Rambling Man

Bend you arms at the elbows 90 degrees so your hands are in front of you. Put your elbows close to your body. You should now look like you are ready to catch a large beach ball.

Is there anything natural about this position? Have you ever assumed this stance during a conversation? Me neither. Why do car salesmen on TV assume this posture during commercials? It annoys the crap out of me. Watch and see if at least eleventy-five percent of the talking heads on car ads adopt this position. Someone somewhere must have done a study that says this makes one look sincere or honest or something, because they all do it these days.

I said previously, is there anything more dreadful than preseason football? If you watched the Colts subs vs. the Bears subs last night you saw the Colts starters beat the Bears starters. Man, if I was a fan of da Bears I would be worried as heck about giving the reigns of my team to Rex Grossman.

Is anyone else sick of Vick? T.O. must be livid that someone else is getting all of the NFL publicity these days. I am sure he is plotting some outrage to recapture the headlines. If I were Michael Vick I would be pissed. He takes his old neighborhood homies, lets them leach off his fame and fortune. He sets them up in business, they are his boys, his posse. At the first sign of adversity they turn and rat him out. That my friends is a definition of scum sucking fair weather friends. On a completely different note, Peyton Manning is on the radio right now, he is funny as hell. He comes across as a very personable guy.

I hate to repeat myself. Seriously, I hate to repeat myself, but #@#$%$#& Cubs. I titled this post 'rambling man' because that is what this post is about -- rambling thoughts.

A Day in the Life

Last week the daughter dropped a jar of salsa that smashed on the floor smothering the walls, the floor, the door to the garage, and her Nike Shox with red gooey mess. We cleaned up, swept the floor, mopped and swept the floor again. I threw her shoes in the washer and amazingly the came clean.

The next morning, despite our extraordinary efforts, I stepped on a sliver of glass. The tiny puncture wound seeped blood for a couple of days and despite my best efforts the glass remains in the ball of my foot. The wound is healed over, but I feel a slight pain in my foot when I walk. There you have it -- an example of the drama that is my life.

ch-ch-ch-changes

I finally broke down and entered the mysterious and evil template to make some changes and add some links. The best way to see what is new is to click each and every link over there on the right. You will not be disappointed.

If you want a link or want to be removed why don't you drop me an email or a comment and I will do it while I am in the mood.

The perfect post

I should just quit. The perfect blog post has just been written. Go here to read it.

When you wish upon a star

I am sitting here daydreaming. It is one of my favorite pastimes. Old Walter Mitty has nothing on me. Like many of you I wish I had more money, or sex, world peace, or the opportunity to punch Hillary right in the snatch...

Today I have a very simple wish. I say it is a simple wish because I could easily make it come true with just a little effort. I just do not want to do the work. Here is my wish:

I wish someone would fry me some bacon.


What do you wish for?

Diversity

So the spouse and I were at Wal-Mart the other day. I know -- hot time in the city, but that is just how we roll. The lines are long as usual. Our local Wal-Mart boasts at least forty check out lanes. you can never find more than six open at any time. There are two women standing next to a cart overloaded with cases of bottled water. Under the basket, in the seat, tossed willy-nilly in the basket. Lots of water. The women are wearing burkas, sans the face covering, but they are Indians or Muslims of some kind.

Without missing a step the wife mutters, "They would not be so thirsty if they took of all of those black clothes."

We visited some friends of ours this evening. They related a story about their six year old daughter. The couple was recently taking a walk with their daughter. They passed a house occupied by a group of Hispanics. The Hispanics were playing music and dancing in front of the house. The little girl exclaimed " Look Momma, They are having a fiesta!"

You cannot beat Hoosier women of any age.

Pygmy Sex Pictures

Saturday. I should update my template, but I just do not feel like it. I owe a bunch of you some links. Pygmy Sex remains my number one search term. I am number two on Google for that search.

Can anyone explain why Smoky Joe Wood is not in the Hall of Fame? Also it is a crime that Gil Hodges and Ron Santo are left out.

The little brook in the backyard is dry as a popcorn fart. The flowers are wilting. This has been as dry a summer as we have had in a long while. The crops do not look so good, the corn is browning already. The beans look worn out.

We saw the movie Superbad last night. It is aptly named. There are lots of teenage-boy-wants to get laid movies out there. Watch American Graffiti, Dazed and Confused, or any of the American Pie movies instead. Trust me on this. In fact, I think I am going to pop Dazed and Confused into the DVD player right now.

Looky there, a whole post with nothing of consequence. I have developed an art form.

The King

I like Elvis Presley music. I love Elvis movies. His acting is not as bad as critics would like you to believe because he was the same character in every single movie -- Elvis. I heard an anecdote about Elvis that sums this up. Supposedly he was talking during the break on the set of one of his movies. The director called for Elvis to return to the set. He stood up, shook hands and said " Time to go be him." Most of us do not know what Elvis was like in real-life. I cannot believe he was 'on' all the time.

I have been to Graceland twice. The first time was just a couple of years after he died hugging the toilet in the upstairs bathroom. The house had just opened for tours and docents led the tour through the house. I was struck by several things, the absolute worship of Elvis by many on the tour. As the guide pointed out the horses in the meadow behind the house, one of the tourists asked if those were Elvis' horses. The guide said that they were not, but they were just like the ones Elvis had. The tourist wanted to know if they could pet the horses or cut some hair from their manes. Good Gosh, they are not the same horses! I was struck by the racketball court filled with gold and platinum records. I laughed at the white jump suits tailored to fit around Elvis' gut. I marveled at the people sobbing and crying hysterically at the grave site.

I returned a few years later with a friend. The tour was partially recorded and a guide spoke at certain points in the tour. "Here is the piano where Elvis spent many an evening singing gospel songs with his closest friends." Sure, while he was eating handfuls of bacon and Quaaludes. "This is the Jungle Room. Elvis bought all this furniture in a twenty minute shopping trip to Memphis." You can tell. Graceland looks like it was decorated entirely by purchases at garage sales. My friend thought it looked exactly like it was decorated by a guy who was born in a dirt floor shack in Tupelo, Mississippi who suddenly had more wealth than he could spend.

In the end, perhaps only the Beatles could understand the life Elvis was forced to live. The immense fame eclipsed his talent, his personality. He was forced to be Elvis twenty-four/seven. Even when he served his country he was "Elvis". He had given up his life years before. I can understand the rumors of Elvis working in a gas station in Michigan, a Burger King in Maine. He must have longed for a private life, yet he was constantly pulled by the most powerful addiction of all -- fame. No wonder drugs and booze and peanut butter and banana sandwiches claimed his life.

I spent a good portion of last night watching Elvis movies. I looked for no lessons in life, no hidden meanings. I wanted to be entertained. Elvis came through. He always did. RIP Elvis.

Lucky Man part two.

I wrote this post back in June describing what a lucky man I am. I will wait while you go reread it. This was one of my most popular posts ever in terms of comments. I promised a photo. I forgot to do it then, but here you go. See it while you can.



too slow. Just another exmple of why you need to check fat in indiana several times a day

Danke, Merci, Grazie, Gracias, Obrigado, Thanks

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Pledge Week

I do not ask for much from my readers, but now is time to step up to the plate. According to the little counter down on the bottom of the page I am about 125 hits from 50,000. I am not a patient man. Call your friends, call your neighbors, click and link and let us see if we can turn over the old counter as soon as possible.

I know 50,000 hits is the work of days and weeks for some of you, but for this little old blogger it is two years of working my typing fingers (both of them) to the bone. Only through your generous support can I keep providing you with the programming you love. If you want to keep getting high quality posts you can find nowhere else on the net, you should click often over the next twenty-four hours.

Hey -- if you will not do it for me, do it for the children, the puppies, the kittens, and for environment. Thank you in advance for your help in this difficult matter.

Go elsewhere for meaningful stimulation

Two down, one to go to school yet. He leaves tomorrow. It is sure going to be quiet around here with 2/3 of the chillren gone.

As I sit here contemplating my work for today it occurs to me I sure do need a vacation -- at the beach, in the mountains, anywhere but here.

!@#$%^& Cubs.

Three fer

My daughter returns to college today. She will be a junior. It was nice having her home. She is already talking about getting an apartment next summer, as she will have to take a summer class. That I do not like. You see, she will always be this girl in my mind:

Damn Computer

FINALLY, after going through:

A virus attack
Losing a hard drive
Fighting off hackers
Upgrading all my software
Installing firewalls
Being threatened with cut-off by my email provider
And a host of other problems...
I have fixed my computer... and NOW it works exactly the way I want it to!





---Otter

Smokin', indeed

I have told you before about my boyhood crush on Esther Willams. As we discussed yesterday, here is another of the old dames that was quite hot in her day -- the star of Bewitched, the deceased Elizabeth Montgomery. Hot, I am sure you agree.

Monday Musings

Coffee is done. I may make some bacon in a while.

Preseason football is tedious. There is no more to be said on that subject.

I had something important to write and by the time I got to the create post section, it slipped my mind. I must be getting old.

Carl Rove is making like horse shit -- hitting the trail. Who will the Dems claim is the evil genius behind the throne now?

That NASCAR race yesterday was fun to watch.

*&%$@#*&! Cubs.

Do they still make the Alley Oop comic strip? I read that thing from the time I was about eight until we moved here in 1989. My Mom and later my girlfriend used to cut them out of the paper and mail them to me every week while I was at college. Even my roommates were getting into it.

On the global warming hysteria front, summer continues. It is hot and humid. It is also still August. The little brook in the back yard is dried up. No snake sightings in months.

The little one started school today. He is not pleased. He is a big Eighth Grader. Next year he will be in High School.

I made lasagna for dinner last night. I served it along with a salad (with homemade dressing) and garlic bread. All five of us sat down and ate together -- the first time in ages. It was nice. I ate the last piece of garlic bread at about two in the am. I am not sure that was a great idea. What? You were not up watching the Rocky Marciano retrospective on ESPN Classic?

That chick that played Samantha on Bewitched -- she was hot.

Life lessons learned from a big rock

Stone Mountain, Georgia is this giant rock that pokes out of the ground near Atlanta. Internet sources I refuse to name claim it rises 825 feet above the surrounding plain. It is five miles in circumference. It is a big f-ing rock.

On the side of the mountain is a bas relief carving of three heroes of the Confederacy, Lee, Jackson and Davis. One could call it the redneck Mount Rushmore. One could, but I won't, it would be rude. You can ride a sky lift to the summit.

The family visited this attraction during a mini-vacation over spring break back in 1994. We hit Hotlanta and viewed the sites and this was on the agenda. We were checking out the area as my company was considering moving me to the Gainesville/Flowery Branch area. That is another post, we are talking about Stone Mountain here. The little one was really a little one then, he was not even a year old. The two oldest were five and seven. The little one was sleeping, so the wife stayed in the van with him ( the real reason was she was not remotely interested in Stone Mountain -- a sleeping baby was just an excuse) while I took the kids to the top.

We were riding to the top and the guide was talking about the carving. Since the kids were small, the kind people let us in the front so we could get a good view. The guide told us the carving covered three acres. The carved figures are nearly 90 feet tall. A man could stand inside a horse's ear. This sucker is huge. We are more than halfway up the mountain, the guide is telling us facts about the carving and I feel a tug at my elbow.

"I can't see it." says my son (5). The passengers move to give him an even better view. "I can't see it." even louder. I hold him up. Still he cannot see it. His sister, the guide, fellow passengers point to it. Talk about the inability to see the forest for the trees. The carving was so large he could not see it. He saw rocks, lines and shapes, but he was unable to see the carving. It was larger than his little mind could grasp.

We walked around the top and boarded the tram back down. Suddenly I heard a cry, the boy was pointing out the window. "I see a horse on that rock." he said. "Oh, there they are, three mans." I guess it is all a matter of perspective.

That young boy leaves for college this week. He is my cute little boy no more. He is a fine young man now. He is unprepared for life at college, for living on his own. He will survive. He will learn. At first, college will be like Stone Mountain, huge and imposing. In time he will see the details. He will succeed. I wish him joy, happiness and fun.

Boy, I am going to miss him.

A Personal post for Cappy...

Cappy, you have to check out Ralphd00d's pictorial of Girls of the Big Ten. Friday he did Purdue and Ohio State.

Saturday, in the park...

Smell that? Yep, those are brownies in the oven. I got up early to do a little baking. We are off today for a little get-together with my wife's family.

There is an air of gloom settled over the house. The youngest starts back to school on Monday. He is not thrilled. This past week he has had football conditioning every day. He sleeps till well past noon, and football from 3-5 every day he thinks he lost a week. I agree, mid-August is too early to go back to school.

The daughter returns to college Tuesday and the oldest boy moves into his college dorm on Thursday. It is going to be quiet and lonesome around here. It will be interesting how the youngest handles his brother moving to college. The boys have always shared a room. Lately they are not as close as they used to be. The five years difference is marked as they reach their teens. It will be interesting.

Zombie Snakes

I have said it time and again. These creatures are beyond foul and evil. They are even powerful as zombies. Kill them all -- just stay away from the bodies afterward. Bury them immediately.

Lunch with Jerry

I met Jerry from Back Home Again for lunch yesterday. What a great guy. It was strange, as soon as we sat down it was like talking to an old friend. I think it is a lot that we grew up at the same time in the same area. He went home and wrote some really nice things about me and my blog. Now I have to come up with something decent and inspired in order to live up to the hype. Damn you Jerry! I am just the proverbial monkey at the typewriter, and now I need to put random letters into Hemingway-type prose.

Jerry said he has the ultimate gross-out post in the can. He is right. Big Dick you have a challenger.

It is a shame Jerry and I have not met up sooner, but we will do it again soon.

I do believe in Global Warming, I do, I do

It is hot. It is August. It is summertime. It gets hot. It has to do with the tilt of the Earth and the relationship to the sun. It is cold and wintery in Argentina.

Get over it people. This happens every year.

I know you wish you were me

Travelled to Michiana today (Hey Freddie!). Got your handy-dandy atlas out? Not the home of the Studebaker -- east. No not that city -- further east. Yep, there I was. I would like to offer a special apology to the people in Elkhart, Warsaw, Wabash and Greenfield, Indiana who had to follow me in the various restrooms of gas stations, Arby's, and McDonalds. It seems my stomach problems from Monday revisited today. You DO NOT want details, trust me. I did manage to get through my customer meeting and plant tour without filling my khakis with butt gravy. Good for me. At least the car does not smell like rotten eggs -- I was afraid to fart.

On number 755

I decided I do not really give a shit if Barry Bonds breaks Hamerin' Hank's record. The Hall of Fame and the record books do not need to add an asterisk either. You see, I will know. In my mind Bonds is not legit. I believe he is a cheater, a drug user. They showed a graphic the other day and when the mentioned that Sosa was fifth on the homerun list my son glanced up at the screen and said Sosa was a cheater too. The kids of today know. For the next generation the records of the last twenty years will be a joke.

Baseball is a game I love above any other. There is something perfect in the symmetry of the diamond. The straight white lines, the precise measurements...sixty feet six inches... The almost fanaticism about statistics. The game is a mathematician's dream. Yet the symmetry, the preciseness of the field are balanced by the absolute randomness of some of the rules -- three strikes, four balls. A foul is a strike unless it is the last one, unless you foul bunting on the third strike. You can run if the ball is dropped by the catcher, if there are less than two outs and first base is unoccupied. There are entire pages in the rule book on what constitutes a balk! Let us not even discuss the infield fly rule. I was once asked to give a quick lesson in baseball to some European colleagues over lunch. We were going to a Phillies game that evening. Forget it. It was too complicated. Baseball is one of the few sports without a game clock. It is the only sport where the defense has the ball. It is all too crazy. That is why it is the perfect game -- precise, geometric randomness. Chaos with rules. Baseball was never made for TV. The subtle movements of the players, the shifts in and out right and left based on the batter, the situation and the pitcher all come into play. TV can never highlight these subtleties.

Yet, for a chance at success, at wealth, at fame the athletes have cheated. I suspect the same is true for every sport. I watched a series on steroids a year or two ago. I think it was Bob Costas' show on HBO. He interviewed baseball stars from the past. Almost to a man they agreed that if steroids had been around in their day they would have considered using them. If it meant running faster, hitting better, playing longer, they would have done it. This drive to be the best, the "by whatever means possible" attitude is perhaps why they were enormously successful athletes to begin with. How many of us have that drive to win, to succeed?

What would you do for fame, for money, for glory? Can we really blame Barry?

Happy Anniversary

Maybe this will remind the world not to start a war with the USA

TMI Monday

Thunder rumbles, but the rain is no more than sprinkles. I woke early again this morning, but as I sir here in the dark reading blogs and online news I realize I still have nothing to offer. I could update my template, there are few of you I need to add.

Saturday I had a call from Jerry at Back Home Again, but we were unable to meet up as we were just heading out the door to go back-to-school shopping. Whoo wee and whoo hoo. I do not possess the vocabulary to describe the fun we had.

We went to the root beer stand for lunch yesterday. The old fashioned kind, where they bring out the tray and hang it from your window. I deviated from my usual coney dog or double cheeseburger and ordered a BLT. I forgot to tell them no mayo, my error, so I scraped off what I could. As soon as I ate the sandwich I developed a pain in my gut. I spent most of last evening farting heavy foul smelling plumes of sulfuric gas that hung suspended in the air for minutes at a time. Even I thought they stunk. After watching the Cubs and the news I went to bed where the malodorous mustard gas woke me on occasion. This morning the gas has turned and churned in my intestines to create a tepid oozing diarrhea that explodes into the bowl. I am now forced to endure cramps, massive double-flusher shits and the indignity of having to clean the bowl after every dump. Bending over the lingering odor makes me want to barf. I think I may be sick.

I have been outed

I got out of bed this morning only to dicover:

I am outta coffee
I am outta orange juice
I am outta bacon
I am outta eggs
I am outta cheese
I am outta money (but I have bread)
I am outta patience
I am outta reading material
I am outta my mind
I am outta jokes
I am outta ideas
I am outta blog fodder

Dreams and Fantasies

Velociman wants his Popeye. Me, I want something a little more, shall we say "curvy"?

I told my wife she would make me a happy man if she bought me this. She just rolled her eyes. I guess I will have to take things into my own hands. After that, I might just order these bathing beauty movies myself. They will take the place of honor right next to my Rat Patrol DVD set.

Hello Blog World

Friday morning dawns bright and clear and I have nothing to say. Maybe after I peruse a few blogs over there on the right and read the fishwrap I will have something to entertain you. Maybe not. But don't be alrmed. I have other ways to spend this fine day -- there is always work.

Shark week

So, if I were a troll I would think twice before I insulted Kelly or antagonized Big Dick. Wonderful people. I just would not screw around with Dick. I cannot express my thanks to these kind people who spent their evening entertaining this traveler.

I saw a sight this morning that just cracked me up. I went down to the hotel breakfast. As I was finishing up a guy came in the breakfast room. He was middle aged. He was wearing highly polished black loafers and black socks pulled above his calves. I knew this since he was wearing plaid shorts. At first glance I thought they were boxers. He was also wearing a white V-necked undershirt. Comical.

WE had a big disappointment yesterday morning. Every time it looks like things are turning, the old Hoosierboy luck kicks in and the worst always happens. Some days it is hard to count your blessings as you are again beat to the canvas of life's boxing ring. I am a stubborn donkey and I get up, always fighting.

The Dallas Cowboys suck

I have arrived in the Big D. It looks like rain. The flight was the normal aerial bus, crowded. The lady sitting next to me stunk, she smelled like fish. You get the idea. Meeting Big Dick and Kelly later. I suspect a few drinks will be consumed. I am just guessing. If you are in the area come on down. Just call me and I will tell you where.

Maybe more later.

Run, MIke, Run

On getting old

I left home a little after seven in the morning yesterday. I returned five minutes before ten in the evening. My butt was sore. The meetings went well. As I pulled into the driveway I realized I forgot to put out the garbage cans before I left. I am not sure how I missed the others in the neighborhood as a reminder on my way out of town. This is the second time in three weeks I have missed trash day. Of course this means my garage will be filled with smelly trash bags until next Tuesday's pickup. I must be getting old and senile to forget basics like that. Perhaps I better stock up on adult diapers, I will soon forget what I am doing and shit my pants.

boring

Nope, nada, nothing. It is not writer's block, it is more a lack of ambition. I just do not feel like it. There are plenty of topics -- we are upon the anniversary of the sinking of the Indianapolis this past weekend. I started the research, I just do not feel like finishing. Barbara Tuchman once wrote that "research is endlessly seductive, writing is hard work." What you do not know Barbara Tuchman? Look her up. Whilst you are googling, look up Adrian Marks. I knew his son.

Lots going on this week, lots of travel. I will be heading to the Chicago area for a long up and back in the same day on Tuesday. On Wednesday I am off to Texas.

I am also busy here at the homefront. Kiddoes number one and two are off to college in a couple of weeks, so we have stuff to buy, pack and move to their respective living spaces. That is just the beginning.

Work beckons, I have to get ready for my meetings.

1304

I am in a shitty mood. I was yesterday too. I picked a fight with the wife. Then with my oldest son. Then another with the wife, this one a big one. When I went out to the porch to apologize, I started another instead.

Dragonlady said some nice things about me and I smarted off in the comments. I swear you would think I was a female on the rag or something. Need more proof I am a jerk? I purposely put up a post number for a title because I know it upsets one of my mostest very favorite reader/bloggers. I was going to change it, but I want you to know how it is today. I guess you hurt the ones you love.

* insert fifteen minute break*

Reading some other blogs, and I see I am not the only one in this mood. The one who cannot be mentioned by name or linked is too. (Hey, you are either in with the cool crowd or you are not!). Sometimes I think she is my twin sister by another mother.

I drank some OJ and had a couple of little chocolate donuts. Neither did a thing to change my mood or make my shoulder quit hurting.

The original intent of this post was to write about something funny I saw last night. Surfing the channels I saw that the Giants were on TV. The Marlins were finishing an at-bat and the announcer said Bonds was first up. I stopped, I wanted to see Bonds break the record (I want to see the event, historical-wise, not that I want him to break the record). The last commercial out of the break was a PSA about the dangers of steroids. I laughed my ass off. Did ESPN do this on purpose? I can only hope so. Bonds came up and walked. Did anyone else see this?

My boy is at Scout Camp

Dear Mom & Dad,

Our Scoutmaster told us to write to our parents in case you saw the flood
on TV and are worried. We are okay. Only one of our tents and 2 sleeping
bags got washed away. Luckily, none of us got drowned because we were all up on
the mountain looking for Adam when it happened.
Oh yes, please call Adam's mother and tell her he is okay. He can't write
because of the cast. I got to ride in one of the search and rescue jeeps.
It was neat. We never would have found Adam in the dark if it hadn't been for
the lightning. Scoutmaster Keith got mad at Adam for going on a hike alone
without telling anyone. Adam said he did tell him,
but it was during the fire so he probably didn't hear him.
Did you know that if you put gas on a fire, the gas will blow up? Talk about cool!!
The wet wood didn't burn, but one of the tents did and also some of our
clothes. Matthew is going to look weird until his hair grows back.
We will be home on Saturday if Scoutmaster Keith gets the bus fixed. It
wasn't his fault about the wreck. The brakes worked okay when we left.
Scoutmaster Keith said that with a bus that old you have to expect
something to break down; that's probably why he can't get insurance.
We think it's a neat bus. He doesn't care if we get it dirty and if it's
hot, sometimes he lets us ride on the fenders. It gets pretty hot with 45
people in a bus made for 24. He let us take turns riding in the trailer
until the highway patrol man stopped and talked to us.
Scoutmaster Keith is a neat guy. Don't worry, he is good driver. In fact,
he is teaching Jessie how to drive on the mountain roads where there isn't
any cops. All we ever see up there are logging trucks.
This morning all of the guys were diving off the rocks and swimming out to
the rapids. Scoutmaster Keith wouldn't let me because I can't swim, and
Adam was afraid he would sink because of his cast, it's concrete because we
didn't have any plaster, so he let us take the canoe out. It was great.
You can still see some of the trees under the water from the flood.
Scoutmaster Keith isn't crabby like some scoutmasters. He didn't even get
mad about the life jackets. He has to spend a lot of time working on the
bus so we are trying not to cause him any trouble.
Guess what? We have all passed our first aid merit badges. When Andrew
dived into the lake and cut his arm, we got to see how a tourniquet works.
Steven and I threw up, but Scoutmaster Keith said it probably was just
food poisoning from the leftover chicken. He said they got sick that way with
food they ate in prison. I'm so glad he got out and became our scoutmaster.
He said he sure figured out how to get things done better while he was
doing his time. By the way, what is a pedal-file?
I have to go now. We are going to town to mail our letters & buy some more
beer and ammo. Don 't worry about anything. We are fine and tonight it's
my turn to sleep in the Scoutmaster's tent.
Love, Rickey

Friday Funny

A Cicada lies dormant underground for 17 years and then emerges only to say

More on pygmy sex

I love CDs for their size and convenience. I also love the clear sound you can get with just a little maintenance. MP3 players will eventually replace even CDs in the future. But I miss record albums. Especially the cover art. The tiny picture on a CD cover has no soul. Here is one of the greatest album covers of all time:

The music is pretty damn good too. What are some of your favorite album covers?

Half speed

I am chugging along at half speed this morning. The wife and I took the youngest to see a midnight showing of the Simpsons Movie. It got laughs from the opening and never let up. It was as funny as some of the shows back in the Conan O'Brien days. My only complaint the movie was only a little over an hour long. In all, one of the funniest movies I have seen in a while.

The Bamboo Garden

I am back in the office early. My customer visit was cancelled by the customer. After driving a big two plus hour circle through east-central Indiana I went had my hair cut instead. I ate lunch at this Chinese place. Do you find the sign as hilarious as I do? I guess it is better than "Our waitresses are flirty, the floor is dirty".

I was going to rant about the cost of higher education and student loans, but unless you have kids in college you do not care. If you have kids in college you do not need to hear my rant -- you know the score.

The Simpsons Movie hits theaters tomorrow. I am pumped.

I know it is Thursday, but lets all try to get laid tonight!

Heighooo

If you are not reading JamesOldGuy on a regular basis you are sure missing out. He says what he thinks and he is usually right. Here he is on Hillary Clinton:

She has no self pride her only thought is to be president , she would suck a donkeys dick in Time Square if she thought it would get her votes.

He cracks me up.

It is gloomy and rainy today, but I woke in a great mood. Payday will do that for you.

Bush planned 9/11

If you believe the US Government planned, initiated and carried out the attacks on September eleventh,then I have a message for you.

You are a fucking moron. You should not be allowed to breed. You should be immediately sterilized. You are a menace to decent society. You should be examined by competent psychiatric professionals to determine if you are a danger to yourself or others.

If you believe the US Government assassinated JFK, if you believe the US Government knew in advance and allowed the attacks on Peal Harbor to happen, then you are no less ignorant of history, of facts, of common sense.

Governments, including ours, have a history of lies and deceit. Power corrupts. But to blame our Government for the acts of murderous religious fanatics is the reaction of an individual that is either suffering from ostrich syndrome, an islamofascist himself, or a deluded nutcase that hates the United States so deeply that you border on traitorous behavior. To believe BUSHCHENEYHALIBURTON committed the 9/11 attacks and are currently planning another such attack in an effort to overthrow the Constitution of the USA in a mad power grab is nuts. If you believe this bull -- well I think you are insane.

My life in Jeopardy

I am up at 5:00 am, hanging out with my buddy insomnia. We spend a lot of time together these days. I guess it is time to finish the post I wrote yesterday, my own little game of Jeopardy. You have the answer, now the questions:

1. What are the odds Greyroostercock survives the beating he is about to get from Big Dick?

2. How are things going for Osama Bin Laden?

3. How are things going for Osama Hussein Obama?

4. How is HB sleeping these days?

5. How are the negotiations going with big customer?

Update

Not very good. But thanks for asking.

Todays simple life lesson.

Lets try a little home experiment. Watch your local weatherman every day for a week. You can also watch the Weather Channel. Track how accurate they are. Now ask yourself this question:

If the trained, educated meteorologists are incapable of predicting the weather twenty-four hours in advance, how can they tell us what will happen in fifty years?

Then ignore the hype and bullshit surrounding Global Warming. I know this is not an original thought, but it cannot be repeated enough.

Done with Harry Potter

I finished it. One of the best books I have read -- ever. Lots of action.

I am not a smart man

Math was never my strong suit, but I have a question for my local readers. With property taxes spinning out of control due to the new reassessment measures (30-100% higher in every county) why are local governments strapped for cash and looking for other ways to raise funds? Indy has seen property taxes double and more, but still raised the local income tax by 60%. I do not get it. Please help me understand.

Now leave me alone

There will be limited posting today. Why? Here is a multiple choice test for you:

HB will not be posting today because


A) Work, Work, Work
B) He is in the middle (page 446) of a certain just-released book
C) He has nothing vital to impart
D) All of the above

Step Into the Twilight Zone

I was over at my buddies house last night, he of the knee surgery in the post below. Since then he has had four more surgeries on his right knee. He is going next month to have his knee replaced. We drank a few beers and he asked if I remembered the time we took him out and got him wasted before he had surgery the first time. I just laughed. It is weird how the mind works. On Friday, out of the blue I had a starling clear memory of that distant evening. I tried to write about it, I just wish I had the literary skill to spin the story better. The next day he tells me he is going to have additional surgery and brings up the same memory. He said he and his wife were talking about finally having the knee replaced on Friday morning as he was leaving for work. do do dooo do

Sometimes there are weird coincidences in this universe.

One Night in Frankfort

The air is punctuated by the deep rumble of engines and glass pack mufflers. The shouts and whistles of the kids mix with an occasional car horn and racing engine. Some of the cars are parked, most are cruising at idle speed around Mac's Hamburger Stand. The cars are of many varieties, many are muscle cars jacked up in the back to accommodate the wide tires. Some are family vehicles or the old junkers the kids could afford. Being a rural town, there are a lot of pickup trucks. The music plays a cacophonous soundtrack, radios and eight tracks turned at various volumes -- loud and really loud. Nearly all are playing rock and roll. One of the stoners has a unique turntable mounted in an old marine compass in his van.

We cruise down the highway and turn into Mac's parking lot. Jeff's Camaro growls under the hood with power. We are not looking for a race, but we are trying to score some booze. As we slowing drive around the restaurant I scan the cars and crowd for someone who can score. Maybe they are old enough, maybe they have a contact. We briefly consider driving to Illinois, it is early enough to make the two hour drive each way, but we know we do not have the money to buy gas and beer. Besides, when we get back it will be too late to party it up before we have to go home. Jeff is not crazy enough to leave cases of beer in his trunk. I do not see anyone as we turn back onto the strip.

We join the line of cars traveling slowly down the highway. We make the turns through town and around the square. We head back east towards Mac's. Our vehicle is part of the summer conga line of automobiles cruising the strip through town. A girl in a halter top leans against the bridge. I whistle and call to her. She flips me off. The sequence is repeated by various cars and teen aged boys in our wake. She is there to be seen. We try and think of a source for beer. I wonder if my brother has any? We have not seen him cruising yet this evening. It is still early. I suggest we buy some cigars. As we pull into the grocery I spot Bill's Torino. As usual he has washed and waxed it to a brilliant shine. Jeff goes into the store to get some smokes, I head over to Bill's car. It is actually vibrating with the power of the speakers blasting the Rolling Stones. He turns it down as I ask if has any beer. After some teasing and giving me a hard time he says he will get us a case of Little Kings or Strohs. I give him a ten spot. He just made a couple bucks profit since those are the cheapest beers around. He says it will cost us six of the beers. I whine, but he knows I will give in. He is going to drink all night for free when he buys beer for the rest of us. It is only fair, he has the five o'clock shadow and fake ID. We agree to meet in an hour or so. He is on the way to pick up my brother.

We rejoin the line of cars and after some time park up on the square next to a cobalt blue Cougar. The driver asks if we want to get high. We consider it, but neither of us has much money left after paying for the beer. It is still a week until payday for us both. I was not much for grass anyway. We drive to the park looking for girls. We find a couple of other buddies, they ask if we have some beer and we tell them we have some on the way. They are going to pick up some as well. We park Jeff's car and get in with them. We get our beer and Brian drives to a seedy part of town. He goes into a house. We discuss the rumor that a guy walked through an upstairs window of the place while high on angel dust. Troy tells us he is going to the hospital for surgery in the morning. Ah, we are celebrating! Bill bought us Little Kings Ale, Brian drops a case of the same in the backseat of his big Buick.

Flying down country roads we throw the empties at mailboxes. Cigar smoke rolls out the windows and music washes over us. The smell of corn and farm mingles with our laughter. We head out to Michigantown hoping for a fight or at least a disagreement. The tiny burg is dead. We head back toward town and Mac's. We sit on the car and drink our beer from paper cups. We trade some of our beer for a pint of rum. We head inside to buy some cokes for mix.

Stars whirl through the night sky and the cars rumble through the parking lot. The music blares as the evening heats up. We discuss going to Lafayette, but we know we will sit and cruise and drink right here at home. Some girls stop and flirt, they are not interested in us as much as the rumor we have some booze. We continue to ply Troy with liquor, joking about our goal to see that he will not need anesthesia for his operation -- he will be feeling no pain!

After a bit we pile back in the car and cruise some more. As usual, Brian is low on gas. We all throw in a couple of bucks. We drink, we laugh and the the night rumbles on. The cars honk and music blares through the shouts and waves as cars pass heading the opposite direction on the strip. Four young boys, just on the edge of manhood, get gloriously drunk on beer, on rum, on summer, on the joy of being alive.

Love me do

I have an incredible craving for a gin and tonic. I do not know why. Normally I am a beer drinker, but a G&T sure sounds good. Yes I know it is 8 am.

I have been reading a biography of the Beatles. It is by a bloke named Bob Spitz. At more than 800 pages it is a big read, but so far very entertaining and well researched. This is the second Beatles book I have read this month. I tend to get obsessive about a subject and study it until my interest is satiated. In the past I have delved into the Boer Wars, The Civil War, The Zulu Wars, The revolutionary War and WWI and WWII. I read every book I could find on the US Indianapolis. Now I am stuck, I guess, on the Beatles. What is interesting is I have never been a huge Beatles fan. I think my CD collection consists of the Number 1 album. In the days I owned vinyl, a worn copy of Meet the Beatles stood gathering dust, passed to me by some unknown source.

I am at the part where the boys are in Hamburg, learning their chops. The are living the high life in the St. Paulie District (for those of you who like foreign beer do you know a St. Paulie Girl is a hooker?). The book talks about the Red Light district and the Reeperbahn. This area was/is a free wheeling entertainment and sex district since the middle ages. The part of town where sailors came to 'relieve the pressures' from months at sea. I have been to this area of Hamburg twice. I wrote about one such visit here. I remember yelling at Hans-Jurgen to "mach schnell mother fucker" as he stood by the car taking a piss as we stood freezing in the rain after a long night of drinking. The bars and strip clubs blasted electronic techno funk instead of rock and roll. I would have liked to visit in 1960, what a sight it must have been, as rock and roll began to grow up.

Skyrockets in Sight

Several ideas for posts have been rattling around in my skull like gravel in an old coffee can. Have you seen the Harry Potter movies or read the books? Dumbledore uses his wand to pull memories and thoughts from his brain. They look like milky spiderwebs. I need to be able to do that. Maybe I should forgo posting until I have my coffee. I do not doubt some medication would help as well.

Baseball is over for the year. We were knocked out in the semifinals of the SE State tournament by the same team that knocked out in the finals last year and the year before and the year before. Go read last year's post and the one from 2005. This year we came in third, all the previous we were second. The boy did not play much, the coach took out his animosity to me on my son -- a petty and small man indeed. That is what happens when you stand up to a bully -- he takes it out on those unable to defend themselves. Maybe I will tell you the story sometime. In the end, in a must win game, the coach swallowed his pride and put his best team on the field and suddenly there is the little one starting in his accustomed outfield spot, playing every minute of the game. Too bad the coach's son played like crap. He gave up six runs as pitcher in the final inning as we lost 8-2. You do the math. My kid scored one of our two runs.

As I look back over the mind farts I have wafted onto the blog page so far I detect a tone out of character in recent days here at Fat in Indiana. Time to inject a little more negativity. This is also a test to see if you have read this far, since I know none of you have any interest in my mundane life.

There are movies you hit while channel surfing you must stop and watch. There are songs you will always listen to on the radio. For those of us of a certain age it might be Stairway to Heaven, Freebird, or Turn the Page. But are there songs and artist you hate so much you will turn them off at the very first note? I will turn off the radio at the any hint of Afternoon Delight, but in all fairness, I would likely not listen to any station that would play such trash. I am talking about bands that would be included on the play list of your favorite station.

There are several artists I particularly hate. In fairness, if I listen to most of their work, I do not dislike any particular song, but something about the music turns me off. Foremost of those on that list would be Aerosmith. Stephen Tyler irritates the hell out of me. We were driving down the street the other day when an Aerosnith song came on. The boy reached up and punched a different station button. I asked why he did that and he said " 'Cause you hate Aerosmith and I wanted to save you the effort of changing the station." I also hate nearly any song by ZZ Top or Tom Petty. The king bee of my list of hated musicians has to be Steve Miller. I cannot think of a single song of his, going back to Quicksilver Messenger that I can stand for more than a nanosecond. How about you?

Just a post before I go

Legend has it that Graham Nash penned the tune "Just a song before I go" in about an hour at the end of a recording session. Well I will give you a post in the fifteen minutes before I hit the road to do my selling thing. I am in the midst of negotiations with one of my larger customers -- a multimillion dollar account. Several times in the last few months I think we are done, ready to sign the papers and a new wrinkle delays the deal. I hope we get it all resolved today. I am done negotiating after this meeting. I have one very small carrot left in my bag, and then we have given all we can.

My mood is no better than last week. Thunder is rumbling in the distance and the sky is dark. It looks like I face a wet drive. The visitors lot is far off at this customer, so I will have to use the umbrella and wet clothes for my meeting. Happy happy smile smile.

Kick a dog for me today, will ya?

I saw Harry Potter

Reading the last couple of posts you might think I am in a violent, angry mood. You would be right.

Just a little pinprick

I read the other day that China executed a government official the other day for taking bribes. Most news outlets in the US that reported this event did so with a tone of incredulity. After all, we are loath to even execute the worst scum and violent offenders in our midst. But I think I agree with the action. Those who work in the bureaucracies and elected positions in our Government do so ostensibly to serve us. When they violate that trust they are committing crimes against us all. It is time to send a message to those in Government and those who would pay our representatives for votes and favorable actions that we are tired of the corruption. How does one go to work in Government, never worked in the Private sector, and retire a multi-millionaire? I say we fry a few corrupt Congressmen and lobbyists and see what happens to tort reform and bills revising the tax code.

A day in the life

I turn onto I-57 from the Lincoln Highway heading south towards Kankakee. It is dusk, I have hours to go. I settle into that driving groove, the miles flying past my tires in an endless line. Road music soothes me on my iPod. Lots of guitar solos, classic 70's rock. I lock the cruise control at a slick 75 mph.

The red Nissan was driving in the left hand lane for no apparent reason. I pass on the right, noticing the tag on the back -- Michigan plates emblazoned 'DOBY'. Why do assholes from Michigan insist on driving in the left lane all the time I wonder. This is not the first time I noticed this. Soon DOBY was a spec in my mirror. The road cut its straight path among the farms and fields of Illinois. A car flies up my rear passing me. It is my buddy DOBY. He finally moves into the right lane in front of me. He promptly slows down to about 70. Urgh, I hit my turn signal and pass him again, muttering to myself about jerks in Nissans and their inability to use cruise control.

Ten minutes later guess who passes me again? Yep, jerkoff DOBY. I am getting a little sick of this. Is he playing some kind of game with me? The road was nearly deserted as the sun paints the sky in purples and orange. The clouds glitter with gold and I feel for the Colt 45 ACP under the armrest. The sky overhead was already a deep indigo as night drew near. Ten miles later guess who was clogging the right lane, running right at the speed limit? I passeed him again. Fifteen minutes later DOBY zooms by on the left, I now am so sick of that red Nissan.

Ten miles down the road I come upon a car swerving off the road on the right. It is my pal DOBY correcting when he hit the rumble strip. This guy is a menace. I think for a minute about pulling out the handgun and just shooting him. I smile, just for an instant, at the thought. I know I could never hit him with the handgun at 75 mph. The idea was crazy, I would end up in prison, the cellmate of a huge inmate named Bubba. I dismiss the thought. I impulsively reach over the armrest to backseat floor. The Browning model eleven 16 gauge would do the trick. I tapped the brakes and fell in behind DOBY and his strawberry red Nissan. I flick the safety and rolled down the passenger window. I looked around, no cars in sight. I pulled into the left lane accelerating slightly. The fucker will not look at me. I pulled even, then slightly forward. The gun was heavy in my hand as I pulled the trigger. Holy shit, what have I done? The kick nearly broke my wrist. Goddamn that hurt. The Nissan swerved for a moment than lurched to the right flipping in the roadside ditch. I turned up the radio and chuckled.

I pulled into a gas station to take a leak. I entered the restroom to find the one urinal was occupied. The stall was empty, but I wanted to use the urinal. I don't know what came over me, I stepped up and drove the asshole's head straight into the wall as hard as I could. I grabbed his hair and smashed his face about 6 times into the pipes above the porcelain. His blood looked pink on the white wall as he slumped to the ground. I pulled open my zipper and pissed all over him. It felt good. I did not take his wallet or anything. My wrist now hurt like a bastard.

I pulled back onto the highway, taking the exit onto I-74 heading East. Zepplin pounded through the speakers -- Kashmir. As I rounded a bend, trees in the median, there was a car driving just at the speed limit in the left lane, no other vehicles but ours on the highway. He had Michigan plates...

Insert your own clever title

Did you miss me? 1,200 miles of windshield time this week. My rear is numb. I have a few rants swirling in my fecund brain, only I am not sure if they are my thoughts or the compilation of hours of various talk shows that streamed through the airwaves into the radio in my shitty Taurus. Above is a picture of the sky I took from my window. The ground is flat, the phone was tilted. It is hard to take a quality photograph when you are barrelling down the interstate at 80 mph. I thought the clouds were cool. So far pictures of the world from my car seem to be the only use I have found for the camera attached to my phone.

As I was driving Wednesday afternoon I was thinking about an old friend and former customer. He used to live in the area I was passing through. I had not spoken to him in about three years. About ten minutes later my mobile rang. A voice said "HB, this is a voice from your past." I knew right away who it was since I was just thinking about him! Crazy eh? He is back buying my products and may become a customer again.

Work beckons, and I have many blogs to read.

stuttering

A teacher is explaining biology to her 4th grade
students. "Human beings are the only animals that
stutter," she says.

A little girl raises her hand. "I had a kitty-cat who
stuttered," she volunteered.

The teacher, knowing how precious some of these
stories could become, asked the girl to describe the
incident.

"Well," she began, "I was in the back yard with my
kitty and the Rottweiler that lives next door got a
running start and before we knew it, he jumped over
the fence into our yard!

"That must've been scary," said the teacher.

"It sure was," said the little girl. "My kitty raised
his back, went 'Fffff, Fffff, Fffff'...

And before he could say "F-u-c-k", the Rottweiler ate him!"

The Rain in Spain

Sometimes I get off track, especially when I get to telling stories. In the last post I meant to talk about my daughter, but ended up telling about Otter's dog. My brother is like that, it always has to be about him...anyway I was talking about my daughter. She is almost twenty-one, a Junior in College. You never knew I had a kid when I was ten, huh? Jeez, maybe a new paragraph will help keep me on track.

My daughter left yesterday for ten days in Europe. She is going to Madrid, Florence and Rome. She has only been on a plane a few times, I think she is a little nervous. The whole idea of what to do when she arrives -- getting to the hotel, checking in etc., I think is a little daunting. At least in Spain she will be able to speak the language. I am not thrilled with this trip, and I miss her already. Even though she is rarely home, we speak to her every day. Now we have to wait on her call.

I know how she probably feels. I have been to Europe ten or twelve times. Never as part of a tourist group, but for work. Sometimes I have been able to do some sight seeing as well. As far as being a fish out of water, the worst was one of my trips to Italy. I had spent several days at our plant, and on my last day the boss asked if I wanted to see Turin (Torino). I said sure. One of the guys drove me to the city, about 40 minutes from our offices. When we arrived he parked and told me some of the places of interest, and showed me a map (in Italian). He then told me he would me at this same spot at 7:00 pm. It was about 10:30 am at that point. I got out of the car and off he went. I thought he was going to give me the tour. I was on my own. I knew exactly ONE word of Italian -- grazie. What a long day.

I did see a couple have sex on a park bench behind the palace, but that is a post for another day. I will be traveling the length of Illinois for the next couple of days, so posting will be light to non-existent. Go forth, sit in the sun, and get laid.

Dog Days

Did you embiggen the picture below? That sour-looking young girl is my daughter. That picture was taken after a day at Disneyworld 19 years ago. She was almost two. We had gone to visit my brother Otter at his home in Florida.

Otter had this big chow that he loved like his kid. The dog was well behaved and lovable, as long as Otter was around. During our stay, Otter and his wife both had to work. One time while they were gone the doorbell rang. The wife grabbed the dog's collar and as we opened the door, the dog gave her the old buck and duck and he was out the door! I went after him, barefoot as usual. I forgot how hot asphalt gets in the July sun. Off we went, through yards, under bushes, across streets. I swear that damn dog was teasing me. He would stop and wait until I got close, then off he went again. Through apartment complexes, around the gas station, across the strip mall parking lot, down the median of the highway we ran. Sometimes, just for fun we would double back. That dog wanted to make sure all of Tampa knew I could not catch him. I finally got him turned back toward home.

I let the dog run through the apartment complex as I regrouped, and shod my swollen, blistered feet. The wife could not help me, we had a baby to tend. Finally after about three hours I got close enough to grab a handful of fur and then the collar. I have never wanted to kill an animal so bad. Unfortunately Otter was due home from work in a couple of minutes. Otter asked me later if we did anything exciting while he was at work. I swear that damn dog looked at me and grinned.

Happiest Place on Earth

1277

2:52 am. My old buddy insomnia has returned to pay me a visit. It has been almost a week, I would like to say I missed him. I am reading today's posts on the old blogroll and watching a rerun of Let's Make a Deal. It is sure good to be me. I just finished a book about the Beatles called "Ticket to Ride" by Larry Kane. The book chronicles the Beatles tours of 1964 and 1965. Kane was the only reporter to hit every stop with the band. The stories are interesting but he is not a great writer. In fact he sucks as a writer. I might even be better. The book is still worth a read, if you like that type story. Or not, I really do not care. Hanging with Mr. Insomnia makes me a bit peevish. Joy to you -- you get a live blog of my mind.

Monte Hall just gave away a brand new Camaro. It cost $4,400 dollars.

Hold on, I have to find something else to watch, I hate the Amazing Race. Preachers, Infomercials -- do any of those get rich quick schemes work? Do people really send their money to those guys for the tapes? Real Estate, weight loss, insurance, the silver bullet, some kind of panini press is there no real TV on late night any more?. Oh my God, is that Peter Fonda hawking 60s music? He looks like shit. How many face lifts can a person have? Poker, I would rather watch pool or bowling. Of course, maybe that would put me to sleep. Nancy Grace: can she really be the monumental bitch she appears on TV? Seriously, if there were a Mount Rushmore of Cunts, She and Hillary would be front and center. Sorry ladies, I know most of you find that word totally offensive. One day I am going to publish a post prior to spellcheck so you know what a moron I really am (tottalyy). OK, it looks like Emeril wins...Shut up and cook already.

3:14. At least no one is begging me to get off the computer so they can check their 'myspace'. The bad part is I am bored. When I am bored I eat. When I eat I get fatter. Well I could get one of those Rascal Scooters I just saw on TV. I see the fat cows driving them at WalMart.


There is a whole list of stuff that has pissed me off today. I am not going to bore you with it, but I bet tomorrow (today already?) will not get better. Emeril is not cutting the mustard -- hah a pun.

3:28/ Bored yet? I am. Good Night.

Friday Five

I sit here drinking my coffee and trying to find the words to entertain you. You are pretty damn demanding, you know. Clearly most of you are from the 'gimmee' generation. Well too bad, reader. You are going to get some tough love from the ole Hoosierboy today. I will not entertain you. I will not be your enabler. Find your kicks from some of the blogs listed over there on the right. Any one of them will do.

The boy starts down the state Babe Ruth tourney road this evening. It looks like he will be back in his accustomed outfield position. He prefers the action of the outfield anymore. As the kids get older and stronger he sees a lot more action. The full size diamond and outfield presents a challenge as he now has a lot more territory to cover.

I have not commented on the hypocrisy of the Clintons going after Bush for commuting Scooter Libby's prison sentence. That is a target too easy to hit. Heck, even the left-leaning MSM sees it as a joke.

We got some much needed rain the last two days. I mowed yesterday for the first time since before Memorial Day. The grass was brown and parched like you would expect in Mid-August. Crazy weather.

We have not done a Friday Five for a long time. The car driving down the street a moment ago brings a topic to mind. I could hear the bass thump-thumping, so let us discuss bassists. Name the five best bass players.

Here is my vote, in no particular order:

Chris Squire
John Paul Jones
John Entwistle
Paul McCartney (listen to some of the Beatles stuff closely, he is better than you imagine)
Greg Lake

How to compliment a woman

A woman, standing nude, looks in the bedroom mirror and says to her husband, "I look horrible, I feel fat and ugly - pay me a compliment".

The husband replies, "Well....Your eyesight's 'fuckin' perfect".

Thirsty Thursday

We went north to our friend's house to celebrate our nation's birthday. My buddy bought a mini keg of imported German Donkel beer. We polished it off. I ate a couple of Brats, and some of my semi world famous mashed potato salad and some deviled eggs and chips, and ...Let us say I drank and ate and had a good time. I smoked a Gurka cigar I had been saving and later had a nice H. Uppman. Today I feel like the Russian army did maneuvers on my tongue -- in their dirty socks. We lit off some firecrackers and bottle rockets and a few roman candles. Later we went to see the town's firework show and enjoyed ourselves immensely. The wife drove us home and I slept in the car. A great evening all around.

Did you enjoy my history lesson yesterday? Did you learn something? Now you can bore your friends, and coworkers with a little trivia. If you were to ask the average American what battle produced the highest casualty rate you probably get answers ranging from D-Day to Custer, to the Alamo, to Gettysburg or even a few might answer Antietam. Few would have mention St. Clair, Blue Jacket or Little Turtle. Why don't we teach this shit in school? I have always said history can be as exciting as any movie or book you can mention, because it all has happened before. Think history is boring? Go read this post by the Fat Hairy one. Would you have liked history more in school if it was taught in this fashion? That is enough of that, the height of this soapbox is making me dizzy.

Go forth and prosper.

In the Old Northwest

On July Fourth,1876 the nation was celebrating its centennial. Celebrating citizens were shocked to learn of the defeat of General George Custer just a few days prior. The event has been immortalized in history, movies and popular culture. Custer, Crazy Horse and the Battle of the Little Big Horn remain mythic icons still. But these events were minor in comparison to a defeat laid on the US Army some 85 years previous.

As settlers spread into the Northwest Territory (now Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan), the native inhabitants of the area resisted mightily. Attacks on settlers prompted action. A punitive expedition led by US Brigadier General Josiah Harmar was sent to deal with the Shawnee, Miami and Delaware in the Ohio country. They were soundly defeated by the Indians in October near modern Fort Wayne, Indiana.

President Washington was furious and charged Major General Arthur St. Clair, who was also Governor of the Northwest Territory, to do the job right. Congress agreed to finance the campaign and provided funds to raise a new regiment in the US Army for the purpose (doubling the standing army). St. Clair also called up the Kentucky Militia. The fall of 1891 saw St. Clair on the move. By the time he reached president day Fort Recovery, Ohio on November third, St. Clair's force numbered 52 officers and 868 enlisted men. He also had about 200 camp followers along.

He was opposed by Indians under the leadership of Blue Jacket of the Shawnee, Little Turtle of the Miami and Buckongahelas of the Delaware. The Indian force numbered around 1,100. The Indians attacked at dawn on November Fourth.

The casualty rate was the highest ever suffered by a United States Army. Of the 52 officers engaged, 39 were killed and 7 wounded (an 88% casualty rate).In less than two hours the battle became a rout. "It was, in fact, a flight," St. Clair described a few days later in a letter to the Secretary of War. The American casualty rate, among the soldiers, was 97.4 percent, including 632 of 920 killed (69%), and 264 wounded. Nearly all of the 200 camp followers were slaughtered, for a total of 832 Americans killed. Approximately one-fourth of the entire standing United States Army had been wiped out. Only 24 of the 920 troops engaged came out of it unscathed. Indian casualties were around 61, of which about 21 were killed.

St. Clair traveled to Philadelphia to report on the battle. He blamed the quartermaster as well as the War Department for not providing adequate supplies or soldiers for the task. St. Clair asked for a Court Martial to exonerate him from the defeat, but Washington instead demanded his immediate resignation.

The aftermath of the battle resonates today. Congress began its own investigation into the defeat (someone must be blamed!). These were the first ever Congressional Hearings on the actions of the Executive Branch. As part of the proceedings, the House committee in charge of the investigation asked for documents from the War Department. Secretary of War Knox sought the advise of the President. Washington summoned a meeting of all of his department heads (Knox, Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson, Secretary of the Treasury Alexander Hamilton, and Attorney General Edmund Randolph). This was one of the first meetings of these officials, and some scholars consider this the beginning of the Cabinet. This group decided the documents were protected under Executive Privilege. They claimed the documents in question should be kept secret for the public's good. This doctrine continues to divide us today as practiced by all subsequent Presidents including Reagan, Bush and especially Clinton.

In 1794 another army, this time led by General "Mad" Anthony Wayne, defeated the Indians of the Northwest Territory at the Battle of Fallen Timbers. The Indians ceded much of their land at the Treaty of Greenville. For the most part the Indian Wars were over in Ohio.

At least one bright war chief of the Shawnee recognized the tenacity and power of the US Army. He had participated in Harmer and St. Clair's defeats as well as the loss at Fallen Timbers. This young Indian knew all the Native Americans would have to band together to drive the white man back across the mountains. He began traveling among all the tribes of the Eastern US to form alliances. His name was Tecumseh and he will be the subject of another post.

Tuesday

I am ready for the fourth. Food, fun beer and a fine cigar or two are on tap.

Giddy up you old nag

It has been lonely in the saddle since my horse died. That will not keep me from beating this old Shetland pony. More than once I have been called a bulldog, and my good buddy Prozacula has brought out the worst in me.

For those of you who only stop by sometimes (shame on you, you should be clicking every hour on the hour. Sleep when you are dead), I published an email I received regarding illegal immigration. It was a parable. One of the big boy liberal leftist bloggers linked it in a lame attempt to make fun of me (he said I was one of the beefjerky brigade -- some insult huh?). This link brought me bunches of hits and a few commenters.

Most of the comments ran the typical -- you are an asshole/racist/I hope you die liberal response. One commenter said I was racist and used a 'yokel' (read Southern accent)to prove his point. I told this asshat he was using the same kind of stereotypes he found so offensive in my post and did not that make him a bigot and a hypocrite. He explained that he was using humor. Oh, and on the right our humor is just examples of why we hate brown people/black people/homosexuals/joos/arabs/kittens. We are just intolerant racists, you see.

I really hoped for a discussion on immigration, but all I seem to get from Mr. Prozacula is he is right 'cause he said so. I have invited him for an intellectual debate, but he says I will just call him names.

He went to another website and complained Big Dick and I were mean to him.

Here is my position:

I am against illegal immigration no matter if the perpetrators are Mexicans, Ecuadorians, Brazilians, Frenchies, Italians, Germans, Swedes, Russians, Chinese, Koreans, Congolese, South Africans, Hungarians, Hondurans, Cubanos, Peruvians, Martians, or Canadians or any other nationality, religion, or race. I have no issue with LEGAL immigrants, providing they come here to make America a better place. Unlike the assholes at Sadly No, I can see the difference between the Italians and Eastern European immigrants at the beginning of the 20th Century who came through Ellis Island, were documented and arrived in a legal manner -- those who came to become Americans, who assimilated into society. There is a difference in those who come illegally, crossing our southern border with impunity. I really could care less what color their skin is. A criminal is a criminal and not a legitimate or wanted member of decent society.

I am against taking the hard earned wages of American workers and providing welfare and other benefits to Mexicans, Ecuadorians, Brazilians, Frenchies, Italians, Germans, Swedes, Russians, Chinese, Koreans, Congolese, South Africans, Hungarians, Hondurans, Cubanos, Peruvians, Martians, or Canadians or any other nationality. Except Australians -- I like Australians. That last sentence was a joke, for the humor challenged progressives in our midst.

If this makes me a racist -- feel free to explain how and cite proof. If my position is wrong, feel free to argue your point. Facts and logic are required here at Fat in Indiana, not a mere statement that I am offensive, because you claim it to be true.

So I offer a direct challenge to you Prozacula, and your buddies at Sadly No! Argue, debate, prove me wrong. Dick says I am too nice to you trolls. I hold out hope that for once you will offer reasoned debate. Prove me right. Do not show up, shit in my living room and run off like a cockroach. Stand up, defend your position. I have devoted what, four or five posts in an effort to get you to stand up for yourself. Do not disappoint me. Could it be you just hate Hoosiers and conservative white people? Prove you are not the racist.

Ramblin' Man

Friday morning I was fed up with sitting still on Chicago's Dan Ryan Expressway. Who was Mr. Ryan, and would he be pleased to know he is cursed by tens of thousands daily? Is this the tribute the politicians of Chicago had in mind? I vowed not to make the same mistake on my return trip home. I tuned to the erstwhile WGN and the Cubs as I made my way to Lake Shore Drive and US Highway 41 South. The lake was green and the beaches empty on this cloudy cool Friday afternoon. I passed the remains of the Great White City from the Colombian Exhibition of 1893, now housing the Museums.

I curved through stately neighborhoods, once upper class. There is a wave of rebirth in some of these southside neighborhoods since I last came this way. The historian in me sees things the way they were, and I wish I could have driven these same roads 80 or 90 years ago. Further South I traveled through stoplights and zigzagging down the streets of Chicago. I pass under and along the Skyway, eschewing the exit to view the old road, once the primary highway southward from the Second City.

I cruised past the City Hall and what must be Hammond High. I considered staying on good old US 41 southward to connect with US 52 and on toward home. It is late afternoon and I am already looking at a 7:00 arrival. I jumped back on the interstate and set the cruise control for 83 mph. The balance of my trip will now be quicker, but I think I am a bit poorer in experience.

My side trip was faster than the 'express' lanes on I-94. I enjoyed it far more. As one who travels it is fun to take the old highways and byways, travel through the forgotten towns of America. I squint my eyes and see what was, what might have been, and I am happy.

Now let us calculate your reading comprehension score. What is the main point of the story above?

A. Dan Ryan Jr. was the President of the Cook County Board of Commissioners

B. The Cubs won a dramatic game with a walk-off two run homer in the bottom of the ninth inning

C. The Columbian Exhibition of 1893 was the last World's Fair of the Nineteenth Century

D. This is an amazing tale about a salesman who actually worked on a Friday afternoon.

Lucky Man

The shoes hurt my feet. I was a bit aggravated. I had to tell one of my buddies he should not be drinking beer in church. He did not see the problem. I told him the Catholics may not mind, but the Methodists had issues with alcohol in the church. I was half irritated because I wanted one of those beers myself.

I had been in an argument with some other people who wanted to mess with my car. Permanent marker does not come off of windows.

The whole thing was becoming a real pain. I cut myself shaving. The photographer annoyed the shit out of me with the stupid poses. Everyone wanted to talk to me tell me this or that, tell me a story or anecdote from their own experience.

I was pissed because I was standing there waiting. I have little patience now. I had less then. Otter was there. So were some other buddies. Finally the ladies came through the doors, things were finally moving.

I could not help smiling when she came through the door at last. She was beautiful: freckles and all. Her hair, her dress, all looked great. My irritation vanished as the organ switched tunes and the audience stood. Even though this all happened twenty-three years ago, I remember many of the details. The minister seemed to drone about the Galatians or some such. We dated six years before we got married, I guess I do have patience when it comes to certain details. At last the deed was done. We were off to the reception and then the best part -- the honeymoon!

Here I sit, twenty-three years later and I remain married. I am short tempered, I find myself incredibly amusing. My hair is graying and maybe even thinning a bit on top, but I really do not care to investigate. Bifocals are on my nose, my gut has grown. I fart a lot. She sports some gray when she does not keep her hair dyed. Her vision is getting bad too. She cannot decide if she needs longer or shorter arms to read a menu. She thinks she is fat. She complains about getting old. I still think she is beautiful and sexy. Some days I look at her and I am filled with desire. I thank God for her every day -- even those when she pisses me off. I suspect I anger her far more than she does me.

I wanted to post a picture from that day, but my scanner is again on the fritz. Trust me, she was the most beautiful woman in the world standing there in the Methodist Church -- June 30, 1984. I am a lucky man.

Dear Prosassia

I am still waiting for you to offer rebutal on my post by offering something more substantial than "you are racist, you are offensive.

If you want to involve yourself in adult discussions you have to come prepared.


Waiting...


I like the fact you whined to other bloggers about how mean we were to you.


Come out and play with us, we promise we will not give you a virtual swirley...

Too long for a comment

Here are more words of wisdom from our Prozacian Buddy:

I've also seen the tact you are taking in this subject before: acting like you are offended (ha, right) that I used a yokel voice to make fun of your position. I can see why it would anger you, but for you to trot out the laughable argument that I am somehow being a racist (or whatever - an accentist? I don't know what to call it - it's almost as absurd as the Seinfeldian term 'anti-dentite') is absurd, and is a weak defense at best.

Do you mind pointing out in my archives I have taken this position previously? ...chirp.....chirp..... That is what I thought. Your lack of education and debate skills is increasingly obvious. The point of my post was not a defense at all of my position on illegal immigration, but merely pointing out your only criticism of my position was that I was a bigot. I suggested you look at your own rhetoric prior to chucking rocks at my front window.

If you want to defend why we should reward illegal behavior I am all eyes and ears. If you want to continue name calling, well, I will win. If I don't...Big Dick WILL.

I am a bigot?

I try not to take a comment and turn it into a post. But this comment on my despised by the left bird feeder post demonstrates something I find amusing.

Prozacula wrote this:

whenever a winger whines about illegal immigrants and handouts, it almost always seems to come out offensively.

I'm sure you didn't mean it, you little racist bigot! But that's the excuse people like you trot out every time!

"Them's just WORDS," you can protest. "I's jus' sayin' WORDS that you is offended by! I kaint halp if yous folks is takin to offense over mah poor lil WORDS!"

Your ever-so-slightly shaded racist comments are offensive to alot of people because that's what they are: offensive.

Let us parse his words a little. Have you ever notice the lefties and "progressives" like to toss around the racist epithet, yet they are the ones who are the bigots? Why is it when a jerk from New England or the left coast wants to portray a person on the right as dumb, stupid, a hayseed, a hick, a bumpkin, and uneducated , we are always given a Southern accent? Do I speak with a Southern accent? Well judging from the name on the blog, one should assume I live in Indiana. For most East Coasters and Lefties Indiana is in 'flyover country". Well, for a quick geography lesson Indiana touches the Great Lakes, it lies North of the Ohio River. In the Civil War we were part of the Union or Northern army. It is not near Alabama, Mississippi, tidewater Virginia or Texas. Those would be Southern States.

Hoosiers speak with a variety of accents and have a distinct vernacular and dialect of their own. Some have the flat nasal vowels you would hear in Chicago or Wisconsin or Minnesota and Michigan. Some have a more twang similar to Kentucky. Some have the general dialect of Western Pennsylvania and parts of Ohio. For the most part, we are like many Americans and speak with the neutral accent of a TV announcer.

There is no way Prozacula could know if I have the accent of the Southern Indiana hill country or the patois of 'da Region". He does not like my views, so I must be stupid, so I must talk like I come from the fields of Tara.

Prozacula, I find your stereotyping insulting, bigoted and waste of my time. It is the progressive/liberal version of "hey meester want to fuck my seester" Tijuana Mexican or Asians waiters asking if we want "flied lice". Before you start painting me with the bigot and racist brush, you should look in the mirror.

Edit: Since once I get pissed, I stay pissed and just for the hell of it (and I hold a grudge), here is our little buddy Prozacula:



Fucktard

Turd earing dirt bags

Did you ever notice trolls never have their own blog, they just show up and leave their little droppings? They are amusing for a moment, but they never seem to be able to do more than call a few names and run away. Too bad they are never interested in a real discussion.

Here is a typical troll comment:

"You are a racist redneck asshole".

Great intellectual debate, Huh?

Hot cat, lookin' for a kitty

I do not go to high school reunions. I did not like most of the people I went to school with and I keep in touch with the one or two I did care about. I really have no interest in what Mary is doing or how John is on his third wife. I really do not possess that "high school was the greatest times of my life" gene.

That said, the period when you are in Junior High and Middle School up until you get your drivers licence was a hoot. I would jump on my bike and ride all over town. My friends and I would put in ten, even fifteen miles a day. One summer, maybe my eighth grade year, my friend Jeff and I went to the pool every day. Our goal was to get girls. We would flirt, we would try to grab a little ass, cop a feel, get a kiss. We tried to lure the female by flips and twists and crazy stunts from the diving boards. We swam, we dived, we held our breath. We generally made asses out of ourselves as teen aged boys are wont to do. We held girls and swam with them and pretty much got nothing for our efforts but the chance to buy the girl a coke and hold her wet body on our shoulders in endless games of chicken fighting. We talked a big game, but pretty much scored zero with the girls. We sure had a terrific time trying. There was always tomorrow.

I think that was the summer I acquired a pornographic novel. It was like a two hundred page Penthouse Forum. It was just what I needed -- something to drive my hormone levels even higher! Otter discovered I had this book when I was on my third or fourth reading. When I would not give it to him he ratted me out to Mom.

My youngest will be in the eighth grade this fall. He is spending his days cruising the town on his bike. He is riding hours every day with his friends. I noticed a couple of girls were sitting with him in the score box as he kept the official scorebook at a baseball game last week (this is how he earns money in the summer).

It gives me certain comfort knowing that life has not changed much in the last thirty years. Small town boys still ride their bikes. Girls still flirt. Life is easier with My Space, IM and cell phones making contact a bit easier. Carefree days of summer still pass with the pages of the calender. The Icee or ice cream from the corner store still cools your body after a long bike ride.

Soon my youngest will be driving, dating in earnest and going off to college. I am not sure I am ready.

Final Drafts

When one writes a paper for school or prepares a presentation for a business meeting you prepare a first draft. This version is good. It has all of the points you wish to make, but it is not perfect. It has missing punctuation, maybe the charts and graphs are not quite right. This version probably acceptable, and usable, but it is flawed.

You polish things up, fix the errors and the next draft is your final draft, perfect in every way. You love both efforts, but that second is best.

My brother Otter tried to sprinkle some kind of nonsense in the comments on a post yesterday about the oldest sibling being better.

A study came out today stating that the first born are smarter, better looking, and moms likes the first born more…

Far be it for me to piss on his campfire, but life just does not work that way. If the first draft was perfect, there would not be a second. Clearly there was something flawed in the first born, else parents would not have a second child. In our family Otter was a bit, well let us use the term "off"; so they had me. When I came out perfect (although a bit early) they stopped having kids. If you do not believe this theory ask any middle child who Mom loves best.

Sadly Otter, I have to be the one to break this to you -- Mom always loves the youngest best because we are the ones that turned out perfect. There is only one exception to this rule, and that is in my house. All my kids are final drafts and I love them equally. The rest of you older brothers and sisters, sorry if the truth hurts.