Door to door vacuum salesman for Jebus

I am 21 years old in this picture. I was always near risking a dishonorable release when I got around the blond, Tanya, in the middle. I'm still good friends with this family. This was taken in my last flat, located in Bradford.

(The "Donny Gang" Doncaster, England. I'm second from the left, @ 20 yrs. Nationalities are as follows, L to R: German, U.S., U.S., U.S., Portugese, Finnish, Canadian, and the good looking bloke in the front, "Ades" is a Limey. I worked as partners with the Finn and the Portugese guys, but mostly had Brit partners.)

There was a time in my life, a very different time, where I lived in another country. I traveled around Northeast England "selling" door to door. It was life changing. It was spirit lifting and crushing. It was awesome and I'll never experience anything like it again. This is probably good because spending years of my life going door to door ten hours a day, six days a week with a seventh day of five hours, trying to get people to use "Jebus brand Hoovers" was, needles to say, extremely hard and not an old man's game. I have been thinking about my level of faith then as compared to now lately.

Why do I shroud this part of my life in mystery? For my own amusement, really. It's fun to think that I was selling Hoovers for Jesus, or as Homer J. Simpson would say, "Jebus". I still can't wrap my head around it--the experience. I feel like I was disembodied for a time and an alternate "me" took up this life in th UK and had all these adventures. Going back to faith, I think my faith is more realistic now as compared to then. Back then I was looking for that 12-year-old girl with the spinning head and pea soup projectile vomit to take on. I wanted to literally confront the devil and somehow beat him. Now, I just want to live a good life and hope that I am not way off the mark when I meet my fate.

Moving on to other things, there are certain aspects of life that I will never have figured out. The main thing would be women. Having said that, I don't know that I care to figure women out. I think that's why I am attracted to them. I like mysteries. However, they have to be good mysteries in order for me to buy the book or check them out of the library.

There's this face that I see in my dreams. I use this face in ways that are not good for me, I think. What I do is superimpose this face onto women. I try to turn women into this woman in my dreams. This isn't the "woman of my dreams". Rather, this is a woman that talks to me if she has known me my whole existence. She never wavers in her appearance. My heart aches for the joy I get to feel when she sits down and listens to me. I swear it is the Lady Madonna. I'm not Catholic, so what gives? It seems impossible for me to materialize her into a sketch. I see elements of her in many women, but never enough for there to be a match. It doesn't make me dissatisfied with women; rather, I latch onto that one thing in common and proceed to fabricate the rest. It isn't fair. I will stop. I know what I just said is pretty weird, but I needed to tell you all about it.

Walks in the rain are cliché, but are nice nonetheless.

That's it. Happy Labor Day! Imma gonna catcha me a fish!!!!

Special TIGF!!! guest blogger: Danny!

Hi, my name is Danny, but you can call me Dan. First of all, I'd like to thank Grunt for letting come on his blog and share with you a bit of my world. I want to tell you about a man that has been a big part of my rehabilitation into normal life. It was not long ago that I was a virtual shut in, only making short trips to the pet store or library. It was my time in isolation that I wrote three short stories profiling the lives of my miniature poodles: Muffin, Trixie, and Steel. Boy, the adventures that those three got up too. Heh, but that will be for another time, perhaps.

Some would look at my life and see a troubled soul. Others would dismiss me and think of me as some kind of crazy dreamer or sweet imbacile, heh. I was a lonely and lost boy in search of my manhood. A man named Destry James Mistledik happened upon me when I was going through a creative phase of darning cheese cloth and collecting shoe laces. He worked for a major distributor of cheese cloth and was coming to check in on one of their better clients. It was in these business meetings that D.J. proceeded to mold me into the man I am today.

I can remember it like it was yesterday. D.J told me the reason I was so toubled was that I had no voice. "A man has to have a voice", he said. It's funny because he was wearing a dress when he said that. He pointed to my grandmother's autoharp and showed me how to make chords and play rhythym. I thought it was odd that he said we had to be undressed and in the bathtub when we had our lessons, but he had this way of making me feel like everything was all right. Partly, because he had this booming voice that penetrated me to the core. The other thing that I remember most about D.J. were the bareback rides together on his wonder horse, Tony. It was in these "lessons" that D.J. taught me what kind of man I really was. I wrote a song about it. It's in the key of G. It's called "Destry, I want to wear you like a sock".

(V1)
Destry, you came when I needed you.
Destry, I absolutely love your hats.
Destry, there's someone knocking at your door...
It's me. Let me in. Destry.

(Chorus)
Would you think it crazy if I said
That you were made for me and my head?
Destry, I want to wear you like a sock.
Destry, can I wear you like a sock?

(V2)
Destry, I just like saying your name.
Destry, I enjoy the tricky way you ride Tony.
Destry, you've got a message coming in...
It's me. Transmitting. Destry.

(Chorus)

(Key change to C)
Nobody said that I could love, or satisfy a man.
And I never would have guessed that my legs could bend like that.
But when I see you bring Tony to a gallop, it makes me start...

(V3; Key of G)
Destry, I can see our name up in the stars.
Destry, you no longer have to frequent all those clubs.
Destry, I can take care of your needs.
Destry, there's a puzzle piece missing...
It's me. Join me. Destry.

(Chorus x 2)

Well, I hope you liked my song, heh. D.J. passed away last December in a horrible accident. He was run over with an Elgin street sweeper. The public works employee stated that he was distracted by an unusually ornate Christmas tree, and he jumped the curb while Destry was dazzling some young men with his "magic rope" trick. I was hoping it would have been me instead of him, or that I was the last man to hear him cheerfully say, "Tug harder or the glitter won't come out." He was so flashy. I put up a picture of Roy Rogers because that's who Destry said he wanted to be like the most. Personally, he looked more like a cross between Gene Autry and Gary Cooper to me, heh. This post is for you Destry. I hope you are teaching lessons and pulling tricks on your horse in heaven.

When adversity strikes

There I sat, looking at the brownie that someone had given me. It was now on the floor and the ants had already made their way to it. Somewhere off in the distance I could hear someone say, "Oh, that sucks." One would think that I would start pounding the floor with my fists, raise my arms to the sky and then begin to shout heavenward, "Why God? Why???" No sir, I just carried on like I was unaffected and cleaned up the mess. There are others in this world suffering more than I.

At the moment, there are good blogger friends of mine that are in pain. Karyn is in the hospital, where she is recovering from shattering her ankle. Megatropolis (now a confirmed 3-D friend) had to wash a man out of her hair, recently. Finally, Jay is suffering from a lack of nourishment and is thinking about dancing a sexy jig with some raw onions. I'm sure the rest of you are suffering in some manner (pussies). My point is that I feel your pain. Crap is just a part of life that makes you want to crawl under a rock and die.

Hey, wouldn't it be nice if we could all just fly through life with nary a problem? I think we would have to be God's pets in order for that to be the case. You know what? I would hate to be anybody's pet, because that usually involves being nutuered, and I'm waiting around to find a special woman to do that for me, thank you very much. Being your own entity is a bitch only if you keep yourself out of the cosmos of humanity. If you join that lovely soup you are going to have to accept the fact that shit happens. You do not have to love it or endorse it, but you must accept that bad happens. However, do yourself a favor and skew the odds in favor of delicious oyster crackers in that soup instead of mice droppings. You don't get a clean toilet by adding more shit. You've got to flush that log down to the sewer where it belongs and hit the bowl with some industrial strength cleanser. After the burn of cleansing is over you get a nice, shiny bowl.

We may only get one chance. We may get many. Whatever you do, make sure this chance counts. If anything, the only thing you can count on in this world is shit. Take no comfort in that certainty and keep on looking for better days. Don't have a great day, as my boss would say, make a great day. I'm pretty sure she stole that saying. She does that shit all the time and passes it off as her own. I still love her, though.

I am digging my trench at the moment, readying myself for war. If I am healthy, like I feel I am, then I go on to discover new things. If I have another fight on my hands, then I fight. Believe me, I thought I had no fight left in me not that long ago. My secret wish for some time was that if the cancer hadn't gone away that it would just take me. I'm not saying that to be dramatic. It's just the way I felt. Now, I ask you, wouldn't that be horrible? I am going to fight if I have to because it's worth it. You are worth living for--for me to go through another round of extreme poisoning. It doesn't matter what you are to me, any of you: you are all worth it to me. Most importantly, I am finally recognizing that it is worth it to live for myself. I don't need to accept mediocrity because I fear uncertainty. It's my life and I deserve the best of what I can get or be given.

Boy, I love to ramble.

Going full randtard

I am really pissed off. I had an idea for a Nirvana tribute band and somebody beat me to it. It was today, as I read my latest issue of Mojo, that I was looking over all the history of Sub Pop records and it dawned on me that Nirvana needed its own tribute band. The name? Nearvana. But, alas, I Googled "Nearvana" and there was already such a thing. Damn! Where does this leave me now? Sreaming Bees? Nadhoney? Earl Jam? L7.1? Poundgarden? FAD??? There's only one way to do this right and that is to start a tribute band called "Wife Beater Forest Brigade". Basically, it is a whole send up to all things grunge. Personally, I just want to play Red Red Meat covers and be done with it.

I met my second blogger in real life, fo' realsies this weekend. Who was this blogger, you say? Well, it was Megatropolis. It turns out that she lives south of me on the Wasatch Front about forty miles. Meggypoo, you can thank me if that information brings you any stalkers to your neighborhood. Anyway, good times were had. Megatropolis is a cool girl and fun to hang with. I like making my imaginary friends become real;) It's nice to know that you all aren't Fig Newtons of my imagination. So, the list so far is Outdoorsy Girl and Megatropolis. Lookout the rest of yous!

You know what a favorite pastime of mine is, kids? Picking up strange women in my truck and giving them rides and cash. It sounds like I like my hookers, doesn't it? Well, you wouldn't be going out on a limb if you said yes--I like mine black and over easy. Seriously, I am a well behaved man who every once in a while likes to flirt with danger, or strange women looking for a ride. Well, tonight was one of those nights. I saw a woman at a bus stop and thought I knew her, so I waved. I park my truck and she comes up to me and that is when I notice that I do not, in fact, know this woman. She is in distress, has a couple of bags, and asks for my help. Thinking that there was some kind of "reward" included in the deal, I said "yes". She hopped in my truck and I set off southward about twenty miles. I got to hear her story about her mother dying, ex husband being a dick, and her take on spirituality. She was four years older than me. She said she was a paralegal. These little details kept coming. She then asked me for money. I gave her all that I had in my wallet, not much, but enough to get around town and whatnot. I got to her drop off point and conversed for about fifteen minutes with her, learned her name, and told her that I'd pray for her. It would have been easy for me to have blown her off, or to think of her as some weirdo, but I actually felt real good about helping her out. I'm thinking that she will remember me in her prayers as well. Considering what could lie ahead for me, I'm going to need all of the prayers I can get.

Having just told you that story, I don't think that women should go around picking up strange men, unless they are 5'10 1/2" and go by the web moniker "Grunt". Anyway, it probably isn't always a good idea for guys to go around picking up strange women, no matter how good looking they may be. I mean, you never know when the next Aileen Wuornos could be out there.

I had an idea for a snack food: glow in the dark jerky and soda. I am not joking. This would make me filthy rich. The question is, how could I make food glow without it killing someone? Remember kiddies, killing is not only bad, it's wrong--it's baddong!

If I were to live out one Rush song it would be, "Xanadu". I would love to "To seek the sacred river Alph. To walk the caves of ice. To break my fast on honeydew. And drink the milk of Paradise..." That shit would be awesome. Plus, I could be held within the Pleasure Dome...decreed by Kubla Khan, of course. Pardon me, was my geek hanging out there for a moment? Sorry.

You know what goes great with pie? More pie. In fact, if I could somehow hold Marie Calender hostage, my ransom demands would just be "more effin' pie, or else the broad gets it!!!" Of course, I like my pie à la mode, but on apple pie I do like slices of sharp cheddar or Swiss cheese on top. Anyone else do that? In the future they will have hover pie and dessert will be changed forever. Remember that I said that. Nostradamus has nothing on me, mister.

Dismissed.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Empowerment!

You know that feeling, girlfriend, when nothing gets in your way, you fire up your acetylene torch and go all industrial on some shit? That's empowerment. It's straight outta Flashdance, I tells ya. Men get it too, but it's when we discover that we have some slice of gay in our pie chart that we are empowered, and we end up doing some sing-along to a Maria tune or drag queen act set to "Dancing Queen" at a family reunion, bar, theater, or militant takeover of your child's talent show. In either case, we end up returning to our dance studio, sewing room, tool shed, or job as a chartered accountant. I returned to the woods, logging, after I did a stint as a makeup girl in an off-off--off Broadway production of "Hedwig and the Angry Inch". See how this works?

So, tell me, what did you do to get empowered and what did you return to after said empowerment? Be creative.

Nothing, absolutely nothing

Sorry. But you can enjoy this post from a discontinued blog of mine: The Mighty Force that is Dr. Vollewraithe.

Women, learn how to wear makeup

You know, as a secret on again, off again Viking persona of a famous blogger, I, Vollewraithe have seen women throughout time and I must say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But, let's face it, this future gig is much better than the filthy village wenches that passed as fair virgins back in the day. Still, I lament over the lack of true beauty in this world, and my sword thirsts for the blood of those who perpetuate this skank.

Sure, you are clean--your pits, at least. I have a special talisman that protects me from all forms of VD, even the dreaded cunt weavel! Surprisingly, my talisman is not that different from what modern pharmacists stock on their shelves. I believe they reference a form of wine bottle. Where was I? Oh yeah, my talisman does not protect me from skank. So, don't show up on a date looking like the demon Pazuzu, or as he goes by when out on the club circuit, "Captain Howdy"(pictured above). I've also encountered many slutty clown girls amongst my travels.

I had one date in particular that disappointed me greatly. I was wearing my best viking helmet and just polished my sword. When my date comes to the door, I swear I was looking at a baboon's ass that had been impaled with Indian jewelry and Swedish Fish. Naturally, I ate the fish, but it could have been much better. She just had no idea. It seems that her tenure at the state fair familiarized her with only the most base examples of female aesthetic. I promptly took her to the nearest opera house to show her examples of classy, chic ladies. It was a supreme bonus that "Ride of the Valkyries" was on the program of the night. I managed to conduct an after performance orgy with my date, five women from the audience, and Brunnhilde (Brynhildr, in my native tongue), the big-horned woman from the stage. After this educational experience, my date went on to bigger and brighter things, got married, and pumped out some kittens. I was proud of her, and glad to take my dear "Hyldie" on a extended sea voyage with my long boat. It was a total win-win for all involved.

So, whether you be a skank demon, or slutty clown, get educated on good makeup techniques, girls. Don't make me draw my sword for anything other than pleasure, ok?

My Monday ruled!

I went to see Wilco at Red Butt(e) Arboretum. This is a little clip from one of their encores. The song is "Outta Mind (Outta sight)" from Being There. My BFF and I took the day off from our jobs and did the day right. The day started a bit hung over for me, even though I don't drink. You get a lot of something from the day before and you kind of feel empty when you wake up the next day because you need s'more. Well, getting up early and going on an ass-kicker of a hike helps you get going. That's where BFF and I got started, hiking to a set of three large waterfalls way up at the top of a canyon behind where I live. Here's me standing in a cool pool at the base of one of the falls.
As you can see I am looking much stronger nowadays and back to looking like the Grunt of old, but better in so many ways. I would show more pics, but my phone doesn't like my computer and I have to email my pics to myself and my allowed data for this month is almost used up. I thought you'd rather see me instead of some stupid wonder of nature. I guess I could qualify as one of those.

After the epic hike, BFF and I had a jam session that involved trying out two of his beautiful new guitars sporting custom BG pups, his "Grunt" modded amp, and two of my Grunt specials--modded Gibson amps from the late '50s and mid-'60s. The involuntary erections were a bit embarrassing. They are known as "tone boners".

After all of this fun, we loaded up on refried beans and caffeine, then to the concert. Let me just say that Wilco is one hell of a live band. Plus, I've never seen so many people drinking wine in one place in Utah in my life. It was a great venue, but too many people wanted to sit down. Freaking old farts! My friend and I were having none of that and rushed the stage the best we could trying to "make sound with our faces", as Jeff Tweedy put it, to support the band. Many more tone boners and gear boners were had between the two of us. It might be considered TIGF on a Monday, if there is such a thing. Hell, I don't care. I had fun and I didn't think bad thoughts about cancer at all today.

Yeah, he's my role model

Except I want to be called, "The Velvet Ice Cream Man".

This weekend post was going to be deep but I can't bring myself to it. I've been getting a lot of people bringing up my next PET scan and checkup. This week has been a hard week on my entire being. I don't know where to start really. Well, it started with a dream I had. The dream involved faces that brought me to my knees emotionally and left me feeling alone and wanting when I awoke. I've been fighting off a depression and taking measures to stop myself from letting certain feelings gain inertia because there is nothing I can do about them. Some of those feelings would go nowhere for me anyway. There's nothing like the sensation of global impotence to turn you against yourself. The want hurts bad, but it keeps you going despite its danger.

I'd like to think that I'm a good guy. I fixed this sing-a-long cassette recorder for this lady's granddaughter and it involved replacing an obsolete semiconductor to control the cassette motor's speed. This was a lot of time and effort on my part to find out what was wrong and then track down the manufacturer of this chip and then locate a vendor that would sell me one. I found one but had to order a bunch of other things in order to meet their minimum sales requirements. This means that I ordered a ton of integrated circuits that I knew I could resale for a profit, or at least break even. This was all so a little girl could sing along to her favorite tapes. Well, I got a gift certificate for Macaroni Grill out of it. And you know what you can always count on when you are all alone in life? Free hand jobs on demand! Seriously though, this little victory has kept me from hitting bottom this week.

Do you ever feel like you have the label "DISCARD AFTER USE" on your forehead? Or maybe you have a "For Rent" sign hanging around your neck. I have surely felt like a rental unit many times in my life. I wonder what signs I have unconsciously hung, or have let others hang around my neck. I would like to hang a "Go fuck yourself!" sign on my neck right now. Don't take it personally, or let it go to your head. It's not like you are that important to me that I'm gonna go outta my way to kick you in your fun glands. I thought I was doing a dude a service tonight by yelling at him to turn his lights on his penis enlargement device. It was 11:30 pm and I nearly ran into him pulling on the road. I couldn't see this waste of ejaculate. At the light I kept shouting at him to turn his lights on. He didn't get it and thought I was looking for a fight. The butt fuck just about climbed out of his dick mobile to "get" me. That is when his bright girl friend said, "You don't have your lights on." So, for my community service, this guy followed right behind me in a threatening manner with his brights on to let me know that he isn't a professional dipshit. He's only in the pioneer league, apparently. Where are the police when the menace of stupidity prowls the night?

Anyway, I thought it would be a great night to watch nothing on TV and create a bowel obstruction for myself out of Oreo cookies. You know, I'm a total package.

Goodnight, friends.

TIGF!!!(That's Incredibly Gay Friday): The Adventures of Bob and Lloyd, Martian Patrol: "Does my helmet make my head look retarded?"

Bob: "Does my helmet make my head look retarded?"

Lloyd: "No, Bob, it doesn't. It just makes you look gay."

Bob: "But, my mustache, it's manly, no?"

Lloyd: "Bob, I am touching your penis as we speak."

Bob: "Oh....Well, as long as you're down there, can you reach into my front pocket and get me a stick of Big Red?"

Lloyd: "Bob, there isn't any chewing gum down there."

Bob: "Eh, heh! Now get to work, Lloyd. K-01 status doesn't hand-job its way up by itself, you know."

Lloyd: *Shudder*

Captain Random strikes again!

I've never seen a unicorn for realsies, but I have seen rainbows. What I'd like to see more than a unicorn is a unicorn crapping a rainbow. Wait. What I'd like to see even more than that is a rainbow crapping a unicorn.


I have recently been collecting cans for a Jehovah Witness lady at work so she can raise money for their church's youth group. This goes against what I normally hold dear to, that Jehovah Witnesses should only be on this earth to provide me with hilarious pamphlets that I can doodle on and deface. What's even funnier is when I do a commentary on such J-Dub artwork in a post and the picture goes missing. You are left with this: (update: picture removed by request)

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 kids? 'Cause, I'm fucking hungry right now. Seriously, I could eat the ass end of an elephant right now!" 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 FUCKING 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.

So, yeah, I think I'm going to hell for that one. I tried real hard tonight to find that picture on the interwebs. Dammit! No dice. Instead, I found this one here:
These people are pretty dang happy despite all of the mayhem and destruction going on. Why? Because Jehovah god has come down to earth to rescue them. Hey, who would blame them. I think that would be some awesome shit. But what cracks my shit up is the "Out of Africa" lady to the left of the painting. She looks as if she is saying, "Oh, that's my Jehovah!" As for the rest of them, isn't it great that there could be such ethnic and racial diversity in that very section of Armageddon? Who knew that Benetton ads would continue on past the apocalypse? What the rest of the smiling people in this scene don't know is that the three men in the very back just made sweet three-way love to each other and they get to go with them. It's amazing what things a person will do when in distress, horny, or bored. Jesus will forgive.

If you didn't get enough blasphemy then read another post that I did making fun of JW art here. I go to bed now!

Imma hiking fool

Here I am looking like a complete Bubba, taking you into a mine shaft up in them thar hills. I was all by myself, too. I wasn't a dummy. I had a flashlight. The hike was hard because I decided that I wanted to go straight up the mountainside and cut out the long switchbacks on the official trail up to this mine. It was arduous and about killed me. My whole body started to puff up as you can see my face was swollen. I wasn't planning to go up that far and didn't have water. Stupid me. It was über hot as well.

This is about one hundred yards into the mine, about 1/4 of the way in, and the sun's angle was just right to shine directly into the mine. It was about 7:30 pm then. The mine splits off into four different shafts and has been caved in, in the backs of two of those shafts, so I have no idea how far it really went originally. The back was filled with about six inches of water and was very cool. While it was super creepy to be in there by myself, it was nice to get out of the heat.

When I got out of the mine I decided that I hadn't hiked enough and saw a peak where somebody a long time ago carried a flag pole and raised a U.S. flag. The flag has been replaced many times, but there has always been a flag flying there since the pole was placed. That was an even more insane straight up hike--more like a scramble. It is important to note that I have come a long way from having stairs be my Everest to now climbing local hills. I've gone from skeletor to Bubba, but I am a strong, healthy Bubba now. With a little tweaking I can get myself to an Earl. Maybe.

As you can see, my unplanned climb made for a dark descent. Luckily, the flashlight I had brought, just in case I made it to the mine, came in handy for the hike down. I found the official trail, which made for safer hiking. I didn't like the idea of walking on some scree and falling a hundred feet or so down the cliffs that I scrambled around going up. I got home around 10:00 pm. Man, that was great. I am feeling right chuffed about myself now.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Tap Out shirts and the "Courtesy Wave" of near death

I'm taking on two subjects for today's TIGF!!! Well, today I am mostly complaining. These two things are both TIGF!!! in the most super bad way. Let's begin.

The "Tap Out" shirt has become the "Wolf Shirt" of the '00s. Read my awesome TIGF!!! post on Wolf Shirts here. Tap Out shirts are now all the rage with a few people who could beat you up, and 99% who can't. The thing that puts these guys over the top is when they dawn their Tap Out shirts. It's like Superman's cape. All of your foes tremble before you and all you have to do to burst their nads is flex your guns to the sides like you are ready to dance, because you, mister, are now officially a board-certified ass kicker.

I once had an encounter with such a dude at a bus stop while I was doing some repairs at my work. He, an ordinary dude, was sporting a Tap Out shirt and was talking shit to every one around him. Why? Because he could. See, he saw on the TV big men wrestling each other almost bare-ass naked, roughing each other up--kind of like those anonymous rest stop sexual encounters that are all the rage these days. Yeah, those guys wear Tap Out "beat your face in" underwear. Now, if such power lies in a logo, surely the power is transferable and available at your nearest Walmart. At least, this guy seemed to think his shirt made him tough.

Anyways, I confronted this Tap Out shirt wearing superman and asked him to cool it. His response was not surprising, "I'll fuckin' cool you, fucker". As a man that is nearly six foot and 220 pounds, I trembled before this skinny-assed anglogangsta. But, I had to test his metal a bit further by asking him, "So, are you going to cool me, or is your shirt going to do it for you?" What happened next was totally unexpected, yup! This guy stormed off in a fit, yelling a string of obscenities as he walked away from me. I was relieved, because I knew that if he did not turn the other cheek, his magic shirt would have unleashed a whole industrial-sized drum of kick ass on me. This was not my day to rue. I feel blessed by Jesus, Rockstar, and by the makers of Slim Jims meat products, because that is where my magic powers come from.

The next subject will be short but sweet: The courtesy wave of near death. I can hear you asking me, "Pray tell me, what is this this thing that you speak of?" It is that wave you get after some dumbass has nearly taken your life with their vehicle and then tries to say that everything is alright by waving at you, like they're saying "Oops, my bad! Sorry I almost killed you. Can we still be friends? M'kay, bye. I'm going to scare the shit outta someone else now. Toodles!" Yeah, that is totally going to erase the terror of almost going through a life altering accident, or gruesome death. If you didn't have a "Support Our Troops" ribbon on your vehicle, I was totally going to flip you off. Dipshits.

Mr. Brown brought me a gift today

This is the Telecaster body that I was talking about in an earlier post here. It needs only a couple of things done to it before I can start finishing it in this color. I guess I am assembling a guitar, not so much as building one. But, that is still righteous, and it will be done to my specs.

This is the neck that I picked for this project.It is a Fender licensed '50s reissue V-neck. I decided to keep everything old school on this project, so nothing too flash.

So, a bit of Telecaster history. The Fender Telecaster/Broadcaster/Esquire (same body style) were the first mass produced solid body electric guitars, seeing their way into high production by 1950. Most people think country music when they think of Telecasters--Telepickin'. Still, when you think that some of those country guys are Brad Paisley and Danny Gatton (R.I.P.), it makes up for country music's lameness--those two are/were outstanding guitar slingers.

What most people don't know is that Jimmy Page was a Tele player first before sporting his Gibson Les Pauls and Gibson Double necked SGs, played through huge Marshall stack amplifiers. Nope, Mr. Zoso recorded Zepp's first albums with his prized Tele that Jeff Beck gave him, played through a small Supro amp. That unassuming setup, in the hands of the master, made for a huge sound in the studio. Later, when Page went to his "classic" setup that I mentioned earlier, he used his "Dragon Telecaster" to play the solo on "Stairway to Heaven". Keith Richards, Prince, and Bruce Springsteen are also devoted Tele players.

I am so excited that I could give birth to a litter of puppies right now!

Gurph.

I'm not sure what the title means, but it is the sound that I make every time I try to get up. I screwed up my back on Thursday and today it has been especially bad. I collected up my many medications that I've had over the past while and found muscle relaxants and some Lortab. So, I took some of those horse pills today and I've been in and out.

My throat has also been pretty irritated. I'm hoping that it is allergies and not a summer cold coming on. I didn't do my weekend hike, but I did hang out by a local stream and stared at a little brook trout for about 45 minutes. Things like that are cool when you are on drugs.

I picked up an ancient device this week called a Walkman. It turns out that in ancient times this is what tribes people used to playback fertility dance music on. It takes this thing that has a ribbon and two reels that are housed in a rectangular package. I got the Walkman running again and listened to much fertility dance music today.

I watched an interesting movie from my Netflix. It was Werner Herzog's Aguirre, the Wrath of God. It stars Klaus Kinski. When I think of someone as being a bit barmy or mad, his face is what I will think of next time that comes to mind. Check out Roger Ebert's take on this movie here. The thing that I liked about this movie was how well Herzog involves you into nature, whether it be menacing or beautiful. Francis Ford Coppola was heavily influenced by Aguirre when he filmed Apocalypse Now. The river scenes as well as the attacks from natives are both similar and inspired--utterly haunting. If you dig nature documentaries that are more art than documentary, Herzog is great. He has one out now about the arctic called Encounters at the End of the World. I am going to see it when I get the chance. He also did Grizzly Man, a must see.

I really don't have much more to talk about. I think I'm going to go and make some toast now. Later!