'Tis The Season To Rant

Okay, so this morning I'm in Walmart (why don't we have one decent grocery store in my area?) buying Christmas cookie shit for Jan, and there's more than a fair share of old fat farts riding around on these little electric scooter things.

I shit you not, I think Walmart has more of these battery powered scooters than they do their clankity wheeled shopping carts.

Anyway, I'm standing on the far side of an aisle, and one of these old obese buzzards on a scooter rams right into the back of my ankle because she forgot to release the hand throttle and stop.  It hurt like hell and I was going to pop her right in her head, but then I figured I didn't want to stay in the lockup all day on a charge of assault.

These are the same stupid asses who drive around in their 1982 Mercury Marquis' and crash into storefront windows because they can't remember which pedal is the brake and which is the accelerator.

I swear to God, if you're too fat or just plain lazy to stand on your own two fucking feet and walk around a grocery store, then you're too fat or just plain lazy to be driving a car.

There's a grocery delivery service called Peapod.

Use it.

(End of rant)

War of THE WORD

I live in a small bedroom community, and naturally, we have a few churches.  Each church has their sign out front with those spaces for removable letters where they put up things like "God is Great" and "Bless Our Troops".  Sometimes, they even put up cute little things like "Send God a "Knee" Mail Today" or "Bean Supper on Saturday.  It'll Be a Windy Day".

But over the summer, I noticed two churches right across the street from each other started a bit of a feud over one of these "cute" messages.  I took some pictures.  Both buildings are still standing and no one was murdered, so it must have turned out all right ...

Treacle Thursday

For all of you that haven't had a chance to watch the "news" shows this morning, the following has been featured prominently.

Be sure you have a sheet wrapped around your neck like a bib, because at the worst, you may puke all over it and at the least you may just taste a little poop in your mouth.

Please turn up your volume and enjoy this abortion.

Cleaning Out The Old Photo Album

Occasionally, when I'm goofing around on the computer, I'll find a picture that I can't resist and I'll copy it into my photo album.  And from time to time, I'll go through the album, looking at family photos when I run across one of these strange pictures and wonder why the hell I saved it.

So, today I'm going through my album and deleting some pictures.  But, before I get rid of them, I thought I'd share ... because I love sharing.

I'm going to have a little fun with this first one and ask you all to play "Who the fuck is this guy?" Ready?  The answer will be below, but don't cheat and look until you've recited the "Final Jeopardy" theme in your head ...

I deal in jewels now ... instead of DEATH!

He's an old William Calley.  For those of you 50 years on this ball or older, you might remember him as Lt. William Calley, who was convicted for the massacre of tens of civilians in the village of My Lai during the Vietnam War.  Like I said, he was convicted, but I think he was pardoned soon after by then President Nixon.  He has a jewelry shop now.

Okay, I don't know why I saved this one, but I think I must have snorted out a laugh when I first looked at it ...

More tasty than "ordinary" Ramen noodles.

Ha, Ha!  It's funny because Chinese doesn't translate into English well.  Kind of like this one ...

So ... you know how you go into some guy's office and he's usually a supervisor and he's kind of a dick who needs to have those motivational posters on his wall that say shit like "Teamwork", and "Excel" and "Strive" and they always have pictures of eagles or a scull team on them?  Yeah, I despise those fucking things.  That's why I liked this one ...

Okay, one last picture from the album.  And there's a little story behind this one.  On St. Patricks Day of this year, Jan and I bought a new car, and we traded our old one off for it, which was a mistake.  Well, the car (a black 2002 Pontiac Grand Prix) had over a 100k on it, the transmission was acting like a bitch, and it was just a money pit.  So, I figured we wouldn't get much for it.  The Blue Book on it was 2 grand, and they offered me 1800.  I hate dealing and the salesman said they were just going to load it on a truck and send it to the auto auction, so I took it.

A couple of days later, I was looking on the dealer's website and saw this ...

Auto auction, huh?

YOU BASTARDS!

It was on sale for $9,739 ...  I about shit my pants.  I have to admit, that several days later the price went down below six thousand.  And who knows, maybe it did eventually end up at an auto auction.  Man, I hate car dealers.

And that's it for this edition of "Cleaning out my photo album".  These will be blown into the ether, and I'll probably spend the rest of the day downloading new ones so I can do this again in six months or so.

I can't help myself.

I Have Become Comfortably Numb

In the past, I've posted several (many?) times about my next door neighbor, Hillbilly Ron, and his fondness for collecting junk and showcasing it to his neighbors by displaying it in his driveway, on his front lawn or in his side yard, which borders mine.

At various times, he has collected old refrigerators, bicycles in various stages of disrepair, a decapitated deer head, dead lawnmowers, a leaky boat and a skeletonized Volkswagen.  And during each of these times, the collections have driven me up the wall.  It was selfish on my part, because I had hoped to one day sell my house and could envision a potential buyer pulling up and spotting a bloody, decapitated deer head impaled on a broomstick; and driving off in terror.

But then, Jan and I decided that we really did like this area, the kids had told us they were going to stay in the Chicagoland area and we decided that we had put too much work in the house to start over again.  So, we decided to stay put until the end of days.

And now, thankfully, Hillbilly Ron doesn't bother me anymore.  Case in point; the other day I was out in the yard and overheard HR's wife screaming at him to get rid of some of the shit in the garage so she could at least park one car in it.  "Ha-ha", I thought to myself, when Hell freezes over.  However, the very next day, I looked out of my study window and saw this:

Fifteen Square Feet of Crap Equals Room for One Car in the Garage!

In the past, I would have clapped my hand to my face in a comical gesture and seethed.  But, I just sat back in my chair, and continued reading my copy of "Fifty Shades of Gray", not giving it a second thought.

And then, yesterday, Jan and I were returning from an errand, and when we pulled into driveway, we looked next door and saw this:

Of Course it Doesn't Run ...

Jan tried to bait me by gasping "Oh my God, what the hell is he doing now?"  I thought about it a couple of seconds and then said "Eh, he just likes to tinker."

I don't know what's happening to me, but all of a sudden I've become very mellow.  Perhaps it was turning 60 that did it.  I doubt I'd even bat an eyelash if I walked out this afternoon and saw a decapitated bloody deer head in the front seat and an old, rusty refrigerator in the back.

And speaking of Charmin toilet paper commercials ... these things are starting to run off the rails.  Especially with these fucking blue and pink bear cartoony ones.  At first they weren't too bad ... cute almost.  A blue bear walks up to a tree with a roll of Charmin, places it on a limb and presumably does his business behind a tree.  Kinda cute ... a "does a bear shit in the woods?" thing.

But then, the cartoony bears supposedly bought a house, so now they have a toilet and have started really getting into poo.  In an earlier commercial, Momma Bear checks out Juniors ass when he comes out of the bathroom for flecks of toilet paper, indicating that he used Brand X instead of Charmin.  In a later, more graphic commercial, Junior is actually sitting on the can rolling off reams of toilet paper to clean his ass.  Momma and Poppa Bear give him holy hell to only use one square, when any sane person knows that if you ACTUALLY do that, your fingers are going to punch right through the paper and you're going to get shit all over your fingers.

And then ... this morning I'm sitting at the table eating eggs and sausage when the latest Charmin commercial airs showing Momma Bear sorting her dirty laundry and checking out Junior's underwear for SKID MARKS!  And ... SHE DOESN'T LOOK PLEASED!  I looked down at my breakfast and lost my appetite, sort of like when you're out to dinner and you're digging into a plate of spaghetti and meatballs and your dinner companion starts talking about how her dog has worms and she knows this because she saw them wriggling around in his shit.

Yeah, kind of like that.

Well, for my money, this bear and toilet paper crap has to end.  Charmin needs to go back to that moderately attractive housewife who looks like she's having an orgasm while she's rubbing a roll of TP on her cheek.  That was much classier.

Like I said, I get more mellow every day.