Happy Thanksgiving...........tomorrow.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Unlike the President, I will NOT be pardoning the bird.

In fact, if I was President (lookout Mormons, Gays, and Illegal Immigrants), and they handed me the Turkey to pardon, I would say….”Screw that! This sucker’s a 45 pounder!” .…Then I’d snap it’s neck and say, “Who wants a drumstick?!”

Especially with Teddy Kennedy gone, that just leaves more for everybody else.

So, yeah, my posts have been sporadic.

I’ve been taking it easy (read lazy).

Oh, you’ll still see me around in the comments on other blogs.

I just chose not to follow the “repost-old-stuff-instead-of-writing-something-new” trend.

I figure, if you don’t have anything NEW and FUNNY to say, then just take a nap…At least, that’s my plan.

So far, so good.

And seeing how all the family is coming to my house this weekend, I have been upping my meds ahead of time…….Unfortunately, this does not help the blogging situation.

On a side note: I had my Annual Review at work. I got an OUTSTANDING!

I think this proves that not only am I SUPREMELY AWESOME, but my boss has DEFINITELY been secretly reading My Funny Pages.

Another Side Note: I have finally broken the 100 followers on Blogger barrier. This means that unless I chicken out, my hugely embarrassing TMI post should be coming in the next week or so.

Everybody have a SAFE and Happy Thanksgiving!

And Remember:

It’s not Thanksgiving until Uncle Cliff take a nap on the floor, Julie brings out her “special” dessert, and at least 3 children cry.

Memoir Monday.......I'm BACK my bitches

I’m back!

Sort of.

I kind of took an unofficial break from blogging.

I’m sure you spent many sleepless nights wondering what was wrong, and where I went, and why I wasn’t famous yet.

Was that just me? Ooops.

Anyway, I just didn’t have anything funny or worthwhile to say......Not that I ever do, but more so than normal.

My Depression/Anxiety has been kicking my ass lately. But, since I haven’t eaten a bullet or swerved into a tree yet, I figured I would write something today. Who knows, maybe it will be my last.

It’s Memoir Monday, after all, Thank Travis.

He’s like the Buddha of Mondays.

Yeah, he’s not Indian and he’s got bright orange hair, but so what.

He’s still fat and full of knowledge.

And he looks cute sitting cross-legged on a mantel.

So here goes:

Fun times with McDonald’s

This was probably Junior year of High School. Maybe Sophomore. Whatever, it was in High School. JT and I did our semi-usual skip of wrestling practice. This normally occurred when we were supposed to be running the locker hallways, only we would turn and head out the door and over to his house.

This particular day, we ended up at McDonalds. Since we had friends/classmates that worked there, we could usually get free food. First though, I had to unload some extra baggage (i.e. take a steamy dump).

Now, in my defense, I am pretty sure that our McDonald’s had just finished remodeling. There is no other way to explain why I would have went right instead of left, after going to these same McDonald’s restrooms my whole life.

Regardless, I went in and sat down and began assaulting the toilet.

J.T. followed me in to wash his hands……..Not in the toilet, DUH!

Anyway, neither of us noticed the lack of urinals or the skirt on the door. About that time, a lady came in, and asked J.T. what he was doing in the women’s restroom. He started laughing like a little girl and ran out.

I’m stuck.

I just sit quietly and continue doing my business.

So does the lady.

Although, she wasn’t as quiet as me………Ladies are noisy poopers.

I wait for her to finish and leave, and then I hightail it out of there.

Of course, J.T. is sitting outside, still laughing his ass off.

Another time:

I was cruising around with my friends Jeremy (God rest his soul) and Ryan. We were all piled in the front seat of my mom’s Chrysler K-Car Station Wagon, like a bunch of homos. (It was wintertime, and that was the closest seat to the heater)

So, we were rolling in our ghetto hoopty, and Ryan suddenly demands a Cheeseburger. (He’s the only one who has any money)

Regardless, I decide if he wants a burger, he’ll order it HIMSELF……..So I BACK through the drive through.

Let’s just say the McDonald’s Manager did not find it as funny as us or the cute girl at the window did.

The Manager gave us a stern talking to and banned us from returning to that McDonald’s.

Whatever……….She was just jealous of my SWEET backwards driving skills.

Here’s a cool tip:

We used to do this all the time, but I’m pretty sure it’s illegal, so try it at your own risk.

We used to pull into McDonald’s, go in and say, “I just went through the Drive Thru and they forgot my Fries.” BINGO! Free Fries.

Then we would drive over to Hardees and do the same thing, only this time it was the cheeseburger. BINGO! Free Cheeseburger.

Then, you could hit Wendy’s for a Frostee and now you got a FREE meal.

No need to thank me.

And NO, I will not come bail you out.

Dr. Dragonlady and How I Got FIRED.

Dear Dr. Dragonlady,

I must say, when you first got me FIRED, I actually planned your death and destruction. See, I was so shocked when it happened. Not that I didn’t expect it, nor that I didn’t deserve it. I was shocked that every other physician in the practice caved to your demands. Seems I was the ONLY one willing to put you in your place. That’s what shocked me the most. How everybody else could be so terrified of you, is beyond me, but just proves what a nasty bitch you were. I really thought someone would have taken my side.

Let’s see:
*Cherub (Office Manager)= Nope……even though two days prior to carrying out the firing, she put down on my 90-day review, that I was the best, most knowledgeable, and friendliest Medical Assistant that the practice ever had.

*Dr. Russianjew (Practice owner/Head Dermatologist) = Nope…..even though he always requested that I work with him on your off days.

*Dr. Airheadhotness (Outpost Dermatologist) = Nope….even though she always made a point of telling me how pleased she was with my work.

*Dr. NoBalls (aka Mr. Dragonlady) = Not a chance…..Even though I was probably the closest thing to a friend your husband’s ever had. At least since he’s been married to you and therefore you’ve kept his balls in your purse, that is.

*The four Female Medical Assistants that were also part of our “team” = Not a one (bitches)…..even though they would talk everyday at lunch about how much they hated you and wanted to quit and wished you were dead and how many times that day you had made them cry.

In fact, when Cherub broke the news, she apologized profusely to me. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to feed my family. But I’m thankful NOW.
See, I had never been let go from anywhere before this. In fact, when I would leave a place, they would usually beg me to stay. Cause I’m AWESOME!
I know you were a newer physician, but that gives you NO excuse to treat your staff like shit. I think you actually got off on seeing how mean you could be, and how many times you could make the girls cry in a day. I came closer to punching you than I ever have to a woman in my life. Even your patients noticed you being a bitch, and would often ask your staff if they were “Alright?” after you left the room.
Not only that, but you sucked. Your hands were too damn shaky to be doing all those Derm surgeries. That’s why we had to use so much numbing on every patient. You cut all over the damn place. Good thing your Plastic Surgery trained husband was there to cover your ass and clean up your messes. That’s probably why you married him. That, and his lack of a spine. What a team you made. You’d cut, he’d close . Good thing too, cause your sutures looked like shit. I’ve seen better needle work in a Home Ec class. Is that how they taught you at Duke. Probably, cause Duke sucks.
I am interested to know exactly what it was that sent you over the edge.
Was it cause I told you that, we didn’t like being force to listen to your David Sedaris books on tape while riding for hours in your car on the way to clinics? Sorry, not everybody wants to hear about his homosexual exploits.
Was it because I asked your husband, Dr. NoBalls, if he was a Sadist? I was just trying to figure out why he put up with so much of your abuse.
Was it because I told you that I didn’t want to work with you, and put in for that other job in the office? That must have been it, because that’s what Cherub mentioned. She said when you made your case to the other docs, you said that I shouldn’t be the stationary office medical assistant if I was willing to work with ALL the physicians, since all the physicians had days working in the office.

Whatever. They all got theirs in the end.

Two days after I was fired, you announced you were leaving to take an internship in San Diego. The practice lost all that money they invested in the equipment for “your” special procedure, not to mention having to pick up all yours and Dr. NoBalls’ patients. All of the two-faces bitches of medical assistants that worked for you were let go, since they were no longer needed.

I should actually thank you. If I would have been there until you left, I would have totally missed the posting deadline for my VA job. You actually did me a solid. I went from working a suckass job making $9.25 an hour, to getting a sweet government job for about $38,000 a year, plus kicking benefits.

So, thanks, Dr. Dragonlady.

Love,
Ed

P.S. You totally wanted me too. Don’t think I didn’t catch you checking out my ass. Plus, you were always “accidentally” rubbing up against me.

*names have been changed to protect the guilty, and to avoid potential lawsuit*

Wednesday......Where am I?

Tuesday

11:30 am

Dr. Jacobs Office

Vasectomy Consult

Nurse: (talking)

*blah, blah, blah, shave your bag, blah, blah, tear a hole in your nut sack, blah, blah, blah, cutoff your balls, blah, blah, blah, will not stitch-up the open hole in your bag, but let heal on its own.*

Ed: (thinking)

Does she actually think any of this will make me feel better about this? How is this even legal? They should all be in jail for doing this. I wonder if she enjoys her job. She's probably a lesbian. I bet the whole female staff just sit around at the end of the day and laugh and laugh about all the tiny penises they saw, and all the ball sacks they mutilated, and all the unborn children they killed. They're probably all scorned women, out seeking revenge on all men for some A-hole from their past that wronged them and broke their hearts. I hope the doctor has really small hands. That will make my junk look HUGE.

Nurse: "Afterwards, you should be able to get by with just Tylenol for pain."

Ed: "Seriously?!?! And if that doesn't work?"

Nurse who obviously hates men: "Most patients are able to control pain with just Tylenol. If you're having more severe pain, then something is wrong and you should call the office. Dr. Jacobs may need to see you again."

Ed: "Most of the guys I've talked to said, that is bullshit, and that it hurts like hell afterwards."

Nurse Anti-Testicle: "We never hear that. Usually patients do fine. You shouldn't have that much pain."

Ed: "I'm sorry, but that's a little like a man telling a woman that childbirth doesn't really hurt. None of you ladies have balls, so you really don't know what it feels like."

As an aside:

I know, from working with several physicians, that some docs just don't want to write pain meds. They worry about the potential for abuse, or getting a patient addicted, or having a patient sell the pills and their name being on that bottle on the street which could potentially make them liable. I worked with two MDs that absolutely refused to write ANY pain meds, and would refer all patients for Pain Management.

I've also heard it suggested that this all-female-staffed office gets away with doing this, because if they tell guys that none of the other guy patients request pain meds, then the one who asks for some will seem like a pussy, and therefore won't ask. That's probably why I won't be asking for them, as well. Plus, I have a high pain tolerance cause of my back and all.

On the ride home:

Liz: concerned..."Are you nervous?"

Ed: toughguylike..."Not really. It's already a done deal in my mind. I'm just ready to get it over with. Besides, you've delivered 4 babies, and I told you that I would step-up and take one for the team."

Liz: "You could always ask the doc for meds up front, if you think it's going to hurt."

Ed: "Nah, I'll be alright. I think I've rather have something for nausea. Cause I know that when you get kicked there, it makes you want to vomit, and you get a really severe stomach cramp. Like REALLY bad cramps. Kind of like a girl gets once a month, but WORSE."

Liz: sarcastically..."Yeah, worse only cause it's happening to YOU."

Ed: "Exactly!........Nuts is sensative things!"

Weekend Post....

I would like to share an awesome custom made MS Paint drawing that Allie @ Hyperbole & a half did for me.

She's super funny and slightly crazy, which I think go hand in hand.

Anyway, she's got this thing where if you ask nicely (plus know the secret code), she will make you a custom MS Paint drawing to your specifications.

Here was my request:

"I would like an MS Paint drawing of you making an MS Paint drawing of you making an MS Paint drawing of you making a drawing by hand that says MS Paint."

Being true to her word, and master MS Paint drawerer artist, here is what she sent me:



I think that she captured the essence of my request.

Friday.....Lazy ramblings about important nothing

I skipped TMI Thursday because I’m lazy, and because I am waiting until I hit 100 followers to unleash my biggest, baddest, bestest (screw you spellcheck) TMI postage of all-time. Honestly, even then, I probably still won’t post it because I’m a wimp <----read awesomeousnessest.

I’ve also decided that because I’m super good at being lazy, I should have my own Holiday, which will happen once a week. Everyone will be required to sit around and do nothing in honor of me. I will then reward the person whom I deem most observant of Holiday Lazy with a custom made nothing, because something would require effort and thereby take me out of the running to win it myself. I’m nothing if not a winner.

I love comments. Sometimes I think maybe I’ll quit blogging and just go around leaving comments for other people, because then I don’t have to think of as much stuff to say with my fingers. Usually, I’m pretty good at saying stuff with my middle finger, but my sign language skills are limited. What I’m trying to say, is that if you have word verification on your comments, you’ll most likely get no comment love from me (but I’ll still send you something through the air with my middle finger sign language.)

Also, if I’m not following your blog, it’s probably because you’re not funny, or because I’m lazy, or because you sneaked in here without my noticing. Possibly, all of the above. Still, let me know if I’m not, so I can secretly laugh at your patheticness start following you. In the legal way of course, because gas is too expensive for the other way.

Today is Friday, and it’s payday, and allowance day, and Free Taco night at Taco Bell. Trust me. Just ask for the “FREE” taco. If they say they don’t know what you are talking about, just tell them I said it’s on the house. If they lie and say there’s still no Free tacos, then punch them in the throat. When the police arrive, tell them you want to press charges because they didn’t give you a free taco. Are you seriously still reading this drivel? If you made it this far, shout 1, 2, 3 in my comments and then punch yourself in the earhole for being that gullible.

There have been some really funny news headlines recently. That’s all I have to say about that.

I am posting a MS Paint picture sometime this weekend. Make sure you check it out. It’s a work of art. It’s artwork. It’s rokwart. It’s warkrot. It’s karrotw. It’s arrowtk. It’s fun messing with spellcheck. (Ha,Ha, spellcheck spellchecked spellcheck! That’s Fantasmigorical!)

Basically, what I’m saying is, I’ve said nothing this entire post.

Don’t you feel better about yourself after knowing that.

Wednesday................Veterans Day

Happy Veterans Day!

Thanks to all veterans for your service.

Special Thanks to those guys still serving in harms way.

J.T., that means you, Bro!


Here's my Veterans Day Story:

(This may not be funny. It's more of a history. Feel free to skip it if you wish. I'm writing it more for myself than anything else.)

I enlisted in the Navy's Delayed Entry Program between my junior and senior year of High School. I knew my parents couldn't afford to send me to college, and since I had spent the majority of my school years screwing off, I wasn't exactly in line for a scholarship. I knew that I could go to school while in the service and they would pay for it. This was also right after the First Gulf War, and everybody was feeling all patriotic and gung-ho.
Me and my friend, J.T., decided to join up together. We had seen the movie Navy Seals, and decided that's what we were going to be. We enlisted in the Buddy Program, where they guarantee you stay together for Boot camp and A school. We took the ASVAB and qualified to choose whatever job we wanted. We decided on Corpsmen (medic) cause we were both interested in the medical field and it was also a "SEAL" rated job.
We spent our senior year pretty normal, except for the knowledge that we were leaving for the NAVY 3 days after graduation. We graduated, said our goodbyes and headed to MEPS for processing and shipping out. During refiling of our entrance paperwork, we were held up for a couple days. I had to get a waiver for a legal matter (consumption by a minor) and J.T. had to get a waiver for an old medical issue. My matter was cleared, J.T.'s wasn't. They made me ship out without him. (He was notified about 8 months later that he was clear to ship, but by then was enrolled in nursing school and refused since they had violated our original agreement. He later joined the Army National Guard, and is presently serving in Afghanistan.)
I boarded a plane for the first time in my life on June 9th 1993, and headed for RTC Great Lakes. After eight weeks and three days of boot camp, I finally got to come home for 2 weeks before returning to Great Lakes for Hospital Corpsmen A School. Corps School was 14 weeks of 8-hour days of extensive medical training. After completing 2 weeks of "clinicals" at the VA hospital in Chicago, we got to pick our first duty station based on our standing in the class. I had finished near the top, so I had my pick of pretty much anything. We were just happy to be able to choose, because the class behind us and the class ahead of us were all sent straight to FMSS/FMF to learn how to be Marine Corpsmen and then were being sent to Somalia or someplace. Anyway, I chose Naval Hospital Milington outside of Memphis, Tennessee. It was the closest thing to home on the Duty station board. And since I had met my soon-to-be-wife during my senior year, I wanted to stay close to home.
Millington had great weather compared to Indiana and Great Lakes, IL. I met a lot of good friends, did a lot of crazy stuff, and made memories that will last a lifetime. Some of which I'll probably blog about in the future. My wife (girlfriend at the time) even followed me to Memphis, after she graduated in 1994, and attended Rhodes College in Memphis for a year.
While in Millington, I spent 9 months working in a Pediatric Clinic, 6 months in a Family Practice Clinic, and 3 months in an Immunizations Clinic. Finally, the time came for me to pick my next duty station. I had my choice between the following: Overseas Hospital Duty Station, Shipboard Duty Station, Marine Detachment, or apply to a C school for advanced training. I applied and was accepted to Search & Rescue C School. This was in Pensacola, FL and ran by a mixture of Navy Seals and the Coast Guard. If you've seen the movie The Guardian, then you'll have some idea.
Anyway, around this time, my back problem showed up and I was given a Medical Discharge. I came home and started attending Ball State for Nursing and Pre-Med, using my GI Bill.



The End


P.S. Comments have been turned off to avoid any thanking me for my service crap.

Tuesdays Quickies...

I'm late. (TWSS x 4)





Speaking of...



After an exhaustive search for a qualified medical professional (actually I just polled friends on Facebook)......("polled friends" sounds dirty, I meant I questioned them)



*drumroll*



I have finally scheduled my appt for a Vasectomy! (pictures to follow)



Happy Anniversary Wifey!











I saw this online today...

That's right Ladies!

You no longer have to suffer penis envy!

You TOO can write your name in the snow!

Just buy this convenient snatch FUNNEL for your urinary pleasure!

WTF!

Found this awesome story on Yahoo Odd News:

LONDON (Reuters) – A British man on the run from police sent a picture of himself to his local paper because he disliked the mugshot they had printed of him as part of a public appeal to track him down.
South Wales Police had issued media with the photo of Matthew Maynard, wanted by officers investigating a house burglary, as part of a crackdown on crime in Swansea.
When it appeared in the South Wales Evening Post, the 23-year-old sent the newspaper a replacement photo of himself standing in front of a police van. They obligingly printed it on the front page.
The police thanked him for helping them in their appeal, saying: "Everyone in Swansea will know what he looks like now."

GENIUS!

Is this Future Darwin Award Nominee vain or just being overly helpful?

The more I read that story, the more I laughed.

Then I cried a little, because of what it says about our society.

Then, I mostly laughed again.

Just another fine example of the things I find amusing, and others don't.

The Wifey and I were scheduled to meet with our marriage counselor last night. (No, we aren't having "trouble". He started as my counselor cause I'm crazy but then decided I should start bringing the wife because he wanted a second opinion of my wackiness and wanted to see what a woman who would put up with me would actually look like.) (Plus, good relationships take work and threats of violence which my wife is very good at.)

Anyany,

We were supposed to go together, but we couldn't get a babysitter for the inmates, and my wife wanted to cancel because if we no show they charge $50 which is a lot of cheese and bread and the inmates would then starve.

I was feeling a little blue, aka depressed.

Not little AND blue, like a smurf.

So, I told the wife, I would just go alone, if she so granted permission.

She did.

When our counselor came to get us/me from the waiting room, he said, "Just you? Where's Liz?"

I said, " She left me! It's over dude!"

I thought it was funny.

Turns out I was the only one.

His reaction was more fear, panic, failure, and disbelief.

He eventually laughed, but only after correctly diagnosing my assholiness.

Monday Memoirs: My sweet new shorts

Travis says Mondays are for stories.

Here goes:

I take you back to the scene of one of my most traumatic social fashion fopas.
It was sixth grade year.
Bermuda shorts were all the rage.

Remember those?

Flowery beach shorts that went knee length.
In fact, on this particular day in question, everybody who was anybody (or just people who wanted to be SOMEBODY, like myself), were supposed to wear their Bermuda shorts to school.

Unfortunately, I didn’t own any Bermuda shorts. My parents weren’t rich enough to afford such luxuries.
It was considered a blessing, if I was able to have a new pair of Pro Wings for the first day of school.
This year, my Pro Wings were all black. (This was back when the only people besides Pro Basketball players wearing black shoes were policemen.)

However, my loving mother was sympathetic to my plight.
I had explained to her the absolute necessity for me to show up to school wearing said style shorts.
She found it in her heart to make a last minute dash to the store, in hopes of saving my social standing.

I am pretty sure she sold a kidney on the way, in order to get the funds.

Turns out, there had evidently been a rush on Bermuda shorts.
The store only had one style left. (NOW, the reason for this seems obvious).

She came back with her find, triumphant that the mission had been a success.
I, naively thankful just to have a pair of shorts to wear, never gave it much thought.
I proudly put on my new shorts, and headed off to school, sure I was destined to fit in.
My only concern was that they didn’t seem to go with my black shoes.

I have kindly taken the liberty…

**YES, VIRGINIA! THEY DID HAVE PURPLE AND WHITE VERTICAL STRIPES**

Immediately upon entering the building, I began getting heckled and harassed.

“Nice shorts, BOZO!”
“What are you wearing?”
“Where can I get some clown pants like that?”

I was devastated. I was a social pariah. I wanted to cry.

I had to make it stop!

One of my good friends, and one of the only people not making fun of me, let me borrow a pair of grey sweatpants he had in his locker.
Unfortunately, all this did was create a mystery for the kids who had heard about my shorts, but hadn’t seen them for themselves.

“What happen to yours shorts?”

“Why’d you change out of your clown pants?”

“Why are you wearing sweatpants that say 'Juicy' on the butt?”

Ok, that last one was a lie.

They didn’t have those back then.

But the shorts were real.

And they never saw the light of day again.

My mom’s poor kidney.

Friday.....My 100th Post....yay me

This is my 100th post.

Wow.

I don’t think I’ve ever lasted this long at anything!

I guess stamina increases with age.

Well, certain stamina, anyway.

Sorry honey!.......Perhaps I’ve said too much.

Seriously, a hundred of anything is good.

Be it a hundred dollars, or years of life, or dead lawyers terrorists, or puppies, or smiles.

Ok, maybe not everything.

Like if the hundred dollars was how much you lost on the World Series. Stupid Yankees!
Or, if the 100 years was actually a prison sentence.
Or, if the 100 dead terrorists were dead because they blew themselves up in crowded places and took a bunch of innocent people with them.
Or, if the puppies were all rabbinous like Cujo and wanted to gnaw on your Milkbone.

But surely 100 smiles would always be good.

Unless they’re plumbers crack smiles. Then they are only partially good.

What was I talking about originally? <----still thinking about plumbers butts

Oh yes, my 100th post.

I thought about doing a roast like Travis did.

But I’m too lazy for all that.

Besides, you guys always say mean things to me in the comments anyway. So what would be the difference? *cute pouty face*

I also thought, maybe I should just hang up my keyboard.
100 is a good enough number, maybe I should go out on top.

Just like Brett Favre or Michael Jordan.

I would hate to be one of those guys that stick around too long, like Bill Clinton or Mohammed.

Yeah, maybe I should just quit.

Okay, I’m past that already.

You all know my fondness for the word “Ditto”……If not, go there. I’ll wait……..
My buddy, Coffeypot, posted this funny pic the other day, which I am totally stealing, but since I’m giving him credit it’s okay, says me.

I am totally trying this Geniusness next year, even though my neighbors don’t put up lights.
Mine will have to say, “Ditto Over There Somewhere”, though.

I’m also thinking about doing the same with Christmas cards this year.
Every time I get one in the mail, I’ll open it and say “Aww, how nice!”
Then I’ll write “Ditto” inside and mail it back to them.

That’s recycling.

I’m just doing my part for the polar bears.

I might just reseal the envelope and write “Return to Sender” on the outside.
That saves stamps and ink and money and effort.

Recycle WIN!

TMI Thursday: NOT!

I don’t have a TMI post today.

Actually, I’ve got a doozy, but I’m saving it for when I hit 100 followers. (Which may be awhile since I just lost one yesterday)

Instead, I’ve decided to tell a story.

Enjoy…

(Some of this may be true, but I have no idea what as I’m just now writing it. Most will probably be lies though, since that is what I’m best at.)

Year: 1994

Age: 19 (1/2)

Location: Memphis, TN

My Status: Navy Hospital Corpsmen attached to Naval Hospital Millington

The story:

This is a story about me and my buddy, Todd. I had only been at Millington for about 6 months, and Todd worked with me in the Pediatrics Clinic. We spent our days taking care of military dependent children, and our nights partying. Usually at someone’s apartment.

I had figured out how to forge adjust my military I.D. so it said I was actually 23. See, it was the old type I.D., that was typed on a paper card with a picture attached and was then laminated. When they typed the 1974 for my date of birth, the crossbar of the four fell right on the line of the “date of birth” box. So it basically looked like 19711. I just took a ball point pen, connected the top & bottom lines of the four, and made it a zero. WALLA! 1970! However, I rarely needed this, as most places didn’t even check. If you showed them military I.D., they just waved you in, often without even paying the cover charge.

Todd was 22 and had just been through a messy divorce. He decided he wanted to go downtown to some clubs and celebrate. I had no car, so Todd drove. He had a sweet ride. It was a brand new Nissan 240z or something. Anyway, off we went.

We started at this place called Illusions. We drank. We danced. We had a good time. Eventually, we got bored and needed a change of scenery. Todd decided we should go to another club called 616. We stopped and got some beers for the road, since Tennessee didn’t have an open container law at the time. We started heading through downtown on US 40 (I think), when we realized we didn’t know how to get to 616.

I suggested we pull over to ask directions. (I know that sounds like a lie, since I’m a guy, but we were drunk, and therefore thinking reasonably.) About that same time, we are rapidly approaching a convenience store. I say rapidly, cause Todd was doing about 80 mph. Todd decided asking for directions was a good idea, but braking wasn’t.

As we were in the inside lane of the three, and the convenience store was on the right, he yanked hard on the wheel and cut across the other two lanes, ramped the curb, and came to a stop inches from the door. Thankful that we didn’t flipped and were still alive, I reached for the door handle, only to see flashing lights behind us.

Busted.

Cops approach on each side, guns drawn. Todd rolls down his window and says, “What’s the problem, Officers?”

The cops start laughing.

About that time, 2 more pull up. They ask us to step out. I put down my open 40oz, and slowly got out.

Evidently, they were training a rookie cop, because when they took Todd back behind the car to do a field sobriety test, the main cop kept telling the young one, “Watch his eyes. See how they move all jittery when trying to follow the light? That’s how you know when someone is fucked up.”

They did the walk the line, the alphabet forwards and backwards, and the stand on one leg with head back- arms out and alternately touching fingertips to nose tests. I was still standing beside the car with the cop that came to my side. He totally checked my Military I.D. and didn’t notice the fake.

Finally, they said this:

“Okay boys. We all know how much shit you guys will be in, if we take you in and report your arrest to the base. So here’s what we’re going to do. You see that Krystal’s next door? You’re going to go over there and fill your stomachs with those gutbombs and hope it absorbs the alcohol. (It was open all night) You stay there till you’re sober. If we see your car gone when we come back by, we’re putting out an APB. If we catch you on the road again tonight, you’re going to jail. Also, if you hit any of these police cars when pulling over there, you’re going to jail. Do you understand?”

We were like, “Yes Sir! Thank you very much!”

Todd carefully pulled over to Krystals, we went in, and ordered some sliders. The cops waited until we were seated in a booth, then they pulled out. After we ate, (about 5 minutes after the cops left)Todd said, “You ready?” I said, “Yeah, but we should probably skip 616 and just head back to base.”

That’s exactly what we did.

I’ll be back tomorrow with something funny.

Wednesday......WYR & Whatnot

Would You Rather:

Have the opportunity to interview Jesus?

OR

Have the opportunity to interview Hitler?

Things to consider:

Are you Jewish?

Are you a Christian?

Given their current status, you most likely would have to die to do the interview.

Given their current permanent locations, one interview setting might be significantly more comfortable than the other.

Also, regardless of who you choose, what would be the first question you would ask?

Whatnot:

I found this odd pic of Hillary.

Damn, that’s a sexy man woman.

I’m trying to figure something out though.

Is she endorsing Subway’s $5 footlong campaign?

Or is she explaining to the press what Michelle Obama finds so attractive about our President?

Our dog threw up in the kitchen last night, while we were making dinner. I had given her a piece of hotdog that fell on the floor. Mixed in with the pile of Purina vomit, was the completely un-chewed piece of Hot Dog, which the 10 yr old asked if HE could have. The wife thought it not wise to let the 10 yr old have a freshly upchucked piece of hotdog. I just assumed it was because dinner was almost ready and she didn’t want to fill him up.

I’m still not sure why the dog threw up. Did she choke on the hotdog? Was the hotdog bad? I hope not, because we ate them. Maybe she ate her dog food too fast, which happens. She had been to the vet earlier, maybe it was something she picked up there. You know, besides fleas.

Speaking of the vet, I noticed on the Heartworm Pill box it says, “Federal Law prohibits dispensing without prescription from licensed veterinarian.” Is that really necessary? Seriously. These aren’t Vicodin! Are people illegally preventing their animals from heartworm infection and death? Is that really the most important issue in our country? Maybe heartworm meds contain something important that the methheads could use to make illicit drugs, if ONLY they had easier access.

Regardless, I cleaned up the puke, which normally is part of the wife’s assigned tasks. I’m a good husband though. Plus, there’s the whole upcoming anniversary and all. I will say, the vomit was very warm and squishy. But it tasted alright to me.

Tuesday Quickies

My anniversary is coming up.

It will be 13 years of slow death marital bliss on the 8th of November. (I’m writing this to remind myself)

I’ve been trying to think of what to get my wife.

She deserves some kind of medal.

Unfortunately, I don’t have much money to spend.

See, I’m on an allowance of $20 a week.After beer hookers Juggs Magazine Subscription heroin church tithes necessities, there just isn’t much left.

I thought about just making her a medal out of one of my leftover Chuck-E-Cheese tokens.

Then, I realized, she already has ME!

What more could a girl need?

What else could I possibly get the woman who has everything?

*She used to drop hints….like……”I hate you”…..or …..”I want a Divorce”…..or……”I wish you were dead”…………or…………”How about taking a bath once in awhile?”

I know all that is just her way of saying “I love you”.

Yep. I married the love of my life.

It’s just like O.J. said to Nicole, “Does this feel sharp?”


*I’m totally joking. She never said the first 3 of those quotes(to my face). The last quote is a daily anthem.*



My youngest son wrote out a “to-do-list”.

Whatever that is.

He’s 5.

It had about 20 things on it.

“Die” was in the middle of the list.

I’m not a “list” expert, but his order seemed a little odd.

He did have death listed before “get married” and “have kids”, so maybe he knows something I don’t.


My oldest son, 10 going on 16, had some artwork chosen for a PTO fundraiser.

They put the kids’ artwork on T-shirts, coffee mugs, calendars, and other overpriced junk in hopes that parents will snatch it up like fake green cards at the border.

Originally, he drew a sweet red sun.

It had a skeleton.

Because everybody knows stellar giants are nothing without a good skeletal support system.

Unfortunately, the art teacher felt it was a little too Columbine, and asked him to redo it.

He drew an ocean scene instead.

It’s cool.

But I had my heart set on a red sun skeleton T-shirt.

Monday Memiors: Fun with dirt bikes...

Travis likes his stories, so here’s another.

Remember I told you about my dirt bikes. If not, go here.

Remember I told you about my neighbor/skating partner? If not, go here.

Okay, well….that same neighbor had a dirt bike also. We used to ride them in this field next to my house.

I’ve included this custom area map for your viewing pleasure. (circa my childhood)

When they were building this subdivision, the genius contractors were just going along, throwing up ranch style houses flippity-flap, when lo & behold, they hit a gas main. Well, this caused their development plans to stop at my house. What was left was a big empty field with the hole for a foundation next door.

Jump to dirt bike days…

We had worn this little dirt bike course through the field.

It started out with a long straightaway, then a series of corners, followed by another straightaway into the foundation, and finished with a jump exiting the foundation and landing in my side yard.

We must have done this a hundred times, for several weeks.

However….

One day, my neighbor gets a little extra speed and air…lands on his back tire…and rides a wheelie into the side of our house.

Thankfully he wasn’t hurt, but the same could not be said for the aluminum siding.

It was hilarious.

Unfortunately, his parents made him pay for the damages out of his McDonald’s paycheck.

He didn’t ride much after that.

Months pass…

Guess what!

I’m flying through the dirt bike course. It’s a new record time. By that, I mean….I was an idiot.
I come out of the foundation like Evil Knievel jumping Snake River Canyon.
I landed about 10 ft from the side of the house…..on my back tire…..with me dangling off the back barely clinging to the handlebars.
I had no way of backing off the throttle without letting go.
Dad had to fix the siding that time, since I was too young to have a job.
I did get grounded from the bike for awhile though, plus a really nice burn on my leg from the exhaust.

When I finally got back on the bike, I took it easy through that foundation.

Here's a bonus story:

I almost killed myself in the corn field across the street.

They had harvested the corn and I was flying through there about 50 mph when I hit a HUGE dirt clump.
The bike came to a complete stop.
I didn’t.
I instantly achieved what the Wright Brothers failed for years to do.

I didn’t even need a plane.

I flew like superman for what seemed like either 100 yards or 5 minutes.

There’s still some debate between my head and my ass.

Regardless, by landing was a graceful head plant. By head plant, I mean my helmet landed first, sunk in the dirt, and my body momentarily stuck straight up like a corn stalk, then fell over.

I lay there for an hour, believing I was either dead, or paralyzed, or both.

Good Times.

I miss that dirt bike. Maybe I should get the boys one.

Saturday....Halloween!

As promised, here are the costumes I made for the boys. First, an explanation. It was not my original intention to "make" costumes. The wife had "bought" costumes for the boys at the Dollar store. These included a helmet, shield, chest plate, tiny machine guns, and some glow wear. She had figured she could create some kind of costume out of this arrangement. Turns out, the helmets were evidently made to fit a doll's head. Either that, or the Chinese people making them have tiny perfectly round heads. Regardless, they wouldn't fit the boys.
So, I started by just trying to make them fit, which included cutting the back half off and expanding it with duck tape. (Red Green is my hero!) Still, the helmets only covered their scalp and eyes. Next thing I know, I'm adding aluminum foil sandwiched between clear box tape to cover the face. The boys where so happy with that, they encouraged me to continue. I started crafting pants out of alternating strips of Aluminum foil and duct tape. Then added some electrical tape to the back for the "flexible" look. Eventually, everything was covered with clear box tape.
The oldest decided he wanted a "jetpack". I took the shield my wife bought, turned it upside down and added 3 Toilet paper rolls covered in aluminum foil, some red foil for a flaming effect, and clear tape; then fastened the shield to the chest plate with foil shoulder straps. The youngest decided he DIDN'T want a jetpack, which I think is saying something.
After putting everything on, I saw the need for accessories and made the arm bands and waist protectors/belts. More aluminum foil sandwiched between clear tape.
The boys loved them. They wore them on at least 3 different occasions (which meant constant repairs.) I probably spent enough on tape and foil to buy a couple of costumes. They did win $25 in a costume contest, but unfortunately the wife wouldn't let me subtract my labor and material cost from that. Greedy little ingrates split their winnings and bought Webkins animals and Chaotic cards.

Here's the pics. I present the "Star Wars Assassins" or "RoboTroopers", or whatever else they told people they were, which changed each time.


Shiny, eh?