Back by popular demand-- another edition of How Many Beers?

In the hot seat today is Ted from Rocket Jones. LetÂ’s see just how sick he is:

As they appear today

Madonna - I was a big Cyndi Lauper fan. I never could stand Madonna. Just because of who she is, it would take a bottle of good tequila, but I'd want someone I trust there to make sure I wore two or three condoms. Who knows? I might inspire her next children's book: "Having Sex Without Really Feeling It."

Good choice. Personally, I could never get past the hairy armpits in that old Playboy spread. Cyndi Lauper goes on the next list.

Diane Sawyer - After Madonna? Hell, a six-pack of malt liquor will do it. I'll make her forget that little troll Moreley Safer. I bet that smokey voice gets real sexy in the right circumstances, and if I'm feeling particularly kinky, I'll squint and pretend she's Martha Stewart.

Oho! Methinks Ted likes to bed down old broads. Squinting Martha, huh?

Stevie Nicks (30 years has taken a serious toll) - She's still a rock goddess, and when you start up high, even downhill ain't half bad. She's blind, right? That improves my chances right there. Hell, I'm beginning to think this is really possible. Four shots apiece, but if she calls me Mick I swear in the morning I'll kiss her goodbye and hold the window open for her.

Blind? ThatÂ’s news to me, but I donÂ’t exactly keep up. Four shots ainÂ’t much for someone that looks like Norma Desmond. IÂ’m going to have to start graduating these questions, i.e., ItÂ’s 3:00 pm and you masturbated around 8:00am. Stevie walks in and grabs your crotch but she has real bad breathÂ…

Sally Struthers - only on hallucinagens, and only if I can call her "Cartman". On second thought, those two conditions, and I'll just sit back and watch shank do her at his bachelor party. Better have a bottle of ouzo for the wedding boy, he's gonna need it.

Well, that’s the safe answer, but I think I’d do her for the same reason I’d do Barbara Streisand—because a good old-fashioned horse humpin’ might set them straight. It’s your civic duty.

As they appeared in the 70s

Sally Struthers - only two things would've kept me from tapping her sober: her annoying voice and the way she acted. If I can't duct tape her mouth shut, then I demand that she whisper "Oooh yeah, daddy" in my ear. "All In The Family" fer sure. A couple of boilermakers.

Hard to believe, but before she became a manatee that broad was hot.

Alice, the maid from The Brady Bunch - We'd work on a bottle of rotgut bourbon shot for shot, and then when she was semi-concious I'd let Tiger have at it. PETA would throw a fit, but you just can't make those people happy.

A wise choice, my friend. No amount of booze is enough to tag Alice. If you said something like three beers I would have had to submit this to Drudge. “Man Admits He Would Make Sweet Love to Alice.” He’d have to get the flashing lights out.

Mrs. Cunningham from Happy Days - in a heartbeat. You could tell she was a wild one in the bedroom. Perhaps after a scotch, neat, just to fan the fires a bit.

Good answer. IÂ’ve always wanted to tag her. Rumor has it that Potsie gave her oral in his trailer and she cracked a vertebrae in his neck. Actually, I just made that up, but so want it to be true.

Florida from Good Times - *whistle* Here, Tiger! *whistle* C'mere boy. Seriously though, at least a full keg. Dropped from six feet, onto my head. Please.

Shit, Ted. You let me down on this one. She seemed like a real nice lady and all. Three beers for me.

As they appeared in the 50s

Barbara Billingsley (Mrs. Cleaver) - Two martini's, more for her benefit, to loosen her up a bit. Good looking, but I'd imagine sex with her would be kinda like her prototypical television housewifery: technically perfect but a little sterile. I'd want her on the floor begging to be broken. Better make it four martini's and pass me the ping pong paddle.

Ah. Now the pictureÂ’s becoming clearer. Four martinis and youÂ’d get the funk out. Could Eddie Haskell watch?

Aunt Bea from Mayberry - She dated Fatty Arbuckle you know. There's not enough alcohol on the planet. Oh wait. There might be pie, right? Ok, a pint of whatever white lightning Otis is drinking, and then maybe if I squint and pretend that I'm Tiger...

This one was kind of a throw away, but I had to gamble. On the off chance you said yes in any way, shape or form, weÂ’d forever be known as the blog who found a guy that wanted to tag Aunt Bea. I so wanted that.

Well, letÂ’s give a big round of applause to Ted for being a good sport.

Final Pervert Rating: 5 out of 10

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 09:03 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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Welcome back to another edition of How Many Beers? This week is our first ever female version and our guest is Jennifer of the fine blog JenniferÂ’s History and Stuff.

LetÂ’s get right to it.

1. Tommy Lee--Tommy's not bad looking once you clean him up, and he IS impressively endowed. However, I'm pretty sure he'd smell like an ashtray, and who knows what kind of diseases I'd get. A fifth of Jack and a latex body suit.

Wow. Tommy Lee is blown out of the water. LetÂ’s try a different tact.

2. Steve Buscemi--Steve's goofy looking and a little creepy sometimes. Which means he's probably good in the sack. Two mixed drinks and a shot.

Incredible! Buscemi scores with two drinks and a shot. ThatÂ’s not far from sober, folks.

3. Anthony Hopkins--is old. And looks distressingly like Hannibal Lecter. But he does have a British accent, and I likes them foreign accents. Six mixed drinks.

IÂ’m kind of relieved here. Less than six drinks would have upset me.

4. Liv Tyler--She looks like her dad, and that's in her favor. But she's a little too delicate for my picky go-gay tastes. A fifth of anything and a couple shots of Tequila.

I tried to slip one past the goalie but no score. Too delicateÂ…[mental note].

5. John Goodman--John is a big, big guy. I bet you thought I'd need a lot for him. You'd be wrong. I've mentioned before that I love John Goodman. Three mixed drinks.

Another score for an unlikely candidate. Three drinks and the big man doing the wave. Folks, this is top-notch blogging.

6. Jack Black--The lucid, Tenacious D Jack Black, or the drugged-out, looney red carpet Jack Black? Either way, let's say a fifth of Jose and a shower.

Okay, no heavy fetish. Again, IÂ’m very relieved.

7. Al Pacino (the current scary, over-acting incarnation)--"Say hello to my little friends." That's not something you want running through your head when you're about to say hello to his little friends. Know what I mean? Two fifths of whatever I could lay my hands on.

More relief. I was worried about this one. Looks like crazy guys are out for Jen.

8. Bruce Springsteen--Bruce, God bless him, looks like an ashtray. And the faces he makes would be really distracting. A fifth of Jim and a dark room.

No real surprise here. He always looks like heÂ’s got a mousetrap on his balls with the faces he makes normally.

9. Tom Hanks--Everybody loves Tom Hanks. If he was single, I'd do him sober.

Really? HeÂ’s kind of old, no? No matter, everybody gets one freebee.

10. Denise Richards--Now, I admire your tenacity in trying to make me go gay, and this is a much better option than Liv Tyler, but...Angelina Jolie is the one I'd go gay for in a heartbeat. Those lips, those eyes. Stone cold sober for Angie. And I'd bring my camcorder. She already has the handcuffs.

Holy shit. I almost donÂ’t know what to say. Is there any woman in America who would not go gay for Angelina Jolie? God damn itÂ’s hot in here.

Bonus Question. Chandler Bing--Monica said he was the best she ever had, even when it was early in the relationship. That is a nice endorsement for Chandler. But the constant jokes? If I met Chandler in a bar, it'd take a few to overcome his personality. Four mixed drinks.

Good. He doesnÂ’t deserve you. Angelina and I, wellÂ…weÂ’ll take good care of you.

You know, sometimes I think of Jen as a delicate flower, and other times I think of her throwing a drink in my face and saying, “Take your pants off now! Before I change my mind!” I really like them both.

Well, thatÂ’s it for this round of How Many Beers. IÂ’m just going to sit here until I can safely stand up.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 02:37 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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We’re currently in the process of assembling a few more guest editions of “How Many Beers?”

If you are selected to play, and you decline, we will be forced to ridicule you mercilessly.

Thanks in advance.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 12:26 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Of all the different symptoms, by far the worst is vomiting. I can keep my sense of humor up during coughing fits, sinus infections, stomach cramps, etc.—Hell, some of my best material has come from having severe diarrhea. But vomiting? That changes everything.

You know itÂ’s coming when your mouth starts to fill with a little extra saliva. A moment later the queasy feeling in your stomach starts. IÂ’m usually in denial when I get the first wave of nausea, but within seconds itÂ’s usually reinforced by stronger waves and in no time the look of panic on your face reads like a headline.

The worst part is that you know there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s a fait de compli. It’s no longer a question of if you’re going to vomit, the question is, “How bad is it going to be?”

And so you find yourself on the bathroom floor, waiting, as if a lethal injection is coming. You are faced with great despair. You look around the bathroom floor noticing every detail. A stray pube off in the corner. Water spots. A dead spider. Meanwhile the waves of nausea increase in frequency and the urgency of the situation becomes almost intolerable. Here it comes. ItÂ’s coming now. You start to spit a little bit of saliva into the bowl. The first contraction comes with little result, but you know you have passed the point of no return. The second contraction is somewhat stronger and you spit again. By the third time youÂ’ve usually got yourself some results. No matter how hard you try not to, you find yourself identifying bits of what has been purged. IÂ’m sorry, itÂ’s a fact.

Meanwhile your mind is absolutely racing. How long can this go on? Is it almost over? And so on.

There are a lot of different styles of vomiting. I pride myself on being a quiet puker. Unless you had your ear against the door and heard the splash youÂ’d never know it was happening. Others have no self control. It sounds like someoneÂ’s fucking murdering them in there. IÂ’m talking about fucking unholy sounds. Some people follow up a good splash with intense moaning until the next ejaculation.

Sometimes the whole ordeal is compounded by well-wishers. “Are you okay in there? Is there anything I can do?”

Yes. Shut the fuck up. IÂ’m on the bathroom floor puking! I feel like itÂ’s my final hour for ChristÂ’s sake, and now I have to talk through the door? IÂ’m trying not to expel my fucking organs in here!

The only thing that could make it worse is when it happens in public. Or while driving. Or standing in line at the DMV. Have you ever had to puke just standing somewhere in public? But enough of this. IÂ’m not one to take things too far.

Posted by: Pixy Misa at 09:07 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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The fiancee has what I call a creativity-based, emotional response to stress. I'm not saying it's a bad thing at all, I mean, she eventually comes to some enlightened decisions. It's just the Mr. Toad's Wild Ride through the depths of complete and utter pandemonium that I can't handle.

Well, and sometimes I unknowingly set it off, but that's neither here nor there. I had a little nooner with the boss yesterday, whose son recently tied the knot. So naturally, the wedding thing comes up, and we chit-chat back and forth. She's very engaging, my boss. A sense of humor that smarts like a bullwhip.

Anyways, I come home yesterday and start talking about all the fresh wedding ideas I have. A somewhat unusual situation, since I tend to let her run the wedding plans; but not unheard of. So we talk about a few things, blahblahblah, and everything's fine. Then, at like 10:30pm,
the surface starts to crack, and she begins her decent into madness.

She clams up. There's the vacant stare, the somewhat disassociated demeanor, and the expressionless face. I guess I'm kind of afraid that maybe I know it's already started, this stress management of hers, so I drop a depth charge.
"Hey, everything okay. You look a little stressed, what can I do for ya?"
"Eh. Nothin'."
"Okay."

Then the sniffling starts.

"Babe, really, talk to me. You wouldn't want me to just lay there and do this, you'd want to help. What's up?"
"Really," her voice is quivering now as she talks in between sniffles, "I don't think it's anything you can help me with."
"Okay, but if you want to talk or vent, just do it." This usually does the trick, and in true form, it works.
"WE'VE ONLY GOT SIX MONTHS LEFT AND WEDON'TEVENHAVETHECAKECUTTINGSONGPICKEDOUTYET!"
"Ho, hey. We've got a dress, food, a place t-"
"Yeah, but there's a millionotherthingstodobetweennowandthe-"
"It's okay. I swear, we've got plenty of time to iron things out; we've got plenty of people to help us. I'd say we're 80% complete at this point."
It is here that the litany reaches full pitch. She begins to lament everything from her shitty groom (hey, right here dear, hi, me), to our busy schedules, to the wedding party - everything is on the table now. Ah, the sound of hysterics at full volume. But see, this is where she releases the tension. I don't let it bother me because she only does it about the wedding and it seems to help her gain clarity.

Eventually, we get all calmed down, and we're talking and laughing. I turn and say "You know, you gave blood today. Maybe you're body's just exhausted from the drain." She gives blood often, and has been known to suffer side effects. "Yeah. Oh, that and the only pills left for this month are the placebo's." I grown and roll back over, at least we found the root cause.

She's fucking crazy. Help me.

Please?

Posted by: shank at 05:14 PM | Comments (12) | Add Comment
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one day he'll be called breakfast.

Posted by: phin at 04:06 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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Okay, we all know celebrities are pontificating, self-absorbed idiots. But do we really know it? As in, have we yet come to terms within ourselves that the idea that many of these people the public seems to hold on high, are really just as worthless as the rest of the human race? I say no, we haven't because of the fact that Diane Sawyer was asking Barbara Streisand her opinion on global warming and it's effects on diastrous weather.

Now, Diane Sawyer is pretty prime time as far as interviews go. I mean, it would be the assumption that if you're being interviewed by her, she's probably going to be asking you the questions that burn in the minds of millions. Instead, they're talking about the science of weather, we're getting her meterological forecast, big weather expert that she is. Who gives a shit?

Are people really going to cite her professional opinion on the matter? I can see it now:
"...And now to George with the weather. George?"
"According to NOAA, the fifty year cycle for hurricanes is entering a more powerful phase, Bob."
"Well, smack my nuts with a spiked bat George. What ever shall we do?"
"My first thought is not to worry too much buddy, because it will eventually phase back to normal-"
"Oh, praise Jesus, George. I really thought we were fucked."
"-But then I heard world-renowing hurricane expert Barbara Streisand say that this hurricane season is actually the beginning of the Apocalypse Bob, so you can just get back to kissing your ass goodbye."

Not only does her opinion on the subject means absolutely nothing from an authoritative standpoint; but it's not even based in generally accepted fact. But there it is on ABC. She's not the only one though. It seems that every celebrity has made a point out of championing some cause or forwarding some opinion or another. For some reason we just care what celebrities have to say these days, even if it's in reference to something which they know absolutely nothing about.

Posted by: shank at 05:08 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Well, the final presentation to our clients went off like a bomb. They really appreciated the work we put into it, and said our recommendations really opened their eyes to ways they can manage their growth. Right as I was leaving the president of the client company practically offered me a job. Even if he had been explicit I would have declined; my interests don't really lie in manufacturing right now. But I consider it a hell of a compliment. Apparently, our work is now in the running for some kind of collegiate prize. I'll stay hopeful, but I'm happy with the things we've acheived so far.

In November or so, I start my practicum. I'll be working with one of the residents at the hospital on building a strategic plan for one of the service lines at the hospital. It will take several months, but there's a lot of opportunity with this particular project, and I'm about thrilled with it. I've always wanted to get into strategy and now I've got the chance to really show my stuff.

I'm also putting together an application for an administrative residency at a regional health network. I would basically be working side by side with CEO/CFO/Strategic leaders for a year, and getting paid handsomely as well. The competition for these things is pretty stiff, but I'm confident that given the chance I can really be a viable contender at the least.

That is, if I ever develop the determination to stay past 3pm on a Friday. Have a good weekend biznatches!

Posted by: shank at 04:41 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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I went to get my car inspected about four months ago because I was due for one like last March right. The dingleberries at the shop failed my car because the turn signals are apparently not the right color.

Not the right color?
Yeah, they gotta be amber, yours are white.
But they flash right? When I push the turn signal lever?
Oh yeah man, it all works. Just need the amber bulbs.
But. But it works. If I was sitting in traffic with my turn signal blinking, no one would miss it, or assume since it's not amber that maybe I was just putting on some kind of low-tech light show. I mean, why fail me right?
-Blank Stare-
That was the way I bought it from the dealer.
Well, if you have the amber bulbs, all you have to do is put them in. You can take them out as soon as the inspection's over for all I care.
So wait. You don't care if it's correct, and even if you know it's going to be incorrect as soon as it gets on the road, you'll still pass me?
Uh, yep.
So why don't you just pass me now, save me the time and effort of having to dismantle and assemble the damn turn signals twice, and we'll just go with that?
Becuase if you get pulled over it's my ass.
But you just said you'd pass me even if you knew it was going to be incorrect as soon as I got the sticker.
How do I know you're not a cop?
Mostly because I don't have a shiny fucking badge on my shirt, but also because if I had a baton I would have beat you retarded with it already. -Walks out-

Posted by: shank at 05:01 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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I'm going to the gas station in a few minutesl but before that, I want to leave you with this:

SHIIIIT!!! SHIT! CRAP!

I bought my first renter's insurance policy tonight. Our area had been on suspension for the past week or so due to hurricane Ophelia. This season has been balls to the wall eh? Hopefully for the Texans who come through here, this weekend will find them alive and safe - even if they do lose other less valuable trappings. Yeesh.

Posted by: shank at 07:42 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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So, Paul is temporarily away from his computer this week and I'm going to take a stab at this thing. I carefully chose an interviewee, based on his extensive and laudable track record as a well respected bachelor and debaucherer. However, said guest would only take the interview on the condition that he be known specifically as "Hebert the Honky Highlander." Apparently, he thought this would protect his identity. I protested based on the grounds that he's a nobody and an idiot to boot, but in the end he was going to walk; the diva.

Below the fold. more...

Posted by: shank at 11:11 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Who was the 142nd fastest gun in the West?

(Remember - no searching online.)

Posted by: Jim at 05:17 AM | Comments (25) | Add Comment
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All day tomorrow I have a management skills retreat at a private location with my employer. There goes a day's work hey? In all seriousness I kind of prefer the boondoggle to the daily grind, but don't tell my director.

I'm not sure when we'll be finished at this little seminar, but at five I give a presentation to a client company I've been working with for over a year. I and a few of the crew from grad school have this moonlighting gig as consultants. Anyways, we're presenting the clients with our final findings and recommendations on how they should take the next step in managing their growth. It's exciting to be involved in the process, and I feel like our team knows their company almost as well as they do. I can't help but be afraid sometimes though; that we're going to present something to someone that they think is completely off the wall - at which point the entire pitch will come to a screeching halt, and we will be chased out of the office by a pitchfork-wielding, torch-waving board of directors. Sometimes it's hard to tell how personally business owners are going to take your advice. But this group seems to be on the same page with us. They're ready to grow, willing even, they just need something to help manage and control said change. Well, we'll see what happens tomorrow.

Posted by: shank at 10:20 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Rachel Ann has a little comment quiz today. My answer ended up way too big for a comment section so I'm posting it here. This way has a side benefit - maybe some of y'all can head over to Rachel's place so she gets more participation.

Here are my answers to her questions:

1.PETA--what is the first image that comes to your mind hearing the name?

Domestic terrorism.

2.How do you react emotionally?
Generally with disgust.

3.Do you agree or disagree with PETA's overall message?
Do they even have an overall message? Some of their specific messages, like handing out buckets of blood and comic books saying "Mommy murders dogs", leave me relatively speechless.

4.Do you agree or disagree with how PETA presents that message?
You could safely classify me as part of the "disagree" group.

5.Are (or were) you a vegetarian?
No. I thoroughly enjoy meat in all of its delicious variety.

6.Do you own any pets?
Um...yeah. The current pet count is 14. 7 of those are of the dog and/or cat variety. The rest are decorative - birds and fish and suchlike.

7.What rights over animals do you think humans should have?
All of them.

8.Is experimentation on animals always wrong? Sometimes wrong? And if permissable when, what types of experiments, and how should they be conducted?
No, experimentation on animals isn't wrong. It is necessary for scientific advances and to promote certain economic factors. That said, I use Aussie hair products partially because they don't do animal testing. I'm happy to support a cosmetics company that goes through the expense of alternative product testing. That is MY choice as a consumer.

9. To what uses can we put animals? (Pets only, aide animals etc.)
Animals should be put to whatever use can be found for them. Pets, farm animals, food source, guide dogs, helper monkeys, medical and biological testing. Whatever works.

10. Including PETA, what animal rights groups (if any) do you support?
I don't support PETA in any way, shape or form. They are reprehensible. Come to think of it, I don't support any animal rights groups. Animals don't have rights. I do support our local animal shelters.

Summary:

All of that above makes me look like I torture bunnies for the fun of it. That is completely untrue. I torture bunnies for the large cash rewards.

Heh. Just kidding, it really is just for the fun of it.

There I go again. Serious now...

Animals are not people. They do not have rights. However, people do have the responsibility to care for an animal when they accept that burden. If you get a pet you have the responsibility to care for that pet. It is the dog's owner who is responsible for making sure that dog doesn't bite a kid. It is also that dog owner's responsibility to feed and shelter the dog. The way that a person (or a company, for that matter) cares for his animals says a world about him.

PETA disgusts me on many levels. They are so over the top with propaganda and bald-faced lies that it amazes me when otherwise intelligent people fall for their bullshit. They openly give money to ELF, a known terroristic organization. They promote illegal action by their members. They encourage assault and sabotage. I do not for the life of me understand how they have escapted federal prosecution on racketeering and domestic terrorism charges.

PETA animal shelters are not no-kill shelters. Isn't that the height of hypocrisy? PETA shelters in Florida kill more animals every year than all other shelters in Florida combined. Instead of finding homes for animals they spend millions of dollars on child propaganda every year. They truly disgust me.

Posted by: Jim at 09:34 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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There was a pleasant surprise for us this morning. The bosses brought in a load of high carb breakfast substances. The danishes were typically yummy. My favorite is the cheese danish. The cream cheese-like filling on these helps to mitigate the unbearable sweetness of the pastry and sugar shellac resulting in bakery goodness that is not quite so sweet that I can't eat it.

And there were bagels. Bagels of many varieties and with loads of butter, cream cheese, lox and other toppings available. When I entered the break room and saw this plethora of chewy Jewy breakfast goodness I immediately started salivating. There's nothing quite like a good bagel to start out the day.

And these were nothing like good bagels. more...

Posted by: Jim at 10:07 AM | Comments (30) | Add Comment
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I look funny in my car. I'm a taller guy, but I drive a smaller car.

So when I wear my helmet, I can't really turn my head all that much. But I'm really just trying to illustrate for you how gangly, gawkily large I am in relation to my car.

As you might have assumed, or already know, I like to work on and in my car. I enjoy it, I'm not neccesarily quick or extensively practiced at it, I just know enough to cause some damage.

Today I replaced the rear speakers in the car since they were getting older and starting to sound like ass. I like music almost as much as I like cars, and I love nothing more than listening to it. It's got to be perfect sounding, not neccesarily always in that new crisp digital way though. If I'm listening to something older, maybe recorded live in a jazz club somewhere, I want to hear the place it's being recorded in. Sometimes that means it's not all ones and zeroes, scrubbed clean, or in sharp focus; and a really good system will bring all the important texture out.

So there I am, backseat folded all the way down, front seats pushed all the way up; shoehorned into an area with the cubic footage of a shopping cart. Spacious hey? I mean, I've got big stupid hands with thick knuckled fingers; and I'm in the lotus position or some shit trying to unscrew bolts the size of hairpins. I'm sweating, I got my damn knees up in my face because that's the only way I can get in the car, and I can only turn the fucking socket wrench like 130 degrees at a time because of the angle of the rear glass. At one point, I had to put my feet through the sunroof and lay back with my head reaching into the trunk to just so I could see what the hell I was doing.

Then it struck me. The breeze (remnant of the recent storm) blew my goddamn trunk down, and one of the spindles struck me right in the nose. I let out a yowl, blinded by the sharp poke. It felt like a damn tazer to the shnoz; it was bringing tears to my eyes. I immediatley try to sit up, succeeding only in thumping my head soundly on the bottom of the rear deck. I groan and hit the floor of the trunk, completely hemmed up by the submission hold my car was inflicting on me.

My old boxing coach used to say, "Sometimes you just take a defeat and learn from it. Pain is the best form of negative reinforcement." I say, I bet 10 to 1 that crotchety fuck never got poked in the nose.

Next time, I'm going to find a skilled midget to do this kind of shit. Those tiny bastards have no idea what a blessing that is. Imagine all the shit I could fix if I was their size! And it wouldn't stop at car repairs either. I bet those fuckers can crawl up in a dishwasher and replace shit without ever having to slide the big bastard out from under the counter. I guess it's just all about perspective.

Posted by: shank at 11:17 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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But time enough to give birthday wishes to Jen and Harvey. And for Harvey, a little something special.

Posted by: Jim at 02:04 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Burger (age 3 as you know) has a vocabulary problem. Specifically, he's been using words that should be reserved for grown-ups. More specifically, words that should be reserved for grown-up political pundits and/or grown-ups who just hit their thumb with a hammer. We are working on correcting this antisocial behaviour but sometimes it just blows right up in our faces.

[Burger and Bacon are bouncing on the trampoline. Bacon makes contact with his brother (most likely by intention but that couldn't be proven in a court of law) and Burger responds.]

Burger: You're an asshole!

Lovely Wife: What did you say? You get over here right away young man!

[Burger makes his way slowly over to Lovely Wife, defiance writ large upon his brow.]

Lovely Wife: You do NOT use words like that! If you have a problem with your brother you work it out with him. If you can't do that, bring it to me. There is no excuse for swearing.

[Burger mumbles something under his breath. It's clear we have not achieved "buy in".]

Lovely Wife: I'm serious, Burger. Do not use cuss words. Do you even know what an "asshole" is?

[Burger brightens noticeably.]

Burger: Yeah! I do! Bacon's an asshole!

I fear he has discovered our primary weakness. We are functionally unable to discipline him when we are laughing our asses off.

Posted by: Jim at 08:23 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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1 Yeah, he's got your number all right. Hope is not lost, even in this day where you can be arrested for treating your kid the way your daddy treated you. There may be laws against using your belt on your kid, but there aren't any laws against using a taser on your kid! (I rule.) BTW, keep this up and we'll just have to fantasize about how nice (or not) your boobies are, Jim.

Posted by: Victor at September 14, 2005 09:11 AM (L3qPK)

2 They learn so fast these days

Posted by: sompopo at September 14, 2005 09:50 AM (4tl0Y)

3 Well, from his perspective, he may have been telling the truth. At least you can't fault him for his honesty, right? And by the way, I loved this story. Too funny.

Posted by: RP at September 14, 2005 10:50 AM (LlPKh)

4 LOL! phew... you have your hands full.

Posted by: vw bug at September 14, 2005 11:16 AM (J3xJ9)

5 Wonder where he learned THAT?

Posted by: DeAnna at September 14, 2005 06:22 PM (IdVP4)

6 Not laughing while trying to discipline has always been my sore spot too. Oh and next time you hit yourself wth a hammer, maybe you ought to dow what Owlish does (Owlish Mutterings)and go MOO!!!!

Posted by: Rachel Ann at September 15, 2005 01:03 AM (owC2e)

7 I must dissent. If I hit my thumb with a hammer, I'm not going to say "Moo." One of those words you don't want your 3 year old saying is much more likely. "Moo" is reserved for those times you're feeling sarcastic, or not quite pissed off enough for a 4 letter word.

Posted by: Owlish at September 18, 2005 02:26 AM (bJF7u)

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Just a short while ago President Bush took responsibility for federal shortfalls in Katrina relief efforts. Now what are the odds that all of the people who were screeching about "only wanting to hear him take responsibility" will shut their foam flecked gobs?

Yeah, that's what I thought. I'll go buy a lottery ticket instead.

Posted by: Jim at 04:48 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Tommy Lee, of Motley Crue 'fame', has his own goddamn idiotic reality show now. Yes, after climbing to the apex of his popularity in early 2002 as the man who gave Pamela Anderson hepatitis-c, Tommy Lee is back and wishes to reclaim his crown as the king of complete idiocy.

I know, it's impossible to think that Tommy could ever surpass the entertainment milestone he established when he banged the absolute crap out of his wife on video; but we are once again beholden to this thespian virtuoso. How, you say? How does one outstrip such a legacy? Apparently, by building said reality show around your midlife enrollment in a four year college.

So if you didn't get enough of Tommy's retardedass shenangians back in '86; or back in '99 when he and his wife released their little home video - he's back for your viewing pleasure.

You know, and the thing of it is, his college life seems to suck. I haven't seen any drugs, drunkedness, fights, road trips, keg stands, ramen, crazy parties, hell - the fucker's not even broke; an equal component in my college experience to the others listed here. What a shitty show.

But then again, what could I possibly have expected.

Posted by: shank at 04:06 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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