First off, I caught a mouse. If I say how I caught it I will have some of you upset at me because it wasn't very nice. Let's just say that it did not involve traps of any kind. It involved me wearing work gloves and a little something I call "Greased Lightning". Eating lightning usually results in crapping thunder, and in my moment of triumph--cornering the sumbitchin' meese--I kind of pulled a Lennie. I believe that it was no coincidence that Saddam Hussein was hung today. Note: The mouse seemed a bit ill. I guess it ate too much of what I eat. Poor meese.
Random Posties: Now with pasties!!!
I was in Clyde, mi raza, and my brother pointed to a fat K-9 going to town on his luv sack. My brother gets that look on his face like he's going to say, "Boy, if I could do that I wouldn't leave the house", and I stop him right in his tracks with this gem: "You know, I wonder if dogs ever look at us and say, 'Boy, if I had thumbs, I'd never leave the house.'" I think a half block passed before he started giggling.
I googled bunson burners and hydroponics today. Hey, I am just thirsty for knowledge, okay?
It's times like these where I say to myself, "You know, you really love onions way too much, buddy."
If Captain Crunch didn't win The Battle of Frankenberry Hill, we wouldn't have cereal that cuts the roof of our mouths. A small price to pay for deliciousness, I say. General Mills and Dr. Kellogg awarded the Captain with the Silver Star. This one stays crunchy in milk.
I visited my long lost pal, J, the other day. He bought the "Banana Wagon" off of my broham. He has been pimping it big time with 22's, bucket seats, air bag suspension, and all things Edelbrock. This '72 Chevy Suburban was purchased by my father in October 1971 and stayed in the family until September of this year. It was restored once and now will be living a life of car shows and other autorama delights. I actually cried tears of joy when I saw the progress on this thing--yes, manly men do cry. It has been a part of my entire life. I've wrecked it, fixed it, done naughty things in it, got hassled by the fuzz in it, and dammit, I miss it. I was going to buy it off of my brother, but I just didn't feel that I should spend my money on a car project right now. I know J, and he is going to treat it right. Heck, I still have Clyde. He takes me to the highest peaks and lowest valleys. What more could a guy want out of a 4x4?
...a mouse party! These little shits have taken over the damn place. I have not been in the spirit to do a festive TIGF!!!, which is what I planned, and now am faced with two consecutive TIGF!!!'s in the bad way. I did not intend TIGF!!! to become a complaint department, but these damn mice are unruly. I found the most probable entry point. My landlord put in new air conditioning this spring but did not seal up the places where new lines come through the structure. I am in no mood to wait for my dippy landlubber lord to get off his fat ass and so a half-assed job of sealing these holes up. I am going to do it myself, then bill him.
As for the mice, one did manage to escape a trap. Smart little fur ball, what in the hell, you know? I guess I will get more traps and keep setting them up. I was going to get some poison, but the thought of them dying somewhere I can't find, but can smell them, is not appealing at all. I'm not ready to call Terminix just yet, but I have highlighted their name in the yellow pages.
The mice are TIGF!!! in the bad way and are preventing me from doing a proper TIGF!!! in the festive way. What do all y'all have to say about vermin? I want to know. I think later on tonight I will get out a pogo stick and see if I can smash any of these little shits.
There is a town in Northern England called "Pity Me". The story goes that a Bishop, or something like that, was walking through this pretty valley and had become quite exhausted. He exclaimed, "Oh, pity me", and his posse noticed that and later gave that valley the name Pity Me. So, I have sat down in Pity Me and exclaimed "Oh, pity me" before. Let me tell you, it is worth the trip.
I will get to all of your comments and blogs in time, dear friends. I have had some heavy contemplation about my life and it has made it hard for me to visit and comment. You know, there are things that you can want so bad, but can never have. Who or what puts that want in you? I need that want in areas that will help me build my empire. Want. Rufus Wainwright did a pair of albums about want, didn't he? I will have to read those lyrics and see if it makes any sense to me. Maybe I need pity for my want--my want of things I can't have. If faith is a knowledge of things never seen, then want is a desire for things never had. Well, that is not accurate, but it can surely feel that way sometimes. Maybe it is the feeling that you will never have again that bums you out.
Like a monkey wrench umbrella crashing into your exposed brain.
Like a pickle flashlight that tells time.
Like no way, uh-uh!
Like, you are in so much trouble.
Like a one-man pie eating contest.
Like Mikey to a bowl of Life cereal.
Like, I am making sense all of a sudden.
Like, I need to go back to being absurd.
Like donuts for dangerous boys.
Like, you know, whatever!
Like, this one time I totally found an ear in the grass and it had ants all over it.
Like, play the violet peace flute that sounds like a fun house mirror looks.
Like gasoline on the barbie.
Like shrimp on the Barbie's Playhouse.
Like I gotta come up with a real good one to end this thing
Like the mouse who shared a warm bed with me in the Wintertime.
Like the man who grabbed your ass then told you to act like nothing happened, but it did happen and you can't ever forget about it, because he did grab your ass.
Like, who does he think he is grabbing my ass like that? You just don't go around grabbing people's asses!
Like, that guy is a total prevert. Not a pervert, but a total prevert!
Like, this is hard to talk about but I have nightmares about fish--really scary ones!
Like this one time I shot great big holes through a Volkswagen Beetle with my shotgun out in the desert and then I go home and pretend to be all sophisticated and crap.
Like when you are at a stop light singing and you don't care who can see you singing, even the dude looking into your rear view mirror. Yeah, he can even see your nostrils flaring when you belt out, "I can't liiiiiive, if living is without yoooooooou!"
Like, I am way tired because I spent the night with a mouse.
Like, I think the little guy knows that he has a certain kind of power over me and he purposely runs over my bare feet at night to scare the living daylights outta me.
Like, so I made a special "offerings" alter to my little furry friend, with seven different grains of the finest quality and he still likes to creep me out at night by trying to carve his initials on the inside of my guitar amp. What freakin' gratitude this guy has. You'd think he'd leave me alone, but noooooooo!
Like, I started begging him to leave, or just shut the hell up. Also, to quit pooping on the T-shirt that I left on the floor.
Like, I haven't slept well because of this douche bag mouse and I don't like to kill, but I must.
Like, I went to Ace Hardware and bought sixteen mouse traps.
Like, you heard me, sixteen mouse traps, biatch!
Like, I set them up all over the place and now this mofo is a no show.
Like, he is just messing with me, messing with me like Ted.
I added a new Youtube clip on my sidebar. It is from one of my favorite movies of all time, David Lynch's "Blue Velvet", and it features a Roy Orbison song. Like, the candy colored man they call the Sandman is working his magic on me right now, mouse or no mouse--I will sleep tonight!
Instant Message "IM", 12 days before Christmas: "You gave me a case of chewing gum for a Christmas present. I didn't really know you that well before this and I have no idea why you decided that a couple months supply of Juicy Fruit would be the ideal gift for me. I appreciate it. I really do. It's a little odd, seeing as how I don't know you that well, but it's cool."
IM, 11 days before Christmas: "I went through the first packet pretty fast. Juicy Fruit has great flavor, but it doesn't last that long. My favorite is Big Red, but cinnamon gum tends to make your taste buds feel funny after chewing a lot of the stuff. The Juicy Fruit seems like the better bulk choice."
IM, 10 days before Christmas: "It's funny....Every time I take out a stick of gum and chew it, I think of you. Why is this happening? There is still massive quantities of this gum left. Will I be reminded of you every time until the last stick?"
IM, 9 days before Christmas: "A few days ago, I wasn't feeling too great and chewed my gum a bit slower this time. I wanted the memory to last. I detected banana and nutmeg (I think)--the rest is a mystery. You know, I have no clue what in the hell Juicy Fruit is supposed to taste like. Right now I'm feeling pretty excited, though, and am popping one stick after another, even trying to blow some bubbles with the stuff. One of the bubbles got pretty big. I wanted to take a picture of it and send it to you, but I spaced. I didn't have my camera with me."
IM, 8 days before Christmas: "Okay, now it is morning and I kind of resent the fact that you have been ignoring me. I took out packet after packet, chewed as much as I could fit in my mouth, until the flavor was gone so that I wouldn't have to think of you for very long today. I wanted to be so overwhelmed that my senses wouldn't take you anymore. But, something has come over me: this intense desire and longing. I wish I had made those packets last longer."
IM, 7 days before Christmas: "I'm making a chain with all the gum wrapper sleeves and decorating my Christmas tree with it. You'd like it."
IM, 6 days before Christmas: "Made a sandwich today using some of the gum you gave me. I know. I know. I am really, really weird."
IM, 5 days before Christmas: "I found that after the flavor is gone you can put Cheeze Whiz in your mouth for cheddar flavored gum. It's a lot better than you'd think. Heh, now when I think of you, you are cheesy! Ugh, that was horrible. Forgive me?"
IM, 4 days before Christmas: "This isn't fair. I haven't seen you since you dropped by to give me this gift. Look, I know that you are busy. I was thinking, though, that we'd go out and catch a flick together before things get crazy. Crazy is smelling a gum wrapper that you left a day ago on your car seat just to get a quick fix. Did you spike this stuff?"
IM, 3 days before Christmas: "What happens when I run out? Did you give Juicy fruit to anyone else? I listened to the song 'Yellow' today. Perfect gum chewing music, that isn't bubble gum. My jaw muscles are rather ripped now. I don't know if you can get a 'six-pack' on your jaw, but I think if anyone could, it would be me."
IM, 2 days before Christmas: "Got your email. Why can't you do a movie with me? This is disappointing."
IM, Christmas Eve: "Perhaps, I have made a big deal of this. Once you get to know me better, I think you'll understand my humor. Am I freaking you out? Drop by if you get the chance."
Christmas Day: So, now you are here alone with me and there is just one pack left. I never thought I could chew that much gum in such a short amount of time. Wanna stick?
This here is my favorite oil on canvass portrait of my buddy pal, Anonymous. Anonymous obsesses over the size of my penis, my mortgage, prescriptions, offering a relatively porn-free man access to images of people's naughty bits (I am firmly on the wagon, now--quit throwing shit at me, k?), and after having made my penis 30% larger, offering to enhance it even further. So many ways to pimp your ride, oh brothers. I have always wanted a horror show of a boner to flaunt around the local milk bar. I know it drives you devotchkas crazy.
Okay, here's the deal: Anonymous, I am no longer your friend. You are officially TIGF!!! in the bad way. Get bent, motha ball cuppa!
I am leaving the Word Verification thing off for this post, then I am reintroducing it to my comments section. Sorry all, but I just have had enough of spam and I don't have the time to moderate my comments. I like my visitors to be able to comment in real time, anyway.
I added a new Youtube on my sidebar. It is the glam rock group, Slade, doing their "Merry X-mas Everybody!" song. They have got to be the ugliest dudes on earth, but most of their songs are downright addicting. Hell, there's a reason Quiet Riot ripped them off on more than one occasion. Baby baby baby!
Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Kwazy Kwanzaa, and whatever else that floats yer boats! I ate half a cow today. Thank goodness for gift certificates, provider of porterhouse steaks.
Wonder Bread walks into a bar and notices a lonely girl sitting on a stool drinking her Red Stripe. Wonder Bread knows that this girl has got something serious going on in her head. All the other guys are just staring at her tits. Wonder Bread approaches this girl and strikes up some conversation.
Wonder Bread: "Hi, my name's Wonder, Wonder Bread. But, you can call me Butter Top. And you are?"
Girl: "Uh, you can call me Yogi."
Wonder Bread: "As in bear?"
Girl: "Ha-ha, yeah, as in bear--long story....Hey, I like your bag and twist lock, btw. Green is my favorite color."
Wonder Bread: "Ah, thanks. You know, hardly anyone comments on my green twist lock. I usually go for the white one for everyday and red, for when I'm going out on the town. Oh god, I'm such a dork."
Girl: "What?"
Wonder Bread: "Well, here I am yammering on about my twist lock and I totally don't say anything about your eyes. You've got great eyes, bonita."
Girl: "Shut up."
Wonder Bread: "Mind if I sit with you?"
Girl: "I dunno. Are you man enough?"
Wonder Bread: "Another Red Stripe for the lady and a glass of buttermilk for me."
I can't believe it! My childhood wish finally came true and now look what happened. Dammit. I swear, I would punish them for killing an innocent prairie dog, but just look at their arsenal! How am I, a man of peace, to compete with that? Anyway, I have seen them over at Barbie's Play House having wild parties with even wilder women. Well, at least Barbie Dolls are less plastic than some of the women in L.A. nowadays. I think I saw the Joe on the left scratching his crotch vigorously today. Real life ain't always what it's cracked up to be, bub. Now you'll have to go down to the free clinic and have that thing checked out.
What silly childhood toy wishes/fantasies have you all had?
Oh, the movie the last post was about was "Dracula" with Bela Lugosi as Count Dracula. The character pictured was that of Renfield, the dude that Dracula enslaved and eventually went crazy. Dwight Frye played Renfield, and that particular moment from the film is where the ghost ship comes to the dock and the porters find all the dead crew. They open up the bay doors to the hull and find the lone survivor, Renfield, laughing maniacally. It is awesome! Renfield is promptly taken to an insane asylum after that. Alice Cooper did an epic song called "The Ballad of Dwight Frye" and it is totally demented. I am not sure how much of what Alice sang about Dwight is factual, but if it is, the dude was psychotic.
I also added some cool new side bar scroll down menus. If you haven't checked out the latest Youtube on my sidebar, do. I will be changing it soon.
What more can I say? The King of TIGF!!!, Liberace, pretty much covered everything he owned in them, even his butler. Have you seen Liberace's piano and Rolls Royce? Wow!
Another thing not so TIGF!!! in a good way, are those Fiberglas buffalo that you see painted all sorts of ungodly in front of city buildings across America. This one here was done up like Elvis in a rhinestone jumpsuit:
Well, maybe it is a bit kitsch, but still TIGF!!! in the bad way, I think.
So many uses for this diamond also ran. You can put them on your denim wear, sunglasses, cell phone, purse, gay man scarf; hell, I bet there is even a rhinestone party hat, and not the one that says, "Happy 9th Birthday!" If it does, then we will all kick your ass to your prison cell where a man named "Bubba" awaits to show you just how efficient a trunk packer he is.
The thing that puts the cherry on top of the rhinestone (as if this were even possible) is the movie that bears its name: What more can I add here? Do they make a rhinestone soda, perhaps? If not, who wants to invent one with me?
(Okay, I changed the Youtube embed on my sidebar. I found a clip of Jimmy Kimmel, when he was on "The Man Show", doing his Karl Malone impersonation. Enjoy, and let me know what you thought of it. I actually found a clip of Karl doing a fried chicken add for Hardees. It is way un-PC for today's world. I will have to post that one sometime soon for y'all. Ooh, and I finally found out how to post comments on Beta Blogger, if they allow anonymous comments. You have to sign out of your old Blogger account first, then you can sign in as "Other", put your desired name in and your web address in. It works, but you don't get to have an avatar. If you don't allow anonymous comments on Beta Blogger, I haven't figured out how to leave comments there. I think if I start up a Google account, then I can sign in that way. Give me some time to figure it out. I am sure there is a way around/through all this mess.)
First off, I can't leave comments on some of your sites. Beta Blogger is out to get me. I apologize, and if you think I am ignoring you, well, forgive me. I am trying to figure out why this is happening.
Random posties for girls and boys, by The Grunt.
I have a haunted tire pressure gauge. I will get my pressure right one day, and then the next day it will be ten PSI higher. Wait, it's the tires that are haunted...ahhhhhhhhhhh!
Speaking of hauntings, I feel that bathrooms and stages are the single most haunted places in buildings. I think it is because ghosts love to put on plays and then do lines of coke in the bathroom after their performances.
I have become the male equivalent of the dreaded "cat lady", only, instead of cats, it is guitar amplifiers. Anybody want to take a 1959 Gibson GA-5 Skylark off my hands? I think I would sooner part with a testicle than that baby, and I haven't yet got it working. I need to find a woman that has tons of electric guitars, but no amps. Can you find something like that on Craig's list?
I don't refer to mojo as mojo. I call it grease.
I think somebody tried too hard bringing the sexy back and ended up just restoring "dandy" to modern lexicon.
Yeah, I just said lexicon. That is also a name brand of high end signal processors.
If I were to win an Academy Award, I would thank Odin just to cover my bases. Somewhere, Hellhammer is giving me a two-prong salute.
I like so much music, varieties, kindreds, tongues, etc. I am listening to Bonnie "Prince" Billy's latest, "The Letting Go", Marshall Tucker Band, Merle Haggard, Iron Maiden, and Radio Birdman at the moment. Oh, and I do listen to Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass on occasion--when I am in a lounge mood. I prefer Merle over Johnny Cash, but it is ever so close.
Is Stevie Nicks a good witch or a bad witch?
I think I have discovered how Cain really slew Abel. I came across an Idaho russet potato today and it was freakin' huge! I believe that Cain just took an Idaho russet from his mound of vegetables that he had as a sacrifice and just beaned Abel on the noggin. It is within the realm of possibility, folks. I have looked into it.
Are any of you familiar with Jimmy Kimmel's impersonations of Karl Malone? I pee myself every time I hear him do Karl, especially Santa Karl. Damn, I wish I had an audio clip of that.
I'm thinking of a number between one and a hundred. What is it?
I need to sleep, or I will not have sufficient grease for tomorrow.
I am tempted to name my first born child "Captain Howdy".
I thought of a great invention: Ouija Butler. Yes, you just have your table all designed as an Ouija board, only you have seating charts instead of "Yes" "No" and the planchette fetches the salt, butter, and passes around the gravy boat and the like. Hell, you can even ask it questions and confuse the cat.
I know who he is and I'm not going to tell! His nickname is "The Destroying Angel" and started up a death squad called "The Danites". He was born in Massachusetts and died an old man in Utah. I know where his grave is. Historians aren't sure how many people he has actually killed, but it is a lot, including one beheading in retribution. He was a U.S. Marshall, too. One of his most famous quotes was, "I never killed anyone who didn't need killing."
Okay, growing up through the late seventies and eighties, I worshipped three men: Evel Knievel, Han Solo, and Steve Austin, aka The Six Million Dollar Man. Now, when Steve Austin squared off with the dreaded Bionic Bigfoot, I about soiled myself in fear. I cannot tell you how much I got into the sound effects and the slow-motion bionic madness. Surely, television reached it's zenith at this point in time.
Now, that I have had a chance to look back at some clips of this show, I am convinced that I was mentally impaired. How??? Why??? What the??? I really want to know what in the hell made me so engrossed with this stupid stuff. Well, I guess I enjoy it on a whole 'nother level now. It is just funny to me. I still want to be like Steve Austin, Evel Knievel, and Han Solo wrapped into one mighty package.
Now, Bionic Bigfoot was just pure mayhem, if you ask me, and I am now inspired by him. Hell, if Bionic Bigfoot can get a woman, then there is hope for the rest of us single guys.
Just a quickie post. Don't forget to check out TIGF!!! I added more names to my blog roll and a Youtube embed. Currently playing is the Aussie punk band, The Saints "Stranded". I love The Saint's first album, but my favorite Aussie punk band is Radio Birdman. They simply rock the bollocks off of me.
Okay, I have been bugged that I have not represented the Birkenstock bunch on TIGF!!! Well, all you that pestered me, here you go. I don't know what else to say other than that dyke hair is a not just a haircut: it's a lifestyle. So far, we have the flat top, and the "Flock of Seagulls", sported by none other than our friend Rosie. What is the crowning achievement of dike hair?
She-mullets/fe-mullets, whatever they are, they are TIGF!!! Especially Brigitte Neilsen in "Red Sonja". Can you imagine her, Rosie, and Grace Jones in a three-way? If you don't know who Grace Jones is *ugh*, well then let me enlighten you newbies:
I admit that this post was low-hanging fruit for me, meh.
Jules tagged me and now I'm s'posed ta do this thingy
I love Kate Bush. I simply am bewitched by this woman. This isn't normal for a guy that can tear down old cars and build them back up again, better, stronger, faster, is it? I also shoot guns. Will my manhood ever be secure? I was hooked right upon first hearing the haunting and emotional "Wuthering Heights" (click here for video). It was in Keighley, of all places, just down the road from Haworth where Charlotte Bronte penned her novel bearing the name and supplying the inspiration of that song. Ever since, I am transported to that time and place when I hear Wuthering Heights and I am overcome with emotion. Seriously. That is a whole 'nother post, folks.
I love Marmite on toast. The same goes for Vegamite.
I like the sensation of scalding water on my hands.
My ability to intuitively sense what people need emotionally is scary. I swear I check every morning to make sure my boys are firmly attached.
I don't feel like peeing like a girl diminishes my manhood at all. In fact, it is quite comfortable and allows me to read my Hot Rod mags. I do pee the other way plenty, alright?
Sometimes at night I fantasize that I am a combination of Steve Austin, "The Six Million Dollar Man", and Evel Knievel. Plus, I am invisible and can walk through walls.
There it is, six weird things about me, The Grunt. I thought that I would just keep it at six, because I can keep on going. Who do I want to tag? Keshi, Chandra, Issy, Cindra, Outdoorsy Girl, Christielli. I would keep on going there as well, but I think you are just supposed to tag six.
I am a very introspective sort. Most of you are treated to a part of me that exhibits my mind amplified without social pressures and preconceived notions of who I am. I am sure you think you know what I am all about, but you came here without knowing.
I am a bit reclusive and aloof in real life, given to being lost in deep thought and self reflection. Of course, I am just as dynamic as my blog portrays in real life, around people, but it wears me out and I always need to withdraw a bit to recover.
Lately, my back problems have started giving me trouble. It hurts to do certain things. Heavy things are no problem, but little things makes the center of my back, to lower right shoulder blade, feel like I have a knife in me. This pain started about three years ago, when I would be hunched over various electronic projects that I was developing, tweaking, repairing, and building. It made it hard for me to play my guitar, but at this time I wasn't playing much of anything. This is ironic, since I made most of these devices for guitar. It took someone dear to me to get me motivated again to pick up the guitar and start recording again.
Since I started, my pain has come back and I think that I need to lay off. It just seems just need about a month of rest and I am good. But, I started to wonder about what life would be like if I could no longer play the guitar. Robert Wyatt (pictured above, right) was a young musician during the '60s as the drummer, and eventual singer for the art rock/jazz fusion/psychedelic outfit, Soft Machine. In the '70s he was doing his own thing and having great success as a serious musician. About this time ('73), he was at a wild party, and in a drunken state, jumped out of a third-floor window. He was injured badly and was paralyzed from the waist down.
You don't have to wonder much to see how this would effect his drumming, but he could still write songs, play trumpet, do other percussion, and sing. It seems that he just moved his focus onto things that he could do. His talents were not wasted.
As I nursed my back today, I put on my Itunes and hit shuffle. "Ship Building" (written by Elvis Costello) came on--I absolutely love Robert's version of this song. It is an anti-Falklands War song. The shipyards in England were in decline before this War. The prospect of war had brought back some hopes of prosperity to these ship building towns. Think of this: A man, a ship builder, now has work, can provide for his family, is building the ship that his son, sent off to fight, might come back home dead in. I thought of our current wars and the parallels there. But, I started thinking of Robert's voice and the soulful emotion that he put into these words. I thought of the struggle that he has had getting his life back together and on with making music again.
Well, I guess that absorbing into myself too much kind of makes these things invisible, and that is not good. It was by pondering this man that I started to feel less self pity, self pity for something not that serious. But, more than this recognition: I was inspired. I got off a lot of my current hangups of why I am not seeming to get to where I should be in life. It pushed me to consider what I can do and to think less self-destructive thoughts. I know I seem to be laid back, but I am terrible with self analysis. I have been sitting on some very important work because it has not met my unrealistic (for now) expectations. I have to realize that I do what I can with what I have at the time, and the day will come when I can do my ideas justice. I just need to keep my nose to the grindstone and press forward with no backsliding--because it is a sin to waste your talents.
For those of you who would like to hear/see Robert Wyatt sing "Ship Building" go to this link: You know you want to hear it.
Please tell me someone gets what I am referring to here.
So, if "Boooooooy!" from Phantasm was my favorite line from a movie, this one from "The Last Dragon" has to be in my top ten. Sho 'Nuff was one bad ass motha (shut yo mouth!)
This isn't one of mine. Sadly, I've long since thrown my Pee-Chee masterpieces away. I can't even fathom what life would have been like, from ninth grade on, if I did not have my Pee-Chee folders to doodle on and deface. I need to look into whether they still make these things anymore, and they damn better be un-PC--just like they were in the '50s.
I remember making the relay runners chasing down some poor soul with torches, maces, and knives. The catcher was always taking a dump or saying something rude and distracting to the batter. The basket ball players either had rocket shoes, springs on their feet, or a pit of alligators ready to consume them when they came back down. The poor girl playing tennis seemed to be subjected to my misguided, and hormone-induced misogyny.
Of course, the football players were either space aliens, monsters, or some kind of gaytards. Yes, I am busting out gaytard. I am not proud of it, but that is what all us homophobic boys were saying at the time.
I think I want to look into buying a bunch of these folders again and taking up being a Pee-Chee artist again. I may not be Matisse, but I sure as hell ruled the Pee-Chee scene at my school. I wanna see what kind of demented stuff I can come up with now that I am older. Heh, I didn't say more mature, now did I.
I want to hear about all of your Pee-Chee stories. The wilder and more offensive, the better. Remember, Trapper Keepers were sooo junior high, so I don't even want to hear about that crap--not in my house!
