Hey

I think I might need some of your mojo. This week has been a horribly stressful one for me and my family. I have been mum to everyone except for my close friends on this. I'll explain a bit.

My 11-year-old nephew "R" started bleeding internally on Monday. My sister (oldest) did not know what was wrong. The doctor's gave him a blood transfusion on Tuesday and a bone marrow biopsy as well. We still don't know, but it is looking like he has leukemia. I'd run a tally of events that have happened to my family these past few months, but it just depresses me to think about it. I am glad that we are survivors. I just don't know how much more bad/stressful things in such a short time I can handle happening to my family. My sister "B" is finally doing well, thank goodness.

Anyway, I have been relying on Youtube to bail me out for posts. I had some great ideas, but no energy to carry them out. I was hoping to get some recording projects finished, but I am now stuck on some stupid guitar layers that I just can't seem to get right. I need to treat you guys to a vacation post and get my pics up. I need to get out looking for another job. But, guess what? I am spent. The good news is that I am about to pay the last payment on my student loans. Wheeeeeeee!

I have had some pains with my body that don't seem to be going away. That auto accident seems to really have done some lasting damage. The thing that sucks is that I already settled. I feel like such a sucker. This is why I really need another job. I can't hack it with my back and neck, anymore. I just feel so slow now. My wrist is killing me all the time. All the employment I've known has been physical work. I really don't know how I'll take to something more sit down, or office culture. That is something that gets me worried.

Hell, I can't even play my guitar for more than a half hour before I feel like I need to quit.

I know I can get better. It is just that I have not been patient and have tried to force my recovery. This is how I've always been. I had some internal surgery once where they took my appendix out and removed some tissue that was wrapping itself around my colon. I went back to work in seven days. My boss really didn't know what was going on and just seemed to care that he didn't have to find someone to replace me.

This leads me to believe that I have some reprogramming to do. I need to work in a more supportive environment. I am loyal to a fault and rarely have thought about my own benefit--I was so much into the "crew". I often wonder what all of this says about me. How many rewards have I missed out on? How many women have passed me up? Money does matter--don't say it doesn't. I feel like such a chump sometimes, but I am determined to not give up. I will make something happen. I can't feel sorry for myself. I am too smart and too talented for me to be sorry. I just have to give myself a swift kick in the ass, and get on with it--pussy!

Alright, I'm done talking shit today. You guys enjoy your Halloween candy.

I'll remove the cause...

...but not the symptom.

Just for fun, share your favorite "Rocky Horror Picture Show" moments and/or experiences from events. My favorite moment was getting monster mashed by a topless woman at one of these showings. She ran down the isle before I even knew what was happening. If only she knew that I was sporting some Arby's. I'm guessing that I threw a hotdog at her and it got her real riled up and just had to say hello in her own unique way. I am eternally grateful.

Happy Halloweeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!

Happy Almost Halloween: Alice Cooper Live, performing "Steven"!

Go here, "Ghost Story", if you want to hear about my true life encounter with the other side. Just promise me to leave my cousin alone. He doesn't blog anymore and doesn't need Gruntonians asking questions about this story. I was the one that told him to post on his blog on my behalf (this was before he got me into all this blogging mess). So, if you have questions about this story, you can email me or leave comments here.



I love Alice Cooper, and "Steven" is one of his more disturbing songs and this is an entertaining live performance of part of it. It's Halloween, so enjoy.

My celebrity look-a-like thingamajig

Why do I have to be looking like the worst President of the United States, ever? I think I make up for it more than enough by looking like all these other shit-hot guys, though. I don't have a straight-on shot of my face, so this will have to do. I'm still going as McKinley for Halloween. Who's Hrithik Roshan? Damn! I need to start telling people that I look like him, or go to his native land and clean up! I don't know what happened to Bela Bartok, but he was another good looking guy.

My favorite here is a toss up between Kanye and Kyle. Mr. Mac Lachlan gets my pick for having done so many cool flicks with David Lynch, plus that one Vegas movie. What was that one called? Oh yeah, "The stupidest movie ever invented, but as long as there are horny men in the world, will always be out of stock at your local Blockbuster Video", or something like that. I just remember it had a very long title. I have a bad memory, I think.

As for the rest, the Tom Cruise thing is not so desirable anymore. Spike Lee is beyond cool. What can I say? I look like Johnny Depp! That association could possibly get me laid on its own. I think that I need to add a few of these to the results: ??? I'm not complaining, though.

I need to get a straight-on shot and see who I look like. I'm hoping that Don Knotts and Colonel Sanders pop up.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Halloween III

Why'd they make this movie? It is so stupid. It is TIGF, but not in a good way. However, the Silver Shamrock song is way cool, and totally TIGF in a good way. Enjoy!

At the speed of fudge many interesting things happen

Seen right is Beaver O'Lindy and her magic blue ball. Lindy is what is known as a woofer in a tweeter's clothing.

I have given much thought to creating something that I'd like to call a roast beef pizza. I think it would be a hit. Gravy for the sauce, mashed potatoes for the cheese, and a Yorkshire Pudd for the crust and that is just the basic foundation, folks.

One thing that I've noticed is that the Arby's logo looks rather phallic. Every time I see Arby's ads about "I'm thinking Arby's" it's like that person just has penis on the mind. Yeah, you heard me: penis! Don't know what I am talking about? Look here: Arby's. Stick around for a bit to see all the people go walking across the screen. I swear Arby's is trying to start a revolution of phallic porportions. You want curly fries with that?

I think if I were to be any character from the Mad Max trilogy that was not Mad Max, the dog, or the Feral Kid, it would definitely be the Humungus:
He has the best body, a bitching revolver, and a kick ass car. Plus, check out his posse...holy crap! I can't wait for Fury Road to come out. I don't care how crazy Mel Gibson is. I just want one more of those movies, please!!!

Alright, short but sweet post tonight. My sister "B" is suffering from complications from her gastric bypass surgery and is still in the hospital. Yeah, nothing is easy, but I have faith that things will eventually go well. BTW, we got snow today and it stuck on the roads. Fun stuff, and yesterday it was so warm. Anyway, If you all want to, say a prayer for "B" for me, or do whatever it is that will bring blessings her way. I'd appreciate it. I try my best to not show it, but it really is worrying me right now.

Just a post in passing

I have been mui busy today. I have been working hard on some recordings and I need to wrap all that stuff up because it could just keep going and going.

Some of you are probably wondering what in the hell that green buggy is pictured to the right. That is a John Deere Gator 6x4, diesel. I have one for my work. They are fun as hell and mega useful. Today I picked me up a nice tall blonde gal, our community relations manager. I was pretty chuffed having seeing how she was responding to it all, and so gave her a nice long ride. I was tempted to take the Gator off some awesome jumps to impress her. She had a lot of fun, and I think she is finally going to grow a pair and get rid of the sad-sack ex-fiance/on and off again boyfriend just so she can go cruisin some more with her new mate--me!

There's another lady at work that every time I see her she giggles uncontrollably--real high-pitched too. I love it, because I can start pecking at her with silly remarks and almost make her hyper ventilate until she faints. She's another looker with brown hair and hazel eyes--great combo. But, she is married. Drat!

The lady that runs our mail room has confessed to me that she had an erotic dream about me. She is married too. She said that in dream world the rules are different and that she can get it on with strapping young studs such as I. She then said that she was very married after licking her lips a bit and giving me the thrice over. That one was pretty great, but now I am a bit nervous to be alone in the same room with her. Kidding! Naw, she's cool.

Now here's where it gets strange.

This guy is back following me around. I found out that he now works in our mainframe. He cornered me the other day and asked me if I were married, then what I like to do for fun. He doesn't look like it, but he's 60 and single (I thought he was younger). He was asking me all this stuff like if I wanted to come over and see his dogs, then he pulls out a big freakin' tazer, scarier than the last one and starts zapping it in my face. He then rolls back his sleeves and shows me the scars where he's tried it out on himself. After that, he pulled out a Saturday Night Special out of his boot and just held it there, twisting it around so that the nickel finish would glimmer. He then started going on about his 50 calibers and I told him I had to get going.

I think I am going to need the help of "Grunt's Angels" to protect me from this crazy sonovabitch.

A post that Christielli will love

I admit it: I am an addict. The McRib is back, folks. I have been such a good boy, too. Today I snuck off to McDonald's to get me one. I pulled up to the drive-thru talkbox and was so excited. I even called it a "McRibwich". I felt just like my buddy Homer Simpson, haaaaahhgurgle *drool*.

I got through to that magical second window and the Mexican guy was real nice and prompt, but I couldn't understand what he said other than, "You have meal and Diet Coke?" Well, I heard "McRib". I pulled away and parked in a nearby trucker lot--the prostitutes weren't out, too cold. Sheesh! I'm not like that, okay?

So, I get into my bag of goodies and find out that they gave me a Big Mac! Nothing wrong with that, I love 'em. But, that was not the fix I needed. I mean, if I am going to get fat it is going to be death by McRibwich! So, I went back in and hooped and hollered. I am a reasonable guy until you cross my animalistic needs. I mean, this sandwich is like a shrunk down version of that rack of ribs that tipped over Fred Flinstone's car. Don't they understand this? Well, if they didn't before, they sure as hell know now.

I got my meal gratis. I am special. I think I want a t-shirt to commemorate this moment. In fact, just like The Simpsons, I want to become a McRibwichead and follow its farewell tour throughout the nation. I might even get a Corvette out of this deal. I must have the last one!

Anybody want to fix up an old VW bus and come along with me?

Sorry

Some will have had the Early Bird Special, Bloglines crowd will have it as well. Just know this: I was pretty out of it and super emotional. I just didn't like what I said. I'm feeling increasingly angry and frustrated and I just need to chill out. Things are not okay, but that is something that me and my 3D's will have to take care of. If any of you did read it and got in anyway offended, well, you'll just have to contact me.

I am doing the Flickr thing for my trip photos. I didn't know that you had a monthly limit on downloads there. I will have to be selective. There are quite a few water damaged photos, but are still cool. There were some really cool shots that didn't turn out because the flash didn't work. So, look for those coming up. I want to put them on my sidebar like I've seen on other blogs. I will probably repost the blog entry after I have had a chance to look at it some more. I sometimes hit that publish button prematurely. Of course, subscribers of my blog on Bloglines get to enjoy the post. It probably wasn't that bad. I just needed to take it back in and sit on it for a bit.

Back by popular demand, and only slightly tampered with: "Type type type type type type type type type type...."

Warning: This post will be going all over the place and is not funny. Enjoy!

Seriously, I'm having a hard go of it lately. Not blogging, however; I'm good at that. Too many surgeries going on in my family, accidents, financial problems, etc. Apparently my sister decided to go and get herself scheduled for gastric bypass surgery. I found out about this when I got back from my trip. I'm dancing barefoot and outside the gym in the hallway all by myself this time because that's just the deal now. Tired of all this shit, really tired. Enough is enough. I've had it up to here...wait, you guys can't see, but I had my hand way above my head.

I had a day out with my sister. She goes in for surgery on Monday. She told me that aside from the health reasons, she was wondering what it would be like to be looked at again. She started to cry a great deal when she was telling me this: people don't look at her when they talk to her, it's as if she is not worthy of that kind of contact. In a world of big boobs and Paris Hilton-meets-truck-stop personalities, I find this rather disheartening. My sister is big, but not so huge that it is a pain to the eye. I really despise people's superficial obsessions about thighs, boobs, ass, abs, whatever. I really despise individuals that are only about that, or perpetuate such things. Hitler hated hook noses, look where that got him.

Okay, so the Hitler thing was a bit extreme, but preferences are fine, ridicule is not. As for myself, I am a very strong man physically. I have been able to bench 330 lbs. My grip has been measured at 180 lbs. Don't get me started. My point is that I can rip my shirt off and have no claim to looking like a beefcake, despite being able to kick beefcake's ass. Pasty white guy am I. I do not have that sculpted look, rather, cornfed. I have had fun looking at non-athlete, chiseled men get bested by cornfed or wiry sorts (I respect true athletes). My body can take enormous abuse. I am very calloused. However, my enormous strength and toughness are not ideal in terms of body aesthetic. My body is so broad that even when I am skinny, I look stocky. I am the last of the Neanderthals.

Since my accident I've gained back about eight pounds. Let's see, I was 260, dropped down to 215, and am now 223, all @ 5'11" tall. I could get my weight down to 185 and still look pasty and fat. I accept it. Anyone who has enough disgust with my body can arm wrestle me or get their strongest friend to do so. Some good looking people are so unhealthy it is ridiculous, but because they look good, no one cares. I love isometrics and real world labor/activities to build up strength and toughness. I had a job once that I basically shoveled dirt, picked up and carried scrap steel and timber all day long 10-13 hours a day. Before that, I worked in a window fabrication assembly line. I was carrying, lifting, flipping 15-70 lbs of finished window stock over and over, 10 hours a day (I made tons of Tongan, Vietnamese, and Armenian gang members shit list for being different as well at that job--they grouped me in with the rednecks--that parking lot was crazy). After both those jobs, I threw garbage and drove the truck for an old man and then the damn polygamists. I've never once had anyone say that I looked hot, but I could out-tough and out-last most.

Getting my education was nice, but I really didn't fit in well on campus because I had to go straight to work in blue collar land after I was done with my classes. Being truly different is not attractive, folks. Welder's caps are only cool when they keep hot cherries from lighting your mop up all spectacular and shit. I have had people tell me that a guy like me is cool, etc. Yeah, on here it is easy. I've had my share of people reach out to me online and most have been great. Occasionaly you get some that will mess you up just like 3D land, where some turn out to be real whackjobs or just plain hit and run type pals--you know, the ones that always have their running shoes on just in case things get icky (if anyone thinks that I am referring to them here, I can't help that--just get/stay in touch, okay, then obviously it is not a problem).

I have felt that until people in "real life" start noticing all these wonderful things about me, it is just a load of Mister Roger's land of make believe bullshit, but now I feel that some of you are people I can trust and count on enough to take what you say to heart.

In the real world, life is ugly and it is beautiful. From my eyes I try to see beauty, but there's too much that is ugly in hate, ugly in profane and vulgar revelry, ugly in exploit, ugly attacking children's minds in the base form of pornographic excrement (yeah, I know some of you enjoy some "hey hey", but you are adults--I won't preach to you). I can't even begin to tell you how much sorrow fills my heart at what we have done to our bodies and our minds--our souls and our earth.

I will only say this on this blog once and will edit it out eventually for the sake of it not being a distraction. My life spent as a minister/missionary in England was one of joy spreading peace, hope, and love, but I witnessed so much unhappiness that I nearly needed to forget my own name and identity to regain some of my sanity back. While that is a great moment of my life, probably the greatest, the aftermath of it all has left me alienated in a world that I was being groomed to inherit and lead. I am caught between two worlds now and am disgusted by both. I have seen the disappointment in leader's eyes when they've seen me since. I was truly remarkable and valiant in my work. Logically, it should've meant I was a lock. They see me now as a wayward soul. The world sees me as a square.

I try going to clubs and doing that stuff, but I just can't shake my past lifestyle--ironically, a lifestyle that saved me from truly anti-social and reckless behavior. I've never got the whole "I'm bad" pantomime, especially from people that are able to do so much good and uplift many around them. Only if you could see how silly you look pretending. Come and see me when you've got no hope and bad is just what happens. Then on the flipside, I can't be genuinely involved in something that I am not comfortable in administering any longer.

I have resisted running away from all of this, but I think that I might need to relocate and hit the reset button. Eventually people will wonder why I try to live such a clean life, but do not go to church and am twisted as hell. Best of all, I will have the pleasure of explaining everything to them. Talk about conflict. Talk about feeling/being alone. I know that this missing puzzle piece just made things a bit clearer. You can never escape your past.

I'm spinning till I puke still. Are you guys still spinning with me?

TIGF (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Tommy Seebach's "Apache"

Tommy Seebach's version of "Apache" has got to be the single most gay thing I've ever seen in my life. Now, what happens when you take a gay video and edit it to synch in with Judas Priest's "Painkiller"?

This:

Rob Halford, the lead singer of Judas Priest, is gay, but not TIGF gay. He is totally prison gay and I dig his scream.

I always felt that if Rob Halford

Got it on with Liberace

You'd have "TIGF!" as their uholy offspring.

Helen Keller as an imaginary friend

That's right, folks. I have an imaginary friend. What is most surprising is that it is none other that Helen Keller. Mind you, it is the young Helen, and not the older, more talkative one. So, what is it like having an imaginary friend that can't hear me, see me, or isn't able to talk to me? A bit crazy to be honest. See, she tries real hard to let me know that she is there for me by letting out a playful moan, then slaps me over the head with a kipper. She's heavy into vaudevillian slapstick.

You know, I'll do something, write something, say something totally awesome and all I get from her is, "Whuhahagurgle....bleh!" It is so one-sided. I have to like shove things right into her hand for her to even respond at all.

Me: "Hey, Helen!" (I know she is deaf, but remember this: deaf people just need you to shout real slowly like, then they can hear you fine--kind of the same deal as with foreign people.)

Helen: "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaag?"

Me: "Do you want to go outside and smell stuff and throw rocks and shit? I know you sure do like that."

Helen: *Silence*

Me: "Here." (shoves a meatpie up close her nose and places a medium sized stone in her hand).

Guess what she does? She throws the damn meatpie at me, hitting me in the face, and then shoves the stone in her gob.

Helen: "Mmmmmmmhmhmhmhmhmhmhmmmm...ehhhhhhhhh!"

She is quite the little pill.

The things that she tries to tell me and yet can't quite do it. Where's the damn Miracle Worker when you need her? The thing that has kind of been a bit of a head scratcher is that I caught her having a conversation, an honest to god conversation, with Mr. Magoo and Fozzy the Bear--other remaining friends from my childhood. It seems that I have a certain effect on Miss Helen, but she takes great measures to make me feel like I don't. I did manage to get a word out of her. She said to me, "F-f-f-fuh-friend!", and then poked me in the eye. Damn, that hurt!

I am thinking that a trip to the well is in order. It's either that, or I will have to start re-arranging the furniture, put oven mitts on her, or leave the plunger in the toilet. I mean, come on, if you can talk to other people so often, yet are totally mum to me, someone you used to hang with all the time, well, I'm not a dipshit. It must mean that you want to bump into stuff somewhere else.

But, I gotta say that Miss Helen sure is a capricious little gal. She will run off for a time, then I will hear her moaning and grunting playfully again--you know, "Where's Helen?" She then jumps out and hits me in the nuts with her walking stick then runs away! How she can freakin' see where my softies are, I don't know. She is anything but off the mark, and fugking fast too!

I tend to get my hopes up that she'll stick around and at least whomp me over the head just for old time sakes, but alas, she runs away and hides longer and longer nowadays. *sigh* She used to like carrying on with me, her wonderful, wonderful friend, but I think that I am no longer cool enough for her anymore. I just only get brief glimpses into her wacky hijinks with Fozzy and Mr. Magoo, now. I don't know what happened, but it sure did happen. I know that I am still willing to go to the well and try to get out some meaningful words from her if only she'd let me.

Helen: "Wha? Ooooh still f-f-fuhriend! Sa-stop b-being aaaah beeetch."

Me: "Freakin' sweet!"

Helen: (Gets out a heavy kipper) WHOMP! "Heheheheheh! Mutton head!!!"

Me: "Meatbag! Wait... you're talking now!!!"

On a related note:

Doremifasolatido!

This is how it feels to have regular conversations with people who are my friends and also getting to hear from my regulars in Gruntonia. I think I will be quite busy having fun singing and spinning around till I puke with my homies and beloved Gruntonians. Can I get a hell yeah? Oh, you know I just can't stop the music now. Doe a deer, a female deer indeed!

Post Evaluation

First off, the previous post (Not the "Where's Waldo?" post) I kind of went with a feeling. I don't know why people think that I was directing this at a particular person other than myself. I have realized that most of the time you (I) choose how you (I) feel. I have been frustrated with only one person: Me.

A dolphin swims around acting stupid eating fish, but is smart. Many people react a certain way to what a dolphin does. The dolphin is just being a dolphin, you are allowing yourself to be amused or enchanted by this creature. This is what I was driving at. The persons that have been a part of my life that were of this experience are who they are and I like them for it. They did a good job of being them. Take a bow.

I am just trying to evaluate the emotional choices that I make. No one else is responsible for the way I feel--they do not have that much power over me, unless I allow it. I made this period of my life sound like it was a bad thing. It wasn't; in fact, it was quite the opposite. It is that I can't force an experience to end up exactly how I want it to. I have been known to be one that views drama as something of an amusement. I am not a pure child. I will sometimes choose to involve myself in something for inspiration. It is selfish, but sometimes it fuels me and my creative nature. I find this troubling for my lasting happiness, so I am deconstructing this behavior in order to better deal with it. I'm a little stinker.

Working on shaping my future starts with these kind of choices. The harshness of my post was like burning my crops and letting the ashes fertilize my soil. The trip was good, but I could not force the experience. I was trying, in those quiet moments, to contemplate certain things when I already knew the answers. The confusion and murkiness comes when I choose to dwell on things that really do not need further attention. I just need to get out of a rut and I feel that I chose to ponder dead issues. The notion of love being dead, or non-existent, was my way of burying my notions of love--a subject that I write a lot of songs about . I am now like a child again, ready to take in a new meaning, a new experience, redefine what it is to me, that thing.

Death is a reality that does not disturb me. How and when things die can disturb me. But, death is something that I find fascinating and beautiful in the sense that it is a very special and meaningful part of our existence. There are many forms of death, but all will and do contribute to other forms of life. I am killing off a section of bad crop in order to grow something better to harvest. This field fire is violent and scary at first, but if done with care, will rid myself of unnecessary internal longings and muse. I will have discovery and continue on. However, this time I evolve to the next level of creativity.

I am building something here. You all are allowed to watch me work. I am considerate enough to minimize collateral damage; in fact, my priority is to uplift those that I am in contact with and ensure that my creative process does nothing but enlighten them.

Are you all still part of this fiesta?

Where did Thomas go???

I'm on my dinner break at work and just had to ask, where did Thomas run off to? Did he delete yet another blog? If he did, why? Is he alright?

Something Up There Hates Me #56,700

I was working on my vacation post and something happened where everything on my computer froze. I hadn't saved what I wrote and it is all kaput!

One thing I will say is that this vacation did nothing to clear my mind. I had a great adventure. I did not relax one bit. I thought a lot about my life and certain people. No clarity was achieved, only more complexity. As I looked at the surrounding desolation and numerous dead things, the struggle for life was the only thing that made sense to me. It's the only thing I know. I don't know much about pleasure or love, to be frank. I think that love exists only in one's mind. Where I was, love does not exist. Nature kicks the shit out of it and leaves it bleeding in a dry wash somewhere to die.

This may sound Nihilistic, but I have only had more motivation to stay unattached and without obligations to a companion now more than any other time in my life. I let my mind entertain fairytales for a spell this year of my life and feel a deep frustration over it all. Fantasy left me high and dry. Now, I don't trust fantasy. Fantasy pales in comparison to complex reality. There is nothing more real than that smell of wet death drying out in the desert. Please, no more cosmic bullshit for me, thanks.

I no longer believe in fairy tales. If I happen to decide to carry on with a person who wants in my deal, fine, but they better know that bullshit is not allowed. I know I'm wrong about some of this, but it is the way I feel at the moment. I am right about the things that matter least to me and wrong about the things that I hope for. I feel like such a damn fool for believing. That's life. Suck it up, bitch!

I still have no idea what people see in me and why. Why some people stick around and others treat me like a flavor of the month. I just love being sucked on hard, then tossed out for wild cherry, grape, or whatever shit tastes good at the moment.

All together now: DANCE MONKEY!

I promise a more coherrent and funny post ahead.

I'm Baaaaaaaack!

Just a quickie to let you all know that I made it back in one piece. It was full of adventure. Floods going on. Water and mud everywhere. It was epic!!!

It is good to be back. Thanks for the send offs and concerns. Viva la Grunt!

Stay tuned

I am on vacation. I'm exploring some slot canyons down in Southern Utah. So, while I am gone, take a gander at my vast archive. I recommend this one since it takes place down around where I am going: A Springtime Story.

Y'all take care. If you don't hear from me next week sometime, It's probably a bad thing. Send out the cadaver dogs.

Tuesday's Tips for Teens, featuring "Crazy Old Grunt" from an alternate reality

Yeah, I started playing around with my old Speak and Spell. I made it say watanassayahm three times while microwaving it on high. Don't ask why, just know that I am a genius when it comes to doing stupid things. What happened next was just amazing. I couldn't believe what was happening; like, it was some kind of apparition forming before my eyes. Then I heard a familiar tone of voice, different, but very much like my own. It turned out to be me from another dimension. The first thing out of his mouth was, "Where's the toilet? Don't you know that I am lactose intolerant??? I just had a huge milkshake fer chrissakes!"

I had him around for a short time and asked him to guest blog "Tips for Teens". I don't know how coherent it will be, so I will apologize in advance.

Crazy Old Grunt from an Alternate Reality:

Cigarettes are fascinating. I had a full pack the other day and they were all jabbering away in there all happy and shit. I figured that I shouldn't bother them, but I had the nicci's something fierce and just had to kill one off. I know that my younger alternate reality compadre doesn't smoke, but where I am from it is good for ya. I wanted to tell all you youngsters to smoke, but Young Grunt told me no way. Eh, fugk! But, you should have heard the screaming when I took their friend out and smoked him. Cycle of life, kids. It was a bit quiet in the pack after that. Now they are all against each other trying to survive. It makes me feel powerful.

Soda crackers make you feel better after a bad day, I find. Um, I like to pet my dogs (ten in all) and let them run around while I eat cheese curds and smoke pot and drink some bath tub gin. I live in a trailer, but not in a trailer park. I park my trailer next to my house. The house is where I keep my newspapers. Um, it is an okay life but prolly not something youngsters should aspire to, unless you like to live like a total vagabond! That is cool. Start talking to yourself out loud. That is usually a good way to kick off going totally mental.

Listen to your parents and authority figures. No, I mean there are hidden messages. You have to really listen good to hear them. You will find out that they are indeed conspiring to destroy you and take your stash away. I'm not kidding, dammit!

Never go to a dentist. Those dentists try to put stuff in your teeth that the government uses to keep tabs on ya. Lucille Ball knows what I'm talking about. She's still alive in my world. I'd tap that ass. Hey Grunt, that toilet needs to be cleaned. Where's my fugking milkshake, eh???

Me: "Well, you know that you can't handle your milkshakes, yet you demand to have one three times a day. You are mister lava shits when you get dairy into ya. Ugh! Okay. Okay."

Where was I? Oh, tonsils.....Hockey! Yes, you need to wear skates when making love to....no? Um, condoms??? Yes, if you need to make extra money, keep a pack of condoms around just in case you have a mule gig. It is how I was able to retire. Never in Turkey, though. Seen "Midnight Express"? "Oh, Billy!!!" Eheheheheheh!

Flip off as many people in a day as possible. Every time a person flips someone off a porpoise has an orgasm. You love porpoises, don't you? What in the hell is wrong with you that you don't like the fugking dolphins??? Where's my ciggies?

Ciggy #1: "Oh shit! It's that one guy again. Crazy mofo. Get...get away from me!!!"

Ciggy #2: "Nooooo, take him!"

Ciggy #9: "Would you guys please shut the hell up? I'm trying to sleep! Gosh!!!"

Ciggy #4 "Heeeeeeeelp meeeeeeeeeeee! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

All the other Ciggies: "HAHAHAHAHAHA! Douche!"

(I am so sorry teens, really.)

A conversation about life with the Hillbilly Twins

I came across these two guys while looking for meteorites out in the back country. They (Larry and Tim) were using a half-spent plutonium rod to heat their cabin. Well, we can't all be superhuman, so I declined the offer to step inside and feel the "green heat". I found their little compound to be well organized and decided that there was more going on with these two than their looks. I started up a conversation with them out by their wood pile. We all sat on a log together shooting the shit. I'd like to share that with y'all.

Me (throws in a bit of the hillspeak): "Well, you two sure look fit. What'd y'all do for getting on top of that?"

Tim: "Ya see, there are things that are left untouched by the man. What ya have that is untouched is still fresh from the God's hands. Lord of Hosts, mercy me tenfold!"

Larry: "Yasum boy, ya listen now. Y'all partook of second hand goods what's gone thru the middle of man. We sup right from the teat of God's dairy cow. Whaddya s'pect with all y'all meddlin' with the nature?"

Me: "So, if I understood you two, the reason for your abilities to survive living in the same room with a hot plutonium rod is that God is serving you breakfast and supper. Right?"

Larry: "Some'd say yes, but I's say hell yeah!"

Tim: "The God, the Holy Ghost, and most of all the Jesus Christ over easy, toast with jam and butter!"

Larry: "Don' forget coffee."

Tim: "Well, that's from that Juan fella. He's Catholic, but I figures he's a'ight."

Me: "Changing the subject now, how much proper schooling have you two had? If not at a public or private school, then what?"

Tim: "Well, our nanny Jean raised us proper and clever enough. I mean, we's got a handle on where we's living better than any man."

Larry: "I 'member what ol' Jean tol' us about how shit rolls down hill and that's the reason we's all still keepin' ourselves upwind an' high like."

Me: "One of my favorite musicians, Captain Beefheart, only went to half a day of Kindergarten but was considered a child prodigy. At 13, he was offered a scholarship to study sculpture in Italy. One of the things that he has said is something that I try to live by, 'If you want to be a different fish you gotta jump outta the school.' What do you two think of that?"

Tim: "Now there's a bit o' sumpin' that ya can hang yer hat and yer coat on."

Larry: "Clever an' true. Jean's second man was quite the wise feller. He was half Chinaman and the rest o' him was pure Scotch Irish with a touch of Melungian in him."

Tim: "Yeah, he had the shovel teeth an' all."

Larry: "Now, I'm the one talkin' here. He was one o' them railroad worker/tent city whore bastards. He had on him the most innerestin' talking ways. Foreign, but no one's get him on the button."

Me: "What did he go by?"

Larry: "Lee MacConner, but we all called him 'Colonel Y'all-a-naw', 'cause he done naw jus' 'bout everthin'. He says to me one night, 'Man who go to bed with itchy bum wake up with stinky finger' and then hits me o'er the bucket with a trout. He then says, 'That there's a rainbow's end of knowing, son'."

Me: "That's actually kind of gross. What did he mean by that?"

Tim: "I gots this'un. He means that y'all gotta take care of things before ya rest, 'cause if ya don't ya'll will wake up with that awful unfinished business sharing bunks with yer boogers."

Me: "That is very wise indeed."

TIGF! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Trying to find a reason for gay

Yeah, wouldn't it be hilarious if you could do this and find out. But, isn't this what people try and do? Can't people accept that some people are and that is the end of the story. I understand the scientific community and their stake in it, but when people start looking for origins, there are some that either want to obscure the facts, or spin them in their favor. Duh! Yeah, we all know this. Big Deal. I just think it is incredibly gay that people will take this info to "cure" people. There is no cure, unless you want to something totally diabolical and kill all gays. I wonder how often such horrible notions run through the minds of men.

If you have beliefs that being gay is wrong, then that is fine. I just think that the expectations some believers have are unrealistic. I think a person can suppress their sexuality enough to conform to some standard, but it will be an unrelenting challenge. If you are gay and want to live in a way that does not allow you to express your true sexuality, fine. I can respect that. If you are not gay, but think that gays are totally changeable and they only need pray hard enough, time to step out of the prayer circle and back into reality. I think there is more to it than that, but some people really want to believe that is all there is to it.

I can remember church folk coming to my house and telling my dad all he needed to do to overcome his mental illness was to pray, repent, or read the bible more. I remember as a kid witnessing a church leader coming into my house and berating my ill father in front of all of us for being a fat loser and that all would change if he chose a righteous life (I have since been filled with quiet rage for such men).

My dad is about the most honest and moral man I know. He has faults, weaknesses, and his illnesses, but did his best considering. There was no amount of religion that was going to cure him. I think in the right application it can be a big help, though. But, my point is that ignorance has led, and still leads, to the suffering of many. Am I gay? No. Do I know someone who is? I do, and his "righteous" family has done a good job of letting him rot away. He has HIV and you'd think that they'd try to take care of him. But the title of "gay son" is too much for them to handle. It saddens me.

Really, if there were a cut and dry test for gayness, people would abuse it. If they happen to come out with one, though, it should look exactly like the one depicted in this Addams Family pic.

That'll be the day...

I have been flirting with the notion of escaping this little island. Next week I will be in the desert, so I do get to be away for a bit. I think I heard something pop inside my writing gland. I have totally let people down on the whole Wooderson saga. My serial blogs have died. Somehow this one keeps on chugging along. But, I am having some serious internal troubles that only I can overcome. We all get those moments in life. I'm not going to be a bitch about it, just take it like a man and stick it out.

I've been through these times plenty, so I know the score and what to expect. I think my "popularity" will suffer some. I am going to need your understanding with what I will have to write about in order to get myself in the groove again.

I once tried to check my own groceries out. It didn't quite work out like it was supposed to. Normally, you wait in that line for the checker to give you the bill. Some people hit that express lane. Since I was unsuccessful at checking my own, I have decided to load up as many carts as I can carry, and find the longest line. In fact, you may find me at the magazine rack looking at MAD magazine and the latest Mojo. Hanging out meeting people in the produce section is also good. You can even get free samples of Jimmy Dean sausages.

Just enjoy the shopping experience while you can, because I hear that parking lot can be hell.

I couldn't resist it. I am now addicted to You Tube: Some bits from Father Ted

Blogger ate my post. I am tired. Here are some clips from "Father Ted", one of my favorite shows of all time. Enjoy!

I got tagged and now my innocence is gone

Please, hold me. I don't know how to go on. Logo, being a savvy woman of the world, got into my mind and screwed with it. Now I am doing her bidding. Oh, whoa is me! Now I have to do seven songs.

The Posies, "Solar Sister". Why? Because I love, LUV, this group. This song is off of "Frosting Off The Beater" and it hasn't suffered the same fate as those other Seattle's bands by sounding dated. Remember kiddies, this song is now thirteen years old!



Next!

Iron Maiden "Wrathchild". Why? Because I am one, son!


MC5 "Kick Out the Jams". Why? Because these guys were a true menace to society, and ate hippies for lunch. Not to mention fierce as hell!



Next!

The New York Dolls, "Looking for a Kiss". Why? Because, I need a fix and a kiss, baby. Oooooh, so trashy!


Next!

More glam rock from the MENSA pop masters, Sparks! "B.C.". Why? Because, the keyboardist, Russell Mael, looks like Hitler and the lead singer, Ron Mael, had to have spawned Gwen Stephani and that dude from Hot Hot Heat. This one is fun! Yes, they are brothers, and they both were models growing up in LA. No wonder they are so weird!


Next!

The Human League, "Don't you want me?" What can I say? I have a total weakness for this song. I love the video as well. Classic 80's cheese!


And Finally!!!

Kevin Rowland's Dexy and the Midnight Runners, "Geno". Why? Because this song is guaranteed to get your ass shaking! Plus, this was before they all started playing violins and looking like hobos and shit. Plus, he kind of sounds like he's related to that Sparks dude, Ron Mael.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): This one was too easy

Why??? Because my back hurts like hell and I need to lay down. I swear I have been treated to some Freaky Friday shit and have been transferred into a 90-year-old body. I had to work in the bucket today, as well. Being forty feet off the ground trying to fix stuff is hard when your back starts spazzing out. I just said the hell with it and went home. I don't need that kind of excitement.

On the plus side, I found out why Clyde kept failing the emissions test. I was conversing with the emissions tech guy about possible reasons and I noticed some arcing coming from a spark plug wire. Well, this guy was dumb enough to go and touch it while my truck was running and got some sweet electric lovin' from the coil. Remember kids, volts don't kill you, amps do. This guy got 50,000 volts, and his convulsions, plus having an eerie likeness of Andy Richter, just made me laugh heartily. Is this wrong? Well, he is okay, and now I can fix the problem and be legal once again. YAY! But having to get under the hood while I'm hurting is not going to be fun at all.

Once again, I don't need this kind of excitement.

One little triumph of the day: I told my boss (the male one--too many bosses have I) to cram something into his pie hole. He looked at me and proceeded to shut the fugk up. It helps to physically intimidate your superiors, I find. I had total justification. We were having coconut cream pie:P

Spark

This is how I imagine it: The Beginning. I did take this picture, btw. It is natural gas being ignited inside a massive boiler. It took me a few firing cycles to time it just right. It was hard the first few times, because when this thing comes on it makes a bit of a boom. I kept flinching and screwing it up, but finally got it.

This is also the thing that I see when I rub my eyes too hard, only it's red when I do that. The center has a larger rabbit's hole, too. That is deep if you think about it long enough. Oh yeah, and you get a pair of them as well. Anybody else have that happen? You can still see them, even after you open your eyes. I love doing that to myself.

I can't help but think about the beginning, whenever I see any spark and ignition. Are we aware enough to make that call? How confident are we, really? I'm talking science and religion, here. I don't want to get into that debate. I just want to picture it in my mind: The Big Bang. I want to have my own Big Bang and have a genesis of sorts. You can read into that what you will, but think of how much you can read into and you'll see just how amazing and vast a fantasy that is. What kind of Eden would I have? Who would be my Eve? Who would tempt me ever so seductively?

That fruit....I hear it is to die for.

A man needs an ambassador to coach

Harold here is making a statement. His mother made him get rid of his old hearse and bought him a brand new (at the time) Jaguar. Harold just wasn't having it, so he fired up his hot wrench and started to coach it Goth style, 'cause that's how he rolls, see? This move did prove to get him some choice feline, if you get my aquatic motation. Now all the fools on the block say, "Damn, boy! Yo whip is all coached out y'all. Who's the fine woman of maturity in dere witchu?" You know you just waved your hands in the air with an attitude of ease and joyous exuberance. Just go with it.

So, this leads me to this:
Yeah, I have Clyde as my personal ambassador to all things that kick ass. I just got done getting out of a bog and some snow drifts (July 2006). Yeah, I know I look like a total hick. Don't be hating! I was on a fishing trip, so it's appropriate attire for the occasion.

This truck turns 29 this November. He was manufactured in November 1977, and is a 1978 K20 Heavy Duty 4x4. I could go into all the details ad nauseum, but I will consider my vast female readership and spare you the gushing. I bought him from my clueless brother in law, who bought it from the original owner: an old man who only put 70k on the odometer. I got it with 78k for 1.2k. It was all sorts of messed up though, body wise, and the mechanics were in need of attention. I welded in new floorboards, rocker panels, cab corners; replaced the front clip and driver's side door. I must admit that I was bitten by that junk yard dog.

I did get Clyde all gussied up and tried out a pretty trick galvanizing process on the bare metal with molten zinc and compressed air, before paint was shot. That was six years ago. Only the untreated areas are starting to blister. Pretty impressive, considering how much salt is used on the roads here in the Winter. The old 350 is getting tired now and I'm looking into getting a stroked 415-427 ci. small block, in order to get some serious power in a lightweight, fuel efficient package. I've got a kid that I helped out, while his dad up and left them, who is now an ASE certified mechanic (the kid), that is willing to give me the hook up. He was giving me ideas on direct port fuel injection retrofits, how to set it up for ethanol, and said he could do the programming for me. I see what I want and it is only just a matter of this: $$$.

Why not buy a new truck? Well, I love all trucks, to tell you the truth. It's just that Clyde and I have been to so many places--not to mention that it is just plain erotic fun to take a well endowed woman for a ride in him, bouncy, bouncy! Seriously, just look at this pic:
This pic was made possible because of Clyde. That trail had an abandoned Explorer and only some ATV riders were braving the muddy clay. We are talking seven miles of mud, snow drifts, hills, and deep ruts. Oh, and don't forget the deep water crossings--those are the best! All of this, so I could make a dirty snowman on top of a crest at 8,000+ feet above sea level. Just how gnarly were the ruts? Well, one of my tires is now a white wall and I hit a log that put a nice dent in my gas tank. To think that this really is just medium level wheeling gives you an idea of how many people really don't need such vehicles, because they never actually put them through the paces. I must stress that this kind of use of a vehicle sometimes results in carnage, to you and your ride, so be careful.

So, anybody wanna hop in Clyde with me? I'm thinking of having a snowball fight. I think most of you can all cram in the bed, but respect others' need for privacy: Sexy touching is only allowed if you sing the Rice a Roni jingle while holding your tongue. Try it; it's fun!

Okay, I'm tired. Nanight!

Tuesday's Tips for Teens: Featuring Bob's "Big Boy's" dietary advice

Hello there teens. I have been away from some locations for a long time. Seems like I give out a bad image, but there is nothing wrong with being big boned. In fact, it can be adorable. Here are my recommendations for getting that sexy robust look.

1. Use pig fat as toothpaste. It smells like pig fat, and tastes great too! Who could resist that? Do I make you wet?
2. Put cheese slices in your underwear for fun. How does this help? Who cares! Yuhyee-yah!!!
3. Double cream milkshakes between meals, throughout the night, and on your morning cereal. It is fuktastique!
4. Get your mother to deep fry everything and cover it in mayonnaise and peanut butter. This is a great way to kill off pops and get his car!
5. Say a little prayer to God, asking him to give you that rolly polly holly butternut goodness. See, God has a soft spot in his vengeful heart for chubby kids. Remember, Jesus once said, "Suffer the little children, and give the fat ones more ice cream!"
6. Steak sandwich smoothies with whipped custard and potato skins. Can you feel your heart straining? That's a good sign. Keep going!
7. Take a whole loaf of bread and fill it with hard boiled eggs, giblets, bacon, and ranch dressing. Fry it, and then cover it in maple syrup. You will start to see little owls and cats talking to each other about pigs and shit. Take a hit off the old bong tree when you're done. It will help you start the cycle all over again.
8. Sausage casings. You know, people don't know just how good the casings can be. I like to make peanut butter and jelly sausages too. I am in league with Lucifer! Bwahahahahahahaha!!!
9. Throat exercises. You can stuff more sausage into your mouth this way. What?
10. Lard 'n' Cheddar. You can spread the lard on the brick of cheese, stuff the brick of cheese with the lard, or take the whole wheel and deep fry it. Me, I just like to freebase it. Oh yeah, cheddar flavored bubblegum. That's one from our friend Grunt. That invention almost got him some sweet, sweet ass....In fact, he had to be put in traction for months from trying to fly off of his roof like Superman, he got so excited at the prospect. He was all, "Hey Mr. Big Boy, check this shit out. I'm about two hours away from flying onto a landing strip 'o' goodtimes--aw hell yee-yah. Wheeeeeeee, splat!" Heh-heh, when will he ever learn? Silly boy. Like the Trix Rabbit, he is. Like Jackie Mason, I talk!

(Brought to you in fast food orange!)

Tonight's Mood

Is the title of this painting...

No, it isn't "Tonight's Mood". Keep guessing. It's one of Salvador Dali's.

Some more randomness.

I have been thinking a lot about a childhood TV friend of mine: Casper the Friendly Ghost. How did he die? I have got it in my head that he had no friends as a kid, and was really sad about it. He went to a wishing well one day and tried to wish that he could have a friend. Instead of having his wish come true he accidentally fell in and died.

He, in fact, was cursed. Think about it. He has had to roam the earth, dead, looking for companionship. At the end of each episode he makes a friend only to find himself friendless in the next episode. He is still depressed, but can't kill himself because he's already dead. How cruel of an afterlife is that? I can't think of a more tragic existence. But he was always willing to keep on trying and getting hurt, just to have one more shot of finding someone to be his friend.

I dug out my very first guitar. It is an old Yamaha classical with a solid spruce top and rosewood back, neck, fret board, and sides. A pretty nice old guitar, getting on to about 26 years. I am the third owner and played the hell out of the thing in the late eighties--a super young kid with visions of becoming the next Jimmy Page or Eddie Van Halen. Yeah, I didn't quite develop those abilities. I am good, real good, though. I just am not that kind of player. I am not a juke box. I will hardly play anything by anyone else. I don't see the point. I didn't get into guitar playing to play other people's music. I got into it to make my own, and I do it well.

Some of you already know this, and I am working hard on my music once more. I see my years and know that any window that is left is open but a crack. I have been on a tear lately--almost mad. These songs have been coming out of thin air, seemingly, and someone here, someone that I just recently started communication with, has encouraged me to see a music publisher. I respect her opinion and am on that journey. To be honest, I have no idea what I am doing. Wish me luck.

I'm, at the moment, supposed to be compiling my demos for someone and as soon as I got that underway the transmissions came: Write this song, NOW!!! Oh God, thanks. I am honored for this gift, but people are depending on me to....Write this song now, OR ELSE!!! Oh, screw it. Okay, I am not getting dressed and am now holding my guitar, what? *Transmission* Holy crap! This is amazing stuff. My voice is literally dripping out onto my strings.

I can see now why certain things are the way they are in my life. I am subject to something that demands my attention. Everything that I think I can have, or want to have, slips away from me and it seems to be some cruel formula for inspiration. Hey, whatever, so long as I get to enjoy the fruits of my labor someday.

Speaking of inspiration, I have tried a time or two to express this magical feeling to those who inspire me. It usually just weirds the heck out of them and I should know better by now just how overwhelming some statements of such candid sincerity can be. Yeah, I should know better by now, but it nearly kills me to stay mute. So, bollocks to being cool. I fly my dork flag high and proud. I'd rather be honest than look good in insincerity and pretense. This will probably ensure my life dancing outside the velvet rope, but at least I can still dance. I'd much rather dance in the alley, or in the streets in bare feet. Isn't the best club whatever isn't happening inside a funhouse of vapid souls? I dig life.

Back to what I was thinking of before, I often wonder if it gets lost on them in time, my impression. Do I fade away just like everyone else? I'd like to think I'm different, but that is a pretty arrogant way of seeing oneself. Although arrogant, it might be what motivates me, so I won't mess with it. If I am forgotten, then I must have been replaced by something good, I hope. It would make me feel better to know that what is left of me has become part of their collage of happiness. Although somewhat lost, I am still there somewhere.

See, I was going through my voice mail the other day. I don't get many calls, but I did have someone call me while I was unable to answer and they left a voice message. Well, my voice mail was making me listen to messages that I had not erased yet. I had a real hard time erasing one because I feel like it might be the last time I will hear that voice that way ever again. It really troubled me to erase this. I forgot it was there and I had to listen to it about three times before I thought: Wouldn't it be much better to just have the messages fade a bit, and not leave you entirely?

Why can't some messages be like my thoughts and feelings? But, I needed to make room, and erased it. I admit that I felt sad afterward. Is this normal? Sheesh, I don't even want to know anymore. But then again, my thoughts and feelings don't fade away much, especially when it comes to those people who inspire me. I am left with a cacophony of longing and muse.

Again: Do I fade away just like everyone else?

Some stuff that gets stuck in my noggin, cloggin up my stream

I took shit from a mountain grill and turned it into gold. The coffee was bitter, the buns were day old. I watched some ducks destroy a koi fish. They couldn't figure what to do with it, 'cept gum it to death. The waitress' ring left green and high-lighted her tangerine hair.

American flag is what, exactly? That's what they call it, but it ain't American now, is it? North American? South American? Central American? American American? Ah, The Unitied States of America. So, there is a more united collective than that of the rest of the Americas? Is this something that is constantly audited? I mean, what if we ain't so united: Do we still get to keep the name and the gosh darn nifty flag? If we don't, who's gonna get to have the job of taking the old ones back? "Sorry mam, the country don't have no team spirit no more. Give me the damn flag back or I's gonna have ta arrest ya's."

Wow, I was in the "Wounded Goose" on assignment to gander, when all of a sudden I see this: The Speech Hut. I turn to my co-pilot and says, "Is that like the Pizza Hut....I wonder how good their delivery is?"

He looks at me, his captain, and replies, "I don't get it". I then continue on driving the Goose down the road, wondering when I'll get to be with my own kind.

A conversation between Socrates and Plato (female), whilst The Grunt eavesdrops:

Plato: "I need a damn calculator. Where's one I can use?"

Socrates: "Here's one. It's for adding up stuff. You use the big button for adding up stuff."

Plato (a bit mystified and disbelieving): "Well, I'm going to use it to multiply."

Socrates (with total conviction): "You're not supposed to multiply. My momma says not to multiply, just add. That's what the big button does."

Plato (sensing something here is very wrong): "Um, yeah. You ever go to school?"

Socrates (proudly): "Yeah, I graduated from high school in 1985. I was the football team manager. My momma says you are supposed to add those up, because when you multiply it comes out all different."

Plato (laughing): "Did you ever stop to think that your momma might be wrong?"

Socrates (defiantly gallant): "No."

Plato (defiantly doesn't give a shit about what momma says): "Well, I'm going to multiply mine."

Socrates (with latent astonishment): "I told you, you can't do that....wait, you can multiply?"

Plato (with calm from the storm of her giggling): "Yes, I do it all the time."

Socrates (thinks he's got it figured out again): "But, when you multiply 2 and 3 it comes out different than when you add them. You are only supposed to add is what my momma says."

Plato (with a tenative grasp on her manners and sanity): "Well, I think your momma tells only you to not multiply because you are too stupid to do anything other than add. People multiply all the time."

Grunt (making his entrance): "What in the hell are you dumb motha huckabee's arguing about now? Have you seen your boss around?"

Socrates: "She's out of town."

Plato (swooning): "Hey."

Grunt: "Socrates, your mother is out in the parking lot looking for you. Says she's got your jacket."

Socrates (exitedly): "I'm gonna go and get my momma to explain this stuff to you. She took care of our money when I did the carpet cleaning business."

Plato (looking from me to Socrates): "Whatever, just give me the calculator."

Grunt (growing impatient): "Do you guys know anything about a burnt-out ballast?"

Plato and Socrates: "?"

Grunt (with a slight, joking, yet dismissive tone): "Okay. See you later, meatbags."

Plato and Socrates (feeling the melancholy, seeing that the highlight of their day is almost over): "Bye."

Grunt (dipping his head back into the office doorway): "Oh, Socrates..."

Socrates: "Yeah?"

Grunt (knows better not to pick on him): "You know what? Your momma and pops made you an addition to their family through multiplication. What'd you think of that, superfriend?"

Socrates: "I don't get it."

Grunt (thinking/sighing): When will I get to be with my own kind?

TIGF!!!(That's Incredibly Gay Friday): The Two Extremes of Divine!

Yeah, first you have the "Divine One". I'm thinking that he could get any chick he wanted, but whoever painted this had a serious hard on. It's okay, as long as it is a hard on for Jesus, I'm sure it will get you big points in heaven. Naw, me and "J" are pals. I just like to give him grief for hiding behind so many sickly images for a couple of thousand of years. Who would have thought that he was such a freakin' stud muffin? I want to pick up chicks with this guy and do the walking on stuff that you aren't supposed to be able to walk on stuff. I hear that impresses the ladies.

The other "Divine", well, is just darn fun to watch:

Have you seen "Pink Flamingos"? Well you ain't seen nothing yet if you haven't seen this movie. It stars Divine. Very TIGF. It was directed by this guy:

Still have no idea? Well, he is the king of Trash Cinema. If you can't handle it, then don't watch it. It isn't porn... it is trash! It is sooooo TIGF!!!

Grunt Confidential: Confessions of an anonymous toilet librarian

Okay, I know you are wondering what in the hell I am up to now. Well, I am taking a true life event of an individual (we'll call him Frank) that involves the activity of taking books into bathrooms. We are not talking Seinfeld, either. I will take the liberty of adapting Frank's story so that it will not suck. Frank is too dull to tell a good story....yeah, Frank--heh, heh.

So, I was on break one day and decided to take a look at the new books that they are offering from the book thingy (he can't remember). Well, after I got looking through most of them, I settled on Rachel Ray's "30 Minute Meals" and decided to take her into the bathroom for some "me" time. We have this nice private restroom right by the breakroom. It is totally noise maker friendly, in that it doesn't tattle on ya! So, I go into this bathroom, sit down, and take a sizable bowel movement--a combo--and get to work on a 30-minute something or other. Heh, more like a one minute something or other.

I had the book in one hand and the other hand was busy grilling something. Olive oil is the shiznit! Anyhoo, I get cooking and I'm just about to flip the burgers, so I stand up to take aim, set the book on the top of the paper dispenser, and dinner is served. I went to wipe a bit of grease off the spatula with some toilet paper and I knocked the damn book off the dispenser. Guess where this book went? Yep! Right into the the coals. Oh God, why hast thou forsaken me? I just had one question for myself: What in the hell do I do now? I immediately started to laugh maniacally at the stewed cookbook, toilet paper greens, and fecal dressing, like I was either going to die immediately, or have all my doings paraded about the water coolers throughout the complex.

See, this book was for display purposes only. You fill out an order form and they mail you the book(s). Shit, this was awkward. So, Rachel Ray is now swimming with the tadpoles: glug-glug! The fugk this had to happen to me for? I'm a good boy. I help old ladies, er, old hot ones....Um, well hot ladies cross the road. That's still helping, for chrissakes! Anyway, I decided that the only thing left to do was spit, bleed, and cry into the melting pot of my own bodily fluids. Hey, I figured that since I was on a roll already, I might as well finish the job.

After much time had passed, and constant panicked laughing, I came to the conclusion that a fishing expedition was in order. I contemplated many things, like mugging the janitor, getting his keys to open his closet, get the big rubber gloves, and bingo! No, the janitor would just kick my puny ass. Fugk! Ah, I could just go in quickly and throw the book into the sink. Yeah! Believe it or not, I did not think to flush the toilet first. Double fugk!!!

I get the book from point A to point B with no cockups. Oh lord on rye, I caught a break. This dripping mess still looked salvageable. Naw, I can't...I thought...This is just plain wrong, not to mention WRONG-WRONG-WRONG! God, what am I going to do? I quickly devised a plan using an old cigar tube, some twine, and some vinegar mixed with baking soda. YAY! Uh, didn't happen that way, I'm afraid. No, it went more like this, in form of a song: Oh fuggity fugk, a fugk-fugk-fugk...what am I to dooooooo??? (There was a dance involved as well) I looked all around me, just like my friend McGyver would do (thanks Grunty/Bubba). What did I find? HAIRDRYER and LYSOL!!! Yes, there was a freakin' hair dryer under the sink in the cabinet. The Lysol was up on a shelf.

I checked the cover for skid marks. None! I then did the smell test, phew! I guess drinking all that water had paid off: my urine was pretty clear. I then had to check for any amphibious creatures...eh, a little on her blouse. Figures. I wiped the jacket down the best I could. Wow, I thought, what a freakin' well made book. See, Rachel Ray doesn't lend her name out to just any old crap publisher. No, she is first class all the way. I got every page wiped and disinfected with the Lysol, dried it out well with the dryer on low heat, and then had to plot my non-chalant entrance back to the breakroom. What I didn't expect was the pages curling up, or how to explain my twenty-minute bowel movement to my co-workers. Eh, fugk it. You just walk out there and act like nothing happened. But, you aren't even supposed to take books into the bathroom--haven't you learned anything from watching Seinfeld? I was sooooo screwed.

I cleaned up myself and took a bunch of paper towels to wrap up the book. After the book was sufficiently wrapped, I tucked it under my shirt, down my back waist line...yeah, the small of my back, but that sounds so gay, sheesh. Ok, I felt secure enough to go out and make for the breakroom.

Upon entering the breakroom, I was greeted by Marilyn from accounting: Just wave hi and move on. Sheeeewhooooo! She passed right on by, leaving me all to myself in the breakroom. I immediately placed the book back on the table, flat, and put a heavy book on top of this one so as to keep the pages from warping and curling up. Clever me...clever me. Then I started to laugh like mad again. Well, I pretty much laughed like an idiot throughout the rest of the day and had everyone wondering what in the hell was wrong with me.

I had no idea that I'd have a moral crisis after the perfect crime.

Me: Well, maybe I should see if I can buy the display book and then I can throw it away. I couldn't throw it away before, because that would be stealing. But, if I buy the book, I can do whatever with it. I mean, someone is going to notice that it ain't right. What if I get busted? Can they fire me? Would I even want to continue working here if they all found out? How in the hell do explain this to the book lady? Do they call in CSI for this stuff? Oh god, I'm so dead!

This was starting to get all Poe's "Tell Tale Heart" on me.

I figured out what to do: I will put the right amount of cash in the book, with a printed note explaining that the book was not fit for sale or display, due to an "accident". This way I didn't run the chance of someone seeing me cart this book off again.

All together now: I am a fugking genius!!!

The book lady came, took her books, and I am as they say, pretty damn chuffed. One last thing: I will never take another book that I do not own into a restroom ever again. A magazine, sure, but not a book.

Rachel, call me. Baby, it was guud!

The Cyclist

She rode for an amateur women's mountain bike team. She even had a spread, a modest one, in a sexy team calendar. I was driving down the road today and caught a glimpse of her. It has been two years since I said goodbye. Yeah, I was only one of the many to see her go to another job, but she was nice, a friend to me when I wasn't feeling very attractive. It meant a lot to me.

She now rides for a true professional team. I'm sure she's made up with her ex-fiance and is now married. She wasn't leggy, even for a cyclist. Pretty damn trim. Probably one of the best fit women I've ever seen. She always looked like a woman no matter how hard she was training. She kept her light brown hair long, which I like: sometimes up in a sexy twist, or Indian braids. She rode GT's. That is pretty damn sexy.

I remember telling me about her childhood racing horses in steeple chase events in Illinois. She won a championship at 14. Damn, she was a competitor. Still is, I guess. I looked up her finishing results, after I had my little blast from the past today. Mostly top tens in the first part of the season, but lately has had some DNF's and places in the 30s and 40s.

I don't know where to start. I met her when I was a total fat fuck--my words, my explanation....don't get offended. Before that came to pass, I was that guy who hiked it, biked it, skied it either downhill or cross-country. I was still a big boy, but a trim healthy one. Somewhere along the way of having setbacks, family trials, watching my friends get married and move on to successful careers, I got lost...and morbidly destitute in spirit. I don't think I can really explain the details here, or to anyone, really. I will say that, in the end, I restored my integrity and my sense of morality. I didn't cross any lines that couldn't be uncrossed. I think that I have pretty much left out the last sixish years to those that I have talked to here. I just make like I stopped at 2000 and started back up at late 2005--that was that. If I can't be honest, then I just won't talk.

I finished school, but was hell-bent on exploding in that vacuum of isolation and prison of self destructive behavior. I thought that going back into religion would fix me and it seemed to only set me in strange patterns of "good/bad" cycles. I immersed myself in learning electronic theory. I was buying bulk obsolete semiconductors for awhile and trying to resell them on Ebay in smaller lots for a higher price. I just ended up walling myself in with creation after creation. I ate and ate, didn't go out much. I ballooned to 260 pounds. I was a fat fucking mess of a man. I shut myself off from friends. It was horrible.

I should have sought help, but I didn't. I was a psychology graduate (B.S.), had taken my GRE and made good scores. I applied for graduate programs and got to a final interview at one school. It was in that interview that my faith in psychologists and psychology was shot to hell for a time. I was told by this professor that she knew my "type", she was trained to see this--like it was a bad thing--all while I was making this Hail Mary pass for my life. I was right in the middle of destroying myself and took a chance to make an improvement. This lady never sought to help, only to make my fault shine like a fucking chromed lump of shit. I called her a stuffed shirt and that pretty much blew that interview. Hey, at least I was an alternate for a few months. Besides, they picked only five out of 160. I should've given myself more credit for making it as far as I did, considering. I didn't, however.

I thought that whatever "type" I was, I wasn't going to let anyone touch me. If they were going to ridicule me, which is what I thought, I would either just quit life or fix myself. So, I started to fix myself.

My first attempts were pretty undisciplined. I just tried the self analyzing. Too subjective, you can't make a proper diagnoses this way, not what's going on in your head. I coasted for a year. That is when I was called on some jobs that took me to the occupational therapy suite. It was there that I met a pretty girl. Yeah, her, the cyclist. She was the type of girl that I would see on the trails when I was that young buck rider. I felt self conscious and ashamed at first around her. I don't know why. I guess I felt like she'd never see that former "me" that would have had so much in common with her. I was thinking that she would pretty much laugh me off, or think I was a creep if I started talking shop--noticing all the bike paraphenalia--like I just picked up on whatever just to bug a cute girl. I mean, would she believe this fat fuck? Yeah, it turns out she did, and she was impressed with my little stories of certain trails and trips. Hell, she even took some of my trail advice. I don't think she ever knew how much this all meant to me. I felt like a man again, and more importantly, human.

I was always a bit shy. Having to look at myself all distorted, distended, and bloated, I couldn't quite muster up enough to ask her out. I did get to flirt again. I'll tell you, that was nice. She was involved, anyway, but I couldn't help but hope. I always made comments on her hair, and she would change it up for me so I could see what she looked like in different styles. When her team's calendar came out, I got one. Man, she photographed well. I was lust struck. I was also heart broken when she quit to pursue her pro mountain bike career, taking part-time work in that locale.

Whatever the case, I was different after meeting her. No steamy sex, or make out sessions, but I just felt valued again. As part of the self therapy I came up with, I made some cards with specific statements on each one. I have read these to myself each morning and night since about that time. I won't go into what the cards say, but I have been on the steady up and up since. No more of those dreaded "rope flashes".

Since blogging, I have met some very special people. I have had some ups, downs, heartaches, and lessons learned, but these people have helped me out big time, too. They have been those people that give out Gatorade at certain points of a marathon. This particular marathon is not over, but their Gatorade to me came at the right time, just as Jennifer's did. Oh yeah, that's her name.

I don't seem to be able to own much of any of these friends. I have to cherish what I have and just let it be. That is the hardest part for me because I never forget or completely let go of people. It seems easy for them to do so and I admire that--I wish I were more capable and could move on easier. I'm getting better at it, I suppose.

Back to today: So, I decided to not be creepy and try to pull over and stop Jenny while she was training. I didn't even know if she would recognize me, now that I am trim. I wonder what she would have thought? I guess I won't know. Hell, I don't even know what she was doing down here in the first place. Maybe I'll see her around. I'm getting my bike tuned and ready.

(Note: I don't recommend anybody take the course that I chose to take care of my issues. Just do yourself a favor and get counseling. As for me, I guess I am both smart, blessed, and lucky to have this thing work for me--I am an exception.)

Tuesday's Tips for Teens: Brought to you by John the Evil Janitor

Profile:
John the Evil Janitor is a creation of Seth Michael Forman, a painting from his "American Histories: Life in Exile". As you can see, John the Evil Janitor is engaged in a little Duncan Yo-Yo with a white mouse that he copped from Miss Jenkins' science class. At the moment he is getting the mouse to "walk the dog" and will try to follow with a "shoot the moon". While he is entertaining us with his little show, he has agreed to give us some free-form advice on adolescence. Uh, I hope.

John here, and I don't need anybody getting up to goes to the bathrooms. Where yous are is just the a-the-okay. Just never no minds the neighbor with their judging eyes. Life: yous gotta just piss where yous are and leave it for someone elses to clean ups. That's what they teach yas kids. No ones knows hows to clean up there own damn messes. Hows the dickens yous going to get away with evil doings if yo cleaning skills ain't up to snuff? Hell, yous gotta get dirty.

Sure as that awful smell comes with every dead body, you better get on top of that...not that I know anythings about no dead bodies. Naw, sometimes a kid comes at yous in lunch and takes yous for a fool by tripping yous in front of the cheerleaders. This is time for yous to plan yo evil back at em. So, yous make a mess when theys brakes go out down the fifths street intersection. Yous forgot to cleans up those damn prints. Foolish fool, yous! Wipe those prints off.

They is not the only ways not to get caught: Yous got to eliminates the possibilities! Damn, see now, teens, we's got witnesses and ones even with eyes. Be carefuls now. Do this with those smart muscles and no clean ups be needed a-tall.

Waits there a sec, I gotta rock the baby for yous....Hey, Micey, you stop damn squeaks in the middle bit. I can tells yous a nervous now. Pow! Sees that there? If yous do that trick right, the mouse goes ta sleep. Well, he there just asleepin'. I put hims in my pocket. Snug and no's moving now, yous hear me? Good Micey!

Yous all see my eyes o' concentratin'? Hey, theys what yous gotta have if yous gotta get those "eyes" blinded, hear? Yous gotta see thems before theys a sees you. If they done spy yous, that's when yous gotta cleans up. I am the masters of subtlety in my threats. Yous say to them, "The hell you want with knowledge when yous got brains on the flo?" I'm usually holding somes kine of heavy tools when I says that to Mr. Kowolski. I knows he listens 'cause he ain't yets gone and tolds Principal Goldberg about my wank tank. He neithers pay no minds when he's caught me filling up Miss Jenkin's Volvo with the high test, if yous got my drifts. That's what's known as self cleaning. You put the fears in them and no one's gonna do yous in the ass. Man, theys no idea what you up to when you dangle Micey from a string. They alls think I crazy. I get aways with tons o' shit.

Peoples think yous crazy, but yous clean. What theys do? Nothings. I am wheres I am today because I shoots the moon with Micey, and I's clean. I knows because I's done made sure myself. Now watch me takes Micey for the triple loops stall and walks. Micey? Yous still asleep?

This "cornfed boy" shot is for you (you know who you are).

I knew you always wanted to know what I looked like in overalls. I had to perform some surgery on Clyde and I bust out the redneck gear when I work on my pickup truck--yeah, I like to do things in theme. I took the opportunity to take a shot of what I don't usually go around looking like. I am preemptively flipping anyone off that makes any hillbilly cracks at my expense. I didn't say you couldn't make any. I encourage the roasting! I just have to flip people off at least once a day, or I feel that my estate in heaven is not secure.

Please note the size of my shoulders, forearms, and hands. I really don't know how I am perceived in bloggerland, but in real life I seem to be perceived as that one dude in "Sixteen Candles" that got super pissed when some geeks knocked over his beer can pyramid. It really dumbfounds people when they find out that I am a smart, witty man who would rather write songs and stories than fuck shit up with his pure machismo.

I hope this isn't a deal breaker. As my mantra goes: Please, baby don't go....I can change!

P.S. The T-shirt underneath the hillbilly garb is an R.E.M. concert "T" from their "Green" era. I hope this clears things up.

(Notice: My music blog, "120 dB's", has been updated. This post features the artist Nick Drake, of "Pink Moon" fame. It is still not known if he actually committed suicide. Link: Safe in your place deep in the earth, that's when they'll know what you were really worth. )

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Anybody other than Billy Jack

Billy Jack is 100% ass kicking, gun wielding, freedom-fighting manly-man! Anyone is totally gay in comparison to this man. Sorry, Cash, Evel Knievel, and Steve Austin, even you.

I mean, just look at the guy. So not gay. He saved minority teens from an oppressive townsfolk, and was always giving it to the kid's "progressive" teacher. The man knows how to give to a cause, I tells ya! He is a Native American, Vietnam vet with kick-ass martial arts skills. The man could mess you up! I've got to question his taste in women, though. Well...

At least he still has his woman (yes, the homely teacher in his flicks was actually his real wife). Call me TIGF, but someday I'm going to grow up and be like Billy Jack. (Yes, I acknowledge the fact that I need to grow up some, sheesh!)