Here is a classic example of how a democrat looks lame, despite his best intentions to look tough.

Some of you remember Paul Begala from CNN's Crossfire. He, along with bow-tied douche Tucker Carlson were summarily shredded by Jon Stewart in the now infamous episode. Despite being a high-profile liberal, Paul attended a recent event called the President's Dinner, some hotshot republican fundraiser, and sent an e-mail to democrats afterward describing his experience:
"You should have seen the joint: wall to wall fat-cats. The limos were lined up around the block. If you’d stood in the middle of the ballroom and yelled, ‘Hey dirtbag!’ a thousand necks would have snapped around."
OK, not bad. Naturally, republicans feigned disgust at Begala's statement, claiming he was "over the line".

To his credit, Begala held his ground and fired back at the republicans:
"The Bush Republicans questioned the courage of a hero like Max Cleland. They besmirched the war heroism of John Kerry. They smeared Bill Clinton, savaged Hillary, attacked Sen. Obama, Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid and Howard Dean, but when I call their fat-cat funders 'dirtbags,' they cry like babies. They are wimpy, whiny wussies."
Now don't get me wrong. Any time someone wants to call republicans on their ridiculous faux indignation, I'm a happy guy. The thing is, Begala blew it. I know he had this whole alliteration thing going on, but let's face it, only a complete fuckin' pussy uses the word "wussies" instead of "pussies". Wussy is a just a watered-down version of pussy. If he had any stones, he would have come out and called them pussies, which is what they are.

Sorry, Paul. Close, but you were one word away...


I Fail To See The Humor...

Making Progress...

Well, after some shitty, non-summer-y weather recently, I've made some progress on my carving. I was able to finish the carving on Dr. Monkey's perch (it's on the little stool). This one is a cute little rock bass and one that I've never done before. I used to think it was cool to do really big fish, but after finishing a few, I think I'm gonna focus on ones in the 4"-8" range. Like I mentioned, I am going to concentrate on the carving phase while it's nice out and do the painting when it gets cold.

You can see that I generate a lot of sawdust. I also sunburned the shit out of my thighs.

Sometimes my carvings are so realistic, I mistake them for real fish and try to eat them.

If there are others who still want to place an order and didn't on the LAST POST, leave them in the comments. I know it's weird to get something for nothing in this day and age, but I'm serious. If I have a long list, it motivates me to work on them. Remember, it may take a long time until you get yours, even years, but you will get it.


Not Just Another Cliché Post About How Annoying Spam E-Mail Is...

Like some of you, I get upwards of 100 junk e-mails a day, the great preponderance of which are related to penis enlargement. I always delete them immediately (Like any guy you ask, I already have an enormous penis), but part of me always wonders whether, contained inside one of these seemingly useless letters, there is some vital piece of information that I may be missing out on.

For instance, what if one of these spam e-mails isn't spam at all? What if it only LOOKS like spam, but is actually some kind of random psychological test to see how curious I am? And what if my curiosity would be rewarded by, I don't know, a hidden treasure map or top secret plans for a functioning teleportation device.

Man, I may have really fucked up...


Something I Just Can't Get On Board With...

Smush-Face Cats.
I know there are plenty of people who love 'em
and I'm sure they are perfectly nice and lovable,
but they kind of weird me out.
Not to the point where I can't be around them, mind you.
I mean, it's not like I'll run away shrieking if I see one.
I just prefer my cats un-smushed.

So do all you people with smush-face cats hate me now?
I don't blame you.


I'm Fucking Lazy Today...

...so I'm going to recycle some old material. Just a word of warning upfront, this post contains graphic sexual content, so if that sort of thing offends you, stop reading now!

Back before I started blogging, I made up some tasteless phony movie "treatments" for former television shows on my MySpace page. They were borne out of a frustration with Hollywood's practice of turning old TV shows into awful feature films. I've posted a couple before (HERE and HERE). This is the one I did for "WKRP In Cincinnati":

OK, the logical first reaction is to put Bailey (Jan Smithers) & Jennifer (Loni Anderson) into some sort of sapphic situation. Too easy. Don't get me wrong. There certainly needs to be sufficient fleshing out (no pun intended) of this relationship. I envision some scenario whereby Herb (Frank Bonner) is inappropriate (i.e. sticks his finger in Jennifer's butt). Jennifer, obviously distraught, seeks solace in the arms of a trusted friend. After wandering the streets in the rain, a drenched Jennifer shows up at Bailey's apartment. Prior to her arrival, Bailey had been looking forward to a quiet night alone with her 15" black latex dildo and nipple clamps. Upon hearing a knock at the door, Bailey stuffs her apparatus under the sofa. "Can I come in?" queries Jennifer, wimpering, water dripping from her golden locks, "I had nowhere else to go." Bailey invites her in. "You're soaked!" she says, "let me get you some dry clothes." Bailey find a terrycloth robe as Jennifer starts to undress right in front of her. "This doesn't make you uncomfortable, does it?" Jennifer asks, "I figure it's just us girls here." Bailey, trying hard not to stare, is alarmed by the enormous areola Jennifer is sporting. She can't help but feel a tingle down in her nether-regions.

In no time Jennifer is bundled in her robe as the two sit drinking wine and commiserating about past relationships and what assholes guys can be. Jennifer, starting to feel the effects of the wine, lays her head on Bailey's lap and, in doing so, her robe parts just enough to provide glimpses of a thick carpet of pubic hair. Bailey becomes flush and wonders if Jennifer is aware of what she is doing to her. She decides she needs to go find some sort of release. "I was going to go run a bath. You're welcome to crash on the couch if you like..." Then, something comes over Bailey and without thinking she blurts out "...or you can join me." She is instantly shocked that she'd say something so risque to a co-worker and yet deep down is curious what Jennifer's reaction will be. Jennifer gets up, letting her robe fall to the ground, and says, "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for an offer like that!" and proceeds to plant a light brush of a kiss on Bailey's lips as she walks past her towards the bathroom. Bailey quickly gathers up the dildo and clamps and follows her into the bathroom and, so, you get the picture. Oh, as for the plot. Umm. The WKRP gang works at the radio station by day and solves crimes by night. The End.


The Showbiz Pizza Band Peforms Usher...

Some of you may remember Showbiz, the working man's Chuck E. Cheese.

You Know This Guy, James Dobson?...

He is a walking, talking, breathing anus.
An unwiped one at that.
I think I shall rename him Anus McGee.

Rather than all his focusing on the family,
this guy should focus on all the poo that keeps
coming out of his mouth. It's icky.

His friends should really tell him.
If I had a friend like that,
with a constant turdstream coming out of his or her mouth,
I'd let them know. Because I'm a good friend, y'know?

Note: I know I don't always provide a lot of info when I talk about public figures. I make a lot of assumptions on this blog, one of which is that my readers are well-informed about charlatans like this ballsack. If you don't know who he is, it's probably for the best. If you want to learn more, here's some background.


A Year Ago Today...

As my longtime readers know, when I first started this blog I was a hopeless bachelor, convinced that I would continue my singlehood indefinitely. I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that I wasn't meant to have a girlfriend. Little did I know there was another (now retired) blogger hundreds of miles away that, despite my over-reliance on toilet humor and curse words, thought I was kinda cool - at least cool enough to meet in person. From there, I was able to charm her with witty telephone banter and my rugged good looks until she decided to take a huge chance and move to "one of those states in the middle". Over the past year, she has endured many things:
  • A brutally long and cold winter full of treacherous roads
  • A lackluster spring
  • A home that was, shall we say, a little rough around the edges
  • A TV regimen that included O'Reilly's nightly "Talking Points" (and my subsequent rage)
  • A great distance between her and her family and friends and beloved beaches of North Carolina
  • My general annoying tendencies, far too numerous to list here
Luckily for me, she has decided to hang in there. I'm so grateful she had the guts to come to a place she barely knew and give it a shot. Whenever I ask what I should blog about, she tells me to blog about how much I love her. Well, your wish is my command.

I love you, Megan. A whole lot. Like, tons. Like, you know how much I love frozen pizza? Way more than that. I can't wait to see what the next year has in store!


A Few Thoughts On Nose-Picking...

Some people will tell you that nose-picking is gross. They will tell you it is unsanitary. They may even make you feel ashamed for doing it. You know what?

At some point, these people have picked their nose.

Face it, no matter what some may say, there are some boogs that just aren't gonna dislodge without some digital assistance. There are some that, despite your best efforts with a sharp kleenex blast, will cling to your inner nostril for dear life. The important thing is to stay calm and remember a few things:

1. For God's sake, whatever you do, DO NOT pick your nose with your pinky. You will look like a complete asshole, or at least a bigger asshole than you already are.

2. You can try the technique being practiced HERE by Brooke Shields. It can be likened to squeezing a tube of toothpaste from the bottom in order to force the remainder of it out the opening. You place the thumb and index finger on either side of the nose and carefully but firmly pull down, hopefully forcing any boogage out without penetrating the nostril. It rarely works and may lead to unwanted suspicion of cocaine use.

I recommend a variation whereby you place the index finger on the side of the nostril and drag the thumb along the base while gently pulling back the nostril edge. If you are smooth about it, it will appear that you are just innocently scratching your nose. Actually, if you are lucky, you just might snag the edge of a clinger in the process and be able yank out a big one without attracting a lot of attention. Again, any penetration should be undetectable. Don't be discouraged if it doesn't work at first. Practice in your car until you get the hang of it.

There will be times when a full-fingered stab is the only solution. Do not feel guilty. It doesn't make you a bad person. Hell, even some of the most respected members of society have to resort to it from time to time.

George Carlin: 1937-2008...

I woke up this morning to learn that one of my heroes, comedian George Carlin died of heart failure. I'm really at a loss for what to say, other than he had an enormous influence not only on my sense of humor, but on how I look at the world and the intricacies of language.

It's a sad day for me. I will be praying to Joe Pesci and "The Big Electron" for his safe arrival in heaven. Fans of George will know what I'm talking about.

Bless you, George.


A Big Fuck You Goes Out To...

...the spineless capitulating fucking Democrats that caved on the FISA bill. Pathetic. I'm too pissed to even take the time to explain it or link to an article about it. You people are worthless (not you, the reader, but the congresspeople).

On the other hand, a big round of applause to those Democrats that still understand the rule of law and the fourth amendment and are serving the interests of their constituents rather than big corporations. I saw a few of them on C-Span. They include:
  • Rep. Dennis Kucinich (OH)
  • Rep. John Conyers (MI)
  • Rep. Jerry Nadler (NY)
  • Rep. Jay Inslee (WA)
  • Sen. Russ motherfuckin' Feingold (WI)
  • Sen. Chris Dodd (CT)
I'm sure there are more, so if you you know of others that oppose this garbage, leave them in the comments and I'll add them.

Oh, and fuck the Republicans, too. If any of them opposed this, let me know who they are as well.

This Is A Humerus...

I don't see what's so funny about it.

Am I missing something?


Adventure Golf...

So, do you think you have the balls?

No, really. Do you think you have what it takes to play a round of Pirate's Cove Adventure Golf?

Well, I have news for you. You don't.

What's that? You say you've skied down Mt. Everest wearing nothing but a tutu while being chased by a rabid yak? Pffft.

You say you've wrestled Komodo Dragons on the isle of Borneo during a typhoon? Puh-lease!

I don't care if you've jumped out of an airplane with nothing but a Ziploc sandwich bag and some dental floss and survived. It doesn't impress me.

Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, can prepare you for the adventure that awaits you at Pirate's Cove. I'd be amazed if you weren't praying for the sweet release of death by the second hole.


Kitty Litter Fantasies...

When it's my turn to scoop out the litter box, I like to imagine I'm a grizzled old prospector in the year 1849, panning for gold and hoping to strike it rich. I imagine the turds and urine clods are shiny nuggets that can be traded for moonshine and a night of fun at the local bordello.

Despite what you'd think, this does little to increase my enjoyment.


You See Steve Buscemi...

I see someone who is clearly out of his element.

I think it's funny that if you type in "donny yo" in the little Google search box, it recognizes the quote you're looking for.

Cut Him Some Slack. It's His Birthday...

Barry Manilow is 65 years young today.
If he wants to smoke drugs, then dammit, I say, let the man smoke drugs!

A Disturbing Boob Face To Start Your Day...

EDITED TO ADD: I have never done this before, but I am taking down the picture from this post. Every time I'd scroll down, it was fucking staring at me and creeping me the fuck out. For those who didn't see it, it was this picture of a baby's face superimposed over a woman's naked breasts with the eyes where the nipples should be. If you really want to see it, click HERE.

Sorry to those who suffered like I did.


My Hobby...

After an extremely long hiatus, I have finally started fishcarving again. My prolonged break began a few years ago when I was working on a fish and the motor on my carving tool died. I never got it replaced until now. As a result, I have a number of carvings I started a long time ago that are at different stages of completion. It was so nice this weekend to be able to sit out on the deck and get lost in a project. I went over to my uncle's shop and cut out "blanks" for a bluegill, rock bass, perch, and a generic folk art decoy. Usually I do trout, but I wanted to mix it up a little. I'm thinking about trying a shark, too, my first non-freshwater fish.

I do these for the pure enjoyment of it. The cost is minimal now that I have all the equipment. The wood is free and the airbrush paint goes a long way. I have given away about 60 fish since I started. People seem to like them. Some have asked me why I don't sell them. I think selling them would take some of the fun out of it. Plus, if the cost were based on the time I spend, I'd have to charge a ridiculous amount I'm sure no one would want to pay.

So, if anyone wants to put in a request and doesn't mind waiting a really long time, leave them in the comments. Just do me a favor and stick to freshwater species.


You Know Who Reminds Me Of Indiana Jones?...


I realized this today. The similarities are eerie.

First, Indiana Jones had stubble.
Um, hello? I, like, NEVER shave.

Indiana Jones has a leather jacket.
Dude, I TOTALLY had a leather jacket in high school.

His dad was Sean Connery.
Would you like to see my birth certificate?
That's right. Same dad.

He's got his own Lego guy.
Buddy, I don't want to brag, but I'm MISTER fuckin' Lego!

As if all that wasn't enough, get this:
His name was Indiana, right?
Not only did my family take trips to Turkey Run State Park IN Indiana,
but I lived next to Indiana in Illinois AND had relatives that lived in Indiana.

Sorry if I just freaked you out a little.

Edited to add: The ever-brilliant Sans Pantaloons helps me prove my point. Thanks, Sans!

Looking For A Home?...

My sister sent me an e-mail with a real estate listing for the house we grew up in. This is the house that I lived in from birth until after college. Unlike many families, mine never moved. I have lot of great memories of this place. There were tons of kids on our block and we lived right next to the Illinois Prairie Path, perfect for fort-building and other unsupervised mischief. My block wasn't a "thru" street, so there was rarely traffic or noise. This meant that we could play Nerf football and wiffle-ball in the middle of the street with little worry of getting hit. Looking back, it really was ideal.

This is the first time I've seen pictures of the interior since my mom sold it about ten years ago. It's weird to see how it's changed. My sister and I both ripped on the owner's choices. "The TV doesn't go there! Why'd they move the kitchen table!?" She is going to check it out in person and take some more pics when there's an open house. If any of you are looking for a great place to raise kids in suburban Chicago, I highly recommend this one.

I think my parents bought it in the early 70's for $30,000. It's now listed at $540,000.


More Bird-Related Issues...

Lately, I have been working from home if at all possible in order to save gas. Sitting here, I've noticed there is a bird nearby that has a call that is identical to the "Ch-Ch-Ch-Chia!" refrain from the old Chia Pet jingle. I don't know why I tell you this other than it is now burned into my brain after listening to it all morning.



I'm not a big flower connoisseur, but I do like snapdragons. They're fun.

I remember, as a very small child, my grandma had a garden. She had snapdragons. I remember her showing me how they "snapped". It freaked me out and I have only recently overcome my fear that the thing was gonna bite my finger off.


All Hail Crooks & Liars!...

This video is a must-see for all those people you know who still consider John McCain worthy of the presidency.

Crooks & Liars, my favorite source for political and media-related issues, has been doing some great shit, like this post, on John McCain lately. In it, they expose McCain's nonsensical Iraq policy, or lack thereof. I would be amazed by the kid gloves with which McCain is treated in terms of Iraq (not to mention the unending, unchallenged claims that "National Security is John McCain's strength.") if I weren't so accustomed to the fact that our media fucking blows.

If McCain truly believes that we should only leave Iraq when we've either succeeded in establishing “a peaceful, stable, prosperous, democratic state” OR when we conclude that the mission in Iraq is unachievable, I ask:

What are the criteria by which we will know the mission is unachievable? How long are you willing to go before you decide?

I feel that this is something that can and must be quantified. In my mind, you can't just be in a constant state of winning. Eventually, you either win or you lose. I still believe we lost the second we invaded that country. Would someone in the media PLEASE ask him! I beg you.

An Idea...

Pictured: Generic Corporate Douchebag

OK, we all know that CEOs and other upper management-types make WAY too much fucking money these days. However, there are no signs that any of these people are prepared to sacrifice any of their pay to make things more equitable any time soon. So how about this for a baby step in the right direction:
  • Take the total payroll for one year of any given entity with more than one employee (corporation, small business, etc.) .
  • Divide it by 52 (weeks).
  • Divide this number by the total number of employees.
  • Pay each employee this amount for one week out of the year and call it "Worker Appreciation Week" or some shit.
So, for one week out of the year, the guy at the bottom and the guy at the top make exactly the same amount. I mean, fuck. It's just one week! I think a CEO could stomach that. Then, the disparate wages go right back to where they were the following week. Just think about how good it'd feel for that one week. The people at the top might learn some empathy. The people in the middle might see a little bump in pay. The people at the bottom might have enough to pay off their credit cards and even afford a little vacation.

There's probably a million glitches with this idea, but cut me some slack. I only had about five minutes to work on it.


An Open Letter To The Obnoxious Red-Winged Blackbird With The Screechy Song That Constantly Pecks At Our Cars' Side View Mirrors...


Shut the fuck up already.

Some Guy

Gary, Indiana

Some of you may not be aware that there was a lot of debate when the city of Gary, Indiana was founded regarding what it should be called. Here are a few other names that were considered:
  • Fred
  • Stan
  • Phil
  • Dave
  • Carl
  • Rudy
  • Bill
  • Greg
  • Hank
  • Dick



Could someone explain to me why this is not yet an Olympic event?

How many fucking petitions do I have to file!?


My Nuts...

The other day, Megan bought a big bag of cashews and almonds. They are delicious. Unfortunately, she has a kitchen organization system that I am unfamiliar with, so if I can't find something in approximately two seconds, I ask her:

"Excuse me. Where might I find the giant sack of nuts?"

Megan replied, "Have you checked your underpants?"

As I reached down to pull the waistband away from my gut to check, it occurred to me that I'd been had. "You silly goose!" I thought to myself, "she's talking about your scrotum!" I felt like a heel.

At any rate, I eventually got my nuts, so it all worked out.

Edited to add: Someone (Beckeye) wanted to know just how big this sack of nuts was. Well, it was about YAY BIG.


Some Stool Samples...

I'm currently in the market for a new stool, but I'm having trouble deciding.

I like this one, but I'm concerned a hard stool may lead to discomfort.

Here is a soft stool. A soft, brown stool has a certain appeal to it.

This stool is also soft, but I don't know if the red,
almost bloody, upholstery will clash with my decor.
There's a chance that this bloody stool
could really tie the living room together.

This has GOT to be one of the biggest stool samples I've come across.

Finally, this is a contemporary stool by Finnish designer Lars Runni.
I'm just not sure that I can afford the high cost of a Runni Stool at this point.

I Have Been Jonesing...

For those of you who are interested, Season 3 of Weeds came out on DVD the other day. It seems like I've been waiting for-fucking-ever to find out what happened when we last left our friends in Agrestic. I watched the first DVD last night. Poor Nancy. The woman just can't seem to catch a break. And U-Turn? This guy really needs some lessons in how to be nice.

If you haven't seen this show yet, Netflix it, pronto! Or watch it instantly online.

p.s.: I hate the word "jonesing", but "anxiously awaiting" just didn't fit.



Guh-game. Guh-game. Guh-game. Guh-game.
Guh-game. You suck. Guh-game. Guh-game.


How's This For A Rant?...

I'm not a big fan of braking.

I'd rather just go.

R.I.P., Bo Diddley...

I just read that one of my favorite musicians, Bo Diddley, has died. For those of you who love guitar rock and are only familiar with Mr. Diddley from his "Bo knows..." Nike commercials, I highly recommend checking out his stuff. It straight up rocks.

Here's a video of one of his more well-known tunes:

I'm A Farmer...

Ever since Megan moved in, she has talked about how she wants to grow vegetables in our yard. She has read books about what will grow best here, when to plant what, and has made lists of things she'll need. Yesterday we went and picked up various types of dirt. We dug a little 4' x 4' section of the yard (pictured above) with plenty of sunlight so that she'll be ready to plant stuff.

As many of you know, I'm not a big vegetable fan. I wish I was. I asked her what she was planning on growing.

Megan: Well, there'll be tomatoes, squash, peas, onions, garlic, various herbs, etc.

Me: (Sarcastically) Ooo, all my favorites!

Megan: Oh yeah? Well, what do you want me to grow?

Me: I don't know. How about frozen pizza? Hamburgers? Ice Cream Sandwiches?

Megan: Sigh.

You see, what makes this exchange humorous is that neither frozen pizza, hamburgers, nor ice cream sandwiches can be planted and grown. It's just not possible. It is ridiculous to even suggest such a thing. There's no such thing as a frozen pizza seed or a hamburger tree. And how the hell would someone grow ice cream sandwiches? They need to be kept in a freezer or else they melt all over the place! It's just not feasible. That's why it's so funny.