WORD VERIFICATION

OK I will admit it, I have more than one time not been able to decipher the wiggly text that protects us from the invasion of penial enhancement ads.

Don't pretend that you haven't, I just wonder what will happen when I get it wrong 3 times in a row. Will it just flash RETARD and make me log out and log back in. "I'm sorry dunce that you can't read the wiggly jammed together words".
And here's the thing. I thought computers were supposed to take over the world someday and harvest us for our electricity. But little did those Son's of Motherboards know that all we have to do is write sqwiggly. I mean the war is over man, we can post all of our plans on billboards and they won't have a clue. They are so screwed, what do they have super strength, lighting fast reasoning ability's?....pashaw we have sqwiggly letters...

idiots

The Game is Dead to Me

I had read my friend Parkers post the other day about his favorite poker moments in the shed. For those of you who don't know what the shed was, it was a 14X8 foot sorry excuse for a building that housed the greatest poker moments of my life. The inside walls were covered in plywood, with playing cards stapled around the 3 windows. It was cold as hell in the winter, but we had Mr. Heater to keep as warm, and almost make us unconscious from his toxic fumes. We would smoke cigars until we had to open the door to vent the cloud.

In this reminisce about the shed it dawned on me that my favorite poker memories have nothing to do with the hands that were played, but the guys that I was playing them with. We once had a guy who had been grazed by a bullet show up for poker. And people sell books so they could play. We started everynight with Hank Williams Jr. On vinyl of course. We had characters there, guys you could set your watch to. Guys you could count on. We were poker before poker was cool. And all we had was an extention cord from the house and a light clamped to a 2X4 beam.

I write this to say I now know why the game holds no magic for me any more. The characters are gone.

So goodbye Pegg, goodbye Masterson, Parker, Corey, The Janey, Patrick, Furey, Samwise, River Phoenix, Skinner, Shane, and any other poor sucker we let in that joint.

Most of all goodbye poker...You are dead to me.

A PAIN IN THE FOOT

OK... We have all stubbed our toes before. I am not talking about the dingger, I talking about the kind where if your foot would have followed through on it's course you would have kicked a 45 yard field goal. The pain is so instantaneous that it feels like it was staging a preemptive strike on your nervous system. Like there are sensors down there that alert the brain to the certain dome of your big toe.
I want to talk about the worst two types of kicks and the natural reaction.

The first one is the "your moving quickly almost running and you just smash any of your toes into something low" This I believe is the most common and generally draws the common reaction which is to fall down or hop to something to fall down on, then you just hold it and try and pretend the pain away.

The second is what I feel is the worst. You again are moving quickly when you come in contact with a firm stationary object. But when you drop kick that mother your toes split on the object. Causing you to think of childbirthing, and that you COULD handle that pain,but this...this is just too much. The reaction to this is sometimes the drop, you know what I mean. Or my personal preference is the runaway. Where you take off from the scene of the crime like a felon hoping that the pain will be left behind. But alas it is not, which is why you spend the next five minutes staring at your toe,wondering if you could exist without it.

I often wonder why there is so much feeling in that part of the body, like a little nerve bank down there. Like all the nervous that should have been in your elbow skin and scalp are all down there in the very tip of your big and little toe.

For Your Amusement

Sometimes funny things don't happen to me, which in turn makes it difficult to write funny things down. Which is something that I like to do. I like to make people laugh, at almost any expense.
So I have tried to fill those droughts of hilarity with thoughts I've had or something that I've worked on. But alas that went over like a led balloon. I have discovered that I am here for your amusement. And the funny thing is that it's a cage that I have created. I need your laughs so bad that I can't stand to disappoint. And this is not just here on this blog, but everywhere. I need accolades like nobody's business.
But I have preconditioned everyone around me to think I am joking 100% of the time. So if you don't like something that I did in all seriousness I can say ohhh I was just joking. So I have decided to not worry so much if you like what I write or make. It's for me anyway...

...Well that's not true either.

quick somebody laugh, I think I'm gonna cry.

The Boys

I have always been a pretty self-centered guy.
But there are two dudes that I don't mind waking me up at 5.
Don't mind them accidentally jumping on my balls.
Don't mind watching public TV with.
Don't mind washing their hair.
cleaning up their puke.
Don't mind after a long day, carrying them up 2 flights of stairs to bed.
Don't mind watching my mouth.
Don't mind not playing poker to play Hi-Ho-Cherrio.
Don't mind when they jump on my bed.
Don't mind buying a car I don't want.
Nope, those 2 dudes can have everything I've got.

Isn't That Precious!

Well something just dawned on me last night as I was walking into my sons Thanksgiving "performance".
Actually more than one thing, but this is where I will start.
I am destined due to having 2 spawn that I will be going to these shody half ass dog and pony shows for quite some time. I figure once they are older these will be better, just because that's all the hope I have right now.
Then I starting thinking. What the crap is all this. Last week at church the same thing. The little kids went upfront and did some sort of song and dance that made me want to smash my forehead with a hammer. I realized though that I might have been the only one. Because when the "show" was over people were clapping.
Now I understand that the kids need to be encouraged and all that, I mean I clap for speech's at weddings too, but I didn't listen to a word that guy said, I was more glad it was over.
So here is my firm belief. We just like seeing little kids do stuff. Simply because they are cute. There is definitely something about little cute things that allow us to over look the fact that we are only being entertained because we know one of the rug rats on stage.
Look at Webster the TV show, I mean come on. Or the munchkins in The Wizard of Oz. Or puppies for crying outloud. They can crap right ontop of your face and you would take a picture because it's cute. If that happened 6 months later you would be digging a shallow grave under the flower bed.
So thanks Mrs. First grade teacher for your riveting rendition of pop goes the weasel. I'm sure it was much more important than Math, and my Tuesday night.

Artsy Fartsy

Let me know what you think.
Good or Bad I don't care.
My mom did it so you will only be hurting her.

Take Back The Stall

I read my friend Sams blog today about his issues with pooping in public. I can identify with some of his problems, while some make me feel that counseling would be in order. The main fear that I have is that awkwardness of sitting feet from someone while you both are pumping grumpies. Well I have devised a plan, It basically is an offensive attack, pun intended.
When I was younger I worked for a fairly large church. There was another guy that I worked with who was quite possibly one of the funniest people on earth. He and I would go in the bathroom right before the second service would start and we would sit on both sides of the center stall. Leaving our victim's only one place to go. Then once the poor sucker was in place we would lay into labor pain sounds from the stalls on either side. Not at the same time, and we would ramp up the noise, starting with innocent enough grunts all the way up to foot stomping. We sent many a Sam's pre-maturely wiping and vowing never to duce in public.
I say this to say that a good offence is the best defense. When you are enjoying the bathroom and someone comes in, make like every man over the age of 70. Have no shame. Start making sounds that have nothing to do with pooping. Heck even hum or sing. I guarantee that you will be alone much sooner than you could wish.
So go forth and poo with confidence that 95% of the guys in there are just as scared of you. But if you should run across that other 5%. Pull your feet up and pray that the Lord would tarry no longer, because while that guy casts out a demon in the next stall. You my friend are front row, and by the way your pants are down.

All Will Grow Old

Ahhhhh stupid youth. I remember when I would run backwards to taunt the old guys trying to keep up with me on the basketball court. I think in my mind I really thought that I was just faster than them. I couldn't understand that their frustration was due to anything other than my obvious physical advantage over them. Like maybe the fact that they used to be fast.
OHHH how the mighty have fallen. Yesterday was the Old guys VS Young guys annual football game. At our church we have a lot of college kids, so the cutoff is 25 and up are on the old guys team. I know it not very old, but we, and by we I mean anyone over 26, can agree that there is a great difference between 20 and 26.
As I hobbled to my car after an hour and half long game ending in triple overtime. I saw all the arrogance that comes with youth, and thought to myself, between shooting knee pains.
"Those Bastards"! Then I smiled to myself and thought, someday they will be old and slower than before. And since you reap what you sew.
They too will have a pimply faced kid who couldn't touch them in their prime, run half speed backwards and still get away. Not that someone ran backwards on me, because the old know that even the young must rest. And revenge is a dish best served cold.
And if you are older and you don't think what I am saying is true, then you probably play softball, and love it.
Because that's where athletes go to die.

Reaching His Threshold

Well I now know what amount of stimulus it takes to cause my dog to jump from a moving truck. The other day Jeremy and I were driving down a steep hill going around 20-25 miles an hour, when up ahead I see it. The source of stimulus that will cause Charlie to swan dive out of the back of a moving vehicle. Two deer were crossing the road in front of me, and I said out loud. "ohhh Damn"! A quick glance to the rearview mirror I see Charlie up on the side barking as if to call down the thunder of all those leapers who had gone before him. A glance to my side mirror bodes me the view of him leaping as far from the truck as he can, sending the deer steppin and fetchin like their tails were on fire. A glance over my shoulder shows Charlie almost landing on his feet but quickly going to his face, in no time he is on his back sliding at the same speed as the truck. Then over to his feet were he dug his claws into the asphalt for any sort of traction. And once he ground to a stop, he was off after those deer. I called him back and had him get in between Jeremy and only to find that he was fine with some cuts, but visibly still excited about his adventure.
The reason I know this was because as Jeremy put it. "his Charles Mingus is laying on the seat man"!!
Indeed it was, indeed it was.