Would you eat this?

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.

TIGF: Cuddle Parties are so totally gay--I can't stop touching myself!!!

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.

Cuddle

I've got a nice cock, thanks to my grandmother

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!

Such a pretty cock. Tasty too!

Ahhhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!

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!

$$$ I'm thinking of selling my blog, but I love it too much

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?

Ayyyyy!

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.

TIGF: Gay Revolutionary Hybrids--thanks to cloning

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.

Seriously, I read it in a book somewhere.

My little 911 emergency coping mechanism

And lots of it!

Bob Dylan's songs captivate me totally and this one is on my life's soundtrack

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.

POST

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.

Lord help me be strong, like this dude here:

I just can't figure out why a guy would wear such a silly looking swimsuit. I mean, really, dude. What's' with the lipstick? Oh, okay. Me<--------slow. Sorry, move along. Nothing to see here.

Current State of the Blog: Grunt Ahoy!

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.

The Past is Like a Girlfriend Zombie

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.

TIGF: Gladiators

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!!!

Wooderson's body was found at 1:15 AM down by the Green River, just outside of Moab, UT.

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!

If you missed out on my glory days (lol) I used to be riotously funneh. Here are your newbie reading assignments to get hip on my "Voices". The voices in my head. Again with the voices in my head.

Imma Li'l Bastard

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)

Once a heel, always a heel

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.

Hole in the Wall and the Dog Food Factory

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!

Some pics and more details

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'm baaaaack, and by the tally of my last posts....

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.

I want you all to know that I'll miss you guys, and I'm reading a very naughty book

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.

Ahoy!!!

How to get a free meal at Panda Express

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?

What to post?

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.

Fortune Teller in a Bottle Cap

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?

Perfect Album for TIGF

So, are ya? You can tell me, honest. You may even get to third base. I'll even take my boots off and let you call me sailor.

My favorite Levis are falling off my ass

This is about as much of an HNT that I'll do, except the legs picture from a while back. These are my favorite pair of jeans and they are always falling down now, since I've really lost a lot of weight. You can see that my exquisite leaner ass can't show through the bagginess, but I do have a sun roof where pick pockets can easily access my wallet. I call that tear Herb. Jimmy and Suzy are on the front. They came about from natural wear and tear. Good 501's are washed and worn to perfection. 501's, and the odd pair of Dickies, are my kind of denim. I do have some ripstop work pants, but those are for work and not play. They are pretty damn nice looking, in that kind of manly man kind of way.

A thrown together post of some craptitude

I admit it. My mind has been elsewhere. I am going on a fly fishing trip next week and I'm psyched. I'm going to have home base in Evanston, Wyoming. Because my Gilbert Grape Momma brother is tagging along, camping is difficult. So, we will have to commute to the Bear River every damn day, so I don't have to smell his three day funk--showers are a virtue. It got too hard for me to accommodate for him when I'd take him camping. Hell, my friends and I would just throw stuff together and sleep under the stars when we could, nothing fancy. My bro just can't swing it, so an inexpensive fishing trip is getting to be a pain in my wallet. Evanston is boring too. Well, you can go bet on the horse races, get illegal fireworks, and X Vision Video is always a good call for those who want a little "Hey Hey". I am semi-reformed, so none of that.

Well, that's that out of the way.

I voted on Wednesday for the passing of a bond (local school district). The voting machines were the new electronic ones. They had those things so screwed up. I was also treated to the local pitchfork brigade's seal of disapproval. I am unaffiliated, and when that was read out loud from my voter registration card, about three ladies fainted. I guess that not being a Republican is the equivalent of taking it up the ass from Satan around here.

I think I've ingested plutonium. I had some bad, er, bowel movements, and I swear it had green glowing bits in it, seriously! It looked like D-Con. Is someone trying to kill me with rat poison?

I smashed my hand the other day with a big mother of a hammer. You know, the mini-sledge? Not once, but three times in the same place. It hurts like a son-bitch! Grunt life is hard on the body. All these really physical jobs have given me a tough callous body, muscles, and lots of dirty jokes. It is also killing me. I feel like I've been run over by a Mack truck every morning, and I can see how easy it would be to get hooked on pain killers. I was so tired one night, that I went to bed covered in dried mud in my work clothes.

The movie "Office Space" paints a pretty picture of that kind of work--in the ending, but let me tell you this: besides certain things, it is a bitch to work in every kind of weather known to man, injuring yourself constantly, being around hazardous materials, being in dangerous situations, working with dangerous equipment, and being ridiculed if you have to take any time off for being sick or hurt. It's the culture. I have taken one sick day in two years. I have had just two and a half weeks vacation, total, in the past three years. I've had it, and no I don't want to talk about it. I've said what I've wanted to, and if I want to change my life, then I just have to go out there and do it myself.

It's like that saying, "You can't have a different outcome if you keep doing the same thing", or something like that. It's a cliche, but a good one.

My good friend, and cousin, is getting married on Friday. He's just a year older than I. He's going to have a happy life. I still can't visualize that kind of life for myself, yet. It's not like I don't want it. It's just that I don't picture it in my head. Total lie! I will be a great father and husband, but I'm in no hurry--despite the locals and their pitchforks. I just have little shit tizzies. The reality of divorce scares me to no end. I'm a spit hand shake, blood swearing, kind of guy. If someone is at all flaky, I still love them, but it makes me want to shake them and scream. I would make a great Free Mason. Any Masons out there wanna hook me up? My great uncle was a high ranking one. That counts for something, doesn't it?

I only would want to be a Free Mason so I could become a Shriner. It has been my childhood fantasy to wear a fez and drive a go-cart. You can blame it on all the damn parades my mom took me to growing up.

It sounded like I gave money-rich people a bad rap in my previous post. No, I feel that one can be rich in life, spirit, and family as well as the other. Enough is that point where you should be happy. This does not mean that more than enough is bad. I will never judge, but if you want to know what I'd do with Bill Gates type money, I'd try to be the first person on Mars. Selfish, huh? That kind of scratch wouldn't be enough, but I'd try.

I've lost a ton of weight, but women keep wanting to feed me. Well, what is it? You can't have a good fit Grunt and then buy him Olive Garden, bake him cookies, give me chocolate all the time, and then wash it down with Mountain Dew. My little fraternal harem of married, and or, older women are great. I don't mess around with them. If I become homeless, I know that they'll feed, colthe and shelter me. But, I really think that they don't want me to date the kinds of girls that I want--they want me all to themselves. This explains the whole fattening up scheme. I think I recently pissed one of them off. I'll have to see if they have any rat poison hidden somewhere.

Death by Woman. This is how I intend to die. Either by sex or delicious baked goods. Who wants to be the first to try to kill me? Email me if you're dying to kill me.

A Pearl of Wisdom

I recently talked to a man who had a business trip to mainland China. He was in the rural area and had an opportunity to talk to some farmers. One famer that he spoke with was discussing the improvements made to the village. Noticing how rudimentry everything was, the guy asked the farmer, "So, what's considered rich around here?"

The farmer's reply was "Enough is rich".

Polygamist Girl: A beauty in bondage.

The following is not treated with any slightness of Grunt's magic "truth" telling. Yes, my favorite pastime is taking a real event and unzipping the restrictions of the objective world, just a little, so that the story can breathe. This story does not need this treatment at all. Enjoy.

I had to attend a church meeting today where a colleague's son was speaking. This is what gets me in a suit nowadays--if you want to give me a job with high pay, then I'll dawn one for that as well. That hasn't happened yet.

So, I am all tricked out in an expensive navy blue wool suit. I've got my off-white dress shirt, my black buckled shoes from Burtons UK, and a silk knit (not print) tie from Marks and Sparks (Marks and Spencers of England). I've not enough dosh to shop at Harrods. So, I'm looking every bit the succulant business man. Look, just because I'm a grunt does not mean that I don't know how to dress nice. I clean up real good.

I am traveling back home, but am a bit famished. Since the weekend is my chance to get my "Brando" on, I stop at a Wendy's and desire a Big Classic. It was upon entering this establishment that I had to check reality at the door, rub my eyes, then try not to stare.

There were two mature men in dress shirts with black trousers, black vests, and black Stetsons--not the "yeehaw" type hats, more Spaghetti Western/Amish type. Amongst these two well-defined and intense men were about twenty women dressed in prairie attire, complete with bonnets: eating burgers, frosties, and fries. I knew that they were from the Kingston clan, but they were their country kin. While Kingstons have a rather distinct look, from inbreeding, most are able to blend in--the city variety. These, like I said, were the country variety and not the fundamentalist mob types. I've worked for those and they praise Jesus and use their garbage trucks for getting rid of "stuff". As soon as I sat down near them, they turned deadly silent.

It took a while, but they resumed with their chatting, and this gave me an opportunity to observe them a little. The men sat with their "Firstwives" and discussed family matters. The rest of the wives sat in cliques, gossiping away. Most of these women were rather homely, but one of the wives' daughter's was sitting a bit naughty--for them. Her bonnet was not secured and part of her long brown hair had come out from her loose braids. She had a hint of olive complexion and hazel eyes. She had to be an old maid for them, like 18 or so. She kept looking at me and trying not to be spied. I heard her speak out of turn, talking about a "heathen" ladies ugly shoes and blouse. She was right. I thought of the irony involved in this. She was forced to wear the equivalent of a burka, but had enough fashion sense to know what she would wear if she could. Her mother slapped her wrist and gave her a harsh rebuke for her remarks.

I tried to suspend my beliefs here and view them as humans rather than oddities. Given the variety in nature, this life really isn't that odd. But, the fact that women are being married off underage keeps me from sympathizing fully.

They left in groups. They had come in several cars and had parked them in different lots to avoid detection. Um, how about just not looking like you just stepped out of a time machine? I left after most had gone. I was opening my truck door, when the girl who caught my eye earlier had come out of the building. She was the straggler and had to run to keep the others from getting upset.

Dividing the two lots was a big cement retaining wall. I guess that she didn't want to run around and tried to leap up this wall in this multi-layered farmer frock. She made it but then fell over. Her bonnet fell off and her dress flipped over her hip, exposing her white cotton slip. I felt like I had been caught looking at her naked. She got up embarrassed and blushing, looked at me slightly scared. I smiled and waved. She looked a little unsure, but then flashed the most beautiful smile that I had ever seen. Her hair was flowing and face was radiant. She didn't have time to fix her hair. Still standing there, trying to get herself altogether, she did another turn towards me and waved ever so slightly with her fingers, then ran real fast, as if she'd be left behind.

This girl is a human being. Yes, I know that this is pretty obvious, but when you are confronted with all of the culture clashes, you tend to rely on lesser categories of which to define other beings. I knew from there that if she could get out of becoming a slave-labor, womb unit, then she'd really get to let all of her radiance and beauty shine. It's a damn shame, it really is.

The exciting life that is Grunt

I've seen a Guinea Pig hump a rabbit today. Killed two rats for my sister. Fixed two of her cars that her well meaning half-wit husband messed with.

I also got trapped, for an hour, by a really troubled woman and listened to all of her problems. I told her to get professional help and all she heard was "Jesus, I need Jesus!". Well, I'm all for that, but I also think you need lots of therapy, lady.

My nephew is deathly ill and now in an emergency room up in Idaho.

On the plus side, I had a mentally ill bus stop guy come over to me, while I was at a stop light, and slap me five and compliment my ride. I laid a sixty-foot patch at his request, despite Clyde needing a major tune up job. The dude was jumping up and down hollerin', rubbing and clapping his hands. This little moment of bliss kept me from wanting to hate the world.

Also, an individual that knows who they are, did something noble today for someone else. They didn't cure cancer, just adjusted/clarified something. I recognize this and give you the Grunty seal of approval, like you needed that.

Lastly, I saw a really gnarled buck today. I marveled at his ability to leap up the mountain side with total grace. I started thinking of all the supposed "ugly" people in the world who do marvelous and good things and don't get noticed because of their cosmetic deficiencies. Why can't we marvel at these people as much as the haggard wild creatures? Can we eye the obese, the asymmetrical, the fashion challenged, the economically unfortunate, the other ethnicities or other races in a way that we don't devalue their contributions based on our preferences? It seems like an easy thing, but unfortunately it is a difficult thing to actually practice.

I've noticed a huge difference in my life since losing a great deal of weight. My physical body is healthier and I can do shit like pullups--something that 260 pounds of Grunt had a hard time with. I'm now down to 215, which for an already heavily built man is good. However, the biggest difference is in how people have treated me. I wore my 260 pounds well. Most didn't think I weighed more than 225. But, I was starting to be treated like the "Fat Person". I didn't realize this until I dropped the weight. Now, people have been complimenting me and telling me that I look good. I like this, but I don't know what to do with these compliments. I didn't get compliments at my most "Brando", other than "You are one hell of a stout guy. I bet you can tear a tree right out of the ground." Never, "You're hot! Please have my children!!!", which I get all the time now. I plan on starting my previous activities again: mountain biking, hiking, back packing, flipping people off, and knitting. Winter will bring back double diamond runs and my knees and back won't be injured afterward. I really missed the skiing the most. I am an expert skier and the challenge of doing highly technical descents was missed dearly. I can freakin' do mogul runs with ease now, I bet. 360's, maybe; cliff jumps, keep them under 20 feet; backflips, shit Grunty, you only did one before, don't kill yourself now.

So, how did I gain all of this weight? It's called 4,000 calories a day and not giving a shit. As is the norm in my life, really bad stuff happens and I have to deal with it. Well, when I turned 27, all my best friends were married and it sucked. I had girls messing with me in a way that really just made me want to castrate myself. On top of all of this, you can add my on-going family saga of misfortune. So by 28, I didn't want to deal with God or another human being again, ever. I really wanted to pull a Rambo, not kill people, but just roam and hide in the hills. I know this sounds gay, but this is how a defeated individual sometimes thinks.

Well, there were many snags in this little fantasy, and so I just let myself go. Doing this really keeps prospective friends and girls at a safe distance. I finished up college at 29 (I started at 25) with excellent grades, but had no desire to do anything with my B.S. in Psychology (Industrial and Organizational). So, I grunted away like I had always done, probably the only thing that kept me from getting bigger than 260.

So, I know a little bit about going unnoticed or being seen as undesirable. It hurts. It sucks the big fat one. It is worse than just dealing, because things just pile up on you. I got my life on track, somewhat, about a little less than a year ago. I've got miles to go to even consider myself on par with who should be considered my peers, given my supreme intelligence and talents (humility is a virtue, btw). It is a bitch, but I am tasting blood and getting my killer instinct back. I still am a bit leary of people's intentions when they are attracted to me. Was I less of a human before? Okay, I had troubles, but I was still a funny, smart, and a handsome-faced gentleman. I'll get over myself, but it hurts now to see this happen to others. I even find myself joining in the ugliness, sometimes. This is wrong.

If you feel like this is happening to you, talk to me. I will listen. Just ask crazy lady how good I am, but don't back me up into a corner and get all freaky, please?

TIGF!!!

I can't seem to load pictures today, so I will have to think long and hard. Maybe faster, too. No, I'll slow down just a bit and mix in a few sudden bursts of intensity.

Euphemisms, we love them dearly. Like the taco and the frankfurter. One represents the love of Volvos and the other represents the love of Greyhounds...wait, now I'm confused. Well, I think that you are all intelligent people, except for Roger. Roger, you suck. Get a life, dude!

So, if you love tacos or a good Ball Park Frank, let me throw this one at you: Tacos can be either hard or soft, while most footlongs are flacid and covered in yellow stuff. I love over thinking stuff until it's not funny anymore. But, am I to believe that I can no longer proclaim my love for sausage and Coney dogs because I don't want someone calling me a homofaggabutt? I love hotdogs!!!! I love them and eat them with condiments too.

I love tacos, mostly pork and lengue tacos. I think that I will wear a T-shirt with "Taco Eater" on the front. It is like having a neon sign of heterosexuality wherever I go--that and my "Muff Diver" license plate. Then I'll go around and lie about my penis size. I have never figured this one out. I had an old man tell me once that an empty shell is the loudest when it falls. I had to think about this one for a long time. What he meant was that in the war they could tell on the ship whether it was a live round or an empty round by how much noise it made when it hit the deck--not the enemy's. We're talking about the stored rounds. Okay, I've labored this too much before getting to my point. The point is, those lacking in substance are the loudest. Or as I figure it, they doth protest too much and are puffed up. Of course the live round is the loudest in the end, but it performs. Examples are not perfect, either. But you get me, right?

I have always been content with proving myself first before I go and start making any kind of proclamations. Another old man once told me "Average is one size fits all! Figure out what to do with it and you'll be alright." I can't imagine what kind of life is defined by one part of a person's anatomy: "Bob has a huge penis. Bob's a big dick. He's not much good for anything else, but boy is he a prick!" Can you imagine only being famous or revered for one thing--something that you are not even responsible for developing? Does a man who has a 12-inch penis even get down on his knees at night and thank God for it? No, I would imagine not. It's all the other misguided men who think that the solution for overcoming being bad in bed is getting huge. They have prayed to Gods throughout time, asking for length and girth, when all they needed to do is respect women.

Here's the gay part: Men are the one's most fascinated with penis size and looking at large penises. High school gym showers are a prime example of this. Dudes are constantly checking out other dude's dicks, why? Insecurity, that's why. Bruce Lee once said something like this, after asking his pupil to point at the moon, "If you focus on the tip of the finger you will miss out on all the moon's heavenly glory." I don't make any claims, but my eyes are fixed squarely on the moon.

Mr. Blue Jay

You stumbled around hurt. I watched you tenderly. Eventually, it was the back of a shovel. Your neck was broken. What was I to do, pop pocorn and watch you die slowly? Bang! All over, nighty night.

The hole was deep for such a small creature. But, deep holes are more fitting for reverence than shallow graves. Mr. Blue Jay, I miss your squeaks and flutters. You were beautiful, but damn, you don't get the concept of glass! Stupid bird.

I left a cairn to mark your resting spot as a gesture of rememberance. Please don't give me avian flu. The shovel was for your own good. *Aaaaaaaaaaachooooooooooooo!* Shit!

I'm all a MeMe about YouYou.

Preliminary kudos to Guggs, Vera, and Crystal for providing me with an out for creating a post. Here we go!

1. Where were you 3 hours ago?
Parked in my truck in a supermarket parking lot, listening to the new Sonic Youth CD, trying to get a hold of somebody on my cell phone. You know who you are, but you came through for me anyway. Thanks!

2. Who are you in love with?
It should read "Whom", because I am in love with y'all. I have a roomy and lush heart, wanna feel it?

3. Have you ever eaten a crayon?
Yeah, in college. It was that, or join in on shooting up peanut butter in the neck vein.

4. Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?
My glans and my nipples.

5. When is the last time you went to the mall?
Saturday, and I saw a married woman's bare under curves, almost the empire's gates. I love cut off Levis. She totally smiled back at me. Maybe it was just an engagement ring, who knows?

6. Are you wearing socks right now?
Yes, and they stink because I've been wearing my work boots all day.

7. Do you have anything over $2,000?
Yes, surgery scars from an appendectomy and removal of a growth that wrapped itself around my colon. That and Clyde.

8. When was the last time you drove out of town?
Town is only seven miles long, so WTF? Memorial Day I went out to the mountains by the chemical weapons burn facility to shoot stuff and go four wheelin'. Wendover is not too far away, so Black Jack and Craps tables are always a good choice.

9. Have you been to the movies in the last 5 days?
Yes, I saw "Nacho Libre" and laughed my ass off. BTW, since you got blown off Crystal, I'll be requiring a ten minute viewing of said panties. I think that I'm strange enough.

10. Are you hot?
In the climate sense? Not now--central air. But I did work outside for most of the day in the sweltering heat. I am the Red Haired Mexican, after all.

11. What was the last thing you had to drink?
A Fresca. Not my choice, but sometimes you've just gotta take what you can get.

12. What are you wearing right now?
Blue T-shirt, faded and ripped blue Dickies jeans, Rocky steel-toed work boots (The real deal. Not beautiful, but they keep my dogs safe and happy).

13. Do you wash your car or let the car wash do it?
I try to do a deep water crossing to clean Clyde. It's how a real truck should roll, yo!

14. Last food that you ate?
Ham, brownie, roll, potatoes. It was from a meeting of many great minds. I get to sit under the table and they hand feed me scraps.

15. Where were you last week at this time?
Well, it's 1:46am, so probably at the computer writing long ass emails, posts, or listening to how great my new album is.

16. Have you bought any clothing items in the last week?
Nope. What?

17. When is the last time you ran?
I run up the stairs at work all the time (only four levels). I also like to try to do pull-ups in the doorways. I'm getting better.

18. What's the last sporting event you watched?
This is sad. Probably Dallas vs. Miami. I miss John Stockton and Karl Malone.

19. What is your favorite animal?
Bigfoot.

20. Your dream vacation?
Mars. It just has to be the reason I'm so different. But I would like to visit my second mother in England. She's canny, like. Sandra, I will come back to the Oval. I will beat those blokes up what hurt Sampson, and I will give you the biggest hugs and kisses legal in the UK. Do you still shop at Tescos? I like their bickies.

21. Last person's house you were in?
Dave's and that was some good BBQ. Too bad I had to piss everyone off by not being a ditto head.

23. Have you been in love?
Only the type that crushes my heart into little pieces. I can't seem to find a happy medium that doesn't involve castration.

24. Do you miss anyone right now?
Yes. If I told you who all they were, I'd have to rub your hair until it hurt.

25. Last play you saw?
I only do plays if it gets me some. I will make an effort to see one of my highly talented and supremely funny professional comedian/actor cousin's plays. It runs in the family, but I can't seem to make any money at it, yet.

27.What are your plans for tonight?
Well, sleep. It's now 2:00am.

28. Who is the last person you sent a myspace message or comment?
I don't do Myspace. Does that make me a square? I did have a nice convo with someone mega cool. You know who you are. Your secret is safe with me.

29. Next trip you are going to take?
Fly fishing excursion to the North Uintahs. I will be having many shit tizzies, I hope.

30. Ever go to camp?
Yes I have, but I found Crystal's comment to be rather enjoyable: "Campfire camp, which was like the generic girl scout camp. Oh, and I went to church camp once. Got my first, you know, woman-thing there. Should have known God hated me from that moment."

31. Were you an honor roll student in school?
K-2, I was super straight A. Then my world went to shit and I was a drop out case. Then at 25, I went back to college and repeatedly made the honor roll and the high honor roll a few times. I was also invited into the Honor's Society, but I didn't want any of that at the time. Mistake!

32. What do you want to know about the future?
Will there still be Happy Meals when I'm 90?

33. Are you wearing any perfume or cologne?
Right Guard pit stick. I don't do the Irish bath. I sweat for a living.

34. Are you due sometime this year for a doctor's visit?
I went to a clueless clinic where the doc asked me what I thought I had, and then he offered me a prescription for that illness. What a total scam. I pay a co-pay just to diagnose myself.

36. What happened to 35?
It is doing 36 up the hiney hole.

37. Do you have a tan?
If I could work naked, I'd have skin cancer and the best tan in the world. Unfortunately, I have to wear clothes, so I have a farmer's tan. Ewwwwwwww!

38. What are you listening to right now?
The fan of the computer. Music-wise? Wolfmother (they rock my world, totally), Sonic Youth's new CD, Flaming Lips "In a Priest Driven Ambulance", my music, and "Songs of Pain" by Daniel Johnston.

39. Do you collect anything?
Mullard 12ax7 long plate preamp tubes. The sweetest tone known to man. Also, RCA blackpate power tubes, from the fifties. Talk about rolling overdrive, sheeeeewhooooo! I love the old technology when it comes to my amplifiers--that I make. Guitar tone is one thing. Your amp and speakers are your true voice--besides playing dynamics. Don't settle for new fangled digital emulation junk. Get the real deal, baby! It's worth the thousands of dollars. Unless you are a gifted son of a bitch like me, and can teach yourself how to D.I.Y. like a pimp.

40. Who is the biggest gossiper you know?
My boss. She has to be in every body's business, and I just want to slap her.

41. Last time you got stopped by a cop or pulled over?
May 8, 2006: my birthday. I was going 50 in a 30 and I got off, because I have great interpersonal skills and an innocent face.

42. Have you ever drank your soda from a straw?
I'd rather just drink it from a heavy glass, but yeah, Diet Coke at McDonald's.

44. Do you like hot sauce?
They haven't made one yet that I didn't like.

45. Last time you took a shower?
This morning, after I mowed the lawn just prior to going to work.

46. Do you need to do laundry?
This has too many connotations. I've got clothes that need washing, yes. My life has plenty of dirty laundry. I just appear to be innocent. Don't take me at face value. I've killed hobos...in a former life.

47. What is your heritage?
English 60%, Danish 30-something%, German--a pinch, Cherokee--enough to make my brother look like a wetback, seriously!

48. Are you some one's best friend?
Yes, I'm like twenty people's best friend. I am always the friend never the dishwasher.

49. Are you rich?
I have almost zero debt. My school loan is about paid off. Clyde (former life he was named Victor, after Frankenstein's monster) is mine 100%, because I built the mother up from nothing (I'm the shiznit!). I have a rich life of pain and joy. I have connected with people from around the world and made a significant difference in their lives. I can write novels, stories, sometimes poetry (fag), and write and compose songs. I have studied psychology and epistemology--I search for truth fearlessly and with total passion. I actively try to better my neighborhood, anyone around me, and in general will try to uplift anyone, even at my own demise. Because, I know that when I die I will be greeted like a king into the hereafter--I know this. I love my family, despite the whole Gilbert Grapiness of them all. I am a total renaissance man.

Oh, do I make lots of money? No I don't. I guess that means I'm not successful or worth your time.

50. What do you think of the person who took this survey before you?
She has a great pussy. (I didn't need to change that one). She's cool. Like Six Flags cool!

You likey the changing title?

I think that it is fitting. I'm so willing to give and give--just like a damn Pez dispenser. No need to refill me, because I just pull this shit out of my ass...er, the neck lifts up and candy comes out--yeah! Need advice? Well, pull your ass up to the bar and I'll lend you my ear. It won't cost a damn thing, too. Why? Because I am so willing to give and not receive. This is what Jesus taught me many years ago while I sold vacuum cleaners for Him. So, I wander the earth bringing good times and giving out happiness, because we all know that someone has to do it. I leave towns shinier and healthier, households are strengthened, and dogs no longer poop behind the couch--all from my message of how Hoover brand vacuum cleaners are the preferred vacuum of Christ Jesus! Nope, I don't need anything in return because I'm good...my life is goooooood!

God blesses me with riches. I have bundles of treasure stowed away in a pirate's cave, or so I'm told (can't trust some accountants). We all know that material wealth--riches--are slippery. This is why I started my own 401k and savings plan in Heaven. No, I don't need real money, gosh. Why in the heck would I need that? God blesses me in return for eschewing such dross things. He even lets me talk to girls! Boy, and if I am really good, I get to peck them on the cheek!!! The bordello in Reno was just a one time deal. He understood. In recompense, I like saved an old lady from choking on a new born kitten, while we were crossing the road. Did I mention that I also baptized her at the YMCA afterwards? Yep! I even sold her a brand new Hoover Convertible, too.

Ahh, life is good being righteous. Believing in Christ Jesus has really blessed me. Dare I say it? Yes I will: I've got front row seats to the next roller derby in heaven! Shit yeah!!! Oops, well, they just took them away, darn it.

You know what sustains a guy who has everything, like me? The Bible (King James Version 2.0). Heck, who needs to have carnal reciprocation when the Holy Spirit climbs into bed with you every night, whispering sweet nothings into your ear and burning your bosom? That is so hot! It keeps me from jerking off--that and high tensile steel handcuffs to the bed posts.

Yes, this is the life that sailors only dream of. I just need one thing: the companionship of Old Black, my Grandad's bible. It was my prom date, and my first real girlfriend. It never gets shoved into the glove box. It rides shotgun, always. Why, you should see how jealous girls get of Old Black when I tell them that they have to sit on the wheel well out back in the bed of my truck. I take arms length to new horizons, yo! Yes, Godboy never has hurt feelings or a bruised ego, because I'm fortified with eleven psalms and spices--keeps the hookers from afflicting me with their vile STD's: I call it conversion by immaculate solicitation. I'm so holy, it isn't even funny--like 100% holy and all that jazz. If you touch my magic leisure robe--pull on the waist rope--you'll be cured of most diseases, even both types of herpes.

Well, I hope that my candy is sweet and that you'll be back. Sometimes my candy is a bit overwhelming to some and they have to go and taste of the bitter dregs once more, just to come back down to earth again. I'm sorry that this is necessary, it is the price I pay for being so good--my life is goooood!!! Shit yeah!!!!!!!!! Sorry J, I'll repent tonight after I get done with the handcuffs.

I've settled down some, and a story about how my dad saved my life.

Daddy Warbucks said, "You are special. Never stop believing that. " I have reddish hair, so I think I can make a leap over to believing I'm Little Orphan Annie and feel special.

Speaking of dads, it is Pop's Day. Do I have anything to say about my pop? I guess I do.

When I was going through Summer school in 9th grade I got into some serious trouble. I came to school and was promptly escorted from the flagpole out front into the principle's office by both the vice principle and the head principle. They had been waiting for me.

They were really rough with me and kept me in the dark for two hours, just yelling at me saying that I knew what I'd done and that I needed to come clean. Kids, this is why you don't let yourself get a rap and become a fuckup by fifth grade--it tends to follow you around.

I've always been amazed by how much trouble young kids get into. Some of the things I did, starting in just 3rd grade, really blow my mind. Where were the child psychologists? I was one screwed-up little man. I got my first D in 3rd grade and my first F in 5th grade. From there on I was pretty much flunking out. This comes from a kid who was getting straight A's in K-2 and really tearing it up on standardized tests. How can adults be so stupid as to just chalk this up to "Little Billy just needs to shape up and fly right"?

So, back to our story: I was in real deep shit. Before I had any idea what I was in there for--well I did, but we'll get to that in a second--they were telling me that I would be arrested as soon as I admitted to what I had done. This told me that they didn't really have anything on me--thus the reason for all the damn mystery. They were sweating me and despite grabbing my neck, pushing me into the chair, asking me to stand at random, and good cop bad cop shit, they had me bawling my ass off. But I was not going to talk, not to these evil SOB's.

Now, they let me go for a half hour. I went to my algebra class, and then within fifteen minutes, was called right back for another round of getting my ass thrown around my head. This is the thing: When you get into a lot of trouble, you tend to keep your mouth shut to your parents about anything that happens, abuse wise, because you're afraid of getting into more trouble. The vice principle had repeatedly shoved me into the wall and pulled my hair, so my head was stretched backward. He also would grab my wrist and crank on it until I submitted. This all occurred while Mr. H would be whispering into my ear, then full out shouting. I finally gave up, or at least what I thought that they wanted from me.

I was caught with a blade in my algebra class the day prior to this incident. I told them that I was sorry for having the weapon (this was long before zero tolerance). I had found it outside that morning and thought it was a cool find. I took it to my class and showed my friends. That's when my teacher caught me and confiscated it. But, he never told me anything or sent me to the principle's office, so I thought I was cool. I explained to him that I had just found it, too.

Well, this teacher did report this to the principle and they figured that I had the evidence--the knife that slashed the towels, carpet, and their car tires. Oh boy, when they told me that, I knew I was screwed. I explained my story and offered rock solid alibis. They didn't care. They had been waiting to pin something substantial on me for a long time. They claimed that it was my way of rebelling against having to go to Summer school.

I was told by them that my dad would be called and as soon as they could, they'd have me arrested and charged with possession of a weapon and vandalism. Calling my dad would turn out to be their biggest mistake.

When I got home, my dad was waiting and furious. He had been unemployed for three years up to that point and was battling poor health, depression, anxiety, and panic attacks. He was really unpredictable. I had already felt like I was bringing shame and dishonor to my family--one that was already becoming the shame case of the suburbs. I didn't do bad things because I wanted to be bad, ever. I did them because I didn't care about myself. So, when I thought that my own dad would not believe me over my school principles, I wanted to kill myself. I really had my escape route all planned out--Vern's 32 caliber pistol to the back of the mouth--but decided to let my dad have one chance. Best thing I ever did for my life.

After he laid into me he asked me if I did it. This really blew my mind. He actually didn't leap to conclusions. I mean, he had reason to get mad at me for the blade, but stopped at the vandalism. I only had to tell him once, that I didn't do it. This man, who was struggling with the world and his own disgrace, promptly went down to the school and let the hammer fall on these two ingrates, bullies, supposed learned men. I don't know what he did to them, but the next day they were waiting again at the flag pole, only this time they greeted me with a smile, a handshake, and a vigorous apology. It was my turning point.

High school was hard for me. I had to change many of my friends and pull myself out of a huge tarpit. I really didn't have fun and have not had many fond memories of high school, but I made it out and stopped getting in trouble. My life has been real complicated because of my dad, but he is the reason that I'm still around to tell you all this--he believed me.

Wheeeeeeeee!

Today's just another fun ride on the freakin' Good Ship Lollipop that is my life and my family! I hope that I hit my head real hard after and forget it all happened. Why have I been so off lately, so cranky and negative? I really don't have an answer for y'all. Knowing me, I'll be free basing Pixie Sticks and back to Abby Normal right quick.

All together now: "Dance you freakin' monkey! DANCE!!!"

Oh, the agony!

Is it too much to ask, God, to not strike me down with an intense, and acute, bowel affliction when I meet a cute girl who stops to talk to me on the street? Is it? You know I'm in need, so why Jesus, why? Stop laughing at me! Do you think that this makes me want to go to heaven now, do you? I can't fly like Superman to visit cool girls in far off lands, and now I am being cursed in my own providence, my supposed Zion? What is that saying: "A prophet is never appreciated in his own land"? Eff dis sheeit! I need to do a world tour and get Immonium AD to sponser me. Seriously!

The TIGF sans pictures

Darn it, I can't do the normal TIGF on this here stolen PC. So, I will talk about a few things TIGF.

I watched "Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang" last night and that was one awesome flick. Val Kilmer's character Gay Perry was exceptional--perfect for a TIGF mention. I wan't to be this man, with the exception of man on man pitching and cathing. Robert Downey Jr. is of course the great actor who would be if not for his "toot-toot, shoot-shoot, puff-puff", and does his character Harry Lockhart with just enough homophobic flair so as to leave the inevitble comedic tension in good shape. Michelle Monaghan is just drop dead gorgeous, enough said.

Why do I bring up this movie for TIGF? It's not necessarily because of Gay Perry. The reason is what drew me to this DVD in the first place: a homophobic dude with his girlfriend. Yeah, here's this couple checking out the cover of the DVD, dude: "Kiss, Kiss....Hmmmn, features that druggie dude and Batman." Girl: "Well, on the back it says that Batman is a 'tough as nails gay detective'". Dude, "Shit, that's enough. I don't want to see some damn faggot-ass detective prance around in a movie for two hours." I imagined the rest of the convo going like this:

Girl: "Oh, Hubert! You're such a morally upright and manly man. How on earth do you keep all those other women from ripping off your clothes?"

Manly man: "Well, I use non-stick Pam to keep them from clinging on to me. Did I mention that I am most certainly not gay--like 100% not? Please stroke my fragile sense of sexual identity, before I go all Sodom and Gomorrah on that red-haired hunk looking over here."

Just lucky to be with manly man "girl": "Oh, Hubie! Why do you even bring yourself down to my level when you could have any woman in the whole wide world? Like, you could satisfy them all and then be taken right up to heaven in a twinkling of an eye, you righteous so and so (the blessings of gay bashing are numerous--Gods loves it when you do this, BTW).

So yeah, I think that Hubert is the model man for all of us. Because he publicly announces his disgust and hatred for gays, this must logically follow that he is most certainly, definitely, not gay--like 100% not gay. He makes other manly men, such as I, seem like mere dandies in comparison. I will have to go and repent for having love for my fellow man--including ones not like myself. We all know that Jesus taught us to be selective in who we choose to love, "Love God, love thyself, love thy neighbor--if he's white and straight. Don't give the time of day to those who are poor, brown, or taketh it up the hiney, for they are not my children and should be treated as the dirt under thy feet." Remember this one? Yeah, it's so in the Bible it's not even funny. It's in the same book that tells you that Satan falsifies geological records in order to decieve us--he likes to pull little boners on us so that we come up with silly useless things, such as medicine and science. We all know how we have totally not benefitted from those, right?

(Please excuse spelling errors. I don't have the time to do spell check and I'm a horrible speller. Do you still love me?)

Today's Mood: dealing "Blonde on Blonde"

I've been listening to this album constantly for inspiration. "Visions of Johanna" and "One of Us Must Know (Sooner or Later)" are the two that have been getting the most play. I don't even know where to start on my praises of Bob Dylan. I know that his voice is not what most people would call good, same with my pal Lou Reed, but he is such a lyrical genius that I feel like mere dust in comparison. I've been marveling at his word play and storytelling, it is pure heaven to me. I hope to someday meet him and share ideas. Is this silly? I don't think so.

Computer Go Boom!

I broke into someone's house and am trying desparately to not get caught while writing this quickie. What can I say? My computer is toast and I took it in. The doofus that I took it to then goes on vacation, further leaving me in the lurch. This is not good. I need my internet and my IM, email, and HNT's of chica and other cuties. BTW, thanks chica.

If you want to see a brutal Western flick, go see the Nick Cave directed "The Proposition". It's set in the Aussie outback and it is super violent, but really good.

I watched some DVDs for a change and I recommend "Dirty Pretty Things". Talk about sad, but it has a realistic and good ending. Well, I think that I hear sirens, so this is Hasta!

TIGF (That's incredibly Gay Friday!)

I think ma and pa have good reason to keep Junior separated from uncle Steven. It's all just part of a day's fun at the ole Country Church. YEEEEEHAAAAW!!!

Getting Rid Of My Lanyard

I have been informed that these are not cool. I have to display my ID/security card on the front of me, any suggestions? I've actually got myself tangled up with these things and just really never looked for any alternatives. The other thing about lanyards, if you spend a great deal of time out in the sun like me, you get a racing stripe neck. I always tell people that it makes me go faster, but it looks weird--really weird. Part of me will be sad to see this thing go. It was a gift from SLOC (2002 Winter Olympics). Well, I'll always have the Kazykstan vs. Lithuania Women's Hockey game to remember it by...ah, seven dollar Polish dogs!

Me and Clyde

I've talked about him enough times, so I thought I'd put up or shut up. Nothin' too fancy, but you should have seen him before I rescued him from the crusher. I've welded a whole new floor, rockers, cab corners, and various other cracks and holes. New door, hood, and fenders--you have to be resourceful and skilled. And to think, that pretty metallic green paint job is now all scratched up from hitting the trails. That's what they are made for. If gas prices weren't so high, I was planning to drop a 502 Bowtie block in it and really let the road have it. Is having over 540 horsepower excessive? I didn't think so at the time, but only getting 8 miles to the gallon, at best, is not where it's at now. I'll take my warmed-up 350 any day, with its 13 mpg. It has lots of grunt!