Don't you hate it when that happens?

I thought it was just a fart. Of course, had I not been mostly asleep, I may have realized that it wasn't just gas pushing on the backside of my sphincter. So instead of squeezing out a cloud of noxious gas, it was a combination of foul air and vile fluid. My eyes flew open as I concluded that something just didn't feel right. I eased my naked self out of bed, careful not to awaken my girlfriend of one month, and headed for the bathroom where I ended up having to clean my ass with a wet wash cloth. Ewww.

Luckily, I never woke her up. Jennifer is a very light sleeper and can you imagine having to explain that you sharted in bed to your new girlfriend? So, I climbed back in the sack and went to sleep.

I got up about 8. It was Saturday, and I figured Jenn would just sleep in. So I got dressed, headed to the kitchen, and started cooking breakfast.

About 15 minutes later, I went back to the bedroom to see if Jenn was interested in eating. I opened the door and she was sitting up, under the covers, on the bed reading a book. "Hey baby," I said, "Do you want some breakfast?" "Sure," she answered. Then she added, "Hey, do you remember getting up and going to the bathroom last night?" Uh oh. I didn't think that she knew about that. Ahhh, I probably just woke her up when I climbed back into bed, I thought. "Yeah, why?" I asked nervously. She set her book down, grabbed the top of the sheets, and yanked them down to expose a nasty brown stain on my side of the bed. "Did you forget to wipe or what?" she said laughing. Awww damn.

What do you do when that happens? Apologize? Attempt to explain why there was shit in your bed? Blame it on the dog? Nope. You're flat busted son. Suck it up and prepare to wash some sheets. And for the love of God... take a shower ASAP.

Well, I tell you what, I just can't believe that she was lying in bed with a shit stain, waiting for me to come in so she could rub it in my face (not literally of course). That's pretty goddamned impressive if you ask me. She even helped me change the sheets.

Moral of the story: If you ever shart in bed with a new girlfriend, you better just lie in it until she gets up and goes home, because there is no way in hell that she would be half as cool with you shitting the bed as my girl was.

Peace.

Trust me... take a taxi (v.II)

I woke up suddenly. It was the sprinklers spraying me that wooed me out of my alcohol induced coma. "Where am I?" I thought. As I rounded the corner of the building, I began to recognize things. My head was POUNDING and my mind was engulfed in a thick fog, yet I knew I was downtown. "Musta been a rough night," I chuckled to myself.

I had, evidently, passed out in between a couple of church buildings and woke up when the sprinklers came on. I was hung over and drunk at the same time as I made my way out to the corner. As I was trying to piece the previous evening together, and look for a pay phone, a gold Cadillac pulled up next to me. The guy inside said, "Hey buddy, you need a ride?" Just so happened, I did need a ride. So like a dunken idiot (which I really was at the time), I said yes.

So I jumped into his ride, and almost immediately, he pulled out a flask and offered me a drink. It was 8:30 on a Saturday morning, mind you. Yeah, I was stunned too, especially in my condition. "Man, if I have a swig of that stuff, I will blow chunks all over your car," I said. He persisted. I refused. Then, I vaguely remember him talking about inches and cut or uncut. Huh? He was referring to my dick, or his dick, I'm not sure. I'm not even sure I knew what he was talking about at the time. If I was in a car with a strange man talking about his jimmy, I think I would say, "Whoa dude! Pull this bucket over!" But who knows, I was in pretty bad shape.

He needed gas, so I filled up his tank and gave him directions to my buddies house where I left my car. He agreed to drive me there, but said he had to swing by his place first. "No problem," I said, still totally oblivious to what the hell was going on.

We got to his house and he said, "I've got to make a phone call, come inside for a minute." So I followed him in. As I slipped into a chair in his living room, he dialed the phone and disappeared into the back of the house. A minute later, he returned and said, "Here's some reading material," as he pressed the phone to his ear with one hand, and handed me some magazines with the other. They were 1960's Playboys. "That's weird," I thought. "Why would he be giving me Play..." My thoughts were interrupted when Psycho said, "Man you have got to feel this carpet. Take off your shoes and dig your toes in this stuff. It's fantastic."

BLAM!!! It hit me like a 2-by-4 to the back of the head. The flask, the dick conversation, the Playboys, the take off your shoes bit, the phone call... oh shit. The phone call... FLASH... all I could think about was that scene in Pulp Fiction where Ving Rhames and Bruce Willis were tied up in the basement and the kidnapper called his buddy to come over for some ass raping. My mind was running wide open now. What was in that flask? What if I hadn't refused? Was he sizing up my Johnson? Did he want me to get a stiff one from the Playboys? Could I get away without shoes on? Who did he call? Why in the FUCK did I not see this before?! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD....

Very politely, I said, "Look man, I have a lot of things to do today and I feel like hell. Could you just take me to my car?" Thank heaven, that's what he did.

I really don't know what the guy was planning, but I find it hard to believe that it had nothing to do with poking me in the ass. There may have been roofies in that flask, or the phone call could have been to someone looking to make a snuff film. Then again, it could have all just been coincidence. Just maybe, he always talks about male genitalia, and drinks early in the morning, and gives 1960's Playboys to his houseguests, and was on a business call, and has really nice carpet... but I wouldn't bet on it.

Moral of the story: Always, always, always, take a taxi.

Peace.

Third Annual Halloween Bash

HEY YOU!!
You are cordially invited to AT and Howie's Third Annual Halloween Bash. No costume, no entry, so don't try dressing up as yourself. It won't work. "The Party" is on Saturday, October 30th, 9 pm at the house. Send me an email if you need directions. We will be providing some liquor, mixers, and a couple kegs of beer, so if you want something specific (ie, green apple martinis) bring your own shit.

See you there.

Peace.

Something new

As you see, I have updated the blog a bit. It's a lot of work getting all of the other shit (hit counter, links, etc.) back up again, but I will be working on it. So keep your eyes peeled, and let me know what you think...

Oh yeah, no worries Carrie. Cutest Engineer Ever will be the first link I put up. :)

Peace.

Ponies, optical illusions, and my friends beanie

Ok. It's 10 below outside, blizzard conditions; Nolan and I are in a tent, near the summit of Mt. Rogers, and I'm sound asleep. My Mountain Hardware bag was just too hot to zip up and be comfortable, so I left it open with only half of my boxer-clad body inside. Then, there's Nolan. Something made him think that his 40 degree synthetic bag would be plenty warm enough for February in Virginia at 8000 feet. "Hey bra... hey wake up!" Nolan said shaking my shoulder. As I gained consciousness, I opened my eyes to see Nolan wearing every single stitch of clothing he brought with him. Gloves, beanie, socks, Gore-TEX, and that wimpy bag he brought. "Dude, will you share your sleeping bag with me? I'm freezing my ass off," Nolan asked sheepishly. Now I know it was hard for the guy. If you knew him, you'd understand. He's not the type who could comfortably share a sleeping bag with another man. But I felt his pain, so I opened up my bag, threw it over the both of us, and went back to sleep. Not for long though.

You see, when it's that cold outside and you're backpacking, you have one of three options when nature calls from the tent. First option: Piss in a bottle. Probably the easiest and smartest idea, but for this to be a viable option, you have to have a square bottle. Why you ask? So that in the middle of the night when you get thirsty, you can tell the water bottle from the pisser with your hands. Swigging from the piss bottle is bad, umm-kay. Option two: Put on all of your fucking clothes, boots included, and wander out into the woods to piss. Getting dressed in layers and putting on hiking boots, in a tent, is a painstakingly tedious task that turns a one minute pee, into a 20 minute ordeal. It sucks. Option three: Don't put on any clothes, unzip the door, stand up, and go. Due to the convenient shape of today's tents, you can stand with your feet inside, and your torso outside. You just have to be able to bear the cold for as long as you're peeing. Ahhhh.

Anyway, back to Mt. Rogers... We had been using Option 3 for two days due to the fact that we were lacking in the square bottle department. Well, not long after Nolan woke me up to share some heat, I was awakened again by what sounded like and acoustic bass string being plucked. Once I shook the cobwebs from my head, I realized the tent was under attack by Highland Ponies, and that bass sound was them tripping over the guy lines. Those damned ponies were falling all over the tent, landing on us, and I swear to God they were trying to dig a hole right at the front entrance. Clop, clop, clop, clop... over and over and over again. "It's fucking three o'clock in the morning! For the love of God, what is going on?!!" I yelled irritably. This went of for at least another hour before I couldn't take it anymore. So I began getting dressed. A half-hour later, I actually made it out of the tent, grabbed a trekking pole, and began chasing Highland Ponies all around the campsite. They were mocking me, the smug little bastards. They would run just fast enough that I could not catch them, but they wouldn't leave the campsite. I was chasing them around trees, rocks, the tent... they were content to go around in circles until I was worn out. And it worked. After a while, I was just too tired to chase the small horses. As I was leaning against the tree in the middle of camp catching my breath, I began to look around and notice that the ponies were digging through the snow in multiple spots, not just at the front of my tent. Son of a... spots where we had gone to PISS!! It was a startling revelation. It was all making sense now. The ponies were looking for salt, so any place where we had taken a leak had an unusually high concentration under the snow. Turns out, Option 3 is not a good idea when there are Highland Ponies around.

By this time, it's nearly 5 am. Nolan and I were up, so we decided to hike to the top of the mountain and watch the sunrise. We made our way up the snow covered trail in the dark until we reached a small rock outcropping near the summit. It was from this spot that we realized as the sky was just getting light that there was another peak right in our line of sight. After a quick survey, we decide (in near darkness) that we would make the hike to that peak to watch the sunrise. After all, it only looked like a 15 minute walk over there. A half-an-hour later, we were almost to the bottom of the valley that separated the two mountains. The snow had to be at least 3 feet deep down there and it was turning out to be a bad idea all the way around. The 15 minute hike was really 3 miles through some nasty snow drifts, but we were determined, after all that we had been through, to be at the top to see the sunrise. It was like Harold and Kumar go to White Castle. It was hard work, but we made it just in time... and it was worth it, but we weren't up there long because I could feel a growler brewing and I had no toilet paper. Gotta hold it until I can get back to camp, I thought to myself. Negative.

On the way back, I just couldn't hold it any more. "I gotta shit man," I said urgently. "What are you going to wipe with?" Nolan asked. "A rock I guess," seeing as how there were no leaves anywhere. So I hobbled around a large boulder, dropped trou, and squeezed out a steamer. As I was hunched over, I chiseled a rock that looked like an old Indian spear head out of the ice with my knife. Now, I really thought that the rock thing was going to work, but I was screaming when I ran that sharp, frozen rock across my ass crack. Yeah. That was a brilliant idea, I thought as I contemplated my next move. Just then, Nolan's hat came flying over the boulder. "Wipe your ass with that," he said. I guess he was making up for me sharing my bag when he was freezing in the tent. So I did... and it was nice. When I was through, I turned the hat inside out and came back around the rock as I was stuffing it in my jacket pocket. "What the hell are you going to do with that?" Nolan asked. "I'm going to wash it and give it back to you," I answered irritably (what did he think I was going to do with it, keep it as a souvenir?). "I'm NEVER going to put that fucking thing back on my head!!" he yelled. Good point. So I carried it back to the scene of the crime, and used it to cover up the evidence.

Overall, it was a great trip. You gotta feel for the other guys that were out with us though. They were staying in a tepee during the blizzard. Yikes. It had no floor, and the walls started about 6 inches from the ground. Nolan and I went over to check on them after we got back from our early excursion, and they were both sleeping completely buried in snow. It must have been a foot deep inside the tepee. Yeah, they were miserable. Oh, and I forgot to mention the troop of Boy Scouts and their brainless leader who nearly froze to death on the mountain the next night. They were in bad shape when we got there, but we gave them dry clothes, food, and water until rescue arrived. Hey, we're heros. What can we say?

Peace.

T-shirts

Well, it started out as a joke but I've gotten an overwhelming response from people wanting t-shirts. In order for me to get a ballpark figure of how many to order, please click on the "Thoughts?" button below and let me know the following...

1. Black or white
2. Size (S,M,L,XL, etc.)
3. Quantity of each

I'm going out on a limb here, but I think we can get away without making any of the Nolan's nutsac shirts.

We can work out the shipping details later if I need to send them to you. I'll go ahead and find a place to get them made and get a price per shirt. I'm thinking in the $10-$12 range, but the more I order the cheaper they will be. I don't want to get stuck with 100 shirts and a $1000 bill to foot on my own... SO IF YOU WANT ONE, YOU HAVE TO LEAVE AN ORDER BELOW.

Thanks for your patronage.

Peace.

On a serious note

I have a buddy, named Perry, who has leukemia. The other night he was telling me the whole story of his illness over the last 6 years - how he found out, the chemotherapy, the bone marrow transplant, the remission, and how he got sick again. At one point after the bone marrow transplant, Perry thought that he was completely healed. But then he began show symptoms again, and he described what he went through with these two sentences...

"I had the horrible experience of feeling like I was going to die. It sucked ass."
-Perry

Amen brother. I bet it truly did suck ass.

Perry has some very difficult decisions to make in the near future. He also has a wife and two kids to think about as well. So if you pray, please pray for him. If not, toss a penny in a well and wish for his health.

All of us take our wellness, and the wellness of the ones we love, for granted more often than not. Hug your kids, call your parents, and hang-out with your friends. Time is ticking...

Peace.

Scrotum

Cliff and I whip out the scrotum song...

Peace.

Break Truck Burrito

My God I've finally done it. You've asked, and now you shall receive. Here, for the first time ever on the internet, is a shitty (recorded over the phone), punky version of Break Truck Burrito. Right click the link below and choose "Open Link in New Window" to sing along. Enjoy...

I was at the site one day
When break time rolled around
I undid my buckle
And I laid my tool pouch down
Went to the break truck
To see what I could see
A break truck burrito
Was staring back at me

Chorus:
It was a break truck burrito
They always give me gas
A break truck burrito
It'll tear out your ass
If you have one I hope you don't
Have your good drawers on
Tell the foreman I'll be back in a while
I'm going to the Porta-Jon

I snached up that greasy burrito
And chowed that fucker down
Not ten minutes later
My gut made an awful sound
I could feel the loose stool brewing
Deep inside of me
Thought it was gas but I learned my lesson
When I filled up my BVD's

(Chorus)

Now you may think this story
Really isn't true
But if you did my laundry
You'd believe it too
Those break truck burritos
Aren't made with meat and beans
They fill them up with colon cleanse
To make you shit your jeans

(Chorus)

Tell the foreman I'll be back in a while
I'm going to the Porta-Jon
Tell the foreman I'll be back in a while
I'm going to the Porta-Jon

-Written, composed, and performed by AT
(© copyright 1997)

Peace.

Crack Whore

A few years ago, I was working in Palm Beach when a few buddies of mine showed up in town. My work schedule was extremely hectic and I hadn't had any time to party at all, so I jumped at the chance to toss back a few when they called me and asked if I'd like to hit some bars in downtown West Palm.

Later that night, Doug picked me up and we headed out to meet the rest of the crew at a little Irish pub five miles or so from my hotel. As is usually the case when some friends and I get a few drinks down, someone made a comment about my scrotum ring and peaked the interest of all who had yet see it. Some of you know that it only takes one "Lemme see" and two Crown and Cokes for me to drop my zipper and BLAM... you've got an eyeful of nutsac. So is the case here. The girls were giggling, the guys were wincing, and I was beginning to get really fuck'n drunk.

After that, I don't remember much of what happened in the bar (no surprise there) except that I couldn't find anyone I knew, including my ride. So using my sound judgment (right), I decided that walking five miles back to the hotel at 2:30 in the morning was my best option. I'd hoofed nearly halfway when the sparkling neon sign of a convenient store drew me like a barracuda to a gold watch. I was in luck too... Cheesy Poofs were buy one get one free.

With a bag under each arm and a bottle of Gatorade I stepped out the door and headed for the sidewalk, when a hunk-of-shit car pulls up next to me. "You need a ride?" a woman's voice called from inside. God knows why, but I said, "Sure," and hopped into the passenger seat.

As we hit the asphalt, the chick pulls a single cigarette and a lighter out of her pocket and attempts to hold the smoke and drive with one hand, and light the thing with the other. Now, I was drunk mind you, but she was sure having trouble lighting that thing because she was just holding the flame there like it wouldn't light. After a few long seconds of wondering what the hell was taking so long, I concentrated on focusing my bleary eyes and came to the startling realization that what she was holding was not a cigarette. Nope. Definitely a glass pipe in the same shape as one. Stunned, I asked, "IS THAT CRACK?" "Yeah," she answered nonchalantly. "Wow. I've just never seen anyone smoke crack before." Here I am, in a car traveling 55 mph, with a woman that's steering a stick shift with one finger, AND smoking a crack pipe. It's at this point that I realize, this was not a very good idea.

Luckily for me, I made it back to the hotel in one piece (she was obviously a pro). In exchange for the ride, I gave her an entire bag of Cheesy Poofs. I figured that she'd need them, although I don't really know whether or not crack gives you the munchies.

Moral of the story: Take a Taxi. I have only taken a ride from a stranger twice, and I was drunk both times (imagine that), but the other story... well, I'll post it later but suffice to say that it was much more scary.

Peace.

Nolan's T-shirt (see Thoughts? below) 

T-shirts available soon...

Black or white... reserve yours today! 

Peace.

As you can see...

I can post pictures now (sweet!)... cool, huh?

New Year's Eve in South Beach... (man that flash is bright!) 

Peace.

The Swamp

Ahhhh, college football. There's no better time of year. The smell of beer and charcoal exaggerate the excitement in the air surrounding college stadiums across the nation every Saturday morning.

A couple of years ago, at the Florida/Aurburn game in The Swamp, some of my buddies and I made the trek to Gainesville for a couple days of football and parting. We arrived in Gainesville well before the game started and began to drink heavily. Very heavily. In fact, if I remember correctly, before the game even started I was doing genital origami for everyone tailgating around us. You know, The Turkey Leg, The Flying Squirrel, and The Plum. Anyway, after the game we made our way across University Blvd. to a bar called The Swamp (not to be confused with the stadium). For some odd reason, we all decided that hanging our nuts out in the bar was a great idea. I, to this day, don't remember how it all came about, but I will admit that it was probably my idea. So there we are, all five of us standing by the front door hanging brain, when a midget walks by. No shit. What are the chances of that?! It just so happens, THIS midget works for the bar we are in. So she comes around the corner and what is the first thing to hit her at eye level? A whole covey of cojones. Five guys in their late 20's with genitalia hanging out of their zippers. So she is obviously horrified. Maybe if there was a 15 inch... naw, she would still have been horrified. Anyway, Shorty runs over and tells the manager that she's going to sue the bar or something because he comes over all pissed off, and says that we can't hang our dicks out in the bar. I quickly point out to him that nary a one of us is hanging a penis out in his bar, and that we would all put our boys up and be good for the rest of the evening. "Get out!!" he screamed. So we all headed for the door, struggling to tuck our jewels back into their respective places and zip up, when manager Stalin says, "You guys come back tomorrow." "OHHHHHHH! TOMORROW is hang your nuts out night!!" I said sarcastically. This did not sit well with Stalin, although my buddies did get a good chuckle out of it. "Get out!!" he yelled for the second time. Oh well, next door to the Purple Porpoise we go.

Moral of the story: If your going to hang your balls out in a crowded bar, be certain there are no midgets nearby.

Peace.

Express Yourself

"It's not what you look like, when you're doing what you're doing, it's what you're doing, when you're doing, what you look like you're doing." -Charles Wright & The Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band

Wise words, from a wise band.

Peace.

Bernie Liechester

Yep. That's my official porn name (for those of you who don't know, it's your first pet's name followed by the name of the street you first lived on). Sounds like an accountant doesn't it? There's a knock at the door. A nearly nude woman races from the bathroom cluching a towel around her tan, dripping wet body. "Hello. I'm Bernie Liechester with the IRS and I'd like to talk to you about your 1996 Federal Tax Return." (cue cheesy porn music... bow chicka bow wow).

For the past two-and-a-half weeks, I've been hanging out on a lake in the mountains of North Carolina. Every morning I would leave the cabin (well, mansion really), hop in my kayak, tool around the coves and points of the west bank, and fish. About a week into my stay, my bud Jen from Miami showed up in town. She was staying in another house on the lake just down the way a bit. When she heard about my fishing expeditions, she was enthralled and wanted to come along in her one-man canoe. A few days later, we met halfway between our places on the water, I gave her a pole, and we proceeded to fish. Jen was the first to score as she reeled in a small bass that I removed from her line and set free. We decided to stay in the area and fish the small coves that were shaded by overhanging brush and trees. I pulled up into one of these spots and was tossing my Mepps lure back up underneath the brush to see if I could coax out a big one when one hit. Not too big, but I could tell he was about three pounds or so when he leapt from the surface of the water and flung my lure from his mouth. Nice. "C'mon baby, hit me again," I thought as tossed my Mepps in the same direction... right into an overhanging bush. Son of a... As I struggled to pull my line free, my pole was bent into the shape of a C and the line was as taught as a banjo string. Just then, the battle between the irresistible force of my pole and the not-so-immovable object plant was won... by my pole. And that lure with three hooks on it came flying back at me at an incredible speed. SMACK!!! That damned thing hit me square in the cheek and one of the hooks buried itself in the flesh just below my right eye. I tried to pull it out, but not knowing which direction the hook was facing it was a futile attempt and I did not want to push the barb through if it was not already under the skin. "Uh Jen, I'm going to need your help over here," I laughed. "Did you catch one?" "Not exactly," I answered. "Did you get hung in a tree?" "Well, I WAS hung in a tree," I said as I paddled toward her boat. "Oh my God AT," she exclaimed as she turned and saw the leaf covered lure hanging from my face. She had genuine concern on her face at first, but when she saw that I was ok, we both began to laugh uncontrollably. I said, "Take a look at this thing and see if you can pull it out of my face. Can you see the barb?" "Jesus AT. I don't see it," she answered in a shaky voice. "That sucks. That means we're going to have to push it through and cut the barb off," I muttered. "I don't think I can do that," she said squeamishly, "Let's head back to your place." (cue cheesy porn music... ha ha... I just couldn't resist with a line like that) So I began to leisurely paddle back towards the dock about a quarter of a mile away when Jen yelled, "C'mon AT, hurry up! For the love of God, you have a hook in your face!! How can you be so calm? I would be hysterical right now." "It's just a small piece of metal," I stated. Man, Jen was really freaking out, and the hook was in MY face, not her's. God help us all if this had happened to Jennifer instead of me. We got back to the dock and I was trying to get my boat out of the water when Jen screamed, "AT I'll get your kayak, go up to the house!" "But..." "NOW!!" Yes Mom. I made my way to the boat house to grab a set of pliers and headed up the moss covered stone path to the house, Jen not far in tow. As I walked in the sliding glass door I called, "Hey Pop. I need your help for a minute." Just then my mom came out of the kitchen and said, "Dear Lord, what happened?" "This thing is stuck in my face," I answered as I handed my dad the pliers. Then, Jen's paranoia became infectious. "There's a doctor up on the corner..." "Ma, I'm not going to the doctor. It's just a little piece of wire." "You're going to need a tetanus shot," Jen added. "If it was in my finger would I need a tetanus shot?" "Goddamnit, I can't do this in here with these women," my dad said, "Let's go outside. Is it up to the barb?" "I can't see the damned thing Pop, but Jen said it was," I answered. When we got outside, my dad began pulling leaves out of the hooks so that he could get a good bite with the pliers. He looked at it for a second, and without saying a word, he grabbed it with his hand and with a quick jerk, yanked it right out of my cheek. With a disgusted look on his face he said, "Shit son, the barb wasn't even under the skin." Like I was wasting his time or something. I think he was actually looking forward to pushing that hook through my cheek muscle and out a fresh, new hole in my face. We went back inside and I let the girls know that it really wasn't as bad as they had thought, disappointed that a three pound bass had gotten away because Jen was lacking the cojones to pull the lure out while we were still on the water. (I still love you though Jen :P ) After it was all over, I was walking her back to the canoe when she said, "AT, I can't believe you were so calm. You thought your dad was going to have to push that hook through and you seemed unaffected." "There's no sense in getting all upset about it," I quipped, "That was the only option." And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the moral of this story.

After I sent Jen on her way, I got back in my boat, headed for that same cove, and I caught that bass.



Peace.

Soiled sheets

You won't believe this. No, really. I've been struggling with it myself all day today (and all night last night).

For those of you who don't know, I just got back from vacation in Denver. I was staying with my roommate's brother Lumpy, just hanging out, drinking, and hiking. Anyway, the day before I left home I spent all day cleaning up the house and doing laundry because there is nothing worse than coming home to a shithole after a week long party. Ya know what I mean? So my plane came in last night at midnight and Howie (my roommate) picked me up at the airport. After staying on a futon on the floor at Lumpy's, a week's worth of drinking, and 8 hours traveling, I was really looking forward to climbing into my nice, fresh, clean bed. I have a killer Tempur-pedic mattress that I often miss while I'm out of town. When we got home, I stumbled to my room with my duffel, got undressed, and pulled the sheets back to hit the sack. I had noticed when I walked in that my bed looked a bit tussled, but I really didn't give it much thought until the sheets came down. Looking into the linens, I was horrified, pissed, and disappointed all at the same time. Cum stains. Three or four of them right in the middle of my bed. What the fuck man. They weren't mine, I had just changed the sheets the day before I left and I didn't wax it or get laid that night. Then it hit me. Fucking Howie. Mother fucker. He'd come in, banged his girlfriend, nutted all over my bed, cleaned his junk with the towel hanging in my bathroom, and then... FUCK'N A... just pulled the comforter up and put the pillows back like nothing happened. I get sooo pissed just thinking about it. He could have thrown the sheets in the washer and no harm done. But NOOOOOOOO... he figured I wouldn't notice and that I could just sleep in his nutt for a week!!! What the fuck kind of friend is that?! Needless to say, I was up all night doing laundry, totally pissed off. Of course, when I told him in the morning how FUCKED UP I thought it was, he denied it. "Oh no dude, we didn't get in your bed. Just in the shower," he said. Oh really? I guess some homeless guy came in, nutted on my sheets, and then decided that the 50" plasma TV hanging in the living room was just too heavy to carry down to the pawn shop. You fucker. Then he offered to wash my sheets. Too late dude. It's not the fact that he was humping in my bed that is so irritating. That's cool dude. You got a piece of shit bed that falls to the floor when your doing the nasty, no problem. Go ahead, use my bed, BUT NUTT ON YOUR OWN GODDAMNED SHEETS OR AT LEAST WASH MINE WHEN YOUR DONE!!! That's really, really fucked up.

Moral of the story: Check your sheets everytime you get in them, because you never know what kind of sick fucker left a nutt in there for you.

I'm pissed.

Deer!!!

So Nolie, McLusky, TP, Hodgey, and I are on our way to the Smokey's for a backpacking trip. We've got all our shit packed in Nolie's truck and McLusky's car, and we are headed up I-95. Somewhere in South Carolina, at about 2 am, Nolan wakes me out of a daze by yelling, "SHIT!!" I look up just in time to see a rotting deer carcass laying in the headlights. We're traveling about 80 mph, and it's just too late to do anything but hope that the truck has enough ground clearance to avoid hitting it. Luckily for us, it did, but as we made a clean pass, we both looked back to see if McLusky would have the same luck. As we were watching, we saw McLusky's headlights swerve a bit, then launch into the air like The Duke's of Hazard in San Francisco. They managed to stay on the road and for the next 5 miles or so, Nolan and I thought that everything was alright. Then, as we approached an exit, the headlights on McLusky's car started flashing (the universal sign for "We need to; get something to eat/pee/get gas/stretch"). So we got off at the exit, pulled into the nearest gas station, parked the truck, and jumped out to stand up for a minute. As McLusky's car pulled into the parking lot, a horribly disgusting smell filled the air. At the time, Nolan and I thought that something had died behind the building, but as our boys' car pulled up and parked next to us we began gagging from the stench emanating from their vehicle. Even before the car stopped, all three doors opened and TP and Hodgey jumped out screaming, holding their noses, and ran from the car. McLusky did the same as soon as he got the engine turned off. None of us could stand to be within 50 feet of that thing, much less trapped inside with the heat on.

It turns out, that rotting deer corpse literally exploded when it caught the undercarriage of the car. When it got light out a few hours later, we found one of those "do it yourself" car washes and you would not believe the nastiness that came from the underside of McLusky's car. There was blood, pieces of skull, brains, fur.... no wonder it reeked. I don't know how those guys rode another 300 miles in that thing.

When we got home from the trip, McLusky had to sell the car. He traded it in at a dealership for a new VW. A couple of days later, they called him and asked about a strange odor coming from the vents when the AC was on. Heh heh. I'm glad I wasn't car shopping that day.

Moral of the story: Dead deer smell really, really bad. So don't hit one if you can avoid it.



Peace.

You've got to be kidding me

Would the world be humor free without stupid people?

This guy must have had severe brain damage to think that this was a good idea.

WTF were you thinking?

Peace.

Static electricity

Does anyone have a fire extinguisher I can borrow?



Peace.

Damn girlfriend!!!

This is what happens when you piss off your woman! Ouch.

Peace.

Don't try this at home

A buddy of mine from college, named Greg, told me this story and I'm passing it on because it made me piss my pants.

Greg and his buddies were out on a Saturday night in Vero Beach when they were in high school. Now if you've ever been to Vero, you would know that with all the nearly deads (retired folk) the greatest thing happening on a Saturday night is bingo. They were in young, dumb, and looking for some trouble, when they drove past a house that was being remodeled. It had huge windows in the front that went from the ground to the roofline. Inside the house, there was eight old people playing cards at a table right in front of that big window. Greg's buddies slowed down, and dared him to press his ass against the glass right in front of the geriatrics. As the story was told to me, they were really into mooning at the time. I guess in Vero, that was damn near the coolest thing since Atari.

So Greg hops out of the car, darts over to the cover of the front door, and undoes his pants ready to jump out and do the deed. He takes a deep breath and gives his buddies a thumbs up. Then, he leaps out in front of the window, yanks down his pants, and backs up to where the window should have been. That's right... should have been. It seems that during the renovation the retirees were in the process of replacing the windows in front of their house, and no one noticed that there was no glass in the frames. Well, as Greg was backing up, pants down, his heels hit the slab and his ass hit nothing. Hence, he went tumbling into the owners living room, ass bare and sausage swinging. Granny had a sly smile on her face and poor Grandpa probably shit his Depends as Greg was wallowing on the hardwood trying to get his jeans back up to his waist.

As the story goes, Greg scrambled to the car but his buddies were laughing so hard that they could not drive away. I must admit, I would have been incapacitated too.



Peace.

Did they really mean to do that?

Check out this Power Point presentation.

Peace.

Rearn Engrish!!

Or is this what you do when you've got oral hemorrhoids?

Chicken Legs

So I go over to my buddy Mark's house Sunday night for some beer and bbq. There's about 8 people there drinking and having a good ole time when I show up. Mark had Bratwurst, Italian sausage, chicken legs, and 'kraut all cooking in the smoker. I don't know whether he was expecting the staff from Disney or what, but he probably had 50 chicken legs and 20 sausages burning. Seemed like an awful lot of meat for 8 people.

Anyway, as the night rolled on, and people got drunk, the group began to thin a bit, until there was just 4 of us hanging around. There was damn near a grill full of chicken legs left. I don't know what Mark was thinking, but all of a sudden, he grabs a leg out of the smoker, chucks it out of the backyard towards the road, and yells, "CAT FOOD!" Everyone was laughing, until the leg landed in the back of Dave's truck. Dave is really sensitive about his truck. So he proceeds to start tossing legs onto the roof of Mark's garage. Like a machine gun, it was one after another, after another. I'm laughing my ass off, telling Mark that he won't be able to have a party out there for a while due to the overwhelming smell of decaying flesh emanating from his roof. So Mark grabs a leg and nails Dave in chest as he's heaving a thigh skyward. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the beginning of the first chicken part food fight that I have ever seen. There was chicken flying everywhere. I'd hate to know what Mark's backyard smells like now... two days later. Needless to say, those two came out of it with grease stains in the shape of chicken legs all over their clothes. And probably bruises in the same shape.

Anyone else ever hear of a chicken leg fight?

Peace.

Smackdown... in 3rd person

Frustrated, AT and Howie were headed for the door of the smoky bar when a small voice called out. "Howie. Howie!!" It was nearly impossible to hear over the blaring jukebox. As they headed out of the front door, the young woman followed and nabbed them out front.

Her name was Danielle. She was a former co-worker of Howie's from SWS. As he recognized her, a warming smile illuminated his face.

"Hey Danielle, how have you been?"

"I'm good thanks," she answered.

"Are you excited about leaving?"

"I'm excited and a little nervous."

As the two were discussing her apparently recent departure from the company, AT waited nervously nearby, inconspicuously eyeing everyone that walked out of the double doors.

Out of courtesy, Howie said, "Danielle, this is my roommate AT. AT, Danielle."

"Hey Danielle, nice to meet you," AT said politely.

"You too," she said.

Danielle turned back towards Howie and they continued their discussion about the incompetent sales people in their business.

AT took a step back and returned to his strategic spot to watch the doors. He was trying to make eye contact with Howie to express the anxiety he felt about being there. He wanted to leave. He wanted to leave now, knowing that Vicki would be walking out soon.

Moments later, Vicki, Heather, and Eddie rumbled out underneath the canopy.

Howie, with his back to them, continued his discussion with Danielle. AT, seeing them leave, pretended to be deeply involved in the conversation and avoided eye contact.

He let an inaudible sigh of relief as the three made their way into the parking lot.

But AT didn't know that he had been spotted, and Vicki quickly turned around and stumbled over to him.

Putting her arms around him she muttered, "You're coming home with me."

"No, I'm not," he said sternly. "I drove and Howie and I are meeting some friends downtown."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not. You're drunk and you should go home."

"Why are you always so mean to me?"

"Look, you were out of control in there. You were really being a bitch and... Wait. Why are we having this conversation? I don't need this."

AT turned around and headed for the parking lot trying to avoid a confrontation with the inebriated woman. About five steps down the sidewalk, he was forcefully thrust forward. She had shoved him in the back. He kept walking without turning around.

By this time, Howie had seen what was happening and was also making his way to the car just a few steps ahead of AT.

Again, AT was violently pushed in the back. Without stopping he turned his head to shoot an irritated look her way. As he turned, she connected with a right cross to his lips. Feeling the anger build, he shoved his hands in his pockets and picked up his pace across the parking lot.

As he did, Vicki grabbed the back collar of his shirt attempting to hold him back. His shirttail came out of his pants the buttons began to come undone as he pulled one way, and Vicki pulled another.

Just as this was happening, Howie turned around in time to see AT throw his hands in the air and yell, "Howie, do something!" Realizing that AT was losing patience quickly, he ran back and grabbed the drunk.

AT continued to the car as Howie tried to get her to relax.

Vicki's roommate Heather and their friend Eddie were following far behind apparently unaware of the events which had just unfolded.

AT made it to the car and quickly locked the doors. As Howie rounded the front bumper AT unlocked the passenger door and Howie climbed in.

At the same time, Vicki had made it to driver's side and was attempting to open the door.

"Roll down the window," she screamed.

"So you can hit me again?"

"I just want to say goodbye."

"Go ahead," AT said through the glass.

By this time Heather and Eddie had made it to the car and were getting a clearer picture of what was happening.

Eddie said, "He can hear you through the window," also trying to avoid any further acts of violence from the drunken one.

AT put the car in reverse and began to back out of the parking spot and Eddie grabbed Vicki to allow them safe passage.

But in a fit of selfish rage, Vicki lashed out and kicked the driver's door as AT and Howie were backing up.

"Just keep going. Let's get out of here," Howie said.

AT abruptly said, "What the fuck was that shit! She hit me in the mouth!"

"I don't know, but it makes for a great story," Howie laughed. "C'mon, we'll go down to Eola and I'll buy you a beer."



Is that sexual harassment? Hitting me because I wouldn't sleep with her? Hmmmmm...

Peace.

Comments

I have added a comments link to the site. Just click on the "Thoughts?" button to share your views with the world... if you have the cojones.

Peace.

My favorite engineer joke

An Electrical Engineer, a Structural Engineer, a Civil Engineer, and a Mechanical Engineer were sitting at a bar discussing the wonders of the human body.

The Mechanical Engineer said, "God must be a Mechanical Engineer. Look at the way all of the joints and muscles work together to create such an efficient machine."

"I disagree," said the Electrical Engineer. "With the complexity of the nervous system, it's blatantly obvious that God is an Electrical Engineer."

"Naw," said the Structural Engineer, "God has to be a Structural Engineer. The skeletal system of the human body is a veritable masterpiece of structural engineering."

"Indubitably," said the Civil Engineer. "Although, I know for a fact that God is a Civil Engineer."

"How's that?" all of the others ask.

"Because only a Civil Engineer would run a toxic waste pipeline through a recreational area."

How true.

Peace.

Kegerators

I have come to the conclusion that there is a real and untapped market for kegerators. Imagine if you could sell kegerators at Home Depot. Do you think that a guy could walk in there and not come out with one? I doubt it. College towns, yuppie neighborhoods, around race tracks, trailer parks, and the high rent districts all would be good targets. It's pretty much every man's dream to walk into his own house and pull himself a draft beer. Not to mention, bragging rights among his fellow cohorts. Every house that has beer in the refrigerator would have one if they were affordable and more available. The possibilities are endless.

I know that I would have bought a kegerator in college. Shit, I would buy one now, if I didn't already have a homemade one in the garage, and I saw one on the shelf somewhere. They are not that difficult to make. A small, custom made or full sized refrigerator with ample room for a keg and a CO2 tank with a tap on the door or in the top would sell like hot cakes. You could even sell accessories, like longer hoses and mounts so that the tap could be placed on a bar or at the kitchen sink.

Am I missing something here? Why has this not been done on a large scale? Sorority houses, frat houses, board rooms, and RV's... workshops, chili cook offs, barber shops, and pet stores... movie theaters, county fairs, grocery stores, and post offices... living rooms, bed rooms, bathrooms, and kitchens... all with one thing in common... BEER. It's really a simple concept.

Thoughts?



Peace.

Head bobbing optional

For my Miamian friends. Check out the guy in the orange shirt and black pants... I'm laughing my ass off!!

Peace.

My Dream Girl

Fitness Ad

Peace.

Joe vs. The Volcano II

Howie and I went to see Club Dread this afternoon. As you know, I thought that Broken Lizard's other movie, Super Troopers, was God's gift to the big screen. Unfortunately, Club Dread blows. Hot girls, but the rest of the movie is reminiscent of Toys with Robin Williams... total shit. The best part of the movie is when Brittany Daniel feigns an orgasm and says, "Fuck me." That's it. If you've got to see it, don't waste the $7, wait until stupid people buy it and dig through their garbage because that's where it will end up. Huge disappointment. I'm depressed.

Peace.

Cutest Engineer Ever

It would seem to me that wading through this blog and reading all the senseless bullshit to uncover my futile attempt at humor could, in some cases, be a laborious task. For that reason, I have tried to keep things fairly short and sweet while attempting to maintain the highest quality of content (yeah right!), and would not typically link to another blog. But this blog by Carrie in San Francisco is soooo worth the price of admission. "Generation X" is out.... What you talkin' 'bout Willis!

Peace.

School House Rocks!

A strange scenario came to me this morning as I struggled to squeeze out my daily deuce (like Einstein, I do some of my best work on the jon). Okay. It's 2 am, January 12, 1887, you live in Montana, it's -25 degrees outside, and you have giardia. How does that work? How do you run to the outhouse in that kind of weather in the middle of the night? I'm convinced, in those cases, people just slept in a pile of their own feces (or, in the case of severe diarrhea, a puddle). There is no way that I would go out there knowing that I'll have to growl again before I get back to the house. Huh uuuh.

Just a thought.

BTW. I just received the CD box set and DVD for Schoolhouse Rocks! yesterday. 4 CD's and 2 DVD's containing every song and every clip they ever made. WOW! (interjection) I love that shit.

Walk with me for a minute down memory lane....
Lolly, Lolly, Lolly get your adverbs here
3 it's the Magic Number
Conjunction Junction what's your function
5, 10 , 15, 20, 25, 30, 35, 40, 45, 50... 100 - Here I come.
Electricity, electricity
Zero my Hero, such a funny little hero
Simply unpack your adjectives
Mr. Morton is the subject of my sentence, and what the predicate says he does
I'm just a bill. Yes, I'm only a bill, and I'm sitting here on Capitol Hill

Peace.

Thought you would get a kick out of this...

The end of the world.

Peace.

This one time, at band camp...

No really, it was my freshman year at college and my roommate and I were on our way to the first drumline party of the year. If I remember correctly, it was about a week before fall classes actually started, and all of the old FDL (Florida Drum Line) alum's were invited. These people were professional partiers. I was in the EPD (Early Party Development) stage and these guys were instructors.

Anyway, Matt (my roommate) and I showed up at the party. Things were just beginning to kick off and we headed for the keg.

Fast forward 1/2 an hour (because either nothing of consequence happened, or I was too drunk to remember). Kevin shows up with some bottles of 8-Ball (Old English 800) malt liquor. I do vaguely remember drinking out of that 40 oz bottle.

Fast forward 2 hours (same reason). The alum's have me lying upside down on the stairs, pouring upside down margaritas down my throat. Over, and over, and over again. That's the last thing I remember about the party.

Approximately noon the next day: The sound of the veins pounding in my ears wakes me up. I'm in my bed, in my dorm room, fully dressed in the same clothes I had on the night before, shoes and all. After a few quick investigational phone calls, I find out that one of the FDL guys drove me home, and my truck is still in the apartment complex where the party was. Now, I am so hung over that it hurts to think. I felt like I was going to barf, but it would hurt too much to do so. I decide that I better ride my bike out there and get my truck, and I convince Matt to come along with the promise that I'll take him to the grocery store on the way back.

A half and hour later, we're at the truck, and 10 minutes after that, I'm pulling into Publix parking lot. We swung into a little sandwich shop next to Publix to grab some lunch before we went shopping. I ordered, but could not touch my sandwich for fear of projectile vomiting. I did, however, drink all of a 44 oz Coke.

We headed next door to the grocery store and first thing I did was stop and the Coke machine and got something else to drink (did I mention was dehydrated?). As we were walking up and down the isles, I was feeling worse and worse. We got the medication section and I grabbed a bottle of Pepto and chugged half of it before putting it into the cart.

Feeling no better, we made our way into the produce section. Matt was picking out apples while I was busy feeling like shit. At one point, my mouth began watering profusely and I said, "Dude, I really feel horrible." Matt flashed a quick look my way. Then he did a double take. "GO!! GO NOW!!!" he yelled pointing towards the front of the store. It did not register at first what he was talking about, but very quickly I realized what he was referring to. I took about 3 quick steps, whipped around, grabbed one of those clear produce bags that you put fruit in, took 2 more steps, and then...

Luckily, I got that bag opened in time. There I sat, next to the tomatoes yacking my brains out into a clear bag. People in the store were disgusted, and rightly so. My puke was brown and pink from the Coke and Pepto. Nice. After I filled it up half way, I tied the bag in a knot, and debated putting it in the cart. Instead, I neatly set it in the corner by the storage area doors. Some poor guy probably picked it up later wondering what it was. What a surprise he must have gotten.

Moral of the story: If your going to puke in a grocery store, make sure you do it in the produce section.



Peace.

Well whaddaya know...

No shit!

Peace.

Wear your seat belt. It's the law.

Ouch!

Peace.

Dickhead

That's what you get for passing out in front of your friends.

Peace.

Fact: It took $237.94 to get Jen toasted at Casa Tua.

There once was a woman named Jen
'Twas her 23rd birthday, again
She went out, she got pissed
And the whole bar she kissed
We forgive her, so help us, amen

There are pictures to back this up....

Peace.

Yeah, this really happened.

Some of you may not know this, but I was engaged when I was 25 to a girl named C (short for Cheryl, to continue our quest for total anonymity). She was a nurse and had just recently moved in with her folks while she was in the process of looking for a new apartment. I used to spend quite a bit of time over at the house. Her parents would let me stay over because it was about an hour drive back to where I was living, which was nice.

Anyway, during a recent canoe trip I had inadvertently got a nasty dose of giardia (the first of three times), unbeknownst to me, and the symptoms were just starting to show up. Now, if any of you have ever had giardia, you can understand when I say that it is the most miserable sickness I have ever had the displeasure of experiencing. It's a bacterial parasite that gave me diarrhea so bad, that literally, I had to live on the toilet for 2 weeks. My ass was so sore, it hurt to blink. So as I said before, the symptoms were just beginning. I was, unfortunately, at work when my intestines started feeling like they were in a hydraulic press, and I had no idea what it was at the time. I thought maybe I got a hold of a bad break truck burrito, so I kept working as much as I could between trips to the Port-O-Let.

Well, when I left work I headed straight to C's place. I was really feeling like hell, running a fever, sick to my stomach, headache, my ass was sore, etc. When I walked in the door, C said, "How was your day?" At that point, I began telling her of my numerous trips to the shitter and my ass chafage. She suggested a bath, and that sounded like a great idea, so I made my way to the bathroom with C in tow. She said, "Give me your clothes and I'll put them in the washer." So she stood in the doorway as I turned on the bath water and began to get undressed. First, I sat on the toilet, pulled off my socks, and handed them to C. Then, off comes the shirt. Next, I stood up took off my belt, and yanked my pants and underwear down at the same time. Right about the time my boxer briefs hit my ankles, I was bent over and got a good look inside my drawers. I was horrified to see a good quarter inch thick, 2 inch wide, 4 inch long skid mark in the shape of my ass crack just lying in my underpants. Not really all that big of a deal, except when I looked up, C was staring bug eyed, mouth open in disbelief at the flat turd in my unmentionables. After a second or two, C began laughing hysterically and said, "Well no wonder you were chafed... you've been carrying around a pound and a half of shit in your pants!!!" Thank God she was a nurse and got a good laugh out of it.

Moral of the story: When you've got the squirts, always, and I mean always, get undressed alone.

All I can say is, you were warned when you got here that there was a good chance things would end up in the toilet.



Peace.

Limerix...

There once was a woman for Wheeling
Who professed to lack sexual feeling
'Til some bastard named Boris
Once touched her clitoris
And she had to be scraped from the ceiling

There once was a man named Dave
Who kept a dead whore in a cave
Well he did admit
That it smelled like shit
But think of the money he saved

Heh heh. Peace.

Things must be bad for The Muppets.

This story first broke at boortz.com. ***Warning- This picture is not suitable for those easily offended or small children.*** Miss Piggy Revealed.



Peace.

SHOUT!

Listen to the Dean-Gore Shout Mega Mix courtesy of Psycho and Neal Boortz.



Peace.

Don't let this happen to you.

That sucks.



Peace.

How Do Ya Like Them Apples? -The Sequel.

So after we left The Cottonwood, we headed down the street to a little bar called Rafters. Needless to say, we should have gotten in a taxi and went back to the Scottish Inn, because we were hammered. H-A-M-M-E-R-E-D. We walked in, quickly claimed the short leg of the L-shaped bar, and continued torturing our livers when I noticed a couple of hot college chicks sitting across from us at the bar. I was checking them out and saw that they were talking to a large flannel clad figure with his back to me. Then, I realized, they were checking me out too. So I, being of unsound mind, began making funny faces at them. The girls would laugh and Paul Bunyan would whip around and look at me, as I was looking around pretending to be totally unaware of any of it. This went on for, oh, 15 minutes or so, when Daniel Boone got up and left. I grabbed my buddy Mark and said, "Dude, check out those chicks over there. Come be my wingman." So we shuffled over and introduced ourselves. Literally, not 2 minutes later, John Boy walked up. I guess I was not paying enough attention... he must have been in the shitter. Anyway, I looked up at him and said, "Hey man, is this your girlfriend?" "Yeah," he grumbled as he puffed up his chest. "Whew! That's a relief... 'cause I saw you staring at me from across the bar bra, and I thought you wanted me to give you the stiff-one-eye," I quipped. Snapshot: Me- sitting on a bar stool with a cruel smirk on my face, Mark- on the floor laughing so hard that he was completely and utterly useless, the girls- laughing so hard one was falling off of her bar stool and the other was squirting beer out of her nose, and Jethro, standing there in his flannel (and I could swear he had on one of those orange hunting hats with the ear flaps, but I'm not sure) turning red from embarrassment and anger. Now what would you have done in Andre the Giant's position? I would have hit me, but he decided that he could turn the whole thing around with one clever remark. Unfortunately for him, he yelled, "I'll give you a stiff-one-eye!" for all the bar to hear. The bar went quiet, and you already know what my reply was.... "I bet you would dude, but I'm not gay. Thanks for the offer though." Snapshot: Me- satisfied smile, Mark- peeing himself, hot chicks- hyperventilating, bar patrons- laughing in chorus, Chewbacca- defeated in his flannel and overalls. Poor Wookiee.

Moral of the story: After banging your nuts on the front window of a crowded bar, you can make anyone you want look like an idiot.



Drink up, and stay tuned.

Peace.

Best obscure movie quote ever.

"If he tries to pay me with tortillas, I'll shoot him right in the eye." -Clint Eastwood in Two Mules for Sister Sarah when asked if a man in Mexico would pay a reward in gold



Peace.

Note to my family, friends, and neighbors:

So I was surfing the internet this morning, and out of sheer curiosity, I typed in www.nsa.gov and ended up at the National Security Agency's web site. They had an Employment Opportunities section so I went ahead and applied for a job as an Intelligence Analyst online. I don't know if they have room for a construction superintendent in an intelligence position, but I figured what the hell. So if you see a black Suburban with a blacked out windows hanging around your house (or mine), or following you down the road, don't sweat it. I'm sure that they are just checking out all of my friends and family to make sure that I'm on the up and up. If you know me, and you are secretly in a sleeper cell for Al Qaeda, heed this warning: you better head for Afghanistan you traitor because the NSA is on your tail. Loser.

So, if I disappear for a while, this post mysteriously gets deleted from my web site, and you hear that I joined the circus, keep this info on the down low. Mums the word, cause I'm working as a secret agent for the NSA. Wish me luck.



Peace.

Backwoods...

Years ago when a man wanted a good cigar, he'd roll his own. Those cigars didn't look that refined, but they sure tasted mild. Now you can enjoy the same kind of smoke with Backwoods. We take all natural filler tobacco which is selected for mildness. Then we roll it in gentle-tasting Connecticut Broadleaf, a dark tobacco that is aged for at least 12 months to bring out its Mild 'n Natural taste. We make them like they used to. Backwoods. Mild 'n Natural cigars.

Amen.

I know, I know....

It seems I have a responsibility now to my fans to make sure there is some new content everyday. I got some phone calls bitching that I had no new posts today. Well, here you go. Oh, and I had to take that Janet and Justin GIF off because it was making me feel like I was going to have a seizure.

Nothing exciting happened today, so I'll tell you a short story about a guy I met on a fishing trip a few weeks ago.

So, I'm on this trip with my boss and a couple guys from work. We got invited by a vendor that we do business with, along with another couple of guys who buy their product. Anyway, it's the first night out at this fish camp and we're all getting pretty liquored up sitting around the fire pit. Well, one of the head dudes that invited us (who was in his sixties) out of the blue said, "Yeah, my foreskin got infected when I was 35 and I ended up having to go ahead and get circumcised." HUH?! Weren't we just talking about fishing?! "Doc said it was from the soap I was using." MAN!! COME ON!! "It was pretty sore for a while. My wife was not all that happy about it." THAT'S IT!!! I'm leaving. Anyone, need a drink? I think everyone but the X-hooded guy got up an left for a while.

Strange, but true. I don't necessarily believe the soap thing though, cause I've washed mine pretty damn thoroughly over the years. Although, I was clipped as a child (thank you Lord).

Anyway, tune in tomorrow. I'll find something to write about.

Peace.

FYI

I saw this and had to post it... Janet and Justin!

If you have any questions, comments, gripes, or praises, please click on the "Email FunkyBone" link under the "Contact Us" heading in the links column. It should open up your default email program so now you can send me some feedback.

Peace.

How do ya like them apples?

Alright, the moment you have all been waiting for is here. True story.

Do any of you remember the movie Good Will Hunting with Matt Damon and Ben Affleck? It was a popular movie at the time of this incident. Remember the phone number scene through the window at the bar? Keep that in the back of your mind.

After a week of hiking on Mt. Rogers in Virginia, four of my buddies and I stopped to party for a night in Boone, NC before we headed home. We checked into the Scottish Inn, showered up, and headed out at about 4 pm to get a jump on the college students. In Boone, you can not buy booze (only beer and wine) so we headed to The Cottonwood, the towns only brewery. It's a nice place with a bar, restaurant, and outdoor seating (it was too cold to be outside though) in front of gigantic windows that stretch from the sidewalk to the roofline.

One would assume that we were drinking beer by the pint, but The Cottonwood also sells what is called a "growler" (I know, makes me want to drop a deuce too). A growler is a 1 liter bottle with a resealable swing top (like a Grolsch bottle) full of fresh brewed beer. Yummy. So my buddies and I were drinking growlers of Low Down Brown and IPS when we started talking to these two chicks at the bar. They were cool, and before you knew it we were telling jokes and laughing with everyone that was in the bar area, about 30 or so people. This went on for a couple of hours, and the more we drank, the louder we got. Things came to a head when I said to the crowd, now 50 strong, "Why did the blonde take her vibrator back to the sex shop?" "WHY?!" the intoxicated mob yelled. "Cause it was chipping her teeth!" I screamed back. Everyone at the bar lost it and during the ensuing laughter, the manager came up to me and threatened to throw us out if we did not keep it down. By this time though, it was about 8 pm and we had gone through quite a few growlers. I proceeded to tell him what I thought of that idea, and then waved to the crowd and said, "Let's get the fuck out of here," at which time about 35 of us headed out the door to go down the road to Rafters (which is the scene of another story I will share sometime). Just as I made it out onto the patio, I unzipped my pants, grabbed the base of my scrotum, started banging my nuts, ring first, against the window out front yelling, "How do ya like them apples?!" in my best drunken Bostonian accent. Needless to say, the people inside were just utterly horrified, and the 35 people outside were laughing so hard one guy puked in the bushes. OK, maybe it was the Stout, but who knows.

Now, I kind of feel guilty about this stunt, although it was hysterically funny, because the last thing that I would want to see while I was taking a bite out of my chicken breast is another man's pierced ball sac banging against a window. Some of you may find that hard to believe, but it's true. Really.

That was our last visit to The Cottonwood Brewery. No, not because we were banned, but because it closed down soon after we left town. We're not sure if the nut prints on the glass had anything to do with it.

Peace.

You say it's your birthday... It's my birthday too, yeah.

Well, I know it's only just started, but I have already received some of the gifts on my list. Howie got me Q-tips and Ma got me taco powder. Oh yeah baby, I'm on a roll now! Gustav and Jen were first to call to wish me a happy birthday at about 8:30 am. I foresee a busy day in my future.

Back to the grindstone.

Peace.

You won't believe this...

Looky here (hint: 3rd). Guess we're moving up in the rankings!!

Thanks to everyone that's come to check out FunkyBone. As I promised, I'm working on my next "AT's Life" story. You will not be dissappointed.

I'll keep you posted.

Peace.

Tomorrow's my birthday... na na na na na na!

For those of you who did not know, and those who tend to forget, tomorrow is my birthday. Please contact me via e-mail if you need my address. I'm certain that most of you are wondering what to get me, so I have composed a list of items to make it easy for you. The list is as follows:

-Cruise through the Mediterranean Sea
-A pitcher of Bud Light at Burton's
-Round trip airfare to Las Vegas w/ $1000 cash for gambling
-$5.00 worth of songs and a Crown & Coke at Nancy's
-Expedition to Base Camp 1 at Mount Everest
-A number 3 at Chick-Fil-A, value sized, with a lemonade
-Diving/hiking trip to Costa Rica
-Q-tips
-427 Shelby Cobra
-Super Troopers DVD
-Angelina Jolie
-6 pack of Miller High Life
-Trip to Hedonism III
-2 hours at XS Orlando
-La-Z-Boy Matinee home theater set-up for the living room
-Big Head Todd and the Monsters, Monster's Live CD
-BS in Computer Science (tuition, books, off campus housing, and beer money)
-Taco powder

This was much harder than I anticipated. Of course I don't expect all of these things, maybe half. =0)_)

Now, I know a lot of people whose birthdays' are in February and I would like to save us all some time by sending out a blanket "Happy Birthday" to everyone. I know, I know, it seems kinda cheesy but what's a guy to do?

Keep your eyes peeled. New AT's Life story coming soon.

Peace.

Supplies!!!

Justin Timberlake "accidently" ripped off part of Janet Jackson's outfit at the end of the Super Bowl half time show. Here's the story, with pics, video, and all. What the hell kind of nipple ring is that?!

Super Bowl Sunday

Hey man? What are YOU doing for the Super Bowl, hmmm? Well, if you are reading this, and know where I live, you are more than welcome to come over to my place and watch the big game in high definition on a 50" plasma TV. For all of you who don't know where my place is... that sucks for you. We are having some peeps over for a BBQ/game watching/beer drinking party... and you are invited. BYOB. We have plenty of room and it promises to be a good time. Come on over if you can make it.

I ran through some news sites earlier today for some interesting and unbelievable stories to link too, but I guess all the crazies took the weekend off for Super Bowl. So you're on you own.

FYI, Super Troopers is on HBO right now. If you haven't seen this movie, you really need to rent it. If you were at the Halloween Party, you would recognize the costume Howie wore.... the Bear Fucker. One of the greatest movies of our time. Also, the group that made the movie, Broken Lizard, is coming out with a new movie soon. I don't remember the name at this time, well, hold a minute... here's the link. It's called Club Dread, and I for one, can't wait to see it. And the best part is, Brittany Daniel is in it (you may remember her as the really, really hot chick from Joe Dirt). Ohhhh, Brittany.... skleet, skleet.

So Howie and I were practicing some of our patented WWF moves last night, when Howie got me in the pile driver, dropped me, and split my head open. He felt so bad he wanted to take me to the hospital (man the scalp really bleeds a lot) for some stitches. I refused, cause I'm a tough guy, and we just put some liquid stitch in it to hold it together. No permanent damage. Thank God I got a good eye rake on him before he picked me up. Heh heh.

I got another good story coming up this week, so stay tuned.

Peace.

I think you made the right decision Pop.

So I call my pop last night to find out whether or not he's going to kill me over FunkyBone, and I think he actually thought it was pretty funny. I did ask him if he was going to let Mom see, he said no, and I must agree. I think you made a good move there Pop. Thanks.

More later.

Peace.

Facelift

As you can see I've done a little tweaking and updated the site a bit. I hope you find it more visually stimulating/appealing. Damned thing was only up for a day and I'm already having to spend time fixing it. Son of a...

Now, I know that some of you can really appreciate this. You won't believe what happened to me today. Lemme preface this by saying that I have been debating whether or not to share this little endeavor with my folks. I really don't want to censor anything I'm posting here, so it'll get kinda sticky if I let them in on it. You know, you really don't want your mom reading a post that starts off, "So I was fucking this midget, right?" I MEAN COME ON! My mom would lop off my nad-sac, ring and all. That said, I get a call from my pop today and he wants to meet me for lunch. Cool. I drive out to Sonny's and meet him at the table. First thing he does is hand me a card and a pencil, smirks, and says, "Write down the address of this website you've got." WTF?! Son of a bitch! I guess I don't have an option now! All I could do is tell him read it alone and then make the call about Mom. (Hey Ma, if you are reading this, sorry about the midget thing. I really needed to drive my point home with shock value. I hope you understand. And no I have never slept with a midget, well.... naw, she was just short.)

Turns out, Nolie tells Alex to read the, "Where the hell you been puttin' it?" post. Great story, right? But Alex doesn't believe it's true so Nolie tells him to ask my pop about it. B-L-A-M !!! I'm busted...

Well, I'm going to keep on as planned. My parents already know what a weird cat I am anyway, so if they can stomach the language and sexual overtones, they will be fine. If not, they'll just have to ask the Magic 8-Ball for guidance before each visit.

Peace.

The Godfather of Soul

Mugshot

It wasn't me. It was the one armed man!

That's disgusting...

Exploding whale ass

You think it stank much? I'd hate to be the one who had to clean that mess!

Break Truck Burrito

Here's a little background on this song for all that aren't familiar with it. The Break Truck (AKA, roach coach or shit wagon) is a catering service that comes by the jobsite usually twice a day, at break and lunch time. Typically, the items on the truck barely classify as edible and include sodas, Twinkies, burritos, candy bars, chips, shepherds pie, soy bean burgers, hot dogs, hot wings, vienna sausages, and other various severely over-processed foodstuffs.

Enjoy.

I was at the site one day
When break time rolled around
I undid my buckle
And I laid my tool pouch down
Went to the break truck
To see what I could see
A break truck burrito
Was staring back at me

Chorus:
It was a break truck burrito
They always give me gas
A break truck burrito
It'll tear out your ass
If you have one I hope you don't
Have your good drawers on
Tell the foreman I'll be back in a while
I'm going to the Porta-Jon

I snached up that greasy burrito
And chowed that fucker down
Not ten minutes later
My gut made an awful sound
I could feel the loose stool brewing
Deep inside of me
Thought it was gas but I learned my lesson
When I filled up my BVD's

(Chorus)

Now you may think this story
Really isn't true
But if you did my laundry
You'd believe it too
Those break truck burritos
Aren't made with meat and beans
They fill them up with colon cleanse
To make you shit your jeans

(Chorus)

Tell the foreman I'll be back in a while
I'm going to the Porta-Jon
Tell the foreman I'll be back in a while
I'm going to the Porta-Jon

-Written, composed, and performed by AT
(© copyright 1997)

Keep your eyes open for my recently released CD at Peaches. It includes 13 different versions of BTB. There's country, funk, rock, punk, folk, r&b, reggae, indie, bluegrass, techno, big band, jazz, and fusion versions... ALL TOGETHER ON ONE CD!! As an added bonus, the CD can be cut and sharpened into your own custom-made Chinese throwing star! Order today and you will get a free set of Ginsu press on nails, manufactutred by the world famous Ginsu company of Trenton, NJ. Sharp enough to cut through the armor on this M1A2 Abrams Main Battle Tank! AMAZING!

Don't forget to add this page to your favorites, and if you have any requests or ideas for material you would like to see on FunkyBone.... go out and get your own damned web site and post it there! LOL :P

Thanks for your patronage...

Peace.

Just an update...

Man it was cold this morning. I had to tie a string to my pecker so that I could get it out to pee. That scared turtle does not like the chill of 35 degree weather.

Thank God I got to pour some concrete today. Downside: I'm nearly out of things to pour. Oh well. It won't be long before I am on another job, starting all over again.

I've decided to post the words to my world famous song, Break Truck Burrito. That coming up later today if I have time. If not, it will be tomorrow for sure.

I want to give a shout out to some of my homies that have visited, or will be visiting us here at FunkyBone. Fish, Top, Nolie, Syphi, Dag, 3, and PC... my nigruhz. And to A,B,B, & C... love and miss you guys.

Be sure and check back soon.

Peace.

Where the hell you been puttin' it?

Ok, ok. I had a pretty uneventful day at work with the exception of a couple of meetings, and that leaves me nothing to blog about. So, TA-DA... you get an AT story for your reading pleasure. Enjoy.

This tale is rooted in the blossoming sexuality of my youth. I was 17 years old, a junior in high school, and I had just recently lost my virginity to a girl (we will just call her S [short for Sandi] for anonymity) that I had been dating. So, S and I had been spending quite a bit of time doing the nasty as we were exploring our new found intimacy. As, I'm sure, most young and inexperienced teens, I had heard of all the horrible and incurable STD's. Herpes, syphilis, AIDS, the clap, crabs, etc. were all a very real threat in my mind. Anyway, approximately two weeks after I had lost my virginity, I woke-up one Saturday morning after an evening romping with S, and headed to the bathroom for my usual morning pee. Eyes half closed, I relieved myself and gave the ole guy a shake when I suddenly noticed a small scab on the helmet. Panic set in immediately. I just knew for sure that I had inadvertently picked up some wicked funk from S. I turned and sat on the toilet, wondering what to do. I had to get to the doctor. I had just started having sex, and I liked it. I couldn't retire already, no matter the cost. So, I marched into the kitchen where my mom was cooking breakfast and before she could even utter good morning, I said, "Hey Mom, look at this," as I tugged my boyhood out of my shorts. At the time, the embarrassment seemed a small price to pay for my future sexual encounters. After a stomach wrenching gasp, Mom said, "You better go show your father." Pops was out back mowing the grass, and I strolled out, Mom in tow, and coaxed him to pullover and shut the mower off. Again, I reached into my shorts and pulled out my goods and said, "Pop, look." He took a good, long look and then slowly raised his eyes up to meet mine. Calmly, he said in his classic Arkansas accent, "Well, where the hell you been puttin' it?" "Nowhere," I stuttered. "Boy, don't lie to me!" he said forcefully, while poking me in the chest with his broomstick diameter sized finger. "In Sandi," I shamefully answered. Now, as I sat wallowing in my own embarrassment, both of my parents were contemplating the ramifications of my sexual activities. After what seemed an eternity, my pop said, "Well, let's give it a week and if it's still there, we'll go and see the doctor." Yikes.

Now, the really funny part of this story is this. After leaving my folks in the backyard, I slipped into the house and called S. Believe it or not, between the two of us we figured out where that little scab came from. Turns out, we had not had sex the previous evening because Aunt Flo was in town. There was plenty of fooling around though, and that's where the answer lay. Thinking back, we realized that she had gotten a little rough and given me Indian rug burn on my willie. Hence the scab. Son-of-a....

Nothing like being 17, showing both your parents your genitals, and telling them that you have been poking your girlfriend, all in the span of 2 minutes on a Saturday morning, FOR NOTHING. Good way to ruin a perfectly good weekend, huh? But can you imagine how S felt the next time she came over to house? Heh, heh. I learned my lesson. Moral of the story: Don't show anyone your genitals unless you are absolutely certain that you have an STD. =o)_)

More of AT's life to follow.

Peace.

You gotta check out Happy Pimpin...

HappyPimpin.com

Peace.

It has begun.

Damn it man. I still have not even started creating FunkyBone.com. I do, however, have the domain nailed down. Blogger.com will have to be my temporary posting spot until I can get my server set up. Either way...

Welcome to FunkyBone. The life, times, and adventures of a regular guy..... in a pimp suit. I am that regular guy, AT, and for our first session, we will be interviewing a hip dude who calls himself HeRpeS. HeRpeS is a video game junkie and is one of the elites that plays Halo on XBConnect.com. Not to mention, he's one of my homies.

AT- So HeRpS, how did you come up with the name?

HeRpeS- Well, it kinda started as a joke. During Halo game play, when your character kills someone, a message appears on the screen telling that person who killed them. For instance, if I kill a dude online it will say, "You were killed by HeRpeS." My buddies and I thought it was funny, so we started playing with names like Herpes and Syphilis. After a while, we had reps and decided to keep the names, even though I see kids online copying us quite often.

A- Does that bother you?

H- Not really. People know now when they are playing the real HeRpeS.

A- How often do you play Halo?

H- (Laughs) Too often. I play nearly every day now, but it goes through spurts. Sometimes I won't play at all for a week or more.

A- We hear that you and Syphi are some really bad men when it comes to multi-player. Is that truly the case?

H- We typically do pretty well. (Smiles) We can hold our own, let's leave it at that.

A- Well thank you HeRpS for coming by the studio today. I sure enjoyed hearing from you and I'm sure the fans did too. We all look forward to next time.

H- Thanks AT. It was nice being here. See you next time.

Well peeps, that's all the time we have for now, but don't fret none. I will be back later with news, site updates, and here in the next few posts I will be sharing some of "AT's Life: Greatest Hits." So add this web address to your favorites and check in often, 'cause you don't want to miss that.

Peace out.