Monthly Archives: October 2013


After my work week ended my girlfriend and I were out watching a football game. For three quarters of the game, by use of the bar mirror, I’ve been watching the rapidly balding guy next to my girlfriend pull small segments of hair out of his head. It’s an exciting game but c’mon, man!

Then I would sit there in fascination  as he sprinkled the tiny tufts of hair on the floor like some follicle fairy. He’d better get over that habit real soon or it’ll get over for him.

During this time he’s also exhibiting a vast array of facial ticks. Dastardly eye brow raises, Samantha Stevens like nose crumples, A E I O U mouth exercises. As much as I like football all of this was more fascinating. I know I’ll be able to see another football game in twenty minutes. But this? It might takes weeks to see something like this again.

He’s also been talking to himself in patterns. Not,

“Oh, you’ve got to learn to catch the ball, you silly twit.”


“My, this is surely a rousing contest we have going here, wouldn’t you say?”

Or other football fan phrases no one has ever said up to this point.

They were more of the,

“Banana goat fish fry enema.”


So, as you can see, my attention was captured.

At one point I’m looking at my girlfriend. Whether for confirmation that she was also witnessing this blessed event or because she wasn’t and I wanted her to join in on the festivities, I’m not sure. All I am sure of is that I was looking at her. Right at that moment she leaned back. For the first time I’m looking directly at the guy. He must have felt my cornea rays because he immediately turned, looked at me and asked,

“Who you eyeballing?

Now if his eye contact shield worked when vision was bounced via a mirror I’m sure that question would have been asked long ago. But, because I found the magical avoidance method for direct eye to skin contact, he had not. I looked at him for a second, or three days in his mind, and said,

“Not that it’s any of our business, but, I balling my girlfriend.”

He turned his head back and resumed pulling out his hair in earnest.

I never really give anyone a satisfactory answer, do I?

Ya gotta know yourself

And I’m the eternal optimist for the dark side.

Don’t ask me why. . .

. . .because I won’t be able to explain it. Every once in a while I’ll be listening to a song and an entirely new set of lyrics to that song will pop into my head. Now if I could play a musical instrument at least then it would make a little sense. But seeing that I don’t, it’s fucking daft.

But it happens. You can look around this site for plenty of evidence that it happens more frequently than some would think normal. Today’s victim is that old classic by Pink Lady And Jeff, no that’s wrong (it was an actual TV show in the 80’s see for youself:

Today’s victim is actually Pink Floyd and their classic Another Brick In The Wall.

We don’t need no fucking condoms
We don’t need no birth control
No sheath of rubber on my johnson
Condoms leave my junk alone
Hey, Condoms leave my junk alone

All in all it’s just another prick in a hole
All in all you’re just another prick in a hole

We don’t need sex education
We don’t need no jimmy hat
No bit of rubber on our hard on
Just a dark chasm for our penis
Condoms leave my junk alone
Hey, condoms, leave my junk alone

All in all it’s just another prick in a hole
All in all you’re just another prick in a hole

Wrong! Do it again
Wrong! Do it again
If you don’t sheath your meat, you can’t have any pussy
How can you have any pussy if you don’t sheath your meat?
You! Yes, you about to get head
Cover up, laddie
You! Yes, you about to get head
Cover up, laddie


A woman sidles up to me and asks, “Why are you so quiet?”

“I’m not,” I answer. “Everyone else is just loud.”

Simple Question

Kid walks in and asks, “Do you know what time it is?” Having been faced with blank stares in the past when I point to the clock on the wall with hands I decided my best choice is to tell him.

“Five minutes of six.” He nods a few times, processing.

“Five minutes of six. Five minutes of six.” He nods his head a few times I assume to shake the processed information to the front of his skull. “Five minutes of six. So that means?”

I look at him for a second. That’s the best processing he could do? Then I say something I know will only screw with his head a little more. “It’s five fifty five.”

He looks at me, I see the core dump of his processed information and he exits probably knowing less than when he entered.

Need something to do drunk?

The Legend Of Charley Z

It’s a long story but I’ll work hard to shorten it. A couple of years ago this guy got in touch with me to tell me we were cousins. Then he started filling me in on family history. He’d traced it back to the Crusades. He really gave me a history lesson.

One person he spent time on was our grandfather. Seems like he was sort of on the side of the law where there was a lot of running and hiding out involved. Although my cousin, oddly or not named Chris, ran into dead ends he kept searching for old Charley. One day while looking over some items he’d sent me a set of lyrics popped into my head. They do that from time to time. The problem when they do that is I don’t write music. So I put the lyrics out there and forgot about them.

One day this very cool guy and incredibly talented, Mark Hennessey, wasn’t doing anything so picked up his guitar and plucked put a little tune we call The Legend Of Charley Z.