I got a call from Lovely Wife this morning. I usually do and my morning isn't really started until I get one. This particular call had one of those spooky beginings that sounded suspiciously like "Do you know what your son did?" Those are the worst calls since you're effectively powerless. If whatever your son (not hers, at least at this particular moment) did makes you furious you're shit out of luck. You're at work buddy and by the time you get home it's ancient history. Of course since you're a grown up you've festered on it for the entire day and when you do get home you try to do the corrective counseling thing but by that time the kid doesn't even remember what it was that he did and your oh-so-carefully crafted and mentally rehearsed speech falters and dies on your lips when confronted by stupefyingly honest childhood ignorance.

If whatever the boy did doesn't happen to irritate you or (God forbid) you don't think it was such a bad thing anyway you are equally screwed. You are on the phone with a woman who is so pissed she has temporarily disowned her child. You. Must. Agree. With. Her. Not doing so, and doing so in colorful and excited terms I might add, will allow her to transfer that rage from the son to the father. That's you, remember. This is a bad thing. You always want to place children between yourself and your spouse's rage, never the other way around. Hey, that's the basic reason you had the little beggars in the first place. more...

Posted by: Jim at 04:32 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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How much of the pricetag on that bottle of Jack Daniels is going to the taxman? In New York it's over $6. In Alaska it's almost $13.00. Other states are anywhere from a buck to several bucks. Then there are the states (18 of them) where the government completely controls all sales and profits from alcoholic spirits.

How about that pack of Marlboros? How much of that price is added by the state? If you're in New Jersey, more than $2.00 is going to the government. Yeah, the State can impose a 100% user cost penalty on these consumers and nobody says "Boo".

And why is that? How can the government get away with such phenomenal taxation schemes? Well, it's obvious, isn't it? These are immoral items. Only immoral people are being forced to pay extra taxes. Plus, they aren't healthy. Consumption of these items leads to deteriorating health conditions and that creates a burden on society. So if we make the consumers pay up front then the State won't have to foot the bill later on. more...

Posted by: Jim at 03:16 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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...since we moved to Georgia, are our kids going to grow up to be whitetrash or rednecks? And then Bear will say something like what he said at dinner last night:

"When I get bigger I'm going to be a daddy. I'm going to be in charge. Cordelia will do what I tell her because she likes me and she's going to marry me."

And I realize that the answer is of course "rednecks". more...

Posted by: Jim at 12:54 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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My previous post got me thinking about superpowers. My favorite wouldn't really be the projectile dootie I linked to before. I'm not really sure what superpower I'd most like to have but it comes down to one of these three:

Polymorphic: That's a shapechanger for all y'all that's weak on your latin. That's like the blue naked lady in the X-Men movies. How cool would it be to look exactly the way you want to instantaneously? No more worries about bad hair days or having clean underwear. Just wake up, take a crap, poof into the look you want and you're out the door. Want to hang out at muscle beach? Poof, you're The Rock! Want to play runway model? Poof, you're Kate Moss! Want an ice cream but you left your wallet at home? Poof, you're a soulful eyed waif! In a fight with the Yakuza? Poof, you're superfast, superstrong, with skin harder than rhinocerous armor.

Flying: Yeah, I know it's common and trite but I've never lost my childhood desire to fly. This is the most common dream power I get, though I've gotten much slower as I've matured. A lot of times I'm really just gliding now. Still cool but I guess I'm feeling my age in my dreams.

Stopping Time: I used to have lots of fun imagining what it would be like to be able to stop time. This one has loads of opportunity for mischief (and outright criminal behavior). Sure, you could save the heroine by stopping the bullet inches before it hits her and moving her out of the way. Sure, you could save the four kids in the back seat of the runaway car just before it heads off of the bridge/cliff/parking ramp. But think of all the things you could do in your time off...every beach is a nude beach for the person who can stop time. And it's only the people you want to see nude who are nekkid. Money is no object. Well, I guess it's still an object it's just a really easy to reach object. Anything that you want is yours for the taking and as long as you're taking it from bad guys and jerk-offs your concience is clear, right? That is so sweet.

So, if you could have a superpower, what would it be?

Posted by: Jim at 10:07 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Did you ever have one of those times when you've got to take a leak super bad to the point where you can feel your bladder being constricted by your other organs and you finally get to the bathroom and drop trou as you get into position and you do the one armed lean in anticipation of the unbelievable satisfaction you are about to receive and you cut loose and sigh as the stream of urine cuts into the water like a Bali cliff diver and that delicious sound echoes about you but then you realize that despite these wonderful sensations you are experiencing the one critical one that you are not feeling is the sensation of having to urinate decreasing even the slightest iota and this strikes you as perplexing because how can you still feel like you have to take a piss while you're in the middle of pissing but then it hits you like a thunderclap.

You are asleep.

You are dreaming of peeing because the urge to pee is so bad it is invading your dreams.

And then you jolt awake in a horrific panic knowing, just KNOWING, that you are going to be laying in a pool of urine but thankfully the sheets are dry and the relief that washes over you quickly fades as you realize that your waking up in time on this particular occasion is no guarantee that you will wake up in time on future occasions and that maybe, just maybe, God really does have a sense of humor and this is his little finger in the ribs method to tell you that you'd better shape up or next time is going to be an even bigger relief but not in the way this one was.

No? Me neither.

Posted by: Jim at 10:41 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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Just how valuable is a single vote? Let's find out!

I am offering up my vote in the next general election to the highest bidder. This includes the Presidential race as well as any Congressional, Senatorial, State, County and Local elections, and any ammendments or resolutions that appear on my ballot. Items that are not on the ballot may also be included and I will think about those unavailable choices with simulated regret while voting for actual ballot items.

The above are offered up for sale in a mixed auction right on this very site. If you wish to bid silently you may send an email to votebid@jpeacock.net. If you would like to bid publicly you may do so right here in the comments to this post. Bidding rules are:

1. You may bid as many times as you wish.


2. Bid increments will be a minimum of $1.00.


3. All bids are in US Dollars.


4. Offers of goods or services will be accepted in lieu of cash. Auctioneer will be the sole arbiter of the cash value of goods or services offered. You may contact the auctioneer to receive an assessed value before bidding with goods or services or just go for it and the auctioneer will post the assessed value when he gets around to it.


5. Bidders will not refer to themselves in the third person. Third person personal referral is reserved solely for the auctioneer.


6. 3rd party goods or services may not be offered. For example, you may not bid "Sex with Kate Beckinsale" unless you yourself are Kate Beckinsale.


7. If you are Kate Beckinsale and you bid "Sex with Kate Beckinsale" you win.


8. Bid entry must include at least a Presidential vote choice and may include selections for all ballot choices available in Lawrenceville, Georgia.


9. Bids will be accepted through the end of the auction. Auction will end at some random point in the future when the humor potential of this post has petered out.


10. Hehehe. I said "petered". That was cool.

Good luck and may the wealthiest person with the loosest morals win!

Posted by: Jim at 09:14 AM | Comments (13) | Add Comment
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Helen's having a bit of a bother trying to open a bank account in merry old England. You know how it is - they want three forms of ID, utility bills, body fluids, firstborn child, etceteras.

I had a bank experience like that. It was back many a year when we were putting a new roof on my Dad's house. It was a lovely Saturday, just about 140 degrees on the roof (or near enough you couldn't tell the difference). We were pounding away and laying shingles when out of the house pops my step-mum. Normally this was a welcome occurence as she'd be bringing out iced tea or cool-aid, or perhaps sandwiches and a beer ration. Hopes for cool beverages or sustenance were crushed when a quick glance showed her hands to be empty.

Lo, she said unto me: "Jim, didn't you have to go to the bank today?" This struck me as an odd question. Of course I did. I had spoken of it quite specifically the night previous. My aquisition of my very first muscle car (a 1970 Mustang Grande) would be jeapordized were I to miss hitting the bank this day. A thought occured to me then and I asked her "Prithee, what time is it?" Her reply of "It is approximately 2 minutes before the bank closes. Or, using the New Math, it is exactly 42 seconds too late for you to get to the bank regardless of what you do to try to speed up your travel process" did not fill me with joyous feelings. However, I was always a polite lad and responded thusly. "Thank thee, m'lady. Wouldst thou care to remove thine self from my directeth patheth as I shall be travelling forthwith post haste?" more...

Posted by: Jim at 11:35 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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Dateline - Oakbrook, IL

Ronald McDonald has gone into hiding since a mob of obese burger lovers attacked McDonalds Corporate Headquarters earlier today. The super sized protesters had gathered to peacefully complain about McDonald's decision to discontinue its Super Size Value Meal program but things quickly got ugly.

The rotund eaters were gathered on the headquarter's grounds either pacing slowly or relaxing in straining portable canvas chairs when several busses arrived and disgorged members of CEA (Competitive Eaters of America) and FaBELOS (Fat Bastards Eating Lots Of Stuff). While the two groups are often at loggerheads they had apparently united to demand the return of their beloved Super Sized fries and a Coke. The high energy gluttons incited the protestors who were already present with an end result of a waddling wave of jiggling flesh crashing into the building. Glass windows were shattered from the concussive force and several floors lost power.

Police and National Guard troops were called in to subdue the rampaging gastrophiles while Ronald McDonald, Grimace and at least one other company spokesman were smuggled out the back of the building and spirited away to safety. Ronald called later from a secluded location to make a statement on the attack.

"I have never been so terrified in all my life. The shear weight of the opposition was daunting. This is a monstrous burden but it is one I am prepared to bear. McDonalds will not bow to terrorist tactics and we are sticking with our decision to eliminate the Super-Size options as well as cancelling the proposed Monstro-Size and Garganto-Sizes. We are committed to helping create a healthy America." The distraught clown closed his statement with a plea. "Everybody come on - let's put a smile on."

Burger King, McDonald's chief adversary in the fast food field, voiced support of Ronald's decision but regretfully declined to follow suit with his own menu. According to Mr.King "While we respect and admire Ronald for standing by this difficult decision, our company works on a different basic premise. At our restaurants you get it your way and if your way is a pound and a half of tallow soaked potatoes washed down by a half gallon of carbonated sugar water then by God that's exactly what you'll get." When asked if he expected an increase in Burger King sales as high content eaters moved away from the lighter McDonalds menu he responded only with "Oh, I'm sure I'll be lovin' it."

Third rate competitor Dave Thomas was unavailable for comment.

Posted by: Jim at 08:58 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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The big hand is on the 3 and the little hand is on the 10. What time is it? Well we could say it's "ten fifteen". We could also say that it is "quarter after 10". Why can't we say "ten and a quarter" or "fifteen after 10"?

Why is "quarter after seven" okay but "three quarters to eight" is wrong? "Twenty after three" is just peachy but heaven forbid you should say "forty to four".

And why is it just fine and dandy to say that it's "half past twelve" but people look at you funny if you say "half til one".

Frankly I'm sick of it and I'm not going to take it any more. Free your mind and your ass will follow! Join me in rebellion against these outdated and nonsensical clock mores!

What time is it?

I said WHAT TIME IS IT?

It's fourty three to two!

YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAARRGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!

POINTS: 3 points for the first person to name my source for the title of this post. No searching, please! And my source is not a bunch of no talent copy cats either.

Posted by: Jim at 01:27 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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(The scene: James Earl Jones and I are sipping tea on the veranda. The kids are running about alternately chasing and being chased by the dogs. Lovely Wife is whipping up a batch of her unbelievably delicious potato salad to go with the steaks that James is tending on the barbeque. The blush of premature spring is in the air and our conversation remains light and idle until James springs a whopper on me.)

James: You know, sometimes I am so jealous of you.

Me: Really? Why? Because I'm married to a Teutonic Princess? A woman who's loving kindness is exceeded only by the gorgeosity of her legs?

James: No, although I will admit that was a spot-on description of your Lovely Wife.

Me: Is it because I'm surrounded by fine strong boys, the issue of my loins, manifest proof of my virility and masculine prowess? more...

Posted by: Jim at 10:02 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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Ron, aka Acidman, aka "that guy at Gutrumbles", has gone and sprayed the proverbial waterhose on the hornet's nest that is the blogosphere. Lots of my regular reads have delisted him because of a couple of posts of a suspect nature. That suspect nature is blatant racsism and use of the bad word instead of one of the PC terms for dark skinned people. Don't ask me any more about it than that cause I don't know. I didn't read him before this event and don't see any real reason to start now so I've got no opinion on the matter.

It got me to thinking though...could there be any less appropriate time for me to put up a post that poked fun at some of our racial stereotypes? I mean, outside of a riot or OJ whacking another white chick. I sure can't think of a worse time to post such off color humor (bad pun was intentional) so of course that's exactly what I'm doing. May I proudly (but subject to instant retraction if I get delinked anywhere) present:

The Evolution of the Booty

One of the most common questions I get (besides the pervs asking about cow udders) is "Why do black chicks have such fine booty?" To which I of course reply "How can you say such a thing? That is a slander that perpetuates the stereotypes that black chicks must battle against every day of their lives and doing this is both unfair and at least marginally rascist despite the fact that they do indeed have ultrafine booty. And don't say 'black chicks' as that's neither respectful nor politically correct. Say 'black gals' instead."

But it isn't just black gals, is it? No, there are quite a few black fellas that have premium, Grade-A, USDA Choice keisters. But that's not really it either since a fair number of white gals have what we euphamistically call "bubble butts". In fact, the only race/gender slice that is universally known to never have a delectable booty is the white male*. more...

Posted by: Jim at 01:52 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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