The Bush Of Death

Well, the Faceshit has struck yet again. This time I got a note from a girl who claims I went to school with her way back in the 80's. Her name is Renee and she informed me she was a big haired hair metal fan. And my initial thought was - I should remember this person. But I didn't. So, I very nicely wrote her back and didn't lie to her, I admitted I had no recollection of her whatsoever. I also told her to read this stupid blog and that Bon Jovi still sucks. Renee wrote me back and informed me of a couple things that were pretty interesting. 1) She read some posts from this blog and said "you are still bombastic." & 2) She mentioned that I was "the nucleus" of schoolgirl crushes, of which I may have been unaware. And I want to say for the record that 1) I wouldn't describe myself as bombastic in 9th and 10th grade. I'm sure I was a jerk. A narcissistic asshole. A pathological cheater with an unhealthy fixation on a girl named Rayna Russell. But not bombastic. & 2) I'm not super surprised to learn that I was the "nucleus" of schoolgirl crushes, but in my defense, I didn't encourage any crushes. As I said above, I was a terrible, terrible person, just as I am now. As far as Renee goes, I wished her luck. If she was a big haired Bon Jovi fan back in 1987 (the last time I would have seen her), she's needed it over the years. Those poor girls. Whew!

The school that Renee was talking about was a school I mentioned last year in a few posts (old Mrs Rummer, the Electric Boogie Woman, and that chick who stalked me at Papa Joe's when I was in college). It's not the old Wellington School (which Renee, the big haired Bon Jovi fan mentioned above, in one of her notes on the Faceshit called "that swanky school"), this school was one I lovingly referred to at the time, and still do today, as The Bush Of Death. Now, The Bush Of Death was a private school, that in addition to poorly educating kids, also tried to brainwash them with religious indoctrination. It mostly worked too. Lots of those poor kids were scared to death they would go to hell if they so much as smoked a cigarette, thought about naked chicks, or questioned the scientific validity of creationism. It was a terrible place. I was lucky to make friends with Todd Myers (who I have also mentioned on this blog in a number of posts). That kid saved my life at The Bush Of Death. The first time I met Todd I said something totally arrogant about my prowess in soccer, and he found it funny. We became fast friends very quickly. Here are some interesting nuggets of info about The Bush Of Death -

1) There was a kid nicknamed Whacker - so coined because he was a chronic masturbator. This kid went door to door soliciting money so he could start a band. He wasn't selling anything. Whacker was just ringing doorbells and looking for a handout. And he didn't bathe regularly. I think he raised like 3 bucks.

2) They had a prayer circle every morning. You were supposed to hold hands while some teacher prayed. As many of you know, I hate touching people. This was pure torture.

3) You had to attend a bible class every day. I never paid any attention to it. It was more tedious than listening to George, J, and Fat Adam talk sports at Get Bent Lounge.

4) The teachers were woefully under qualified in almost every instance (although old Mrs Rummer was an exception of sorts). The biology teacher could never refute any argument made against creationism. The Geometry teacher was constantly making mistakes when lecturing. The World History teacher was a senile old woman who used a textbook from like the 50's. The Spanish teacher was hot, but I never got the sense she knew much Spanish.

5) The Athletic Director/Soccer Coach/Hoops Coach was a bitter man plagued with a Napoleon complex. And he was one of the dumbest individuals I have ever met. His name is escaping me at the moment. Bucky something, I think. His idea of coaching was to put on tapes of the 1986 World Cup and have us watch. I refused to play hoops for him. He was petty and vindictive. I learned some years later that this Bucky character was carrying on an affair with a female teacher for some time. Now I don't pass judgment on those kinds of things, but it seems awfully, I don't know, maybe hypocritical to force kids to pray, study the bible, and scare them shitless about sinning, while carrying on adulterous affairs within the school staff. Just a little.

6) The kids that went to The Bush Of Death could basically be split into 2 camps. The 1st were the children of very religious middle class people who didn't want there kids anywhere near public schools. The 2nd were kids of lower middle class, not particularly religious, people who also didn't want their kids anywhere near public schools. Needless to say, this created a great deal of friction. The 1st group of kids looked down on the 2nd group and the religious nature of the education made the 2nd group feel even worse because these kids parents were not insiders in something called Church Of Christ. The whole dynamic of the place was us against them. It was ridiculous. I couldn't wait to get out of there.

7) Every kind of social outcast imaginable went to school there. Kids who could not cope or function in a normal school were funneled there. I mean freaks of all kind. Hyper kids. Ugly kids. Fat kids. Kids who refused to bathe. Kids who smelled like soup. It freaked me out on a daily basis.

Enough about that place for now.

The other day, I was flipping around the old TV and came across the ABC Family Channel. Something called Mr Magoo's Drug Emporium or something like that was being aired. Anyway, it held my interest. Why? It held my interest because that girl from Jerusalem from the Star Whores movies was in it. That's why.

It will come back to you

Some Tidbits About Barry

I spent some time in front of the old TV over the weekend. And from what I could gather looking at the silly "news" stations, our supreme socialist saviour, the one and only Barack Hussein Obama, is almost as unpopular with voters as birth control is with the servers at The Wing Joint on Battleground. Barry's rating is hovering around 45% favorable from what I could gather. And I'd like to take full credit for this, but since I am completely pointless, I probably shouldn't. Instead, old Barry really has only his own fantastic narcissism to blame. I've been saying over and over that folks don't want all this stuff he's been peddling. But he and his lackeys in Congress don't seem to care. As an outgrowth of this unpopularity, it appeared on the "news" channels that a number of the talking heads were predicting big wins in the upcoming elections for that other, more pachyderm tilted party, the GOP. And I want to go on record over 3 months before this election and tell you why that might be a mistake for fans of the GOP. 1st, the leaders in there now are pretty much the same failures that got booted out of power 4 years ago. It would be a godsend to Barry for him to be debating the likes of John Boner and Mitch McConnell the next 2 years. 2nd, the GOP doesn't seem to have any new ideas. They have the same ideas that they never could pass or stick to before. The legislation these folks would try and enact would be laughable in many respects. There is a way to avoid this. If the Republicans do make gains necessary to get a majority in the House, ELECT NEW LEADERSHIP - folks with fresh faces and cogent ideas. Because if they don't, this coming "victory" will be short-lived and old Barry will ride the GOP's inevitable gaffes to a 2nd term. There are some younger, virtually unknown, well spoken Republican members of the House who would be very good. I've looked into this a bit. For instance, there's a guy my age from Wisconsin who tells the absolute truth. A guy named Paul Ryan. He would be perfect. Another guy from Indiana named Mike Pence is also good. He's a little bit older (around 50), but impressive. My point is - just winning & not offering anything original is gonna backfire. In the Senate, the math does not look promising for the GOP to take control. I can't envision that happening. But there is a guy to pull hard for. A guy running in Kentucky by the name of Rand Paul.

I have also been looking into potential challengers for Barack Hussein Obama in 2012. And I will handicap that race before the end of the year. I will make a prediction on who will get the nomination and how much of a chance that person has at winning. I'm prescient. You'll want to check that out and tell folks. You'll seem like an oracle.

I learned a few things about old Barry recently, things I was blissfully clueless on. And maybe I'm the last person to learn some of this. It's funny, because I've been mocking him for 2 & 1/2 years now, and I had no idea about everything that follows. Did you know that Barry's Daddy (Barry Sr. - I'm not making that up) paid his 1st wife's family in Kenya a dowry of 14 cows? That Barry Sr married Barry's mom while STILL married to the Kenyan babe I just mentioned? That Barry Sr was a raging drunk that beat women? That Barry dated a number of white chicks in the 80's? That folks who've known him for a long while really call him Barry until this very day? That he was so mediocre at hoops that he couldn't start for his prep school team? That his white grandparents basically raised him? That Barry got into Columbia as a transfer student? That he lost a Congressional race to Bobby Rush, a member of the Black Panthers? These strange facts just go on and on. What a weird cat. I mean, I almost started to feel sorry for the guy. Seriously. He's gotta be almost as messed up in the head as I am - ALMOST. Poor bastard.

Also, flipping around the channels over the weekend, I came across Braveheart. I'd never seen it before. And it was about what I expected - Mel Gibson pretending he's Jesus. Silly. But the girl who played the princess - there you go.

NFL training camps & college practices are starting up here soon. I think it's only 5 weeks until the the 1st college Thursday action. That off-season went by fast. And it seems to go by faster every year I manage to stay alive.

I've got more of the typical silliness. I'll get that up soon.

I am out.

Texting Matters

I mention texts on this infantile blog from time to time. Mostly stuff that Geilfuss passes along to me. I normally don't mention my reply texts however. What follows are only the reply texts I sent out last night to Greensboro's favorite bartender, & religious Glenn Beck viewer, Dave. I don't think any context is needed, nor are the texts that Dave sent to me.

6:58 - Yes. Heading out soon. You working?

7:01 - Thanks for the heads up.

7:53 - Tell Pam that Liz has been asking about HER.

8:42 - Tell Pam that Arizona Pete's called & they did find her thong in the men's room - XL and moist.

11:50 - Ask that fat chick who works with Goose when she needs to be back at the group home.

1:24 - What a fucking idiot.

You can make up a story in your own head about what might have led to each text, and if you know me, it will be pretty accurate. I'm not a nice person...

I wish I could go back and reprint text conversations that Andy & I have had over the years when we were sitting at a bar somewhere and talking with an idiot or a group of idiots. Those would be priceless. And if you're wondering, yes, if Andy wasn't careful, he might have spit out his beer when reading some of the texts I sent about some poor soul sitting 2 or 3 or 4 feet away. A lot of texts like the ones above that I sent to Dave last evening. Things like: Can you smell the cum in her throat? or - Do you think even Tom would fuck this? or - I think this chick fucked George in the back room 5 minutes ago. Stuff like that.

Dave did ask me yet again last night about Salt. It's finally opening Friday. I just want this sad chapter to be over. This is getting more ridiculous than his buildup to the new Nightmare On Elm Street a few months back or his A-Team fixation after that.

Speaking of the A-Team, I for one, do not, have not, nor will ever, pity the fool.

Although I do love it when a plan comes together...

----->

Playing Hoops With The Principal

I got a text from Geilfuss last night at about 2:30. In it Geilfuss informed me that Howard from the infamous Get Bent Lounge was screaming that Barack Hussein Obama is not black. And I chuckled about that. For one, I know Howard and when Howard gets going about something, he can be pretty loud and pretty adamant. For another, Howard is a black guy and I'm guessing he doesn't want to be associated in any way, shape, or form with a spectacular failure like Barry.

Back in the halcyon days of early fall 1982, I started school at a place called Northland Academy. For anyone who doesn't know, it was a school located on Cleveland Avenue, just south of Dublin-Granville Rd, about a mile on the right. The school has long been defunct. I think it went under in the late 80s. If you drive by the building today, I'm not sure what you'd see. I know at one point it headquartered some kind of Penny Saver type circular during the 90s. Anyway, the first day I went into the place to be educated, I wasn't nervous or anything like that. I'd describe my attitude as ambivalent. I made my way to the basement part of the building and found the classroom for what the school called 6A. There were 2 6th grade classes. The other was 6B. I quickly figured out that if you were in 6B, the school was basically telling you that you were an idiot. When I met the kids of 6B during recess and then over the course of the next few weeks, it became clear that something wasn't right with most of them. I wasn't aware of it at the time, but I learned later that the school divided the 6th graders into classes based on IQ scores. And I'm basically a moron, but I do test well. If you just look at test results on paper, you'd easily be fooled into thinking that I have a lot going for me mentally. So, as I'm sitting there in 6A that first morning, waiting for the teacher to start in, I kind of looked around me and studied the class for babes. And I can report that there were maybe 2 or 3 girls that you could argue were babes. I walked up to the babe sitting nearest me (a blonde girl whose name I couldn't tell you for the life of me, but who favorably resembled a younger Cheryl Ladd) and said something that must have upset her because within 45 seconds I was asked, by my brand new teacher, Mrs. Crisman, to go to the Principal's office. I have to be the only kid in the history of schools to be sent to the Principal's office before a single class has started. So, I make my way back out of 6A and walk up a couple flights of stairs looking for the Principal's office. I had to ask several folks where the office was. Once I found it, located up on the 3rd floor, I got to meet the Principal, Mr Femia. Now, I assumed that Mr Femia would have no idea who the hell I was or why I'd been sent to his office before the first class on the first day of school. But I was wrong about that. As I got just outside his door, it was like Mr Femia had been expecting me. He said, "Young man, I heard all about you already." I said, "Okay." Mr Femia did not get upset at my sarcasm. Instead of getting upset, he laughed. What ended up happening is that Mr Femia and I had a nice conversation about the respectable way to approach 11 year old girls, and we talked about sports. Mr Femia heard that I might be good at hoops (who told him this, I still am not sure). And Mr Femia liked sports. We ended up becoming buddies. Over the 3 years that I attended Northland Academy, I got sent up to Mr Femia's office pretty often. All we ever did is talk about sports for awhile. Mr Femia would say, "Do you think it's been long enough for Mrs. So And So to calm down?" I'd say. "I sure hope so." Then Mr Femia would say, "Go back to class. And _____, don't be a little prick to Mrs. So And So again today." I'd say, "Gotcha, Mr Femia. I'm golden." Then I'd go back to class, walk in, and whatever teacher had sent me to the office inevitably had an alarming look on her face when she realized that I hadn't been disciplined in the least by Mr Femia. Mr Femia and I used to play hoops at lunch time against 2 other kids from the NA Wildcat hoops squad, Lance Orr & Sanjeev Sant. Lance Orr was our point guard - the kid could distribute the rock, and Sanjeev was our center - he towered over all of us by 3 or 4 inches. The 4 of us would play 2 on 2 from time to time. Always Mr Femia & me against Lance & Sanjeev. The only reason I bring this up is this: one lunch, during a game, I went up for a rebound at the same time Mr Femia did and swung my elbow in such a way that I broke Mr Femia's nose. That's right, I might be the only kid to not only get sent to the Principal's office before I had a single class at a school, I'm also probably the only kid to break the Principal's nose and not get in any trouble for it. Mr Femia wasn't the least bit angry because we beat Lance & Sanjeev that day. It was always a battle when the 2 teams faced off. Lots of close games. But remember, I could drain it. And as we all know in this life, when you can shoot, all sins are forgiven. Some of you might be wondering what it was exactly that I said to that blonde girl that first morning of 6th grade, the remark that got me sent to Mr Femia's office for the 1st time. I'll tell you. What I said to her was this: "Hi. I'm _____. And I can tell you're excited to have me in class with you. The way I can tell is by all the pussy juice running down your thighs."

I mentioned Lance and Sanjeev above. And that got me to thinking about what the hell ever became of the 2 of them. We all went to different schools after 8th grade. I just googled them. Lance is an officer in the US Air Force, which makes sense what with Lance being a point guard and all. And Sanjeev is Dean of Admissions for some law school or something. As far as Mr Femia goes, he'd have to be about 70 now. When you google him, an address does pop up in Columbus on some politics web site. Maybe he's still playing hoops. Who knows? It's interesting because Lance and Sanjeev are pretty successful contributors to our society. And their old hoops teammate, the kid who never saw a shot he didn't like, or take, the kid typing this stupid blog post right this moment, what became of him? It's hard to say exactly. But he's certainly not a positive contributor to our society. I guess 2 out of 3 isn't bad...

Everybody look at you hands

I am out - TBFH

A Conspiracy Freak Walks Into The Bar

I was sitting at a bar - just innocently minding my own business. Not wanting to bother a soul or a sole. Then some guy 2 seats down starts in with some comment on the Bonus Penetration deal and all the oil all over the place. I told him I hadn't heard anything about it. Again, I just wanted to sit there and contemplate things like - how big is Oprah's clitoris??? Things like that. I had no interest in any conversation whatsoever. Well, this guy would not shut up and started claiming that there is some conspiracy afoot involving Bonus Penetration, The Tory Party, & Dick Cheney to make Barack Hussein Obama look bad. When the guy said that, I couldn't help myself, I said, "Isn't Barack Hussein Obama making himself look plenty bad all on his own?" This dude didn't laugh (of course, I wasn't exactly kidding...). Anyway, I have found that when you find yourself near a guy who likes to dabble in conspiracy kookiness, it's best not to say anything. You can't shut these nuts up. Just nod your head at them and act as stupid and disinterested as possible. They'll talk themselves out in 5 minutes or so if you don't engage them. So, the guy waited a minute and then said something about if I knew the truth about 9/11. I said, "Never heard of it." THAT, he laughed at. And I thought - Oh Fuck...Here we go. Sure enough, this guy talks 4 or 5 minutes about how the Mossad, CIA, and yes, Dick Cheney again, were the perpetrators of the 9/11 attacks. I just let the freak talk. It wasn't anything I hadn't heard from similar nuts before. Finally, after his mini-tirade, he asks me another question, "Who was to gain from the attacks, man? Who, man?" As I said earlier, it's best not to engage these nuts. What they do is this; any rational argument you make as to why their ideas are loony, they turn around and use it as further proof to STRENGTHEN their delusional silliness. For example, if you say something like, "What would you say to the parents of folks who were on the planes and talked to their kids via one of those airphone deals minutes before the planes either hit the World Trade Center or the Pentagon or crashed in PA? Would you call them liars, to their faces? Because I would enjoy seeing that." When you make such an argument what these idiots inevitably do is, as I noted, use it to embolden themselves. They'll say something like, "That's how horrible Bush and his crew was, man. They paid off parents of passengers to lie. Don't you see?" You'll get that kind of infuriating response. So, I didn't say anything more than this when the nut asked me who was to gain, "Count Chocula?" He wondered if I was mocking him. And then I said, "Well, let me ask you one thing and then I'll tell you if I'm mocking you. Okay? Do you believe the assassination attempts on JFK, MLK, & RFK are part of vast conspiracies?" The freak got excited. He said, "Fuck yeah, man. Fuck yeah." I said, "Okay. Do you believe that the assassination attempts on Gerry Ford, Ronald Reagan, and W were carried out by lone crackpots?" He said, "Fuck. You know it. So what?" I said, "Okay. Now I can definitively tell you that, yes, I am mocking you." The guy looked frazzled and like he needed an enema (but I digress). He said, "What the fuck? What does one thing have to do with the other, man?" I said, as I got up from the bar to take off, "Well, what you're telling me is that if a guy you like has an attempt taken on his life, then that must be conspiracy. And if a guy you don't like is is shot at, it's not a conspiracy. You're an idiot." And then I left that bar. It smelled like Malaysian diarrhea in there anyway. I mean, it was a little rank. And by rank I mean, it wasn't pleasing to smell.

I've noticed these creatures from Despicable Me popping up all over the place - I believe they are called minions. And I gotta say that, although it's unlikely I'll ever see the movie, I'm down with those minions guys. I really am. I'm gonna have to get a few to go with all my other silly toys that most men give up when they are 11 year old boys...

I went over to this cheap grocery store near the joint where I occasionally show up to work the other day. I was looking for chicken gizzards, but couldn't find any. I saw tons of parts of the pig for sale that I'd never knew existed before, but no chicken gizzards. So, I went over to the potted meat aisle & bought a tin of that for 33 cents. Then I walked back to work and placed the potted meat on a table in the break room. Then I told a bunch of folks that I got an awesome treat for everyone to share & they needed to go to the break room to find out what it was. Well, I can report that, as of end of business today, the tin of potted meat remained unopened. How sad. I try and do something nice, and...

They are about to show Better Off Dead on AMC and then 16 Candles. My man John Cusack. I am out.

Hanks

One of those silly bar debates broke out last week at The Wing Joint on Battleground. This particular debate centered around who was the greatest athlete ever. A few names were thrown out, names like Jim Thorpe, Carl Lewis, Bo Jackson, etc. Then Greensboro's favorite bartender & Tea Party admirer, Dave, weighed in on this silly bar topic. Dave's suggestion was: "Hank Williams." I couldn't resist a follow up to Dave's amazing suggestion. I said, "You mean the country singer who died in 1953? That is the best athlete ever?" Dave said, "Dammit! Now this is gonna be on your stupid blog. I meant Hank Gathers." I said, "You meant Hank Gathers? The poor kid who died on the basketball court back in 1990? I don't know if that's a whole lot better choice than Hank Williams. You might just want to go ahead and name all the Hanks - Azaria, Aaron, Tom..." Dave said, "Fuck you. Shut up. Who would you suggest, wise-ass?" I said, "Well, as you know, philosophers have long debated this question and I'm no philosopher, but I think the greatest athlete I'm aware of is Jenna Jameson." Nobody at The Wing Joint could dispute that. Nor did they.

Someone informed me that the owner of the NY Yankees died today. And I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I thought the guy had died years ago. The last thing I remember about this owner of the NY Yankees was when he was banned from the game for paying a lowlife to dig up dirt on Dave Winfield back about 20 years ago.

I heard from Andy about picks for the Open Championship. And we were super close on the US Open (as we had Dustin Johnson & Ernie Els...) last month and agonizingly close last year at the Open Championship (Lee Westwood...). Anyway, I saw where the weather might be really brutal over in Scotland this weekend. So, these picks are thrown out with the caveat that I don't control the weather in the British Isles (maybe Albert Arnold Gore does...): McIlroy, Ishikawa, Cabrera, Poulter, D Johnson, and Els. We'll see.

I was out with Dave, Greensboro's favorite bartender, last evening and we did venture back, ever so briefly, to the IUD (the joint on Lawndale I blogged about maybe 6 weeks back or so). And there was yet another butt-ugly repulsive broad behind the bar. Anyway, I don't know where the owner finds these women who tend bar there (maybe from episodes of Addiction???), but I've seen 2 of them now & they were both so nasty and reeking of yeast infections, that I don't know who would want a drink that either of them had handled in their scary clutches.

Big bouncing babies, bread & butter can I have a slice

Thataway --->

The King Runs Away

Well, you know things are getting bad for all the really cool people way out on the socialist fringe, or should I say socialist middle, of the Democrat Party, when the cliched cries of racism are thrown around like STD's are thrown around by the Dream Team of Get Bent Lounge infamy. One Jesse Jackson, a man not unfamiliar with racial epithets from way back in the day (Jesse did call NYC "Hymietown" back in the 80's), decided that the Cleveland Cavs owner is a slave owner. I'm not sure of Jesse's rationale on this. I don't think the Cavs owner is old enough to have owned slaves (the guy would have to be like over 157 years old) or that any of the brothers who have played for the Cavs are old enough to have been slaves. So, Jesse can't mean this literally. At least I don't think so. Maybe Jesse means that this owner treats his players like slaves. But that doesn't make any sense, you know, seeing as how most of his players are multi-millionaires and all. I have no idea what Jesse meant. Perhaps it has something to do with the little reported news that one of the Cavs best players at choking in the NBA Playoffs left Cleveland to play elsewhere. But who could care enough about that to compare the situation to that of the antebellum South??? Oh, wait, maybe a washed-up moron like Jesse Jackson does. I thought since news of his fathering babies out of wedlock hit the fan some time back, that Jesse was pretty much persona non grata in the media. I guess I was wrong about that. The other example of silly racial mudslinging was done by none other than Mrs. Barack Hussein Obama. Now, I wasn't aware that she gave speeches at all. But at some conference earlier, Mrs. Barry claimed that those who would dare oppose her brilliant husband, must be racists. And once again, this blog was prescient. I predicted some time ago that Barry, or in this case his woman, would try and discredit folks who disagree with him by labeling them racists. The ploy smacks of desperation on Barry's part and his woman's part. While I am certain that many folks who did not vote for Barry are racist pieces of garbage, as I've come across them. I'm also certain that just as many racist pieces of garbage did vote for Barry. Their irrational hatred of W trumped their irrational racist tendencies. Someone should tell Barry or his beautiful, stylish bride that folks disapprove of him and are pissed at him, not because he happens to be a brother, but because he's been a spectacular failure of epic proportions.

I mentioned it above in passing, but I wanted to comment on the little reported story of The King leaving Cleveland for Miami. And I for one want to applaud The King. I think what The King did was very brave. It takes a lot of guts for a superstar hoops icon to admit that he has no killer instinct, has no intention of ever developing a killer instinct, and thus just give up completely and join a teammate with a killer instinct - a finisher. I think The King showed wisdom and maturity in wising up to his hopeless weakness as a money player. The fact is that The King has made 2 game-winning shots in his awesomely overrated career. The King is an atrocious free throw shooter. The King wilts, pouts, and sometimes quits during the biggest moments. It takes an introspective genius to admit all of this to himself (almost a Yoda type figure) and go play with a man. So, hooray for The King! Good luck to you! And remember this Dear King: when you win your 6th NBA Title, you can rightfully call yourself the new Scottie Pippen!!!

The biggest NBA news, at least to this hardcore fan, is the trade that sent Anthony Randolph to the NY Knicks. I have mentioned Randolph before on this blog. And getting out of Don Nelson's pretend doghouse in Oakland is gonna set Randolph off. The guy has the potential to be incredible. We'll see. If I were a Knicks fan, I'd take my chances with an unproven Randolph the next 5-7 years over a what you see is what you get 2nd banana like The King. I know I think way outside the box on things like this. Okay, I think way outside the box on everything really. I mean, as they say in the South, I'm not right.

I was flipping around the old TV and came across an interview with a gambling addict who used to work for a few presidents. His name is Bill Bennett. Anyway, the interview was interesting - whatever. The reason I bring it up is that during this interview, Bennett mentioned that Christopher Hitchens has written an autobiography. And if I read books, I'd get this book today and read it in one sitting. Hitchens is good. He's really good. And from what I could gather, in this autobiography (I think it's called Hitch-22), Hitchens tells some tales of his time at Oxford when William Jefferson Blythe just happened to be there dodging the draft at the same time. The book should be priceless for those stories alone.

I also was flipping around the old TV and came across some old episodes of The Al Bundy Show. And I'm not sure how well the "humor" has aged on this program the last 15-20 or so years. But, that's not really too important, is it? Because Kelly Bundy - she still looks as slutty hot as ever.

Finally today, the World Cup has come and gone once again. Congratulations to Spain. They were the best team on the pitch yesterday. I was a little disappointed that the game was so ugly though. Tons of fouls and guys playing not to make a big mistake. It was a shame because I know that lots of casual American sports fans were watching and came away unimpressed, which is understandable. I just wish the same audience had been watching the UEFA Final back in May. That was a much better played match. Or the USA/Brazil Confederation Cup Final last summer. That was an awesome, thrilling match.

How about, now?

Mistakes Folks Make

Folks make mistakes pretty much constantly. Here's a look at some of the biggest ones...

1) Being Born - It's the start of a long terrible slide to death. That's the best thing I can say for being born. Although, to be fair, no one is really at fault for being born. It wasn't our choice, was it? I think it's only fair to give people a pass for this mistake. But, it does lead me to the next mistake...

2) Procreating - A huge issue, as churning out offspring seems to be done most prolifically by folks least capable properly raising said offspring. You don't wanna know my suggestion for curbing the seemingly perpetual birth of yet more dead weight on society...

3) Eating Tomatoes - I have no idea why anyone would do this. It's sick. Sick. Sick.

4) Watching Jay Leno - See above...

5) Using Your Real Name - Whoever decided it was a good idea to let folks know who you really are - that person was an idiot. Nothing good can ever come by giving your real name out. I never say anything about any name, real or fake, voluntarily. But, when pressed to give a name, I usually say "Jack. Jack Momma." I have also used Tucker Smith quite a bit. And, as I've admitted before on this blog, my old go-to fake name has always been Alex Chilton.

6) Calling The Cops - I just have never understood why anyone would ever do this. Why would you willingly bring armed representatives of local or state government into your business? I have never even considered calling the cops. Ever. And I can't imagine a situation where I would.

7) Boasting About A Professional Sports Team - Pitiful. Pitiful. Pitiful. You know these guys. The guys whose whole self-esteem and existence is wrapped around how the Yankees did, or the Red Wings, or the Cowboys. Or whoever. I have never understood why someone would brag, for example, that, "My Sox kick ass!" My question for these folks is this: What role did you play in the sterling and glorious victory or championship? They never have an answer for that. Because they didn't have anything to do with the victory or championship.

8) Dating - A pointless waste of time and money. And the talking. The talking. The fucking talking. Which reminds me...

9) Talking - I don't have anything to say. And I don't care about other people. So, why would I waste the time and energy to converse with my fellow man?

10) Getting Married - A prison of man's own making. Why would any sane person go through with a marriage? It's totally baffling to me.

11) Giving To Charity - What a scam. Charity. I just laugh at the whole concept. Maybe I'll throw a few bucks to Jessica Biel-esque strippers working their way through Med School from time to time, but I don't know if that's technically charity...

12) Going To School - Education is by far the most overrated thing in the history of Western Civilization. I know very little. Obviously. I'm stupid and intellectually incurious or dis-curious or whatever the right word is. And I fervently wish that I didn't know the little I do know. School is a huge waste of time, not to mention taxpayer expense.

13) Literacy - Pointless. Me, I'm barely functionally literate. And I wish I didn't know the few words I do.

14) Voting - The most tedious waste of time and energy ever invented by mankind.

Well, thanks for humoring me. Yet another completely solipsistic post on my part. As I always say - Ya gotta go with your strengths...

Stand tall like a man

Headstrong like a horse

I am out --->

Modern Day Ancient Rome

Some folks like to say that History is written by the winners. And I've always tended to agree with that. But I think that idea should be amended. The saying should be: History was written by the winners, now it's being written by winners with self-loathing guilt complexes.



Last Thursday I had the extreme pleasure to go to an event held on the patio of some upper end joint here in the Gate City called How Green Is My Valley Grill. Some woman I barely know and her husband, who I know even less of, hosted this event. And they are nice folks. Blah, blah, blah. It was one of those deals where bottles of wine are put away at a rapid pace. The reason being so that everyone can get drunk enough to find whatever other folks are saying interesting. You can't really fault anyone for that. Me, I'm pretty entertaining sober. At least when I try. And I don't drink wine. So, I wasn't getting drunk. I stuck to Hoegaarden. I sat there wishing I was drunk. Believe me. I'll tell you why. At this little gathering were several folks I did not know. 2 of them were really something. The 1st was a dude, probably in his early to mid 30's. A dude who was flaming. I mean this kid was on fire with outlandish, stereotypical gay behavior. I think the kid's name was Ron. And Ron was drinking fast. And being loud. And talking about gay porn. Now, the crowd at this restaurant, as I mentioned, is on the swanky side. And there were folks nearby who seemed pissed at listening to Ron's tales of random gay sex romps. Me, I was nonplussed. Now, there was a woman with Ron. A woman named Stacey I believe. And Stacey was also loud. And also drunk. And also pissing off the reserved, upper-crust of Greensboro. I was not closely listening to everything these folks were saying. I was talking to my buddy Phil about whatever. All I knew was that this Ron, Stacey, and the 3 or 4 other folks from our party hanging with them, were loud, obnoxious, and irritating folks not in our party. At one point I looked down the way to this crew and then I saw something that made the night memorable. Stacey was flashing her C cup tits right out on this swanky restaurant's patio for not only Ron, myself, and the other folks with our party to admire, but for a couple dozen of How Green Is My Valley's best customers to get a gander of as well (for what it's worth, this Stacey wasn't unattractive, and yes, she had a nice rack {I'm sure Geilfuss and Brandon were wondering about that...}). Well, as you can imagine, one patron went to complain to some manager. I happened to wander inside as this uptight broad was talking to the manager. And my favorite thing that this woman said, as she complained about the tit flashing and gay porn talk, was that she had never seen "people like that" in the How Green Is My Valley. I got a big bang out of that. I really did. Well, I went back out and informed the hostess of our little party what was about to go down. And everything was fine. Ron and Stacey agreed to take off from the party. No issue. The uptight woman and her cuckolded hubby left after a bit. About an hour passes. Everyone is simply getting drunker and drunker. I'm just dying to get the hell out of the place. Then, sure enough, Ron and Stacey come back. They didn't stay long. Ron was there just long enough to regale me with a story about being whipped in the ass by a dominatrix while being forced to perform fellatio on a straight guy. I mocked Ron. The last thing Ron did before leaving for good was proposition me for a good 10 minutes. Alas, that was a waste of the kid's time. Because, as all of you know, I don't get down like that. Old Ron was suggesting some things that I'm guessing would be very enticing for fellow practitioners of the anal arts. Eventually everyone took off. I was the only person, except the hostess's husband, who wasn't hammered. It was something.

The best line of the night of the party was not uttered by Ron, Stacey, or even yours truly. It was uttered by an old Boston Irish drunk named Jack. Now, the How Green Is My Valley Restaurant is swanky, as I mentioned. It's located inside the O Henry Hotel, which is also fairly swanky (it's 5 stars...). Anyway, Drunk Jack is evidently not accustomed to such nice surroundings. He kept commenting throughout the night about how impressed he was with everything. I mean he was really going on about the place. At one point towards the end of the party Drunk Jack described the restaurant, hotel, food, quality of wine, and the general ambiance of the stupid party like this: "This reminds me of modern day Ancient Rome." I fell over laughing and told Phil, "That's a blog post title right there."

Well, it looks like the German dream of soccer domination has died. Viva La Espana!

I don't even know if Viva La Espana! is a thing. Is it???

I did see where my girl Lindsay Lohan is in a spot of trouble. I guess my only advice for Lindsay is just be patient and wait for The Tiger to call...

Fast off to heaven just like Moses on a motorbike

Lens Crafters Walks Into A Bar

When I signed off last time, I mentioned I was headed out to a little get together for Greensboro's favorite bartender, Dave. It was his birthday. Well, by the time I caught up with Dave at about 8, he was hammered. He'd been drinking for about 5 hours already. Anyway, Dave's brother Nate showed up at the Wing Joint just after I did. About a half hour of quick shot taking ensued, Dave got even drunker, & then the 3 of us decided to go to some joint downtown called RumbleForeskins. And that's when things got interesting. Did I mention that Dave was blitzed? Because Dave was fucking blitzed. Shit-faced. He was in a state where he spent countless minutes accusing me of working for the NSA or the CIA (Dave, like a select few others I have come across, has it in his mind that I must do some kind of black-ops analysis work for some branch of the the US Intelligence community). Well, as we were doing yet another shot at RumbleForeskins (this was my 5th or 6th in an hour between 3 bars...), Dave eyes a young lady down around the bar a way, a young lady wearing glasses, a young lady he yells over to, labeling her with this moniker: "Hey, Lens Crafters!" I found this terribly amusing. So I started to scream, "Lens Crafters! I like your frames!!! Can I watch you spit clean your spectacles? Lens Crafters!" Stuff in that vein. Anyway, Lens Crafters and her giant friend went out to smoke, no doubt to get away from my verbal barrage of ocular silliness. When Lens Crafters and her enormous gal pal came back in after about 5 minutes (mind you that Dave, Nate, and I had done yet another shot of SoCo Lime while the pair was outside), it was then that I asked Lens Crafters what her brand of smoke was. And while she wouldn't tell me, I noticed a pack of Newports in her hand. That's when I turned to Dave, Nate, and the bartender and asked this, "Do you know the one thing I'm certain about concerning white chicks in glasses who smoke Newports?" Dave said, "What? What?" I said, very loudly, "White chicks who wear glasses and smoke Newports like to fuck brothers." It was at this point that we were asked to take off from RumbleForeskins, obviously. Dave didn't last much longer once we made it back to the Wing Joint. And I wasn't far behind him. It was an interesting get together. Brief, but interesting. We'll do it again. You gotta figure...

I got a fascinating text from McGrain last week. He noted that he'd been watching Jeopardy! for some reason and that freak Alex Trebek had a whole category about college basketball coaches. 3 ladies happened to be competing that night. Evidently there was a question about where Dean Smith coached. Dead silence from the contestants. There was a question about where John Wooden coached. Again, dead silence. Finally, there was a question about where Coach K made his name. Not dead silence. One chunky, polish looking hag, buzzed in and offered this as an answer, "Treblinka?" Trebek said, "Oh no, I'm sorry. It was Sobibor."

Speaking of Nazis. I was watching footage of the German/Argentina World Cup match (and congrats to the Deutschland by the way). At certain points during the telecast, ESPN showed Germans in some public square back in Berlin cheering on the National Team. And it appeared to me to be very similar to a scene right of a Leni Reifenstahl film glorifying a Hitler Youth meeting...

Speaking of World Cup action, I'm eagerly awaiting enjoying the replay of the Dutch victory over those pesky Uruguayans.

Over the weekend, I finally did see Crazy Heart. And while I thought it was interesting and everything, I didn't think it was super compelling or whatever they were aiming for. I still gotta see Hurt Locker. But, unless that blows me away, I'm gonna assume that Up In The Air was indeed, as I mused back in January, the best film released last year. And no, I'm still never going to see Avatar.

I got a story about a silly party I went to last Thursday. You won't want to miss it. Next time.

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