Devil Mushroom

Not too long ago I mentioned that I felt like Satan had moved into one of my eyeballs on short notice.

Last week while I mowed my mother's yard, I discovered that he has moved out of my eye and into the down spout on her rain gutter.

How do I know this?
Take at look at this giant demonic mushroom that grew up underneath the down spout.


I had noticed it earlier in the week and was a little freaked out by the sheer size of it.
What really got me worried was that while I mowed the yard, it watched me. No matter where I went in the yard, it was staring intently at me. It either wanted to taste my flesh or maybe it just wanted to swallow my soul, but I didn't want to find out.


When I went back this week to take photos (Yes, the beast is at least two weeks old) I am sure it winked at me.


If I disappear suddenly, I just want someone to check for my bones in the down spout. That Devil Shroom is out to get me, I can feel it.

Salty Dogs

Yeah, it is summer time and I have been on personal break. It can get damned difficult to blog when all you do is eat, sleep, drink beer, read books, and play with your kid.

My official drink of summer is either a nice Wheat beer or a salty dog.

There was a time when I would sit on the back porch and consume salty dogs by the gallon. These days the misses frowns on it.

But it doesn't mean that I don't enjoy a salted glass, some freshly squeezed grapefruit juice, and vodka.

It makes the heat go away and makes things much nicer around here.

Barbie Wisdom

I need to share some very important post-father's day wisdom with everyone.



No matter what.



NEVER.



I mean NEVER.



NEVER, NEVER, NEVER,



Tell your twenty month old daughter in front of her mother, grandmother, grandfather, great grandfather, and great grandmother that Beach Barbie is asleep because "She got drunk and passed out at the beach."



Don't do it.



Even if you edited the comment because of the great grandparents and left out the  "She got drunk, took part in a gang bang and then passed out at the beach."



Don't do it.

Don't laugh and whisper the gang bang part to your wife.



Just some friendly advice.

Devil Machine

I finally figured out a cure for my squirrel issues thanks to Colonel Colonel.

This is a Rolls-Royce RB.211 jet engine. A Boeing 747 has four of these devices and each one is about 8 feet tall and delivers 62,000 pounds of thrust.

OH yeah baby!!!

I was thinking of installing one in the back yard, putting a squirrel feeder in front of the intake and attaching it to a motion sensor.

A squirrel arrives in my yard, smells the food, races to the easy to access squirrel feeder, then BOOM!!


The motion detector flicks the RB.211 on and sucks that furry bastard to his doom. I am pretty sure that this engine can take a bird strike in the area of about 12 pounds, so it should grind squirrel without a burp.


My first thought was to use it on the deer, but they are a bit big for ingestion into a jet engine, even this monster. Then again, if I could get the deer to stand behind it then KABOOM blast them into instant deer kabobs with the exhaust that would let me get the deer and squirrels with one engine.

I need to get down the airport. I gotta price some engines

The Burn Pile Returns

Once upon a time I started blogging somewhere else. It is still there. I haven’t sent it away, but rather than repost and recycle entries, I am posting links. The only reason I am posting links is that they go with today’s blog. It just wouldn’t make sense without knowing the history of my burning.

Legend of The Burn Pile
The Chair Must Die
The Chair is No More

My long held dream is to turn the burn pile site into a flowerbed or even plant a new tree there, in tribute to the old one.
The problem is that I keep finding reasons to burn things. I mean we all know that fire is our friend, right?
Fire is a valuable tool.
Fire should strike fear into animals, small children and your worst enemies, right?

As I tell all my students who whine about the work load in my class: “It could be worse, you could be on fire.”

Most importantly to me, fire is cleansing. All wounds are healed with a liberal application of fire. In my case, liberal application and fire really shouldn’t be used together.

My last adventure at the burn pile started off as a personal cleansing. The red chair was a gift from younger sister when I moved into my own apartment after a special weight loss program that helped me get rid of 110 unwanted pounds in just one quick move.

I don’t know why I kept the chair around, except that the dogs liked it. The problem is that misses Doomcake doesn’t. So it stays in the house. It stays in the garage. It goes in TWO (not one) garage sales. No one values this Ikea treasure by myself.

Finally, I decide to cleanse myself of the chair by putting it on the burn pile. Not just to burn it, but to celebrate it and my best friend. Seems like the Best Friend of Doomcake went through the same weight loss program that I did, except that BF lost a whopping 200 + pounds in one quick move. Damned impressive.

So here we are. Both of us have restarted our lives minus several hundred pounds of ugly luggage.

The celebration was simple.

Put the chair on the burn pile.

Put other items that no longer have value to either Doomcake or his BF on the pile.

Then douse everything in a large does of gasoline and let her rip.

BURN BABY BURN.

It was fun.

It has been a while

Yeah, it has been a while, so here it is.
A really sweet crunchy snack for everyone to enjoy.

World’s Famous Photos

Rippin Kitten

Robotic Cow Tongues

Marksmen Prefer Camels

Preying Mantis

Peopling of the World

United Shapes of America

Lust 64

I can't wait for the fucking bats

MOOOTHHHHEEEEEEERRRRRRRRFUCKKKKKKKKKKEEEERRRRR!!!!

If you spent nearly 23 hours in van with my family you would want to sing "Mother fucker" like an opera singer at the top of your lungs too.

We traveled at least 1200 miles round trip and it was horrible. Just plain bad in so many ways.

I wish that I could go into a complete list of all the bad shit that went down, but it is just too weird.

The only redeeming part of the whole trip was that my Best Friend was along for the ride. No reason that I should journey deep into the depths of hell without someone to keep me company.

How bad could it have been?

Let see?
A niece who was either sick, crazy, or possibly a bad combination of both?
A sister that I haven't spoken to in two years?
Her boyfriend?
The cloud of cat fur that accompanies them both?
Her Shemale friend?

See, that was just the tip of the iceberg.
It got no better.

Not even the post-burial trip to the casino because my own mother was going to revolt and kill several of us if we didn't stop?

I needed a drink. A BIG DRINK.

Too bad I drove for the last five hours.

All I can say is that I ain't doing it again.
Not ever.

Not as long as I can sing the refrain from the opera "Van Ride From Hell" loudly and proudly:
MOOOTHHHHEEEEEEERRRRRRRRFUCKKKKKKKKKKEEEERRRRR!!!!
SHUT UP BACK THERE, YOU WORTHLESS
MOOOTHHHHEEEEEEERRRRRRRRFUCKKKKKKKKKKEEEERRRRR!!!!

Yeah, you got it.

Who Wants to Live Forever?

"He's a Highlander, by God, and the last sound he hears should not be that of a wailing woman!"

-----Angus MacLeod "Highlander"


Just so everyone has not began to think that I have given up and run away, I just wanted to stop by and share the news.

I will be back in full force within the week. My father passed away Tuesday, just two months shy of his 81st birthday.

He wouldn't have wanted a ton of tears, so I have spent my time wisely. Laughing with my mother, drinking dad's best bottle of Jack Daniels, and driving his "hover round" cart through the yard while holding a large glass of Jack and Coke in one hand. I have used his BB gun to shoot at the squirrels that he hated and to zing a deer or two that got too close.

Dad would have wanted us to have fun like this. He would have understood it better than any of us. We are all sad that he is gone, but damn it, the man deserves a party, not a wailing dirge of sorrow.

I will probably talk more about this later, but my dad came from a different time. He was drafted to fight in WW II. Dad worked for the same company almost his whole life. When they talk about "The Greatest Generation" they are talking about my dad.

We fought. We laughed. In the end, we both respected each other for who and what we were.
So long old timer.