Just a drop behind each ear my ass

 

One of the few things that I am deadly allergic too is perfume and cologne. I personally do not wear any because of this and in the past, going on dates was usually prefaced with huge doses of benadryl to make sure that I did not sneeze and spray my date with huge globs of snot. That was just a fact of life for me.

In reality, it is still a fact of life for me. I am highly allergic to perfume of any sort. My wife wears some on special occasions, but it is a tiny amount to keep from completely driving me into a sneezing fit. Now do not get me wrong. I love the way a good perfume smells, but that does not stop me from sending snot flying when exposed to the stuff.

Which of course brings me to my rant. I go to church every Sunday. You cannot be me and not go. Too many ifs in life to let somethings rely on chance. I need all the help I can get to make it through every day and a little church puts things in perspective for me.

So what does my need for divine intervention and my perfume allergy have in common? Well they both seem to collide every Sunday. It does not matter if I am going to the Methodist church, the Catholic church, or Episcopal church or any other holy place, there are is at least on woman who does not dab her perfume on behind the ears, but rather bathes in the shit.

To make matters worse, there is never just one of them. No matter where I go, there are several, some young, some old, some near death even, that bathe in perfume. They travel around in a cloud strong enough kill at twenty paces and I see normal people who probably do not have allergies gag, choke, and vomit on themselves as they are overwhelmed by the stink that is the perfume bomb.

Me? I nearly have a seizure. I have allergy triggered asthma and these dumb bitches put me within inches of needing a defibrilator and an iron lung.  They have no concern that they can kill normal people in minutes and people like me in seconds.  They stink. They reek. They are mean stupid people who deserve an ice pick in the brain.  If I did not think God would strongly disapprove of a sudden ice pick to the brain of one of his faithful, then this problem would have been ended a long ago. 

Yes, I would have had to put the pick to the brain of dozens of women over the past twenty years or so and probably half as many men as well. Yeah, the weekend religious stink train is not a woman only trick. There are men, usually really old or really young who bathe in the stink of their choice as well.

There are those of you who probably think I am being a bit rough here, but take your lazy blog reading asses to church just once and you will understand. Some day I am going to snap. REALLY SNAP. No matter how bad it is going to be, there is going to be a recokening when I go all old testament on one of these stinky bitches in church. 

Curious Thoughts

There are always days like this

Let the Games Begin

This time of the year is very harsh in a lot of public schools. The standardized test season has kicked into full gear and despite all the hoopla about "tests telling us if the kids have the right basic skills" it is more about "did the teachers teach and how can we punish them for what the kids did on the tests?"
I am serious. NO CHILD LEFT BEHIND is the biggest bunch of bull shit ever thought up. Probably second only to "Iraq has weapons of mass destruction."

With all that aside, not everyone realizes how stressful these next couple of months are for most teachers here in Texas. I can tell you that there are exactly 27 school days till we administer the 8th Grade Social Studies test. It is not enough.

Some of you have been reading my testing Tuesday questions and are thinking, "HOW hard can it be?" For you, probably not very hard. For an under privileged 8th grader whose main concern is "where will my next meal come from," it is a problem. I have students who have missed 60+ days of instruction. I have students who read and comprehend on a 3rd grade level.
THEY ALL have to pass the test or I get my MY ass chewed. End of story.

This is the time of year where teachers go nuts. My own boss tends to avoid me for most of this time and the district level supervisors who help me tend to watch closely for new twitches and uncontrolled cursing. They know that if I break, I am taking people with me.

So what keeps me going? What keeps all of us going?

Let me tell you what.
Every year the High School Seniors write a letter to one of their former teachers. It is an English assignment that is graded, but more importantly the letters get delivered to the teacher it was written for.

Here is one that I received and I read it from time to time, more during the next 27 days than ever. It kind of lets you know why you continue to come to work and deal with the bullshit every day of every year.

Spelling errors are theirs, not mine.

Mr. Doom Cake,

You have been a very influential person in my life. You have inspired me to tell people what I think, and strive for what I want. I wanted to say that you made my eighth-grade year at Doom Cake Jr. High school the most memorable year of school thus far. I'm sure your teachings will follow me the rest of my life and hopefully I can remember to pass your many words of wisdom onto my kids.

As an eighth-grader at Doom Cake Jr High was not always fun, in fact I found it to be rather boring. I knew the first day that I walked into your class that you were serious about your job and you wanted your students to walk away from your class with all the basics of U.S. History. I hated going to English and Art and all my other classes. Fro some reason though, I always looked forward to your class. I remember thinking you were mean because you never let any of us go to the rest-room even when we really had to go; I recall one day when after politely asking for a pass to go to the bathroom you told me very bluntly "No" so then I threatened to pee in your fish tank during Advisory class, and then you threatened to send me out of the room. That was a good day.

I have learned through your strict teaching and biting sarcasm that there is a time for work and a time for play. Many of my classmates decided that you were unfair but I thought your humor was funny. You explained things I could understand. Instead of blocking you out I embraced your teachings and can proudly say that it helped when I made it to AP U.S. History. I hope this letter of appreciation has put a smile on your face and let you know that you are a wonderful teacher.

Thank you, Mr. Doom Cake, for giving me a good school memory. Most people remember their senior year an I'm sure I will, but I will never forget you and the way you taught. I hope you are still enjoying your job and helping kids to know their education is important to you and it should be for them, because that's what you did for me. You are truly an inspiration.

Sincerely,

Student of Doom Cake

So folks, this is what it is all about. I can tell you that this student was a pain in my ass, but they got it. Nine of months of History dripping with sarcasm got through to this one. I cannot save them all, but I can do what I can one kid at time.

TAKS-O-RAMA

Okay here are some notes to kick this off this week.
1)This is an 8th grade History Test here in Texas
2) Answer Key is here, NO CHEATING.

So here we go;

I have as much muscle as any man and can do as much work as any man. I have plowed and reaped and husked and chopped and mowed, and can any man do more than that? — Sojourner Truth, speech at Akron, Ohio, 1851

3 According to the excerpt above, with which of the following statements would the speaker
most likely agree?
            A Prisons should be reformed.
            B Women should have equal rights.
            C Men should work in agricultural jobs.
            D Women should pursue traditional occupations.

4 Which of these is the best title for the time line above?
                F The Common Man in Jacksonian America
               G Events Leading to the Rise of an Industrial United States
               H The Creation of Middle-Class America
               J Events Leading to the Territorial Growth of the United States

5 The 13 original colonies were primarily located along the —
           A Atlantic Ocean
           B Gulf of Mexico
          C Mississippi River
          D Great Lakes

Driving Idiots

Friday Update #2 :Saturday Recap

Just a note.
I did not  achieve either goal I set yesterday.
Woodrow never showed up and the bottle is still chilling in the fridge.

I hate days like that.
So many plans, but so little time to carry them.
Maybe next time.

If days had 36 hours in them, maybe I would not keep coming up short like this.

Fatherhood is Tough

Friday Update # 1

Today is kind of the last day of spring break. I have two goals that I wanted to throw out early in the day.

#1

 

Get a better picture of Woodrow the Yellow Bellied Sapsucker. He must be in some sort of witness relocation program for woodpeckers because I can get as close to him as I want (great pic range) as long as I DO NOT have a camera. That all changes today. 

#2

 

I have been saving this bad boy for almost two months. I just put it to ice and hopefully by later in the day I will conquer it. No matter what anyone thinks, I do drink way less than I used to. I will not admit how low my actual consumption is, but lets just say that I can still take this 1.5 liter bottle of cheap "sparkling wine."

More on both of these later.

Stay tuned

A Recipe for Bad Craziness

Since I started the night off last night with the stories about spring break craziness that were part of my past and the fact that the evil that is tea-quila came to mind, I decided to take another trip down memory lane.

This one has too much to do with tequila, Washington D.C., and those damned Japanese. With a ingredients like that, how can someone go wrong?

Let me tell you.



I spent six weeks one summer during college studying American Foreign policy in Washington D.C. My days were taken up by lectures, discussions, receptions, and all sorts of other fun stuff for college students.  Some of the highlights of this summer were a)watching the Iraqi ambassador get verbally bitch slapped over the ongoing (at the time) Iraqi invasion of Kuwait by a shit head from Boston College b)my scary trip to the Israeli embassy where their security people have no sense of humor c)German students swearing that armed intervention was needed to stop the destruction of the rain forest and d)Japanese nationals cannot hold their tequila.
Needless, the Japanese + tequila story is really one of the best.  There were two American students and two Japanese students who shared a suite that summer. Myself and the other American took the beds and made our Japanese cohorts sleep on the sofa bed in the living area. They were none to happy with the situation and our understanding of their broken English took a huge nose dive when ever it was brought up. There was tension, but as vulgar Americans, we did not give a fuck.

To show just how entertaining we could be and to lighten the mood, my American companion purchased a bottle of tequila.  For some reason this was an incredible event for the Japanese due to some huge and typical Japanese tariff on imported booze. In other words, normal Japanese could not afford tequila (or so they claimed) and my asshole roommate purchasing a bottle for all of us to share was beyond nice, even for a shitty evil round-eyed bastard like him.

So here we go. Four college students sitting around a hotel room table. In the center of the table is a liter of Jose Cuervo, lime slices, salt, and four shot glasses. The Japanese guys are babbling like crazed marmets and I am feeling that sick feeling that I get just before something goes horribly wrong. Call it the Doom Cake Sense, but I knew once the first shot was down, the show was on the road to bad craziness.

Within fifteen minutes the four of us had killed an entire liter bottle of tequila. I am not sure how many shots all of us took, but the bottle was empty in record time.  My American roommate was out on a balcony ten stories up screaming that he wanted to do a cannon ball into the "FUCKING SWIMMING TO CLEAR THEIR PANSY ASSES OUT OF IT."

The two Japanese guys were laying on their backs on the pulled out sofa bed. Both of their faces were bright red and sweat was poring off of them like Jabba the Hut in a sauna with the heat set on bake. I was really worried about the groans that kept creeping out of them and the way their eyeballs kept rolling back into their heads.  There was a small part of me that was cheering the American on. I really wanted to see a ten story cannon ball into the pool below, but I knew if it happened, then it was going to end poorly. Trust me on this.

So what did I do? I answered the knock on the door and was greeted by two of the cute females in our group. They wanted someone to walk them to the liquor store for something to drink.
Son of a bitch, why not? By that point in my life my liver was the size of small sheep and no problem sucking that amount of tequila out of my body without any effort. There was a good chance that the three other folks in my suite were going to die within the next fifteen minutes in one horrible way or another and I did not  want to be involved in that little party of doom.

I was steady on my feet and made it all the way to the liquor store with the girls and finished the evening off chatting with them and finishing off the extra six pack of beer I got for myself. The incident was never mentioned again for the remainder of the trip and the Japanese guys never again brought up the complaint about sleeping on the pullout bed in the living area. The tall American was crazy and wanted to fly off the balcony and the skinny one was immune to tequila. I think they were really scared of us after that.

Spring Break: Day 3

Today was one of those days that anyone can relate to. Good weather, sunshine, and a chance to work in the garden and the yard. Now of course I could let it go after that, but hell no. It is spring break after all, so I guess I need to bore you with tales of yesteryear.

When I was in college WAAAAAYYYYYY back in the dark ages, spring break was not the road trip orgy at the beach that it is today. The more I think about it, maybe it was, but it does not really matter. I was never one to travel hundreds of miles to South Padre Island, drink too much booze, and try and put my stiffy into strange women. Now that I type it that way, it sounds a whole lot like going to a strip club, but with sand, sun burns, and way less fun.

Instead, I always returned home faithfully to Conroe. So did most of my closest friends. None of us saw the need for wasting money on hotel rooms and naked women when we could just take the same cash and spend it on booze.  We could crash for free at a friend's house and the mayhem would begin.

Mayhem it often was. My friends and I took drunkness to a level that would scare most normal folks and in many ways probably every single drunk fool on any beach during spring break in the U.S. We got drunk and then put our devious fucking minds to work. Being the least of all the geniuses, I was never a ring leader, but there was no need for me to be. As long as I could get enough booze in me, I could hang with the big dogs when it came to just being stupid.

Perhaps the most insidious thing that came to fruition during these spring break episodes was a game we referred to as Mix Master.  All the bottles of booze in the house were put in the middle of the table and everyone pulled up a seat.  When it was your turn, you could mix any kind of shot you could think of. Bad news was that EVERYONE at the table had the same chance of having to drink it, including you, the current mix master. So if you went hog wild and mixed the turpentine, dog piss and rum for a shot, you stood an equal chance of having to drink your own creation. That kept most of us in line for awhile.

There are some things I can not speak of without growing ill. Tea-quila - a horrible tequila and iced tea combo is just one tiny hint of the madness that came out of this game. Praire Dogs - shots of tequila with tabasco sauce in them are another. I think you get the picture.

I remember an incident involving myself, my friend Sean, a power drill, and a coconut. All I remember was that both of us were convinced that the substances inside the coconut were going to help us create the most potent and mouth watering shot of all time. I am not sure how neither one of us managed to drill into our own flesh, but we butchered the coconut with that drill and the liberal use of a hammer.

I think spring break was also when I discovered the evil that is gin and diet sprite. Apparently diet sprite is as close to tonic water as poor college students could afford when the rest of their money went to gin.

So here is a shout out to spring break. At least I stay the hell away from mayhem these days and even mentioning a game of mix master is enough to get my foot on your neck and my pistol shoved into the base of your skull.  I have a low tolerance for that kind of stuff these days. Give me a real drinking game like quarters or even the new fangled flip-cup some youngins play.

Doom Cake: The American Day Edition

 

Usually Doom Cake bites me in the ass at every turn. I cannot seem to escape the crappiness that permeates the universe. Well, today it was everyone else's turn to take a hit of the giant hooka of doom and I was the one laughing my ass off.

See the trash can above? It is situated in Scholotzsky's where I was having lunch today.  In fact, I had to sit just about four feet from the trashcan so I had a bird's eye view of the fun that ensued.

First off, in the defense of everyone who received a healthy dose of Doom Cake from the trashcan, I understand why it bit them so hard. Take a look. Even I would have expected to be able to push the "Thank You" portion of the can open so I could drop trash in.

No-can-do on this little piece of Doom. The "Thank You" does not move. Nadda. Not an inch. The only way to get trash in is to drop it through the hole in the top. Problem is, NO ONE KNEW. We watched person after person haul ass to the trash can, shove their trash against the "Thank  You" portion and then bounce off like a drunk person in bumper car.

They would drop their trash, make faces, mutter, then suddenly recover when they say the missus turn bright red and giggle at them. Hell, she was just a short jump away from a full blown gut busting laugh and farting at several points. Me? I have more class than that. Having been the victim of shit like this on a regular basis, I just shook my head in digust and kept eating.

It was still funny. 

Damn near pants crapping funny to see one serious businessman after another bounce off of the the "in door that is not."

If you wonder why I title this little gem the "Doom Cake: The American Day Edition", then  you do not recall that I do not belief in  hyphenated Americans and any dumb ass holidays that they think up. No, I have nothing against Catholic saints either. Take a look at Ignatius Loyola. He is my favorite Catholic saint and he is way cool.

So if you identify yourself as any type of American that involves a hyphen, you can kiss my ass. You are either American or you are not. I have nothing against most of you who are not, but I have a serious thing against anyone who has to qualify their Americanness.
If you want to be Irish, go to Ireland. If you want to be Polish, go to Poland. If you want to be an American drop the fucking hypen. 

Happy American Day to you.

Notes to Myself

Notes to Myself

Doom Cake: Friday the 13th Memory Lane Edition

As I filled up the Blue Beast this morning at the gas station, I saw this sign. I think they are rather new things and it made me laugh to read it. Now days it seems like everyone is afraid of everything. Do not talk on the cell phone at the pump, you might explode. Do not pop out a static jolt or you might explode.  I guess people are bit more scared these days of bad things happening.

Once, in college, I was travelling back to school with a good friend of mine. He was driving his Volkswagen Bug that was at least 300 years old at the time and we stopped at a scary little gas station in the middle of nowhere. If you have ever been on Interstate 45 just north of Huntsville, Texas, then you know the barren stretch of piney woods that I am talking about.

My friend gets out to gas up the car and while he is doing it the station attendant in all his shirtless overall wearing glory starts giving us the stink eye. Not just the evil "city folk" go away stink eye, but something that began to reek of us having a severe "Deliverance" moment in our near future.

At one point my buddy sticks his head back in the car to talk to me.

Buddy: "Hey, that dude in the station keeps staring at us."

Me: "Yeah, I am starting to worry about some serious sodomy being on his mind."

Buddy: "I wonder what his problem is?"

We go about gassing up and the station guy keeps stink eyeing us and looking like he is going to walk out to the car and kill us. Problem is, he will not leave the station, but he keeps putting the serious stink eye to us. Finally I stick my head out of the car to tell my buddy to hurry the fuck up before the banjo music starts and then it hits me what is wrong.

Me: "Hey asshole, I figured out why Deliverance over there is stink eyeing us."

Buddy: "What is it? Am I too cute for him?"

Me: "No it must be the four inches of flaming dog turd you have hanging out of your mouth."

At which point my buddy realizes that he has been gassing the car up with a lit cigar hanging out of his mouth. He gets an ear to ear grin that makes me wonder if he doesn't have a little bit of sodomy on his mind as well.  First thing he does if finish with the gas. Second thing he does is walk calmly up to Mr. Deliverance, pays his bill, and walks back to the car. Then he starts laughing like a maniac and puts the cigar in the car's ash tray and tells me to climb underneath so he can start it.

I was not happy, but that was life. I had to crawl underneath the bug, bang on the solenoid with a wrench while my friend turned the key. The whole time he is laughing about the cigar and the fact that we both could have gone up in a huge ball of flaming stupidity. Once the car starts and I get back in, we zoom off as fast as we can laughing like idiots. 

And to think they need static pads these days. I think death by gas pump is over rated anyway.

Everyone needs a theme song

I know that everyone with any sense to them would recoginze the haunting theme from "The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly." It is the instant recognition that makes the idea of having a theme song so appealing.
Well, that and the kid in my second period who keeps telling me that I need a theme song and it should be Ozzy Osborne's "Crazy Train" at which point he belts out a horrible rendition of the song.

Basically I have developed a theory recently that if everyone had a theme song to play in their head or from a stereo whenever they entered a room or tough situation, life would be easier. The only problem is, how do I figure out what my personal theme song should be?

My blog has one. Limp Bizkit's "Break Stuff" is what should blast out of your speakers every time you visit my blog. Yeah, it is a pure Doom Cake song and pretty gets you in the mood to step into my world.

But the issue remains, I need a theme song.
One just for me.
One to sing along to in my head at moments of stress or to blast out of my stereo when I am about to go completely Manson Family on the neigbhors.

So you faithful readers are tasked with two things here; 1) Tell me what your personal theme song should be and 2) Help me find one for myself.

Everyone needs a theme song after all.

TAKS-O-RAMA

This testing season I am going to try and get a complete test posted. Then when I get bored I will post the key.

SO here we go;

Use the excerpt and your knowledge of social studies to answer the following question.

So you’re the little woman who wrote the book that made this great war!

— Abraham Lincoln to Harriet Beecher Stowe,1862

1 To which book is President Lincoln referring in the excerpt above?

A Uncle Tom’s Cabin
B The Wealth of Nations
C Democracy in America
D McGuffey’s Eclectic Reader


2 Among the rights guaranteed by the First Amendment is the right to —

F the free exercise of religion
G keep and bear arms
H due process of law
J a speedy and public trial

Doom Cake: The Monday Craptastic Update Edition

I really should have crawled back in bed today. Posting about Jesus fire was not enough warning that today was going to suck ass in a severe manner.

Let me get this update rolling with the great news. I pull the hose out to wash the yellow satan dust off my car as I do every morning, and the freaking hose explodes. In at least three spots it simply allows water to spray out and all over me. I am soaked from the knees down and there is water in my shoes. No time to change, I am running late.
Yeah, running late and I need gas. At the gas station I notice that the left rear tire is pretty much flat. Not kinda flat, but FLAT. So now I have to dig around under the seats for three quarters because air is NOT FREE. After a horrible search through nasty things that live under the seats of my car, I find the quarters, power up the air machine and inflate my tire.
So now I am late, wet, dirty, and generally getting into a foul mood.

Then there is the wreck. The wreck that blocks my path to work.
Now I am wet, dirty, REALLY LATE, and ready to kill.

So that is my morning. All before 8:20 am.
Here is to the vain hope that the rest of the day will go better.
I have my doubts.
Where is the Jesus Fire when I need it?
One burst of lightening and I could take the rest of the day off.

Bring on the Jesus Fire

Today’s story has a moral and for the most part I am going to skip the story and get straight to the moral part.


So, long story short.

I have a friend. He was struck by lightening. This is not a situation of “ I was banging some chick and her second cousin knows a guy who has a pet goat who once met someone who was struck by lightening,” but I have a close friend who was hit by lightening.

He was hiking on a mountain and got hit by a bolt of the purest Jesus fire you can imagine. It knocked him on his ass. He got up and walked five hours down the mountain even though he wanted to curl up into a ball and die. He made it to the to the hospital in the nick of time and I still hike with him today.

Now on to the morals;

1. Never hike on top of a mountain alone. It is much better to get struck by pure Jesus fire with a friend. That way if you need help, they can carry your sorry ass down the mountain.

2. If YOU are struck by a bolt of the purest Jesus fire, get your ass up. Curling up into a fetal ball and rubbing your aching nut sack will get you dead. IF you want to live, you have get up and get the fuck down the mountain.

3. If you meet two hikers on your way down the mountain and after you tell them you were struck by Jesus fire, they smile pat you on the back and say “Hope you get back to your car all right,” kill the self -righteous pricks and hide the bodies. (as a side note, I will find the two pricks who did this to my friend and when I do, it is going to be long and painful).
4. No matter how much you want to give up, get up and keep your ass moving. Walk off the Jesus fire. Even though it takes five hours to get to your car. GO TO THE FUCKING HOSPITAL.
Okay, I think you get the picture.

I will end my little rant here.

Notes to Myself

Notes to Myself

Today has gone to shit

Return to list of posts

Today is one of those horrible freakin days that I dread. It is 5:30 am and I feel like I am been steam rolled by a giant pile of crap.

To top it off, the feeling of pure craptasticness is topped only by the vile mood that I find myself in. If satan himself was to show up at my door I would bitch slap him and go completely ultimate fighting on his ass. Yeah, I am in a piss poor mood this morning which bodes ill for today.  If you were to see me today, the best advice I can give is to stay the fuck out of my way.

There is a part of me that fears the flu, but I know the truth. The pine trees are spewing forth pollen at a rate that should strike fear in the hearts of normal people. I have to wash the cars down with the hose twice a day just to keep the vile yellow filth off of them as best I can. When I first moved here six years ago I could not see down my street because of the haze in the air. It was not smog or smoke, but pine pollen.

So I am doused in pollen at this point and in a piss poor mood to match. My nose hurts, my sinuses ache and my throat feels like someone stroked it with barbed wire for fun. To make matters better I know I can take medication, but the side effects are bad. Most decongestants and antihistamines make me mean in a serious "abuse your family" kind of way. So either I tough it out and go through my day in complete asshole1.0 mode or I take some pills for relief and go through my day in asshole2.0 mode. Either way I loose.

For the people around me, oh freakin well. Life is going to be rough because I am going to dish it out with a temper shorter than AC’s penis. If you see me coming, step back and curl up into the fetal position. It makes it a bit harder for me to kick your head or nut sack that way.

I hope everyone else has a good day. I am trying to figure how to get drunk before I get to work so that everyone will understand why I am being the way I am.

The Force that Binds the Universe: Duct Tape

This is my television. It is a large Sony monster that has a picture of the best quality. It is not a flat screen nor is it HD. This baby is old school to the point that it actually weighs in at over 50 pounds. Yep, this monster is heavy. It actually takes two people to carry around which means that it is a bitch to move.  Good thing that I have never needed to move it since I last placed it six years ago.

The bad thing about it is that the sound is shot. Not sure exactly what is wrong with it, but the sound is so crappy that I have to use my mind numbing surround sound system to be able to hear what I am watching. This is fine for movies, but every day television should not rattle the windows of the house.

My favorite thing about this television is the remote control.

 

Notice the liberal application of Duct tape? This is not a joke and NO, I did not try and add a death ray control button to it. The tape is a result of many, many, MANY drops on hard surfaces over the past few years. I refuse to give up on the original, so I pull out the gray magic and meld the parts back together. Yes, it looks like shit, but I am never ashamed of folks seeing this device. It was made to last and I have made sure that it lives on well past its last death. Duct tape is like that. It keeps things ticking that should not be usable by normal people anymore. If only cars were so easy. 

So while this post is kind of lame, I just wanted to show everyone the workmanship of my duct tape repairs. I do have to re-tape it when the battery needs replaced, but this bad boy runs a long assed time on a single AA battery. 

Next time you are thinking of tossing that old remote into the trash, remember your little gray friend. Tape that thing together and make it work. Do your part to save the world. Use duct tape.

It is that time of year again . . .

Today marks the beginning of the State testing here in Texas. Once again a big fat ass kissing "THANK YOU" to our former president and "No Child Left Behind."

So with that in mind, I will again be bringing you questions every Tuesday from actual released tests. That means real questions from actual state tests that they gave, graded, and then released for the public to rub all over thier tingly parts.

Today's offering is one of those and probably my favorite question of all time. Please enjoy.

Man Things

 

It got down to 30 F here last night and while that may not be cold compared to the evil snow storm that has hit the east coast, it is pretty damn nippy for here in Texas.

So tonight I said goodbye to February and Hello to March in the best way possible. I built a fire in the fireplace and sat down in front of it and had a beer or three.

Damn, that is good. Beer and fire, both indoors without too much craziness or the fire department being called. As much as I hate it being cold, you just can not beat a good fire, inside or out.

So long february. March has been a bit cold, but still one hell of a month so far.

Notes to Myself