Stand By Your Ham

 Ham is just who Ham is. Ham gonna Ham. Ham brings home the bacon. Ham sometimes smokes, but can also come home with a sweet glaze, ready to treat you right. Ham will spiral with you on the dance floor. Ham likes pineapple, and you know what they say about eating pineapple, right? Ham, bamalam! Black Forest, hamalam! So many Hams.  

I don't know what I set out to accomplish with this silliness. All I know is that I'm hungry and ham tastes good, bamalam.

Here's a picture of the best ham in the world.  This man likes to ham. He was also a former supervisor of mine, back in the day. Ham Man.

Ham Man, complete with "Ham Action Grip". Kids, tell your parents that you want Ham Man for Christmas. Cloves not included. 

Touched by a Ham Angel.

Slapped Ham.

Ham on Ham

"I know what you're thinking" Ham.

Hot Ham.

Pressure Wash Your Cares Away

There's something to be said for mindless, menial labor. Since I became king of the grunt world some time ago, I can order people to do these mindless things, instead of me. However, I need this kind of work in my life, occasionally. 

I'm currently pressure washing the north side of a building, blasting off all the lichens growing on the stucco exterior. What do I do for a living now, you may ask? Well, same thing I did before but fatter. I'm a facility manager of a large office complex. The cream has risen to the top, well, at least past the halfway mark of the coffee mug. Anyway, I could have any of the workers under my supervision do this mindless, menial task. I could stay warm, dry, and fat in my office.  I don't want to do that shit. Time fucks up your body--relationships, finances, and work stress does the rest. I have to keep my body moving and my mind focused on something methodical, predictable, and most importantly, controllable. 

When life turns out to be something you never expected, and that spans the good and bad, there has to be something you can turn to that will never change. What never changes are the tasks that you go to that are reliably boring, repetitious, and constant. It's the task that puts you in a state of meditation, no cares, and subconscious prayer, where the physical pain fades into a drone, a hypnotic vibration, and auto pilot cause you to leave your body, in a sense.

I'm pressure washing this building because I need to do it for myself. I need to take the pain of my heart, mind, and body and throw it at an immovable object, knowing that if I only move it an atom's width, I have triumphed.

I am back.

I'm a Kucking Flutz!

 I spilt Dr. Pepper on the bed tonight. I was trying to help by taking it and some food to the fridge for my wife. As usual, I fucked everything up. Something is wrong with me. I can feel it. I drop things more and more. I seem to forget things more. I'm experiencing brain fog. I don't know what is happening. I just feel like I'm letting people down all the time. I feel like my body and brain are starting to decline. This can't be happening. I feel uneasy and unsure about myself. I don't know what to do. 

The World Is Fucked, By Bartholomew T. Gruntington

News Flash: The world is fucked! What's that, you say, fucked? Yes, fucked!  Oh no! What shall we do?  Go out to the streets and yell? Sure, why not. Wear masks so we don't die? Absolutely! Above all, vote Orange Man out of office.

I'm not as clever or funny as I used to be, sorry.  Just don't screw shit up this November, okay?  Hey, I don't like Biden as a presidential candidate either, but sometimes you just have to take that damn bitter pill in order to get better. Hillary wasn't a great choice either, but I still voted for her. Why? Because Trump is a fucking dumpster fire of a human being and a black hole of humanity to boot. Didn't everybody get that memo back in 2015? I sure as hell did. I don't know what gave anybody north of a 70 I.Q. the impression that Trump was anything other than a neon conman with a T.V. show and a trail of destruction that spanned the globe. Oh, I forgot. He owned the libtards. Well, fuck you! If we don't get Trump out of office this election, then we are truly and most certainly fucked in the literal sense.

Grunt mad!

Blog Is Dead. Long Live Blog!

I will never quit this blog. Never! I may not come on here very often anymore, but with the other things that people have fled to (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Fartfinder), I still feel the need to keep myself rooted in this thing called blog.  I think it is where all the cool kids are right now, anyway.

About Fartfinder.com, well, that was more of an idea for a website that I had. It's more of a service than a social media platform. It can be used to find farts or to place blame--find out who dealt it. Why would you want to find a fart? Well, I'm thinking that it's more of a fetish thing, but those loud farts that don't end up smelling bad, the smell found its way into another dimension, by way of our Lord's eternal grace.  If you wanted to find out how bad it really smelled, then this service can find out and recreate it for you and your friends. Judging by how strong the fart smelled, you can determine God's love towards you, that God spared you from such stench in the first place.

My work here today is done.

Old Timey and a Little Bit Stinky

My beloved laptop has been pushed into a corner by all the major browsers.  So, I run Vista. What's the big deal? I still remember how to fuckin' DOS man. So, I have been all a-scared to go online  and do stuff because my operating system is no longer supported by Firefox and Chrome, the two browsers that have made my life so fabulous and complete, until now.  I feel so old and obsolete.

I'm writing this post at the risk of sounding old timey.  I'm crossing into dangerous "Hey kids, get off my lawn" territory.  Fortunately, I found that I didn't have to get all pissed off.  I haven't descended into the fear of being left behind in a strange new world (like a Trump supporter's persecution fantasy). No, I found out that there are other browsers that accept me and my Windows Vista.  Hooray!

I have found myself on my phone too much, anyway. I need to get back to the tactile "typey-typey" thing. I need to get on here more and let loose the little Grunt man again. Strange things happen when you become an even more grown-ass adult and I shouldn't let the opportunity slip away from me to blog about it. Yeah!

That's the other thing bugging me. It's "yeah" not "yea". Unless you're reading Shakespeare or the Bible, you really shouldn't be coming across yea too much.  OH, YEAH! Yea, verily.

Okay, I need to get going.  I have decided to just wash my hair and trust that the rest of me is not stinky.  The things that happen when you are running your own little rest home, well, let's just say, drain you of life and the motivation to stay on top of every routine that used to come so easy. That may sound like I'm depressed. I'm not depressed; tired, yes. But, my life is actually pretty good, when I think about it. I've just channeled my energies into areas that are much more rewarding.  So, while there is the mire, I also have developed a great life outside of that hard slog.  It doesn't come easy, but it's damn sure worth the effort.

Holding fast to slow people (An old post that didn't get published but should have)

(Grunty's notes: I've been looking back at my posts and noticed that I didn't publish this post. I'm not sure why. It does seem to be a bit negative and self defecating--I literally shit myself. Anyhoo, whether or not it makes me look pathetic, it represents me at that time. My inner person is doing pretty good right now and I've grown up a lot since. That's probably why I'm not funny anymore. Tee-hee!)

I often feel like the Shepard of a special flock. I don't know how this has happened. It probably has something to do with insecurity, my need to feel depended on and superior. All of my smart friends are out being smart, with good jobs and beautiful families. I don't get to see much of them anymore. Somehow, the gaping hole that is my life needs to be filled. Stupid people usually fall into holes. Therefore, my life is full of "special" people.

I am going to start paying homage to those special people in my life. They may not be the brightest bulbs, but they are always happy to see me and to put up with my paranoid rants. They don't judge me or point out my failings to reach my potential. I was and am too weird for most to want me to work with them, if they actually are with it enough to realize what effect that would have on them professionally. This is why most of my networking contacts have usually only given me leads on jobs like auto detailing and door to door salesman. What the fuck is so wrong with me? I think this all stems from an incident at scout camp where I built a bomb out of human feces. Don't ask. It didn't work. Well, it worked in that the whole surrounding camp ground stunk like shit for the rest of the evening. I have long accepted that I suffer from an unmarketable personality and mind.