America's Bow-Legged Sweetheart

I was sitting around last night, watching the latest installment of the unwatchably vacuous Bachelorette, when the twisted nuts at ABC News broke in and informed the world that our dear leader, one Barack Hussein Obama, was about to address the nation on a critical issue. I figured Barry's speech would either cover yet another assassination of a radical jihadist somewhere in the upscale suburbs of Pakistan or he'd prattle on about how he alone should be given credit for the NFL labor issues being settled. Shockingly, neither topic was on Barry's plate. Instead, our awesome fake leader decided to give a cynical, bizarre, and deceptive talk about this silly debt ceiling crisis. What a letdown. I did listen to about 7 minutes of this weird attempt at propaganda. It was extremely reminiscent of the kind of tactics one Richard M Nixon used to employ in speeches 40 years ago. It was nice, in a sense, to see Barry channeling his inner Tricky Dick. I found that aspect of the shameless display heartwarming. Well, Barry wrapped up his little chat and then William Jefferson Blythe's old Greek hack, one Lil Georgie Stephanopoulos, came on the air to rip Barry for a bit. Then ABC threw it to one John Boner to give him a chance to respond to Barry's foul stench of lies. Which was completely needless. It was clear from Boner's talk that he's got Barry right where he wants him. And blah, blah, blah...This whole thing is so pathetically silly. Finally, ABC went back to the innocuous action from Fiji where America's bow-legged sweetheart, one Ashley something or other, was getting dumped by a strange Greek fellow (not sure if said Greek freak is related to the one who used to be a hack for William Jefferson Blythe or not). You may be wondering aloud, "TBFH, why in the hell are you watching The Bachelorette?" Well, that's a fair query. It really is. I've been watching the program because every time I see that chick, I say things like, "Damn, she's bow-legged." Or "Damn, she looks bored." Or "Does she ride horses?" Or "Is there an alien about to pop out of her vaginal canal?" Or "Why does she keep picking at her teeth like a 4 year old being forced to eat some vegetable they despise?" Things like that. It passes the time. I mean MNF is still several weeks away from their hard-hitting and mostly pointless exhibition schedule. So, I've gotta look at something on a Monday night during the summer. And what with Hoarders becoming totally redundant the last 2 years, as every episode is pretty much the same, the exploits of America's bow-legged sweetheart has had to suffice.

I mentioned back in February that no one would be subjected to reading anything about the NFL labor issues on this blog. And I've kept my word. I never wrote one word about it. Now that it's over, I will say that I find it amusing that the talking heads at ESPN and other fake media outlets are debating about which side "won." I'm not sure what the debate is about. The owners won. The owners always win in these deals. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

The bad news about the NFL's labor issues being settled is that fans of a number of teams will have to actually watch their teams play games this fall. Ouch. Right here in North Carolina, all the poor Panther fans will be subjected to another debacle of a season. Maybe they'll even get to see Cam Newton tear his ACL and MCL scrambling for 3 yards on 3rd & 22. Fun times.

I made it out for a bit over the weekend to Sloppy Seconds. Moose & his crew were in there like always, being the drunks that they are and all. I chatted with them a little here and there about typical pointless bar chat. Anyway, to my left at the bar were 3 gay brothers. I mean 2 of these fellas were flaming - on fire. Well, I was overhearing some of their conversation and at one point one of these gay brothers was talking about trying to sell some kind of barber chairs for $1000 a pop. Then one of this dude's running buddies (a stereotypical gay black man if there ever was one) mentioned chains on the barber chairs. And that's when I chimed in on the merits of chaining someone to a barber chair to initiate some type of domination fantasy. I informed the gentleman looking to sell the chairs that my kinky sex angle might be useful as a selling point in trying to unload these pesky barber chairs. And when I finished offering my unsolicited advice on this barber chair problem, I got one of those, "Whoa, honey. You're one of those guys," type of responses from the most outspoken of the trio. For the next hour or so, I wouldn't say I particularly held a conversation with the 3 fellas, but I was throwing out lots of comments involving vats of Crisco, rusty razors, & The Weather Girls. Obviously. What the hell else would I say to these gay dudes???

Later that same night, I stumbled into The Village Idiot Tavern. I was watching my Reds battle those annoying Atlanta Braves. Anyway, to my left (yet again) at the bar, was a kid from S Carolina who had graduated from the University of Tennessee. The kid was a Braves fan and an amiable enough guy and all. Well, we started talking a little college football. And his alma mater is having very similar issues as my alma mater vis a vis NCAA problems with the football program. At one point this Vol fan asked me if I thought the old TOSU would suffer worse than UT in terms of getting back to some kind of prominence in the college gridiron universe. I told the kid I didn't think so. I mentioned that the key problem that the Vols are facing is that so many players are so scarred from being romanced by Lane Kiffin, that it might take a decade to fully clean their old poop chutes. Alas, the Vol fan didn't laugh. "Too soon?" I asked. The kid merely nodded his head...

Okay, I'm bored of this today.

And I wish they would stop

Old Bags Surviving The Heat

I was checking into the comments portion of Blogger manager a few minutes ago & found that 3 fascinating new readers of this blog have been leaving comments on old posts. The 3 commenters go by the names Sex Chat, Phone Sex, & Sex Chat Line. And I just wanna take the opportunity to thank these 3 folks for taking the time to leave their very thoughtful, and dare I say astute, comments. For instance, my new friend Sex Chat left this gem after a post from just before this year's Super bowl: Thanks for sharing such a good information, Brilliant concept to encourage bicycling! products it will be very helpful to my son. Now, I'm sure that the information I shared in that post about Genital Ben working it in the men's room with cheap skanks was indeed good. And the insight shown by Sex Chat in noting the hidden message on the concept of bicycling! products is deep and meaningful on a level that is seldom seen in the comment section of this blog. As far as Sex Chat's son goes, I think reading this blog would be helpful to all the sons of the entire world. It's really what I've been aiming at all along. I do have to question Sex Chat's use of punctuation however. Not to be picky or anything, but that exclamation point after the word bicycling is a little needless, reminiscent of the grammar skills exhibited by Geilfuss for instance. Perhaps Geilfuss is the son spoken of so lovingly by Sex Chat in the comment...

I was standing around outside at the place I occasionally show up to work & the scorching hot issue of the Spiderman musical was brought up. No one could remember the exact title of the catastrophe riddled production. But I remembered it. I said, "Spiderman: Don't Fart In The Dark." Someone laughed...

Speaking of scorching hot, it's been fairly warm here recently in the old Gate City. And by warm, I mean like 100 degrees. It is summer & we are in the South & it's gonna get hot. Blah, blah, blah...What's amusing is that our dear friends on the local newscast on WXII have been running little messages on their ticker that appears at the bottom of the old TV screen regarding the heat. My favorite message is when they inform their viewers to check in on family members, neighbors, or acquaintances who live alone. They note to particularly check in on the elderly in these trying heat-infested times. So, what I've been doing is running around house to house checking on random old ladies, making sure they are surviving the heat attack. I must admit that I feel very good about my good deeds. It's heartwarming to know that old bags are keeping cool. Many of these blue haired Bettys have been incredibly thankful when I've stopped by to be sure they aren't dead. I did have one especially interesting encounter the other night. I rang some octogenarian babe's doorbell right at 6:30. And after a minute of waiting for an answer & hoping like hell that she wasn't a goner, this Depression survivor ambled to the door, opened it, and was standing there in a flimsy housecoat, and nothing else. The flimsy housecoat appeared to be made of a silky type material, it was very much see-thru. And the brief conversation that ensued really gets at the whole "being a good neighbor" concept that WXII is no doubt looking to foster by running their little messages on their little ticker deal. The conversation pretty much consisted of the 80-something year old lady inviting me in for iced tea, me politely turning her down, her raising her left arm just high enough that her flimsy housecoat rose up to her hips, me complimenting her on her trim presentation (shaved 100% raw), and then me running like hell. I'm sure just such an encounter is what WXII had in mind all along.

In the last silly post on this blog I mentioned some controversy over a debt ceiling issue. Well, this perplexing issue came up again at the place I occasionally show up to work (at my real fake job, not the fake fake jobs). Anyway, there was some chit chat (or is it chit-chat, or chit/chat, or chat chit, or fat chick???) on this debt ceiling deal at some point recently. I didn't listen very closely. Obviously. But the folks chatting about it sure seemed to be in a panic over John Boner's or that freak Michele Bachmann's role in destroying this once not so awful country's credit rating. I was tempted to chime in with a wry (or rye) comment about what these crazies were saying. But I didn't. That's the problem with the crazies right there. They can't take a joke. Every silly issue becomes life and death. That is, the issue is life and death until it's inevitably resolved. Then the supposed life and death issue is totally forgotten about. Then a few weeks pass. Then these same crazies pick up on another media driven the end of the world is coming story. Then that becomes life and death for a time. It's a vicious cycle, perhaps even a vicious bicycle!, of panic over nothing. Me? I don't worry about any of it. I prefer to think about more important matters, like the point spreads for the 1st week of college football action. It's only 5 & 1/2 more weeks until Thursday, Sepember 1st. 2 huge games that night, UNLV/Badgerland & BGSU/Idaho. My Vandals.

But the sword that cut him open

Was the sword in his mother's hand

A Fat Chick Does Needlepoint

I'm back for more glorious fun at the Generic Bread (the one by the Costco, if anyone cares). And to my right there is a sight that one could only find at Generic Bread. A fatty is sitting on one of the leather chairs all sprawled out doing needlepoint with a huge grin on her face. And one of the employees is running around behind the counter saying really upbeat and annoying things to the various patrons; things like "Are ya'll headed to the beach?" & "What position do you play, are you the pitcher?" Things like that. When the guy behind the counter asked the young man in a baseball uniform if he played pitcher, I almost said this, "I bet you like to play catcher." You know, because I'm assuming this freaky employee is not unfamiliar with the dark world of the anal arts. And along with that assumption, I figure he's the type who prefers to be spread out on a chaise lounge all knees and elbows. Or what my old friend Al Barela would charitably characterize as a butt cowboy...

Speaking of the big woman doing needlepoint, a bearded man just approached her and seems like he may have had some intimate relations with said needlepoint loving fatty. The reason I think the 2 of them might be star-crossed lovers of one kind or other is because the guy who just sat down looks like someone you might see pulling for the Philadelphia Eagles on a Sunday in the fall. And those guys tend to like their ladies bigger than most. It brings to mind what Morrissey said, "Some girls are bigger than others." Morrissey said other things as well. For instance, Morrissey said, "The sun shines out of our behinds." & "Hang the deejay." And my personal favorite, "I'm so very sick of you. I am so sickened now." In fact, earlier in that same tune, Morrissey says, "Why do you come here, when you know it makes things hard for me?" Anyway, it's something to keep in mind...

Good news! The needlepoint lady and her Eagle fan lover just took off. Now a guy is about to sit down who looks like he escaped from the group home this morning. He's not wearing a belt. That's a telltale sign of a group home runner right there. They don't let you wear belts at the group home. I think the folks who run group homes worry about massive retard orgies involving spanking. Spanking of both sorts - the spanking the bare ass with a belt sort of spanking & the spanking the monkey sort of spanking. Me, I don't judge. However retards wanna get down, I say rock on with your bad selves. I'm cool with it. Live and let live. And all the other applicable cliches...

Speaking of spanking the monkey, & I'm sure I've mentioned this before on this stupid blog, but see Spanking The Monkey. You won't be disappointed.

Speaking of the old cinema, I ventured out a couple weeks ago to catch Midnight In Paris at the local multiplex or whatever they call them. Anyway, go see it. It's the first movie I've ever seen where Owen Wilson is actually good. It's amazing to watch. He plays a much younger, slightly less Jewish version of Woody Allen. And he's funny as hell. As far as the quality of the film on the whole, you could argue that it's better than Annie Hall. Maybe not as funny. But there's an ending to Midnight In Paris that makes sense. It's pretty thought provoking to be candid. And Annie Hall just stops. Which I have no problem with exactly. But go see Midnight in Paris, if for no other reason than to see Adrien Brody play Salvador Dali. He's hysterical. He keeps talking about rhinoceroses or rhinoceri or whatever the correct term is. I have no idea. As I've noted before on this pointless blog, I paid very little attention in school. My mind tended to drift quite a bit away from the topic being taught. It tended to drift to trying to mentally picture various girls in class topless. And bottomless for that matter. I never discriminated on which half of a girl's body I was trying to picture without clothes. I was very liberal in that sense.

A very fetching blond just sat down on the sofa nearby with a balding man in an orange polo shirt. I'm tempted to ask him if he pulls for Ulster. Obviously. What the hell else would I ask him???

Interesting times at the place I occasionally show up to work. I made the mistake of standing in the wrong spot during the smoke break session the other morning. Anyway, this old bag was out there talking about some issue having to do with a debt ceiling. She seemed terribly misinformed about whatever the problem is with this debt ceiling problem. I listened to this lady for a few minutes and then asked her this, "How high can a debt ceiling go? I mean, are we talking one of those 12 foot ceilings or something higher? Like a 30 or even 50 foot ceiling?" Alas, she had no answer for me. She just looked at me like I was crazy...

The latest scorching issue of the Rhino is out. And in it, Greensboro's favorite creepy uncle type columnist, one Scotty Roast, was giving out awards. He called them the Roasties or Toasties or Boasties or something. I glossed over the piece pretty quickly to be honest. But one award did catch my eye. Roast claimed that the best wings in the Gate City are from Scams. And that assertion is patently absurd. Laughably so. The wings at Scams are inedible. Bloody and poorly seasoned, much like a retarded virgin...

Sorry for the low number of posts here this summer. I've been terribly busy with my real fake job and a couple other fake fake jobs I've been doing here and there. In fact, many days I'm leaving my real fake job and then going and doing some work at a fake fake job. It makes for like 12 hour days. By the time I'm done, I more or less just knock back a few drinks, watch my Reds try and stay in contention in the NL Central, flip the old TV around searching for Springer reruns, and hit the hay.

It was a good lay, good lay.

No Pig, No Pickin

When I left you last time, I was headed out to Sloppy Seconds to attend an event known as a pig pickin. It wasn't much of an event. As it turned out, a half hour after I showed up, it started pouring down rain. The organizers moved the event inside the bar. I just sat there watching Rory Mcilroy embarrass the USGA and Congressional Country Club - which I enjoyed immensely. I never did eat any pig. I never did see any pickin of the pig. Instead, in between golf shots, I drank beer and SoCo lime shots with Brandon. After about 3 hours of that, I stumbled out of the bar, went over to Wing Joint and ate some of their damn fine chicken wings. The only remotely interesting things I observed at Sloppy Seconds were a) seeing Michigan Molly for the 1st time this year & b) watching Brandon's dad overbid on items in an auction to raise dough for some outfit called Operation Frown (some deal to help folks with cleft lips and whatnot get braces or something, I wasn't paying very close attention to be honest). Michigan Molly was there with her latest paramour - some pitiful middle aged man who couldn't get hammered fast enough. The highlight of that fiasco was when the 2 of them slow danced to the band's version of Brown Eyed Girl. I was almost puking up indiscriminate light beer from laughing so hard. At one point, when the band was playing a particularly loud song (something by Tom Petty), Michigan Molly made her way to the bar and whispered something in my ear for like 20 seconds. The good news is that I couldn't hear a word she was saying. The even better news is that she never came back over. As far as Mike, Brandon's dad, buying stuff in the auction portion of the event, I know he overpaid for both a flatscreen TV that he didn't need & a home brew kit that he'll never use. Well done, Mike. The money did go to a good cause and all (those pesky cleft palate sufferers). So that's something I guess. The whole thing was a big letdown. And yes, as I predicted, there was the infamous Cornhole being played...Damn Cornhole.

I showed up this morning at the place I occasionally show up to work. And my dear colleagues in Durham managed to not have the servers working for the computer system we use. Alas, I sat around there until 10 doing nothing. Then took off for the weekend. It does give me a chance to blog though. Damn servers.

We're at a great point in sports where the NFL is in a lockout, the NBA is in a lockout, the LA Dodgers are bankrupt, NASCAR is still NASCAR, & ESPN is hyping the Women's World Cup beyond all reason. An occasional reader of this blog came by my work area the other day with a post-it. On the post-it was written: USA 2 N Korea 0. I asked the occasional reader of this blog what the meaning of the post-it was. I was baffled to be honest. He informed me that it was the final score of a Women's World Cup tilt. I thanked the occasional reader of this blog for the thought, but informed him that I was more interested in the results of the dice game going on behind the building than any Women's World Cup score. He chuckled. Damn Women's World Cup. Damn dice games.

I stopped in the old Wing Joint Tuesday, very briefly, to check in with my trivia team. I hadn't stopped in for a game in 6 weeks. I got the distinct feeling that they didn't miss me. Anyway, I'm glad I stopped in. For one thing, Dave, Greensboro's favorite bald headed bartender, was there. I hadn't seen the kid since March. I'm not sure what kind of training he's been doing to prepare for whatever deployment he may be making soon. But whatever it is, the kid has trimmed down considerably. I bet Dave has dropped 25 pounds. He was looking quite svelte. As far as the trivia game went, we won going away. We were up a couple points going into the last question & they asked to name one baseball player besides Barry Bonds to attain 2,000 hits, 300 homers, & 300 steals. I wrote the name Willie Mays on a napkin and laughed. The girl on our team who gets involved with European enterprises mentioned Ken Griffey Jr as a possibility. A wrong guess, but that's okay. A few other names were tossed around, including the other right answers (A Roid & The Hawk). It's always good to win the damn trivia game. If you're gonna go to the trouble to play the thing, you might as well win it. Earlier, the chick running the thing asked a Star Whores question. And that's too easy. Damn Star Whores.

I was out doing some work at some joint in High Point, North Carolina last weekend. There was a kid there working with me, a jittery fellow whose name I can't remember, who dropped a salad plate on a Greek dude's shoulder. I felt kind of bad for the kid. What happened as a result is the kid got banished to prepping dirty dishes for washing for like 3 hours. Not a fun assignment. I learned a valuable lesson as a result. The lesson is to be very careful not to drop a salad on a Greek dude's suit. It's worth remembering. A free tip from me to you. Overall, I had a pleasant time working the event out in High Point. I spent a good deal of the time making sure the kids there had enough chicken tenders, french fries, and ketchup. Kids, they crack me up. Especially when they're requesting something like extra chicken tenders and ketchup. It was nice. Damn chicken tenders.

I haven't been keeping up with our friend Barry much at all this summer. Things are going so badly for the guy that I feel kind of sorry for him at this point. I mean, he brought all this on himself and all. So, I don't feel too bad for him. Anyway, I did see where there was some golf summit that Barry threw with John Boner, Joe Biden, and my old congressmen John Kasich. I'm not sure what the hell was accomplished at this golf summit. Probably nothing. The only thing that interested me about it was seeing a picture of Joe Biden swinging his massive putter around the greens. A sight not fit for tepid eyes. Damn Joe Biden & his massive putter.

Speaking of my old congressmen, and the current governor of Ohio, John Kasich, I was given the task of introducing him at a school assembly once back in middle school at the old Northland Academy. Why I was chosen is beyond me. I don't recall ever expressing the slightest interest in politics at the time. I still have no interest in politics. And what with me being a bit of a wild card as far as the fact that almost anything could come out of my mouth at any time, the school bigwigs were taking a bit of a risk in bestowing the honor on me. I don't recall exactly what I said in my introduction. Probably something along the lines of how I wish the girls would go ahead and honor John Kasich by removing their tops. Something like that. Seeing girls topless was about all I was interested in at the time. Come to think of it,...

Independence Day is coming up here next Monday. It celebrates the idea that a bunch of rich white cats didn't want to pay taxes to other rich white cats. Seems as good a reason as any to get hammered.

I need a photo opportunity. I want a shot at redemption.