A local esteemed legal eagle was recently quoted in the Paxton Daily as saying, essentially, that a recent reduction of a drunk driver's wanton murder sentence from 20 years to 8 by an outgoing gubner was wrong and it was an example of getting as much justice as you could afford - due to the fact that the defendant's attorney was a retired appeallate court judge and his daddy is a state law maker who got influential KY'ians to write letters on his behalf. So, why should you bristle like an SOS pad with psuedofiliculitis at such a statement? Well, I'll tell ye. That same legal eagle wrote a freaking letter on behalf of the defendant that the gubner cited as a reason why he reduced the sentence!
Whereas Paducah had been setting the record for most number of lawsuits filed in which an attorney sued himself for the 2007 calendear year - please see the county attorney suing the county he represents for doing something his office advised it to do and a shareholder of the local law school and tire center suing the law school and tire center for things he would be liable for as an owner - it has now taken the cake for most looney comment on a legal proceeding made while not under the influence of narcotics. This is a little known award that the American Bar Association keeps hush-hush and only gives out at the X-Mas drunkfest.
So, let's see, you write a letter asking for a reduction in a wanton murderer's sentence and then complain that the system under which you did it in is fucked and should be changed? If you feel strongly enough to vouch for a wanton murderer, why do you care how it has to be done? The interesting part - aside from the above-mentioned absurdity - is that this local legal eagle said he felt "pressured" to write the letter. Pressured? How do you pressure someone into writing a letter? You pressure people into blind dates, shots of Jagermeister and keeping that stray you don't want. You pressure people into buying shit for your kid's school (I know I'm always on the look out for as many magazine subscriptions, spirit cards and forms of chocolate that I can get my hands on!), taking that extra Barry Manilow ticket and taking credit for an errant fart that could cost you some ass. You can't pressure someone to "write" a letter on behalf of a wanton murderer. I mean, what, did the dad say, "If you don't write this letter, I'm going to tell people you wouldn't help out my son who got drunk and killed a woman and lied about it!" Pick up your fucking toys, wipe a booger on his shirt and run home.
It gets funnier. Same legal eagle was questioned on an apparently clear KY ethics opinion that says a judge can't use his position to comment or take a position on a pardon or petition for clemency unless the gubner requests it. Legal eagle says that he's only a senior status judge and doesn't have to comply with all the ethical standards a full time judge does. A senior status judge is a retired judge who still works for the state in different counties and capacities to help out when other judges are sick or have conflicts of interests. In exchange for this, the judge gets to up his retirement and make more ducketts.
Is there something called a senior status moment in KY legal ethics law? We let geezer judges be less ethical than normal judges because of their geezer status? Do geezer judges where bracelets on their wrists that remind them when to take their medications and what laws they still have to abide by?
Basically, the carpet burns the bag at this juncture: Legal Eagle helped out a cat he nude by writing a letter on behalf of his son asking the gubner to reduce the guy's sentence because he truly believed it was excessive. Gubner then actually reduced the sentence, all hell broke loose and Legal Eagle felt the need to defend his actions. When questioned on its legality, he chose to ignore that angle completely and attempt to create a new area of KY ethics law. If this stuff was any crazier, they'd have to put lithium in the water at the courthouse and pass out straightjackets to all those summonsed for jury duty. Pad up the court room walls and strap on the depends because - just like pissing yourself during shock therapy - this is nowhere near over.
Finally, this kid's dad is a fucking prick. He sees his son's prosecution as being more about him than his son's getting drunk, acting irresponsibly and killing someone. This jerk still says his son was railroaded because he was a lawmakers son, that the police screwed up and the judge ignored facts and the law. I mean, a week or so prior to his son's sentence being reduced, I told someone that I thought his dad would probably introduce legislation that allowed any full time student at his son's former college to get drunk and kill one egyptian graduate student during their 4 year career. The amazing thing is, the kid sent one letter to the gubner in which he ran with the "I was screwed" theory where he blamed everyone other than himself. Then, after his attorney realized how stupid the letter was, he wrote another one taking responsibility for the crime. Why in the hell the first letter didn't seal his fate I have no idea. As to the issue of being framed, why would the Murray police decide to frame the son of a state representative from some other part of the state that no one had even heard of? I mean, if a fewl around hear was going to be framed, they would be framed for injecting barbecue with steroids or HGH, spray painting the skatepark or smoking in public building, or something else more serious.
....I'm just sayin....
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Let's work our ass off so it ain't no fun no more!
What is the gig with wimins and how they can take a run-o-the-mill swillfest and turn it into an excuse to clean and decorate the whole abode thereby infusing what should be a relaxing affair with enough stress to cause a fewl to think about snorting a valium? Anybody smellin' what I'm steppin' in? Allow me to fumigate my wisdom.
I was born about 32 years ago next week. In honor of that action, my wife and I decided to have some homies from around the way - as LL use to say back in the day - at the homestead for a little heavy whores do vers and cocktails. Simple enough premise eh? Butt, much like Socrates discussing bellybutton lint with Plato, it got all out of hand.
This seemingly simple theory of people coming over turned into cleaning the house, decorating the hoose and yard with X-Mas paraphernalia, buying candles and rearranging the previously displayed signs of X-Mas cheer into a more "crowd friendly" configuration. As I'm typing this I'm being subjected to some X-Mas music that sounds like an Ethel Murman wannabe with too much testiculation - if you know what I'm sayin' - belted it out. Apparently, there were several Noels but the first one was the one you wanted to hook up with. Or at least that's what I get from this old school jam.
Back to the matter at hand. Why must you take a simple thing and complicate it so much? My friends don't give a damn how high the wreath on the front window is! I've yet to have a friend come over and complain there wasn't enough X-Mas flair around the house. I've never heard a soul utter that they've ever seen a more substantial nut cracker collection.
Look, I'm all about the X-Mas factor because of my son. Childrens are the point of all this gear. Ain't none of us A-dults still thinkin' Jolly Ole St. Nick is greasin up and slidin' down the the chimney. That being said, don't force the Holiday Spirit down the throat of friends who just want to come over to drink enough to forget how they got there. That's all we're axin'. Don't turn McDonald's into Puck's. Don't make a 6 Dollar Burger an actual 6 dollar burger.
For the record, my mom does the same thing. She'll make you werk so freakin' hard to get things "ready" for a party that, by the time the party gets there, you're ready to go to bed. If you ever mention this fact to her, she acts like you're crazy. That is if she can stop werkin' long enough to hear you bitch.
Werd to Big Burd.
P.S. I love my wife. Could you tell she was approaching when I wrote those last lines? There's kind of a "I'd like to say more but I can't" vibe to that hole paragraph huh? Image.
I'm just sayin.......
I was born about 32 years ago next week. In honor of that action, my wife and I decided to have some homies from around the way - as LL use to say back in the day - at the homestead for a little heavy whores do vers and cocktails. Simple enough premise eh? Butt, much like Socrates discussing bellybutton lint with Plato, it got all out of hand.
This seemingly simple theory of people coming over turned into cleaning the house, decorating the hoose and yard with X-Mas paraphernalia, buying candles and rearranging the previously displayed signs of X-Mas cheer into a more "crowd friendly" configuration. As I'm typing this I'm being subjected to some X-Mas music that sounds like an Ethel Murman wannabe with too much testiculation - if you know what I'm sayin' - belted it out. Apparently, there were several Noels but the first one was the one you wanted to hook up with. Or at least that's what I get from this old school jam.
Back to the matter at hand. Why must you take a simple thing and complicate it so much? My friends don't give a damn how high the wreath on the front window is! I've yet to have a friend come over and complain there wasn't enough X-Mas flair around the house. I've never heard a soul utter that they've ever seen a more substantial nut cracker collection.
Look, I'm all about the X-Mas factor because of my son. Childrens are the point of all this gear. Ain't none of us A-dults still thinkin' Jolly Ole St. Nick is greasin up and slidin' down the the chimney. That being said, don't force the Holiday Spirit down the throat of friends who just want to come over to drink enough to forget how they got there. That's all we're axin'. Don't turn McDonald's into Puck's. Don't make a 6 Dollar Burger an actual 6 dollar burger.
For the record, my mom does the same thing. She'll make you werk so freakin' hard to get things "ready" for a party that, by the time the party gets there, you're ready to go to bed. If you ever mention this fact to her, she acts like you're crazy. That is if she can stop werkin' long enough to hear you bitch.
Werd to Big Burd.
P.S. I love my wife. Could you tell she was approaching when I wrote those last lines? There's kind of a "I'd like to say more but I can't" vibe to that hole paragraph huh? Image.
I'm just sayin.......
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
BetaHCG? Yeah you know me!
Rumor has it that me wife has done been swelled up for a second, non-consecutive time. That was the only way I could work a little President Cleveland humor into this discussion so excuse me. Depending on where you grewed up, that might be "swelt up", I'm not sure. In laidman's terms, I'm sayin there is proof, via a digital whiz dip stick, that a second yungin' is gonna appear in our happy home about 9 months from now.
The Twilight Zone or mojo moment of this whole gig is that this children was conceived in San Antonio TX. I was conceived in San Antonio TX. Purty tasty. I'll have to grow out one of those porno-stunt-double-mustaches, lose some weight, put on some navy short shorts with white trim and take some beach pictures with this kid to reenact some family photos of me that you can obviously tell have been dicussed with a mental health professional on a previous occassion.
Our first incredibly cute, yet extremely bossy and needy son is 28 months old. He's just gettin' a good grip on the talky-talky - as Billy Madison once referred to it - and now he's already going to have to brace for rudest of awakenings. You see, little man (LM) sleeps inbetwixt me and su madre. That is all on the same bed that the 90lb German Shephard hogs the foot of while snorin' louder than last year's Biggest Loser winner's pre-show submission tape. I mentioned to my wife that we should start to get LM usetuh sleeping in his own rack for the impending arrival of his sibling and she almost started to cry. Well, in all actuality, she did cry, but it doesn't count on the pregnant woman boo-hoo index because it was very minimal and stopped almost as soon as it started. I suggested we just get rid of all of her bedroom furniture and just cover the room in mattresses. That way, we'd have enough room for me, she, LM, the new yute, the dawg and anyone else who needs as Walton-like/Cider House Rules atmosphere to get sleep in. We could also rent it out as a toney private looney bin. It is either that, or get an attorney friend of mine to draw up the papers and serve LM with an eviction notice.
I just hope the flavor of this yute is female. Not that my wife, mother-in-law and mother don't lose their gourd over LM and think he is the greatest show on earth, but I know they all wished he appeared to be more burger than turtle on that faithful ultrasound. That was the only freaking appointment to girly doctor that I missed. I get this call from my wife and she can't even speak. She's crying and trying to talk in between sobbing, inhaling and simultaneously snorting her own tears. I thought our child was missing a leg or had three heads or something. It just turned out that my wife had seen the shadow of a turtle like object in the ultrasound which is indickative of boy. I just made up a werd! A shadow that looks like a hamburger means you better put down Thomas the Train and pick up those Dora The Explorer shoes and matching backpack.
My theory has always been even if it turns out to be an alien, as long as it is a healthy alien - and it doesn't eat me - I couldn't care less. Therefore, I'm going to exert all my inner hoo doo to hoping this one is a girl for the sake of my wife's sanity. She's had the name of her daughter picked out since she was like 11. I don't know if that means she was seriously in love with a relative or knew more about "things" than I did at that age, but she knows what she wants and I hope she gets it.
I've always wanted at least the double tango of childrens because I was an only yute without any in-town cousins or friends that lived close to me. My dad, having grown up in an Irish Catholic Family, had more religously named brothers and one similarly situated sister than my swillhead grandfather could remember. Tom Moore was the only name he could consistently remember and that was the name of his favorite bourbon/best friend. We always joked that his best year's were wasted talking to Tom Moore. Anyway I've always loved to hear stories about all them growing up, dirt poor, usually drunk or fresh off stealing something and how my grandmother tough loved them all the best she could. They weren't so much a family as they were a gang. If engaging in organized crime had been on the books then, they would have all been indicted.
My mother had two sisters. One's evil and the other is great. The other non-evil one was born 5 years apart on the same day as my mother. This always skewed my understanding of twins growing up. I always thought twins were 5 years apart and that never made much since considering all the ones I knew looked just a like and were in the same grade. That, in turn, screwed with my limited understanding of math because I couldn't figure how two people born 5 years apart were actually the same age. I thought there was some kind of day light savings type action applied to their ages. Its all a cyclical circle. Just enjoy the ride. Dramamine is available if necessary.
Hey, by the way, you ever noticed that identical twins usually look exactly a like but for some minor weird thing? Like you can tell Stephanie from Tiffanie because Tiffanie's nose is a little bigger than Stephanie's. Jill looks just like Jane but for that cowlick that she can't ever control. Bill and Bob couldn't be told apart without DNA except for Bob's undescended testicle and known uniball status. You smell what I'm steppin' in?
In other murds, I just hope it all works out. I.E. the yute makes it hear safe and sound. My wife doesn't lose her gourd or have any health issues and we're able to keep things somewhat in order and get through all those late and early evenings with some level of sanity.
I'm just sayin.....
The Twilight Zone or mojo moment of this whole gig is that this children was conceived in San Antonio TX. I was conceived in San Antonio TX. Purty tasty. I'll have to grow out one of those porno-stunt-double-mustaches, lose some weight, put on some navy short shorts with white trim and take some beach pictures with this kid to reenact some family photos of me that you can obviously tell have been dicussed with a mental health professional on a previous occassion.
Our first incredibly cute, yet extremely bossy and needy son is 28 months old. He's just gettin' a good grip on the talky-talky - as Billy Madison once referred to it - and now he's already going to have to brace for rudest of awakenings. You see, little man (LM) sleeps inbetwixt me and su madre. That is all on the same bed that the 90lb German Shephard hogs the foot of while snorin' louder than last year's Biggest Loser winner's pre-show submission tape. I mentioned to my wife that we should start to get LM usetuh sleeping in his own rack for the impending arrival of his sibling and she almost started to cry. Well, in all actuality, she did cry, but it doesn't count on the pregnant woman boo-hoo index because it was very minimal and stopped almost as soon as it started. I suggested we just get rid of all of her bedroom furniture and just cover the room in mattresses. That way, we'd have enough room for me, she, LM, the new yute, the dawg and anyone else who needs as Walton-like/Cider House Rules atmosphere to get sleep in. We could also rent it out as a toney private looney bin. It is either that, or get an attorney friend of mine to draw up the papers and serve LM with an eviction notice.
I just hope the flavor of this yute is female. Not that my wife, mother-in-law and mother don't lose their gourd over LM and think he is the greatest show on earth, but I know they all wished he appeared to be more burger than turtle on that faithful ultrasound. That was the only freaking appointment to girly doctor that I missed. I get this call from my wife and she can't even speak. She's crying and trying to talk in between sobbing, inhaling and simultaneously snorting her own tears. I thought our child was missing a leg or had three heads or something. It just turned out that my wife had seen the shadow of a turtle like object in the ultrasound which is indickative of boy. I just made up a werd! A shadow that looks like a hamburger means you better put down Thomas the Train and pick up those Dora The Explorer shoes and matching backpack.
My theory has always been even if it turns out to be an alien, as long as it is a healthy alien - and it doesn't eat me - I couldn't care less. Therefore, I'm going to exert all my inner hoo doo to hoping this one is a girl for the sake of my wife's sanity. She's had the name of her daughter picked out since she was like 11. I don't know if that means she was seriously in love with a relative or knew more about "things" than I did at that age, but she knows what she wants and I hope she gets it.
I've always wanted at least the double tango of childrens because I was an only yute without any in-town cousins or friends that lived close to me. My dad, having grown up in an Irish Catholic Family, had more religously named brothers and one similarly situated sister than my swillhead grandfather could remember. Tom Moore was the only name he could consistently remember and that was the name of his favorite bourbon/best friend. We always joked that his best year's were wasted talking to Tom Moore. Anyway I've always loved to hear stories about all them growing up, dirt poor, usually drunk or fresh off stealing something and how my grandmother tough loved them all the best she could. They weren't so much a family as they were a gang. If engaging in organized crime had been on the books then, they would have all been indicted.
My mother had two sisters. One's evil and the other is great. The other non-evil one was born 5 years apart on the same day as my mother. This always skewed my understanding of twins growing up. I always thought twins were 5 years apart and that never made much since considering all the ones I knew looked just a like and were in the same grade. That, in turn, screwed with my limited understanding of math because I couldn't figure how two people born 5 years apart were actually the same age. I thought there was some kind of day light savings type action applied to their ages. Its all a cyclical circle. Just enjoy the ride. Dramamine is available if necessary.
Hey, by the way, you ever noticed that identical twins usually look exactly a like but for some minor weird thing? Like you can tell Stephanie from Tiffanie because Tiffanie's nose is a little bigger than Stephanie's. Jill looks just like Jane but for that cowlick that she can't ever control. Bill and Bob couldn't be told apart without DNA except for Bob's undescended testicle and known uniball status. You smell what I'm steppin' in?
In other murds, I just hope it all works out. I.E. the yute makes it hear safe and sound. My wife doesn't lose her gourd or have any health issues and we're able to keep things somewhat in order and get through all those late and early evenings with some level of sanity.
I'm just sayin.....
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Super Happy Fun Time Giving Thanks Hour!
Well, I hope everyone had a super happy fun time Giving Thanks hour! today. Mine was funky fresh. It was dressed. Pressed. Ready to party. I don't even remember what old school 80's rap song I stole that from, but I still dig workin' it into my reptile whenever I get the opportunity.
Waffle House doesn't close to Give Thanks. No matter what time of day it is - either before the last float has blown off t.v. or just after you've come out of a triptiphan induced coma - you can go to The House and hear that British-teethed maiden scream your order out at the cook. I've always felt some kind of weird embarassment when my order is shouted out loud in front of all the other wafflees but, like takin' a leak in bar bathrooms, you get over it. I mean, I'm not sayin' there is some kind of waffle-wafflee privilege, or you should be sworn to syrup secrecy, but there should be a better way. My point is, you can scatter, smother, cover Giving Thanks if you wanna.
K-Mart actually has more than 3 people working. You can honestly go in, buy something and get out within an hour. It truly is something to be thankful for.
Wheel of Fortune is lame. I watched an episode with my family today while waiting to gobble ourselves silly and I decided that Pat Sayjack has the sense of humor of a Dostoevsky (spelling optional) novel. Vanna doesn't even have to turn the letters anymore. Their apparently iletters because all she has to do is touch them and show the letter. I guess she almost lost a finger or something when she had to actually turn them and the show - fearing that no one else could replace her - got Apple to come up with some touch screen technology to save the day. There was a chic on the show today named Archana (Arch-na). As in, if you're scared of spiders, you suffer from archanaphobia. As in, have you ever been up in the St. Louis Archana?
WPSD has a segment where they interview local doctors and ask them "what's goin' around?". The doctors basically say what types of illnesses they are seeing in their patients. I found this funny. I asked a lady doctor I know. I said, "What's goin' around?" She said, "a whole bunch of uninsured gall bladders." I thought it'd be funny to have that segment for other professions. Hey, Kountry Kastle waitress, what's goin' around the Kastle? "Cold Busch Lite, lyin' and divorce." Hey, criminal defense lawyer, what's goin' around the courthouse? "I'm seein' a lot of burglaries with an intermittent robbery. It looks like controlled substance possession is going to rise in the next couple of days and there's a chance that, with all the holiday travelers, they're be in increase in speeding tickets and expired registrations." Hey, postal worker, what's goin' around the post office? "A lot of bitchin' about the price of stamps and requests for Elvis stamps that we sold out of eight years ago." Hey mall worker, what's going around the mall on Black Friday? "A lot of idiots and pushing and shoving and one or two births in the check out lines."
I saw people lining up this afternoon with tents and shit to camp outside of Best Buy. I thought freaking Phish was playing there or something by the look of the crowd. I almost cruised through the parking lot to see if I could get my dog a hemp collar, get some homemade root beer and "herbal" cookies. They should call it Black Fridaystock. Best Buyaroo would be kewl.
Awlright. That's all I've got at this juncture. I hope everybody had a great Happy Super Fun Time Excellent Giving Thanks Hour!
I'm just sayin......
Waffle House doesn't close to Give Thanks. No matter what time of day it is - either before the last float has blown off t.v. or just after you've come out of a triptiphan induced coma - you can go to The House and hear that British-teethed maiden scream your order out at the cook. I've always felt some kind of weird embarassment when my order is shouted out loud in front of all the other wafflees but, like takin' a leak in bar bathrooms, you get over it. I mean, I'm not sayin' there is some kind of waffle-wafflee privilege, or you should be sworn to syrup secrecy, but there should be a better way. My point is, you can scatter, smother, cover Giving Thanks if you wanna.
K-Mart actually has more than 3 people working. You can honestly go in, buy something and get out within an hour. It truly is something to be thankful for.
Wheel of Fortune is lame. I watched an episode with my family today while waiting to gobble ourselves silly and I decided that Pat Sayjack has the sense of humor of a Dostoevsky (spelling optional) novel. Vanna doesn't even have to turn the letters anymore. Their apparently iletters because all she has to do is touch them and show the letter. I guess she almost lost a finger or something when she had to actually turn them and the show - fearing that no one else could replace her - got Apple to come up with some touch screen technology to save the day. There was a chic on the show today named Archana (Arch-na). As in, if you're scared of spiders, you suffer from archanaphobia. As in, have you ever been up in the St. Louis Archana?
WPSD has a segment where they interview local doctors and ask them "what's goin' around?". The doctors basically say what types of illnesses they are seeing in their patients. I found this funny. I asked a lady doctor I know. I said, "What's goin' around?" She said, "a whole bunch of uninsured gall bladders." I thought it'd be funny to have that segment for other professions. Hey, Kountry Kastle waitress, what's goin' around the Kastle? "Cold Busch Lite, lyin' and divorce." Hey, criminal defense lawyer, what's goin' around the courthouse? "I'm seein' a lot of burglaries with an intermittent robbery. It looks like controlled substance possession is going to rise in the next couple of days and there's a chance that, with all the holiday travelers, they're be in increase in speeding tickets and expired registrations." Hey, postal worker, what's goin' around the post office? "A lot of bitchin' about the price of stamps and requests for Elvis stamps that we sold out of eight years ago." Hey mall worker, what's going around the mall on Black Friday? "A lot of idiots and pushing and shoving and one or two births in the check out lines."
I saw people lining up this afternoon with tents and shit to camp outside of Best Buy. I thought freaking Phish was playing there or something by the look of the crowd. I almost cruised through the parking lot to see if I could get my dog a hemp collar, get some homemade root beer and "herbal" cookies. They should call it Black Fridaystock. Best Buyaroo would be kewl.
Awlright. That's all I've got at this juncture. I hope everybody had a great Happy Super Fun Time Excellent Giving Thanks Hour!
I'm just sayin......
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Stealin' never smelled so good!
This is an actual quote from the 11/20/07 edition of the Paducah Sun. The article from which this nugget of the true came from was about a recent case of insurance fraud in the general tri-global (Illinois-Tennessee-Kentucky) area. I swear this is the actual quote:
"Turnbow said several people admitted failing fraudulent theft claims after the dog he handles sniffed and determined nothing was stolen." back pg. of the 11/20/07 Paducah Sun.
Turnbow is McCracken County Chief Deputy Sheriff Mike Turnbow. The dog is, well, just amazing.
I can get past the typo because I flail to see how that is important. However, the substance of the quote should have led to this headline:
"CHIEF DEPUTY SAYS DOG CAN SMELL BULLSHIT" or "THE PHERMONES OF FRAUD" or "FRAUD SMELLS LIKE A DOG'S ASS" or "HUMP MY LEG AND SHOW ME A RECIEPT OR YOU'RE GOING TO JAIL!"
Does it scare anyone else that there is allegedly a dog in this county that can smell theft? I mean, if this dog can smell theft, why hasn't it been sitting outside the Four River's Extortion Center howling at the moon? Why has its owner not been cited on numerous occasions for its repeated biting of the City Manager or The Mayor?
If the dog can smell insurance fraud, can it smell a good deal when it sniffs it? For instance, if you take it Wally World and let it sniff that rotissierie/pannini grill combo with the added fat draining ditch tube, will it pee on Tickle Me Elmo telling you that it is over-priced? If it smells a purchase and licks it balls, does that mean you got a good deal? If it sniffs your purchase and runs circles around the couch does that mean you should return it before the store closes? The possibilities are endless. Take that hound on the Price is Right and you and Drew Carey will become best friends. That little yoddling dude that always falls off the mountain would be able to cancel his health insurance if the Bluelight Special Hound was a regular contestant.
I mean fucking Lassie didn't even portend to be a canine version of Consumer Reports. This is absolutely the nuttiest shit I have ever heard of. A dog that can "smell" crime.
If you stole a purse and rolled it in catnip, would the dog think you stole satchel of kat refer and report you to the police? I have no idea what that mint.
Eitherwho, I'm sure I won't be able to stay away after the paper - I mean City Commission - rules on what to do to our Chief O' Poleese.
I'm just sayin........
"Turnbow said several people admitted failing fraudulent theft claims after the dog he handles sniffed and determined nothing was stolen." back pg. of the 11/20/07 Paducah Sun.
Turnbow is McCracken County Chief Deputy Sheriff Mike Turnbow. The dog is, well, just amazing.
I can get past the typo because I flail to see how that is important. However, the substance of the quote should have led to this headline:
"CHIEF DEPUTY SAYS DOG CAN SMELL BULLSHIT" or "THE PHERMONES OF FRAUD" or "FRAUD SMELLS LIKE A DOG'S ASS" or "HUMP MY LEG AND SHOW ME A RECIEPT OR YOU'RE GOING TO JAIL!"
Does it scare anyone else that there is allegedly a dog in this county that can smell theft? I mean, if this dog can smell theft, why hasn't it been sitting outside the Four River's Extortion Center howling at the moon? Why has its owner not been cited on numerous occasions for its repeated biting of the City Manager or The Mayor?
If the dog can smell insurance fraud, can it smell a good deal when it sniffs it? For instance, if you take it Wally World and let it sniff that rotissierie/pannini grill combo with the added fat draining ditch tube, will it pee on Tickle Me Elmo telling you that it is over-priced? If it smells a purchase and licks it balls, does that mean you got a good deal? If it sniffs your purchase and runs circles around the couch does that mean you should return it before the store closes? The possibilities are endless. Take that hound on the Price is Right and you and Drew Carey will become best friends. That little yoddling dude that always falls off the mountain would be able to cancel his health insurance if the Bluelight Special Hound was a regular contestant.
I mean fucking Lassie didn't even portend to be a canine version of Consumer Reports. This is absolutely the nuttiest shit I have ever heard of. A dog that can "smell" crime.
If you stole a purse and rolled it in catnip, would the dog think you stole satchel of kat refer and report you to the police? I have no idea what that mint.
Eitherwho, I'm sure I won't be able to stay away after the paper - I mean City Commission - rules on what to do to our Chief O' Poleese.
I'm just sayin........
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Is that a gun in my window or are you just the Chief of Police?
The weirdest thang about Paducah's latest trip to Scandalville is the fact that it all centers on the Chief of Police (COP) using his gun to try and break in a window. Who in the hell uses a loaded gun to try to break in a window? Either shoot or get off the pot.
Kung Fu Junction (KFJ) - the newly-elected press-hungry City Commission that fancies himself a sensay in his spare time - came straight out the box claiming COP should be fired for the gun incident and "sabotaging" a potential "To Humiliate a Pedophile" episode that was offered to be filmed in Paducah. How COP is alleged to have sabotaged the humiliating of the would-be pedophiles I haven't a clue. Apparently, not agreeing to something equals sabotage (I'm pronouncing the word "sabo - tahj). KFJ also called him out for the low morale of the officers and not holding himself to the same high Meatgate standards that he holds his other officers. All this I can see. The sabotaging I see less than if I were on a blind date with Helen Keller.
The local rag weighed in with an editorial saying improperly using your gun ain't no thang to worry about, as long as no rich Republicans are harmed, and COP was write for turning away the pedophile catchers because they're more into entertainment and ratings than actual law enforcment. As much as I hate myself for saying it, I disagree as to the former and agree with the latter. I find it screwed up that some adult computer nerds with funky nicknames and a penchant for claiming to be sex talking juveniles can lure people into a home, deliberately coax them into humiliating situations and then tape it all for broadcast. If you've ever watched one of those Pin the Arrest on the Pedophile episodes you'll see that, not only are no real kids ever in any danger, but these people coax these dumbasses into walking into the house nude or carrying embarrasingly wuss brands of liquor. Pedophiles should be in jail, no doubt butt this show is ridiculous. It's more about the host surprising the poor soon-to-have-life-ruined-felon and asking some dumb questions.
The City Manager (CM) - who incidentily runs the city but is not the Mayor, who's job description is to run the city - held onto the info about COP's McGyver like use of his Glock for more than a month before takin' the bag off the cat. KFJ said he was coverin' it up. CM jumped in and said, "Nah. I was just waitin' fer the right time to spring it on ye, and, oh, by the way, he didn't do anything wrong. No reprimand is necessary. I'm out!" That was a paraphrase by the way.
Ain't Paducah great? This is one of the few times a scandal has broken and resolved itself within' like three days. CM covered the whole thing up longer than it took him to decide COP's fate once it became public. You ever noticed that the way COP looks in his unyform makes him look like an extra from Police Academy 5? Everytime I see him on t.v. I keep waiting for Jonesy to come in, make some incredibly real sounding noises and then beat-box until the story about whether or not dogs and cats get into heaven comes on.
Speaking of that, dogs and cats going to heaven? I mean, have we got our freaking post-life dance cards filled up to the point where we've got to start worrying about whether or not Fido has been saved? Should you tell your neighbor's dog its going to hell next time it humps your leg? Are we going to start seeing crazily-dressed, big-haired televangelists preaching the virtues of licking yourself only for cleanliness versus for pleasure? Due to the number of offspring they produce, would it be fair to say that rabbits and cats are Catholic? Was it really that slow of a news day for these local idiots to come up with this?
The American Eagle School of Law and Tire Center is still open. It's not to late to register for next semester and get a free set of snow tires. You better hurry because the school and supply of tires is limited.
Barry Bonds was charged by the Feds today with being a liar. No shit. Under some circumstances, it's a crime. A little tip to help you realize when it is against the law to lie is this:
If you've been put under oath, are sitting in a little room with 12 grand people who are called jurors with an attorney asking you questions while everything is being recorded, you should tell the true. Another tip is, if your head is the size of a weather balloon, you've grown 2 inches and your foot size has increased since you began to hit a lot of homeruns in your late 30's and your testicles are the size of bb's, you should think real hard before answering questions about taking steroids. If you Hulk-out when asked about your back acne and whether or not you're unibrow is intentional, you should not answer questions about roids.
The amazing thang about this whole scenaroid is that Barroid was given immunity from prosecution for anything that he said other than lying. This fewl could have admitted to killing someone for roids and he would have had immunity. The only thing he could be rung up for was lying. He went in there and claimed all he did was use some "lotion" that his trainer gave him along with flaxseed oil. If that was what really caused Barroid to muscle up and start hitting all those home runs, every freaking major leaguer's locker would look like they were chronic masturbators with hard stool for all the empty lotion bottles and flaxseed oil containers that would be around.
I'm just sayin......
Kung Fu Junction (KFJ) - the newly-elected press-hungry City Commission that fancies himself a sensay in his spare time - came straight out the box claiming COP should be fired for the gun incident and "sabotaging" a potential "To Humiliate a Pedophile" episode that was offered to be filmed in Paducah. How COP is alleged to have sabotaged the humiliating of the would-be pedophiles I haven't a clue. Apparently, not agreeing to something equals sabotage (I'm pronouncing the word "sabo - tahj). KFJ also called him out for the low morale of the officers and not holding himself to the same high Meatgate standards that he holds his other officers. All this I can see. The sabotaging I see less than if I were on a blind date with Helen Keller.
The local rag weighed in with an editorial saying improperly using your gun ain't no thang to worry about, as long as no rich Republicans are harmed, and COP was write for turning away the pedophile catchers because they're more into entertainment and ratings than actual law enforcment. As much as I hate myself for saying it, I disagree as to the former and agree with the latter. I find it screwed up that some adult computer nerds with funky nicknames and a penchant for claiming to be sex talking juveniles can lure people into a home, deliberately coax them into humiliating situations and then tape it all for broadcast. If you've ever watched one of those Pin the Arrest on the Pedophile episodes you'll see that, not only are no real kids ever in any danger, but these people coax these dumbasses into walking into the house nude or carrying embarrasingly wuss brands of liquor. Pedophiles should be in jail, no doubt butt this show is ridiculous. It's more about the host surprising the poor soon-to-have-life-ruined-felon and asking some dumb questions.
The City Manager (CM) - who incidentily runs the city but is not the Mayor, who's job description is to run the city - held onto the info about COP's McGyver like use of his Glock for more than a month before takin' the bag off the cat. KFJ said he was coverin' it up. CM jumped in and said, "Nah. I was just waitin' fer the right time to spring it on ye, and, oh, by the way, he didn't do anything wrong. No reprimand is necessary. I'm out!" That was a paraphrase by the way.
Ain't Paducah great? This is one of the few times a scandal has broken and resolved itself within' like three days. CM covered the whole thing up longer than it took him to decide COP's fate once it became public. You ever noticed that the way COP looks in his unyform makes him look like an extra from Police Academy 5? Everytime I see him on t.v. I keep waiting for Jonesy to come in, make some incredibly real sounding noises and then beat-box until the story about whether or not dogs and cats get into heaven comes on.
Speaking of that, dogs and cats going to heaven? I mean, have we got our freaking post-life dance cards filled up to the point where we've got to start worrying about whether or not Fido has been saved? Should you tell your neighbor's dog its going to hell next time it humps your leg? Are we going to start seeing crazily-dressed, big-haired televangelists preaching the virtues of licking yourself only for cleanliness versus for pleasure? Due to the number of offspring they produce, would it be fair to say that rabbits and cats are Catholic? Was it really that slow of a news day for these local idiots to come up with this?
The American Eagle School of Law and Tire Center is still open. It's not to late to register for next semester and get a free set of snow tires. You better hurry because the school and supply of tires is limited.
Barry Bonds was charged by the Feds today with being a liar. No shit. Under some circumstances, it's a crime. A little tip to help you realize when it is against the law to lie is this:
If you've been put under oath, are sitting in a little room with 12 grand people who are called jurors with an attorney asking you questions while everything is being recorded, you should tell the true. Another tip is, if your head is the size of a weather balloon, you've grown 2 inches and your foot size has increased since you began to hit a lot of homeruns in your late 30's and your testicles are the size of bb's, you should think real hard before answering questions about taking steroids. If you Hulk-out when asked about your back acne and whether or not you're unibrow is intentional, you should not answer questions about roids.
The amazing thang about this whole scenaroid is that Barroid was given immunity from prosecution for anything that he said other than lying. This fewl could have admitted to killing someone for roids and he would have had immunity. The only thing he could be rung up for was lying. He went in there and claimed all he did was use some "lotion" that his trainer gave him along with flaxseed oil. If that was what really caused Barroid to muscle up and start hitting all those home runs, every freaking major leaguer's locker would look like they were chronic masturbators with hard stool for all the empty lotion bottles and flaxseed oil containers that would be around.
I'm just sayin......
Sunday, November 11, 2007
American Eagle School of Law and Tire Center may be having a close out sale!
THIS IS ALL BASED ON HYPOTHETICAL INFORMATION THAT WAS ALLEGED TO ME BY PERSONS WHO ALLEGEDLY ARE NOT REAL AND/OR DO NOT EXIST. ALLEGEDLY.
So, I go out of town for a few days and Tommy O decides to get all up in the grill of the Board of Directors of the American Eagle School of Law & Tire Center. Wow. Unlike a geezer round the table at the Giving of Thanks dinner, I've been hearin' bad thangs about the AESLTC for quite some time. Let's just say that, if my sources were any more inside, they'd be Tommy O (Which they aren't allegedly by the way.) If my sources were anymore inside, they'd be the gossip equivalent of innards. If my sources were anymore inside......you get the point.
Allegedly AESLTC does some shady shit like keep students student loan money for a while after it receives it. Allegedly this would either be evidence of them paying the bills with the students dough, paying investors with the students dough or making money off interest bearing accounts with the students dough. Eitherway, you allegedly should not be holdin' on to loan dough from students for any longer than it takes the check to clear or the transfer of funds to be o.k.'d because - as I recall from my days of living loan to loan - they need those ducketts to survive.
Allegedly the AESLTC has had a history of not paying its professors. I am allegedly aware of possibly two instances where it is alleged that grades were withheld from the institution by the non-paid prof until some consideration for there alreadly performed obligation came there way.
Allegedly a professor at the AESLTC has an alleged spouse with alleged legal problems. As in she is allegedly going to jail for a period of time that you nor I would want to do, allegedly. Well, in all the wondermint that is this alleged professor, he and his wife allegedly can't afford an attorney to defend her and she be sucklin' from the state's public defender teet. What would you think was worse, a professor who has a wife that is breaking the law while he attempts to teach it or having a professor at your private law school who couldn't afford to hire a private attorney to represent his wife?
You attempt to bring an alleged law school into a town and you begin by placing it out in the middle of no where. You place it in a park built in the information age that is so hip to the information of the age that it doesn't even get cellphone reception. It should be called the Analog Age Park. Or the Dial Up Information Only Park. You could tie two soup cans together with a string and getter better reception than you currently do while basking in the age of information in that park.
Second, after you realize you don't have enough space for a library because you had to wire the whole building with yarn and put can holders up everywhere, you attempt to solve your dilemma by buying Wagner Candy Company's old building that is several miles away. WTF? I don't think it says a lot for an institution of higher learning that didn't forsee it would need adequate space for a library before choosing its location - especially considering that law schools libraries have to meat certain standards and it is going to be reviewed by anyone inspecting the joint for potential accrediation. Can you imagine, "Now ABA types, that concludes your tour of the law school. If you all follow me, will go to gas station and fill up our cars because we've got a long drive ahead of us to get to the library and we won't be able to talk on our cell phones. When you see the building that makes you want a Tootsie Roll, pull in. That's the library."
San Antonio is purty kewl. That's where I just returned from. Those fewls down there are all about swillin' it out. You can imbibe your Stetson off while walking down the famed River Walk. There's a joint floggin' swill ever few river steps. The San Antonio River is also only about 4 foot deep so there's no fear of drowning no matter how drunk you are when you fall in.
The Alamo is sort of neat. It's like a brick wall with a big ass adobe building behind it. A lot of KY'ians and TN'ians fought and/or croaked at the Alamo. Saw a replica of KY'ian Jim Bowie's knife. That freaking thing made Crocodile Dundee's knife look like it needed a Cialis. It was closer to a sword on a knife handle than an actual knife. He could have deflected bullets with that thing. It was amazing. I wanted to see a full body picture of him because I couldn't fathom where or how he carried that blade on Levitra but I had no luck. I bet whichever arm he used to wield that thing was like 3 times the size of his other arm. And no, I didn't Ozzy Osborne out - I used the facilities designated for urination while at the Alamo.
Saw a Heat-Spurs game. Shaq is bigger that I wooda thunk. You get that "little Japanese citizen looking at Godzillra" vibe when you see him in person. Manu Ginobli and Tony Parker are very impressive in person. Faster than Cheetah's on amphetamines and they can make more plays than Neil Simon. What a weird sentence.
Started listening to Eric Clapton's autobiography. Guy is about as honest as a kick to the gonards. Admits all of his screws up. Very endearing. Had an aunt with Tourette's Syndrome. She put the words "fuck" and "Eddie" in all her sentences. The example given was, "Is your mum around, fuck Eddie?" He thought she was great. Things I nude about him prior to starting the book: His grandparents raised him and he was told his mother was his sister. He started and left a band about every two weeks. He and Jimi Hendrix were friends. He had the hots for George Harrison's wife, wrote songs about her and he and George remained friends even after Clapton began an affair with her and eventually married Clapton. They called each other "husband-in-laws". Things I now knowed about him: His mum came back with a half bro and half sister of his, stayed for like 6 months and bolted. His grandmaw Rose thought he was great and loved him. He broke up every freaking band he ever started. He knew The Stones before they became famous. Jimi Hendrix and Clapton use to go into bars in NYC and just get up on stage and play. Cream let Hendrix up on stage with them the first night they met him without ever seeing him play and were floored by him. Clapton was waiting to give Hendrix a white left-handed guitar (Hendrix played a right handed guitar upside down) but didn't get the chance because he didn't show at another group's concert and died that night. There's a lot more but I'm going to sleep.
I'm just sayin.....
So, I go out of town for a few days and Tommy O decides to get all up in the grill of the Board of Directors of the American Eagle School of Law & Tire Center. Wow. Unlike a geezer round the table at the Giving of Thanks dinner, I've been hearin' bad thangs about the AESLTC for quite some time. Let's just say that, if my sources were any more inside, they'd be Tommy O (Which they aren't allegedly by the way.) If my sources were anymore inside, they'd be the gossip equivalent of innards. If my sources were anymore inside......you get the point.
Allegedly AESLTC does some shady shit like keep students student loan money for a while after it receives it. Allegedly this would either be evidence of them paying the bills with the students dough, paying investors with the students dough or making money off interest bearing accounts with the students dough. Eitherway, you allegedly should not be holdin' on to loan dough from students for any longer than it takes the check to clear or the transfer of funds to be o.k.'d because - as I recall from my days of living loan to loan - they need those ducketts to survive.
Allegedly the AESLTC has had a history of not paying its professors. I am allegedly aware of possibly two instances where it is alleged that grades were withheld from the institution by the non-paid prof until some consideration for there alreadly performed obligation came there way.
Allegedly a professor at the AESLTC has an alleged spouse with alleged legal problems. As in she is allegedly going to jail for a period of time that you nor I would want to do, allegedly. Well, in all the wondermint that is this alleged professor, he and his wife allegedly can't afford an attorney to defend her and she be sucklin' from the state's public defender teet. What would you think was worse, a professor who has a wife that is breaking the law while he attempts to teach it or having a professor at your private law school who couldn't afford to hire a private attorney to represent his wife?
You attempt to bring an alleged law school into a town and you begin by placing it out in the middle of no where. You place it in a park built in the information age that is so hip to the information of the age that it doesn't even get cellphone reception. It should be called the Analog Age Park. Or the Dial Up Information Only Park. You could tie two soup cans together with a string and getter better reception than you currently do while basking in the age of information in that park.
Second, after you realize you don't have enough space for a library because you had to wire the whole building with yarn and put can holders up everywhere, you attempt to solve your dilemma by buying Wagner Candy Company's old building that is several miles away. WTF? I don't think it says a lot for an institution of higher learning that didn't forsee it would need adequate space for a library before choosing its location - especially considering that law schools libraries have to meat certain standards and it is going to be reviewed by anyone inspecting the joint for potential accrediation. Can you imagine, "Now ABA types, that concludes your tour of the law school. If you all follow me, will go to gas station and fill up our cars because we've got a long drive ahead of us to get to the library and we won't be able to talk on our cell phones. When you see the building that makes you want a Tootsie Roll, pull in. That's the library."
San Antonio is purty kewl. That's where I just returned from. Those fewls down there are all about swillin' it out. You can imbibe your Stetson off while walking down the famed River Walk. There's a joint floggin' swill ever few river steps. The San Antonio River is also only about 4 foot deep so there's no fear of drowning no matter how drunk you are when you fall in.
The Alamo is sort of neat. It's like a brick wall with a big ass adobe building behind it. A lot of KY'ians and TN'ians fought and/or croaked at the Alamo. Saw a replica of KY'ian Jim Bowie's knife. That freaking thing made Crocodile Dundee's knife look like it needed a Cialis. It was closer to a sword on a knife handle than an actual knife. He could have deflected bullets with that thing. It was amazing. I wanted to see a full body picture of him because I couldn't fathom where or how he carried that blade on Levitra but I had no luck. I bet whichever arm he used to wield that thing was like 3 times the size of his other arm. And no, I didn't Ozzy Osborne out - I used the facilities designated for urination while at the Alamo.
Saw a Heat-Spurs game. Shaq is bigger that I wooda thunk. You get that "little Japanese citizen looking at Godzillra" vibe when you see him in person. Manu Ginobli and Tony Parker are very impressive in person. Faster than Cheetah's on amphetamines and they can make more plays than Neil Simon. What a weird sentence.
Started listening to Eric Clapton's autobiography. Guy is about as honest as a kick to the gonards. Admits all of his screws up. Very endearing. Had an aunt with Tourette's Syndrome. She put the words "fuck" and "Eddie" in all her sentences. The example given was, "Is your mum around, fuck Eddie?" He thought she was great. Things I nude about him prior to starting the book: His grandparents raised him and he was told his mother was his sister. He started and left a band about every two weeks. He and Jimi Hendrix were friends. He had the hots for George Harrison's wife, wrote songs about her and he and George remained friends even after Clapton began an affair with her and eventually married Clapton. They called each other "husband-in-laws". Things I now knowed about him: His mum came back with a half bro and half sister of his, stayed for like 6 months and bolted. His grandmaw Rose thought he was great and loved him. He broke up every freaking band he ever started. He knew The Stones before they became famous. Jimi Hendrix and Clapton use to go into bars in NYC and just get up on stage and play. Cream let Hendrix up on stage with them the first night they met him without ever seeing him play and were floored by him. Clapton was waiting to give Hendrix a white left-handed guitar (Hendrix played a right handed guitar upside down) but didn't get the chance because he didn't show at another group's concert and died that night. There's a lot more but I'm going to sleep.
I'm just sayin.....
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Elecktshun reesults and other theories
PLEAE READ NO FURTHER UNLESS YOU'VE ACTUALLY WITNESSED ATTORNEY GENERAL ELECT JACK CONWAY IN THE FLESH OR YOU'VE GOT A PICTURE OF HIM HUNG UP IN A SPECIAL PLACE.
JACK CONWAY IS ATTORNEY GENERAL. Touch yourself Kentucky. We've got the hottest attorney general in the union. And we thought making all that bourbon and racin' them horses made us famous. Nah, we gottest the hottest, square jawed, closet-thing-we'll-have-to-a-Kennedy-attorney general we can get. Sure, he don't got no sperience prosecutin' people for crimes and all, butt who gives a damn? He's democrat, hot and what else dew you kneed in '07?
I have no clue about Jack Conway. I don't know him, nor have I ever met him. A friend of mine's sister called me axin' that I support him months ago, but that is about all I knowed about him that I have not written above. I do know that a local attorney that seems to enjoy suing himself thinks that Mr. Conway is the greatest thing since a vested pension. I'm not saying that in an effort to cast asparagus in anyone's direction. I'm merely saying it because it is the true. I seriously doubt he gets any mojo or hand-me-downs from Frankfort for his unabashed support. And in terms of experience, it ain't like a general attorney is going to court or anything. He'll get some fewl that actually knows something about the gig to be his right hand man and I'm sure everything will run smoothly.
Stever Beshear is governor. I volunteered for his ill-fated campaign against homo-sexual turtle look-a-like Mitch McConnel in '06. Working on that campaign was like being a security guard on the Titanic. Everyone knew it was going down, you just had to hang around to make sure as many peeps as possible got to the exits. From what I hear from my honkeys in the know, Steve is right on with a good attitude. All accounts are - from those that actually know him, worked for him and went to school with him - he's tastier than a chocolate covered boobie on the Biggest Loser. Right on. Werd.
Apparently, the majority of people in KY don't give a damn about casinos. Or, the marjority of poeple are tired of a governor who gives off recurring-character-that-was-friends-with-Eddie-Haskel-on-Leave-it-to-Beaver-vibes. I don't know. I found it interesting that Fletcher gambled on people in KY not wanting to allow gambling when it is more than obvious that your average KY'ian would bet you dollars to doughnuts that a constitutional amendment allowing gambling would pass. I mean, was Fletcher so out of touch that he didn't see all of the signs for Caesar's in Indiana while in Louisville or Harrah's in Metropolis while in Paducah? How could you miss that?
Richie Farmer gettin' re-elected was as difficult to predict as the sun coming up. I don't know nuthin about what he's done as Commissioner of Agriculture, but, I'm glad to see that someone has learned to parlay the "everyone loves me" sentiment they experienced while a basketball player at UK into something more than a free car or an avoidance of criminal behavior and promiscuity. From what some geezer said on KET, he actually knows what he's doing. That's good, bein that he won re-election and all and everything.
Some guy named King breasted some guy named Teeters for Bardwell mayor. Did you follow that? Has an intentionally misplaced "r" ever been more funny?
I'm about to actually go on vacation for three days. Nutty. Not having a beeper or constantly being queried about questions you've already answered is a weird feeling. Like misidentifying a Chinese guy in a lineup, don't get me Wong, I love my job. It's just that it is stressful like any other one in it's own peculiar way.
I will report from the road if time dictates. Otherwise, I will get back at ye when I return.
I'm just say'n..........
JACK CONWAY IS ATTORNEY GENERAL. Touch yourself Kentucky. We've got the hottest attorney general in the union. And we thought making all that bourbon and racin' them horses made us famous. Nah, we gottest the hottest, square jawed, closet-thing-we'll-have-to-a-Kennedy-attorney general we can get. Sure, he don't got no sperience prosecutin' people for crimes and all, butt who gives a damn? He's democrat, hot and what else dew you kneed in '07?
I have no clue about Jack Conway. I don't know him, nor have I ever met him. A friend of mine's sister called me axin' that I support him months ago, but that is about all I knowed about him that I have not written above. I do know that a local attorney that seems to enjoy suing himself thinks that Mr. Conway is the greatest thing since a vested pension. I'm not saying that in an effort to cast asparagus in anyone's direction. I'm merely saying it because it is the true. I seriously doubt he gets any mojo or hand-me-downs from Frankfort for his unabashed support. And in terms of experience, it ain't like a general attorney is going to court or anything. He'll get some fewl that actually knows something about the gig to be his right hand man and I'm sure everything will run smoothly.
Stever Beshear is governor. I volunteered for his ill-fated campaign against homo-sexual turtle look-a-like Mitch McConnel in '06. Working on that campaign was like being a security guard on the Titanic. Everyone knew it was going down, you just had to hang around to make sure as many peeps as possible got to the exits. From what I hear from my honkeys in the know, Steve is right on with a good attitude. All accounts are - from those that actually know him, worked for him and went to school with him - he's tastier than a chocolate covered boobie on the Biggest Loser. Right on. Werd.
Apparently, the majority of people in KY don't give a damn about casinos. Or, the marjority of poeple are tired of a governor who gives off recurring-character-that-was-friends-with-Eddie-Haskel-on-Leave-it-to-Beaver-vibes. I don't know. I found it interesting that Fletcher gambled on people in KY not wanting to allow gambling when it is more than obvious that your average KY'ian would bet you dollars to doughnuts that a constitutional amendment allowing gambling would pass. I mean, was Fletcher so out of touch that he didn't see all of the signs for Caesar's in Indiana while in Louisville or Harrah's in Metropolis while in Paducah? How could you miss that?
Richie Farmer gettin' re-elected was as difficult to predict as the sun coming up. I don't know nuthin about what he's done as Commissioner of Agriculture, but, I'm glad to see that someone has learned to parlay the "everyone loves me" sentiment they experienced while a basketball player at UK into something more than a free car or an avoidance of criminal behavior and promiscuity. From what some geezer said on KET, he actually knows what he's doing. That's good, bein that he won re-election and all and everything.
Some guy named King breasted some guy named Teeters for Bardwell mayor. Did you follow that? Has an intentionally misplaced "r" ever been more funny?
I'm about to actually go on vacation for three days. Nutty. Not having a beeper or constantly being queried about questions you've already answered is a weird feeling. Like misidentifying a Chinese guy in a lineup, don't get me Wong, I love my job. It's just that it is stressful like any other one in it's own peculiar way.
I will report from the road if time dictates. Otherwise, I will get back at ye when I return.
I'm just say'n..........
Saturday, October 27, 2007
I ain't sleepin' but I've got visions of scandals running all through my gourd
At what juncture in your vida loco - or loca as the case may be - does it become unnecessary to nap in the afternoon? I am contemplatin' such theories as my son sleeps off a case of "bastards". In other words, Crazy Head had awoke early this morning, played liked the son of a rock star with a drunk aupair and skipped right on past Sleepyville into early afternoon without rechargin' his battrees (pronounce as spelled). This caused him to bastard out at his best mates house by refusing to share toys and obsessing over the non-functionality of side doors on a little tyke bus like he was freakin' Rain Man counting cards at the Mirage ("20 minutes to Bob the Builder. 20 Minutes to Bob the Builder."). Incidentally, they should make a special brand of toys for kids with control issues. They could be called Little Control Freaks.
I mean I quit partaking in the afternoon siesta after I matriculated. Once you've got a job, it seems as though you can't nap in the middle of the day because, even though you ain't shuckin' steel like a slave at that moment, you've got a whole bunch of other shit you gots to tend to because you can't normally tend to it because you're normally shuckin' steel like a Jamaican slave (Blogger's note: "Shuckin' steel like a slave" is a line I hornswaggled from the legendary, formally jerri-curled Blues Great Buddy Guy. So, tell the NAACP to back off. I'm fresh off attending the American Eagle School of Law & Tire Center's Black Law Student Association shindig as well. Much like Half Dollar, I don't dance I take two steps and twist.)
I'm tired enough to sleep write now, but I couldn't saw some sheep for nothin'. Maybe that should have been saw some z's? Or, is it catch some sheep? Eitherway, I'm tired as hell and I'm not going to splain it anymore. The reponsibilities of life do not allow me to nap in the middle of the day is what I'm sayin. That and my lunatic neighbor mowing his goddman yard in October.
WARNING! THE FOLLOWING COMMENT MAY BE OFFENSIVE. DEAL WITH IT.
So, if October is breast cancer awareness month, shouldn't there be a healthy breast awareness month? If we're going to call out all the sick boobs, we should also celebrate all the healthy ones. Instead of those sissyfied pink rubber bands or those ribbons that look like you had a midget fstylist who tuckered out before she finished the job, women that wanted to show their support for all the sick boobs could wear like shirts with the boob area cut out to show what healthy boobs look like. You know, sort of like those pictures at the dentist's office that show the really good peoples teeth versus your sugar-eatin-plaque-covered-have-to-use-a-pressure-washer-to-clean-them teeth.
KNOWN OFFENSIVE THEORY IS OVER. ANYTHING ELSE BEYOND THIS POINT THAT IS OFFENSIVE IS JUST YOU LOOKING FOR A REASON TO GET CHAPPED.
O.K., the local puddle jumper depot gets funding from our local County Physical Court. The aeropuerto finds out a while back that the Feds are theorizin' on payin the entire cost for the lookout tower. The Physical Court turns over a wad of De Niro. A lot of De Niro. Like Ragin' Bull De Niro. Not Sorry Ass Mob Boss with a Psychiatrist De Niro. Then, after getting the De Niro, the aeropuerto says, oh yeah, by the way, the federales paid for the look out tower and we're still going to keep them ducketts you flogged us. Is this the way you figgered it? I swear, it is almost like people in positions of authority - see the wheelbarrowed donkey - in Paducah go out of their way to scandalize shit or make it appear as though something shady is taking place.
Please allow me to fumigate my wisdom. A county attorney sues his county for following his advice and giving cash to a soon-to-be-former employee. A cat runs for a county job on the platfrom of cutting waste by getting rid of the "right hand man" position only to cut it and reinstate it with a different right hand man. A City Commission gives incentives to any new company that will parlay its way downtown but don't won't to share the love with any local business that's already floggin' its wares downtown. City Commission passes a temporary payroll tax to "increase" business, then make its temporary forever because taking more dough out of the checks of people who work in the city will "increase" buitness. A City Commission threatens to by a hotel that looks like an old burned out set for 70's porno movies because they don't like the cat that is ponying up millions to purchase it and they want to tell him what to do with property and how to run it. The Mayor wont let a big wig developer who's been in town forever codroast some trees at his newest development because some residents of Snoot Ave don't want codroastin in close proximity to their snootiness. The City has somehow determined that you can enclose an art festival and let people swill it out within said confines during those festivities, but you can only consume gurgle burgers in a beerpen/beer jail area the size of Clark Griswold's Metallic Pea Family Truckster when celebratin' swine fest on the river. You can swill it out in a bar on the Sabbath but you sure as hell can't by no liquid love in a store and take it home and consume it. A police chief goes public with his reprimand of his officers for accepting free meat at overturned semi accident site in Meatgate '06. A cat running for judge tell us all he's doing us a favor by taking the mere pittance of $100K that he'll make after he quits being a cash laden defense attorney and graces us with his appearance on the bench. The Artist Witness Protection Plan is implemented where all these would-be Picassos move to Paducah, get a free loan, fix up an old house, then put it back on the market, selling it for a huge profit before Vangoughing somewheres else less fartsy and more artsy. And this is just all the craziness that has transpired recently. I didn't get into "O.T." and the nose whiskey flow that was covered by the Paducah Sun in the 80's.
I freakin' love Paducah. It's like a mix of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, Mayberry and Smallville. It's got it old school history and charm, with a very nice group of people with a whole of lot of unbelievability.
Well, with that said, I'm getting ready to go on a whirlwind party tour. A yute birffday shinding, a law enforcement Halloween Party and drunken-postal Halloween party. I guess the question is, of these three soires, which will have the most guns, screaming and crying and non-sharing?
I'm just sayin.....
I mean I quit partaking in the afternoon siesta after I matriculated. Once you've got a job, it seems as though you can't nap in the middle of the day because, even though you ain't shuckin' steel like a slave at that moment, you've got a whole bunch of other shit you gots to tend to because you can't normally tend to it because you're normally shuckin' steel like a Jamaican slave (Blogger's note: "Shuckin' steel like a slave" is a line I hornswaggled from the legendary, formally jerri-curled Blues Great Buddy Guy. So, tell the NAACP to back off. I'm fresh off attending the American Eagle School of Law & Tire Center's Black Law Student Association shindig as well. Much like Half Dollar, I don't dance I take two steps and twist.)
I'm tired enough to sleep write now, but I couldn't saw some sheep for nothin'. Maybe that should have been saw some z's? Or, is it catch some sheep? Eitherway, I'm tired as hell and I'm not going to splain it anymore. The reponsibilities of life do not allow me to nap in the middle of the day is what I'm sayin. That and my lunatic neighbor mowing his goddman yard in October.
WARNING! THE FOLLOWING COMMENT MAY BE OFFENSIVE. DEAL WITH IT.
So, if October is breast cancer awareness month, shouldn't there be a healthy breast awareness month? If we're going to call out all the sick boobs, we should also celebrate all the healthy ones. Instead of those sissyfied pink rubber bands or those ribbons that look like you had a midget fstylist who tuckered out before she finished the job, women that wanted to show their support for all the sick boobs could wear like shirts with the boob area cut out to show what healthy boobs look like. You know, sort of like those pictures at the dentist's office that show the really good peoples teeth versus your sugar-eatin-plaque-covered-have-to-use-a-pressure-washer-to-clean-them teeth.
KNOWN OFFENSIVE THEORY IS OVER. ANYTHING ELSE BEYOND THIS POINT THAT IS OFFENSIVE IS JUST YOU LOOKING FOR A REASON TO GET CHAPPED.
O.K., the local puddle jumper depot gets funding from our local County Physical Court. The aeropuerto finds out a while back that the Feds are theorizin' on payin the entire cost for the lookout tower. The Physical Court turns over a wad of De Niro. A lot of De Niro. Like Ragin' Bull De Niro. Not Sorry Ass Mob Boss with a Psychiatrist De Niro. Then, after getting the De Niro, the aeropuerto says, oh yeah, by the way, the federales paid for the look out tower and we're still going to keep them ducketts you flogged us. Is this the way you figgered it? I swear, it is almost like people in positions of authority - see the wheelbarrowed donkey - in Paducah go out of their way to scandalize shit or make it appear as though something shady is taking place.
Please allow me to fumigate my wisdom. A county attorney sues his county for following his advice and giving cash to a soon-to-be-former employee. A cat runs for a county job on the platfrom of cutting waste by getting rid of the "right hand man" position only to cut it and reinstate it with a different right hand man. A City Commission gives incentives to any new company that will parlay its way downtown but don't won't to share the love with any local business that's already floggin' its wares downtown. City Commission passes a temporary payroll tax to "increase" business, then make its temporary forever because taking more dough out of the checks of people who work in the city will "increase" buitness. A City Commission threatens to by a hotel that looks like an old burned out set for 70's porno movies because they don't like the cat that is ponying up millions to purchase it and they want to tell him what to do with property and how to run it. The Mayor wont let a big wig developer who's been in town forever codroast some trees at his newest development because some residents of Snoot Ave don't want codroastin in close proximity to their snootiness. The City has somehow determined that you can enclose an art festival and let people swill it out within said confines during those festivities, but you can only consume gurgle burgers in a beerpen/beer jail area the size of Clark Griswold's Metallic Pea Family Truckster when celebratin' swine fest on the river. You can swill it out in a bar on the Sabbath but you sure as hell can't by no liquid love in a store and take it home and consume it. A police chief goes public with his reprimand of his officers for accepting free meat at overturned semi accident site in Meatgate '06. A cat running for judge tell us all he's doing us a favor by taking the mere pittance of $100K that he'll make after he quits being a cash laden defense attorney and graces us with his appearance on the bench. The Artist Witness Protection Plan is implemented where all these would-be Picassos move to Paducah, get a free loan, fix up an old house, then put it back on the market, selling it for a huge profit before Vangoughing somewheres else less fartsy and more artsy. And this is just all the craziness that has transpired recently. I didn't get into "O.T." and the nose whiskey flow that was covered by the Paducah Sun in the 80's.
I freakin' love Paducah. It's like a mix of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, Mayberry and Smallville. It's got it old school history and charm, with a very nice group of people with a whole of lot of unbelievability.
Well, with that said, I'm getting ready to go on a whirlwind party tour. A yute birffday shinding, a law enforcement Halloween Party and drunken-postal Halloween party. I guess the question is, of these three soires, which will have the most guns, screaming and crying and non-sharing?
I'm just sayin.....
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Dew I knowed ewe?
It is a galatically weird experience to run into a good friend of your's at lunch, during the week, when you are at lunch with another work-related good friend and your good friend is out eating with their work-realted good friends. It ain't as if you've done the nasty and are trying to avoid that awkward post-pork eye contact at werk. It's more like a "I can't believe you're with him/her" type sentiment. Not that either of ewe contemplated caloric intake at the same eatery, or even owe one another the gratitude of clearing such plans. You don't even have a clue or any issues with who your friend be gettin' their eat on with. It's just that, when you're good friends with someone, you almost feel as though you're a spurned high school friend when you see them out with other people and can't talk to them because (a) you're in public and (b) both of you have other peeps you need to tend to.
It's all guilt related. You think the other person is kewl and dig hanging out with them. They seem to be of the same opinion. You're with a good friend who also ingresses and egresses in the same vernacular as yourself, i.e. has the same job. You're friend is parlayin' the same way and running things with their main werk honkeys. Then, like a booger you forgot was on yo finger, you're both there, out in the open, in front of everyone. Your friend knows that he/she is your friend. Their friend(s) know that you're their friend's friend. Suddenly, not only do you feel as though you should apologize and order flowers, their friends are feeling weird about not telling your friend(s) that yall were going out to eat lunch. It's a viscious cycle that makes less since than a banker with gout. Even I have no idear what that means.
Hear be the solution. Get over it. Conversate as much as yall decide. Don't worry about it. Sure, you may be better friends out of the professional scenarioid, but yall didn't ride there together and your friends don't want to hear your friend bitch about their job any more than your friend's friends want to hear you bitch about your job. If there is any bitchin' at lunch, it needs to be in a lingo that all those listening can comprehend, i.e. if you've got to have a decoder ring to figger out what your rants mean, you need to move to a different table.
Lunch is too freakin' short to add drama into the mix. You've got an hour, hour and a half at most. You shouldn't waste any of the potentially only free time you've got all day over any bullshit. Whether you're eating or not, you should try to get the most stress free time out of your lunch hour. Start by saying "werd" and "I'll call you later" to any homies from different werk sectors that you encounter and go on with it.
I think Rodney King said it best when he utterred, "Can't we all just eat alone?"
I'm just sayin......
It's all guilt related. You think the other person is kewl and dig hanging out with them. They seem to be of the same opinion. You're with a good friend who also ingresses and egresses in the same vernacular as yourself, i.e. has the same job. You're friend is parlayin' the same way and running things with their main werk honkeys. Then, like a booger you forgot was on yo finger, you're both there, out in the open, in front of everyone. Your friend knows that he/she is your friend. Their friend(s) know that you're their friend's friend. Suddenly, not only do you feel as though you should apologize and order flowers, their friends are feeling weird about not telling your friend(s) that yall were going out to eat lunch. It's a viscious cycle that makes less since than a banker with gout. Even I have no idear what that means.
Hear be the solution. Get over it. Conversate as much as yall decide. Don't worry about it. Sure, you may be better friends out of the professional scenarioid, but yall didn't ride there together and your friends don't want to hear your friend bitch about their job any more than your friend's friends want to hear you bitch about your job. If there is any bitchin' at lunch, it needs to be in a lingo that all those listening can comprehend, i.e. if you've got to have a decoder ring to figger out what your rants mean, you need to move to a different table.
Lunch is too freakin' short to add drama into the mix. You've got an hour, hour and a half at most. You shouldn't waste any of the potentially only free time you've got all day over any bullshit. Whether you're eating or not, you should try to get the most stress free time out of your lunch hour. Start by saying "werd" and "I'll call you later" to any homies from different werk sectors that you encounter and go on with it.
I think Rodney King said it best when he utterred, "Can't we all just eat alone?"
I'm just sayin......
Monday, October 22, 2007
Weight until your turn
You know how you know you have a problew with chow? And by "chow" I mean grub, not your Asian neighbor or that furry angry mutt from down the street. You've got a problem with eatin' when you celebrate unexpected diet success with eating all the chow the you've forgone to become dietarily successfull. Like a group of homies with waists of 40+ at No. 1 Super Terrific Happy Chinese Buffet, you follow me?
Oh yeah. I pulled off the unthinkable this weekend. I successfully avoided the "special event gorge out" that has plagued my weightloss for about the past year. I hardly ate anything on Friday and then, despite tasty whore's do vers made by the Artisan Kitchen Formerly Known as Mansion II Go, I laid off the funneling of tastiness into my gullett for the duration of my wife's 40th Date O' Birff Spectacular Extravaganza.
Then, much to my surprise, on Sunday morning, I checked in at a waifish 206, down some 3 lbs from Friday. Holy Tequila and Sugar Free Red Bull Elmer Fudd! I cwan't beweeve it!
So, from there it goes straight into the used lap band barrell. Cooked three varities of pork and - in all actuality - didn't do too bad by eating a egg, bacon and cheese biscuit and a couple random pieces of swinely goodness for breakfast on Sunday. Patron Silver got me through the lunch hour, early afternoon and the beginning of early evening.
The Mexican-ness of the day hit hard around dinner. Homemade tacos and that white cheezy stuff for dinner. Good gawd all mighty, you'd think it wasn't safe to drink the water arount this joint the food was so el delicioso. I checked my wife for a green card after eating, or, as the kids like to say, carta verde.
Needless to say, 209ish this morning. Had a mild set back at lunch. The Boy got me a little too much. And then there was pizza for dinner. I ate far less than the usual cholesterol gastric bypass necessitating amount I normally do, but I'm still worried I'm losing the tenuous grip I had on cutting back on the chow.
Stay tuned. Love, peace and chicken grease.
I'm just sayin.......
Oh yeah. I pulled off the unthinkable this weekend. I successfully avoided the "special event gorge out" that has plagued my weightloss for about the past year. I hardly ate anything on Friday and then, despite tasty whore's do vers made by the Artisan Kitchen Formerly Known as Mansion II Go, I laid off the funneling of tastiness into my gullett for the duration of my wife's 40th Date O' Birff Spectacular Extravaganza.
Then, much to my surprise, on Sunday morning, I checked in at a waifish 206, down some 3 lbs from Friday. Holy Tequila and Sugar Free Red Bull Elmer Fudd! I cwan't beweeve it!
So, from there it goes straight into the used lap band barrell. Cooked three varities of pork and - in all actuality - didn't do too bad by eating a egg, bacon and cheese biscuit and a couple random pieces of swinely goodness for breakfast on Sunday. Patron Silver got me through the lunch hour, early afternoon and the beginning of early evening.
The Mexican-ness of the day hit hard around dinner. Homemade tacos and that white cheezy stuff for dinner. Good gawd all mighty, you'd think it wasn't safe to drink the water arount this joint the food was so el delicioso. I checked my wife for a green card after eating, or, as the kids like to say, carta verde.
Needless to say, 209ish this morning. Had a mild set back at lunch. The Boy got me a little too much. And then there was pizza for dinner. I ate far less than the usual cholesterol gastric bypass necessitating amount I normally do, but I'm still worried I'm losing the tenuous grip I had on cutting back on the chow.
Stay tuned. Love, peace and chicken grease.
I'm just sayin.......
Friday, October 19, 2007
Don't let the Torre hit ye in the arse on yer way out
Joe Torre decided that the Yankees offer of $5 million clams a year - with post season success based incentives that could have made the deal worth an additional $3 million oysters - was not up to his "snuff" and walked away from managing the New York Yankees yesterday. Absolutely amazing. Even if he didn't make the post season, the $5 million scallops would have still made him the highest paid fewl in the buitness. Apparently he felt as though this offer was a slight because his base salary would have been reduced compared to the terms of his contract that just expired after getting shelacked by the freakin' Boneyard (Indians) this year. Well, all I can say is Joe, get yo shit and get out.
I want to be like diluted urine in a probationer's drug screen about this, in a purely heterosexual-Yankee fan way, I love Joe Torre. He was our version of Charleton Heston, meaning he lead us out of the desert after years of aimless wandering (See the Yankee teams from 1982 through 1995.) I mean the Yankees had went down hill so much that goddamn Dale Berra made the team. Dale was the most mangled "statement" Yogi ever thrust upon the baseball world. He had a thin black mustache that made him look like a stunt double in a low budget '70's porno. He played baseball like he was Nostradamus and was auditioning years early for a part in League of Their Own. My god he was terrible.
Anywho, when Joe was hired all of us lunatic-unrealistic-expecting-got-to-win-every-game-or-the-world-is-gonna-end Yankee fans scratched our collective heads and thought, didn't the Cardinals get rid of this guy? I don't want Whitey Herzog to manage the freakin' Yankees! Like a dude in China, boy were we Wong.
Joe Torre was nothing short of miraculous during his tenure as Yankees manager. Won 4 of 6 World Series and made it very hard for Yankee haters to hate Yankees because he was genuine, caring and loved his players. He is a good cat that brought a lot to the Yankees clubhouse. He classed it up.
However, Joe must have got sick of all of Steinbrenner's bullshit. Namely telling the press that he was going to be 86'd if he lost to the Indians (god I hope they beat the Red Sox). As much as I love that crazy old bastard for what he's done for the Yankees, he should not have opened his prune hole on that one. Maybe Joe's gotten a little weirded out by Mattingly's apparent jockeying for the job. Who knows.
In either event, Joe decided to end his run as one of the greatest managers in baseball history for the greatest team in baseball history. Good thing is, he ended it on his own terms. He walked away. I'm glad it went down like that. That being the case, the Joe Torre era is over and its time for all of us to get over it and move on.
Joe, don't let the door hit ye in the arse on your way out. We love ye. You're a knucklehead. Now, thank you for managing and leave!
I'm just sayin.............
I want to be like diluted urine in a probationer's drug screen about this, in a purely heterosexual-Yankee fan way, I love Joe Torre. He was our version of Charleton Heston, meaning he lead us out of the desert after years of aimless wandering (See the Yankee teams from 1982 through 1995.) I mean the Yankees had went down hill so much that goddamn Dale Berra made the team. Dale was the most mangled "statement" Yogi ever thrust upon the baseball world. He had a thin black mustache that made him look like a stunt double in a low budget '70's porno. He played baseball like he was Nostradamus and was auditioning years early for a part in League of Their Own. My god he was terrible.
Anywho, when Joe was hired all of us lunatic-unrealistic-expecting-got-to-win-every-game-or-the-world-is-gonna-end Yankee fans scratched our collective heads and thought, didn't the Cardinals get rid of this guy? I don't want Whitey Herzog to manage the freakin' Yankees! Like a dude in China, boy were we Wong.
Joe Torre was nothing short of miraculous during his tenure as Yankees manager. Won 4 of 6 World Series and made it very hard for Yankee haters to hate Yankees because he was genuine, caring and loved his players. He is a good cat that brought a lot to the Yankees clubhouse. He classed it up.
However, Joe must have got sick of all of Steinbrenner's bullshit. Namely telling the press that he was going to be 86'd if he lost to the Indians (god I hope they beat the Red Sox). As much as I love that crazy old bastard for what he's done for the Yankees, he should not have opened his prune hole on that one. Maybe Joe's gotten a little weirded out by Mattingly's apparent jockeying for the job. Who knows.
In either event, Joe decided to end his run as one of the greatest managers in baseball history for the greatest team in baseball history. Good thing is, he ended it on his own terms. He walked away. I'm glad it went down like that. That being the case, the Joe Torre era is over and its time for all of us to get over it and move on.
Joe, don't let the door hit ye in the arse on your way out. We love ye. You're a knucklehead. Now, thank you for managing and leave!
I'm just sayin.............
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
A daughter and father-in-law bond Ford tough
Today was a David Banner moment in the history of me father's relationship with me wife. Oh yeah, nothing says "I finally see what me boy see's in ye" like a daughter-in-law loaning her father-in-law cash to purchase a tractor. Insert Green Acres theme hear.
Not that my dad and wife haven't gotten a long during our marriage. They do get along and I genuinely believe they love each other. I ain't gonna lie and say its more "I really love you" than "I have to love you because you married my son and bored me a grandbaby" love, but there's some actual feelings in there. Their arguments are just galactic in nature, involve harsh statements that neither of them mean and are usually followed by a swift gathering up of one's things, racing to the auto and peeling out to head home.
Butt, back to the ass at hand, it was a kewl moment when my wife - without request - offered to pull the duckets out of her "hoardin' dough for a potential second yute fund" to help my father realize a dream that he's had since his friends told him he needed a tractor ten years ago. I mean, ever since he became aware that he absolutely had to have a piece of machinery that he had no idea how to use, he's wanted it. He's even waxed postalsophically about the day he gets to give Uncle Sam the ole' Smith Syanrara (insert proper spelling and gong sound hear along with picture of a fist with the middle finger extended) because he will get a check for his sick days that would, in his estimate, pay for a tractor. Well, he didn't have quit his job or flip anyone off because me lovely bride ponied up the samoleons to make his dream come true.
And let's not forget the other two major players in the saga. Bruncle Bo and Bruncle Hunk. I call them Bruncles because - like all my dad's friends - I've known them seemingly my whole career and they're like brothers to me, yet - because of the age and life experience difference - they've got an uncle vibe to them. Bruncle Bo looked over the rig last weekend and gave it his initial swill of approval. Bruncle Bo consulted with Bruncle Hunk and determined the price was fair. They both appeared with my father tonight to purchase the rig and Bruncle Hunk drove it down the highway to its new home, the Talibarn. A guy couldn't ask for two better bruncles.
The only question left to answer is, what kind of beer do you put in a tractor?
And I like to wish my wife a very happy birthday. It's a number she don't dig but I ain't keepin' score. I love her no matter what (tear, sniffle, werd).
I'm just sayin.........
Not that my dad and wife haven't gotten a long during our marriage. They do get along and I genuinely believe they love each other. I ain't gonna lie and say its more "I really love you" than "I have to love you because you married my son and bored me a grandbaby" love, but there's some actual feelings in there. Their arguments are just galactic in nature, involve harsh statements that neither of them mean and are usually followed by a swift gathering up of one's things, racing to the auto and peeling out to head home.
Butt, back to the ass at hand, it was a kewl moment when my wife - without request - offered to pull the duckets out of her "hoardin' dough for a potential second yute fund" to help my father realize a dream that he's had since his friends told him he needed a tractor ten years ago. I mean, ever since he became aware that he absolutely had to have a piece of machinery that he had no idea how to use, he's wanted it. He's even waxed postalsophically about the day he gets to give Uncle Sam the ole' Smith Syanrara (insert proper spelling and gong sound hear along with picture of a fist with the middle finger extended) because he will get a check for his sick days that would, in his estimate, pay for a tractor. Well, he didn't have quit his job or flip anyone off because me lovely bride ponied up the samoleons to make his dream come true.
And let's not forget the other two major players in the saga. Bruncle Bo and Bruncle Hunk. I call them Bruncles because - like all my dad's friends - I've known them seemingly my whole career and they're like brothers to me, yet - because of the age and life experience difference - they've got an uncle vibe to them. Bruncle Bo looked over the rig last weekend and gave it his initial swill of approval. Bruncle Bo consulted with Bruncle Hunk and determined the price was fair. They both appeared with my father tonight to purchase the rig and Bruncle Hunk drove it down the highway to its new home, the Talibarn. A guy couldn't ask for two better bruncles.
The only question left to answer is, what kind of beer do you put in a tractor?
And I like to wish my wife a very happy birthday. It's a number she don't dig but I ain't keepin' score. I love her no matter what (tear, sniffle, werd).
I'm just sayin.........
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
I'll retract that last remark
Awlright, so, in my disgust, I got all "WPSD'd out" and got a central fact wrong. A-Rod did not fly out to end the Yankees season. I figgered all this out while I was tossing and turning in bed last night unable to sleep. Potata (poe-tay-tuh) a/k/a Jorge Posada, struck out. He A-Rod'ed it up in this series, i.e. he had a great regular season and then couldn't hit the broadside of a barn with a base fiddle. That either means he couldn't get a hit or play a tune while smashing an instrument into a cow's home. I don't know. I've just heard that my whole career.
Can anyone take Annie Potts seriously? She' on this episode of Law & Order: Sexual Titillation and Innuendo Unit that I happened to have left on by mistake. Every time I see her I can't but help to think of her making out with Rick Moranis in Ghostbusters. She's playing a lawyer who apparently has Jedi mind control powers because the prosecutor bought into her goofyass "sexual addiction" theory and pre-trial diverted rape charges for her client who raped Sabrina the Teenage Witch and looked like a stunt double for one of The Hives. The guy was pastier than a preschooler in art class who skipped breakfast. Weird thang is, I use to go to class in between swilling it out in college with Annie Potts' nephew. He broke out that he was her nephew one time when we were in between classes - so to speak - and I didn't believe him. I mean people will say a lot of nutty stuff when they're drinking Wild Turkey. However, he quickly pulled out some photos and an assortment of Designing Women paraphernalia that made him either her nephew or a dude that needed to burst out of the closet. I wonder what happened to that cat?
Some political slogans I thunk up:
You'd be looney to vote for Rudy!
My Mama loves Obama!
John McCain: This country needs pissed off and crotchety.
Rudy Guiliani: He'll comb over the deficit and terrorism.
If you don't vote for Hillary, you'll be sillary!
That Rich Mormon Dude: The country can't handle more than one first lady.
Fred Thompson: Been there. Voted for Reagan.
John Edwards: Smart but too purty to be taken seriously.
Vote Nixon in '08: Death is not an excuse.
Could you vote for a guy with buck teeth and a comb-over that has to involve a quart of 40 weight oil and a wind machine? I mean, he is a Yankee fan and all, but I don't think that gives him a pass for being a Nazi.
John Edwards is like the hot chic with big boobs and a Looney Tunes voice that was top of your class but got no respect because of her physciality. Oh yeah, I lusted after her in vain for three years. Anyway, he's a smart dude with some decent theories but all anybody wants to talk about is how tasty he looks and how much cashola he has. He should show up for debates and interviews with no makeup, bedhead and in his p.j.'s and I bet peoples would start takin' his exit.
McCain can't get over being a geezer and mad all the time. He can't go 10 minits without mentioning Nam. I respect the guy immensely for what he did for our country and the sacrifice he made but, much like an N'Sync song in the '90's, I don't want to hear it constantly. I don't think we need a president modeled after Burgess Meredith's character in Rocky.
Fred Thompson is trying to convince everyone of one of two things and he doesn't care which one you pick, as long as you pick one. A. He's Ronald Reagan as evidenced by his acting credentials and geezerish running age. Or, B. He really is the president because you've seen him on t.v. before as the president. If you believe A., you've got some Reagan like innability to "recall" pertinent facts mysteriously when asked. If you buy into B., you probably think he is also a four star general because you saw him issuin' orders to Alec Baldwin on that air craft carrier a decade or two ago. A or B is not the answer.
Mitt Romney sounds like an yoga move with a dash of S & M. I'm sure you'd probably have to cry a mitt romney off in the shower in the dark. He's got more money than The Tabernacle and he's apparently believed in the opposite position of whatever it is he believes in now at some point in the not to distant past.
Everybody likes Obama but they all claim he can't pull it off because he ain't got no experience. How in the hell do you get "experience" being the president when you have to be elected president to get any experience? I think the experience argument is a nice way of avoiding saying that he could win but we don't know if this country is ready for a black president. I have no issues with it but I'm sure there are alot of more experienced minded honkeys out there that do.
Hillary is either hated or loved. No in betwixt. The consensus is that the majority of Americans had it good while Wild Bill was porkin' the help while in The White House. I think Wild Bill as the First Lady would be good stuff. I bet you would find him at the White House on weekends layin' around in his drawers, drinking swill and eatin' fast food. I don't knowed really what to make of Hillary. I don't hate her like most people. She's obviously smart. But I think a lot of people are concerned about a woman president. I could care less. I'm married and, therefore, a woman already runs what little life I have left after working and chasing my boy. And then you got my mother still callin' some shots.
I'm just sayin....
Can anyone take Annie Potts seriously? She' on this episode of Law & Order: Sexual Titillation and Innuendo Unit that I happened to have left on by mistake. Every time I see her I can't but help to think of her making out with Rick Moranis in Ghostbusters. She's playing a lawyer who apparently has Jedi mind control powers because the prosecutor bought into her goofyass "sexual addiction" theory and pre-trial diverted rape charges for her client who raped Sabrina the Teenage Witch and looked like a stunt double for one of The Hives. The guy was pastier than a preschooler in art class who skipped breakfast. Weird thang is, I use to go to class in between swilling it out in college with Annie Potts' nephew. He broke out that he was her nephew one time when we were in between classes - so to speak - and I didn't believe him. I mean people will say a lot of nutty stuff when they're drinking Wild Turkey. However, he quickly pulled out some photos and an assortment of Designing Women paraphernalia that made him either her nephew or a dude that needed to burst out of the closet. I wonder what happened to that cat?
Some political slogans I thunk up:
You'd be looney to vote for Rudy!
My Mama loves Obama!
John McCain: This country needs pissed off and crotchety.
Rudy Guiliani: He'll comb over the deficit and terrorism.
If you don't vote for Hillary, you'll be sillary!
That Rich Mormon Dude: The country can't handle more than one first lady.
Fred Thompson: Been there. Voted for Reagan.
John Edwards: Smart but too purty to be taken seriously.
Vote Nixon in '08: Death is not an excuse.
Could you vote for a guy with buck teeth and a comb-over that has to involve a quart of 40 weight oil and a wind machine? I mean, he is a Yankee fan and all, but I don't think that gives him a pass for being a Nazi.
John Edwards is like the hot chic with big boobs and a Looney Tunes voice that was top of your class but got no respect because of her physciality. Oh yeah, I lusted after her in vain for three years. Anyway, he's a smart dude with some decent theories but all anybody wants to talk about is how tasty he looks and how much cashola he has. He should show up for debates and interviews with no makeup, bedhead and in his p.j.'s and I bet peoples would start takin' his exit.
McCain can't get over being a geezer and mad all the time. He can't go 10 minits without mentioning Nam. I respect the guy immensely for what he did for our country and the sacrifice he made but, much like an N'Sync song in the '90's, I don't want to hear it constantly. I don't think we need a president modeled after Burgess Meredith's character in Rocky.
Fred Thompson is trying to convince everyone of one of two things and he doesn't care which one you pick, as long as you pick one. A. He's Ronald Reagan as evidenced by his acting credentials and geezerish running age. Or, B. He really is the president because you've seen him on t.v. before as the president. If you believe A., you've got some Reagan like innability to "recall" pertinent facts mysteriously when asked. If you buy into B., you probably think he is also a four star general because you saw him issuin' orders to Alec Baldwin on that air craft carrier a decade or two ago. A or B is not the answer.
Mitt Romney sounds like an yoga move with a dash of S & M. I'm sure you'd probably have to cry a mitt romney off in the shower in the dark. He's got more money than The Tabernacle and he's apparently believed in the opposite position of whatever it is he believes in now at some point in the not to distant past.
Everybody likes Obama but they all claim he can't pull it off because he ain't got no experience. How in the hell do you get "experience" being the president when you have to be elected president to get any experience? I think the experience argument is a nice way of avoiding saying that he could win but we don't know if this country is ready for a black president. I have no issues with it but I'm sure there are alot of more experienced minded honkeys out there that do.
Hillary is either hated or loved. No in betwixt. The consensus is that the majority of Americans had it good while Wild Bill was porkin' the help while in The White House. I think Wild Bill as the First Lady would be good stuff. I bet you would find him at the White House on weekends layin' around in his drawers, drinking swill and eatin' fast food. I don't knowed really what to make of Hillary. I don't hate her like most people. She's obviously smart. But I think a lot of people are concerned about a woman president. I could care less. I'm married and, therefore, a woman already runs what little life I have left after working and chasing my boy. And then you got my mother still callin' some shots.
I'm just sayin....
Monday, October 8, 2007
Bring out your dead.
The Yankees just got their stripes pinned by the Cleveland Indians. The freakin' Cleveland Indians. Oh yeah, the team that hasn't one a World Series since my dad was still sucklin from my grandma's worn-out teets (She had eleven childrens and he was number 8 of the bunch) just beat the Bronx Bombers.
Who made the last out you might ax? I'll give you a hint: he's great during the regular season but he turns stiff as an A rod in the post season. Yes, sir, Alex Emanuel Rodriquez flied out to end the season.
I want to be like wet glaze on sweet grease about this, the Yankees did not lose because A-Rod had a sub-A-Rod series. Jeter wasn't worth three Bobby Meachams.
Well, I'll have to get back to this tomorow. My wife says its time for me to go to bed. Or at least that's what I'm taking from the questions about whether or not the game ended and "if I'm coming to bed." And for those of you with your gourd in the gutter, don't get all hot and bothered. "Come to bed" means "Come in hear and watch Jungle Book in the bed with me, your two year old and a 90lb dog."
I'm just sayin.....
Who made the last out you might ax? I'll give you a hint: he's great during the regular season but he turns stiff as an A rod in the post season. Yes, sir, Alex Emanuel Rodriquez flied out to end the season.
I want to be like wet glaze on sweet grease about this, the Yankees did not lose because A-Rod had a sub-A-Rod series. Jeter wasn't worth three Bobby Meachams.
Well, I'll have to get back to this tomorow. My wife says its time for me to go to bed. Or at least that's what I'm taking from the questions about whether or not the game ended and "if I'm coming to bed." And for those of you with your gourd in the gutter, don't get all hot and bothered. "Come to bed" means "Come in hear and watch Jungle Book in the bed with me, your two year old and a 90lb dog."
I'm just sayin.....
Fear and Loafing on Columbus Day '07
I've never quite understood the theory behind Christopher Columbus. Is he celebrated because he had big enough Mary Kate and Ashley's to ride his ship out onto the not-so-flat sunset? Or, is he celebrated because he brought the VD to indians (feather not dot) and showed the rest of us where to come steal our country?
I'm not against Columbus. I even lived in a quaint little hamlet named after him in Ohio. O.K., so it was spread out like I can't believe it's not better on low lard toast and is the 16th largest city in the country, but you smell what I'm steppin' in.
I'm certainly not against a holiday. However, because Columbus Day is the bastard cousin of President's Day, i.e. it is not publicized in advance and - unless you still use saftey scissors, are a federal employee or work at a bank - it sneaks up on you like a ninja with a butt pinching fetish. It's over almost before you want to make a deposit, need a stamp or want to cut out the turkey you traced off your hand. Trying to accomplish such simple tasks that - on any other day - would be easier than that person everyone but you had, is a maddening experience. Despite the fact that you never give a damn about not being able to dew any of the above mentioned chores on any other day during the year, it's like it grates on your last psychotic nerve when you can't pull them off one Monday per calendar change.
Well, on this Columbus Day I started off stronger than a pure grain flavored Pop-Tart. I dropped off the boy, my car for fixin', got to werk, typed up an invite to my wife's 40th birthday shindig, did some other assorted asundry werkin' before meatin' mi padre for lunch at Los Amigos near Farlem, on the Southside.
Suprisingly, El Channel Ocho - or whatever it were- was not televising any special Columbus Day related programming. I'm always enthralled by the constant smiling and laughing of the los peeples on the shows on Spanish t.v. And then you got the fact that all the wimins seem to have big burrtos. But that's a different boobie, er, uh, I mean story.
Eitherwho, to celebrate the discoverin' of the land that we stole from the indians, all of us seated in booth cinco decided to partake in some - yep, you guessed it - firewater. My dad had some Mexican beer - is there a Mexican swill out there that isn't tasty? - my friend had a margarita and I had some tequila. Unlike most holiday luncheons, there was actually some food consumed. As usual, it was bueno stuffo.
Even when you don't swill it out, werking after lunch on a holiday is a hard nut to shuck. It's after lunch that you really start to ponder Ole C.C. because you're wonderin' why you hadn't thought about not werkin' in his honor earlier? If the federal "gubermint" says he's worthy of not werkin, then who is little ole me to try to thwart the wishes of The Man?
Not unlike other days when I feel like a gubermint employee, I hung around the oraphus for a while, answered a few calls and surfed the intranet. Except, in honor of Ole C.C., I looked at www.historychannel.com.
Didn't Ole C.C. come over on the Nina, Santa Maria and the Patron? I'll have to look into that.
I'm just sayin...
I'm not against Columbus. I even lived in a quaint little hamlet named after him in Ohio. O.K., so it was spread out like I can't believe it's not better on low lard toast and is the 16th largest city in the country, but you smell what I'm steppin' in.
I'm certainly not against a holiday. However, because Columbus Day is the bastard cousin of President's Day, i.e. it is not publicized in advance and - unless you still use saftey scissors, are a federal employee or work at a bank - it sneaks up on you like a ninja with a butt pinching fetish. It's over almost before you want to make a deposit, need a stamp or want to cut out the turkey you traced off your hand. Trying to accomplish such simple tasks that - on any other day - would be easier than that person everyone but you had, is a maddening experience. Despite the fact that you never give a damn about not being able to dew any of the above mentioned chores on any other day during the year, it's like it grates on your last psychotic nerve when you can't pull them off one Monday per calendar change.
Well, on this Columbus Day I started off stronger than a pure grain flavored Pop-Tart. I dropped off the boy, my car for fixin', got to werk, typed up an invite to my wife's 40th birthday shindig, did some other assorted asundry werkin' before meatin' mi padre for lunch at Los Amigos near Farlem, on the Southside.
Suprisingly, El Channel Ocho - or whatever it were- was not televising any special Columbus Day related programming. I'm always enthralled by the constant smiling and laughing of the los peeples on the shows on Spanish t.v. And then you got the fact that all the wimins seem to have big burrtos. But that's a different boobie, er, uh, I mean story.
Eitherwho, to celebrate the discoverin' of the land that we stole from the indians, all of us seated in booth cinco decided to partake in some - yep, you guessed it - firewater. My dad had some Mexican beer - is there a Mexican swill out there that isn't tasty? - my friend had a margarita and I had some tequila. Unlike most holiday luncheons, there was actually some food consumed. As usual, it was bueno stuffo.
Even when you don't swill it out, werking after lunch on a holiday is a hard nut to shuck. It's after lunch that you really start to ponder Ole C.C. because you're wonderin' why you hadn't thought about not werkin' in his honor earlier? If the federal "gubermint" says he's worthy of not werkin, then who is little ole me to try to thwart the wishes of The Man?
Not unlike other days when I feel like a gubermint employee, I hung around the oraphus for a while, answered a few calls and surfed the intranet. Except, in honor of Ole C.C., I looked at www.historychannel.com.
Didn't Ole C.C. come over on the Nina, Santa Maria and the Patron? I'll have to look into that.
I'm just sayin...
Saturday, October 6, 2007
If I told you, I'd have to tequila you.
Cuervo Tradicional and Squirt - believe it or not - actually tastes good. Not "White Castles post a good drunk good", but good nonetheless. Cuervo Tradicional and Diet Sun Drop is one of those combinations that should go down in history as muy terrible. Like Stalin and Mussolini, nitro and glycerin, big asses and spandex, these two should never mix. It was like drinking dirt without the worm.
Patron Platinum or Silver, on the otro hando, is smoother than Carlos Santana wearing silk drawers. Good stuff. I recommend it be chilled in the freezer prior to it heading south of your guzzle.
I'm about to share with you a revolucion (Damn I wish I was Bill Gates enough to knowed where to find me the el button that would sling one of those wavey things above some of these letters!) in tequlia swillin that I came up with. When swilling tequila you should use Key Limes for the after shot chaser. Using Key Limes will save you from spending a whole bunch of time trying to cut normal limes into perfectly proportioned wedges and slices. They are the size of a superball and can be cut and de-seeded quickly. Cutting regular limes almost makes you OCD out, I swear. One minit ewe'r just trying to slice a fruit to chase a shot with and then, before you realize it, ewe'r obsessing over the size of each wedge, whether you removed all the seeds and how much juice ewe'r losing in the slicing process. Just go wash your hands six or seven times and rock yourself to sleep in the corner for God's sake.
Leotard = a person with a low IQ that is obessed with Leonardo DiCaprio.
As most of ewe are aware, one of Idaho's Senators has recently come under scrutiny for his alleged participation in a George Michael like trangression in an airport bathroom in Minnessota. The Senator plead guilty to conducting himself disorderly and has now attempted to withdraw the guilty plea after the national media found out about it. While he had to have faith, the judge apparently told him "WHAM! I'm not allowing you to withdraw your guilty plea." I guess the hole "I didn't understand the law or my constitutional rights when I pleaded guilty" didn't really fly considering it was coming from a freaking jerk who writes laws for this country that have to comply with the mandates of that pesky little document known as the Constitution. The other weirdness that the rest of us non-Idahoans have figgered out of all of this is that that spud-loving conservatives have been a speculatin' on this cat's fondness for the hairy sex for 20 some odd years. I don't knowed what in the hell the guy's preferences in the rack have to do with his ability to get his legislate on butt Idahoans seem to be all about it even though they keep electing the guy. The guy actually stated that one reason he admitted to conducting himself disorderly was because he was feeling pressure from a major newspaper printing a story claiming he and Barney Frank played on the same team. If a newspaper is writing stories about how you may or may not be gay, you either need to look that gay man who always appears in your mirror straight in his eyes and admit the true, or figger out why you only hang out with women, watch Lifetime, wear thumb rings and take so long to get ready. When this whole story broke, the Republican Party was hoping that this cat would quit stalling -so to speak - and resign. Well, the damndest thing happened. He held a press conference and gave it up but now, as late as this week, he's saying - once again - he didn't know what he was doing and he's going to hang around and finish his term. Gay or not, the guy's got gonards.
Utah is predominantly Mormon. Back in the day, Mormons use to buy into polygamy - one guy having multiple wives. For the record, they gave that up a long time ago. However, they are conservative and don't buy into same sex marriages. As one of my friends said the other day, their state motto should be '"Utah: You can have as many wives as you want as long as one of them doesn't have a penis.'" I would love to see that on a bumper sticker or a license plate.
Papa John's is flogging what they say are two new pizzas. Being a man with a gut and a taste for pie, I am always attentive to piemercials. The two new flavors are a Six Cheese Pizza and a Sicilian Meats Pizza. No matter how many freaking versions of bovine lactate your throw on a pizza, its still just a cheese pizza. I ain't sayin' it ain't tastier than a chocolate covered boobie on Valentine's Day. I'm just sayin' the general pizza eatin' public is smart enough to know that this is just some kind of fancier version of a regular ole dang ole dang cheese pizza. I think someone else already holds the patent for putting cheeeze on dough with sauce. The other new pie that consits of "Sicilian Meats" is a glorified pepporoni and sausage pizza. Once again, I'm all about some sausage and pepporoni pizza but you don't have to invoke thoughts of "The Old Country" and Vito Coreleno kealing over outside his house to get me to order a pepporoni and sausage pizza.
Eye'm just sayin.....
Patron Platinum or Silver, on the otro hando, is smoother than Carlos Santana wearing silk drawers. Good stuff. I recommend it be chilled in the freezer prior to it heading south of your guzzle.
I'm about to share with you a revolucion (Damn I wish I was Bill Gates enough to knowed where to find me the el button that would sling one of those wavey things above some of these letters!) in tequlia swillin that I came up with. When swilling tequila you should use Key Limes for the after shot chaser. Using Key Limes will save you from spending a whole bunch of time trying to cut normal limes into perfectly proportioned wedges and slices. They are the size of a superball and can be cut and de-seeded quickly. Cutting regular limes almost makes you OCD out, I swear. One minit ewe'r just trying to slice a fruit to chase a shot with and then, before you realize it, ewe'r obsessing over the size of each wedge, whether you removed all the seeds and how much juice ewe'r losing in the slicing process. Just go wash your hands six or seven times and rock yourself to sleep in the corner for God's sake.
Leotard = a person with a low IQ that is obessed with Leonardo DiCaprio.
As most of ewe are aware, one of Idaho's Senators has recently come under scrutiny for his alleged participation in a George Michael like trangression in an airport bathroom in Minnessota. The Senator plead guilty to conducting himself disorderly and has now attempted to withdraw the guilty plea after the national media found out about it. While he had to have faith, the judge apparently told him "WHAM! I'm not allowing you to withdraw your guilty plea." I guess the hole "I didn't understand the law or my constitutional rights when I pleaded guilty" didn't really fly considering it was coming from a freaking jerk who writes laws for this country that have to comply with the mandates of that pesky little document known as the Constitution. The other weirdness that the rest of us non-Idahoans have figgered out of all of this is that that spud-loving conservatives have been a speculatin' on this cat's fondness for the hairy sex for 20 some odd years. I don't knowed what in the hell the guy's preferences in the rack have to do with his ability to get his legislate on butt Idahoans seem to be all about it even though they keep electing the guy. The guy actually stated that one reason he admitted to conducting himself disorderly was because he was feeling pressure from a major newspaper printing a story claiming he and Barney Frank played on the same team. If a newspaper is writing stories about how you may or may not be gay, you either need to look that gay man who always appears in your mirror straight in his eyes and admit the true, or figger out why you only hang out with women, watch Lifetime, wear thumb rings and take so long to get ready. When this whole story broke, the Republican Party was hoping that this cat would quit stalling -so to speak - and resign. Well, the damndest thing happened. He held a press conference and gave it up but now, as late as this week, he's saying - once again - he didn't know what he was doing and he's going to hang around and finish his term. Gay or not, the guy's got gonards.
Utah is predominantly Mormon. Back in the day, Mormons use to buy into polygamy - one guy having multiple wives. For the record, they gave that up a long time ago. However, they are conservative and don't buy into same sex marriages. As one of my friends said the other day, their state motto should be '"Utah: You can have as many wives as you want as long as one of them doesn't have a penis.'" I would love to see that on a bumper sticker or a license plate.
Papa John's is flogging what they say are two new pizzas. Being a man with a gut and a taste for pie, I am always attentive to piemercials. The two new flavors are a Six Cheese Pizza and a Sicilian Meats Pizza. No matter how many freaking versions of bovine lactate your throw on a pizza, its still just a cheese pizza. I ain't sayin' it ain't tastier than a chocolate covered boobie on Valentine's Day. I'm just sayin' the general pizza eatin' public is smart enough to know that this is just some kind of fancier version of a regular ole dang ole dang cheese pizza. I think someone else already holds the patent for putting cheeeze on dough with sauce. The other new pie that consits of "Sicilian Meats" is a glorified pepporoni and sausage pizza. Once again, I'm all about some sausage and pepporoni pizza but you don't have to invoke thoughts of "The Old Country" and Vito Coreleno kealing over outside his house to get me to order a pepporoni and sausage pizza.
Eye'm just sayin.....
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Wign' out
As purr ewesual, the belew is nothing more than some goofiness that I currently theorized. Any truth in the below is completely unintended and should be ignored much like the repeated calls you may or may not receive from the ilist cyber stalker of the week.
The mawl has been open for more years than one pizza joint can handle, but, throughout the years one business has persevered and still remains - not only in the same locale that it has always resided - and its chain link fence apparatus is still open for buisness during regular hours. What is the bastion of economic prosperity that flogs gear that has survived Reagan's Trickle Down Economics, the dot.com blow out and is, apparrently, one of the only joints that can rake in the dough consistenly without being a subsidiary of Halliburton?
Chic Wigs. Oh yeah. I have the stones to mention it.
Come on, admit it. Every time you went hair shoppin you've never seen a fellow wiggee (purchaser) in the store. All you ever see is a bunch of homeless hair and one wigger (seller/employee). There's never any advertising or specials. "Buy one weave and get the second at 1/2 price!" or "Special on Bee-Hives, color laced extensions and all colors of coif in a can - the world's premier aerosal hair product."
Ain't no body ever in that joint, but some how they manage to keep their chain link gate open on a daily basis. Ruby Tuesday coulnd't entice enuff butiness in with a fancy salad bar - i.e. it had separate spoons for each individual vat of dressing - but floggin' hair up near the front is a cash cow. Maybe all those people that use to frequent the ATM that was within wig distance would be counting their cash and think, "hey, I've got an extra twenty, I need some some dreadlocks to where to that business meeting the morning."
Chic Wigs has seen the arcarde bite the dust. It's seen several stores go out as quickly as they move into to the revolving grunge store area where the grunge store formerly known as Gadzooks use grunge it up. How many different people hoarkin' jewelry have come and gone during Chic Wigs reign of financial prosperity? Lewis Michelson could have had a toupee for every day had his store only been as successfull.
Paducah is all about enrichen' uranium, towboats, BBQ, quiltin' and store bought hair. Next time you see a fewl that appears to glow, get off a boat after his 30 on, wrapped in quilt, with a pompador that still has a upc code on it, don't wig out, just remember Chic Wigs will always be there.
I'm just sayin.....
The mawl has been open for more years than one pizza joint can handle, but, throughout the years one business has persevered and still remains - not only in the same locale that it has always resided - and its chain link fence apparatus is still open for buisness during regular hours. What is the bastion of economic prosperity that flogs gear that has survived Reagan's Trickle Down Economics, the dot.com blow out and is, apparrently, one of the only joints that can rake in the dough consistenly without being a subsidiary of Halliburton?
Chic Wigs. Oh yeah. I have the stones to mention it.
Come on, admit it. Every time you went hair shoppin you've never seen a fellow wiggee (purchaser) in the store. All you ever see is a bunch of homeless hair and one wigger (seller/employee). There's never any advertising or specials. "Buy one weave and get the second at 1/2 price!" or "Special on Bee-Hives, color laced extensions and all colors of coif in a can - the world's premier aerosal hair product."
Ain't no body ever in that joint, but some how they manage to keep their chain link gate open on a daily basis. Ruby Tuesday coulnd't entice enuff butiness in with a fancy salad bar - i.e. it had separate spoons for each individual vat of dressing - but floggin' hair up near the front is a cash cow. Maybe all those people that use to frequent the ATM that was within wig distance would be counting their cash and think, "hey, I've got an extra twenty, I need some some dreadlocks to where to that business meeting the morning."
Chic Wigs has seen the arcarde bite the dust. It's seen several stores go out as quickly as they move into to the revolving grunge store area where the grunge store formerly known as Gadzooks use grunge it up. How many different people hoarkin' jewelry have come and gone during Chic Wigs reign of financial prosperity? Lewis Michelson could have had a toupee for every day had his store only been as successfull.
Paducah is all about enrichen' uranium, towboats, BBQ, quiltin' and store bought hair. Next time you see a fewl that appears to glow, get off a boat after his 30 on, wrapped in quilt, with a pompador that still has a upc code on it, don't wig out, just remember Chic Wigs will always be there.
I'm just sayin.....
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Kiddy Gibberish and Unrelated Action
Rumor had it, that my son was a cute blonde version of Rain Man. Nah, he didn't have to watch Wapner at specifics time or dance with hot hispanic women in swanky hotel rooms. He just didn't talk much. According to Dr. Sulu's book, he was behind in his linguistical stylings and needed therapy. Not really a lisp nurse, cause it wasn't a spittle retention issue. He had Charley Chaplin Syndrome. The boy just didn't say his peace, so to speak.
Well, we got him hooked up through some "suckling from the state teet" program with a speech pathologist. It was slow at first. He seemed to dig showing her all his toys more than he did actually talking to her. Then, more recently, something changed. The boy, now deuce and quater anos old, started talking.
Now, if you're at our hoose, don't be surprised if you see a spherical object of some nature come flying directly at your crotch after seeing the most beautiful swing a two-year old future New York Yankee could display and hearing what can only be described as a mix between a "Stars Wars-bar-scene" dialect with a touch of a drunk Scottsman's "r" rolling. It truly is a sound to hear.
You hear it and you don't know if the dog just caught some type of varmit or if a cd skipped. There's also the occasional high pitched squeal involved, just in case you missed your weekly test of the emergency services gig that always seems to show up just when whatever you're watching just got good.
Some randomness....
What does it say about your county if they agree to (a) eliminate a guy's position early so as to insure that he doesn't get fired by another incoming cat (b) give him a severance package and then (c) claim it was illegal and (d) sue not only the poor guy they agreed to give the money to but themselves? Has anyone ever seen a situation in which an attorney sues his own client on the grounds that an action they took - which he advised them to take under the law - was illegal? I don't think this type of b.s. would have flown on the Practice. If a writer has proposed this as the plot to an episode of L.A. Law, he would have been told his was L.A. Wrong and had his privileges revoked. This is the type of action that makes Paducah great. Whereas the local government and charity groups claim it only occurs for three day in September, clearly is Swine Fest transpires year round when it comes to local political schinanigans. Without the intent of offending anyone, this whole situation should spawn a new term, Chief Paduke Giving. Who really knows what the gentleman with the poorly worded name for government work actually ever did but, one thing is for certain, he sure as hell didn't force anyone to 86 his job early and then give him a chunk of dough to ride off into the sunset. In the words of Mike Tyson, its ludicrisp.
O.K., the City needs to make their alleged payroll take hike permanent because they need the cash. Why not use all the moolah they apparently had laying around to by the Big E? Attempting to justify a continued tax increase when you attempted to buy a rundown, 70's porn set decorated hotel for millions of dough - or roughly 3 Euro - several months earlier is like trying to convince Steven Segal to lay off the doughnuts, hair product and the use of the phrase "Hard to..." in his movie titles. Much like expecting a pudgy, WD 40'd haired kung fu master who's now merely hard to take - as oppossed to be hard to kill or handle - to lay off his forumla for success, no one wants to be told they need to keep siphoning benjamins from their own checks when the same fewls that voted to keep the funnel going were just recently trying to get into the hotel buitness.
Is Nancy Grace as chapped as she looks acts or does the camera just add 10 pounds of angry?
There's actually a program on Channel Six right now - no, not the Channel 6 that's actually on Channel 5 that breaks wind, weather and news - entitled "The Price of Porn." Bob Barker is no where to be found. This is not pay per view. Her life was apparently ruined because she caught her husband - her second, which was formerly her attorney that handled her first divorce - looking at porn. She was a former Playboy model and porn viewing freaked her out. Look, if porn has any influence on your life, you need to get less of a grip (snicker) and go on about your normal daily life. All nurses do not want to sleep with you. Mailmen aren't there to give you a "special delivery". You don't get involved in threesomes by making the proper eye contact in the produce isle at the grocery store. Porn teaches you several things: you're not that good in the rack, all members of the opposite sex don't always want to do the nasty and, simply because you hear bad instrumental music suddenly playing in the background, it doesn't mean you should start stripping. Because, if you do, next thing you know, you'll be nude at an oldies bar hoping the thermostat is turned up.
I'm just sayin.....
Well, we got him hooked up through some "suckling from the state teet" program with a speech pathologist. It was slow at first. He seemed to dig showing her all his toys more than he did actually talking to her. Then, more recently, something changed. The boy, now deuce and quater anos old, started talking.
Now, if you're at our hoose, don't be surprised if you see a spherical object of some nature come flying directly at your crotch after seeing the most beautiful swing a two-year old future New York Yankee could display and hearing what can only be described as a mix between a "Stars Wars-bar-scene" dialect with a touch of a drunk Scottsman's "r" rolling. It truly is a sound to hear.
You hear it and you don't know if the dog just caught some type of varmit or if a cd skipped. There's also the occasional high pitched squeal involved, just in case you missed your weekly test of the emergency services gig that always seems to show up just when whatever you're watching just got good.
Some randomness....
What does it say about your county if they agree to (a) eliminate a guy's position early so as to insure that he doesn't get fired by another incoming cat (b) give him a severance package and then (c) claim it was illegal and (d) sue not only the poor guy they agreed to give the money to but themselves? Has anyone ever seen a situation in which an attorney sues his own client on the grounds that an action they took - which he advised them to take under the law - was illegal? I don't think this type of b.s. would have flown on the Practice. If a writer has proposed this as the plot to an episode of L.A. Law, he would have been told his was L.A. Wrong and had his privileges revoked. This is the type of action that makes Paducah great. Whereas the local government and charity groups claim it only occurs for three day in September, clearly is Swine Fest transpires year round when it comes to local political schinanigans. Without the intent of offending anyone, this whole situation should spawn a new term, Chief Paduke Giving. Who really knows what the gentleman with the poorly worded name for government work actually ever did but, one thing is for certain, he sure as hell didn't force anyone to 86 his job early and then give him a chunk of dough to ride off into the sunset. In the words of Mike Tyson, its ludicrisp.
O.K., the City needs to make their alleged payroll take hike permanent because they need the cash. Why not use all the moolah they apparently had laying around to by the Big E? Attempting to justify a continued tax increase when you attempted to buy a rundown, 70's porn set decorated hotel for millions of dough - or roughly 3 Euro - several months earlier is like trying to convince Steven Segal to lay off the doughnuts, hair product and the use of the phrase "Hard to..." in his movie titles. Much like expecting a pudgy, WD 40'd haired kung fu master who's now merely hard to take - as oppossed to be hard to kill or handle - to lay off his forumla for success, no one wants to be told they need to keep siphoning benjamins from their own checks when the same fewls that voted to keep the funnel going were just recently trying to get into the hotel buitness.
Is Nancy Grace as chapped as she looks acts or does the camera just add 10 pounds of angry?
There's actually a program on Channel Six right now - no, not the Channel 6 that's actually on Channel 5 that breaks wind, weather and news - entitled "The Price of Porn." Bob Barker is no where to be found. This is not pay per view. Her life was apparently ruined because she caught her husband - her second, which was formerly her attorney that handled her first divorce - looking at porn. She was a former Playboy model and porn viewing freaked her out. Look, if porn has any influence on your life, you need to get less of a grip (snicker) and go on about your normal daily life. All nurses do not want to sleep with you. Mailmen aren't there to give you a "special delivery". You don't get involved in threesomes by making the proper eye contact in the produce isle at the grocery store. Porn teaches you several things: you're not that good in the rack, all members of the opposite sex don't always want to do the nasty and, simply because you hear bad instrumental music suddenly playing in the background, it doesn't mean you should start stripping. Because, if you do, next thing you know, you'll be nude at an oldies bar hoping the thermostat is turned up.
I'm just sayin.....
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Swine Fest On The River '07
Well peeples, it's that time of year again. It's Paducah's own little holiday on river. It's a pinch of Fourth of July, mixed with a dash of St. Patrick's Day and whole mess of Giving Thanks. You got your weekend that everyone looks forward too, a nicely squared-off area to drink your swill that you had to use tickets to procure (what's the gig with the tickets and feeling like a rednosed raffle winner everytime you have to go buy more?) and a whole lot of chow to mow down on. Oh yea, it's Swine Fest on The River '07!
If Richard Simmons filmed an exercise video hear this weekend it'd be called "Porkin' to The Oldies". If Ron Popeil were at the riverfront, he'd tell you to throw some swine in the trusty Showtime Rotisserie Grill and "Pork it and forget it." Yogi Berra - if asked about the Swine Fest, would tell you, "When you come to a pork in the road, take it." If the Swine Fest had a debate, Rudy Porkliani would go toe to toe with Porklary Clinton. If ESPN covered the event, highlights would be on the 10 O'Clock Porkcenter. Okay, enuff of the "Wayne's World-esque" action. Werd.
With all the assorted variations on swine, sweets and swill, downtown is like the last challenge prior to the not-so Biggest Loser being sent home to show his/her spouse how hot they now are before reminding them how hot they ain't. As an afront, I wonder how many perfectly happy overweight marriages that show has busted up because it made one spouse hot and gave them self-confidence while leaving the other, at home, to take care of the kids, manage their lives and count the Twinkies until the other came home?
Back to the pork at hand. Essentially, every booth down at the Fest has swine that would make you smack yo grandmomma in the teeth if she had them in. I've never ate anything down there that wasn't tasty. Of course, I'm kinda like that bald guy on that show that comes on that cable network once a week, i.e. I ain't ate too much I didn't dig. You're real quandry is on who's swine do you dine?
That's where you get yourself into a whole mess of decidin'. Dry rub v. sauce. Hot v. mild. Beef v. chicken. The booth barbecuing for Jesus v. the booth barbecuing for some charity you've never heard of. Whichever one you decide to bone up with, you can't go wong.
Another factor that has to be thrown into to your math before you solve the Swine Fest equation is, at what time do you go? Choosing the wrong time to show can cause you either to see a whole helluva of a lot of people you know - which, in turn, means you talk to them as opposed to the person(s) that brung ye, which may or may not be desireable- or you won't see any porkin' people that you know at all. This two, much like a menu that defines "mountain oysters", can be advantageous for reasons that will remain nameless.
And then ewe got ewe're fried items. Twinkies. Oreos. Ice cream. Cheesecake. Allegedly, some charitable bunch of artery-cloggers are fryin' up Snickers this year. There's so much tasty fried goodness down there that the Cardiology Group has a booth. I heard that Western Baptist is going to have a booth equipped with a catheter lab on site.
Swine Fest '07 looks to be better than its porkcessors. Stop by the ATM, grab some cash, brush up on using a defibulator and get your pork on!
I'm just sayin.....
If Richard Simmons filmed an exercise video hear this weekend it'd be called "Porkin' to The Oldies". If Ron Popeil were at the riverfront, he'd tell you to throw some swine in the trusty Showtime Rotisserie Grill and "Pork it and forget it." Yogi Berra - if asked about the Swine Fest, would tell you, "When you come to a pork in the road, take it." If the Swine Fest had a debate, Rudy Porkliani would go toe to toe with Porklary Clinton. If ESPN covered the event, highlights would be on the 10 O'Clock Porkcenter. Okay, enuff of the "Wayne's World-esque" action. Werd.
With all the assorted variations on swine, sweets and swill, downtown is like the last challenge prior to the not-so Biggest Loser being sent home to show his/her spouse how hot they now are before reminding them how hot they ain't. As an afront, I wonder how many perfectly happy overweight marriages that show has busted up because it made one spouse hot and gave them self-confidence while leaving the other, at home, to take care of the kids, manage their lives and count the Twinkies until the other came home?
Back to the pork at hand. Essentially, every booth down at the Fest has swine that would make you smack yo grandmomma in the teeth if she had them in. I've never ate anything down there that wasn't tasty. Of course, I'm kinda like that bald guy on that show that comes on that cable network once a week, i.e. I ain't ate too much I didn't dig. You're real quandry is on who's swine do you dine?
That's where you get yourself into a whole mess of decidin'. Dry rub v. sauce. Hot v. mild. Beef v. chicken. The booth barbecuing for Jesus v. the booth barbecuing for some charity you've never heard of. Whichever one you decide to bone up with, you can't go wong.
Another factor that has to be thrown into to your math before you solve the Swine Fest equation is, at what time do you go? Choosing the wrong time to show can cause you either to see a whole helluva of a lot of people you know - which, in turn, means you talk to them as opposed to the person(s) that brung ye, which may or may not be desireable- or you won't see any porkin' people that you know at all. This two, much like a menu that defines "mountain oysters", can be advantageous for reasons that will remain nameless.
And then ewe got ewe're fried items. Twinkies. Oreos. Ice cream. Cheesecake. Allegedly, some charitable bunch of artery-cloggers are fryin' up Snickers this year. There's so much tasty fried goodness down there that the Cardiology Group has a booth. I heard that Western Baptist is going to have a booth equipped with a catheter lab on site.
Swine Fest '07 looks to be better than its porkcessors. Stop by the ATM, grab some cash, brush up on using a defibulator and get your pork on!
I'm just sayin.....
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
You're initial "Slingo" experience
WARNING: The gibberish that is about to appear below is solely my opinion and, if it affects your life in any substantial way, you should immediately ask your mother to take to your therapist's office to request a full refund. And no matter what they say, do not take in store credit. You want a full refund damn it! Whereas any grammatical errors may or may not be intentional, most ms. spellings are mint to be their along with the use of the wrong werd. I'm a big phan of goofiness such as that and I've decided to stick with the lingo that brung me. A good friend of mine has coined the term "Slingo" to describe the vernacular that I recalcitrate. So, lace up your vestibules and here we go......
Ewe ever noticed that no matter how terrible the weekend end news wrap up is, the anchor throws in what the number one flic at the box officer fer the weekend? "Iran launched a nuclear attack on Iraq today, the stock market crashed and finally, Dirty Dancing 2: Havanna Nights takes the weekend box office. " I mean no matter how shady thangs have gotten, the major networks apparently feel as though we need to know what movie we should have went and saw just prior to our starting to glow in the dark. I mean if watching a Swayzeless bastardization of one of the best worst movies of all times would have save me some duckets, I would not have given all my excess cash to that nice Nigerian fellow that contacted me via the internet.
Hear is a tip - and I'm not saying it applies to Nigeria because I'm not Jaque Cousteau or his non-union equivalent - if you live in a country that has changed names during your life time, you need to bolt. I mean naming a country is a little more serious than naming a pet or deciding to take on your spouse's last name. Burma is now Myanmar (which is I thought was the place Maverick and Goose went to school in Top Gun until recently). I guess that is better than Burma II, or Big Burm. Apparently Chad, which I remember from my 6th Grade Social Studies report is now something more official sounding. All those Slavias and Slovakias in Europe are now something else. Is Tunisia still running around out there sounding like a fish with a memory disorder or did Kadhfia or somebody hornswaggle on into to the mix and change it all up? These are all just questions. There are no attendance policies or homework assignments.
Whatever happened to Caroline Rhea as the moder-eater on NBC's lard fest that is The Biggest Loser? I found Caroline Rhea to be a more credible host than that waife that either did or did not bump uglies with Lucas during the Days of their Life. I mean, you knowed before you ever nude that Caroline Rhea as having to be caddle prodded away from the chow related challenges. A couple of times when the camera would cut back and catch her unprepared, you could see her wipe sauce off her mug hastily, as if you couldn't see the half-eaten bratwurst laying on the floor next to her. I mean, this new chic looks as if she has purge breaks in betwixt the commercials. We no longer have the fun of looking ferwerd to each week to see if the host had boned up to the all you could eat buffet at the Sizzler just outside the friendly confines of The Ranch. I could identify with because I look like the guy that ate me in high school. Have you noticed that it is called "the campus" this season. That is either a move to disassociate it with a fatty salad dressing or someone realized that calling it that made it sound like our chunky monkeys were gettin' on the good foot to do the fat thang in a cult-like environment.
Finally, is everybody looking forward to porking themselves silly at the Swine Fest on the River? I always dig the coming together of the various types of cultures and peoples that you encounter at said pork-o-thon. Fer instance, there's a church group that always flogs the apparent Baptized version of the Mexican delicacy, fried of ice cream. Who would have thunk that the concept of frying a frozen treat would have brought these divergent peeples together in the name of charity?
I'm just sayin......
Ewe ever noticed that no matter how terrible the weekend end news wrap up is, the anchor throws in what the number one flic at the box officer fer the weekend? "Iran launched a nuclear attack on Iraq today, the stock market crashed and finally, Dirty Dancing 2: Havanna Nights takes the weekend box office. " I mean no matter how shady thangs have gotten, the major networks apparently feel as though we need to know what movie we should have went and saw just prior to our starting to glow in the dark. I mean if watching a Swayzeless bastardization of one of the best worst movies of all times would have save me some duckets, I would not have given all my excess cash to that nice Nigerian fellow that contacted me via the internet.
Hear is a tip - and I'm not saying it applies to Nigeria because I'm not Jaque Cousteau or his non-union equivalent - if you live in a country that has changed names during your life time, you need to bolt. I mean naming a country is a little more serious than naming a pet or deciding to take on your spouse's last name. Burma is now Myanmar (which is I thought was the place Maverick and Goose went to school in Top Gun until recently). I guess that is better than Burma II, or Big Burm. Apparently Chad, which I remember from my 6th Grade Social Studies report is now something more official sounding. All those Slavias and Slovakias in Europe are now something else. Is Tunisia still running around out there sounding like a fish with a memory disorder or did Kadhfia or somebody hornswaggle on into to the mix and change it all up? These are all just questions. There are no attendance policies or homework assignments.
Whatever happened to Caroline Rhea as the moder-eater on NBC's lard fest that is The Biggest Loser? I found Caroline Rhea to be a more credible host than that waife that either did or did not bump uglies with Lucas during the Days of their Life. I mean, you knowed before you ever nude that Caroline Rhea as having to be caddle prodded away from the chow related challenges. A couple of times when the camera would cut back and catch her unprepared, you could see her wipe sauce off her mug hastily, as if you couldn't see the half-eaten bratwurst laying on the floor next to her. I mean, this new chic looks as if she has purge breaks in betwixt the commercials. We no longer have the fun of looking ferwerd to each week to see if the host had boned up to the all you could eat buffet at the Sizzler just outside the friendly confines of The Ranch. I could identify with because I look like the guy that ate me in high school. Have you noticed that it is called "the campus" this season. That is either a move to disassociate it with a fatty salad dressing or someone realized that calling it that made it sound like our chunky monkeys were gettin' on the good foot to do the fat thang in a cult-like environment.
Finally, is everybody looking forward to porking themselves silly at the Swine Fest on the River? I always dig the coming together of the various types of cultures and peoples that you encounter at said pork-o-thon. Fer instance, there's a church group that always flogs the apparent Baptized version of the Mexican delicacy, fried of ice cream. Who would have thunk that the concept of frying a frozen treat would have brought these divergent peeples together in the name of charity?
I'm just sayin......
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)