Buck Up, Georgie...

Don't cry. Look at it this way. You had a nice run. Your Republican buddies ran cover for you as long as they could. It just wasn't meant to be. We all feel your pain, you schmuck.

You have no idea the agony I was in yesterday. Some construction worker had accidentally cut our cable, so there was no internet or TV in our office yesterday. For a political junkie like myself it was torture. Election days are like the Super Bowl for me. I know it's all bullshit and that these people are a bunch of power-hungry assholes, but I still get into it. Call me a glutton for punishment.

I was sure glad to see some people go (Santorum). I'm still holding my breath on the alleged Webb vistory and it sure would be nice to see Ted Steven's protege Conrad Burns go down. Also, that weiner in Arizona, J.D. Hayworth lost. Good stuff...

!@#$&%...

Sorry about the lack of posts today. I just had my internets restored after some yo-yo cut our cable over at a nearby construction site. However, I have a different version of what really happened...

The Bush Administration knows how influential my blog is and they know that the posts I WOULD HAVE done today could've played a large part in turning the tide in today's election. They knew that I had to be silenced. They sent some of their goons to disrupt my service and squelch my progressive words of wisdom. Am I misguided? I don't think so. This is what six years under President Fuckbucket has turned me into.

There...

Is this enough incentive for you people to go and vote these bums out? He's giving you the finger. Are you gonna take that?

Please. Pretty please with Stem Cells on top. Go out and vote. Show these hypocrite bastards that we think their policies are ruining our country. Ignore all the punditry who will tell you the race is tightening and that it's too close to call. It's all bullshit. We will prevail. They suck and they need to know it. Let's give him the finger right back. What a worthless prick...

**Edited to add: I know we don't get to vote Dubya out, but it sure would be nice to have at least a trace of accountability, something the current Republican Congress has been derelict in providing. Stupid assholes...

My Weekend...

The happy couple.

I left Friday morning and drove through blizzard-like conditions, all the while questioning the wisdom of an outdoor wedding in November. Fortunately, we were far enough south that the snow didn't touch us. We had a blast. The ceremony and reception were at this old barn. It was an "autumn harvest" theme. There was a live band, a bonfire, lots of liquor (we finished all the beer), and plenty of laughs.

I know I promised some tuxedo pictures, but the one time I asked someone to take a picture of me with the bride and groom, it turned out like this:

Anyway, thanks to Guido & Heidi for a wonderful time. For more details, visit Frank's blog...

Fucking Miami...

Well, so much for an undefeated season. That was ugly.

And Frank, I don't know about you, but I didn't see a lot of gut-mustering going on.

Sorry. I Couldn't Leave For The Weekend With Two Serious Posts At The Top Of The Page...

Who's up for some giant wieners?

There, now I can go...

Two Tribute Posts In One Day?...

Today is my mom's birthday.

You know, often we attribute heroism to people like generals or sports figures. Other times it's for singular acts, like rescuing someone from a burning building. I'd like to talk about a different kind of hero.

My mom is one of the unsung heroes you'll never hear about. She has always been a champion for people that are experiencing some kind of pain or turmoil in their lives. She started out as a social worker for DCFS in inner-city Chicago. After taking time off to raise three kids, she decided to return to school part time to get her Master's Degree, despite a prior mediocre record as a student. She ended up graduating #1 in her class at Jane Addam's at UIC. Since then she has worked tirelessly to ease the suffering of countless people. She has worked at a VA hospital and a halfway house for recovering addicts. She worked with mothers who were considering putting their child up for adoption and advocated "open adoption", a new approach where the child knows both sets of parents (to varying degrees). Currently she works for a hospice as a bereavement counselor. Those of you who know Social Workers know that, like teachers, they don't get paid jack for what they do.

In the late '90s, my mom travelled to Liberia in western Africa as a volunteer, doing peace and reconciliation counselling for people that had endured years of civil war. Unfortunately, she had to be evacuated out after five months when violence re-erupted. She continues to support some of the people she met there, helping them pay for schooling or setting up businesses. She has also volunteered in Ghana. She is the kind of woman that can always be counted on to help.

Apart from her career history, she is one of the kindest people I know (and I'm not just saying that because she's my mom). She is the queen of thank-you notes, most of them completely unexpected by their recipients. She is the ultimate gift-giver. She is funny as hell and has an infectious laugh. She has always encouraged me in all the wacky shit I've wanted to do. I couldn't have asked for much more in a mother. So, go ahead and call me a "mama's boy". I wear it as a badge of honor.

This will be my last post until Monday. Y'all have a great weekend and hopefully I'll have some good wedding pics. To the Georgia Girls, if you think I look cool in my skiing pics, wait til you see me in a tux. Hot stuff!

My Pal Guido...

I have a buddy named Guido. I've mentioned him a lot. He's the guy that I drove around the U.S. and Canada with for five months. He's the one that has the restaurant in Chicago. Here he is doing his best Willem Dafoe impression in Fort Worth, TX. He and I have been friends since sixth grade. Saturday, he is getting married. I was honored to be asked to stand up with him.

Guido is one of those people that I can feel 100% at ease around. We talk at least once a week despite the fact that I now live 300 miles away. He makes me gut-laugh (a lot tougher task than you'd think). He is also skilled at deep, intellectual discussions. He was that guy in high school that everyone knew and you either liked him or couldn't stand him. We have shared a lot of great times. I wish him and his fiance, Heidi, a lifetime of happiness.

They are going to have their ceremony outside. In November. In Michigan. I'm interested to see how that goes...

Holy Fuck!...

There's a goddamn bat flying around in our office as I type this! No joke!

This is the second time this has happened. The last one took forever to catch.

A Completely Random Story That Involves Cat Poo...

Well, Blogger isn't letting me put up a visual aid at the moment, but fuck 'em. I can still tell a story, right?

Around about age ten, my family got our first cat, Tigger. He was a good cat. A bit of a loner, but we all loved him. One day we noticed him walking a little funny. It was if he was walking on his hind tippy-toes with his ass way up high. He seemed to be suffering some discomfort. It looked as if there was something sticking out of his butt, but we didn't really want to investigate further.

We told my mom, who took a closer look. It looked like the end of a string. Without any other bright ideas, my mom began to tug at the string. The cat was pissed, but he didn't run away. She continued, trying to do things "band-aid"-style, in one quick motion. The cat voiced his disapproval:

"Meeeeeeeeeeeeooooooooooooowrowrowooowwwwwwwwwww!"

Translation: "Shit, lady! Knock that shit off! That fucking kills!"

About twelve inches of string came out, encrusted with fecal matter. It reminded me of when we used to try to make homemade rock candy on a string and little concretions would form. Turns out the cat had gotten into the garbage and swallowed one of those strings used to tie up a pot roast.

Hateful Neighbors...

For the first time in my life I have friendly neighbors.

I grew up on a great block in Elmhurst, IL. It's the only home I lived at as a kid. We never moved. There were lots of kids my age. All the parents hung out. It was a blast. The only bitch was that our house was stuck right in between the two most miserable, hateful families on the block. On the one side was a middle-aged couple with no kids. They were of Scottish descent and on St. Patricks Day they would fly a red flag. I later found out that this meant they hated Irish people (there was an Irish family we were friends with living on the other side of them). They belonged to a bagpipe marching band. He carried the flag and she was trying to learn to play the pipes. Each night during the summer they would wait until we sat down to dinner to practice by marching up and down their driveway. Have you ever heard someone trying to learn bagpipes? You can probably imagine how bad it could be, kind of like the sound of a cat being raped. Then they'd have the nerve to yell at us for playing basketball in our driveway because it was too loud.

On the other side was a mother and her grown son. She was a bitter woman that would always have one complaint or another if she ran into us outside. At one point she asked my mom to pay $10 for new curtains in her garage because she said our cats had shredded them. For one, there were many "outside" cats in our neighborhood that could have done this. Second, our cats were declawed. We suspected her son was under some sort of house arrest because he only left the house to go to work and then came straight home. That's the only time we saw him outside.

How do you guys like your neighbors?

Zip It!...

Note to Senator Kerry: Will you please just shut yer big yapper until after the election. Do not try to be funny. You ain't now and you ain't never gonna be!

Before all my leftie friends start thinking I've gone to the dark side, perish the thought. However, I think it would be a disastrous mistake to nominate Kerry again. He is more intelligent, more experienced, and more eloquent than Dubya, but he still couldn't fucking beat him, even given all we know about the lies and misdeeds of the Bush administration. Blame it on e-voting or anything else, but in my mind, it shouldn't have even been close.

Oh, and to you Republicans that are trying to make hay of this, fuck you too, you hypocrite bastards!

F.Y.I....

This is for new visitors to my blog. Contrary to popular opinion and despite Frank's complete apathy, Progressive Christianity (our spin-off blog) is alive and kicking. If you are in the mood for a little blasphemy, you might want to give it a look. All posts look like this and can be zipped through quite rapidly. By the way, the blog-fairy is going to visit someone today that also resembled a fairy recently...

Halloween Cuteness...

My one-year-old niece watching the elephants in her chicken costume.

From the front...

Cruel Intentions...

Alas, another Hollywood super-couple has gone the way of the Dodo bird (that means it's over). That's right, America's sweethearts Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillippe are kaputski.

Reliable sources are saying the marriage ended after Mr. Phillippe grew tired of waking up each morning to find that he had impaled himself on his wife's razor-sharp chin.

Skankasaurus Rex...

Oooo, is the big scary liberal media asking you hard questions?

Tough toenails, toots. Suck it.

Wardrobe Staples...

For as long as I can remember, I have worn polo shirts. When I say "polo shirt", I'm not necessarily talking about shirts with a polo player on it. I'm talking about the style of shirt. When I was young, my parents would buy me a couple nice shirts to wear for church or for class pictures. At that time, Izod (the one with the alligator) was the major player. I can also remember having a shirt with a little penguin on it. I'm not sure what brand that was. I never had one with a polo player. There was also the JC Penney's version that I believe had a fox as its mascot. Even worse was the Sears version that had a little dragon. If you got caught wearing one of those in junior high you were likely to hear chants of "gayrod!".

Currently I buy my polo shirts from L.L. Bean (they have no logo). I have them in white, yellow, navy, green, and teal. They are comfortable and a touch classier than a t-shirt. Before you ask, no, I don't wear them with the collar up.

More Shit About Road Trips...

Me & my 15-passenger Ford Club Wagon, 1996

All the recent talk about road trips has motivated me to start planning a new one. The one part of the U.S. I have NOT yet seen is the northeast. I've been to many major world cities, but never New York City. During this trip I hope to cross off a bunch of still unvisited states. This will leave me with only North Dakota, Oklahoma, Hawaii, and Alaska.

One day while I was bored I went through an atlas and tried to document each town that I have a memory of visiting. You'd be surprised how quickly this can be done. In order for a town to count, I had to remember something from while I was there - a place I ate at, a landmark, something. You can see my list HERE. See if I have ever visited a town near you! It's not like you have work to do.

Now I'm leaving early to go rake leaves. The weather is supposed to turn to shit after today.

Ellipses...

For some reason, ever since I started blogging, I've always ended my post titles with an ellipsis. I'm not sure why. I mean, it's not like I think those ellipses are going to inspire added intrigue to the post that follows. I'm sure you don't read the title and say, "Well, I wasn't going to read this, but there's a goddamn ellipsis. Guess I'd better check it out."

Perhaps it's best not to question shit like this...

A Meaningless Question...

Do you know anyone that calls this "Catsup"?

Drubbing...

These guys are a pleasure to watch.

Earlier in the season I was having a discussion about the Bears with Geoff, a friend of mine. He listens to a lot of Chicago sports talk radio. We share the same complaint about many Bear fans. They seem to cling to the memories of the '85 Bears. You know, the "Super Bowl Shuffle" Bears. Don't get me wrong, that was a great season and a super-fun team to watch. I was in eighth grade and I loved every minute of it, but...

I don't want to settle for a Super Bowl win over 20 years ago. I mean, if the Bears go all the way this season, do you mean to tell me we won't be as proud of the accomplishment as the last one? Bullshit! Did any of the Bulls six titles diminish the joy of any of the others? No.

I guess I can understand Chicago fans tendency to wax nostalgic about past victories because we have no idea when the next one will be (especially us Cub fans). I just hope this season's team puts to rest some of the glorifying of the '85 Bears.

Vomitus...

It has come to my attention, based on a number of comments I've received lately, that I have the ability to make you people puke at will. I guess I can't blame you, what with all the bacon-crossed recipes and pictures of noxious government-types. While I'm sure many of you were being facetious, it nevertheless helped inspire the following post.

I do not vomit much at all and perhaps only slightly more that the Jerry character on the popular sitcom, "Seinfeld". The last time I remember puking was after a wedding reception in Chicago. It was one of those affairs where the bride and groom had had a small wedding a few weeks prior and this was just a chance for the rest of us to celebrate. The open bar we had been enjoying eventually ran out (or ran us out, as the case may be). We were all dressed up, so we decided to cab it over to the Drake Hotel, a swank joint off Michigan Ave., for a cocktail. As we got out of the cab at the hotel, I knew there were going to be problems. I threw up just a tiny bit on the doorman's shoe as he opened our cab door for us. Surprisingly, he was unphased.

Inside, there is a sort of piano bar area. As my less drunk friends went off and crashed a wedding that was going on, a few of us sat and had a drink. By this point I had switched to drinking Tonic Water. All of a sudden, I felt the chunks start to rise and grabbed the closest container I could find, which happened to be a half-full water pitcher. The first wave filled that handily and the second wave had nowhere else to go but all over the table. Again, surprisingly few people had noticed what I had done. Maybe they just never expected to see such a display at a place like the Drake. My friend, Dave, a bartender himself, inconspicuously ushered over a waiter, gave him a big tip, and asked him to bring over some bar towels. In the meantime, I got my ass down to a toilet and unleashed the remaining torrent. They never even kicked us out, including my other friends who got busted for crashing the wedding. Love the Drake!

Scumsfeld...

"Back Off!"

What a fucking douche.

Another Bright Idea...

This new idea was inspired by a recent post over at Bells On and is predicated on my belief that combining two products that people want is the key to success (See my bacon-gum post below). We all know people still like to smoke, despite every effort to dissuade them. Maybe the time has come for us non-smokers to quit our bitching about second-hand smoke and look for some alternative that can make the smoke itself more appealing.

That's where bacon comes in.

That's right. Bacon-flavored cigarettes. Are you kidding me? This one is a no-brainer!

In fact, why stop there? The tentative name for my product line is:

"Uncle Ed's Olde Tyme Breakfast Cigarettes"

Available in these exciting flavors:

• Bacon
• Sausage
• Waffles with Maple Syrup
• Coffee
• Grapefruit Juice

Which leads me to even more opportunities. How about bacon-flavored coffee? Or cigarette-flavored coffee? You have to dream big, people!

*Edited to add: I have been derelict in my blog-fairy duties. Today's target definitely does NOT like the Blackhawks...

Annoyingly Happy...

Did you ever wake up and feel fucking overjoyed to be alive? For the first time in weeks there was a pretty sunrise. Driving by Walloon Lake on my way to work, I marvelled at the beauty as the mist rose and the sun reflected off the opposite shore. Last night I had a lightning-bolt of inspiration strike me with an amazing idea. It is not bacon-flavored gum or goofy t-shirts. This idea could very well set into motion a chain of events that could permit me to retire before I'm forty, which would allow me to carve fish, ski, and travel to my heart's content and not worry about an income.

On top of all this, I finally dislodged this fucking popcorn shell that has been dogging me for a couple days. How much better can things get?