Friday, February 29, 2008

The Cactus Cuties

Ladies and gentlemen.
The United States National Anthem, the way it is meant to be sung.

Andi Kitten - 11
Baylee Barrett - 13
Madeline Powell - 8
Tatum Lowe - 11
Blaire Elbert - 10
Directed by Cami Caldwell

You may need a tissue, I did.

Edit 04MAR08 - If the video won't play try this link. --->

Thursday, February 28, 2008

A Sad Day in the Burgh

I lived the first 18 or so years of my life in the Pittsburgh suburbs. Coraopolis, Moon, Beaver. I also lived through the 'Decade of Champions'. The years between 1970 and 1980 when Pittsburgh ruled the sports world.

The Steelers were;
AFC Central Division Champs: 1972, 1974, 1975, 1976, 1977, 1978, 1979,
AFC Conference Champs: 1974, 1975, 1978, 1979,
Super Bowl Champs: 1974 (IX), 1975 (X), 1978 (XIII), 1979 (XIV),
The Pirates were;
East division Champs: 1970, 1971, 1972, 1974, 1975, 1979
NL Pennant Champs: 1971, 1979
World Series Champs: 1971, 1979

Talk about cementing a young kids love for a city... growing up with champions like these was incredible.

Throughout all of the football years was a radio announcer, Myron Cope. Myron invented the Terrible Towel. If you have ever seen a Pittsburgh Steelers football game you have seen them. the Steelers Nation takes them to every game.

I still have my original one form the early-mid '70s. I also have a couple plane ones and three 35th anniversary ones.

Sadly, though, Wednesday the legend, the voice or Steelers radio, the man, died. Myron Cope... I spent so many Sundays in the car with mom and dad driving from our home in Moon Township to Tarentum to visit grandma. We always had the radio on to hear the Steelers game and Myron was there.

He will be missed greatly by me and the Steeler Nation that he helped create.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

'08 Mid Winter Blues Bash

Saturday started with me driving about an hour north to DC’s place. (see pic below) once there, it was another 2+ hour drive to The Barn. We got there about 2 pm. I’d guess there were about 6 people there and another 8-10 sleeping in the house and 4 or 5 at Lisa’s house helping finish some plastering in her basement.

One thing you have to understand is, when there’s a party at The Barn, there is always a pre-party party. The people already there had been there since Friday some time and were just rousing from the pre-party party. I don’t go to the pre parties for two reasons;
1 - Getting off work at 5 and driving 3 hours would be too much rushing around.
2 - If I drank this much 2 days in a row... someone would have a funeral.

OK, so let THE party start. DC and I walk into The Barn and some lady says “you guys look like you could use a cherry”. And of course the response was “I haven’t had one of those in years” haha haha. Right, then she shows us the jar...

Yeah, those are cherries in moonshine... (is 2 pm too early to start drinking?) I had one... then another aaaand another. Then a ‘shot’ (it was from a spoon, not a glass) of the shine. Now before you get all excited, this was over about an hour.

Humm Ok... that wasn’t a very long time was it?? Yeah, by 3:00 I was buzzed.

DC had an appointment in the chair so, off he goes and I don’t have anything else to do but drink. You’ll be glad to know I did a good job. Couple times I brought doubles to DC in the tat room (that’s for you tanie) just to make sure he remembered this was a party. Twice (I think...) I drank his for him. Something about not wanting to drink a bunch while in the chair.... whatever.

DC in the chair and the "not finished after 5 hours work in progress".
Let’s see, there was food. Roasted ham, a hash-brown casserole, beef-n-noodles and baked beans. Mmm mmm Good!!!

The band, Slow Boy Trouble played some great bluesie songs and there was dancing... not me. White guy can’t dance, I don’t care what Bubba can do. What is it about watching girls dance together?

Somewhere in the evening some guy handed me a beer. Now, I like beer. Beer and Pizza on Monday night with football or Sunday afternoon with football... beer is great stuff. However, after some number of double shots, moonshine and moonshine soaked cherries, beer is nasty. Had maybe two sips and poured the rest out.

Lots of great people there. Talked for hours, made some new friends... whose names escape me. Watched a gamboling game called ‘Left, Right, Center’. I know I was way to toasted to try playing but it was fun to watch.

I headed to bed at about 2:30 am. Walking from the barn to the house, I remember distinctly wanting to lay in the snow and just sleep. Some how I made it into the house, up stairs and into the bed I had picked earlier.
I started the night with a 1.75 liter of Jack Daniels that was about an inch shy of full and it was gone by 1 am. They say I drank most of it but I’m not convinced. I’m pretty sure about 13 doubles (26 ounces), I know there was at least 6 cherries, and 3 spoons full of shine. Oh, yeah and a round of Dr Mcgillicutty's... (don’t ask, I have no idea what that is besides tasty) DC will have to confirm or deny in comments the amount of alcohol consumed. It’s all a little blurry to me.... at least some of it is. Some things I remember vividly. *wink, wink*

The tattoo room and the band stage.
OK, I know. That one is dark, but imagine flashing red, blue and yellow lights; the band playing and people dancing. k?

This is actually as I was hitting the bed. I tried to drunk text some of you... but alas, there was no digital signal. Save by a lack of technology.

I woke up Sunday morning about 8:30 am. Pissed!! Some fool in the next room had the TV on a volume setting of about 50 and was passed out. Then there was the damn sun. the bed I had picked was right in line with an east facing window. I tried to sleep a little more with my sunglasses on but that damn TV. I just got up and stagger down stairs. Good gawd, I was still drunk.

We left about 9 am. We had to leave then, there was another PGR thing going on in Indy that we had to get to. I got home about 12:30. I was still a little tipsy then.

All in all, it was a great Mid Winter Blues Bash.

Zen Summary XI

Last one.

If we are not totally blind, what we are seeking is already here. This is it. - Alan Watts

Pull a five story pagoda out of a tea pot. - Zen Koan

If you love the sacred and despise the ordinary, you are still bobbing in the ocean of delusion. - Lin-chi

He comes without lifting a foot, Teaches with out moving his tongue. No matter how you lead the way, there is always one you follow. - Zen Commentary

The quest of certainty blocks the search for meaning. Uncertainty is the very condition to impel man to unfold his powers. - Erich Fromm

The invariable mark of wisdom is seeing the miraculous in the common. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music - Friedrich Nietzsche

You can outdistance that which is running after you, but not what is funning inside you. - Rwandan Proverb

In Zen, the effort and the result are not two different things, the means and the goal are not to be separated, the finding occurs in the very seeking itself. For ultimately, what is sought is the wholeness of the seeker, and this emerges only in the wholeheartedness of the seeking - Bernard Phillips

As I grow to understand life less and less, I learn to live it more and more. - Jules Renard

Practice and enlightenment are not two. - Dogen

We invent nothing, truly. We borrow and re-create. We uncover and discover. All has been given, as the mystics say. We have only to open our eyes and hearts, to become one with that which is. - Henry Miller

Monday, February 25, 2008

My Brain Scan

Found this at LL's. After this weekend mine should look more like hers. There seems to be some stuff missing in brain this morning. Ugh!

Anyway, I'm working on a post about the 8th Annual Blues Bash but until then, here is my brain.

One side is shades. Riding glasses I assume. That's cool!
The other side is laughing at some smartass comment. That's cool too!
But what is the thing in the middle? Sleeping? With a frown? What is it?
I'm confused. I don't see that emotions anywhere.

Give it a try, let me know how yours turns out

Saturday, February 23, 2008

Friday, February 22, 2008

Come, Have a Drink, I’ll buy long as it is Jack.

This weekend is the 8th annual Mid-Winter Blues Bash. Although it is my first.

DC and I are going. It has been months, like 6 since we went up to The Barn. In fact it was here. Should be a great time, there will be a band and a tattoo-ist... errr tattoo-er... errr tattoo artist. Lots of great food and... I know there is something else... Oh yeah, Mr. Jack Daniels!!!

The Bash is in Silver Lake, IN. Actually Claypool, IN but if you get to Silver Lake, you're there. If you’re in the area, stop in. Tell them DNR sent ya. I should be there form about 1400 (2 pm) Saturday to about 1000 (10 am) Sunday. Like I said, I’ll be happy to buy you a double shot of Jack.

After The Bash on Sunday we will be at the Motorcycle Expo at the Indiana State Fairgrounds. Starting about 1400 till close. Stop in and say hi. We will be working at the IPGR booth (#521 I think).

Hope your weekend is half as good as mine should be. I may have to take Monday off just to recover. hahaha!

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Tax Facts

What do you think?

Has the Bush Admin screwed you out of taxes?

Did the Clinton admin let you keep more of your money??

What does the main stream media say?

What do the Democrats promise to do if elected?
Repeal the current tax cuts and credits, right?

So, how much do you make? No, I don’t really want to know, just have a number in your head and look at these stats.

Don’t believe me...
Click here.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Caption This

OK, I’m gonna try the caption contest thing. I was sent this pic with these captions. HAHAHAHA!!!

Post anything you’d like to add in comments.

1. "Why did I marry her? Why didn't I just put a loaded gun in my mouth? Why God, Why?"

2. "Holy crap, look at that rear end. Somewhere, a semi-truck is missing its 'Oversized Load' sign.

3. "Somewhere, there's two fat girls naked in a hot tub and I'm stuck here listening to her jabber on about health care.

4. "Sheesh, Rush is soo right - She does sound like Nurse Ratchett!"

5. "My God, does that woman never shut up?"

6. "I love music, but never cared for piano legs."

One Word Meme

Thanks Kat!! (found this at her place) I was hoping to find a meme or something to post today.


Not tagging anyone. You read it, you like it... do it. Let me know so I can stop by and read your answers.

1. Where is your cell phone? Pocket
2. Your significant other? Hummmm
3. Your hair? Brounde
4. Your mother? Southern
5. Your father? salesman
6. Your favorite thing? Riding
7. Your dream last night? No
8. Your favorite drink? Sweet-tea
9. Your dream/goal? Retire
10. The room you're in? Cubical
11. Your ex? Huh?
12. Your fear? regret
13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? independent
14. Where were you last night? sleeping
15. What you're not? rude
16. Muffins? Yes...
17. One of your wish list items? Air-horn
18. Where you grew up? mountains
19. The last thing you did ? mp3
20. What are you wearing? epidermis
21. Your TV? Mitsubishi
22. Your pets? crazy
23. Your computer? buggy
24. Your life? busy
25. Your mood? tired
26. Missing someone? no
27. Your car? LS
28. Something you're not wearing? cologne
29. Favorite Store? HD
30. Your summer? riding
31. Like someone? Sure...
32. Your favorite color? no
33. When is the last time you laughed? yesterday
34. Last time you cried? Saturday
35. The person who sent this to you (or tagged you)? Kat
36. Who will/would resend/repost this? Someone

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Angry White Man

As my reader knows, I write a little. Seems I am best at fiction and maybe some technical stuff related to my job. But, if I have to explain to you my position on politics or current events, words escape me.

This article hits the nail squarely on the head.

Aspen Times Weekly

By Gary Hubbell
February 9, 2008

There is a great amount of interest in this year’s presidential elections, as everybody seems to recognize that our next president has to be a lot better than George Bush. The Democrats are riding high with two groundbreaking candidates — a woman and an African-American — while the conservative Republicans are in a quandary about their party’s nod to a quasi-liberal maverick, John McCain.

Each candidate is carefully pandering to a smorgasbord of special-interest groups, ranging from gay, lesbian and transgender people to children of illegal immigrants to working mothers to evangelical Christians.

There is one group no one has recognized, and it is the group that will decide the election: the Angry White Man. The Angry White Man comes from all economic backgrounds, from dirt-poor to filthy rich. He represents all geographic areas in America, from urban sophisticate to rural redneck, deep South to mountain West, left Coast to Eastern Seaboard.

His common traits are that he isn’t looking for anything from anyone — just the promise to be able to make his own way on a level playing field. In many cases, he is an independent businessman and employs several people. He pays more than his share of taxes and works hard.

The victimhood syndrome buzzwords — “disenfranchised,” “marginalized” and “voiceless” — don’t resonate with him. “Press ‘one’ for English” is a curse-word to him. He’s used to picking up the tab, whether it’s the company Christmas party, three sets of braces, three college educations or a beautiful wedding.

He believes the Constitution is to be interpreted literally, not as a “living document” open to the whims and vagaries of a panel of judges who have never worked an honest day in their lives.

The Angry White Man owns firearms, and he’s willing to pick up a gun to defend his home and his country. He is willing to lay down his life to defend the freedom and safety of others, and the thought of killing someone who needs killing really doesn’t bother him.

The Angry White Man is not a metrosexual, a homosexual or a victim. Nobody like him drowned in Hurricane Katrina — he got his people together and got the hell out, then went back in to rescue those too helpless and stupid to help themselves, often as a police officer, a National Guard soldier or a volunteer firefighter.

His last name and religion don’t matter. His background might be Italian, English, Polish, German, Slavic, Irish, or Russian, and he might have Cherokee, Mexican, or Puerto Rican mixed in, but he considers himself a white American.

He’s a man’s man, the kind of guy who likes to play poker, watch football, hunt white-tailed deer, call turkeys, play golf, spend a few bucks at a strip club once in a blue moon, change his own oil and build things. He coaches baseball, soccer and football teams and doesn’t ask for a penny. He’s the kind of guy who can put an addition on his house with a couple of friends, drill an oil well, weld a new bumper for his truck, design a factory and publish books. He can fill a train with 100,000 tons of coal and get it to the power plant on time so that you keep the lights on and never know what it took to flip that light switch.

Women either love him or hate him, but they know he’s a man, not a dishrag. If they’re looking for someone to walk all over, they’ve got the wrong guy. He stands up straight, opens doors for women and says “Yes, sir” and “No, ma’am.”

He might be a Republican and he might be a Democrat; he might be a Libertarian or a Green. He knows that his wife is more emotional than rational, and he guides the family in a rational manner.

He’s not a racist, but he is annoyed and disappointed when people of certain backgrounds exhibit behavior that typifies the worst stereotypes of their race. He’s willing to give everybody a fair chance if they work hard, play by the rules and learn English.

Most important, the Angry White Man is pissed off. When his job site becomes flooded with illegal workers who don’t pay taxes and his wages drop like a stone, he gets righteously angry. When his job gets shipped overseas, and he has to speak to some incomprehensible idiot in India for tech support, he simmers. When Al Sharpton comes on TV, leading some rally for reparations for slavery or some such nonsense, he bites his tongue and he remembers. When a child gets charged with carrying a concealed weapon for mistakenly bringing a penknife to school, he takes note of who the local idiots are in education and law enforcement.

He also votes, and the Angry White Man loathes Hillary Clinton. Her voice reminds him of a shovel scraping a rock. He recoils at the mere sight of her on television. Her very image disgusts him, and he cannot fathom why anyone would want her as their leader. It’s not that she is a woman. It’s that she is who she is. It’s the liberal victim groups she panders to, the “poor me” attitude that she represents, her inability to give a straight answer to an honest question, his tax dollars that she wants to give to people who refuse to do anything for themselves.

There are many millions of Angry White Men. Four million Angry White Men are members of the National Rifle Association, and all of them will vote against Hillary Clinton, just as the great majority of them voted for George Bush.

He hopes that she will be the Democratic nominee for president in 2008, and he will make sure that she gets beaten like a drum.

Ergo bibamus

OK... last weekend... the 9th and 10th (I’m so behind...)

Note - For the case of this story ‘shot’ = 2 ozs of Jack Daniel’s. a.k.a. double shot

The wives were going to be out of town, that is, DC’s and mine. We had a meeting early in the evening Saturday with USMC - Families setting up an event for the PGR this summer. Afterewards we were heading to my place to ‘get our drink on’. hahaha

We’re (the IPGR) going to be in a parade this summer, a big one. Carmelfest's July 4th Parade, (this link is to last years events) second largest in the state, second only to the Indy 500 Parade which gets national TV coverage.

Anyway.... where was I...

After the meeting we head back to my place. It was about 1900 when the drinking started. I had planned on us watching a couple movies and just sitting around bullshitting. Well, before the movie started we had 2 shots each and a beer. Mine Guinness his Killian’s Irish Red. The first movie was “V for Vendetta” (we never got to the second). I think I need to watch the movie again, I seem to re-call it was deeper than I could comprehend while inebriated.

While we’re watching the movie I say, “I’ll bet he... “ does or says whatever. And surprise, he does. Which is quickly followed by “I deserve a shot for that”. We head in to the kitchen and down go a couple more.

Somewhere around midnight DC headed for the bathroom... comes back. *groan* (hahaha) he no sooner sits down and he’s up again heading at a jog back to the thrown room. After his 3rd trip, I hit the kitchen for some food. My younget son was watching the movie off an on with us and was in the kitchen with me when we hear. “hack... gag” *splashity, splash, splash*.


Of course the kid has to ask, “Is he ok?” HAHAHA I assured him, DC would be fine. Might be tomorrow some time before he is ‘ok’ but he will be... eventually. At which point he crawls out of the bathroom, about 10 feet into the dinning room and flops over onto his back. “AAaaarrrggghhhh, I’m done...”

That was the last thing he said. About 30 minutes later I threw a blanked on him and went to bed. When I got up about 0930 there was still a dent in the carpeting where he had laid most of the night. That cracked my ass up so bad, I was laughing out so loud I was afraid I was going to wake everyone up!!

I went to bed about 0100, DC said he went up to the spare bedroom about 0530. We learned that evening that somewhere between 10 and 15 double shots of Jack Daniels and 3 beers will put a man (at least one of us) flat on his ass!!!


What is "Ergo bibamus", you ask. Latin, for "Therefore, let us drink."

Thursday, February 14, 2008


Yep, my ass is dragging.

This week and last. Haven’t hardly had time to post e-mail little lone write something. Hell, I haven’t even had time to blog about this past weekend.

Had to prep charts and graphs to present to the executive committee for my company. CEO, Executive VPs and VPs. Those 10 or 12 people in one room, had to be close to 2 million in salaries sitting there.

Should have some time this weekend to actually write some posts and maybe even another story. Submitted the last one, “The Reflection” to a contest and review group... we’ll see what happens.

Let’s see, what else...?

Remember the diet post?? Got a lot of ‘keep it up’ and congrats from you guys... hit 266 yesterday. Yeah, going the wrong way.

PGR will be in the July 4th Parade in Carmel IN this year. It is the second largest parade in the state. Only one bigger is the Indy 500 Parade.

Yes, we have undocumented proof that somewhere between 10 and 15 DOUBLE shots of Jack Daniels will put a man flat on the floor for about 5 hours. hahahaha AND some time the next morning there will still be a body imprint in the carpeting. HAHAHAHA!!!

I use my own photography as my screen saver. Last week I changed from the Memorial Day ride to a ride with ‘The Flag Lady’ or 'Flag Babe' as she became known to us. This ride was pre-blogging but I need to share the story. I think you’ll like it.

Monday, February 11, 2008

Cold On A Motorcycle

I was sent this in an e-mail over the weekend (The weekend needs to be another post...) and with a little research I found a web page from 1999 & 2000 by Dave Karlotski. The web page is called “The 751” and is about a ride he took after literally finding 751 dollars.

I hope to read the rest of his posts and stories. As I come across others of interest, I’ll be sure to share them.

If you’ve ever been told “if you don’t understand, I can’t explain it’ about riding a motorcycle, this... article comes so close to explaining it that if you still don’t understand, then, it can’t be explained to you.

Cold On A Motorcycle
Season of the Bike
by Dave Karlotski

There is cold, and there is cold on a motorcycle. Cold on a motorcycle is like being beaten with cold hammers while being kicked with cold boots, a bone bruising cold. The wind's big hands squeeze the heat out of my body and whisk it away; caught in a cold October rain, the drops don't even feel like water. They feel like shards of bone fallen from the skies of Hell to pock my face. I expect to arrive with my cheeks and forehead streaked with blood, but that's just an illusion, just the misery of nerves not designed for highway speeds.

Despite this, it's hard to give up my motorcycle in the fall and I rush to get it on the road again in the spring; lapses of sanity like this are common among motorcyclists. When you let a motorcycle into your life you're changed forever. The letters "MC" are stamped on your driver's license right next to your sex and weight as if "motorcycle" was just another of your physical characteristics, or maybe a mental condition. But when warm weather finally does come around all those cold snaps and rainstorms are paid in full because a motorcycle summer is worth any price.

A motorcycle is not just a two-wheeled car; the difference between driving a car and climbing onto a motorcycle is the difference between watching TV and actually living your life. We spend all our time sealed in boxes and cars are just the rolling boxes that shuffle us languidly from home-box to work-box to store-box and back, the whole time, entombed in stale air, temperature regulated, sound insulated, and smelling of carpets.

On a motorcycle I know I'm alive. When I ride, even the familiar seems strange and glorious. The air has weight and substance as I push through it and its touch is as intimate as water to a swimmer. I feel the cool wells of air that pool under trees and the warm spokes of sunlight that fall through them. I can see everything in a sweeping 360 degrees, up, down and around, wider than Pana-Vision and higher than IMAX and unrestricted by ceiling or dashboard. Sometimes I even hear music. It's like hearing phantom telephones in the shower or false doorbells when vacuuming; the pattern-loving brain, seeking signals in the noise, raises acoustic ghosts out of the wind's roar. But on a motorcycle I hear whole songs: rock 'n roll, dark orchestras, women's voices, all hidden in the air and released by speed. At 30 miles per hour and up, smells become uncannily vivid. All the individual tree-smells and flower-smells and grass-smells flit by like chemical notes in a great plant symphony. Sometimes the smells evoke memories so strongly that it's as though the past hangs invisible in the air around me, wanting only the most casual of rumbling time machines to unlock it. A ride on a summer afternoon can border on the rapturous. The sheer volume and variety of stimuli is like a bath for my nervous system, an electrical massage for my brain, a systems check for my soul. It tears smiles out of me. A minute ago I was dour, depressed, apathetic, numb. But now, on two wheels, big, ragged, windy smiles flap against the side of my face, billowing out of me like air from a decompressing plane.

Transportation is only a secondary function. A motorcycle is a joy machine. It's a machine of wonders, a metal bird, a motorized prosthetic. It's light and dark and shiny and dirty and warm and cold lapping over each other; it's a conduit of grace, it's a catalyst for bonding the gritty and the holy. I've had dozens of bikes over the years and slept under my share of bridges. I wouldn't trade one second of either the good times or the misery. Deciding to live my life on two wheels is one of the best things I've done.

Cars lie to us and tell us we're safe, powerful, and in control. The air-conditioning fans murmur empty assurances and whisper, "Sleep, sleep." Motorcycles tell us a more useful truth: we are small and exposed, and probably moving too fast for our own good, but that's no reason not to enjoy every minute of the ride.

Saturday, February 09, 2008

Thursday, February 07, 2008

Important Safety Bulletin

Important Safety Bulletin

The American Medical Association has announced new national symbols for choking.

Please inform all of the people in your safety department.



This shit just cracks my ass up!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!


We all have our circles. Mine include you bloggers, people I work with, family, Patriot Guard Riders, people at the various committees I work on and Steelers fans.

Some topics come up in one circle that gets talked about so much that when you causally mention it to someone not in that circle they are like “WTF??” and you are confused at their ‘no knowing’.

This happened to me recently. I was telling someone I work with about Steelers, the Steeler Nation and how large and fanatical we all are. I casually mentioned “like the guy that had his funeral viewing in a recliner in Steelers PJs and a TV with the game or highlights running”. HEH!!, he was dumb founded and I had to explain.

So, I got to thinking... maybe there are others that haven’t heard the story like yous guys here in the blogosphere.

July 6, 2005, James Henry Smith lost his battle with prostate cancer. The story was originally posted here at WPXI. CBS and AP News picked it up, here.

Here are the pictures that went around the Steelers fan circles a couple years ago. I’m not planning this kind of party when I pass. BUT...maybe, just maybe...

He’s Home!!

It has been a little over 17 weeks and Jeff Bowman is home!! The IPGR had a Welcome Home escort ride for him.

Regrettably, I couldn’t break the chain from my desk to go.... but man... He’s home and according to the pics so is his bike.

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

7 Degrees of Blonde


A married couple were asleep when the phone rang at 2 in the morning.The very blonde wife picked up the phone, listened a moment and said 'How should I know, that's 200 miles from here!' and hung up.

The husband said, 'Who was that?'

The wife answered, 'I don't know, some woman wanting to know if the coast is clear.'


Two blondes are walking down the street. One notices a compact on the sidewalk and leans down to pick it up. She opens it, looks in the mirror and says, 'Hmm, this person looks familiar.'

The second blonde says, 'Here, let me see!'

So, the first blonde hands her the compact.

The second blonde looks in the mirror and says, 'You dummy, it's me!'


A blonde suspects her boyfriend of cheating on her, so she goes out and buys a gun.

She goes to his apartment unexpectedly and when she opens the door she finds him in the arms of a redhead.

Well, the blonde is really angry. She opens her purse to take out the gun, and as she does so, she is overcome with grief. She takes the gun and puts it to her head.

The boyfriend yells, 'No, honey, don't do it!!!'

The blonde replies, 'Shut up, you're next!'


A blonde was bragging about her knowledge of state capitals. She proudly says, 'Go ahead, ask me, ... I know 'em all.'

A friend says, 'OK, what's the capital of Wisconsin ?'

The blonde replies, 'Oh, that's easy . it's W.'


Q: What did the blonde ask her doctor when he told her she was pregnant? A: 'Is it mine?'


Bambi, a blonde in her fourth year as a UCLA Freshman, sat in her US Government class. The professor asked Bambi if she knew what Roe vs. Wade was about.

Bambi pondered the question; then, finally, said, 'That was the decision George Washington had to make before he crossed the Delaware '


Returning home from work, a blonde was shocked to find her house ransacked and burglarized. She telephoned the police at once and reported the crime. The police dispatcher broadcast the call on the radio, and a K-9 unit, patrolling nearby, was the first to respond.

As the K-9 officer approached the house with his dog on a leash, the blonde ran out on the porch, shuddered at the sight of the cop and his dog, then sat down on the steps. Putting her face in her hands, she moaned, 'I come home to find all my possessions stolen. I call the police for help, and what do they do? They send me a BLIND policeman!'

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Technology Addiction

Good grief!! If we ever have a ‘real’ issue... we’re gonna go out of business.

We got some rain last night. ‘Bout an inch in less than an hour. Should have been snow. I mean it IS Februrary 5th damn it! Why the hell does it go UP to 60 frigin degrees over night? I mean come on, the high for today was 60 at mid night. I took the dogs out at 6 am this morning bear foot.

Ahem... anyway...

Being part of a large company, inner company communication is paramount and happens by the minute if not second. E-mail, internet, hell we even have IP phones. So after the rain last night and all of the moisture the past couple days our T1 provider tells us we they have water in the line... WTF!??! So for 4 plus hours this morning, nothing worked. No phones, no order processing, no internet (we have several inter company applications that use the internet and web base databases). Hell we couldn’t even page in our own damn building.

What if somebody cuts the line? Can they fix that in 4 hours? I think we’d be us shit creek.

So.... how was your morning??

Monday, February 04, 2008

Diary Of A Snow Shoveler

A little snow humor for my friends in the north.
Got this in an e-mail several years ago.


December 8: 6:00 PM
It started to snow. The first snow of the season and the wife and I took our cocktails and sat for hours by the window watching the huge soft flakes drift down from heaven. It looked like a Grandma Moses Print. So romantic we felt like newlyweds again. I love snow!

December 9
We woke to a beautiful blanket of crystal white snow covering every inch of the landscape. What a fantastic sight! Can there be a more lovely place in the Whole World? Moving here was the best idea I've ever had. Shoveled for the first time in years and felt like a boy again. I did both our driveway and the sidewalks. This afternoon the snowplow came along and covered up the sidewalks and closed in the driveway, so I got to shovel again. What a perfect life.

December 12:
The sun has melted all our lovely snow. Such a disappointment. My neighbor tells me not to worry, we'll definitely have a white Christmas. No snow on Christmas would be awful! Bob says we'll have so much snow by the end of winter, that I'll never want to see snow again. I don't think that's possible. Bob is such a nice man. I'm glad he's our neighbor.

December 14:
Snow, lovely snow! 8" last night. The temperature dropped to -20. The cold makes everything sparkle so. The wind took my breath away, but I warmed up by shoveling the driveway and sidewalks. This is the life! The snowplow came back this afternoon and buried everything again. I didn't realize I would have to do quite this much shoveling, but I'll certainly get back in shape this way. I wish I wouldn't huff and puff so.

December 15:
20 inches forecast. Sold my van and bought a 4x4 Blazer. Bought snow tires for the wife's car and 2 extra shovels. Stocked the freezer. The wife wants a wood stove in case the electricity goes out. I think that's silly. We aren't in Alaska, after all.

December 16:
Ice storm this morning. Fell on my ass on the ice in the driveway putting down salt. Hurt like hell. The wife laughed for an hour, which I think was very cruel.

December 17:
Still way below freezing. Roads are too icy to go anywhere. Electricity was off for 5 hours. I had to pile the blankets on to stay warm. Nothing to do but stare at the wife and try not to irritate her. Guess I should've bought a wood stove, but won't admit it to her. God I hate it when she's right. I can't believe I'm freezing to death in my own living room.

December 20:
Electricity's back on, but had another 14" of the damn stuff last night. More shoveling. Took all day. Goddamn snowplow came by twice. Tried to find a neighbor kid to shovel, but they said they're too busy playing hockey. I think they're lying. Called the only hardware store around to see about buying a snow blower and they're out. Might have another shipment in March. I think they're lying. Bob says I have to shovel or the city will have it done and bill me. I think he's lying.

December 22:
Bob was right about a white Christmas because 13 more inches of the white shit fell today, and it's so cold it probably won't melt till August. Took me 45 minutes to get all dressed up to go out to shovel and then I had to piss. By the time I got undressed, pissed and dressed again. I was too tired to shovel. Tried to hire Bob who has a plow on his truck for the rest of the winter; but he says he's too busy. I think the asshole is lying.

December 23:
Only 2" of snow today. And it warmed up to 0. The wife wanted me to decorate the front of the house this morning. What is she...nuts??? Why didn't she tell me to do that a month ago? She says she did but I think she's lying.

December 24: 6". Snow packed so hard by snowplow, l broke the shovel. Thought I was having a heart attack. If I ever catch the son of a bitch who drives that snowplow, Ill drag him through the snow by his balls. I know he hides round the corner and waits for me to finish shoveling and then he comes down the treet at a 100 miles an hour and throws snow allover where I've just been! Tonight the wife wanted me to sing Christmas carols with her and open our presents, but I was busy watching for the goddamn snowplow.

December 25:
Merry Christmas. 20 more inches of the goddamned slop tonight. Snowed in. The idea of shoveling makes my blood boil. God I hate the snow! Then the snowplow driver came by asking for a donation and I hit him over the head with my shovel. The wife says I have a bad attitude. I think she's an idiot. If I have to watch "It's a Wonderful Life" one more time, I'm going to kill her.

December 26:
Still snowed in. Why the hell did I ever move here? It was all HER idea. She's really getting on my nerves.

December 27:
Temperature dropped to -30 and the pipes froze.

December 28:
Warmed up to above -50. Still snowed in. THE BITCH is driving me crazy!!!

December 29:
10 more inches. Bob says I have to shovel the roof or it could cave in. That's the silliest thing I ever heard. How dumb does he think I am?

December 30:
Roof caved in. The snow plow driver is suing me for a million dollars for the bump on his head. The wife went home to her mother. 9" predicted.

December 31:
Set fire to what's left of the house. No more shoveling.

January 8:
I feel so good. I just love those little white pills they keep giving me. Why am I tied to the bed?

Life's a fish and then you fry

What... A... Dream...

So... I had another dream last night.

Good God.... A sex dream... not getting enough I guess.

Extremely vivid. Woke up half laying on my side and half on my stomach... like I had a kickstand.

That was just wrong!!

Sunday, February 03, 2008

Super Bowl XLII

So, Super Bowl XLII is over. The Giants beat the Patriots. Thanks God!!

After ‘spygate’ this year the last thing that needed to happen was the Pats tie the Dolphins undefeated record.

They did not go undefeated, I could not be happier!!!


With 1 or 2 second remaining on the clock, Belichick walked off the field. What an ass. The Giants should have run a play and scored one more touchdown. God know the pats would have tried to score again.

Friday, February 01, 2008

Fiction Friday - III


Better lat than never, right. I’m going to submit this to a contest. SOoo, I need some input. Criticize, spelling... tell me, what do you think?

It's a long one. Enjoy!!!


The Reflection

Home... Again?

Penny sits in her new room, in her new home. She’s sitting on the bed hugging her knees. “This is the 5th family in 8 weeks. What’s wrong with me... why can’t any one love me??”. She asks in a whisper, hoping there would be an answer and yet praying that it wasn’t her.

Lisa sticks her head in and says, “It’s late Penny girl, why don’t you change in to your PJs and we’ll have some cookies and milk, ok?”

Penny wipes a tear from her eye without letting Lisa see, fakes a smile and says, “ok, yeah. That would be nice.”

Lisa closes the door and turns towards the kitchen. Before the door totally closes, Penny is screaming like she is on fire. The kind of panic scream girls seem to master at a very early age. Lisa doesn’t have time to open the door before Penny throws the door open so hard it loges the door knob in the wall.

“NO!!! YOU CAN’T MAKE ME STAY IN THAT ROOM!!! NOOOoooo!!!” Penny screams and rushes by Lisa. She hits Lisa with such force that she is knocked down to the floor. Penny heads down the hall and out the front door.

A few minutes later Lisa calls Doc B.

“I’m telling you Doc,” Lisa says exhausted, “it’s like everyone has said. At some point when she is alone, she just goes berserk. Like she sees a demon or something.”

“Lisa, you know you are my last hope at getting this poor girl placed in a permanent foster home?”.

“I know, Doc... I know. But she broke my arm and there is a hole in that wall. Whose gonna pay for that?!? ME!! Right? I know, it’s part of the job but I get to choose who. After fostering 20 plus kids when you see some, you can just tell. This one has no hope.”


“No, Doc. I’m sorry.” Lisa hangs up the phone. The police and EMTs arrive at the same time. The police have found Penny about a mile down the road, heading back to town.

“Is this her, ma’am?” the officer asks.

“Yes. Take her back to the home. She’s not welcome here.” Lisa turns her back to Penny and the officer and looks at the EMT. “It’s broken, isn’t it? That little bitch broke my arm.”

Dr. Brendakaski sat at her desk. Small, cramped and crowed as it was, this was her office. “Finally”, she thought. “My own office in a place where I can do some real good.” It was her first day on the job. Doc Brenda is a Doctor of Psychology. She had asked to work in this small town foster care home because she wanted to make a difference and to work with children.

Mac, one of the case workers in the office, walked in and handed her a file.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Penny. The first case that needs your attention. The courts want your approval before she can leave. Next month is her 16th birthday and she’s petitioned the court to move out on her own. The judge is apprehensive and wants your opinion.” Mac grinned. He knew this was not the kind of psychology she wanted to practice. “Welcome the foster care system, Doc.”

Doc scanned the file. Penny had been in foster care since she was 6. In fact it was her 6th birthday that celebrated her arrival. Along with the many issues most foster kids seem to have, Penny had brought other baggage.

The authorities speculated that, as her parents were cleaning up the house from her 6th birthday party, a man in a meth induced craze broke in and killed her them. He had slashed them, cutting their throats and mid sections until they had bled to death. None of their wounds were lethal on their own, but together, they would have bled to death. The coroner estimated it would have taken 10-15 minutes and would have been excruciatingly painful. The meth addict, the murder of Penny’s parents had never been found.

The next day, as the forensics team was collecting evidence, they stumbled upon Penny. Still asleep in her room. “how could she sleep through this.” One asked. They picked her up and covered her with a blanket so she would not have to see the blood everywhere. Little Penny, the six year old girl held on to the technician so tight she thought Penny was going to strangle her. Once out side, Penny was handed to a police officer. He played with her and gave her a donated stuffed bear. The troopers report noted how pretty her smile was and how inoscent she seemed. After about 30 minutes Child Services arrived and took Penny to the home.

No living relatives could be found. Penny’s parents had not written a will, so, Penny was introduced to the joys of a small town foster care system.

The courts, in their wisdom, had mandated weekly group counseling. She has been to these sessions every week for the last 10 years of her life. Penny would describe hearing the screams of her parents, “Please!!! Don’t hurt us!!! You can have anything.... everything...”. She described with chilling detail the sounds of their voices being mixing with a fluid, as the slashes to their chests and abdomens filled their air ways with blood; the horrific sound of her mother and father drowning in their own blood.

Penny could, with enough detail to make most people have cold chills, describe the sounds the man had made, laughing, talking to them, taunting them, as if them saying “please, don’t” one more time would make him stop. She even went as far as to describe the sadistic look of glee on his face.

Without exception, every councilor that had ever heard Penny’s description of these events recommend she continue counseling.

“Penny’s vivid description of the events surrounding her parents murders is imaginative.”
“She is still romanticizing the murders.”
“Her voice shows no signs of acceptance.”
One therapist even went as far as to write, “She seems to get joy from my reactions and the reactions of the others in the group.”

Doc read through Penny’s file. “Amazing,” she mumbled to her self. “Every counselor hears the story new and is shocked. This poor girl has to re-tell it every couple months, every time there is a new counselor. No wonder she doesn’t sound remorseful or shocked, she has relived it nearly every month of every year for the last ten years.” Doc slapped the file closed and went down the hall to the small conference room where Penny was sitting.

Penny was used to these visits. A new counselor, re-tell the story, watch the shock on their faces. She almost found humor in it. It was like she was reading or describing a graphic comic book to them.

Doc introduced herself and sat. Penny looked at her and started without being asked. “I remember my parents putting me to bed...”
“What..? No, wait.” Said Doc. I don’t need to hear your story. You don’t have to relive it again for me.”

Penny sat there with her mouth open, shocked. No one had ever stopped her; no one ever, didn’t need to hear every detail. “So, what do you want? Why am I here?”

“I want you to try one more home before thinking about heading out on your own. My house. That is, my mom’s house. See, what most people don know is I was raixed right here in this town, in foster care. Mom, Lisa, is great. I’ve talked to her, she has an opening and Mac can take you up there tomorrow. Will you try it?”. Said Doc.

Do I have a choice”, groaned Penny, as she got up and headed to her room to pack. Again.

Back Home

Doc made it to the home in record time and was there before Penny and the officer. It was about 11:30 pm. She had just finished washing her face and was heading for bed when the call came.

When the officer arrived with Penny, she looked like any teenager that had been caught doing something they weren’t suppose to. Sulking, avoiding eye contact, arms crossed, basically being a brat.

When Penny saw Doc, she stared, with her mouth open. Doc thought she was surprised that she had come to the home to meet her. Penny was surprised how old and pale Doc looked.

“Want me to say with you two for a while?” the officer asked.

“No”, said Doc. “I think we’ll be fine. We both could use a little girl time.”

The officer smile, nodded in acknowledgment and left. The unlikely ‘foster sisters’ headed for the kitchen. Doc grabbed some crackers, milk and cheese. She made a quick spread on paper plates and they snacked.

Doc took a bite and quickly pulled it out of her mouth. “This stuff is gross!” She gagged in reflex at the texture and aroma that is common from donated cheese.

Penny giggled but caught herself. She was afraid to laugh at an adult, especially the one in charge of the home. Doc started to snicker and penny let her guard down.... slightly. They talked about nothing and anything. The daisy Penny had drawn on her jeans in ink. The general disgusting flavor of the food the home served. The two laughed and ate crackers for about an hour.

Doc glanced at Penny, she was trying to ask a probing physiological question with out scaring the girl away. “When you first came in this evening, you looked like you had a question on your mind. What was it?”

Without thinking Penny answered, like she was talking to her best friend. “You look so different from earlier today. You look...” Penny’s voice trailed off.

Shit though Doc, she closing down, forming ranks. Fast damn-it, do something. Before she could stop herself she flung a piece of that nasty cheese at her and said, “If you don’t tell me, you’re gonna have to eat this cheese!” Surprised, Doc had used a voice and tone that she had not heard come from her mouth in years. She was teasing the girl, like her foster sisters used to tease at Lisa’s those many years ago.

“You look old!” Penny barked. She started to cry, embarrassed. Penny ran off down the hall in into her room, jumped onto her bed and buried herself in the covers. She laid there sobbing.

Doc walked into the room, sat on Penny’s bed and rubbed her back. “It’s ok sweetie. I’m not mad at you. I just don’t have my make up on. Make up hides many of the blemishes on my face. When it is off... I look older.”


Time passed and Doc and Penny became more than friends. More like mentor and student. But Doc was frustrated that the ’you’re older’ comment that had caused Penny to break down didn’t go any where. No matter how much she probed, Penny wouldn’t reveal the truth about what bothered her so much.

Penny walked into Doc’s office one day and doc was freshening her lipstick. Penny froze.

Doc put the compact in her purse and closed the lipstick. When Doc looked up, she asked, “Penny, are you ok?”


“Penny!” Doc shouted.

Penny shook her head, regaining her composure, trying for all her soul to look as if nothing weird had just happened.

“I’m fine Doc. What were you just doing?” Penny asked timidly.

“Putting on lipstick. Would you like to try?” Doc asked, knowing that this may be the break she was looking for.

“Sure. But you put it on me, I... I can’t”

Doc stepped around the desk and told Penny to pucker. She applied the lipstick and had her kiss off the excess on a tissue. “Want to see?” Doc asked reaching into her purse and opening the compact. As she turned so Penny could see her face and lips in the mirror, Penny screamed. She turned to run form the office. Again, that fast in full panic mode.

“It’s the mirror, it’s her reflection!!” Doc screamed to her self. “Of course.”

Penny tripped over the chair and landed on the floor in a thump. She had cracked her head on the door to Doc’s office and was slightly dazed. Doc threw herself to the floor, shut the door and grabbed Penny up into her arms. Holding her tight she lightly stroked her hair.

As Penny came too, she flinched like she needed to run, for her life. The she grabbed onto Doc and cried. Cried like never before.

“You’re ok, penny girl. Everything is going to be ok” Doc whispered.

“No, you don’t understand.” Penny sobbed.

“Tell me, Penny, what don’t I understand? I want to understand you.”

Through her sobs and tears, Penny whispered. “That night... when they died, when he came? I saw him. I saw him slash my mothers throat so hard that she could not talk. I saw my father run to her and the man stab and slash my father. I saw his insides come out. All of it I saw in the reflection of the hall mirror.”

“It’s ok, he can’t hurt you now” doc said trying to comfort Penny.

“NO, you don’t understand. Every time I see a mirror, I can see him standing over them with blood dripping off of his knife and hands. Every time....” Penny trailed off into sobs again.

Doc thought, of course, you’re such a fool. The room Lisa would have given her had a full length mirror on the back of the door. I’ll bet we find the same conditions in all of her failed foster families.


Doc’s revelation and Penny’s confession that night lead to healing. Penny never did repetition the courts to be on her own. Together, the two foster sisters worked through it. Penny’s still a little apprehensive of mirrors in long, dark halls, but now she can do her own make up and check her own outfit.

Penny has been back to Lisa’s house many times now and they talked about that day. They laugh and laugh that a 90 pound, 16 year old brat was able to break Lisa’s arm.

Penny’s in college now, studying business. When she come home she stays at Doc’s. After all, they are sisters.

Maybe I Should Run...

With peeps like these, I could go far... IF I had, what... 50 million dollars to spend on a campaign.

Which Great US President Are You Most Like?
created with
You scored as Abraham Lincoln

16th President, in office from 1861-1865
Born: 1809 Died: 1865 (assassainated)

Abraham Lincoln


Ronald Reagan


John Kennedy


George Washington


Theodore Roosevelt


Dwight Eisenhower


Franklin Roosevelt


Woodrow Wilson


Lyndon Johnson


Thomas Jefferson


Harry Truman



We got MAYBE an inch of wet snow. PHFITTTT!!

Tards! Get me all excited for nothing.