I think the lion in this here scene is super pissed that Jesus is there. I mean, you can see the conflict in his eyes, "When is it ok to eat these kids? 'Cause, I'm f#*@kin' hungry right now. Seriously, I could eat the ass end of an elephant this instant!" This is just plain animal cruelty.
Meanwhile, Lord Jesus, astronaut, magician, wine maker, is showing off again. The lion seems to be the only one aware that our savior is cockeyed. He's thinking that there might be a chance to snatch one of these paradise kids while he's in Jesus' blind spot.
It's obvious that Jesus is telling some kind of story and he's not even looking at these kids. What's up with that anyway? Are we in some magical paradise or Neverland Ranch here? I think that it isn't a story that Jesus is on about here. I think he's discussing the third phase of development of his 'Coaster park. You can't lure in enough of the little ones, I guess.
On Paradise Earth they have the Epcot Center. No one can give blood or celebrate Christmas, but who the freak cares....WE GOT THE F--KING EPCOT CENTER, WHOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Yeah, right after this painting was done the lion helped himself to the little black girl. No one really seemed to care. The lion shrugged his shoulders in a "Sorry, my bad" kind of way, then they all hit the golden slip'n'slide. Fun times were had all around. Jesus walked right into a tree. His eye surgery is scheduled for this next Thursday.
That is if I could have slept without feeling impending doom. Seriously, I couldn't have normal sleep at all last night. Freaking nightmares. I haven't had those in forever. I don't know what is going on here. I woke up today feeling like I had lost the winning lottery ticket and I don't even know why.
You know, I had such a nice day yesterday too--with the exception of feeling ill from Friday night and Monday morning.
It's like that old man hemp with his three tornadoes all over again. I'm just going to have to ride this one out.
I went for a long hike and got this weirdness out of me. I seriously woke up feeling like someone close to me had died. It wasn't funny at all. I tried to call everyone that I cared for (that I have #'s of) and so far so good. I hope this just was a one night/morning escapade of terror. I mean, I really felt shook up and horrible. Damn, I think I scared some people that I left voice mail with. Okay, I'll admit that I'm a bit intense, but dammit, if I feel something ain't right--somebody is hurt that I care for--I don't care how silly I come across. So, if you got a call from me, please forgive my weirdness. If you didn't get a call, then I hope you are okay too. So, why don't you all check in with me in the comments section so I know you are all okay.
I swear I couldn't stop laughing when Lumpy's plate came to the table. Remember the pool scene from "Caddyshack"? Well, I swear the cooks in the back room had a bet going on--I could hear their snickering. On top of that, I was getting the full service check out from a rather well manicured rich fellow just one table away from me. This is reassuring. Rich gay guys have good taste in men. This leads me to believe that there are many women who are just waiting to play twister with me. However, a Spaniard once said, "There can only be one". I know that freaky dude with the weird accent said it a whole bunch of times afterward, but let's face it, that pussy was flat out lucky to beat that one scary dude and do that cool spinning lighting dance at the end.
You guys have no idea what I'm talking about, do you? Meh. I'm okay with that.
I have to say that even though this is the chosen topic for "That's Incredibly Gay Friday!", I kind of want to do this. I can admit that I am gay that way. Can you? Who wants in on this? I think it might just turn into a massive orgy, but that is to be expected with all us horny kids.
This table cloth is just so wrong, yet so right. I guess my grandmother had something on her mind when we did the stitch work. Either that, or a naughty grand kid took some artistic license with a felt tip pen. Whatever the case may be, this just cracks my shit up.
So there you have it, folks. You got to see my cock. Don't look at it too long though, you might start wanting a bucket of fried cock. Cock 'n' waffles! Mmmmmmmm!
This billboard scares the monkey tar right outta me. See that third freakin' gnome? He's flipping you off. Damn malevolent sons a bitches. I still can't figure out wich one is momma bear. Junior sure has a grip on something, that's all I can say.
I'm just glad that there is now a place where you can take your gay kids to romp. Finally!
Holy Crap! My blog is worth $8,419.16!!! I'd never sell, though. Although, they say it is a seller's market. I'm holding out for $35,000. I need a new truck and a couple of weeks in Vegas. Who wants to come?
Yes, I have a big hand. And what is up with that thumb? It isn't broken. I just have a double joint. Freak! So, moral of the story, kids, is that everything will be all Fonzy today. I personally guarantee it!
Why? This is why:
There goes my sidebar again!
Yes, a little thing called "The 24th of July" around here. Or, better known as "The Days of '47", 1847 that is. I guess some really desperate people couldn't quite make their way to California and decided to make lemons out of lemonade--oh, yeah, it usually is the other way around. "This place will do" is what old Brigham Young really said, not, "This is the Place!" Funny how things get changed. So, go and find yourself a pioneer to kiss. It's all in the spirit of '47.
Can you dig it? I knew you could. Get out your tub of love puddin' and rub yo ass in it. Try it with an A-motha-fuckin'-K 47, an all too serious long distance stare, and a killer beret, y'all. It is shiznasty. Holla!
Don't forget to deck your halls with bows of folly (fowry, for the Chinese), ie., lots 'o' glitter and Vegas bling. Having a brother named George also is a plus. Bring him up whenever reporters ask about your many "girlfriends". I think that this is exactly what all those bored and fashion handicapped guerrillas need: a Flaming Che! Much tastier than a Flaming Moe and not to be confused with the Dirty Sanchez. If the Dirty Sanchez is your trip, then get the hell outta here, shit'stache! Sorry, but I don't hang with crap huffers. It harms the revolution.
This song is one of my all time favorites. This is dedicated to someone that I talked to last night. You all really need to listen to this song. It is from "Blood on the Tracks", Dylan's "divorce" album--it is a magnificent ablum, btw.
"Tangled up in Blue"
Early one mornin' the sun was shinin', I was layin' in bed. Wond'rin' if she'd changed at all, If her hair was still red. Her folks they said our lives together sure was gonna be rough. They never did like Mama's homemade dress, Papa's bankbook wasn't big enough.
And I was standin' on the side of the road Rain fallin' on my shoes Heading out for the East Coast Lord knows I've paid some dues gettin' through, Tangled up in blue.
She was married when we first met Soon to be divorced I helped her out of a jam, I guess, But I used a little too much force. We drove that car as far as we could Abandoned it out West Split up on a dark sad night Both agreeing it was best.
She turned around to look at me As I was walkin' away I heard her say over my shoulder, "We'll meet again someday on the avenue," Tangled up in blue.
I had a job in the great north woods Working as a cook for a spell But I never did like it all that much And one day the ax just fell. So I drifted down to New Orleans Where I happened to be employed Workin' for a while on a fishin' boat Right outside of Delacroix.
But all the while I was alone The past was close behind, I seen a lot of women But she never escaped my mind, and I just grew Tangled up in blue.
She was workin' in a topless place And I stopped in for a beer, I just kept lookin' at the side of her face In the spotlight so clear. And later on as the crowd thinned out I's just about to do the same, She was standing there in back of my chair Said to me, "Don't I know your name?"
I muttered somethin' underneath my breath, She studied the lines on my face. I must admit I felt a little uneasy When she bent down to tie the laces of my shoe, Tangled up in blue.
She lit a burner on the stove and offered me a pipe "I thought you'd never say hello," she said"You look like the silent type. "Then she opened up a book of poems And handed it to me Written by an Italian poet From the thirteenth century.
And every one of them words rang true And glowed like burnin' coal Pourin' off of every page Like it was written in my soul from me to you, Tangled up in blue.
I lived with them on Montague Street In a basement down the stairs, There was music in the cafes at night And revolution in the air. Then he started into dealing with slaves And something inside of him died. She had to sell everything she owned And froze up inside.
And when finally the bottom fell out I became withdrawn, The only thing I knew how to do Was to keep on keepin' on like a bird that flew, Tangled up in blue.
So now I'm goin' back again, I got to get to her somehow. All the people we used to know They're an illusion to me now. Some are mathematicians Some are carpenter's wives. Don't know how it all got started, I don't know what they're doin' with their lives.
But me, I'm still on the road Headin' for another joint We always did feel the same, We just saw it from a different point of view, Tangled up in blue.
Yeah, I know it's weak, but hell, I am just out of fresh squeezed Grunt today folks.
BTW, do you ever get that feeling? You know, like you've got a big ass piece of meat stuck between your front teeth and the only people in the room are too spineless and nice to tell you that you have a huge freakin' piece of meat stuck in your grill? Give me a damn tooth pick and tell me already, fuck! I'm beginning to think that the definition of a friend is one that just hangs around and is just laughing at you silently.
Just a thought there.
Yeah, I know I'm weird. Doctors have been telling me that for years.
I am starting to tire of this thing and I want to quit. Go ahead and call me a quitter. I won't quit, but damn, the ideas that I've had for this blog just are too ambitious and so I sit on them. I come home and can't do it. Some of my old time fans are gone, for whatever reason, and I lived for them. The cool thing is that Scott is still around and Dabugg on occasion. I think RJW is dead, if that's true, then that is sad. Maura, where are you hiding? There are others as well. I'm sure some are just tired of spending time away from personal interests. Some may be wanting to prove something to me: Like, did I take a dump in the corner of you life, or something? Get over it and get your butt back over here.
"Well, whatever, nevermind....Hello. Hello. Hello-oh!" Yeah, I'm beginning to understand that song, really.
So, to my current dedicated crop of regulars and lurkers from around the globe, thanks! You guys like my little project, my Gruntonia--where the men are men and the women are excited.
It nags. It is ugly. It won't ever leave you alone. It wants to cuddle with you after screwing you and messing with your mind. It constantly reminds you of what you need to change in your person, your lilfe. It wants to "talk" while eating your brains out, for fun. How do you get rid of your past? Is it as easy as a bullet to the head of the monster, the demon? What if that demon, that monster, is you? Do you just have to sack it up and acquire a taste for other's brains? I believe I have.
Oh, lord on wheat toast! Gladiators, or "Glad he ate whores", they make the gay universe turn. The swordplay, the absolute disregard for their knees--just so's the other men can be distracted while carrying on while fighting. Why always fighting and not loving? Maybe it was just a real dedicated kink form.
See how this guy holds his helmet? You can tell that he's gifted and most likely had many men die by his shiny sword, or exposed big toe.
Three cheers for the gladiator!!! Hip hip, hooray! Hip hip, hooray!! Hip hip, hooray!!!
Mamma ain't talking. Cavey is mum and hitting stuff with his club at random, and doing that flying around shit all back and forth like. Wooderson's dead and I'm going to be doing a full scale investigation. They will pay!
This is part of the face plate of my Li'l Bastard amplifier that I hand crafted. Yes, I made the son of a bitch from raw materials, electronic parts, and a little mojo to boot. "LB's" circuitry is based on the '59 Fender 5E3 Deluxe. Bruce Springsteen, Neil Young, and Billy Gibbons have played through these, although Neil Young's Deluxe is heavily modified. Even The Edge has been mixing a few Deluxes with his Vox AC30 Top Boosts. I think it gives those Vox's of his a more American tone, which equals hairy balls.
That's what Li'l Bastard is all about: warm hairy balls. It is not an amp for metal, or for clean. It covers that "heroin" territory of warm overdriven rush. It can get twangy, but on the Dark channel it goes "midnight" real fast.
It runs two 6V6GT's in push pull Class AB output, with a 12ax7 phase splitter and 12at7 parallel input--if you jumper the two channels. It's all point to point hand wired. It has all the best iron (transformers), and an Eminence "Ragin Cajun" 10 inch speaker that poses as a 12 incher. I wanted a light amp to carry around, so going with a sleeper 10 incher was clever.
The cabinet is made from solid poplar. The Tolex (upholstery) is cocoa brown, with a gold pinstripe on brown weave speaker grill, surrounded by gold piping. The chassis started out as a blank aluminum box. I cut all the necessary holes and mounting points. The front is painted with gold vein black, and with gold hand painted legend. I should've taken a picture of the internals, but I don't wanna have to shoehorn that thing back in there.
It is loud enough. It sounds divine. It sprang from me.
Sorry about the hugeness of the pic here, but these are three of my five guitars. The black one is a real Fender Stratocaster, a fine guitar--very chimey and clucky. The wine colored one is a bastard child Les Paul copy that I nick named "The Whale Master", and it features a faded picture of Jerry Lewis on the headstock. The blonde is an Ibanez six string dreadnought body acoustic. It is okay. I need a freakin' Martin. The twelve string blew it's bridge long ago, and my nylon stringed Yamaha classical guitar is put away for now. Li'l Bastard sits there innocently. He may be small, but damn can he ever shout.
(Not pictured are my other three amps: Frankenstein's Head, my first homebrew amp; my restoration in progress, a 1959 Gibson GA-5 Skylark amp; and my spleen buster Crate VC5310, too loud)
You know, I always seem to find myself in these situations. My intentions are good. Some people like to talk about what kind of heel I am; hey, I probably do this the most. Am I rough and callous? Can't you see the before picture? Now I'm all soft and all it's done is made me look good but feel horrible--well, not all bad.
This is what I'm trying to say: My feelings are more intense. I'm more susceptible to getting bruised and cut. I don't know why I should even care sometimes, really. But, I do. However, when you tickle or massage me, it feels so much nicer than before. So, more of that, please.
At least the fungus from my past is going away. Really, that's one blessing that has come from allowing myself to feel an emotion besides anger, of which seven years or more of my life was devoted/subjected to. So, my heel will continue to be vulnerable and walking a pathway of good intentions and fallible actions. I deserve forgiveness. Yea, I need it.
It's been a long time that I've been here. There's something about the smell of the Purina Dog Food factory across the street from this joint that makes it an oddly satisfying experience. The food's okay, too. A little mild for my liking, though. This is the original restaurant and there are now four others, I believe, but this one is the best. Strange as it sounds, dealing with the smell is worth it. It only stinks until you have your food in front of you. I'm now trying to figure out what kind of crap that they put in that dog food. It makes you hungry even though it smells bad. Am I grossing anybody out? Good!
This is in the Uintahs. You are looking at Hayden's Peak. I'm on the Mirror Lake Highway taking this shot with my Moto SLVR. So, it's camera phone quality. My other crappy digital camera bit the dust about an hour prior to this shot and I lost 20 shots--good ones too. So, that brings the tally to $300 dollars worth of fishing poles broke to bits, $200 in fuel, power steering pump (masterfully repaired in the Hotel 6 parking lot by moi), windshield wiper pump rebuild (an essential item to have with all the bugs) in the Napa Parts parking lot, fixed two poles to function well enough for the trip, bought a new Shakespeare rod at a Wallmart in Evanston (not the same, dammit!), and this damn camera I guess gave up the ghost from being abused. At least my Moto is well built, just wish I could afford the new Helio.
I am resourceful, and managed to catch three fish on my "Frankenstein" fly rod (I really am a horrible fisherman). I used Super Glue, Berkeley Triline, and bits and pieces from the shaft that were salvageable. I used the Superglue and a weave of Triline to make a crude Fiberglas resin of sorts. This strengthened the cracked parts of the shaft and also was a good joint support, when grafting two shafts together. I lost some distance on my cast because the rod's dynamic was interrupted by an inconsistency in the flex of the shaft. But, this aside, the rod will now serve as a good back up rod. I will now spend $175 to have my brother in law make me another new custom fly rod. If you are really into fly fishing, you'll have to meet my brother in law. He is the best in the West for everything fly fishing, this is verifiable.
This here is a picture of my brother "Mr. Lumpy", "The Mexican", or "The Milkman's Kid". I tried not to stress him out too much with physical excursion. He made it out alive. Actually, for a guy that now weighs 380, he is very physical and is what I like to say "bouncer quality".
This is me at my room in a fancy Motel 6 in Evanston, Wyoming. I'm one sexy bastard, no? This was a cheap motel and it got a whopping one star rating in the AAA travel book. What can I say? It beats getting rained on.
This is where I did most of my fly fishing. This is Christmas Meadows and has some real nice trout that like to look at you with a rather annoying indifference. The water is clear, but will probably give you the Montezuma's Revenge. All the mountain pics are in Utah. It is easier to access this side of the Uintahs by going through Evanston, Wyoming. If you want to know what Evanston looks like:
Sorry to pop your bubble, but most of Wyoming is ugly as hell. They just focus on a few pretty corners of their state to bring in tourists.
Brokeback Mountain is a total sham. Most sheep herders are too busy to screw humans. They just pick the cleanest one out of the flock, and if needed, use their imagination. What brings this up? Well, I ran into so many herds of sheep commuting back and forth from Evanston and the Uintahs. I'm talking thousands of sheep here, right in the middle of the damn road. I had photos of this, but they were on the dead camera. This was just a little more than a tad annoying.
I wish I had pics of Whitney reservoir and my 4-wheelin'. They were on the dead camera too. I'll have to get the pics from Lumpy. Hope you enjoyed this little bit of my vacation. I'm worn out from trying to keep up with all the bumps in the road. On the plus side: I got 85 octane in Evanston for $2.53 a gallon. I couldn't text or email from my phone there, but at least they had the cheap gas thing going for them, and a truck stop crack whore who adored me. That's another story alltogether, folks.
I've determined that you guys really enjoy my blog enough to visit while I was away. I'm starting to think that I'm losing some of my older crowd. Why? Have I become boring? Why don't you show me nay love?
Grunt Ahoy readers, I will give you a reasonably detailed account of my short vacation. I need a life. Three days is the big trip of the year and now my masters are getting the ankle irons fitted for me again.
I will say this, my vacation had so many things go wrong that I wonder why I even try to have fun. Seriously, I had $300 worth of fishing poles get crushed--on the first dang day!!! Hard to catch fish with no poles. I had to do two roadside repairs--power steering pump went out on me. Always something with me, you know. It's incredible that I made it out of the deep forest without getting stranded.
Clyde is a work horse and a dependable one, usually. But, he is almost thirty, and there is too much that can go wrong when you reach that age. Clyde did manage to amaze me as I got caught in a bad rainstorm out on the red clay trails. Do you know what kind of hell that can be? I was far from anyone that could help. These bogs and ruts were so deep. You know, I don't have the thing jacked up to high heaven, so this was perilous. Lots of throttle, driver skill, and a determined spirit got me through that swamp in one piece. I had to turn right back and do it again, once I found the sweet spot--just for fun.
Okay, I just got back and I'm bushed. I spent way too much money buying new gear in Evanston, too much time fixing what I could, and way too much on fuel.
I will never let anything defeat me. I make Macguyver look like a pussy.
Really, I am reading this juvenile piece of crap. I should be reading Exodus or something holy, but no. Since I too was a teenage boy, I can relate to this guy: Maddox. He hails from SLC, and is quite rude and a misogynist to boot. I am not, but I have many friends/mentors that are;) So, therefore, I need a dirty book like this to remind me of the pals of my youth. Have you ever made a snowman from boobs that fell out of the sky? That's just some of the lunacy contained in this book. It also gives tips on how to cop a feel, drop kick, the crescent technique of ball crushing, and how the dinosaurs really became extinct.
I strongly recommend that women do not even touch this book. It will make you want to kill every man in site.
Alright, I'm off till either Friday or Saturday. It depends on how long I can keep "Lumpy" (my bro) happy and out of trouble--or, from having a massive coronary.
It must be the George Kastanza in me: I figured out a way to get free meals at Panda Express. This, in theory, could work at similar joints with food bins.
Here's how you do it: Wait for five minutes before closing time, walk into the store and go straight for the bathroom--hide in there. Now you're saying, "This is so stupid. Grunt, you're so stupid." Bear with me. You synchronize your watch to their clock and wait to hear for the tell tail signs of closing up shop--registers being closed, doors. etc. Then you pull a David Copperfield and show up at the counter and order the food that they are about to throw away. I did this tonight. The guy agreed to let me have whatever was there, but no drinks. So, there was a batch of Kung Pow and Orange Chicken that was pretty fresh. This was going to be thrown out anyways, so I was doing them a favor.
Now you're saying, "Grunt, you're a genius. I want to have your children!!!" Men, you may ignore the last sentence and use this instead, "I want to let you have my hot 22-year-old girlfriend and my 911 turbo!!!"
It gets better. My fortune cookie read: "An admirer finds you charming" (what, as opposed to "finds you appalling and horrible in the sack?"). This is particularly refreshing, because the last Chinese restaurant I went to gave me this fortune cookie message: "Your nuts weer shriver up and you'rr goring to die arr arone, rooser. Bwahahahahahaha!!!" I think that fortune was (#1) too nasty, (#2) racist, and (#3) how'd it know about my steroid abuse?
You guys are great. How about that? Is that good? Well, I'm tired and can't stay for long.
I've made some real good friends through Blogger, and could still make many more. Having this outlet is great. I, however, still desire to really entertain on a grand scale. I have been recording lately, but am limited to meager and cheesy recording circumstances.
Ask Vera and Crystal if I'm good. I refuse to answer, because I just do it for fun and really don't know. I bequeathed my seriously lo-fi back catalog to Vera, and did Crystal an album in her name, as an artistic challenge. "The Lack of Drummer" is what it should have been called, btw. I'm preparing new songs now.
I am not a live performer, but I could be if I had enough incentive, I suppose. There's a lot of anxiety tied to being in front of a group of people and trying to be loose enough to get your attack right, vocals limber and true, etc. This is why so many musicians turn to drugs.
I am not a musician, but a song writer and player--I think they are different. I play the guitar (electric and acoustic), can do the bass when needed, keyboards are sparse, Theremin--geeks unite! I have made most of my own effects for guitar: various Fuzz Faces, Big Muff Pi's, boosters, chorus, flanger, delay, Octavia, phase shifter, envelope following filters, and amp distortion emulators. I know how to prototype, make PC boards, solder, wire, make enclosures, you name it.
Why do I not do this for a living? Because, Boss, Ibanez, DOD, and Line 6 can do it bigger and cheaper. Plus, I can't compete with the true boutique geniuses. I'm just a good DIY'er. I mentioned that I've made two vacuum tube amplifiers. They are super sweet, rich in tone and warmth. They put my store bought one to shame--but that's because it's a Crate VC5310. I also built two Theremins--you know the spooky oooooohweeeeeooooooooh, sci-fi sound thingy? With those you just wave you hands in the air to send the LFO's into a frenzy and control the swell. It is cool.
I also made a simple, two LFO (with ASDR, glide, filters, and a few other treats) analog synth, so I could have a bit of that Gary Numan sound. Think "Down in the Park" and "Are Friends Electric?". Still not ringing any bells? Sheesh, okay, "Cars". Happy now? I've got one el cheapo drum machine (Alesis SR-16) and I can't program that thing worth shit. So, I can write songs, perform them, build the equipment (not design), but I can't program a damn drum machine? This is funny.
Oh well, this is a glimpse into my personal life that I feel that I've not shared much. I hope you enjoyed it.
I was at my cuz's wedding reception today and had a good time. We caught up and I have a good feeling about his future. He and his wife really looked happy and relaxed. I'm so over the moon for them.
So, I'm at a wedding and I am drinking a Jones watermelon pop. I flip the cap over and it reveals this message: "Your luck will completely change today".
So, is this a one day deal only, or is this from now on? Because, my lamb shank dinner really sucked--not the wedding food, btw. The nickel that I found had old gum stuck to it, and my overall situation is less than stellar. Don't play wit me Jones! Btw, how in the hell do they fit a whole damn watermelon in that bottle?