Saturday, August 27, 2011

The Fear In The Children's Eyes




There is a bit of weather hitting the old NC coast here today. I believe the culprit is some hurricane named Irene. Blah, blah, blah. Anyway, one of the triad's talking head TV anchors has been covering Hurricane Irene live from Morehead City (More Head...). His name is Cameron Kent. He's one of these typical innocuous middle-aged news readers that can be found all over the place. You know the type - all ex-jock, phony smile, smarmy fake concern, and Stone Phillips hair - that type. Well, our man Cam came on the air at 11 this morning, standing in a hotel parking lot, with the beach in the background. And he reported that while many of the adults in Morehead City are pretty calm about this Hurricane Irene deal, the kids are a little nervous. In fact, Cam went so far as to claim that as he was visiting some shelter set up at a nearby high school last night, he felt the children were fearful. This is what he said about the youth of Morehead City: "I saw fear in the children's eyes." I burst out laughing. Obviously. He saw fear in their eyes. What a tool...








Geilfuss sent me an email this past week describing some random hook-up he had earlier this summer with a 43 year-old Iowan. Evidently this Iowa chick was in the old Charm City on business and dropped into whatever joint Geilfuss is currently slaving away at as a server to grab a bite to eat and decided to go ahead and fuck her waiter as well. And since Geilfuss is Geilfuss, he went ahead and obliged her. After I read the paragraph describing this event, I was disappointed in the lack of details Geilfuss went into about the encounter. Not that I was looking for anything risque in particular. Just something I could run with on this silly blog. So, I sent Geilfuss a reply email stating my disappointment. And he did get back with me on one slightly interesting detail. Geilfuss claimed that the 43 year-old Iowa skank was into the old dirty talk. He described her language, and I'm quoting exactly here, as "sordid." No examples were offered. And to be honest, I'm not too interested in examples of what Geilfuss considers "sordid" speech from a 43 year-old Iowa mother of 2. But I have a few guesses. She probably said things like, "Geilfuss, you're sexier than Tom Arnold." Or "That's a big ear of corn you've got there." Or "Do me like we're in a barn filled with goat shit." Or "I'm so horny for you that I want to bake you an apple pie." Those types of "sordid" phrases.








Talk at the place I occasionally show up to work turned to evolution at one point last week. I could care less about the whole phony debate between evolution and creationism personally. It's silly. Well, this one strange woman who routinely wears those awful Croc shoe things to work had an opinion on this eternal debate that I'd never heard before. Evidently this gal is somewhat religious, as she was attempting to reconcile the fact that the Earth is like several billion years old with the fact that the Bible people believe it's like 6,000 years old. A conundrum if there ever was one. This Croc wearing woman's rationale (and I use that word loosely) was that while she acknowledged the scientific proof of the Earth being several billion years old, she claimed that God kept trying different things until finally getting it right with Adam, Eve, that pesky snake, and all the crap that has followed. Now, I was nice. I didn't burst out laughing in her face. Instead, I ran out of the room and laughed in the hallway. When I came back into the room I did have one question for this strange woman about her claim that God had been failing for billions of years and finally hit on the perfect world 6,000 years ago. I asked her, "Is this the best he could do? I mean, have you seen Jersey Shore?"








The old blog looks a little different right now. I added a couple things that Google makes available. I'm not sure that I'll keep the new stuff though. For one thing it lists the posts that have been the most read. And I was a little depressed to see that many of my most read posts are ones I'd forgotten that I'd ever written...








That's it for me today. I'm gonna brave the hurricane conditions here in the Gate City. That and look for the fear in the children's eyes.





















Saturday, August 20, 2011

The Suburban Ministry





I got a text from Geilfuss the other night (and by the way, his texting ability has soared off the charts over the past year or so - I mean, the kid even capitalized and punctuated correctly, amazing). He informed me that he was at some bar in Canton (not Canton, Ohio - the Canton in the Charm City) and a big blonde with a Brian Bosworth haircut was dead drunk flashing her tits all over the place, looking for a meaningless hook-up with any dude who could get a boner. I got right back to Geilfuss and speculated that this supposed girl who was flashing her tits all over the place might not just have a Brian Bosworth haircut. This supposed girl might actually be Brian Bosworth. The Boz did roid up quite a bit back in the day. And we all know that years of roid use can lead to dudes growing those pesky man boobs that are so cumbersome to haul around all day. As far as the Boz being out in Canton looking for some man on man action, that could very well be possible too. You know, what with the Boz's great affection for being run over by Bo Jackson on MNF. The Boz was indeed probably in that bar in Canton, flashing his man boobs all over the place, hoping desperately to get a little anal action going with a brother who favorably resembled Bo Jackson. It all makes perfect sense. Now, if I had been at that bar in Canton with Geilfuss (and remember, I've been in many bars with Geilfuss, just go back and read old posts of this pathetic blog for proof), I would have thoroughly interrogated this Boz looking person. And that would have ended badly - probably with Geilfuss and me being escorted out of the bar...














I saw where Mike Judge is bringing back the greatest artistic success in the history of western civilization to MTV in October. Yes, new episodes of Beavis & Butthead are coming. I never have figured out why I'm still alive after all these years of being a walking death wish. But now I know. It was to live to see the new episodes of Beavis & Butthead. What other reason could there possibly be???














Recently, at the place I occasionally show up to work, I've been going to the Pack A Sack next door during lunch. And I've been purchasing tins of potted meat. Lots of tins of potted meat. Everyone reading this blog knows my fascination and fixation on potted meat. I haven't been eating the potted meat I've been purchasing. Obviously, that's nasty. Sick. What I've been doing is placing the tins of potted meat on a table and letting them build up into a pyramid of potted meat over the weeks. It became a pretty impressive pyramid, if I can say so myself. I mean there were lots of 39 cent tins of tripe mixed in with 50 cent tins of Vienna sausages. I was very proud of my little pyramid of potted meat. No one ate any of it or anything. The folks who I've worked with the longest over at the place I occasionally show up to work pay no attention to my silly time-killing shenanigans. They roll their eyes, totally unfazed. But the folks who don't know me so well, they think I'm crazy over this potted meat pyramid situation - which amuses me to no end. Anyway, one of my favorite colleagues over at the place I occasionally show up to work mentioned that maybe the potted meat should be donated to some deal called Urban Ministry here in the Gate City. I told this colleague I had a better idea, I said "Why don't we donate them to Suburban Ministry? Why do the urban folks get all the benefits of food donations. I mean, that's not fair." Someone laughed. So, as a result of the suggestion to donate this potted meat pyramid to a charity food bank, what I'm planning on doing is starting a Suburban Ministry. What I'll do is go door-to-door in an upscale neighborhood in the NW part of the Gate City with a brown bag filled with various types of potted meat. I'll offer each household up to 3 tins of potted meat. They can't take more than that. It wouldn't be fair to the other struggling suburban families in the area. And I'm all about fairness. Fairness is my deal. In fact, I am fairness. If anyone wishes to donate tins of potted meat for my new Suburban Ministry undertaking, please send them to the place I occasionally show up to work, postage due, attention to TBFH. This idea should really take off. I'm excited about it.










I just got a text from Luke of Jacoby fame & he let me know that he's holding a weekly Bible study in Geilfuss's old room. Which is so disturbing, I shouldn't even write about it. I mean, the thought of the Jacobys sitting around on the chairs and couches in that room, discussing Bible verses and their relevance in this wanton world they find themselves inhabiting, is scary. The debauchery that has gone down in that area is beyond the pale. I'll put it like this, the Jacobys holding Bible study in Geilfuss's old room is akin to the Queen of England taking a dump at a dive bar off Richie Highway in Glen Burnie while giving a hand job to Dustin Diamond.










I'm tongue-tied.


































Saturday, August 6, 2011

The Worst Villains Imaginable







At the end of yesterday's post, I mentioned that I'd be putting something up about comic book villains or something. The impetus for what follows is a few discussions I've had at the place I occasionally show up to work with a fellow who is a die hard comic book follower. This guy has mentioned some kind of Legion of Doom or Legion of Death or Legion of Lesions or something a few times here this summer. So, I was kind of throwing out ideas for members of this Legion from time to time. Just being silly, passing the time during breaks from the grueling tedium of the nature of my real fake job. Then earlier this week, there was news that broke about one Peter Parker, the Spiderman. Evidently the Spiderman has evolved with the times. From here on out, the Spiderman will be morphed into a half brother/half Hispanic crime fighter. Oh, and he's gonna dabble in the dark world of the anal arts as well. I guess that's progress in comic book land. I have no idea. I've never read a comic book in my life. But news of Spiderman's newly unearthed latent gay tendencies caused me to jot down some ideas for potential villains that would harass old Spidey in his new adventures as a homosexual defender of the American way. Here you go ---














Misplaced Nut Man - This villain's special power is derived from the fact that one of his testicles is not where nature intended. See, Misplaced Nut Man has one testicle in the old ball sac and the other testicle kind of dangling right between his eyebrows. He doesn't work out or anything. He's not in good shape. He's got some girth. How he terrorizes the good people of wherever is that he just meanders the streets very slowly and when an unsuspecting lady catches a glimpse of the misplaced nut hanging in the middle of his brow, they scream, pass out, or become aroused. Whichever. It doesn't matter. The Misplaced Nut Man then snatches the poor woman's purse and ambles off slowly to the nearest KFC to purchase greasy dark meat chicken. The horror that ensues causes a city wide panic that only a superhero of Spiderman's caliber can combat. The most interesting thing about Misplaced Nut Man is that in his spare time he likes to play team trivia. He's got lists of random facts he often studies. Misplaced Nut Man usually sits in with the Jacobys at team trivia games. And the Jacobys are so nice, they never mention the nut staring them in the face for hours on end. Doing so would go against the creed of the Jacobys - do unto others and all that jazz. And on the odd night when the Jacobys take down a place in the money, they let Misplaced Nut Man have the gift card. They feel bad for him. You know, what with the fact he's got a misplaced testicle and all. Luke feels guilty about it, but keeps giving him the gift cards all the same.














Embalming Fluid Floozy - This chick is dangerous. By day Embalming Fluid Floozy works 9 to 5 at a funeral home for a mortician that is a dead ringer for Dabney Coleman. She prepares dead old bags for viewings. Sheer drudgery. She seems like another lost soul caught up in the Obama Nation. But, that's not exactly the case. Because by night, Embalming Fluid Floozy injects her face with embalming fluid she's stolen from the funeral home. She then dons a dominatrix type red leather costume and hits the clubs. When the pitiful men with the Jersey Shore style t-shirts and too much gel in their hair hit on her, Embalming Fluid Floozy quickly seduces them, drags them into the ladies room for what they assume to be a quick blow job, then pulls out the old embalming needle just as these guidos are rock hard and injects the embalming fluid right into them through the tips of their members. As you can imagine, Embalming Fluid Floozy's shenanigans strike fear into the club owners of the city and the only way to halt her embalming fluid in the junk spree is for Spiderman to intervene and save the day.














Parachute Pants Person - This guy is a brother. He goes by the name Stanley Burrell during the day, making harmless rap records that no one but the most insipid white kids buy. But by night, old Stanley puts on some right out of the 80's/early 90's purple parachute pants, which allows him to fly from Taco Bell to Taco Bell. The thing about Parachute Pants Person that's so vexing is that he doesn't rob the Taco Bells of the wrinkled ones in the cash register. Instead he drops into the kitchen area of the fast food paradise and gobbles up as many chalupas as possible and then flies away to the safety of a nearby hideout where he quickly consumes the stolen chalupas. Parachute Pants Person's antics causes quite a problem for the Taco Bell franchisees, as after he flies away a mob of drunk college students are left loitering about the Taco Bell waiting for their chalupas. Riots ensue. The biggest problem for Parachute Pants Person is that as a result of wolfing down dozens of chalupas each night, he puts on a little weight. He's got a chalupa gut. A gut similar to those that easy coeds get from nights on end of binge drinking and Taco Bell runs. Not a pretty sight, to say the least.














Crossdressing Criminal Caveman - Oh boy, is this cat trouble. He's a misplaced soul from prehistoric times plopped down into the cruel modern world. He has no name, no identity, and generally feels displaced in Obama's America. His English language skills approximate those of the typical Obama voter. As a result of these feelings of utter loneliness and an inability to connect to folks in what passes for polite society, this caveman turns to 2 things - crossdressing and crime. By day, he stands on the street corner begging for dough from folks burdened by white liberal guilt. And when he collects enough cash, the caveman heads for the nearest Victoria's Secret and buys the sheerest lingerie he can afford. He prefers to buy garments in the color blue. Then when night befalls the cruel modern city he's forced to inhabit, he becomes Crossdressing Caveman Criminal. He inflicts terrible pain and suffering on the city through his nightly attacks on filling station Quickie Marts. Crossdressing Caveman Criminal bursts into a random Quickie Mart, then the Indian or Pakistani attendant is so mortified by the the sight of a caveman in a blue teddie that said attendant quickly hands over piles of Camel Lights, ribbed for her pleasure condoms, & several 40's. As you would expect, Crossdressing Caveman Criminal, while a menace to polite society, becomes a folk hero to all the down on their luck outcasts permeating the confines of our culture of corruption. The stories involving Crossdressing Caveman Criminal pretty much write themselves from there. He would become a comic book legend.














Joystick Joyce - This is a chick stuck in the heyday of the arcade boom from back about 30 years ago. She's a homely woman in her mid 40's who still sports the acid washed jeans and big hair so pervasive in the 80's. She works for the local Democrat Party as a runner in poor neighborhoods. But all the while, as she knocks on door after door passing out propaganda claiming that Sarah Palin is the anti-christ, she reminisces about her time in the arcades of the 80's, where she would give handjobs to the very top Q*Bert players as they massaged the game's joystick to heights of glory never since seen. So, what Joystick Joyce does to reconnect to her past glory days giving handjobs to mullet sporting losers, is she hangs around the few old time pizza joints that still have operational video game machines in the corners. Joyce is no longer picky about the specific game some dude has mastered. Be it Frogger, Ms Pac-Man, Centipede, or even The Gauntlet, Joyce sits patiently waiting in these mom and pop pizza places for some man, of any age, to drop a quarter in the slot and start manipulating the joystick. She then approaches these men from behind and without saying a word, Joyce reaches around and undoes their button fly. You may be wondering, how is this a problem??? I mean it's harmless handjobs between possibly consenting adults, right??? Not so fast. The problem is that many of these lonely men Joyce services at the arcade machines haven't been with a woman in so long, that their ejaculations, when they inevitably quickly come, spurt all over the pizza joint. Some gets into the sauce. And this drives the pizza place proprietors crazy. It's a real pickle of a problem for them. A superhero must be summoned to save the pizza sauce from having a too strong trace of salt in it. That's where old Spiderman enters to save the pizza joint owners from Joystick Joyce and her handjobs of harm.














Candy Offerer - This guy is a menace. He's not a pedophile who tries to lure young boys into his Chevy Malibu with the promise of Gobstoppers or Dweebs. No, he's way worse. What Candy Offerer does is work at a State Department of Education in a needless job that could be done by a 12 year-old retard. He sits in his cubicle all day with bags of candy at the ready, waiting for a co-worker to pop in and ask some innocuous question about this or that. Then Candy Offerer offers the unsuspecting colleague candy. Now, the candy isn't laced with heroin or anything. The candy is fine. Trying to drug fellow employees is not Candy Offerer's bag. His crime is annoyingly asking anyone who stops in if they'd like some candy. Then shoving some in the fellow employee's direction. This is one of the worst crimes against humanity imaginable. Why? Because Candy Offerer is making his colleagues feel obligated to take some candy. And since no one likes to be rude, they do. He's a terrible, terrible person who must be stopped at all costs.














Unemployable Reader - This is Candy Offerer's brother. He too is not a criminal in the traditional comic book sense. What Unemployable Reader does is stand around and talk endlessly to anyone who will feign listening to him about how the world has wronged him by not letting him get a job in the field he misguidedly studied in college. He has an axe to grind with society. What makes Unemployable Reader so insidious is that after listening to him pout, bitch, and whine for a few minutes, anyone listening to him becomes suicidal. I mean, they desperately want to take their own lives, as death is far preferable to listening to Unemployable Reader drone on about the Master's degree he dropped tens of thousands of bucks earning, yet was attained for naught. A pitiful sight if there ever was one.





















Friday, August 5, 2011

The Grocery List









I was at the old Wachovia (the one near Quaker Village, if anyone cares) depositing my crummy check from the place I occasionally show up to work, standing in line for what seemed like minutes on end. One of the tellers was having an enlightening conversation with a burly gentleman in a landscape company t-shirt. This conversation went on for quite a while. The bone of contention between the landscape guy and the teller was the fact that the landscape guy did not have an account with Wachovia, yet wanted to cash his massive check. This was a problem. Evidently Wachovia isn't keen on just cashing checks for dudes who don't actually bank with Wachovia. Eventually this guy took off with a huge wad of cash in his pocket. Then the teller doing the bidding for Wachovia called me up next to facilitate my crappy transaction. She said, "Good afternoon. Welcome to Wachovia." I said, "Could you hold on a sec? I'm gonna run that guy down that you were just servicing and compliment him on that belt he's wearing." The teller responded, "Why would you do that, young man?" I said, "Because he's gotta have like 10 implements hanging off it & that is so cool that I gotta know where in Mexico he bought it." Alas, one poor woman, getting serviced to my right, chuckled...


















After leaving that bank, I travelled the short distance to the Teeter across the way. As I was wandering aimlessly down the aisles trying to figure out what food to buy, this cockeyed old bag informed me that meat was on sale. I said, "What kind of meat, madam?" She said, "Well young man, they have a special on ground chuck at the moment." I told her, "Thanks all the same, but I only eat potted meat." She pushed her little buggy deal off in a huff.


















I'm about to do something I've never done before on this ridiculously stupid blog. I'm gonna list what I bought at the old Teeter and what it cost. I figure doing so will provide invaluable insight into the mystery that is That Brother From Hawaii. Or, if not valuable insight, at least something approximating it. Here you go ---









MM Pulp Free OJ $2.89 - I like orange juice with the old vodka on occasion.









Fancy Feast Tuna 65 cents - No, I don't have a cat. But there is one that shows up at the old door from time to time. And he's looking for some food. The 1st time I ever let him in, about 2 years ago, I didn't have any cat food just sitting around. So, I gave the cat some tuna. Don't worry, I don't actually eat tuna. It's gross. But, this cat liked the tuna and started popping up now & then as a result. So, I try and have something for him sitting around. By the way, I don't know this cat's name. But I call him Tuna. Obviously.









Fancy Feast Salmon 65 cents - See above. Oh, if you don't have a cat, let me warn you that cat food stinks to high hell. Nasty.









Black Plums $1.19 - I like plums. A lot. Plums are awesome.









Bone-In Strip Steak $5.16 - That old bag wasn't lying about the meat deals.









Bone-In Strip Steak $5.35 - See above.









Planter Peanuts $2.50 - Big sale on the Planters. And I'm down with Mr Peanut. Perhaps Mr Peanut is doing some landscape work this summer with that Mexican Implement Belt Man I saw at the bank. He's certainly got the hat for it.









Folger's Ad Bag $4.39 - What a ripoff. But coffee is key. Fucking key.









Snuggle's Sheets $2.99 - Another sweet deal. And I'm down with that Snuggle Bear. I used to have a little Snuggle Bear stuffed animal that I found in a parking lot. Old Quigley tore the damn thing to pieces. The Quigley Dog.









Blueberries 2 for $6.00 - I eat the damn things like crazy. I go through 2 containers of them a week.









Zucchini $1.99 - I grill them. Considering I have no conception how to use a pot or pan or the oven, I have to.









Yellow Squash $2.60 - See above.









Russet Pot $3.79 - I don't eat potatoes as a rule, but someone asked me to pick them up. So I did.









Match Light $10.99 - It's a big bag. Without Match Light I can't prepare food unless it involves microwaving. All I can do is grill. So I do.









The total for all this grocery silliness was $56.15 after the State of NC got their cut. It has always baffled me that the state taxes food. It's evil. Yes, both the state and the taxes...


















Well, this has been fun. Hasn't it??? Stay tuned because next time (hopefully tomorrow) I'm gonna delve into the creepy world of comic book heroes or villains or something. I think you'll like it.