Worst Engagement Announceent Photo

If you can't read the T-shirt he chose for the photo, it reads, "If I Throw a Stick, Will You Leave?"

Christmas Lights Display!

Real Reason for Invading Iraq

Restaurant Humor

If large-breasted women work here:









Do one-legged women work here?

2005 MOST UNBELIEVABLE WORKPLACE EVENTS

Global outplacement firm Challenger, Gray & Christmas, Inc.,
released the following ranking of The Most Unbelievable Workplace
Events of 2005. These are the stories that are most likely to make you
ask, “What was that person/company thinking?” or “Can a company
actually do that?”
• The Whine-Free Policy. A German company initiated a strict no-whining
policy. Negative Nellies and other boat rockers are under a two-moansand-
out rule. According to the company, several workers have quit and two
others have been fired for violating the whine-free policy.

• We Are Family, Only. DaimlerChrysler’s transmission plants in
Kokomo, Indiana, have designated 80 percent of their employee parking
as reserved for Chrysler vehicles only. Any non-Chrysler vehicle parked
in a reserved area will be towed to Indianapolis, 50 miles away, where
the employee will have to pay $200 to get his or her car back.

• No Slack For War Wives. A Michigan woman was fired from her
part-time receptionist job after failing to show up for work the day after
seeing her husband off to war as a National Guard member.

• Rescue Squirrels On Your Own Time. A woman says she was
suspended from her job for spending too much time trying to rescue a
squirrel trapped in the ceiling of the library where she works.

• Executive Whipped Into Shape. An executive for a foundation that
funds heart disease research was accused of embezzling more than
$237,000 and using some of the money to pay for the services of a
dominatrix.

• Anyone Desperate For A Job? The National Labor Relations Board
refused to strike down a security company’s rule that prohibits
employees from getting together away from work. The policy forbids
workers from going to lunch together, attending each other’s weddings,
or doing anything else they might want to do with each other outside of
work.

• Productivity vs. Religion: And the Winner is… 30 Muslim workers
were fired from a major computer manufacturer’s Nashville plant for
adhering to religious doctrine that requires them to pray daily at sunset.

• Forgot To Wrap That Can! A worker with a good record and no
problems with his supervisors was unexpectedly fired from his job with a
beer distributor. While no reason was given, the firing occurred on the
same day a picture of the worker drinking a competitor’s beer appeared
in a local newspaper.

• No Hablas Español. Two Spanish-speaking hair stylists in Chicago
claim in a federal lawsuit that the company they worked for strictly
banned the use of Spanish, even when employees were on their breaks.
A sign at the establishment read, “Speaking a language other than
English is not only disrespectful, it’s also prohibited.”

Source: Challenger, Gray & Christmas, Inc.©

Cody Braun buying shots for Scott and me at Smith's Olde Bar-Atlanta, Ga.

We saw the white van and trailer parked on the street next to Smith's Olde Bar and knew it was the Reckless Kelly boys-they had just finished lugging their gear upstairs to the music room and the show was not due to start for a couple of hours. Cody, Scott and I talked fishing, baseball snow skiing and their life on the road and bought several round of beer. Cody insisted that he buy a round of shots for our crowd and we happily obliged. Cristina went for the Jager Bombs-Jagermeister and Red Bull and flamed out before the show ended. Us whisky boys did just fine! A great mid-summer road trip that included a ballgame at Turner Field.

Old Sheldon Church ruins-Yemasee, S.C.

The first time I saw this, I was flying down a tree-canopied two lane road trying to find a shortcut from Beaufort, S.C. to I-95 North. Shortly before this was a vast lime-green colored swamp filled with long dead bleached white trees whose branches reached into the blue sky like the fingers of skeletons. I kicked up gravel off the shoulder as I veered back onto the road, stunned by the eerie scene although it was noon in the dead of summer. Not half a mile further, I almost broke my neck as I turned to see this greek temple with huge Tuscan columns rising out of the absolute middle of nowhere. It's the Old Sheldon Church ruins, originally named Prince William's Parish Church, erected in 1745-55 and burned twice-once during the American Reviolution and again by Sherman's army. A more peaceful, serene place I've never seen. This plaque gives a brief history.

Sadie's first trip to the NC beach

Scott and Cristina's Yellow lab visits Sand Dollar Island and dutifully sits in the beach chair. Picture says it all!

Gruene, Texas watertower from balcony of the Gruene River Inn

The eastern edge of the Texas Hill country has a rich German heritage- small towns feature restored old dancehalls which provide a wide array of venues for the Austin based bands to play year-round. I have dreamed of visitng Gruene Hall just outside New Braunfels forever and this year a plan came together. Seven of us from the Carolinas invaded the Lone Star State for some live music, to meet some fellow bloggers and take in the gorgeous scenery. This shows the Gruene, Texas watertower from our balcony high above the gin-clear Guadalupe River. You can bet we'll be back early and often this year.

Jeff and Me with a double on the false albacore

Every year this part of the NC coast is invaded by fishermen and guides from all over the country to chase an inedible fish. A member of the tuna family, the false albacore (Euthynnus alletteratus) is prized for nothing more than its blazing speed, and its tendency to swim in huge marauding schools. They will corral acres of small silverside baitfish no bigger than your pinky and charge through them time after time. One day last year a bait ball tried to take sanctuary under our boat and for four hours all we had to do was get a fly or lure into the water and it was on-200 yards of line coming off the reel in about 5 seconds. Once the fish knows it is hooked, you have about half a second to make sure your flyline is clear and free of knots because it's about to be pulle through the guides regardless. Last year we broke three rods and a fish took everything with it-rod, reel and line-gone in a split second. Above is friend Jeff Purdy from Beaufort, S.C. with me showing off our "double-header."

Jane and Stephanie at Cape Lookout

My wife Jane on the left and her Raleigh roommate Stephanie Scearce near the Cape Lookout Lighthouse. The 55 mile line uninhabited, dune covered expanse of the Cape Lookout National Seashore stretches from the Cape Lookout Shoals to Ocracoke Inlet. This photo was taken mid-afternoon, before a pre-dusk clamming session in the mud flats of the Newport River.

Please Hurry!

The first signs of spring are the flowers from bulbs that burst through the earth the first time we have a stretch of a few warm days. Their arrival is usually a month premature but they surely signal that winter's grip is loosening.

How to Tell You're too Old for Spring Break

As photos go, this one isn't much-but this out-of-focus concert flyer represents about a million memories-most great and all funny as hell even if it did see me paying a large price for a long night of revelry and proving once and for all that at age 49, you need to act at least half your age. A March pilgrimage to Corpus Christi Texas to chase some warm weather, live music and fish saw me at my finest and worst, all in the same 24-hour period. Scott and I met up at the Atlanta airport and somewhere over the Mississippi River we had made mincemeat of a flaskful of bourbon. I am a nervous flyer and I never, ever board a plane without some liquid courage. If the thing goes down and they find a piece of my face in the rubble, it will have a crooked smile on it. We hit Corpus like a gulf coast hurricane-two grown men as excited as kid's at Christmas. We caught a cab to the Executive Surf Club, toured the record store then grabbed a bite at the place next door-I've forgotten the name. We tossed back the Shiner Bock drafts as fast as they could be poured, the first one with salt on the rim like a beer/margarita. No more of those-it was godawful. The free acoustic set started at 6:30 and we assumed that the small courtyard would be jam-packed and paranoid we would be shut out we sat down on a concrete bench while the boys set up. I can't remember if it was before or after the free show, but we talked at length to another one of the talented Braun brothers from Stanly, Idaho, Gary Braun, who along with his older brother Micky, plays in a great band called Micky and the Motorcars. They were the opening act that night for their brother's band, Reckless Kelly. We talked about their great new CD-Ain't in it for the Money and their life on the road and such and then we went into the main venue to catch the soundcheck for Reckless Kelly and kill a few more brain cells. By the time the Motorcars took the stage at 8:00, we had been drinking for about 12 hours and hell, we weren't even getting warmed up. I lost count at 20 during the two shows then we hoofed it across the street to some bar where they had live music and line dancing. We met a couple and in our stupor actually attempted to cobble together plans for this guy to go fishing with us the next day on our charter trip. We forgot small details like getting his name or phone number. Thank god or it would have been a trip he would have never forgotten.
We went to bed about 3:00 A.M. and got up at 6:00 A.M. to go fishing. About 7:00 we were at the dock greeting Capt. Dick Gerstenberger for a day on the Laguna Madre. The sun was warm and we flew across the watery expanse and set up at a spot of the captain's choosing. I felt a slight acid reflux coming on from all the beer and spicy food so I reached in the cooler to grab a bottled water. I took one sip and my body immediately rejected the first non-alcoholic offering in over 24 hours. Without word or warning I was soon puking on my own Tevas.
It came onto me so fast, I couldn't even find the side of the boat. This went on far longer than I care to remember, then I got the chills and despite the 80 degree weather, I lay in the bottom of the boat shivering even though I was wrapped in Capt. Dick's winter coat with the hood over my head. I lay my head on a comfy anchor and watched as Capt. Dick, (we insisted
that he fish), landed the first ten trout. To prove that I hadn't puked all the "smart-ass" out of me, I slowly lifted my sorry head up off the anchor and opined, "Hey Captain Dick, do you ever let your clients catch any fish?" Scott snorted his approval and even Captain Dick managed a smile once he realized what a pair of complete goofs had hired him that day. Through the small oval in my hood, I could see Scott landing fish after fish-he and Captain Dick seemed to be having a blast. I just laid there and moaned. I was even too sorry to reach for the sunscreen which was a couple feet away, so the small opening in the hood provided the sun a convenient target to unleash its full UV fury on my alabaster pate. Scott and Dick fished till about 3:00 and headed in to Marina 37. I told Dick I was sorry-it wasn't my normal procedure to pay a dude $400 to throw up in his boat. When we told him we'd see him again next year, he got kind of a strange look on his face-I think it was foreboding. Before getting into the rental car, I had to complete a farewell puke in the parking lot. Scott drove us back to the motel-I knew then that although he probably had never seen me at my best (whatever that is), I damn sure knew he had seen my worst so when he continued to talk to me, I was relieved. I cleaned up pretty good except for a crimson oval on the front of my face that shouted out the unspoken message that said-"yes, the dude you're staring at just spent his day laying in the bottom of a boat in the hot Texas sun with a hood covering most of his face puking and being too sorry to put on sunscreen." Too old for spring break, indeed, but I bet we try again this year.

Reflection of sky in calm water of a salt marsh

This is Bell Creek, a tidal creek that snakes off the Intracoastal Waterway through acres and acres of spartina grass and oyster bars and finally past Tuttle's Grove Church and under Highway 101 north of Beaufort. At high tide the water floods the surrounding marsh and the main creek channel becomes slowly unrecognizable. Knee deep brine stretches as far as the eye can see and the whole place comes alive-blue crabs shake the tops of the spartina grass; small snails hang onto the grass for dear life; fiddler crabs dig into holes to escape the redfish that literally stand on their heads trying to suck them out of their lair; shrimp skip across the surface; jumping mullet repeatedly leap several feet out of the water and flop onto their side; V-wakes of finger mullet cruise in formation; egrets and herons patrol the shallows and marsh hens shriek.
There are few intruders on my paradise. Occasionally a crabber will motor into the creek to empty his pots but most boaters are content to race up and down the main waterway, having absolutely no idea of the beauty that lies off in these creeks. Just as the din of a cold, fast flowing mountain stream used to calm my restless mind when I lived closer to the mountains, this is now my refuge. I normally have the patience of a mosquito but I can pushpole the boat into the grass on an incoming tide, grab a fly rod and stand in the hard, black, sulfury mud for hours-absolutely content. It matters not whether I catch a fish, or see a fish or even make a single cast-I know they are there and that is all that matters. This picture was taken on a summer day when a light southwest breeze was blocked by a stand of tall pines, leaving the water so still that the clouds and the water seemed to merge- I could not tell if I was fishing in the marsh or in the heavens, as if there were a difference.

A New Low-Tampon Crafts For Christmas

Iowahawk Previews 2006 Movies

Iowahawk is one of the greatest humor sights ever-I believe he was in the top 3 of the Weblog Awards. Here is his preview of what moviegoers have to look forward to in 'o6.

The Reel World

Tinseltown Looks to '06 Rebound

Los Angeles - As the box office closes on the US film industry's worst year since 1990, showbiz insiders are looking to a strong slate of 2006 releases to help the industry snap back from the financial doldrums.

"If we've learned anything this year, it's that the market is really hungry for more good, slow, imponderable stories and dim lighting," and industry analyst Tim Jarrard of the trade journal Hollywood Reporter. "The industry has listened, and I think the public will be pleased with the direction it will be taking in 2006."

Anticipated major theatrical releases from Hollywood include:

Incident at Amity: Steven Spielberg directs this cerebral remake of Jaws slated for summer release. Insiders say the 31-year update will feature "additional points of view" and "be less judgmental to sharks." Starring Willam H. Macy as the anti-shark fundamentalist, and Tom Hanks as the Great White.

Silenced Wood: George Clooney stars and directs in this drama about the climate of fear among ventriloquists during radio's notorious Charlie McCarthy era.

Hershey Highway: Based on the Tony Kushner play, a candy factory worker (Phillip Sousa Huffnagel) and Amish teen (Joaquin Seymour Gyllenhall) find forbidden pleasure in this poignant love tale set against the gritty backdrop of Pennsylvania's chocolate belt.

Me Billy: Based on the inspirational true story of a learning disabled man (Sean Penn) who rescues New Orleans from racist flood with a magical red cup.

Baby Doc: Jamie Foxx stars in this biopic about Haitian civil rights activist wrongly accused of despotism by LA police.

Reservoir Puppies: Director Quentin Tarantino teams with Pixar in this animated children's holiday tale about six lost whelps and a botched burglary. Starring the voices of Steve Buscemi, Harvey Keitel, and Mike Meyers as Mister Pinky.

Zaftig Pi: The Eigenvectress. Plus-size video game superheroine comes to life, as Oscar winner Kathy Bates battles Christian fundamentalist aliens with kung fu cartwheels.

The Vespa Diaries: Romantic revolutionary scooterist Pol Pot (Lysol Phoenix) and US intellectual Noam Chomsky (Matt Affleck) find gay rainforest love in this Cambodian remake of 'Roman Holiday' that had Sundance audiences cheering.

Fearful Silence: Courageous What's My Line? contestant (Leonardo DiCaprio) refuses to answer panelist questions in this gameshow drama set against the McCarthy-blacklist era. With William H. Macy as Bennett Cerf and Kevin Spacey as Kitty Carlisle.

Angel Soft This: In a shocking and sometimes humorous indictment of the toilet paper industry, filmmaker Morgan Spurlock documents the ravages he suffers after 30 straight days of non-stop buttwiping.

Mugabe: Will Smith stars in this biopic about Zimbawean civil rights activist wrongly accused of mass starvation program by LA police.

Lunch Lady: poignant story of school cook-turned-playground strangler has generated advanced Oscar buzz for star Jennifer Lopez, who reportedly gained 400 pounds, facial tatoos and gum disease for the role

Fearful Deadly Fear: Blacklisted 1950's screenwriter Damon Runyan (Tim Robbins) writes a secret screenplay about the the McCarthy-era blacklists, in this 1950's blacklist drama set against the background of the McCarthy era blacklists.

Cold Humpcrack Creekwater: Two retarded Gay cowgirl sisters (Rene Zellweger, Jenna Jameson) defy a fundamentalist sherriff (Hovercraft Phoenix) and discover love in this 1930's period piece set in the Appalachian outback of Nebraskansaw.

Redemption: the Idi Amin Story: Gary Coleman stars in this biopic about Ugandan civil rights activist wrongly accused of cannibalism by LA police.

Snow Fuji Mountain: Mothra (Toby Damon) and Gamera (Orlando Law) discover forbidden love while destroying Tokyo, in this story of nuclear-triggered sexual awakening.

The Girl is Fabulous: Totally straight New Yorker Ted (Tom Cruise) falls head over heels in hetero love with Marcy (Katie Holmes) in this completely ungay romantic comedy set against the backdrop of New York's glamorous West Village.

Silence 1984: Documentary filmmaker Errol Morris interviews the survivors of Hollywood's notorious Reagan era 'Year of Fear,' when only three McCarthy-themed movies were released.

Susan Cooper, an industry writer for LA Weekly, said that 2006 plans reflected "a renewed focus on real human stories," after several disappointing 2005 action fantasy releases. She cited the planned spring release of Hollywood's first non-documentary look at 9/11 -- Oliver Stone's Inside Job -- as evidence of Hollywood's return to realism and a reason for industry optimism.

"There's a really good buzz about it in Hollywood," said "With a top director and an all-star cast, this studios are hoping for a blockbuster return."

Stone's $140 million September 11 epic stars Nicholas Cage, along with Haley Joel Osment as Osama Bin Laden, Robin Williams as Donald Rumsfeld, Dakota Fanning as Zacarias Moussawi, Val Kilmer as the ghost Richard Nixon, Harvey Fierstein as the International Neocon Zionist Conspiracy, Bubbles the Chimp as George Bush, and Jim Carrey as 'My Pet Goat.'

"I think 'Inside Job' shows the public that we artists can make serious films on subjects that they care about," said Stone. "Maybe then we can move on to collective healing, and you inbred flyover fundie hillbillies will finally shut the fuck up."

Comparing Your Favorite College Football Team to Rappers

The Shrink's Christmas Song Book

PSYCHIATRISTS' CHRISTMAS CAROLS FOR EVERY DIAGNOSIS

Schizoprenia --- Do You Hear What I Hear?

Multiple Personality Disorder --- We Three Queens Disoriented Are

Dementia --- I Think I'll Be Home For Christmas

Narcissistic --- Hark The Herald Angels Sing About Me

Manic --- Deck The Hall and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Buses and Trucks and Trees and Fire Hydrants and.........

Paranoid --- Santa Claus Is Coming To Get Me

Borderline Personality Disorder --- Thoughts Of Roasting On An Open Fire

Personality Disorder --- You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm Gonna Pout, Maybe I'll Tell You Why

Obessive Complusive Disorder --- Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells

ADHD -- Hark the herald angels sing ba-rum-pa-pum-pum in the little town of Bethlehem up on the housetop in a winter wonderland one foggy Christmas Eve hey how bout them Bears no I don't want to switch to Sprint but thank you for shopping at K-Mart.

Wreath on Post 

Christmas Tree on Mast 

Front St. 

Boardwalk wreaths 

Merry Christmas from the Carolina Coast

 

Most God-Awful Christmas Displays

From Jeff Goldstein...

"Opinion I can handle; it's biased narrative, posing as objective reporting that really needs to stop." 'Nuff said!

Comparing College Football Teams to Simpson's Characters

How To Get in Good with the Band

As regular readers of this blog are aware, I have been lucky enough to be able to play some live music with my great and uber-talented friends Dicky Scearce and Jack Ketner this year. I've developed a profound respect for what they do and what they put up with at some venues. Trying to make music and keep things in check when half the crowd has drunk themselves "sideways" is quite the feat. Dicky sent me these rules for all you live music fans-from the bands perspective. Enjoy!

MUSICIANS ARE EXPERT MIND READERS


When requesting a song from the band, just say "play my song!" We have a chip implanted in our heads with an unlimited database with the favorite tunes of every patron who ever walked into a bar and all songs ever recorded, so feel free to be vague, we love the challenge. If we do not remember exactly what tune you want, we're only kidding.

Bands know every song ever recorded, so keep humming. Hum harder if need be... it helps jog the memory.

If a band tells you they do not know a song you want to hear, they either forgot that they know the tune or they are just putting you on. Try singing a few words for the band. Any words will do.

It also helps to scream your request from across the room several times per set followed by the phrases, "AW COME ON!" and, "YOU SUCK!" Exaggerated hand gestures expressing disapproval from the dance floor are a big help as well, such as the thumbs down or your middle finger. Put-downs are the best way to jog a band's memory. This instantly promotes you to the status of "Personal Friend Of The Band."

Entertainers are notorious fakers and jokesters and never really prepare for their shows. They simply walk on stage with no prior thought to what they will do once they arrive. An entertainer's job is so easy, even a monkey could do it, so don't let them off the hook easily. Your request is all that matters.

If a metal band had played at the club a few weeks ago, the next band that follows will automatically know every metal tune the previous band ever played, even if the current band is a blues or country band. It's the law. Feel free to yell "AC/DC!" or "SLAYER!" to a band that plays strictly originals or jazz for example. Conversely, Deadheads may yell for Grateful Dead tunes at a dance or metal band.

IMPORTANT

When an entertainer leans over to hear you better, grab his or her head in both hands and yell directly into their ear, while holding their head securely so they cannot pull away. This will be taken as an invitation to a friendly and playful game of tug of war between their head and your hands. Don't give up! Hang on until the singer or guitar player submits. Drummers are often safe from this fun game since they usually sit in the back, protected by the guitar players. Keyboard players are protected by their instrument, and only play the game when tricked into coming out from behind their keyboards. Though difficult to get them play, it's not impossible, so keep trying. They're especially vulnerable during the break between songs.

TALKING WITH THE BAND

The best time to discuss anything with the band in any meaningful way is at the middle of a song when all band members are singing at the same time. Our hearing is so advanced that we can pick out your tiny voice from the megawatt wall of sound blasting all around us.

Musicians are expert lip readers too. If a musician does not reply to your question or comment during a tune, it's because they didn't get a good look at your mouth in order to read your lips. Simply continue to scream your request and be sure to over emphasize the words with your lips. This helps immensely. Don't be fooled. Singers have the innate ability to answer questions and sing at the same time. If the singer doesn't answer your questions immediately, regardless of how stupid the question may seem, it's because they are purposely ignoring you. If this happens, immediately cop an attitude. We love this.

HELPING THE BAND

If you inform the band that you are a singer, the band will appreciate your help with the next few tunes, or however long you can remain standing on stage. Just pretend you're in a Karaoke bar. Simply feel free to walk up on stage and join in. By the way, the drunker you are, the better you sound, and the louder you should sing.


If by chance you fall off the stage, be sure to crawl back up and attempt to sing harmony. Keep in mind that nothing assists the band more than outrageous dancing, fifth and sixth part harmonies, or a tambourine played out of tempo. Try the cowbell; they love the challenge. The band always needs the help and will take this as a compliment.

VERY IMPORTANT

Remember to allow enough time to make it from the stage to the bathroom in case of an emergency. On stage accidents are bad form. The band will carry on.

BONUS TIP

As a last resort, wait until the band takes a break and then get on stage and start playing their instruments. They love this. Even if you are ejected from the club, you can rest assured in the fact that you have successfully completed your audition. The band will call you immediately the following day to offer you a position.

See you at the next gig.

Some Year-End Reflections (and a Toast)

Been taking the easy way out-cutting and pasting from other sources just to put something up. Seems every one wants to give a fishing rod as a Christmas gift, but they don't get around to thinking about it until December. For godsake, folks, I'm not a machine. I've literally had fishing rods turning day and night for two weeks. At lunch, I'll wrap some guides, apply some epoxy or glue up a handle so it will give me a shot at finishing one that evening. I'll slap on a coat of finish before trudging off to work, so that no waking hour is unused in getting these things out on time. I'm down to four right now-one will be done tonight, one done tomorrow night and the other two have no holiday deadline so it appears I'll be freed up somewhat by Wednesday. All court will be over for the year tomorrow and I'll be glad for that. I love our local lawyers (a really good group), but this time of year, I'm just tired of dealing with them. The arrival of the new year, however artificial a demarcation it is, for some reason does wonders for my attitude-like someone turning over and shaking a cluttered Etch-A-Sketch- clearing up all the old crap from the previous year. Maybe it's related to the dreaded holidays finally being over or perhaps it's the knowledge that the daylight is increasing in tiny increments or maybe it's knowing that in not too many days, that day will come when you realize that spring is here to stay.

It's been a fantastic twelve months-full of laughs and birthdays and weddings and new friends and live music and boats and saltwater and cold adult-beverages and a few fish (almost all released to be caught again). If I tried to thank everyone who made it so great, I would leave someone out and always regret it. It was also a year of introspection, realization and discovery and some very deep thinking about friends and friendship. One thing I realized is the fact is my true friends don't have to be told who they are-they know it and they will never be in doubt about it. They know to a moral certainty that there is absolutely nothing I wouldn't do for them or give to them if they needed it-nothing! My intense loyalty to these fine folks also makes me a completely intolerant, inflexible bastard in their defense-I will not tolerate those (some of whose "friendship" I used to care about)-who stab my friends in the back, or try to f%@k with their psyche or emotions, or talk badly of them or try to lob monkeywrenches into their relationships or our friendship. I've seen that pathetic act trotted out this year and it will always get the same result-a severe tongue-lashing and a quick toss on the dungheap of folks whose "friendship" ran only in one direction-theirs. Good riddance!-I'm glad to have discovered your true colors before wasting another nanosecond of my precious time and goodwill. I propose a toast for the new year:
To my friends-"Here's to another great year ahead!"
To my sworn enemies-"No problem, I know who you are!"
To backstabbers and monkeywrench throwers-"Bite Me!"

White Trash Christmas

WD-40 Facts

WD-40 literally stands for Water Displacement, 40th attempt. That's the name straight out of the lab book used by the chemist who developed WD-40 back in 1953. The chemist, Norm Larsen, was attempting to concoct a formula to prevent corrosion -- a task which is done by displacing water. Norm's persistence paid off when he perfected the formula on his 40th try.

Some of the 2000 documented uses for the stuff:

~Protects silver from tarnishing
~Cleans and lubricates guitar strings
~Gets oil spots off concrete driveways
~Keeps flies off cows
~Restores and cleans chalkboards
~Loosens stubborn zippers
~Untangles jewelry chains
~Removes stains from stainless steel sinks
~Removes dirt and grime from the barbecue grill
~Keeps ceramic/terra cotta garden pots from oxidizing
~Removes tomato stains from clothing
~Keeps glass shower doors free of water spots
~Camouflages scratches in ceramic and marble floors
~Keeps scissors working smoothly
~Lubricates noisy door hinges on vehicles and doors in homes
~Gives a children's play gym slide a shine for a super fast slide
~Lubricates gear shift and mower-deck lever for ease of handling on riding mowers
~Rids rocking chairs and swings of squeaky noises
~Lubricates tracks in sticking home windows and makes them easier to open
~Spraying an umbrella stem makes it easier to open and close
~Restores and cleans padded leather dashboards and vinyl bumpers
~Restores and cleans roof racks on vehicles
~Lubricates and stops squeaks in electric fans
~Lubricates wheel sprockets on tricycles, wagons and bicycles for easy handling
~Lubricates fan belts on washers and dryers and keeps them running smoothly
~Keeps rust from forming on saws and saw blades, and other tools
~Removes splattered grease on stove
~Keeps bathroom mirror from fogging
~Lubricates prosthetic limbs
~Keeps pigeons off the balcony (they hate the smell)
~Removes all traces of duct tape
~I have even heard of folks spraying it on their arms, hands, and knees to relieve arthritis pain.
~Florida's favorite use was "cleans and removes love bugs from auto grills and bumpers." Bug guts will eat away the finish on your car if not removed quickly!
~The favorite use in the state of New York:--WD-40 protects the Statue of Liberty from the elements.
~WD-40 attracts fish. Spray a LITTLE on live bait or lures and you will be catching the big one in no time. It's a lot cheaper than the chemical attractants that are made for just that purpose. Keep in mind though, using some chemical laced baits or lures for fishing are not allowed in some states.
~Keeps away chiggers on the kids
~Use it for fire ant bites. It takes the sting away immediately, and stops the itch.
~WD-40 is great for removing crayon from walls. Spray on the mark and wipe with a clean rag.
~Also, if you've discovered that your teenage daughter has washed and dried a tube of lipstick with a load of laundry, saturate the lipstick spots withWD-40 and re-wash. Presto! Lipstick is gone!
~If you sprayed WD-40 on the distributor cap, it would displace the moisture and allow the car to start.
~WD-40, long known for its ability to remove leftover tape smunges (sticky label tape), is also a lovely perfume and air freshener! Sprayed liberally on every hinge in the house, it leaves that distinctive clean fresh scent for up to two days!
~Seriously though, it removes black scuff marks from the kitchen floor! Use WD-40 for those nasty tar and scuff marks on flooring. It doesn't seem to harm the finish and you won't have to scrub nearly as hard to get them off. Just remember to open some windows if you have a lot of marks.
_____

I'm sure this is on the up-and-up! Anyone want to go in with me?

I received this e-mail yesterday from a fine gentleman from Senegal. I went to a seminar fairly early in my prosecutorial career and heard a speaker talk about the biggest export of West Africa-fraud. He said that the moment you hear the words Nigeria, Liberia or Senegal, get hold of your wallet. Steve at Hog On Ice has done a remarkable job jousting with these buffoons and possibly has a book deal from it. If you get a chance and have a good bit of time, check out his postings collected under "Good Morning, Nigeria." Absolutely side splitting.

Oh, yeah-here's my chance at instant riches:

From Barrister Peter Williams

Goodday,

I am barrister Peter Williams(Solicitor)a national from senegal . I am
the Personal Attorney to Mr. Mike Jones, a national of your country, who
used to work with Chevron Oil Company in Nigeria.On the 21st of April
2003, my client, his wife And their three children were involved in a car
accident along Sagamu Express Road.

All occupants of the vehicle unfortunately lost there lives. Since then I
have made several enquiries to your embassy to locate any of my clients
extended relatives, this has also proved unsuccessful.After these several
unsuccessful attempts, I decided to,trace his relatives over the Internet,
to locate any member of his family but of no avail, hence I contacted you
as supposed relative to enable both parties claim this fund for our own
use.

I have contacted you to assist in repartrating the money left behind by my
client before they get confisicated or declared unserviceable by the
Finance House where this huge deposits were lodged.Particularly, the
Finance House where the deceased had a valued of US$9 million dollars to
be precisely has issued me a notice to provide the next of kin or have the
account confisicated.

Since I have been unsuccesfull in locating the the relatives for over 2
years now I seek your conscent to present you as the next of kin of the
deceased since you are from the same country so that the proceeds of this
account valued at US$9 million dollars can be paid to you and then you and
me can share the money.25% to you and 70% for me,while 5% should be for
incidental expenses that government may required either in your country or
mine. I have all necessary legal documents that can be used to back up the
claim.

All I require is your honest cooperation to enable us see this deal
through. I guarantee that this will be executed under a legitimate
arrangement that will protect you from any breach of the law.

Please get in touch with me by my email to enable us discuss further.

Best regards,

Barrister Peter Williams

Police Whack Giant Snow Penis

New Home Defense System

Use your household furnishings to ward off the bad guys!

This is actually from England-Here is the pitch:

"It is reported that 50% of people in London are worried about security and sleep with some form of self-defence to hand, for use against intruders.

The 'Safe Bedside Table' has a removable leg that acts as a club and a top that doubles as a shield for self-defence. This is for people who are willing to take on an intruder, providing an extra sense of security whilst in bed."

Beautiful Atrocities Essential Guide to Meth

BEAUTIFUL ATROCITIES' ESSENTIAL GUIDE TO METH

The 80s were a Golden Age of low taxes, cheap gas, Prince, Cheers, & beautiful people tweeking out on fine imported pharmaceuticals. Then came the 90s: Friends, the Clintons, Celine Dion, & crack. If coke was Macy's, crack was Target: cheap no-frills off-the-rack thrills.

Now we have meth, the Walmart of recreational drugs. No longer can you glamorously piss your life away along with the soulless Hollywood glitterati. Now it's you & every other trailer park Sally from Tucson to North Platte. In an effort to maintain some semblance of standards, here are a few places where producers still attempt a quality product:

Stockton / Modesto: As Napa is to Chardonnay, the Central Valley is to meth, turning out a product with E-cup personality & a caustic yet delicate bouquet with flavors of battery acid, lighter fluid, Maximum Strength Dristan, chloroform, Mountain Dew, pine tar, MSG, & a whisper of balsamic vinegar. The ammonia finish lingers forever. Literally.

Mexicali: For the more refined palate that prefers an imported blend. Produced in quaint, well-fortified bodegas, it boasts an ice-pick pungency with notes of chipotle, cyanide, hydrochloric acid, horchata, ether, manzanita, Laetrile, epazote, & the piquancy of utter desolation. Good with Skittles & Alka Seltzer.

Lincoln / Omaha: Many fine houses springing up along Nebraska's Highway 80, aka Hwy Eight Ball. A naphtha-laced nose packed with Dexatrim & sugar beets. With heat, gives notes of Drano, Red Bull, turpentine, mesquite, road tar, & mercury. An unpretentious product that can be used young or cellared for next weekend.

Nacogdoches: The piney woods of East Texas are home to an unfiltered, opaque gray product with arabesques of lye, Sudafed, Liquid Smoke, burnt toffee, hydrogen peroxide, swamp gas, & Worcestershire sauce. Occasional off-odor like decomposing corpse. An acquired taste, like blowfish or Andrew Lloyd Weber. Goes well with Excedrin & orange marshmallow peanuts.

The Amazing Meth Makeover

Rock, Paper, Saddam!

How Government Works

Dear Aunt Thelma: Thank You for the Great Knitted Digestive System You Sent Me For Christmas!

The World Explained-by Monkeys

Enjoy this essay by David Wong-It explains everything.

Twelve Steps to Total Enlightenment by David Wong


1. What do monkeys have to do with it?

Picture a monkey. A monkey dressed like a little pirate, if you wish. We'll call him Slappy.

Imagine you have Slappy as a pet. Imagine a personality for him. Maybe you and he have little pirate monkey adventures and maybe even join up to fight crime. You'd be sad if Slappy died, wouldn't you?

Now, imagine you get five more monkeys. Tito, Bubbles, Fluffy, Marcel and ShitTosser. Imagine personalities for each of them. Maybe one is aggressive, one is affectionate, one is distant and quiet. And so on. They're all your personal monkey friends.

Now imagine a hundred monkeys. Then a thousand.

How long until you can't tell them apart? Or remember their names? At what point, in your mind, do your beloved pets become just a faceless sea of monkey? If you get enough monkeys, you'll eventually have enough that you no longer even care if one of them dies.

Now, each of these monkeys is every bit the monkey that Slappy was. It's just that you don't give a rat's ass any more.

2. So this whole thing is your crusade against monkey overpopulation? I'll have my monkey castrated this very day!

Uh, no. Stay with me here.

You see, monkey experts performed a monkey study a while back and discovered that the size of the monkey's monkey brain determined the size of the monkey groups the monkeys formed. The bigger the brain, the bigger the little societies they built.

They cut up so many monkey brains, in fact, that they found they could actually take a brain they had never seen before and with a simple dissection, analysis and a quick taste, they could accurately predict what size tribes that species of creature formed.

Most monkeys operate in troupes of 50 or so. But somebody slipped them a slightly larger monkey brain -- but a monkey brain nonetheless -- and they estimated the ideal group or society for this particular animal was about 150.

That brain, of course, was human. Probably from a homeless man they snatched off the streets.

3. Oooooh. Okay...

I don't get it.

Let's try an example. Famous news talking guy Tim Russert tells a charming story in his book Big Russ and Me about his father, who used to take half an hour to carefully box up any broken glass before taking it to the trash. Why? Because "the trash guy might cut his hands."

That this was such an odd thing to do illustrates my monkey point. None of us spend time worrying too much about the garbage man's welfare even though he performs a crucial role in not forcing us to live in a cave carved from a mountain of our own filth. We don't usually consider his safety or comfort at all and if we do, it's not in the same way we would worry over our best friend or wife or girlfriend or even our dog.

For instance, I live in a town heavy on little ordinances about what one can and cannot throw out in the trash (lawn clippings must be sealed in clear plastic, labelled, individually sterilized, named and stacked in alphabetical order according to species). Thus, if you listen to people around here speak on the subject of garbage you get nothing but snide comments and strategies to get around the petty rules (just dump the drain cleaner in a pickle jar! Those trash bastards will never know!)

There is almost no thought about what the drain acid or the Black Plague-infected rats in the garbage will do to the poor sanitation worker.

Why? Because the trash guy exists outside the Monkeysphere.


4. The Monkeysphere?

Yes, the Monkeysphere. That's the group of people who each of us, using our monkeyish brains, are able to conceptualize as people. If the monkey scientists are monkey right, it's physically impossible for this to be a number larger than 150. Most of us do not have room in our Monkeysphere for our friendly neighborhood Sanitation Worker. So, we don't think of him as a person. We think of him The Thing That Makes The Trash Go Away.

5. Hey! I like my garbage man!

Maybe, but one way or another we all have limits to our sphere of monkey concern. It's simply the way our brains are built. We each have a certain circle of people who we think of as people. Usually it's our own friends and family and neighbors and classmates and coworkers (or at least the ones in your department) and church or suicide cult.

This is literally the reason society doesn't work quite right. The people who exist outside that core group of a few dozen people are not people to us. They're sort of one-dimensional bit characters.

Remember the first time, as a kid, you met one of your school teachers outside the classroom? Maybe you saw old Miss Puckerson at Taco Bell picking up and eating a whole Taco Salad with her bare hands? Or you saw your principal walking out of a dildo shop?

Do you remember that surreal feeling you had when you saw these people actually had lives outside the classroom? I mean, they're teachers.

Or think of it this way: Which would upset you more, your brother dying, or a dozen kids across town getting killed because their bus collided with a truck hauling killer bees?

Which would be bigger news to your neighbors, those dozen mutilated bus children across town or 15,000 dead in an earthquake in Iran?

They're all humans and they are all equally dead. But the closer to our Monkeysphere they are, the more it means to us.

6. That's not my fault! I don't know those people!

Right. And they don't know you. That's why they don't mind stealing your stereo or vandalizing your house or cutting your wages or raising your taxes or bombing your office building or choking your computer with spam advertising diet and penis drugs they know don't work. You're outside their Monkeysphere. In their mind, you're just a vague shape with a pocket full of money for the taking.

That's the whole thing, right here. Life on Earth, in a nutshell. We are hard-wired to have a drastic double standard for the people inside and out of our Monkeysphere and those outside make up 99.999% of the world's population.

Have you ever gotten pissed off in traffic? Like, really pissed off? I think we all have. We've thrown finger gestures and wedged our heads out of the window and screamed "LEARN TO F#@&^NG DRIVE, F*%$ER!!" We've all pulled the gun out of the glove compartment and let a few fly at the offending car. Not firing at their head or anything. Just, you know, at their tires.

Now imagine yourself standing in an elevator with three other people, two friends and a coworker. A friend goes to hit a button and accidentally punches the wrong one. Would you lean over, your mouth two inches from her ear, and scream "LEARN TO OPERATE THE F#@&ING ELEVATOR BUTTONS, SHITCAMEL!!"

They'd think you'd gone insane. We all go a little insane, though, when we get in a group larger than the Monkeysphere. You know the feeling, that invincibility of being an anonymous head in a crowd, screaming curses at a football player you'd never dare say to his face.

7. I'm nice to strangers! Being anonymous doesn't have to lead to assholism!

Not right away, but eventually. It starts when the needs of ourselves or those within our Monkeysphere require screwing someone outside it (even if that need is just venting some tension and anger via exaggerated insults). This is why most of wouldn't dream of stealing money from the pocket of the old lady next door, but don't mind stealing cable or adding a shady exemption on our tax return or quietly celebrating when they forget to charge us for something at the restaurant.

You may have a list of rationalizations as long as a porn star's beefhorn for doing it, but the truth is that in our monkey brains the old woman next door is a human being while the cable company is a big, cold, faceless machine. That the company is, in reality, nothing but a group of people every bit as human as the old lady, or that some kind old ladies actually work there and would lose their jobs if enough cable were stolen, rarely occurs to us.

That's one of the ingenius things about the big-time religions, by the way. The old religious writers knew it was easier to put the screws to a stranger, so they taught us to get a personal idea of God in our heads who says, "no matter who you hurt, you're really hurting me. Also, I can crush you like a grape." You must admit that if they weren't writing words inspired by the Almighty himself, they at least understood the Monkeysphere.

You see? Once you understand the Monkeysphere principle you can see examples all around. You'll walk the streets in a daze, like Roddy Piper after putting on his X-ray sunglasses in They Live.

Click on a talk radio show. Listen to conservatives talk about "The Government" as if it were some huge, lurking dragon ready to eat you and your paycheck whole. Never mind that the government is made up of people and that all of that money they take goes into the pockets of human beings. Conservative talker Rush Limbaugh is known to tip 50% at restaurants, but flies into a broadcast tirade if even half that dollar amount is deducted from his paycheck by "the government," even though that money helps that very same single mom he had no problem tipping in her capacity as a waitress.

Click over to a liberal show now, listen to them describe "Multinational Corporations" in the same diabolical terms, an evil black force that belches smoke and poisons water and enslaves humanity. Isn't it strange how, say, a lone man who carves and sells children's toys in his basement is a sweetheart who just loves bringing joy at Christmas, but a big-time toy corporation (which brings toys to millions of kids at Christmas) is an inhuman soul-grinding greed machine? Strangely enough, if the kindly lone toy making guy made enough toys and hired enough people and expanded to enough shops, we'd eventually stop seeing it as a toy-making shop and start seeing it as the fiery Orc factories of Mordor.

And if you've just thought, "well, those talk show hosts are just a bunch of egomaniacal blowhards," you've just done the same thing, boiled real humans into a two-word cartoon character. It's the Monkeysphere!

8. Stop using the word 'Monkeysphere!' Humans are completely different from monkeys!

Legendary monkeytician Charles Darwin would disagree.

It was Darwin's observation of primates along with his assistant, Jeje (pronounced "heyhey") Santiago that caused him to deduce that humans and chimps were evolutionary cousins. As sophisticated as we are (compare our advanced sewage treatment plants to the chimps' primitive technique of hurling the feces with their bare hands), the inescapable truth is we are just as limited by our mental hardware as that tragic figure of American lore, Terminator 2.

The primary difference is that monkeys are happy to stay in small groups and rarely interact with others outside their monkey gang. This is why they rarely go to war, though when they do it is widely thought to be hilarious. Humans, however, require cars and oil and quality manufactured goods by the fine folks at 3M and Japanese video games and worldwide internets and, most importantly, governments. All of these things take groups larger than 150 people to maintain effectively. Thus, we routinely find ourselves functioning in bunches larger than our primate brains are able to cope with.

This is where the problems begin. Like a fragile naked human pyramid, we are simultaneously supporting and resenting each other. We bitch out loud about our soul-sucking job as an anonymous face on an assembly line, while at the exact same time riding in a car that only an assembly line could have produced. It's a constant contradiction that has left us pissed off and joining informal wrestling clubs in basements.

This is why I think it was with a great burden of sadness that Darwin turned to his assistant and lamented, "Jeje, we're the monkeys."

9. Well, Monkeysphere or no Monkeysphere, some groups deserve our sympathy and some don't.

No, I'm not talking about sympathy. That was a stupid, stupid comment and you're a fool to have made it.

I'm not asking anyone to sympathize with the terrorists, for instance.

But think of Osama Bin Laden. Did you just picture a camouflaged man hiding in a cave, drawing up suicide missions? Or are you thinking of a man who gets hungry and has a favorite food and who had a childhood crush on a girl and who has athelete's foot and chronic headaches and laughs when a friend farts, a man who wakes up in the morning with a boner and loves volleyball and fusses over his spoiled children and haggles over the price of a car and who goes on Seinfeld-esque rants about too much ice in his drinks?

Something in you, just now, probably was offended by that. You think I'm trying to build sympathy for the murderous bastard. Do you see the equation? Simply knowing random human facts about him immediately tugs at our sympathy strings. He comes closer to our Monkeysphere, he takes on dimension.

Now, the cold truth is my Bin Laden is just as desperately in need of a bullet to the skull as the raving four-color caricature on some redneck's T-shirt. The key to understanding people like him, though, is realizing that we are the caricature on his T-shirt.

Go ahead, try it with any bad guy. I heard a 16 year-old kid I know, one just getting into politics, go on and on about how Washington doesn't give a shit about us and how greedy politicians are and so on ("what's FICA?!?!" he screams as he looks at his first paycheck).

I also saw this same kid, at his job, drop a hamburger patty on the floor, pick it up, and slap in on a bun and serve it to a customer. Well, there's your key to understanding your government, kiddies. Those politicians see you in the exact same way you see the customers lined up at the burger counter. Which is, just barely. Want to guess how the CEO at your company sees you worker bees?

In both cases, for the guy making the burger and the guy running Exxon, getting through the workweek and collecting the paycheck are all that matters. No thought is given to the real human unhappiness being spread by doing it shittily (ever gotten so sick from food poisoning you thought your stomach lining was going to fly out of your mouth?) Why? Because that many customers or employees just can't fit inside the Monkeysphere.

If you've just now protested that you shouldn't have to care for the customers for minimum wage, let me assure you that if you don't feel sympathy for your fellow man at $6.00 an hour, you won't feel anything at $600,000 a year.

Or, look at it the other way. If you're allowed to be indifferent and even resentful to the masses for $6.00 an hour, just think of how angry the average Pakistani man is allowed to be when he's making the equivalent of six dollars a week. And so on.

10. The Monkeysphere will surely be the end of us all!

Well, maybe. There is a reason why all of the really phat-ass nations with the biggest SUV's with the shiniest 22-inch rims all have some kind of representative democracy (where you vote for people to do the governmenting for you) and all of them are, to some degree, capitalist (where people actually get to buy property and keep some of what they earn). It monkeys out like this:

A representative democracy allows a small group of people to make all of the decisions, while letting us common people feel like we're doing something by going to a polling place every couple of years and pulling a lever that, in reality, has about the same effect as the darkness knob on your toaster. We can simultaneously feel like we're in charge while being contained enough that we can't cause any real monkey mayhem once we fly into one of our screeching, arm-flapping monkey frenzies (a woman showed her boob at the Super Bowl! We want a boob and football ban immediately!)

Conversely, some people in the distant past naively thought they could sit all of the millions of monkeys down and say, "okay, everybody go pick the bananas, then bring them here, and we'll distribute them with a complex formula determining banana need! Now go gather bananas for the good of society!" For the monkeys it was a confused, comical, tree-humping disaster.

Later, a far more cynical man sat the monkeys down and said, "you want bananas? Each of you go get your own. I'm taking a nap." That man, of course, was German philosopher Hans Capitalism.

As long as everybody gets their own bananas and shares with the few in their Monkeysphere, the system will thrive even though nobody is even trying to make the system thrive. This is perhaps how Ayn Rand would have put it, had she not been such a hateful bitch.

Then, some time in the Third Century, French philosopher Pierre "Frenchy" LaFrench invented racism. This was a way of simplifying the too-complex-for-monkeys world by imagining all people of a certain race as being the same person, thinking they all have the same attitudes and mannerisms and tastes in food and clothes and music. It sort of works, as long as we think of that person as being a good person (those Asians are so hard-working and precise and well-mannered!) but when we start seeing them as being one, giant, gaping asshole (the French, ironically) our monkey happiness again breaks down.

11. So we should kill the French?

It's not all the French's fault. The truth is, all of these monkey management schemes only go so far. For instance, today one in four Americans has some kind of mental illness, usually depression. One in four. Watch a basketball game. The odds are at least two of those people on the floor are mentally ill. Look around your house; if everybody else there seems okay, it's you.

Is it any surprise? I just watched a whole news special on the Obesity Epidemic. I've had this worry laid on my shoulders about millions of other people eating too much. What exactly am I supposed to do with that information? I know what to do about the fact that I'm fat, but why am I getting upset about 80 million other people whose diets I don't control? You're harshing my buzz with the pork-laden plight of people outside my Monkeysphere and now I carry that useless weight of worry around like, you know, some kind of animal on my back.

12. So how can we defeat the Monkeysphere? Would it help if we cut all of the carbs from our diet? What if we were more proactive?

You can start by implementing a little three-step plan I like to call The TriMonkey or... the T.R.Y. Monkey:

First, TOTAL MORON. That is, accept the fact THAT YOU ARE ONE. We all are.

That really annoying person you know, the one who's always spouting bullshit, the person who always thinks they're right? Well, the odds are that for somebody else, you're that person.

So take the amount you think you know, reduce it by 99.999%, and then you'll have an idea of how much you actually know regarding things outside your Monkeysphere. Once you accept this you can no longer smirk over other people just because you think they're morons.

This way you won't, for instance, snidely dismiss all religious faith as ridiculous and in the next breath solemnly share your experiences with the conspiracy of reptilian overlords who secretly run society.

Second, UNDERSTAND that there are no Supermonkeys. Just monkeys.

Those guys on TV you see, giving the inspirational seminars, teaching you how to reach your potential and become rich and successful like them? You know how they made their money? By giving seminars. For the most part, the only thing they do well is convince others they do everything well.

No, the universal moron principal established in No. 1 above applies here, too. Don't pretend politicians are somehow supposed to be immune to all the backhanded fuckery we all do in our daily lives and don't laugh and point when the preacher gets caught on video snorting cocaine off a prostitute's ass. A good exercise is to picture your hero -- whoever it is -- passed out on his lawn, naked from the waist down. The odds are it's happened at some point. Even Gandhi most likely has hotel rooms and dead hookers in his past.

And don't even think about ignoring advice from a moral teacher just because the source enjoys the ol' Colombian Nose Candy from time to time. We're all members of varying species of hypocrite (or did you tell them at the job interview that you once called in sick to spend a day leveling up on Final Fantasy X?) Don't use your heroes' vices as an excuse to let yours run wild.

And finally, DON'T LET ANYBODY simplify it for you. The world cannot be made simple. Anyone who tries to paint a picture of the world in basic comic book colors is most likely trying to use you as a pawn.

This is not a world of us vs. them, of home vs. away teams and animal mascots. It is not a world of step-by-step success plans and clever slogans.

So just remember: T-R-Y. Go forth and do likewise, gents. Now you've got
MONKEY MOMENTUM!



------------------------

Scared of Santa Gallery

43 pics of kids frightened by red-suited men with white beards. Here's my favorite:

According to this website, it would take 117 cups of coffee to kill me

Check out Death by Caffeine-(click on link in title)

Maybe I could use the coffee to wash down the 3, 156 Reese's Peanut Butter Cups it would take to put me down.

Some days are like this. 

Worst High School Essay Analogies

* He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
Joseph Romm, Washington

* She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again.
Rich Murphy, Fairfax Station

* The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
Russell Beland, Springfield

* McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty Bag filled with vegetable soup.
Paul Sabourin, Silver Spring

* From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and "Jeopardy" comes on at 7 p.m. instead of 7:30.
Roy Ashley, Washington

* Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.
Chuck Smith, Woodbridge

* Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center.
Russell Beland, Springfield

* Bob was as perplexed as a hacker who means to access T:flw.quid55328.com\aaakk/ch@ung but gets T:\flw.quidaaakk/ch@ung by mistake
Ken Krattenmaker, Landover Hills

* Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
Unknown

* He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
Jack Bross, Chevy Chase

* The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
Gary F. Hevel, Silver Spring

* Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like "Second Tall Man."
Russell Beland, Springfield

* Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
Jennifer Hart, Arlington

* The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.
Wayne Goode, Madison, Ala.

* They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth
Paul Kocak, Syracuse, N.Y.

* John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
Russell Beland, Springfield

* The thunder was ominous-sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play.
Barbara Fetherolf, Alexandria

* His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free
Chuck Smith, Woodbridge

* The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola crayon.
Unknown

Jamaican Fireman

A Jamaican fireman came home from work, one day and said to his wife,

"Y'know sumptin womon, we have a wonderful new system at de fire
station."

Bell 1 rings - we put on our jackets.

Bell 2 rings we slide down de pole.

Bell 3 rings -we jump on de ingine and we's ready to go.

"From now on womon, when I say, 'Bell one' I want you to strip naked.

When I say, 'Bell two' you jump on de bed.

When I say, 'Bell three' we's gonna mek love all tru de night girl."



The next night, he came home and shouted, "Bell One" and the wife
stripped naked!

"Bell Two" and she jumped on the bed!

"Bell Three" and they started to make love!

After a few minutes, the wife yelled out, "Bell Four !!!!"

"WOMON . What de hell is 'Bell ! Four'?" he asked.

She replied, "Roll out more hose, mon, you ain't nowhere near de fire!"

Redneck Christmas Joke

The Three Wise Men

In a small Southern town there was a "Nativity Scene" that showed great skill and talent had gone into creating it. One small feature bothered me. The three wise men were wearing firemen's helmets. Totally unable to come up with a reason or explanation, I left.

At a "Quick Stop" on the edge of town, I asked the lady behind the counter about the helmets. She exploded into a rage, yelling at me, "You Yankees never do read the Bible!" I assured her that I did, but simply couldn't recall anything about firemen in the Bible.

She jerked her Bible from behind the counter and ruffled through some pages, and finally jabbed her finger at a passage. Sticking it in my face she said, "See, it says right here, 'The three wise man came from afar.'"

When It Comes Right Down to It-Is There Anything Better Than a Dog? 

High and Dry

If 2005 needed a punctuation mark, one was surely supplied this weekend. The last chance to spend some quality time with my South Carolina fishing buddies presented itself and Thursday night saw me burning through the backroads of southeastern North Carolina, full-tilt for I-95. I arrived to the traditional warm welcome and cold beer, getting to Beaufort (it's Byoo-firt in SC) about the same time as a small cold front which kicked up the wind and the rivers and delivered a brisk day Friday. But heck, that's fishing in the winter-it's hit or miss and a marginal day might be the best you'll see for a while. Scott and I both had enough clothes to outfit a colonial regiment and all fashion sense was waived-he had some sort of camo-fleece headgear giving him a bolshevik look and I brought my "goofy hat"-a blue, insulated bonnet with a velcro chin attachment and a short bill. Upon donning this headgear, your IQ automatically drops about 60 points. We lugged even more clothes onto the boat, hid behind the small plastic windshield and made the familiar run down the Coosaw River to our default fishing spot. Jeff and Jay met us there in Jeff's boat but did not stay long-impatient with the lack of any fish they took off to the low tide winter honey hole at Warsaw Flats. As visitor, I was afforded the favored side of the boat and we trolled along the grass bank pulling our artificial baits behind us. I had a hit and a couple minutes later a 2 pound seatrout came twisting through the water and into the livewell for dinner. Just after that I landed a 30-inch redfish and followed that up with a smaller one. The South Carolina homeboys remained skunked for the rest of the day and actually went 0-for the weekend.
A day on the water is tiring in and of itself, but when you're battling the elements it takes an extra toll-we got back to Scott's dock at dusk, threw a cast net on some rogue bait that just happened to show up in front of the boat, and called it a day. We shed the waders and bibs and hit Duke's- an all-you-can eat 30-item buffet place and stuffed ourselves with mac and cheese, bar-b-q, fried okra and other southern standards, then we waddled back to the car. After a short visit to the K-Mart to reload on the tackle that had caught the fish that day, it was home for a short night of TV and tunes and wrestling with Scott's golden lab puppy Sadie-a combination of unbridled exhuberance, long-legged clumsiness and the attention span of a gnat. Thursday night she tried to jump from the floor into the kitchen sink to get some ice and came damn close to making it.
We hit the water Saturday for the official close to our '05 fishing year-a year that began on the Texas Gulf Coast in March and would now end on the Coosaw River. Heading out at 8:30 there wasn't a breath of wind and the open water was calm as a lake. The high temp was going to be close to 70 degrees-high tide around 10:45 A.M. and low tide about six hours later. This part of the east coast has some of the highest tides for some reason. A high tide for us in NC would be just over four feet-here in Beaufort, SC, a high tide would be well over nine feet. That means every six hours, nine feet of water would either move out or in-the current created is quite strong and the same place at low tide and high tide would be unrecognizable. Seven-foot oyster mounds that stick up all over the marsh would be completely submerged and invisible at high tide. In most coastal towns, knowing the times and range of the daily tides is vital information. It governs where you can go, and where you can fish.
We fished a beautiful morning, picking up one small but legal trout and picked up Jeff at Brickyard Landing boatramp right at one. It was a great afternoon to be spent with great friends-the last four hours fishing together this year. Beer flowed freely, the fishing was slow but the comeraderie was first-rate. A prosecutor, a sheriff's deputy and a defense lawyer in one boat-what a motley and diverse crew but none better than to spend a day with on the water. We hit our favorite spot one last time just before 4:00 P.M. All of a sudden the previously barren water was busting with fish. Scott scooted us around in the shallow muddied with the pushpole and Jeff and I cast like crazy everytime we saw a fish boil in the water. It was such a spectacle that no one noticed that the boat was no longer moving and it wasn't long till we discovered it wasn't gonna move. I had waders on so I took the first crack at jumping out and trying to push us out of the six inches of water we were in-no luck-even with both guys standing on the bow to take some weight off the engine-heavy stern. Scott was next in-he had a pair of floppy yellow boots that he put over his bibs-still no luck. Jeff had on jeans and some leather work boots and as we were soon to find out, some striped boxer shorts. He went in sans pants, socks and boots and we took turns trying to configure a way off the mud bar. After several minutes of grunting and cursing, it hit us that not only were we not making progress, but the bottom of the boat had no water under it at all. Time to hit the cooler. Jeff was allowed to fish this day with the express understanding that he was to be home by 5:00 to attend some sort of shower at 6:00. A call to his wife Amy to report our situation didn't seem that well received-he asked her to check the time of the low tide and we were still thirty minutes away from that. We drank a few more beers and watched as the bare mud extended a hundred feet behind the boat. Jeff called a sheriff buddy and prepared to walk across the soft mud to the shore and have this buddy pick him up and take him to his car. We had one more toast then Jeff stuffed his boots about halfway down in Scott's yellow boots and with fishing rod in one hand and a beer in the other, took off sloshing into the mud-it was quite a sight and we were whooping and hollering when he made it up on the bank and disappeared into the yard. It was a comical end to a great year so it begged to be captured on film (or disk). It reminds me of my two favorite fishing quotes-I think that John Geirach said that "everytime you go fishing, at least one thing happens that you will remember all your life." And of course, there's the one from Thoreau that hits the nail squarely on the head-"many men fish all their lives, not knowing it is not fish they are after." Thanks guys-great year! Let's do it again in '06!

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