Lousy Robot

If you remember, a while back I wrote about my mentor, Tippi. He created the whole "I hate people" philosophy that has become the backbone of my lifestyle. Recently, Hammster, a common friend of ours, sent me an email with a Tippi update. Seems that he is living the pimp life in New Mexico and has started a new band called Lousy Robot. I can't really give an objective opinion of his music. I used to listen to his old band "Judge Crater" all of the time primarily because they did an awesome cover of "Secret Agent Man," but the rest of it was hit or miss for me. Click the link, go to the website, listen to the music and tell me what you think. I wont tell you which band member is Tippi. Kudos to anybody that can guess. Bonus points if you leave a message for the band referring to "Tippi."

I Wish My Name Was Zidlicky

I went to the Predators' game last night. The Preds were up 4-0 halfway through the second. The Kings scored a goal and then pulled the goalie and scored two more before the Preds held on to win 4-3. Marek Zidlicky had three assists. I am thinking of formally changing my name to Zidlicky. No first name, just Zidlicky. It has a nice ring to it.

A couple of things that made me chuckle. Being Thanksgiving, they dressed some poor bastard up as a turkey, put him on a sled and put the sled in a giant slingshot. The unlucky fucker went flying across the ice into some giant bowling pins and hit them so hard that the feet from his costume came flying off!

Also, Brian DeCosta went to the game with me. Who is Brian DeCosta? Brain DeCosta is more like it. He is one of the radiologists that works with me and he is the epitome of the absent minded professor. I think the boy has trouble dressing himself. He used to be a chemist before that bored him and he decided to go to medical school. His pockets are always full of gadgets and he whips out this credit card sized camera that had 7 mega pixel resolution! I figured you would have to go to Japan to get something so small that took such great pictures.

Anyway, the game is over, I'm jubilant and loud and I ask him if he can find his car. He dips his had into his pocket, pulls out an object a little bigger than a cell phone and says "Yeah, I have it locked into my GPS." I thought A.) Who the fuck carries a GPS with them all of the time? and B.) What fucktard needs a GPS to find their car? Then I remembered all of the time I have spent wandering parking lots looking for my ride. Suddenly he didn't seem like such a fucktard.

Ass Whuppin' HNT

I have nothing this Thursday. I apologize. This is my lame Half-Nekkid Thursday picture. For more details on Half-Nekkid Thursday, click the icon in the side bar. Now move along, nothing to see here.

Grampa

As I've mentioned in a previous post, there is some confusion when my parents split up. Depending on who you talk to, it was either shortly before or shortly after I was born. At any rate, my Mom began dating my step-dad while I was still gnawing on her teat. Oddly enough, they knew each other from their childhood. My maternal great- grandfather lived in McNairy County, Tennessee (Home of Buford T. Pusser for those who care) and when my mom would visit, somehow the Taylor skirt tuggers ended up playing with the King rug rats. Eventually, my Mom's brother married my step-dad's sister. Step-dad came to Illinois to visit his sister and ran into my mom, two weeks later, they were married. It lasted over twenty years and I think that is a pretty good run.

I never knew my paternal grandparents. Since my step-dad was raising me, Sam and Flossie King became my de facto grandparents. They were farmers. Sam never wore anything but overalls and only had one tooth (I used to love to watch him eat a hamburger, it was like a hoe tilling a garden) and Flossie made biscuits and chocolate gravy every morning for breakfast. Fun at their house pretty much consisted of sitting on the front porch and pointing at a daisy "hit that one Grandma" and she would bring her fingers to her mouth and spit tobacco juice through them, pelting the poor flower with yummy 'baccy goodness.

Step-pa was one of 13 (that lived) and Sam already had more grandchildren than he could count, but according to mom, as Step-pa bounded up the steps of their tin roofed house with baby me in his arms, Sam immediately reached out for me.

Mom says that shortly after she and Step-Pa were married, they were visiting the Kings one day. She found herself on the porch alone except for the babe in her arms and Sam. There was a lot of rocking, spitting, and saying "yep" when suddenly Sam brought up the fact that he had been married before.

This floored Mom because Step-pa had never mentioned it. (She found out later that it was because he didn't know.) Mom asked what had happened to Sam's first wife. Sam then told her the story of his first marriage.

Sam was a farmer and for a farmer, breakfast is definately the most important meal of the day. Sam like his eggs and bacon and homemade biscuits, but First Wife hated to cook and refused to rise early with Sam and cook his repast. Sam suffered in silence for a number of years, making do on his own the best he knew how. One morning, First Wife happened to rise at the same hour as Sam and he begged her, "Please fix me some breakfast. If you fix me breakfast this morning, I will never ask you again."

First Wife finally relented and fixed Sam his breakfast and according to the tale, it was "a right fine meal."

Sam ate his breakfast, grabbed his cap and walked out the door. And kept walking. True to his word, he never asked First Wife to make breakfast again.

By all accounts, my mother was flabbergasted. "Sam, what did you do? Did you get a divorce?"

Sam contemplated the question for a moment, placed a fresh pinch of snuff between his cheek and gum and replied "Nope, don't reckon I ever did."

Team Chunk

Somebody recently asked me "can we be friends." I thought it was a tad odd. I mean, people just become friends don't they? Well, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that being friends is like a job. So, from now on, if you want to be my friend, you must submit an application. Like any other job, before you apply, you want to know what the job description is and what the benefits are. So, I present the employment policy and procedures for Team Chunk.

Team Chunk

Mission Statement: Team Chunk will consist of the best friend that money cannot buy. We strive to be the best friend possible and provide 100% friend satisfaction.

Employment: The application process is simple. Ask. Team Chunk does not discriminate based on color, creed, or sexual preference. However, be aware that Team Chunk reserves the right to refuse employment based on planet of origin.

Sexual harassment: Team Chunk has a strict sexual harassment policy. We encourage it. Same sex harassment may be ignored, but perversely, it is appreciated.

Pay: At no time will a person be expected to pay to participate in Team Chunk

Time Off: Team members are encouraged to take time off from Team Chunk as needed. Mental health days may be taken at will. Be aware that extended absence from Team Chunk in no way relieves you or Team Chunk from friend responsibilities. Membership in Team Chunk is considered a lifetime commitment.

Benefits: Benefits will vary according to the individual. Your benefit package is subject to change at anytime, basically because the team leader can be an ass. Benefits include, but are not limited to, gifts, drunken phone calls, beer, favors, event tickets, appliance repair, automobile repair, etc. Be aware, if your benefits are refused or not used, they may be reassigned to another team member.

Dismissal: Offenses that may cause dismissal are few. Lying, cheating, or bestiality will result in immediate dismissal. Other offenses that may result in suspension of benefits include jealousy, snooping through team members shit, showing up at the team leader's house without prior notification, outstanding loans, and breaking the team leader's shit. Team Chunk is aware that the relationship between the team and the team member is a two way process and will strive to avoid committing any of the above offenses.

The next time somebody ask if we can be friends, I'm gonna hand them a copy of this.

Darth Maul HNT

Ok, I know that there is zero skin in these pictures. I was wandering around the porch with this blanket on to keep out the early morning cold. SOMEBODY said I looked like Darth Maul and snapped these pictures. I'm a big enough geek that I thought that was hilarious. For more Half-Nekkid Thursday goodness, click on the link to the right.

Lucky To Be Alive

I know, I'm a horrible blogger. In my defense, I went out of town this last weekend and had a little fun and I am just now recovering enough to articulate what happened over the last few days. Rather than make this the longest, most boring entry ever, I will break it down by days and try to post pictures accordingly.

Thursday, November 10.

Our good friend Rachel arrived in Nashville around 5 p.m. We went to the hockey game to see the Predators man handle the Stars. Sullivan scored a hat trick and everybody threw their caps onto the ice!
We hit Broadway afterwards and Rachel introduced me to Patron tequila. We wandered around for a couple of hours and listen to quite a few bands, drinking heavily and just generally whooping it up. We drank something called a "Bend Me Over" and I thought it was a sexual reference until the next day.

Friday, November 11.

We woke up and went to breakfast at a place called "Gnoshville" and the minute the car stopped, I realized why they labeled the shot we had the night before "Bend Me Over." Bless her hung-over heart. Didn't affect me a bit, although after breakfast, I did taste eggs and gin the entire day. We spent the next five hours driving around Nashville trying to find the Parthenon. For some reason Nashville has an exact replica of the Parthenon from the Acropolis in Athens, Greece. Why did it take five hours you ask? Well, Smashville celebrates Veteran's Day like Macy's does Thanksgiving. The main drag in Smashville was blocked the entire day and we spent hours trying to get around the parade. In the end, we found it. We did our Griswald family vacation thing, nodded, looked at it and then drove to Knoxville. (A side note, we passed this building five or six times. I have no explanation, but wanted to post the picture.)Saturday, November 12.

I won't bore you with the details of the drive to Knoxville. I will show you what I woke up to the next morning when I took my coffee outside. We got motivated and drove into campus where we met Harley and Cheryl. (Yes, the same two that ditched me in McKenzie, and no I don't have pictures of Harley's crotch marmot.) I finally got to see the University of Tennessee play this year! They squeaked out a win over Memphis. A good time was had by all I think, although Cheryl was very upset with a young lady three or four rows in front of us. Everytime the lady would lean forward, her shirt would pull up and you could see the crack of her ass. For some reason this offended Cheryl to no end so every time the crack showed up, Cheryl would toss ice into her pants. Girly quit leaning forward after a while. I think we all had a good time.
Rachel cheered for the Vols like an alum and Harley didn't show his junk to anybody, so it was all good. In case anybody is interested, here are a couple of photos from the top ramp of Neyland stadium.
I truly miss college sometimes. I graduated in '90 and I've only been able to go back three or four times. I don't think I would have ever left Knoxvegas if there had been a job there for me. Sunday was spent mostly driving Rachel back to Nashville and then driving home. I have been completely exhausted the past couple of days. It was well worth it though, I had a great time and made a new friend.

On a final note, I have to show this picture. How big does your melon have to be to have an adjustable, one size fits all cap on the last notch?

This Little Piggy HNT

I have no explanation for where these came from. I found them in my drawer one day when I was running low on shorts. I can't imagine buying them for myself.

Vertically Challenged

My "With Friends Like These" post from a couple of days ago garnered a few questions and comments that I am inclined to address. For the record, I don't know how many of my friends keep a squirrel, or marmot, or wolverine in their pants. Harley was they only one I've seen and I'm still in therapy after that episode. Personally, I like to keep the jungle pared down. I don't want anybody telling me "can you hold on a second.....now where did I put that machete."

I will actually be seeing Harley this weekend. I came across some tickets for the Tennessee/Memphis game in Knoxville and it looks like I will get to go. I will try to take a picture or two (no, not of Harley's marmot).

Now to the primary topic of this post. My height. I never gave my height a second thought for the first thirty-four or thirty-five years of my life. I dated short women, tall women, and in between. The term "Napoleon Complex" has never been used to describe me. However, that seemed to change after my divorce when my height suddenly became an issue.

Some of you may recall, I participated in a couple of dating sites for a while. That was my first hint that my stature might be an issue. The number of women that are looking for men "six feet or taller" is staggering. Paradoxically, these same women rarely rose above the astounding height of five feet, four inches. All of the short women were looking for tall men. Naturally, all of the tall women (Jodi) were also looking for tall men. Kinda leaves us midgets ass out doesn't it? I am of the personal opinion that you should definitely look for the type that pushes your buttons. If that means only blondes, more power to you. If you only date people that have a tail growing out their ass, rock on. But, for me, it seemed silly to disqualify people as dating material out of hand. Sure, we all look for the butter for our toast, but meanwhile, get to know some of the other interesting people out there. Not going out with somebody that isn't taller than me smacks of self limitation, something I try not to indulge. Anyway, I have never let it bother me. I will admit that there is something to be said for snuggling in the bosom of a six foot Amazon, but I certainly won't discount the women shorter than my five foot, seven inches (and a half, but I won't bring that up).

Meet Boxy

It's a beautiful day here. Warm enough to have all of the windows open with a nice breeze coming in the house. I stepped out on the patio this morning to see this:So I run to the front yard to see this:
Finally! The fall has been pretty mild this year and the leaves were taking their sweet time to turn. I guess we are finally into fall.

So I'm sitting here in front of the computer, enjoying the breeze, when outside the window I hear the Demon Dog speaking in tongues. She talks a lot and most of the time I just ignore her, but this time she was going on and on about something. I go outside to check on her and see her at the corner of the house and her paws are working. I almost yell at her to avoid another coal mine in my yard when I see her spring into the air and back about a foot. Interesting. She immediately goes back to the spot and starts talking again, not barking, just a mix between a growl and a whine.

Finally, I decide to walk over and see what she is doing. Folks, meet Boxy. The poor tortoise was being pawed by Maddie (aka: Demon Dog) and obviously he was in full defense mode. I brought him over to an area that I have fenced off to see if he would stick his head out. The dogs waited patiently outside the wire for something to happen. Maddie lost interest fairly quickly, but Daisy hung in there for quite a while.





Boxy was pretty much a no show and I decided to take him out front before one of the kids decided to gnaw on his shell. Just a little bit of morning excitement in West Tennessee.

With Friends Like These

A couple of years ago, shortly after my divorce, my friends and co-workers began to take pity on me and my lack of social appointments (dates). They quickly began to set me up with every neurotic, picky girl they could find. I was bored and certainly not in a position to be choosy, so one weekend I accepted Harley's invitation to meet Carrissa.

Before you think this is a tale about a match gone wrong.......well, it is, but it's also an anecdote that provides an example of one of my pet peeves, being ditched.

Harley and I worked with Tracey, whose brother was having a huge pool party in McKenzie, about ninety minutes away from Jackson. Harley suggested that we (as in me, Harley, his wife Cheryl, Carrissa, and some other girl that was sportin' a killer mullet) meet at his house and then drive out to Mike's where the party was. Fine by me. I park my truck at Harley's house, they introduce me to Carrissa (quite the cutie) and then tell me that Harley and I will be taking Jordan, their nine year old son, to Tracey's mother's house to be babysat. Confused yet? Wait, it gets better.

Cheryl, Carrissa, and Carrissa's friend (the one with the uni-brow) take Carrissa's car and head on out. Harley and I drop Jordan off in McKenzie and proceed to the party. By the time we got there, things had died down a bit and we were playing catch up with the booze. Carrissa was interesting and I asked her if I could call her and she gave me her number (remember this point sports fans).

Carrissa and her friend, the Sasquatch left which meant that boredom was starting to set in for me. Harley had decided to fire up a fattie and was sitting on the patio getting his groove on. Mike came over and asked me if I wanted to help him throw Harley in the pool. I'm always up for some mayhem, so I said "sure."

We tossed Harley into the pool and he began to whine and cry about how he was wet (big deal), and his blunt had gotten soaked (not like he offered to share) and his cell phone was ruined (oops). I told him to cowboy up and enjoy the pool. He gave me some lame excuse about his clothes and Mike said "take 'em off, nobody gives a rats ass." Taking the hint, I stripped down to my skivvies and dove into the water. When I surfaced I was completely horrified.
The bastard had gone nude on us and apparently was wearing a squirrel or some other hairy rodent on his crotch! All I could say to him was "dude, if you trim that 'fro back a foot or two, it might look like you have a tool worth working."

This pissed him off a bit so he got out of the pool (fine by me, I don't like swimming with marmots anyway), put on a towel and sat down in a lawn chair.

Everyonce in a while I would hear a girl squeal "ewww, Harley!! Put that thing away!" Evidently he thought it was cute to show every female that walked by the wolverine between his legs.
This went on for an hour or so while I blissfully swam in the pool with the other party people that had decided to strip down.

Eventually, I left the water to grab another beer and passed Cheryl (Harley's wife, remember?) on the way. She was only wearing a bra and panties. "Hey," she says "we are going to pick up Jordan (Harley's progeny, keep up readers), wanna go with us?"

"Nah, I'm ok."

So she grabs Harley in all of his nekkidness, piles his drunk ass into the car, and off they go. I spend the next couple of hours drinking and socializing when Mike (owner of the house, sheesh, do I have to provide a scorecard for you people?) taps me on the shoulder. He remarks that the party is starting to thin out a bit and how was I getting home. I took the hint and started looking for Harley and Cheryl.

Now folks, admittedly, I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, but when somebody tells me they are leaving to pick up their child, I didn't think for a second that they weren't coming back! I looked for the dynamic duo for about ten minutes before I realized that I had been ditched! Mike listen to my tale of woe and told me we would figure out some way to get me back to Jackson, an hour and a half away.

I finally found a ride about 8 p.m. THE NEXT DAY! There was some small revenge. Harley and Cheryl had left all of their clothes at Mike's (I would have loved to have been there when the state trooper pulled them over to find two drunk nekkid people with a small child in the back seat. "We only had one beer officer, I swear!) so when I was dropped off at my truck, I threw all of their clothes into the trees and basketball goal at their house.

All was not lost, right? I mean I got Carrissa's number and she wanted me to call her so I was taking the "no pain, no gain" attitude.

I called Carrissa Monday night and left a message. No return call. I called again Wednesday night, still no return call. I was starting to feel a little stalkerish, so I decided to call one more time on Thursday and if she didn't answer, I would just let it go. To my surprise she picked up the phone. We made small talk for ten minutes or so and I finally asked her if she wanted to have dinner sometime. The rest of the conversation went like this:

Carrissa: Chunk, what did Harley and Cheryl tell you about me?

Chunk: Just that you and I would get along and might enjoy each other's company.

Carrissa: Well, my husband and I are trying to work things out and they know this.

pause

pause

pause

Chunk: I am so sorry, I had no idea. Please, really, accept my apology. I'm gonna go crawl back under my rock now.

So I get off of the phone before I can even think, "WTF? Why did she give me her number and tell me it was ok to call?"

I saw Harley and Cheryl the following weekend, thanked them for ditching me in the ass end of Tennessee and then chewed their asses for trying to set me up with Carrissa when the poor girl was trying to work out things with her husband. That was wrong on so many levels

Cheryl thinks it over for a minute and then looks at me and says "Chunk, her and her husband have been done forever, when I talked to her during the week, she decided you were too short."

Fuck.

Here Comes The Sun HNT

Here it is. The infamous sun I bought in Florida. I got mixed results with my poll. The ex-wife said it was horrendous, but since she don't pay the mortgage, she can bite my lily white ass. It has a few good memories with it so I plan to enjoy looking at it. I just hope the fucker doesn't fall off of the wall and whack me in the melon.

Since I didn't get to go to the UT game last weekend (possibly a lucky thing) I went and bought paint and took care of my bedroom. The color used to be this mint green that was supposed to be a sage, but turned out all neon-ish when it went on the walls. I'm ashamed to admit I picked the color. Those damn sample cards are a waste of time if you ask me.

The color on the walls is Palomino. It looks similar to what's in the den, but that is Elmwood. 'Cause you care. Now I have to get matching linen and a comforter. It's official. I am now a metrosexual.