I posted something here that I thought was funny. Then I read it a few hours later and it just didn't seem as funny. In lieu of anything originally produced, I give you FuckYouPenguin.blogspot.com:

You know, there was once an ugly duckling who got picked on all of the time by the other ducks, who couldn't understand why the duckling was so ugly. But then it turned out that duckling wasn't really a duck at all, but was in fact a TOTAL FUCKING DICK.

Take this world-class douche, for example. Everyone is just hanging out, having a good time, and Mr. "My wingspan is bigger than yours" decides to unload on the scene. Even his swan friend is embarrassed. He probably does it all the fucking time because let's be honest: that's just what swans do. Me personally, I wouldn't be caught dead with a fucking swan.

Posted by: shank at 10:18 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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So De mentioned something a while back about buying a handgun. I feel like I have a lot to say (Oho, suprise there), and I wanted to create a post around it.

First things first. If you've never owned a gun before, or didn't grow up around them (hunting, shooting, Beirut) I suggest making friends with people who did. Given the 38-40% gun ownership rate across the US, most of us know some responsible gun owners. Given De's location, if she didn't grow up around guns, she knows some people who did. There's a certain way responsible people act around guns, and it's a behavior that should be ingrained.

Me personally? I'm fairly cautious. The safety is not off, nor is a magazine in my gun, unless I'm actively aiming and shooting. When I carry the gun, even to the range, it's in a SERPA holster. Granted, this isn't really secure should someone with half a brain try to take the gun off my person; but generally people with half a brain don't try to take a gun off your person.

As for gun choice, that really depends on two things - learning curve, and how something feels in your hands. I started out with a 9mm, because I wanted to be able to fire hundreds (thousands?) of target rounds. 9mm rounds are fairly cheap. I can usually buy 50 target rounds for $16. The downside is that many enthusiasts will tell you 9mm rounds don't have any stopping power. As far as I'm concerned, some crackhead who's breaking into my house to steal a TV or DVD player is going to experience a moment of clarity as soon as I start shooting at their face. It doesn't matter if I have a .22, a 12-gauge, or an assault rifle. Being shot at does that to people.

Now on to feel. I have big hands with large knuckles, and as much as I liked the look and style of the compact tactical weapons, they just didn't fit. Some of the plastic ones felt top heavy, the grips felt small, etc. I ended up choosing a fairly run-of-the-mill Beretta 92. Turns out, this is the standard weapon of various police forces; so it's also fairly common if you're looking for parts and accesories.

But in all honesty, you should pic a caliber you want, and then pick something in that caliber that fits your hand. You'll know it when you pick it up at the store.

On to supplies. Of course, you're going to need ammo. Unless you have experience firing a handgun, you're going to have a steep learning curve. The shorter barrel means there's much more sensitivity to your sights, which is one of the reasons why many people choose a shotgun for home defense. Because of the steep learning curve, I suggest buying cheaper target rounds for practice, and then some ballistic rounds for the uninvited guests. Alluding to the earlier discussion regarding the "pant shitting" factor of being shot at,: being shot at with something that will put a hole the size of a coffee saucer in the back of your skull as it exits increases this factor by exponents. I recommend keepeing seperate, loaded clips of both. Since my gun never has a clip in it, I can grab and go for whatever purpose is neccesary.

Thankfully, I've never had to grab and go on ballistic rounds. That would generally mean having to pay someone to replace the carpet; and that shit is expensive.

Then there are supplies. One pretty basic cleaning kit (less than $20) will get you going. I usually clean after every time I go shoot, but that's because I generally fire close to 50 rounds every time I go. Renting a lane is fairly cheap, and there's usually no time limit. Make sure you get regular with one of the local retailers though; they'll usually throw stuff like targets or 10% discounts at you if you're regular.

When I bought my first gun, the shop owner threw me a 10% discount next time I came to the store. So when I came back, I bought 75 rounds, a cleaning kit and a holster. The guy threw thirty shooting targets my way.

Here's a photo of everything. The gun is top left, chamber open. Empty clip to the right, loaded clips just below with ther respective rounds. MagTech target rounds on the right, and the ballistic rounds on the left in the darker jackets. Below these the targets are rolled up, and below them you'll see the cleaning kit.

The second photo shows the SERPA holster. It's made from hard PVC plastic, and features a passive lock that prevents accidental release. You can see from the finger positioning that it is in a natural position if you're drawing, but if someone wanted to run by and grab the gun, they'd have a little trouble. Like I said, it works for idiots and not for smart people; but generally smart people don't try to grab a gun as it sits on your hip.

Posted by: shank at 08:28 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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1 Can I still get one in pink? And yes...you're right. I know plenty of people who know guns and own several....I mean SEVERAL. I lived with a guy for years who owned a 9mm Baretta and since I was home alone a lot when he worked nights, he took me out to the shooting range and showed me how to use it. I was good! Even he was surprised at how good I was. Shit..I was like Dirty Harry...except, you know, not a man.

Posted by: De at December 12, 2008 12:24 PM (tMACI)

2 And yes...you're right. I know plenty of people who know guns and own several....I mean SEVERAL. I lived with a guy for years who owned a 9mm Baretta and since I was home alone a lot when he worked nights, he took me out to the shooting range and showed me how to use it. I was good! Even he was surprised at how good I was. Shit..I was like Dirty Harry...except, you know, not a man.

Posted by: De at December 12, 2008 12:25 PM (tMACI)

3 Because while a single 9mm round may not be enough to dissuade someone, the fact that it has 14 cousins-in-waiting may force a considered pause.

Posted by: tommy at December 14, 2008 02:57 PM (Ffmbd)

4 ß ÷òî-òî íå äîãîíÿþ, à â ÷åì ôèøêà?

Posted by: KWScott at December 17, 2008 03:56 AM (G0WqE)

5 Òàê çà÷èòàëñÿ, ÷òî ïðîïóñòèë ëþáèìóþ ïåðåäà÷ó

Posted by: MarkZM at December 17, 2008 12:08 PM (wiWed)

6 Ñïàñèáî çà ñòàòüþ, âñåãäà ðàäà ïî÷èòàòü âàñ!

Posted by: DannyLK at December 18, 2008 01:44 PM (Lk+4O)

7 Ñêàæèòå, à ó âàñ åñòü RSS ïîòîê â ýòîì áëîãå?

Posted by: USJerry at December 19, 2008 05:19 AM (5HTUO)

8 À íàðîäíàÿ ìóäðîñòü ãëàñèò:”Áåç óñà áîðîäà, áåç óìà ãîëîâà”! ;-)

Posted by: FroraOvaf at December 19, 2008 04:37 PM (NV14g)

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My (great)Uncle Johnny used to have this expression that he used, assumedly, as a catch all. Johnny new just about everything about everything. Growing vegetables, cleaning your sidearm, rebuilding a carbureator; all of it. He was an airplance mechanic in DubDub Two before there ever was an Air Force. I guess back then they were just known as The Badasses With A Set Of Sparkplug Sockets.

Anyways, whenever you would say something like "I planted grapes last year and I've still got nothin'."

Uncle Johnny used to go "mm-HM", and then fold his arms sort of thoughtfully. See, he knew that only those scrapply old Muscodines grow in the southeast. It would've been impolite for him to tell you that you're a dumbass. So he'd say "mm-HM" and after briefly scratching his stubbly chin with his thick calloused fingers, he'd steer you off to where you ought to be.

When Jen said that Bane had gone, I felt like saying "mm-HM." Bane used to comment a lot around here, and I could've sworn we did a "How Many Beers" with him, but I googled with no success. Add it to the list of things I should've done while I could've. Goddammit. "mm-HM" was where Bane existed on the spectrum of human emotion. While we were all chewing pseudointellectual cud and choking on diplomacy, he was spitting bullets and breathing fire. He actually said (blogged, wrote, whatever) aloud what we were all thinking while we were going "mm-HM."

Passion without a filter. A 527 in a Gremlin running with an open header. He was caustic, but you couldn't deny his drawing power.

Well Bane, if you're in Heaven - I hope they've got a shooting range. On the off chance you end up in Hell, call up one or two of your old favorites and shoot your way out. But try not to crack a smile while you do it. That might piss 'em off.

Here's to hoping you're looking out for us all. We could definitely use a gaurdian angel rocking a bandalero. more...

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So where I work, we have an set of ATM's in the food court. We're having this surprise lunch for one of the people in my office suite, so I went down there to get $20 to throw in for the take-out tab.

As I'm waiting for the machine to spit out my crisply-minted fiat currency, I realize that someone is approaching me. Maybe it's just me, but having someone walk up to you at the ATM is awkward. Is it just me? I mean, if it's a friend or something, then it doesn't; but this was an obscure acquaintance. I say 'obscure' because it's someone with whom I've had a, and I mean a single, brief, conversation; but we don't know each other by name.

Anyways, this person is mumbling, and I'm looking back and forth between them and the machine as I go about my business. I can't quite make out what they're saying, but they're definitely trying to communicate specifically to me:
"sdfa, sthsg ugurowelo, kljh?"
Hmm. What is it Lassie? What is it girl?
"weui, rtr wertllyurt a dollar..."
Oh. A twinge of sympathy. We wade deeper into awkwardness.
"...sdpog ritiwe bakesale?"
Oh you've got to be kidding me.

I finally figure out that this person is asking me for a dollar, so she can buy something at the charity bakesale that's set up on a table adjacent to the ATM.

Don't get me wrong, I do have feelings. And at first I felt bad for this person who had to beg people for money while they went to the ATM. At least it was a good tactic, hit 'em when they're going to the source. But the act stumbles in the prestige, right where it should be hitting me full force. A dollar? Motherfucker, I'm at the ATM. I have no money, and in a few moments when I do have money, I am not going to have any dollar bills.

So you want a dollar (first nail in the coffin) and you want it for...the bakesale? You want my money so you can spend it on something nonessential. Yeeaah.

No.

Posted by: shank at 10:47 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I'm sitting here at the kitchen table. It's a perfectly breezy evening. Around here, we get this 4 or 6 week window of time sandwiched between the sweltering humidity of summer and the crisp dryness of winter. The windows are open, and the slight evening sun does it's best to glaze through the puffy cloud cover; but after 3:30 or so it's ambient lighting at best. It's probably in the mid or high seventies during the day, and low sixties at night. The breeze blows almost all day long, and if you can stand the noise of the crickets, frogs, and birds; you can sleep with the windows open. Nature's air conditioning.

I'm thinking of all that's happened in the recent past, and how it belies the place I find myself in, here at the kitchen table. There was Ike, who kicked the shit out of Texas. Towns absolutely wiped off the map, people without power and water for what may be weeks; and worse. But where is that on my local nightly newscast? The talking heads are going on about our problem with rabid cats, or that a cement company wants to build a plant. WTF.

And then there's the economic news. It seems to me that the gloom-and-doomers have been heralding this day for at least a year. Stock markets climb a wall of worry. Americans are sitting on a sinkhole of debt. It's time to pay the piper. Well, believe it or not, somehow this bit of new became blurbworthy on my local innocuous newscast. Crammed for a few seconds between a peice on a reopened murder case and some guy who builds shrimping trawlers by hand.

And there's also the election. I won't go into specifics, but suffice to say I hope everyone's doing their homework; and I mean real digging. Read the sites you don't usually read, ferret out the partisan shit, and read the factual stuff. You'd be amazed what's lying under the facade of these candidates; and it seems we do really have to pick the lesser of two evils. I've decided not to talk politics with friends anymore, because there's one candidate I simply can't stand. The sad part is that the other one just makes me feel 'sort of' like I won't have to fear my government. This is making the local newscast. We're just enjoying the weather, I guess. Shit, the weather makes the news a couple times a day.

Where's all the in depth analysis? Report on the issues. Then report on the people and events driving the issues. Where are they why's? I don't give a fuck that the weather's going to be awesome tomorrow; I give a fuck about the stuff that really matters. How come I have to look that shit up, and you; as a news agency, the informers; only have to bring me rabid cats, cement plants, and the fucking weather?

Posted by: shank at 03:55 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Okay, so it looks like I will have to craft a serious response for De. Of course, I'm sure she probably knows as much about weathering a hurricane as I or anyone else who lives in a hurricane prone area.

For anyone reading this who may have actually come here looking for real tips on how to survive a hurricane: 1. You're absolutely fucked. 2. I would provide a link, but I'm a Darwinian and if this page is all you could dig up on the web; then your genes must perish for the sake of the herd.

Granted, the storm De's currently referring to is a mere blip on the screen. The only thing she really needs to do is get a party hat on and head down to the corner bar. But I figured I might as well put up a good surivial list that will help you get through most any medium term power outage. Anything beyond a week or more, and your best bet is to hunker down with some ammo and await fixed wing and artillery support.

Without further ado, the Hurricane Survival Kit:

1. Beer, ice, and water. There's no point in stockpiling liquor, as you won't want to waste ice keeping mixers cool. Just a giant cooler or four filled with these three key ingredients. The beer is for survival, and the water and ice are to keep it cold. Warm beer is a recipe for depression, and we all know that survival requires a Positive Mental Attitude.
2. Toilet Paper. Pretty self explanatory. Shit-covered hands are no good at helping you drink beer.
3. For food, you're going to need to stick to canned goods and things you can grill; which means you'll need a can opener and some propane/charcoal/firewood. I suggest a mix of both propane and firewood; because of the entertainment value of a roaring fire. Especially when it's on someone else.
4. Which brings me to the last item you'll need: a few other people, I recommend good friends.

Some people have suggested including boardgames and the like. I have to respectfully disagree, and here's why. The only kind of person who's going to include a boardgame on their survival list is a hopeless fucking dork. Which is not to say we're trying to rule them out of your group of friends, Lord knows we've all got a dorky friend or two. You're just going to have to ask them not to bring the game. You see, these are the kind of people who will bring some nerdy game that they love, but which everyone else is kind of 'Meh' about. Like say, Risk. Of course, everyone else in the group will play a round or two of the game; but when Dorky McLosernut's beer supply begins to run low (and everyone knows goddamn well that he only brought good beer because he knew it would grease the wheels of a thirty-fucking-six hour Risk marathon); resentment will set in. Discord is a real pain in the ass in survival situations, because it usually results in killing. Killing is serious business, and you're not going to have the right tools in a survival situation to cover your tracks properly. If you want to have a form of amusement (besides fire, nature's television) I would recommend something like horseshoes, bocci ball, or the like. They're entertaining, but mindless enough to keep people from wanting to gut each other.

If you've got other neccesities that you'd recommend go ahead and share.

Posted by: shank at 02:29 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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So I was giving De a hard time about her lack of Dollyblogging. I knew she was down in TX somewhere, but I failed to notice that she was in fact out of the storm's path. That minor detail aside, she assured me that I would be the first person she'd contact should she find herself in the midst of an apocalypse.

I wonder how that convo would go:

shank is at home, watching TV and eating a bag of microwave popcorn on the couch. A phone rings.

shank: Yalla'.

De (static, screams, crashes in the background): SHANK!? IS THAT YOU?

shank(pulls phone away from ear, grimacing): Jesus Christ. Yeah? Who the hell is this?

De (continued static, glass breaking, sirens. The connection cuts in and out): THI- IS DE. -OOK, I'M IN A BIT -- A SPOT, -ERE. I NE-D -OME ADVICE ON -OW -- SURVIVE AN APOCALYPSE.

shank: Well, first things first. Do you have any personal lubricant?

De (white noise continues, thunder claps can be heard, horns honk): I'M -ORRY, BUT -ID YOU JU-- SAY '-ERSONA- LUBR--ANT'!?

shank: Yep! Make sure you've got a good supply on hand, as it were, so that you've got something to do when the power goes out and eternity sets in. If you make it past the four horsemen and what not. What's going on down there?

De (background noise reaches a crescendo, waves can be heard crashing, donkeys braying): WELL, IT -EEMS THAT THE END IS NIGH. THERE'S THIS -EVEN HEADED --ING MAKING ITS WA- THROU-- TOWN FROM -HE OCEA-. WHAT --OULD I -O?

shank: Um. How flexible are you?

De (wind roaring, dogs barking, cattle lowing): WHAT!?

shank: Flexible! How FLEXIBLE are you?

De (the sound of fast footsteps, muffled distortions, chickens being put in a blender): I'M -KAY, I GUESS.

shank: Good! All you need to do is bend over and kiss your ass goodbye!

shank (Hangs up the phone, and shovels a fistful of popcorn at his gaping maw.): Bitches always on my jock, yo. Can't even peep a movie up in this motherfucker.

Posted by: shank at 11:28 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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1 I thought you gave me your number for the awesome phone sex. Your advice is about as good as my faked orgasm!

Posted by: De at July 29, 2008 04:24 PM (tMACI)

2 of course I can fake a good orgasm!

Posted by: De at July 29, 2008 04:26 PM (tMACI)

3 I just came back to re-read this because Adam told me my comment was too mean and I missed something the first time..."chickens being put in a blender"??? "donkeys braying" and "cattle lowing"??? hahahaha Where do you think I live???

Posted by: De at July 29, 2008 07:43 PM (MnSSi)

4 It's an apocalypse De. All hell is breaking loose; and I imagine that includes the beasts of the feild flying through the air, probably hitting buildings and billboards, landing on cars, etc. I'm glad I slipped it past you the first time though, that makes it even funnier to me.

Posted by: shank at July 30, 2008 06:54 AM (+H1yK)

5 LOL "Beasts of the field"! I imagine you saying that with a British accent.

Posted by: De at July 30, 2008 01:21 PM (tMACI)

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So The Wife and I have lived in our new neighborhood for about six months now, and we're really glad we chose to buy here. And no, we didn't get an ARM or finance more than we can afford or anything like that; so you won't be paying our mortgage with your tax dollars anytime soon. One of the reasons we like it so much is because we live on a cul-de-sac, and we've made some really good friends with all the neighbors.

Anyways, so I'm walking out of the garage yesterday evening and B, the guy who lives across the street, waves me over. "Come on around back, M and E are over with the baby. We're just sitting on the porch." So I head over and he says, "Just give us a holler when you're about to come through the gate. M's dogs are over, and we'll have to hold them so they don't make a break for it." I hadn't yet met M's wife E, or the new baby; so I figured what the hey.

So I pause at the gate, get the go ahead, and walk through. Now, I'm carrying a beer and a folding chair, so my hands are fairly full. As I close the gate, they open the screen door on the porch, and the dogs come out as I go in. Of course, the dogs are excited because dogs generally get all excited around new people, and they're barking and jumping as we pass eachother. I hold out a palm to them as I'm walking through the screen door, and amidst the canine social niceties I get a solid bite on the ass.

Now, I've never been bitten by a dog, so I'm like. "Son of a ... (they had their kid with them, so I held back the urge to scream BLOODY MOTHERFUCKING BASTARD)! Your dog just bit my butt dude!" I put my chair down, and B's wife L is a nurse, so she's like "Go in the bathroom and have a look to make sure you're not bleeding." M grabs the dog that bit me and chastises him, while the little dog is still running around yelping and shit. I go off to the bathroom to survey the damage to one of humanity's Great Flawless Asses.

Thankfully there were no puncture wounds, but it did leave a raspberry about the size of a silver dollar. Almost as if I'd scraped it in a fall or something. So I go back outside, and of course M, E, B, and L are all as shocked as I am. The dog doesn't have a history of biting, and it's shots are all up to date and what not. So there we are, making awkward conversation and pretending that what just happened was neither hilarious nor painful. I slammed my beer as fast as possible just so I'd have an excuse to get the hell out of there.

I got home and called The Wife, who'd just left for her shift. Now, she's a nurse to; and as soon as I made the mistake of telling her about it, she got all hypochondriac on me. Generally, I dislike going to the doctor. However, I have discovered that for the sake of my marriage (and my own health) it is best to just take my medicine. I ended up going to the local urgent care last night for a tetanus booster and some advice on how to prevent infection. I also had a weird moment with the doc, when he asked me how the hell I got bit on the ass by a dog. The way he said it implied that he thought I was running around the dog park in a banana hammock, trying to lay with the beasts of the field or something. Anyways, he said soak in a bath for a while, wash it with some antibacterial soap, and keep an eye on it.

When I returned from the urgent care, I had a voicemail from M. He said he'd heard I went to have it looked at, and wanted to make sure everything was okay. Needless to say, it's kind of an awkward situation now. Firstly, I haven't been scared of a dog since I don't know when, and now I'm kind of scared of M's dog; and secondly because we don't really now each other that well. The dog didn't growl or posture in any way that made me feel like it was in an aggressive mood. I mean, I understand that animals are animals, and sometimes they bite; but now I'm all thrown off. Maybe it didn't like the color I was wearing. Maybe it was because it was held, then released as I came in; thus putting it in a defensive mindset. Hell, maybe it was just being friendly. I mean, I didn't have to pull myself away from it; the bite was more of a quick release type of nip than a chomp and hold.

I realize that some people would have probably reported the bite to animal control, but I didn't. The dog doesn't have a history, and B &L even kept the dogs for a week while M &E were away and had no problems. I mean, it would only add tension to an already awkward situation. Here I am, embarrassed that I got bit in the damn ass; but I could tell M & E were equally embarrassed that their dog acted like that. If I reported the bite, it would just give them a reason to let their embarrassment turn into resentment. I'd prefer not to have a relationship like that with neighbors, especially people who are as easy to like as M & E seem to be. I figure it'll be socially lame for a little while, but eventually it'll be a funny story.

I ain't going to be hanging around his damn dogs anytime soon though, and you can take that shit to the bank son!

Posted by: shank at 11:47 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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Why is it that nearly all the Brits who make it onto TV shows are raging pricks.

Simon Cowell, a cunting condescender if there ever was one, pretty much makes money coming up with creative ways to tell people they'd be better off shoving that mic up their ass than singing into it.

I'm pretty sure that Gordon Ramsey is really just Simon Cowell in an apron. I mean, he makes money telling people they'd be better off shoving their cooking up their ass than eating it.

What the hell, UK? The only Brits on TV who actually seem like enjoyable people are the guys from Top Gear. I mean, I would actually like to sit in a bar and get drunk with those guys.

Can you imagine what it would be like to get drunk with Simon Cowell? He'd end up getting into a bar brawl with someone over how their shoes look 'shtew-pid' or something. Unfortunately for him, he'd find that outside of American Idol, most people with 'shtew-pid' attire are big enough to kick his cockney ass. And Ramsey? The guy totally strikes me as a grade-a, skeevy letch. He'd probably get drunk and start sizing up anything in the bar with a warm snatch. You can't blame him though. I don't know if you noticed or not, but if you get a close look at his face, it looks like he's been dropping it in deep fryers. Fame is the only thing that's getting him laid, and he's just trying to ride the wave as long as possible.

Posted by: shank at 08:29 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Jenelle had an interesting morning, thanks to guy who decided that today was the day that he needed to kill his family and himself. She says, "I want to believe there is a Hell at times like these."

I have to say that Hell must exist in instances like these, if only in the mind of the shooter. I simply can't imagine the kind of torment one must be in to think that only way to bring it to an end is to murder your family and yourself.

I mean, I have regular panic attacks about the dumbest shit. I don't know why, but they always seem to revolve around things I personally have no control over (global stability, apocalypse, disaster). I become afraid, frantic to do something to avoid certain doom, to prevent the imminent destruction of everything I take for granted. Quite literally, I become attacked by panic; my mind set upon itself, fear scaling the walls of rationality; horror at the realization of my own powerlessness. But even in the grip of such an irrational tailspin, I've never concluded that the death of myself or anyone I hold dear would bring peace.

So does Hell exist? Well, something tortured him to the point that he had to commit a horrible, senseless crime. I suppose the answer has to be yes, but whether Hell is a result or a punishment remains a mystery.

Posted by: shank at 11:02 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I gotta say, I've come to understand that I belong in The South, particularly the Southeast, for many reasons. I love the weather, the people (or more appropriately, the lack thereof), and the cultural tapistry. I've lived in many places, but never in a place that felt so much like an integral part of a larger
'place' that stretches across so many states. I walk onto my porch and I could just as easily be in Umatilla, Hiltonia, or my own backyard.

Of course, it's not without its flaws. Like, say, Burmese Pythons. Firstly, the Southwest bit is pretty ridiculous. Burmese pythons are amphibious reptiles that need a constant source of water; and there doesn't seem to be any continuous geography like that in the Southwest.

The Southeast is another story altogether. As a matter of fact, there is already a wild breeding population in the Everglades. I'm sure we all remember the alligator vs. python pictures. That being said, I think if they moved any further north than Charleston, SC or maybe even where I'm at; the longer winter and lack of a consistent swampy wetland would drive them off.

Which is a bittersweet double-edged sword, because they would really help combat the rising population of another regional pest that we refer to as 'Yankee transplants'.

Sure, come visit, have some grits, maybe a little sweet tea; but for the love of God don't stay.

Posted by: shank at 08:24 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Still working this one out, so put your water wings on and swim at your own risk. more...

Posted by: shank at 09:50 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I had a wild one last night. Actually, late this morning. I was at a beachfront hotel/resort with extended family. My wife, brother, his wife, Dad, Mom (!?), uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents. I was snorkeling with two of my cousins, while the rest of the family ate lunch on a nearby veranda. I also noticed that some good friends from highschool and their kids had joined the party, as well as an old girlfriend and her child. I remember feeling really good, because all of these people were here and getting along. So I got out of the water and walked to the counter to return my rental snorkle equipment. While standing there waiting for the receipt, I notice this huge explosion a couple hundred yards offshore. Me and the rental guy are all "Holy shit!", and then I notice that there's at least one battleship out there, and a giant cruiseliner - the latter of which is steaming directly for the hotel.

I immediately assume that the cruise ship means me no good will, so I start sprinting up the stairs to the front exit with the rental guy in hot pursuit. Some of the guests are doing the same, while some of them simply clap and continue to sip cocktails like they're being ambushed by a dinner theater or something. As I'm running out of the hotel, I hear a swell of panicked shrieks well up behind me, and I shout to my family to head out to the street, putting the hotel building between themselves and the approaching behemoth.

As I'm running across the front patio, I look behind me and see that the cruiseship actually looms taller than the hotel, as its bow smashes through the roof and upper stories of the building. I try to judge where the debris is going to fall, if I should keep running or let it fall in front of me and then just climb over it. I decide to make a mad dash for the street since everyone else already has a headstart on me.

Looking behind me again, I can see the cruise ship backing up with a grinding metal growl. The screaming begins to swell again, as people realize this can only mean a second kamikaze run. I reach the median of the main street, maybe 100 yards from the hotel, which is about 100 yards from the beach, and begin to sweep the scattering crowd for familiar faces. I see my brother, yell at him, then see Mom, Dad, and my aunt and uncle running together. We collect ourselves into a group, and try to figure out what to do next. My brother and I are frantically trying to figure out where our wives are, wondering if maybe they're together, when I wake up. Sweating.

I had the strange sensation when I woke up that I wanted to stay in the dream. I guess to find out where my wife was. Odd.

Posted by: shank at 10:46 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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My Mother told me,
'for she passed away,
said 'Son when I'm gone, don't forget to pray'.
'Cuz there'll be hard times.

Alright, I won't do it anymore. She never was one for fanfare. She wouldn't appreciate it; matter of fact she'd feel downright uncomfortable about the whole goddamn deal. All these people harrassing themselves about something they can't change. They'd be better off just rolling with it and letting the whole damn deal be. But I won't deny that I'm so pissed. Mom, as much as you know I love to tell stories, I never thought the best ones would leave such a sour taste in my mouth.

So, in your memory, and in the only way I can figure how; I celebrate the one and only anniversary. I love ya, I miss ya; always will. But I won't piss myself away over your passing, no matter how much I want to. I know; 'I've got my own life, I'll have my own kids...' You were always that way. Why did you have to be that way. So much better than the rest of us. But I will, for you. I'll raise my kids and tell them about their parents, and their grandparents; and one day. Oh one day. They'll do something and it will remind me of you.

Why couldn't your legacy...
But you were the most...
It's so...
Dammit, you would say that!

Posted by: shank at 11:46 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 240 words, total size 1 kb.

The Wife and I closed on our new house last month. I had heard that kind of thing was stressful, but boy did I underestimate the situation. Every day there was some kind of crisis: lost social security cards, inspection punch lists, then the moving began.

Now that we're in, there's a seemingly endless list of projects to take care of. Unfortunately, it sounds like the kind of stuff that will only end in the kind of hijinks a guy like me always gets caught in. So if I ever have any spare time between painting, hanging shelving, tiling backsplashes, and cleaning up all the resulting messes; there might be some new posts here at some point in the future.

Posted by: shank at 09:51 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 126 words, total size 1 kb.

1 Gosh!

Posted by: Keith at December 04, 2007 09:40 AM (jbvVc)

2 Welcome to the wonderful world of homeownership!

Posted by: Moodie at December 05, 2007 12:54 AM (GN6CU)

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So I'm watching Pearl Jam on Storytellers tonight, and it's good. Kind of like visiting an old friend. Until Vedder starts pontificating his egotistical ass off. Jesus Christ, give me a break Eddie. How did this melodramic emo dork make it this far in life without slitting his wrists over all the flies that have died every day of his life?

Seriously, someone in the audience posed the question to him "How do you feel about the fans who have different ideologies than yours?" I paraphrase the question, but the answer is word for word: "Fuck 'em." Vedder then goes on to say that THIS decade is the worst ever; which I find hilarious. Of course this is the worst decade ever, because if you're not here, how could it possibly be a pivotal moment in history? I mean, the good lord wouldn't leave us to our own against the Great Satan without sending us...Eddie Vedder? Piss off. And he goes on to say that we're all going to be a part of the culmination of a revolution, that the fans who have different viewpoints should do research and gain knowledge, basically just get right with the lord. Such egotistical bullshit. We're the band, we're the artists, we're the ones who feel more than anyone else, and we're the ones trying to bring you into the fold. What the hell Vedder? Did you join a church or what? You get ordained cardinal of the First United Church of Bushmongering?

It wouldn't piss me off so much if they hadn't turned into such a bunch of pandering frauds. In the early 90's it really was about being different, about how being a nonconformist can be an expression of creativity. Now he gets up there and refers to himself, and by proxy his band, as the font of knowledge in which those who differ should baptize themselves.

Then I noticed that one of the guys in the front row is bald. And I don't mean "I shave my head" bald, I mean "I'm so old my hair is falling out of my old ass noggin" bald. Dude. These guys are just trying to target the largest segment of the population with the most expendable income - retiring baby boomers.

Suck my farts Pearl Jam. You friggin copouts. We should have known.

Posted by: shank at 11:50 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I just wrote an awesome post, and the intarweb farted and dropped the entire thing into the techno abyss.

Glenn Reynolds can take his Army of Davids and march it right up his big orange Volunteer State ass. Technolgy is crap! Who's with me!

Posted by: shank at 09:18 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 46 words, total size 1 kb.

1 .... hey, easy on the Big Orange there, shank..... it ain't their fault....

Posted by: Eric at November 19, 2007 08:57 PM (g02Hg)

2 Notepad everytime before writing

Posted by: Jeremy at November 24, 2007 01:26 PM (XPIu3)

3 At any time you would undoubtedly keep your secret by way of an opponent, reveal to it again never to anyone. clarisonic mia best price Sale clarisonic mia best price Sale

Posted by: clarisonic mia best price Sale at November 19, 2012 10:08 AM (DwQya)

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Real estate agents: Client advocates to be trusted with securing a good deal for you, or money-grubbing bumblefucks who should be kept on a short leash and fed info on a need-to-know basis?

I have no idea, that's why I'm asking you; the educated commentariat.

Posted by: shank at 12:51 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 47 words, total size 1 kb.

Michigan who?

Posted by: shank at 04:25 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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During last night's episode of Last Comic Standing, John Reep touched on something that resounds with a lot of people - take the stupid Bluetooth earbud off your head if you're not actually on the phone. His comment was "You look like a tool." I think it's a behavior that deserves, due to its prevalence, a bit more attnetion.

I've never understood it myself, why people do this. It makes about as much sense as taking your steering wheel with you after you park your car. I wondered if maybe it was a status thing, like, "Check me out, I've got a Bluetooth thingie." That theory doesn't hold up though, when you consider the cost of an earbud. What're they, like 50 bucks?

You know what I think it is? I think most people are just plain old morons, and for some reason it makes them feel neato to wear the earbud. Maybe it makes them feel futuristic, like a character in a sci-fi novel; which is about as sad as people who dress up for the Renaissance Fair. Or maybe it makes them feel important, like "People are constantly ringin' my bling, yo. I gots to keep my Bluetoof on G"; which is sadder still, because they're not actually talking on it.

The fact of the matter is, the only time you need to use the stupid thing is if you're on the phone while already doing something with both hands, like making dinner, driving, or beating someone about the head and neck with a Big Bertha Titanium 454. Unfortunately, people use the earbud for no apparent reason all the damn time. They're not even all that convenient when you do have to use them (the volume is lower, they drain your battery, etc), so why the hell would you sit there and use it if your stupid phone is right there in your pocket?

The main takeaway here is that wearing an idle Bluetooth has become a universal signifier; it's the modern equivalent of a dunce cap.

Posted by: shank at 11:44 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 341 words, total size 2 kb.