?…. starvation?.... to help a family member on his or her deathbed?..... greed? … what would be my breaking point?....

… truthfully I just don’t know… I’ve never been pushed there by circumstance and fortune….. but it has been on my mind lately….

… when I was 7 I lifted my only bit of criminal loot….. an Evel Knievel plastic toy…. molded to his motorcycle, there was a little orangish band with teeth on it that you inserted into the back of the bike….. and if heaved upon with sufficient force, this little orangish band would spin the back wheel of the bike furiously and launch ole Evel off in any direction at a blistering pace…. no matter which way you had him pointed…..

… a lot like life, really, when you think about it….. except that the teeth on some of our “spinners” are a bit worn down, I guess……. except we don't quite 'jet' where we're pointed all the time....

…. but I thieved it from a playmate of mine, actually.. a little blonde kid with curly hair and a freckled nose….. we rode the same bus on rural route #2 from Madisonville….. and with intent and great stealth of purpose, I stole his Evel Knievel toy…..

… his Mom called mine a few days later asking about it…. I remember being on the sofa in the living room when she got the call….. I listened intently….. ears perked and ready to gather any globule of intel that she inadvertently spilled as I spooned my Saturday morning’s chocolate pudding quietly…..

…. And when asked about the Deed later, I lied….. I lied my little red-haired ass off……..

… the next morning was a Sunday and I got up early to watch cartoons…… and once my Mother was safely ensconced in the kitchen scrambling eggs for my breakfast, I stole out the back door with Evel in hand……

…. I buried that hunk of plastic in the back yard…..

…. and there it lays, I reckon, safely hidden from Momma’s sight…… Hell, I doubt that she even would remember this tale if I were to bring it up in conversation tomorrow……

…. but I did do it….. and I was as guilty as could be……

…… never stole another thing since, though… well, with very few exceptions… the guilt was more than my little pubescent heart could take, you know?........

… I wonder if I should tell my Sainted Momma about that long-ago buried plastic toy……. I really do…

…. But I suspect that I will not…… actually, I probably should not……

…. I mean, that was a long, long time ago……. Right?....

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