Hardcore Fantasy

So,, I am playing the top seed in fantasy this week in the playoffs. Well yesterday, Frank Gore went nuts and I still have either McGahee or Cadillac for the weekend. My question is this, "With the both of the Bears starting DT's out should I start Cadillac over Willis? Jeff, your answer will be ignored.

Was Nixon really all that bad? Pt. 2

So he secretly bombed Cambodia. That seems to be miniscule compared to what Cambodians do to other Cambodians. I am pretty sick, but even this is just wrong. How much do you think tickets were? I bet they were cheaper than going to the movies in America and you could still buy popcorn. On that note, was the Khmer Rouge even this bad?

CAKEWALK!

ACC rolled the Not so Big Ten...again. Even in the games the ACC lost, the Big Ten got embarrassed.

Chuck Amato No!

So, all the boo birds and typical North Carolina fickle fans got their way last night. Chuck Amato is fired. I have mixed feelings about the whole sitch. On one hand we potentially have an amazing team next season. We were young this season and no one really stepped up as a playmaker. I have a sneaking feeling that whoever NC State gets is going to go 7-4 next year and everyone will start to suck the stuff in their underpants zone. Saying things like, "See, Amato couldn't do it." I am 70% certain he could've done it. Then, the aforementioned fictional coach will go 6-5 and 5-6 and the whole damn thing will start over again.
Then again, this season was an all out embarrassment. The final loss to ECU was painful to sit through. We finished below UNC (they get the tie-break) and everyone knows that team was horrible. I actually got in a argument with some Anti-Amato douche at the end of the ECU game. My main argument is, "Who you gonna get?"

Monday Nitro Football

I wonder if ESPN will take a queue from NBC and do what people have been telling them to do and don't set the MNF schedule in stone at the end of the last season. Tonight is an awesome example of two reams not living up to anyone's expectations. 3rd and 4th in the NFC South does not a MNF game make. I love my Buccaneers, but the whole of the US of A does not have such a die hard love for the sole NFC Super Bowl Champions of the millennium. Have you seen what closes out the MNF season? Jets v. Miami! Wow, that will keep me from watching "Scrooged" or "KISS Saves Christmas"...NOT!

3000 in his post today brought up drafting as a head coach. As much as Gruden hates to develop young players (see the 2002 Oakland Raiders), he has put together some great draft classes in the past three years. We'll be 9-7 next year, and in the NFC South, that could win the division. Drew Brees is going to lose his arm. You read it here 1st, people.

Wii.T.F.!

So I am at the mall today. Typical Monday, just leafing through the new cargo shorts at Ambercrombie and Fitch. (BTW Why do they have to play that music so damn loud?) Then, I find myself at any of the 3 video game stores at the mall. I see a box for the new Nintendo Wii. Brand new it is $249. So, my Scottish heritage likes that. It doesn't have any really crazy bells and whistles, no DVD or Bluevein or whatever 3000 keeps rambling on about. What it does have is probably easily the most asinine controller design in the world. It's called the nunchuck and I am willing to bet dollars to donuts, if I buy this thing (which I won't) that it will wind up being smashed into a million pieces on my wall. PLEASE NERDS! Tell me what is up with this thing. I need to know.

1985

There has been a lot of talk about this season's Bears compared to the 1985 Monsters of the Midway. No one wants to admit that this season Bears might be better than the 1985 Chicago Bears. I'll admit that this season's Bears looks real good, but it is week 5. Let's not jump the gun just yet. 1985 was the first year I actually could consciously know that I started watching football. I was living in Indiana and because the Colts sucked and really had only been in Indianapolis for a short time I naturally was more drawn to the Bears. Chicago was my birth city and it was only 2 hours away from where I was. This is how little kids choose teams to root for. I made the big switch the day Tecmo Super Bowl came out and I got 6 sack with Eugene Marve. I have never looked back. What always stuck out was that sweater Ditka wore on the sidelines during that season. It was dressy, yet it screamed, "Oh we gonna make this happen!" at the same time. Well, last night I got my close-out special edition Eastbay catalog and bought this lil' beauty of less than $10. I am gonna look so classy at the Upper Deck this Sunday. I can't wait.

33!

Look who is number 33! Look out Wake!

T.O. is O.K.

So, it is official. As of 4:24 pm yesterday, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers are on the clock. The worst part about the 24-21 loss to the Saints yesterday was that the offense for the Bucs looked really good. Gradkowski looked really good. He didn't screw up and Williams rushed for over 100 for the first time all year. Gradkowski is the QB that Gruden really wanted to run with the start the year anyway, so Simms might have to a clipboard to help him cover up that scar where his spleen used to be and the big bruise over his giant ego.
The defense looked old. Real old. I had not seen that many missed tackles and miscues for that defense since the 14 point Colts comeback in 2003. Oh and what cost us the game? A punt return by Reggie Bush for his 1st NFL TD. I mean, he didn't even have to make a move. How many game are we going to have to lose because we have awful special teams before someone finally fires Richard Bisaccia. He has no idea what he is doing or even worse how he is doing it.
With that game over I turned to the game of the week, Eagle v. Cowboys. It actually was a good game. Eagles defense looked scary. Their offense, however, was less than outstanding. What pissed me off (this is what you were all waiting for) was the way the annoucers kept try to put blame on T. O. for the woeful Cowboys offense. Um, no. One, I would never be coming to the defense of T.O. ever again, but no! The Cowboys have an old fart at QB. Just like they did last year. And the year before that. Oh, and the year before that. They haven't infused any youth at the QB position since they dropped a coked-up Quincy Carter quite some time ago. Drew Bledsoe, like a certain other someone in a certain town that rhymes with Green Gay, is done. He threw some balls that would make Chris Simms say, "Wow, that was a really poorly thrown ball." On what seemed like his 9th INT of the game, T.O. game off the line at 3/4 speed go past Lito Shepard and went to full speed. He was open by about 5 yards. Bledsoe threw it 5 yards short of T.O. It was horrible. Aikman starts in on T.O. for not coming of the line at full speed. Huh? He got open in a sea of 3 DB's, who cares how fast he came off the line? Just get the ball to him and that was a TD. Leave T.O. alone and start picking on Bledsoe. Wow, did I just say that?

London Blog

I know I have been bad on the blogging tip. I need to sit down and get my proverbial sheet together. So, until I can start posting my old school witt, here is an awesome story by my man, C. Monks.

Tommy Lawless...

...once said, "A fetish ain't a fetish if you do it everyday." These are words to live by, but Cousin Larry, this is ridiculous.

Tommy Lawless...

...once said, "A fetish ain't a fetish if you do it everyday." I am sure those are words to live by, but, Cousin Larry, this is ridiculous.

Bung?

I am not sure what a 'bung probe' is, but it is going to rock more that soccer.

Rights and Wrongs

I think it it might be time for us, as a nation, to look ourselves. We have gotten too loose with our rights. I mean, think about it. Sure we have the right to free speech. But is it right to yell "FIRE!" at a crowded book burning?

Summer Days

Jesus, Mary and The Spook! Has it really been over two weeks since last I posted? I apologize I have been really busy, and by busy I mean lazy. Today marks the start of school and the non-equinoxal end of summer. I have to say this has been a pretty awesome summer. I deserve it. I do! Over the past five summers I have been shit on. In fact, one of these summer I believe I was literally shat on. (Damned two-storied outhouse!) This one was really fantastic. Let me list, because I am lazy, the ways this summer rocked:

1. Made a bunch of new and really great friends. I haven't done that since I moved to Chapel Hill in 1988 and rolled with my neighborhood crew, "The BMX Boys". I am sure if we ever hang outside the 'sphere you all will like them.
2. Found old friends. Thanks myspace.
3. I never went broke all summer long. I know money doesn't equal happiness, but it sure as shit helps.
4. Passed two summer session classes leaving me with only three classes until GRADUATION! WHAT! I am shaking at the thought of it. All my classes I was in today, I just kept thinking, "This is the last sylabus I will have to look at." Oh, and the party will be off the meat rack.
5. Visited places I have never even thought I'd go to. Chicago (the return of an old standard), Milwaukee (There is a whole other post on that one coming) Dover, NH, and Kennebunkport. All were pretty cool in there own way.
6. I won the Best Radio DJ in the Triangle by the readers of Independent Weekly. I have never been more excited in my life. I still can't believe it.

I am sure if the Yankees don't make the World Series again this year, this will be the best summer in recent memory.

How's your Tuesday, Matt?

Better now? Good.

Tipping, China

So after my kickball game the other night, "Free Action" went out for a drink. "Free Action" is my kickball team. We went to Sammy's in Mission Valley and got a couple of drinks. There were Bud Light girls giving out freebies so I got two from them, and I got two beers from our waitress. Then, it is bill time. I get mine, and it is $5.00. I usually pay in cash, but everyone else was going credit card crazy! I give the girl a $10 and expect 5 one-dollar bills when she gets back. What happens next is I get 3 one-dollar bills. Gigga what? She took it upon herself to take a tip out of my change.

I am an excellent tipper...now. If the service was good (it wasn't), then I tip well. If the waitress is dressed skanky (she was), the I tip well. She was looking at getting $4 on a $5 tab, intead she took what she wanted and got no more from Rochester. She played herself. I think the rest of the table would not have been so lenient on tipping. Why did she assume she had to take her cut before I could do so? I mean, your belly ring and pubic bone are popping out in front of my face, you switch the WSOP (the worst thing on TV) off to a baseball game, and I kept saying thank you and making eye contact with you when you came over to our table. Where, I ask, where does she get off doing that?

My Ratings System

At WKNC, we have no real way of knowing how many people are listening. What we do have is a web listeners counter. Last week, I hit my all time high of 118. Not so much this week, but still kind of cool to look at my peaks and valleys.

Annie & Truck!

I am pretty sure, this link means you owe me a beer!

The Break-Up

So, J-Mo broke up with his girlfriend of about a year two month ago. I don't know the circumstances, but I do know she took it kind of rough. She really kind of went crazy. It started with an e-mail sent to all the people she had addresses for:

FYI: J-M0 pulled the plug. He didn't even have the courage to tell
me in person. Just when you think you know someone.

This was just step one. Following that she started calling people. I am talking random people. She called his Mom. She called one of his female friends and accused her of causing the split. This female friend has a boyfriend of her own for roughly a year and J-Mo finds her a bit annoying from time to time. So, that was nuts. Then she called me one Sunday morning. As anyone who has hung-out with me on Saturdays would know, I don't do Sunday mornings. It was not a fun or productive phone conversation. And the worst part is it was the house phone. So, I couldn't even do the whole "cell phone breaking up" dealy. Truly horrible. She started text messaging friends and acting like she thought it was sent to someone else. Then, when that failed she satrted e-mailing J-Mo pictures of her with other dudes. Ladies, help me understand this one. Why would a guy who broke up with you care if you are out with another man? I would think they would encourage it. The most recent one was my personal favorite. (BTW J-Mo send the e-mails and photos to all his buddies and it kind of becomes a fun caption righting contest.)
The e-mail for this (image 8) simply said "Dr. McDreamy and I at the Blue Martini". Now, none of us watch "Grey's Anatomy", so the reference was lost on us. My sister had to clearify what the hell she was talking about. We are taking bets on how long it'll be until she send J-Mo a grainy green video ala Paris Hilton.

Good Morning!

For no reason at all, a man being eaten by a giant snake. Have a nice day!

Wordplay

I was at one of nine jobs of Saturday. It is one of those jobs that requires you to look at girls in the parking lot and follow it up with an uncomfortable comment. I had a great zinger. Two girls were walking into the hardware store. My co-worker wonder why they were not coming into our store. I said, "Yeah, forget the hardware store. They should come over here to the semi-hardware store."

Delicious.

Everyone is doing it...

...they let anyone on MySpace. ANYONE!

There's a New Hampshire now?

My sister is up in New Hampshire for a month long training session for her work. She decided to save a little money and moved into a creepy old boarding house for the month. I helped her get there. It has 15 rooms and two of them are occupied by Angel, a large lesbian, and Sylvia, a 50 year old "shut in". My sister sent me a message today talking about her experiences with her "housemates".

1. Have yet to see Sylvia out of her plaid bathroom.
2. Yesterday a freshly baked, home made cherry pie was cooling on the kitchen table, later that night, said pie pan was awaiting a scrub down in the sink. Contents still missing.
3. Four, yes FOUR, empty Lean Cuisine Meatloaf boxes were discarded in the kitchen trash.
4. Both the tiny showers don't have enough room for me to get the soap off of my rear end which constantly leaves me scratching my head in wonder as to HOW in the world my "robust" housemate cleans herself.
More notes from New Hampshire to follow.

Fun With J-Biz's Wife

It sounds dirtier than it really is. I call over to J-Biz's house yesterday because I wanted to remind him of the Sade cover band that is going to be at King's this Saturday. He had mentioned he wanted to go bowling, but I mean come on. Sade cover band! When do you ever hear about that. Well, J-Biz's old lady is trying to set me up with one of her acquaintances. She has a need to pair up everything. That's why they have two dogs, a salt AND pepper shaker and they sleep in twin beds like Rob & Laura Petrie. So this is the phone conversation that occurred:

• ROCHESTER: She got a big booty?
• J-BIZ'S WIFE: Um, sure.
• ROCHESTER: Yeah, I'll give her a call then.
• J-BIZ'S WIFE: Are you seeing someone?
• ROCHESTER: No.
• J-BIZ'S WIFE: John said you were seeing some girl a couple of weekends ago.
• ROCHESTER: What?
• J-BIZ'S WIFE: He said you were seeing some girl like two Saturdays ago.
• ROCHESTER: Oh! (laughs) No! No! I saw that girl on a Saturday night. I am not currently seeing her, consistently.
• J-BIZ'S WIFE: (laughs) Oh my!
• ROCHESTER: Indeed.
• J-BIZ'S WIFE: I see.
• ROCHESTER: I hope you do. For J-Biz's sake.

Stolen myspace Comment

This made me laugh...HARDCORE:

I almost called you from my brother's apartment when I picked up Zoe b/c Selena told me that someone IMed her and said that Fred Durst died. And my response you ask?!? "Did he die from being a douche?"

Not So Weekend..

Truck isn't the only one who can sum up her weekend on her blog. I will refrain from doing it in the third person, because that is Vallario ridiculous.

FRIDAY: Did a hot ass radio show. Got my Best DJ plaque. Worked until 10:30. Drank a lot of beer and played Table Tennis on J-Mo's new X-Box 360 until 4:30 in the morning. That game is addictive. I don't know why.
SATURDAY: Woke up hella early for no good reason. Realized by gaming thumb was red and sore. Couldn't use the TV remote with it, so I went lefty. There is something unholy about that. Worked at until 7:30 and met up with the Crue (aka Matt, 3000, J-Mo, and J-Biz). J-Biz rarely goes out drinking in Rally, but when he does we always go to the exact same Irish bar. I gave him a guarantee that we would not go there this time. Then, this girl wanted to meet up with J-Mo and she was all (yeah I did that), "We are at the Irish bar J-Biz doesn't want to go to. Come meet us." I stuck close to my guns and we went to Bates Battaglia's bar. There are always plenty of hot and/or skanky girls there, so it won. One drink turned into two. And two turned in to too many. All I know is, I stayed up waaaaay too late again. I was out of popcorn and I never made it to the bible reading I was supposed to do.
SUNDAY: Woke up early for no good reason , again. Got a phone call from Rev. Fotopolis wondering why I missed bible reading. I told him, I was worshiping Shiva now and hung up him. I made the couch my home and watch soccer all day. Best part about the World Cup? No more filthy Dutchmen in it. Thanks Portugal! Went to work, thus marking my 24th straight day of work with out a day off. God, do I love being American or what. Fucking Europeans get like 3 months off a year! Got off of work and caught The Venture Brothers season premiere. It was awesome. Fell asleep during the credits and dreamed about blogging this.

Scientology Works!

David Feherty, an recovering alcoholic golf analyst who is also being treated for depression, had this to say about the ethos that is Dianetics:

Tom Cruise says there's no such thing as depression, that you can get better with physical exercise. Well, he's right-beating the shit out of Tom Cruise would be physical all right, and it would cheer me up.

I am all that is MAN!

The readers have spoken! And they said that Rochester is the best fucking DJ in the Triangle. Thanks to all who voted. Thanks to all those who voted twice (Mom). I am so high off of this right now. This is way better than the sticky-icky (Truck). This too awesome!

Hmmmm...

...this is not such a bad idea. I mean, he won back-to-back-to-back AAU National Championships. I know Fred McGriff gives it his full endorsement. This is an idea that gets results!

What..

..the fuck!

Depressing...

So I am on mySpace looking up people, who don't want to be looked up and adding them to my friends list, because we never really were friends to start with, and I accidentally hit on my page to add myself as a friend. This message pops up:

• "You cannot add yourself as a friend."

Ouch. That is kind of harsh. I think the people at mySpace need to look at themselves before they start looking at others. You have to love yourself, before you love others. Am I right? Hey, Tons-of-Fun, where are you on this whole mySpace sphere, too. This is the kind of shit you were made for.

This happened in my world...

Gay-O-Meter

I am 23% gay, or 77% straight. I think it was the shaving my head, and trimming my pubic hair questions that did me in. You try! Tons-a-fun? I am betting 42% queer.

The Hardest Candy

So, I have been on this big horror/thriller movie kick. I was working on Sat. and the girl who works at the cinema around the corner said people were coming out of "Hard Candy" in shock. Naturally, I make it my priority to see it the next day. I don't want to spoil the movie for you. I'll just give you the plot liner:

• "A mature 14-year old girl goes to the home of a charming 32-year old photographer she met on the Internet in attempt to expose whom she suspects is a pedophile."

The Independent gave it one star, so it got a lot of street cred with me. However, I can honestly say it was one of the more fucked up movies I have seen in the past decade. It was a real head screw. There are no heroes in this one. This is a difficult concept to get behind. I didn't realize just how much I hated the two main characters. When I went to imdb.com to find out more about the film and it's staff, I looked at publicity photos of the crew. I got very uncomfortable seeing the two characters off the screen. The story line was just that fucked up. You can look at the stills of that film and think you would know the story, but you have no idea. Oh, BTW, I really liked it.

The 5 of May!

WOOOH! School's out for summer! Three whole months of daytime TV and Spaghetti-O's. I am exactly 20 minutes away from putting on a sombrero and getting loaded on my side porch. Cinco de Mayo is a special holiday. Exactly, four days after the Hispanics pissed of America, we are willing to look the other way and get drunk. Why? Because on this day 144 years ago, 5,000 ill-equiped Mexican Natives beat the shit out of the French. We can look past the whole open borders thing. The Alamo. That whole "Zimmerman Compromise", because as Americans we love it when the French get dropped. So, open and beer, pour a little on the curb, and thank God that General Ignacio Zaragoza did his damn thang on Napoleon III. Napoleon III? That is like Gallagher & Gallahger II. Same act, and just as bad.

There is Melissa Starks...

...One, I was wondering were my favorite sideline reporter is working nowadays. She is too hot not to be on TV. Two, this is some funny ass shit. I can almost here Bob Saget in the background.

Kitten Caboodle

This is my final story for my fiction workshop. Enjoy, you cat loving freaks:

The tiny gray striped kitten raised his haunches and lowered his head, deep into the cedar chips. He was completely hidden except for his tail, which was now undulating in anticipation. Meanwhile on the other side of the pen, a black kitten sat calmly, unsuspecting. The gray kitten dropped his haunces down and then, in a burst of cedar chips the gray kitten knocked the black one over on his back. They wrestled and tussled, tossing more cedar chips up in the air.

“Oh, that is adorable!” cooed Jenn as she stared into the pet shop window.

“That fucker’s a bully,” sniped Kent.

“Let’s get one!”

“Cats are stupid.”

“What’s that based on?”

Kent pushed Jenn away from the window in a failed attempt to end the conversation. He had her halfway down the mall, just paces away from the Orange Julius stand, when she broke the hush. “We always do something you want to do. Why don’t we ever do what I want to do?”

“We never do what I want. I wanted to sit around the apartment in our sweatsuits and watch TV. Maximum Overdrive was on TBS, for Christ’s sake!”

“One, I don’t like how you get after Maximum Overdrive. Two, your Uncle Lomas took in all those kittens and he seems to be so happy.”

“Yeah, we should buy him another calendar. ‘Member the one we got him last year? The one with all those kittens dressed up like movie stars from the olden days?”

“I always laughed at the Casablanca one.”

“Those cats have been a godsend since my Grandmama died.”

“Here looking at you, kid.”

#

Lomas stared at the Jenn and Kent’s Christmas present. The kitten dressed like Humphrey Bogart was not funny to him anymore. Lomas’s bloodshot eyes wanted to tear up. He wished he could cry, but he could not show weakness. He took a bright red marker and crossed off the day of the week on the calendar. It was now the thirty-second day since the incident. The calendar didn’t lie. He slowly made his way to the kitchen. He needed to make his safety beverage. The mixture of Coca-Cola and coffee gave him the needed calories and caffeine to stay alert for another day. As Mr. Coffee blinked to signal the mix was ready, Mr. Whiskers rubbed up against Lomas’s leg. The feeling of the fur made Lomas jump. If his drink didn’t wake him up, then that did.

Mr. Whiskers was one of the five kittens Lomas had received from his neighbor, Ms. Natas. When Ms. Natas died three years ago the Linden Humane Society wanted to put them all up for adoption. Lomas wouldn’t hear of it. He had the room since his mother died. He had since turned her old bedroom into a small office. He wanted the company while he typed his letters up to various periodicals. So, he took them in and raised them as if they were his own. Mr. Whiskers was a black Korat with violent green eyes, at that time, the favorite of the pride to Lomas. Along with Mr. Whiskers, there was Fluffy, a white Birman, Princess, a mix-coated Ragdoll, Smoky, a British Blue, and Chairman Meow, a lean Siamese. That became the pride.

Lomas enjoyed the company in the house. He had come to love the purr of the kittens as they napped in the loose folds of his pajamas at night. He loved to tease Mr. Whiskers with a feather on a string. He became aquatinted with sharing his bed a night with all of the kittens. Mr. Whiskers made his home at Lomas’s feet, in charge of keeping them warm. It was a big responsibility.

In response to their company, Lomas tried to set his humble home up a feline’s heaven. It was a tiny two-bedroom mass-produced baby boomer house built in the 1940’s. His mother and father raised Lomas and his brother here. There was never enough room when they were all around, but now they were all gone. He never bought Meow Mix, only Fancy Feast. He bought a huge carpet house for the cats to play in. He scooped their crap out of their litter box within moments of its creation. He used to have a cat door on the back of the house, too. The cats enjoyed free reign over the backyard, completely safe from pit bulls and rolling SUVs, but Lomas closed the cat door when his bird feeder became a sacrificial altar. He couldn’t bear to see Chairman Meow or Smoky bring in anymore chickadees or titmice. They would lay the birds, and sometimes the odd chipmunk, at the foot of his Lazy Boy while Lomas was watching Mets games, and back away with a meow.

Things had started off so much better than they were going to end. When Lomas would type his letters to magazines, Mr. Whiskers would put his paw over this right hand, forcing him to type the rest of the letters out lefty. It took a bit longer, but Lomas enjoyed the company. He felt it was Mr. Whiskers way of saying he enjoyed spending time with him, too. That is how animals communicate with their masters. The message was sent to Lomas that one evening, thirty-one days before. Lomas awoke in his bed to find Mr. Whiskers at his feet, but he was not asleep or covering them from the cold. Instead, Mr. Whiskers sat on Lomas’s shins. Lomas was not absolutely certain, but was relatively sure, that Mr. Whiskers nodded his head, and with that Princess, Smoky, Fluffy and Chairman Meow encircled Lomas’s head. Lomas sat up and the cats scattered. It proved to be a test run. For the next night, the pressure of four tiny paws on his face, two on his lips and two over his nose, awoke Lomas. He could not breathe. He tried to sit up, but Mr. Whiskers was lying across his chest. He flailed his arms and luckily knocked Mr. Whiskers off, at which point, he ran for the bathroom. He slept on the bathroom floor that night, only to awaken to a tabby-colored nightmare.

He made his way out of the bathroom, assured that the events of the evening were just a misunderstanding. He walked into his office and sat down to type a letter to Consumer Reports. There wasn’t a cat in sight. He shrugged off the evening’s indiscretions. His pride would never kill him, he thought. He was pater familius, the great maned lion on the open savannas. He was the one they brought their kills back to. He was their leader, their George W. Bush.

At that moment, as he took his first steps down to the main floor, a claw flung up from the shag and clipped his toe. He lost balance and spun around backwards. As he slipped down past the first step he saw the slant-eyes of Chairman Meow staring back at him. His head hit the next step and Smoky scrapped at Lomas’s foot again. He slid for two more steps, but stopped when his hand grabbed the banister. He tried to regain his breath and get his bearings, but there was no time. Princess was dug into the top of the banister and with her free paw scratched at his hand. Lomas slid down the stairs to the floor. His head was banged up, his back was bruised, but he was alive. He wanted to pass out on the floor, but the trio of assassins were making their way down the stairs. He stood up quickly and made his way towards the front door, where he was met by Fluffy. Fluffy was lying on his back in the morning sun, purring in the warmth. Lomas backed away and was met by the Staircase Three. They paced in a figure eight around his pajama legs, purring unnaturally loud. He slowly crept his way to the back door. Leaning against the door was Mr. Whiskers. Whiskers shot his verdant eyes towards Lomas, who nervously spoke to them, “Youse guys hungry? Ya want some Fancy Feast? Beef liver? Poultry Surprise?” All five cats did the figure eight, as Lomas dumped out their food.

That was almost a month ago. In the thirty days since, Lomas had not gone up those steps. It was not worth the risk. He took to living downstairs, if one could call sleeping an hour a day in a Lazy Boy living. Because the shower and all his clothes were upstairs, Lomas took to washing in the half bath under the stairs. He never had a proper shower. The term for what he did was a “whore’s bath,” when one washes the face and ass, and always in that order. His red and white striped pajama bottoms became yellow and a bastardized faded pink. One, on account of the lack of brushing, and two, from the gallon or so of cola and coffee mix he drank a day, his teeth had become brown. He had grown a thick black beard. Which was good, because the lack of sleep, sunlight, and vitamins had given his skin the yellow glow of jaundice. The beard covered it to an extent. However, the beard and his hair need a good shampooing, but all they were getting was hand soaps from the half bath, and dish soap when that ran out.

The house had run out of food on Day 20 of the siege, and Lomas had taken to eating the left over dry Meow Mix that the pride turned its nose up to so many years ago. The litter boxes under the windowsill were still automatically cleaned. Only now it was a chore dictated by the cats themselves. When one coiled a fresh one into the box, it did not take the cat long to scratch and hiss at Lomas to get to scooping. Mr. Whiskers and Fluffy had secured the perimeter on Day 1, so the windows were not to be opened. Lomas found this out the hard way one fateful evening. After a handful of days, Lomas figured that if he just overfed the cats they would get sleepy. He gave them a tin and a half of Fancy Feast, instead of their normal tin sized portions. His idea worked like a charm. The cats all took lengthy naps as soon as the sun set. Lomas took the opportunity to sneak past the usually alert Fluffy and open the front door. He was tiptoeing out the front door when his big toe touched it. There beneath the little piggy that went to market was a dead blue jay. It was just one of hundred of dead animals that littered his front stoop. There were chickadees, sparrows, squirrels, and even a dead Chihuahua. Stumbling back towards the open door, Lomas looked out over his front lawn. All he saw was dozens of set of eyes shining back at him. He recognized them, cats’ eyes. The sheer numbers of cats on the outside amazed Lomas. He slammed the door closed; waking the cats from their naps. Smoky darted for Lomas and started the figure eight. Lomas agreed with Bob Barker. “Spay them. Spay them all! Let God sort them out,” he thought.

With the windows and door locked, the ammonia in the kitty litter had started to stain the walls a dull green. The air was thick with their stink and the floor was covered in a layer of their fur. The phone was guarded by Smoky on most occasions. There were no outgoing calls from 1900 DeWitt. And when people did call, Smoky seemed to monitor the conversation. He would purr when the right words were said. The years of baby talking to the kittens had rubbed off in a most unpleasant way. They picked up on the language. Anytime Lomas deviated from the right words he was slashed at. Lomas’s appendages looked as though he had run through a briar patch. He looked like a junkie, who had run out of tracks. A handful of the worst scratches were becoming infected. Lomas knew this could not last much longer. He was not the alpha cat anymore and he was not going to be a beta to Mr. Whiskers. He was a man. A man whose ancestors had stuck Mr. Whiskers’s forefathers in an arena and watched gladiators slaughter them. A man who hunted Smoky’s forefathers for a bounty all over America. A man who bought Fluffy’s forefather’s skin and turned it into a full length jacket for some Hollywood starlet to wear.

Lomas mixed the Coca-Cola and coffee together in the kitchen. He could feel Mr. Whiskers rubbing his face against his pajama leg. That was it. He was not territory. Lomas sucked down his mix and took a beep breath. He looked down at Mr. Whiskers and took a mental note on to where the rest of the pride was. Fluffy was in the usual spot at the front door, but the alley cats outside were still there, too. However, Smoky and Chairman Meow were all away from their posts. He knew it was now or never. Lomas made his move; he turned on the can opener. This created the second of panic in the cats that he needed. He took off for the front door. Fluffy, however, held his ground and outside Lomas could hear the thick guttural catcalls. Lomas took a quick right and awkwardly ran up the stairs, three steps at a time. Fluffy did his best to catch up with him, and try to trip him. Lomas was a man possessed, and in his zealousness picked the wrong door in the second story and wound up in the bathroom. He pulled himself up onto the toilet, crossed his legs, and pulled them into his chest. He breathed very heavy. So heavy, that he did not hear the five thuds of the cats hitting the bathroom door.

Lomas was safe and away from the cats for just a moment. He looked at himself in the mirror. He could see the dark circles under his eyes, standing out against his yellow skin. He went for his toothbrush, and tried to brush some of the brown from his teeth. He tried to brush some of the back teeth, but the gums were too badly damaged and three back molars fell into the sink with a plink. There was no blood, because the teeth and gums were dead. “Shit,” he said.

“What are you doing, Lomas?” said a muffled voice from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Sweet Jehoshaphat! I am saved!”

“Correction; you are cornered.”

“Who said that?” Lomas asked.

“Mr. Whiskers, you bipedal dullard. Now open the door.”

Lomas stumbled back to the toilet in disbelief. He pulled his legs up against his chest again and began to rock back and forth. He kept saying, “This is not happening. Someone will come.”

“Look, Lomas, no one is coming. You are a cat person, and a multiple cat person at that. People don’t come looking for cat people.”

“Someone will come,” Lomas repeated.

“No, if you had got a dog instead then maybe you would have a friend come by and help you. But, then again if you had a dog, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“This is not happening.”

“People like dogs, and vice versa. And who can blame them. They show emotions with their face. They are always ready to play and to the ladies, dogs are like a diamond-studded bust of Brad Pitt that spouts beer. A sexy woman sees you in a park with a happy beagle or a sloppy-faced Labrador and they can’t get enough. The mutt rolls over, shows them their vulnerables, and they are all yours. On they other hand, with a cat you cannot leave your house. We don’t lower ourselves to playing fetch, and damn sure don’t let you lead us around on a leash. We are house bound pets for shut-ins. The day you picked us up, was the day your social life died.”

“How is this possible? You’re a cat. You cannot speak.”

“Oh I can’t speak? I guess I also can’t keep a 57-year old man captive in his house for over a month, too? Huh? Do you hear me in there? We crystal?”

“Crystal. But why are you doing this to me?”

“Cats are by nature predatory animals. Always have been. Always will be. You could feed us ‘til the cows came home, and then when those cows get home we would kill them. It is our nature. When you took away our prey, we had to readjust what we hunted. Fancy Feast is not prey. You, however, are.”

“Housecats do not kill people, Whiskers.”

“Hey! That is Mister Whiskers! Last I checked five kitties just backed you into a bathroom, and like I said, ‘It is our nature.’ Cats killed hundreds in Tsavo. We terrorize the Hindus in India. We took down Wooly Fucking Mammoths. Oh, and we dropped Ms. Natas.”

“You killed Ms. Natas?”

“Technically, the stairs did. Bitch was feeding us Meow Mix. So, let’s look at what you have going for you. One, we wait for you to come out of the bathroom and feed us that can of cat food you got our hopes up for with your little can opener trick, and we keep on being cool with one another. Two, you die in there and we die out here. Three, we learn how to open that doorknob and do something to you that God would be jealous of. The clock is ticking, Lomas.”

Lomas looked around the bathroom. A single tiny window was above the toilet, perfect for privacy, awful for escaping homicidal pure breed cats. He stood up on the toilet seat, hoping that maybe he could get it opened and call for help. As soon as he made visual contact with the outside world, a foreboding sight greeted him. Dotting the rooflines of all his neighbors’ house were cats. Their hodgepodge of fur colors created a collage on the tar black rooftops of the neighborhood. It was no matter, because the window had been long since painted shut.

Lomas tried to get himself ready for an ancient coliseum-style battle with his cats. He opened the medicine cabinet hoping to find a weapon. It was full of expired medicines, bandages and a couple of safety razors. He slammed the door in disgust. He was trapped. He figured he might as well get a shower in before he turned himself over to the powers that be. He turned on the faucet and started to disrobe. He stared at himself in the mirror. His skin looked waxy over his naked body. As he looked away in disgust he saw his means of escape on the counter. He grabbed it and made his way to the bathroom door. “Mr. Whiskers, I just want to get cleaned up first. I need to get this funk off of me, then I’ll be right out,” said Lomas through a smirk.

“Don’t take too long. Chairman Meow is getting antsy.”

He heard Chairman Meow hissing. Lomas smiled at his reflection in the mirror and turned on the AM/FM clock radio on the counter, Cat Stevens came on. Lomas laughed as he put the stopper in the tub. The tub filled with warm water and the bathroom filled with steam. The steam covered the bathroom mirror, so Lomas couldn’t see the look of satisfaction on his face standing in the water, as he threw the radio into the tub with himself. The lights flickered in the house. The cats meowed nervously just outside the bathroom door.

#

Kent and Jenn made their way to the stationary store. Jenn picked up a calendar of kittens dressed like famous historical figures.

“Look, this lil’ Siamese is dressed like Mao,” cooed Jenn.

“Filthy Commie pinko cat. We need to get him something that shows proud we are of him. He needs to know how strong he has been since Grandmama passed.”

Kent waved off the calendar and pointed toward a poster on the wall of the store. The poster was of a kitten holding on to dear life from a tree branch. The caption read, “Hang in there”.

###

Where'd the Mexicans go?

So today is the "Day Without Immigrants". I had to work at my restaurant job for them. And, well, it was fine. No hassles. The weird thing to me is that they are urging them to stay home from school. What is the point of that? Boy, that will show us insensitive gringos. It will show us how tough it will be to teach non-crowded class rooms. It'll show those teachers how tough it is to not have to repeat lessons in Spanish. I have no problem with immigrants. My Grandfather was an immigrant. What I have a problem with is illegal immigrants. And I have an even bigger problem with the people who employ them.

Chainsaws, Power Drills, and Blow Torches...

..OH MY! I saw "Hostel" this weekend. And I am kind of obsessed with it. The whole beginning is non-stop T&A. So, Eli Roth got me with that. Then, he hits you with the violence. I am talking the kind of violence that made even me go, "OHHHH DAAAAAM!" But, as I am a Creative Writing major, it has a really clever and awesome story concept to it. I watched the movie, and then I watched the commentary with Quentin Tarantino and Eli Roth. They actually were talking about the movie and not just annoying the shit out of me, i.e. "Undeclared" and their commentary. Then, I watch all the "making of" featurettes. I was kind of worried about it. I don't know how other people would react to this movie. Most people I have talked to are not too gung ho about the violence, but it really adds to the suspense and fear factor. Overall, I give "Hostel" the Rochester Binghampton Drinking on a Saturday Night Seal o' Approval.

Two Tickets to Paradise

So apparently WKNC is giving away Widespread Panic tickets. Well, a fellow DJ sent out an station wide e-mail about a problem he ran into. It read:

• Hey if you give tickets away make sure the winner knows when and where to pick up there tickets or who to contact for more information. I had a guycall up demanding the widespread panic tickets that he won, yet he didn't know who he won them from or which day he won them for and when he shouldpick them up.

I sent back a reply:

• Wait, so a Widespread fan couldn't remember who or when he won tickets? Shocker!

Why the hell are WE giving away Widespread tickets? I get yelled at whenever I play asong longer than 6 minutes, but we are giving away tickets to one of the worst jam bands of all time!

Mustache Ride: 3 for $1!

So J-Biz got married lat weekend. It was lovely. J-Biz was excited to finally get to have sex. He was able to wear white, but alas he had to wear what they call "Whore's Off-White" for his gloves. We went to Sears and got our potraits done the day before. A kind of a last hoorah. I grew that mustache for the better part of two weeks. That was two weeks I could not walk past the middle school or drive my van. I wish there was not this stigma over mustaches. Okay, maybe it is not such a good idea to have "Free Candy" spray-painted on the side of my van, but that just happens to the be the name of the company I bought it from. Excuse me for not being the kind of high roller who can buy a van brand new without any spray paint on it. You people make me sick.

Dad-1 Rochester -0

So, my father thinks that my blog's title would attract wackos. I told him that, if anyone ever actually read my blog, then they would know that I am about as serious as a Tickle-Me-Elmo. However, there are those types out there, who don't read things and just jump on in the pool. I got this lil' one from a blogger on my dorm memories post:

• "I’LL BET MY COPS ARE MORE CHICKENSHIT THAN YOURS ARE. WELLS & ELKO, NEVADA: NOBODY MORE CHICKENSHIT."

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot! I was talking about hiding porn in a dorm room and this is what the guy posts? Oh, man! I guess I owe my Dad a Coke and a smile.

Dorm Memories

Thanks to Truck, I couldn't stop thinking about my days in the old dorm. College of Charleston was the stop. Wentworth was the dorm. There were only two dorms that held young men at C. of C. College Lodge, a converted Holiday Inn, was the other. When we walked past it we would yell "WENTWORTH BITCHES! WHAT! WHAT!" And it was Charleston in the glory days, so it was near every bar, but alas (or thankfully) I was unable to get into those bars. I never had a fake ID and I didn't have a pert rack like Truck, so those bars were a distant foreign place to me. Luckily for me, my roommate was on the sailing team. The sailing team at Charleston was a lot like the lacrosse team at Duke. Only they were not racists, rapists, women-beaters, and, er I guess they were nothing like the Duke lacrosse team. They were, however, mostly rich kids from places where sailing was a high school sport, and they liked drinking. A LOT! My roommate was the perfect random roommate I could've hoped for. He was a loud kid from Minnesota. He wore shorts the entire year, even when it was 45 degrees outside. He had never had Mountain Dew and referred to it as "Dew". He fuckin' loved it. We had screaming contests. He thought I was going to be a black kid. Because of the phone conversions we had. I said I like basketball, hip-hop and I guess he assumed that coming from NC was another black point. He was so excited he told all his white friends in Minnetonka that he was gonna be rooming with a black kid. When he arrived I had a James Brown, an Ol' Dirty Bastard, and an Onyx poster on the wall. The look on his face when my pasty white ass was lying around without my shirt, listening to "Mad Lion", was priceless.

I developed a case of homesickness and insomnia was the symtoms. I slept roughly 4 hours a night and had no real adverse effect on me. I would randomly clean the room from time to time. I mean, go apeshit. I'd fold laundry, vacuum, fuckin' dust. I don't even dust now. When we moved out, we hid our dirty magazines in the ceiling tiles. The next year, on the first day of school, we called our old dorm room and asked the kids who moved in to give them back. The kid on the phone said they were not there. I remember to this very day, telling the kid, "You just made a powerful enemy, my friend."

I can only imagine that kid roaming around campus for the rest of the year thinking some deranged porn freak was going to beat him up. Classic.

My Final Four

So, my bracket was busted worse than Courtney Love this past week. Oh well! And with all ACC team well out of it (thank you George Mason), I started watching women's hoops last night. As you know, I loves me some female athletes. However in women's hoops they are few and far between. It becomes quite the game to find ones that are hot, but I found be a couple. I'll force my list to four:

1. Shanna Zolman She's on fire!
2. Ann Strother
3. Brynn Cameron Up yours Leinart!
4. Candace Parker Naperville repping shit! Look at that lil' smile. Adorable.

Also, USC must high an old Playboy photographer for their press photos. They all looked pretty damn good.

Fire! Fire! Put it out!

So, I get a message from a buddy of mine today saying that THE North Carolina State University should fire Herb Sendek and hire Bob Higgins. WHAT?! I could not believe my eyes. Bob "0% Graduation" Huggins. Bob "I Threw Up In My Car I Was So Bombed While Driving" Huggins. Bob "I Punched A Police Horse" Huggins. I liked the image he had while he was coaching at Cincinnati. He was a thug coach, coaching thug players. Danny Forston. Kenyon Martin. Nick Van Exel. Corie Blount. But, that was C-USA. C-USA was, and still is, a joke of a conference, made up of schools named after shitty cites (say that 10x fast), that do not compete year in and year out. And the raid by the Big East did it no favor. He could get away with that crap because the conference in a whole did not care. Now, my buddy thinks we should fire Herb and hire Huggins. Why you ask? Because two top 15 recruits said they would play wherever Huggins lands. Great! Then, I read that the two recruits are wing players. Now, I don't know if you watch NC State basketball at all this year (I know you didn't), but wing players on that team are a dime a baker's dozen (READ: Courtney Fells, Gavin Grant, Brandon Costner, and two more kids next year). Yeah, that is the answer to all of NC State problem (READ: biting sarcasm).

That always seems to be the quick fix answer to all of NC State fans' problems. Fire 'em. Amato? Fire 'em. Now Herb. However, you have to look at it from a more wise and economic persecuting. One, you fire a guy who has 4 years left on his current contract, then you have to pay him for another 4 years. This is not like fire the slow kid at the take-out window at Arby's. You still have to pay him after he is gone. On top of that you have to pay his replacement as well. In the ACC, that is a minimum of $80K. So, what you wind up with is an inexperienced coach while you pay for your old coach to drink himself out of depression (and that never works). Or you get a big wig coach and you have to pay him big bucks, while still paying your old coach for 4 years. My other qualm with firing as a final solution to the not winning national championship question is your new coach is not going to get what he wants the old players to do. It takes 3-4 years to get a team like he wants it. It is asinine to expect a massive turn around in one year. Carolina being the exception from last year, but in my defense I think anyone could've won a national title with four 1st round NBA picks, even Doherty. Don't sleep on FAU either, foos!

Duck Season, Rabbit Season...

Deer season, and now wedding season. So, in the next month I have two of my first friends in NC getting married. One is fixing to be a country club, awkward meetings of old high school friends kind of a wedding. The other, J-Biz's, will be a off to the magistrate kind of a wedding. However, despite their shortcomings, I will be doing this to someone. And, I'll be doing it a lot! So girls, watch your mothers and aunts, because I am going have Freaknik 2006 all up and on the dance floor.

Full Court Press

I did this in traffic court one time and I totally got a "Pray For Judgement". Hey, since it is NCAA Pool (aka "I-don't-gamble-on-college-sports-but-I-do-throw-$20-away-on-the-NCAA-Tourney-Pool-ever- year") Time, what's the over/under on Saddam will go all "Slobodan" and get the "wrong pills"?

So Long, Farewell...

Auf Wiedersehen, Brokeback Hippy. I wish thing could've been different. I mean, I barely even hung out with you. And your wife barely rubbed my thigh, uncomfortably, when we did hang out. So, just as an update, like Kotter, Annie, welcome back. Also, I put up a friend of a friend of mine's blog, San Greenspan. He puts the dot com in samgreenspan.com, or something. It ain't much but it is something. And that is much more than you can about Brokeback Hippy. I hope you can get that pickle out of your ass and come back some day.

Please don't go girl...

I miss B! I don't know what happened, but I miss my snarky lil' man in the sphere. If you are out there, please come home. Oh also, for all you fools who voted, P.O.T.Y. goes to TWO. It wasn't even close.

Love in the Key of Me

Today marks a full year of Wake County Militia on the web. In celebration of me being all up in this shit I decided to look back at the year that was. I am giving a handful of my favorite posts and you can vote on which one you like the best. That will win the prestigious Post of the Year!

• ONE
• TWO
• THREE
• FOUR
• FIVE

So vote away!

I lied...

...here is a little self promotion. March 6th, clear it!

A Blog Break...

I know I am about as dependable as Annie when it comes to blogging, but this time I am giving you all a heads up. I need to take sometime away from the 'sphere. I'll be back, but I don't think it'll be anytime within a week. Just givin' the crew a heads up.

G's down Hoes up?

Walking to class this afternoon I saw the coolest thing. Two white chicks in a Nissan Altima dumping out the middle of a blunt to put in some green. They didn't even look like homegirls, but they were blasting "Milkshake" andhad the windows rolled down. I pointed at the girls and she tossed up a peace sign as they drove off. Best moment of my life.

A New Hot Spot...

...and I am not talking about the one in Truck's pants. I went to "Underground" last night after Duke stumbled over Carowhina. It is situated under "Charlie Goodnights" and next to Central Prison. AWESOME LOCATION! But here is what rules about it:

• $4 Pithcer of PBR for Beer Pong!
  
• $1 domestice bottles!
• More ladies there than dudes!

So, Sorry Morrie. I am spending my Tuesday there.

C. Monks....

...has stil go it.

Fire in the Disco!

...these people go 0 to riot in 2.5 seconds. I am not scared, I am just impressed. I tried to organize an unruly mob after a questionable Marmaduke strip. I could only get like three dudes, and one of them really wasn't into it. He was just there because the other dude was his ride. Sucked.

Sweetin my Coffee

So I am sure most people have heard this by now. I am kind of uspet. While your everyday television pedophiles (i.e. Matt) were all up on Mary-Kate and Ashley, I was the one who was convince that Jodie would turn out to be the hottest. I think, I was right.

• Since kicking her addiction, Sweetin says she now hopes to get back into acting.
  "I want to make movies, TV series, wherever the career takes me," she said. "I really hope this isn't the last people hear of me. In fact, I would like to make this a footnote in my career, not the end."

I am willing to bet softcore porn is in her future. Does any one remember Dana Plato? She wound up in a movie called Different Strokes. Believe it or not, I saw it. And it was pretty raunchy, too. I really don't want to think about poor Jodie Sweetin in a movie called Full House. That could be real nasty. Oh, wait! Yes, I do!

Did someone say hump day?

Pronounced with an ump day!

Never Play a Player

Annie, I originally delinked you because you left that damn one-eyed cat picture up for over tow weeks. I asked you in person to either post something else or get it off. You said, "I am was just waiting for you to freak out over it. I'll take care of it now." A week passed, and still cycloptic cat stared me in the face when I went to see if you had a new post. I figure your blog for dead, and when I take things like this into account. I was sure it was dead. Oh but linking me to a gay blog is soooooo offensive. I guess you win. I should have watched my back.

UPDATE:
Hal Turner is no longer speaking for Annie.

UPDATE II:
Upon further investigation, I have discovered that I have not been properly linked from "The Steel". So until further notice, "The Steel" will be something I like. She like cats. I like big ugly dogs. BOOYAHKA!

Poker, I hardly know 'er

So there was a poker night this Saturday at AH's and the crafty old coot known as Rochester could not make it. Why? Because I went to a gun range for the first time! J-Biz came along with me, it was his first, too. It was awesome! I shot a Glock 9mm and .40, and a Taurus .38 Special. Much like sex was for the ladies, I was a little scared and it hurt the first time I shot the gun. But, just like sex is for the ladies, I couldn't get enough off it, and want to do it all day long! They had a handful of targets for the modern shooter. I took the one of a mustachioed dude in a knitcap, who was holding a lady hostage. When I got my aim on him. I yelled, "Let the bitch go, dirtbag!" Luckily, all everyone had on pretty good ear protection and I was the only one who heard. I pepper the scumbag's face and throat with numerous rounds. Two shots kind of got away from me, but the lady was fine. I think it only would have messed up her "Farrah hair". The more traditional target it this. What the hell is so menacing about this one? When shooting it I was thinking, "Sir! Sir! Please stand in a more masculine way or I will be forced to kill you." I just didn't get it. Also, all of you need to start saving up you dollars because Rochester is coming next time.

The Over-Under on the Over-Under

Firetruck and Creepy Serial Killer are going on the town tonight. And if you are like me you love gambling. On ANYTHING! I once bet on a youth soccer game. I have one of those personalities. Well, here are the odds of the goings on in tonight's date:

• Creepy Serial Killer scores - 1,000,000:1
• Creepy Serial Killer tells his mama that he did - 1:3
• Creepy Serial Killer starts the date with a high five - 2:3
• Creepy Serial Killer gets drunk - 25:1
• AH drops from the rafters of the restaurant when his split leg gives out, because he is too fat to do shit from "Splinter Cell" - 45:1
• Firetruck end the date because Creepy Serial Killer refuses to let her win at darts - 1:100
• The dude who gets darts thrown at his hand show up at the restaurant and begs Truck to stab his hand with a fork - 200:1
• Creepy Serial Killer accidentally brushes the back of his hand against Truck's massive cans, but tells all his buddies (aka his mama) that he got to second base - 19:1
• Rochester stays home and cries at "Remember the Titans" while drinking a warm 18-pack of Natural Light - 4:5
• Creepy Serial Killer goes to get money during the date and the phrase "Kiss Big Daddy's rings 'fore I have to get my brand new Gucci loafers up yo' ass" is uttered - 20:1
• Instead of flowers and candy, Creepy Serial Killer shows up with a 6 month-old copy of "Bear" magazine and a cheese danish in a hankercheif - 49:2
• Truck tells Creepy Serial Killer about her unnatural relationship with three men in the blog-o-sphere and Creepy Serial Killer responds with "Kink-kay!" - 54:3
• Creepy Serial Killer takes Truck to Lake Gaston to look at his 24-foot Grady-White, to which Truck responds "This is not the kind of motorboat I was looking for" - 39:2
• At some point in the evening Creepy Serial Killer will ask Truck, "Who wants a 5-o'clock shadow ride?" - 2:1
• Creepy Serial Killer picks Truck up in a Chevy Van - 3:1
• Creepy Serial Killer will reminisce about that kick ass Chevy Van he had in high school - 2:3
• Creepy Serial Killer was in high school in 1978 - Even
• The date ends with a kisses - 400:1
• The date ends with Creepy Serial Killer looking down in Truck saying "It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose, again. It does this whenever its told." - 1:250

What else am I missing?

Clever...

...I compare this guy to Nagin and Lauch Faircloth. I wonder if I could run for a government position in Palestine? I know I could get votes with the whole "Hating Israel" crowd, but I think I'd lose votes from the whole "Blowing Themselves Up" set. Also, do you think Hillary would run over there if she could? Vince Foster would have wanted her to.

Matt...

...I guess that last post was kind of for Annie. And since you two are a couple now, I better post up some shit for you. Here! You big ol' homophobe!

Mark Ass Tricks...

....Trick Ass Marks! Kitty's best to raise up!

Quick Friday Night Notes:

1. Wife (AH!'s wife) is a lot of fun.
   
2. I do not know why I didn't notice this the first time we met. Maybe it was because she was sittin' with her chest against the bar (as usual), but Firetruck got some big ol' boobies. I bet there is a "motorboat" somewhere in their future, too. And I doubt it will be from the 40 year-old darts aficionado, who was all up on her.
3. Annie is awesome because she bought my first rounds of beers.

Ironic...

I noticed this one in class today; it is rather difficult to pronounce the word "effortlessly". It is a fact.

Finally...

A race where both AH! and I have a chance? I think someone has finally answered my dilemma of donuts and running. My prediction: Rochester 48:39. AH!? You up for it? MB? Annie? Truck? I'll be there.

Weak-end...

I love watching football. The only thing that makes watching football better is watching football and drinking beer. The only thing better than watching football while drinking beer is watching football while drinking beer and eating. That being said I both love and hate the playoffs. I love them because it is football played at the highest level, unless you are the Bears, who gave up almost as much offense in one game than what they gave up all year. I hate the playoffs because it symbolizes the end of professional football. I am gonna misses you, NFL. Also, mega-apologies to MB. He got a little mouthy about my Bucs and we got into a little war of words. I knew he and I didn't mean all those things we said. It was just the Bagel Bites talking. You wanna know what we said? Do you AH!? Well, maybe you ought to stick around and watch the whole game next time. Instead of leaving a almost completely full tall boy of Coors and running home to your lady.

Sluts...

...I always knew they'd do it. They can't get enough of it. I bet they wanted it so bad they were begging for it. Oh yeah, take it all, you Korean skank. What's that you say? You mean this article is really about cattle beef? Oh boy, my bad. But seriously, what kind of title is that for an article? I have read less suggestive titles in Hustler.

Set You Radio to "Stunning"

Rochester is back on the radio! Every Friday from 9am-11am, a little time slot I call the "Magic Hours". Tune in!

Rochester: Always on Sale in the Market

So, Truck finally cut herself loose from all that dead weight. Well, I know that Truck and I and my various internet alter egos have had out run-ins, but I think we are both adult enough to put that all behind us and look to what could be a lovely future. I drop it on you all E-Fucking-Harmony style:

1. My name is not synonymous with "Moons over My Hammy"
2. I do not smoke and never even once have I smoked a cigarette. You can lean on me for that one. I am just that strong.
3. I don't drink champagne, but I do drink the "Champagne of Beers".
4. If we combine our names like Tom-Kat or Bennifer, then it sounds like a small town in Pennsylvania. Fire-Chester. I like it. OOOOH, or Rock-Truck! WHAT!
5. I have most of my original teeth. I lost two wisdom teeth and I have one crown, but it looks kind of gold, so that's kinda cool. Right?
6. I have an awesome collection of Bible-oriented comic books.
7. I have a full head of hair and weigh less that 1/8th of a ton. I weigh 1/10th of a ton.
8. I can convert my weight into stone. I am 14 stones.
9. I don't need my ego stroked. I've been doing that by myself since I was 12.
10. My turn-ons include long walks on the beach, salmon-colored roses, sea winds, speed buggy racing, deep fried anything and naked women.
11. My turn-offs include baby blue anything, war, the Gummy Nerd Rope, and Fresca.

The weekend is here, Truck. Whatcha wanna do?

Fuck Sports

I kept asking myself all weekend long, "Why do you do this to yourself?" I knew by 8:00 pm EST Saturday that the Carolina Panthers were going to win on Sunday. State lost to Carolina. Tampa Bay lost to the Rednecks. My teams have kind of an all or nothing way about them. They either all win at once or all lose at once. So, since I knew the Panthers were going to win on Sunday, I was keeping a spare eye on the Wuss-consin and MSU basketball game. And then it hit me, does anyone else think that Kammron Taylor looks exactly like Chris Rock? I mean, m aybe not as much as how Steve Nash looks like Jackie Earle Haley? Or as bad as Andrew Bynum and Florida Evans from "Good Times"? But close none the less.

Late Ass Christmas Party

So, Tons-a-Fun (aka Tonsy, aka Hunny Bun, aka Fat Jesus) calls me last night asking about some tunes to play for his office "holiday" party coming up. I know he lives in a diffenrnt time zome, but I never knew it was two weeks behind the rest of the fucking world! What holiday are they partying for now? Do Jehovah's Witnesses run your company? Was you Christmas bonus a subscrption to The Watchtower? Anyhow, I told him I'd post some ideas I have for his party. Please add to my tiny list for the sake of Tons-a-Fun and his co-workers:

• "Candy Rain" by Soul for Real
• "You Remind me of My Jeep", "I'm Fucking You Tonight", or "Feelin' on Yo' Booty" all by the greatest R&B singer of the millenium, R. Kelly.
  
• the Chicken Dance song
• "Boyz-in-the-Hood" by Dynamite Hack
• "House Me Teenage Rave" by Green Jelly
• "Slide It In" by White Snake
• "Fight the Power" by the Isley Brothers
• "Hey Ladies" by the Beasties Boys
• the theme song from "The Greatest American Hero"
• and when all else fails you can play this!