MY BLOG IS 7 INCHES LONG

2011-12-14T22:52:00.019-05:00

WOODY'S SOCIAL MEDIA RANT PART I

THE FACEBOOK CONUNDRUM

Much like viewing the Twilight movies, I fought against ever creating a Facebook account. I already had a small handful of people I would email my thoughts, ideas, and occasional funny Photoshoppy Goodness to...so I didn't see a point to this whole Facebook fad. I say fad because let's face it...it was the MySpace of the new millennium. (except without all the sparkly animated gifs which was virtually all I ever saw on there)

After my best friend busted my balls for about a year, I finally relented and made an account. The reason for this was simple. There were two friends I had lost touch with from High School, and it seemed like perhaps I could rekindle those friendships. Right off the bat, the first of those friends was willing to admit on a public forum that he both knew me AND was a friend on top of that. My heart swelled with pride as I took my first baby steps into this new (to me) world. My friend left me a quick hey-how-are-ya email and I anxiously replied figuring this would spark a never ending flood of memories and laughter...

....annnnd then he never replied again.

That of course is when I realize that its been oh I don't know....twenty fucking years? ...and this guy could give a shit if I just had my dick amputated in a tragic escalator accident. From there I started accumulating a meager following of friends so I set about to attempt to use the social outlet for it's intended purpose : to put out warm, witty, sometimes self-deprecating messages, endearing you to your newly rediscovered friends whom you've lost touch with! Sure I struck out with my first friend reconnection...but I have all these new friends who are waiting to draw me to their bosom and accept me for the warm human being that I am! Right?? RIGHT?!?!?!? *sigh* (scratches head)

Having the illusion of a male-bonding experience shattered, I then started looking around and noticed that Facebook is like an ant colony. You have worker ants, soldier ants, and food gathering ants. Everyone seemed to fall into one category or the other.

For instance, there's....

THE NON-ENTITIES.

These are FB users who have accounts, and occasionally "like" something...but generally speaking...hardly ever go onto their account and for the life of me I have no idea why they are cluttering up the internet with their presence.

I guess to counterpoint those people are the users that actually want to be on Facebook....but must be logging on at the local Burger King's free wi-fi hot spot because these are the people who have to have it THEIR WAY.

THE COMPLAINERS

They come. They bitch. They leave......and then they log in again an hour later to complain some more. These are the people who complain at every turn when any changes are made to the free website that lets them play games and post pictures and video.

"OMG, Facebook is at it again! They are stealing our personal email addresses and selling them to advertising companies!!!! WE MUST STOP THIS!!!!"

Look, Facebook is a free website. You don't see Classmates.com let you connect to your old high school chums without dropping some coin, yet these people still act like they are the shareholders and have rights to demand things. They all seem to know how best Facebook should be run. I suspect these are the same people in my office who complain about whomever is running the country and how fixing the world's problems is so easy....if only they were in charge.

From there you have the people who friend you for purposes unknown. We'll call these types :

THE COLLECTORS

These are the people who hoard friends on Facebook for no other reason than because they know you from somewhere. Maybe you are a classmate from High School...or maybe you shared an elevator once. ::shrugs:: These FB'ers are confusing to me, because once you have friended them, your usefulness is at an end. If you post on their wall, they will ignore you.

It's almost as if they are assimilating you like the old Star Trek villains that would consume all life and subjugate it to their will. You have been added to the Collective and therefore you have no further value.

When I am not being ignored by one of these sects of the Facebook Cult, I like to play around on another group's pages. We'll call these people :

THE ZOMBIES

So named because they post the most mindless comments and somehow get 50 comments in response. An example of such would be the people who live anywhere south of Pennsylvania who occasionally see more than six snowflakes fall in a 24 hour period and feel compelled to post the absolute mind numbing comment "It's snowing!!!!!" (complete with extra unnecessary punctuation and perhaps a smiley face) It seems that the only way to run a successful page is to post things using five or fewer words.

The Zombie, I have learned, can be your biggest ally or your absolute Facebook ruin. On the one hand you have their inane comments which serve to bolster your message thread count, thus giving you the all-important ego boost by making it seem like people give a shit and care about what you say. On the other hand, do you really need one more "DISLIKE!" comment after you post a humorous well-thought out comment bitching about people who turn off their high beams three feet before passing you on the road. I mean you post something you hope is side-splittingly funny and then give it a good four or five hours for the masses to digest your wit and have time enough to offer up props to the comedy God that you are.....and then you log in and find that there hasn't been a single comment.

But that's probably because the Zombies on my Facebook friends list are also a part of another Facebook Phenomenon :

THE GAMER

Gamers are the not-so-rare breed who think nothing of filling your inbox with requests for hammers, hay, and assorted sundries. I mean do these people even check to see if I am even PLAYING any of these games? Gamers are usually identified by the fact that they have 2,000 friends on their friends list and never post anything non-game related. Warning : They may have a problem discerning fantasy from reality (hint : your farm is the fantasy).

And finally there is one last notable crowd :

THE QUOTERS

Quoters are the subset of Facebook who post famous quotes, and song lyrics presumably because they either have nothing of substance to say or they are trying to sound lofty and intelligent by quoting a John Lennon lyric or a portion of a Shakespeare sonnet.

I am relatively sure that the Song Lyric Quoters drop these comments as "Zombie bait".

IE : chum used to stir up the Zombie posters on the person's friends list and whip them into a posting frenzy, which in turn makes you look like the most popular person on Facebook.

The Shakespearean quoters on the other hand, try to make you think and usually fail miserably at it.

They post these literary quotes for no fathomable reason I can ascertain. I say this because let's face it. Have you ever known any of your friends to ever break out into Olde English and quote A Midsummer Night's Dream? Really? And they put these quotes up trying to sound like they have an IQ in the triple digits and then it just hangs there in the air like a raunchy fart...no one says anything in response...either because they are in awe or perhaps because they are like "seriously WTF is with the quote from Sigmund Freud?"

Based on these types of people, I honestly don't know where I went wrong. I had studied the random things people would post on their pages and so I tentatively left a short, yet warm and humorous question postulating the outcome of my bright idea to allow my young son to have a glass of chocolate milk sitting three inches away from his new Nintendo DS. And so I sent it out into the world....waiting for the FLOOD of "OMG!!!' and "Brilliant! Here's the Nobel Peace Prize for Warm Witty Human Social Commentary" comments to roll in. And as the days creep by.....NOTHING. Zip! Zilch! NA-DA! I made a few more equally ignored comments and finally quit in frustration.

That is when I realized that my entire FB existence was going to be based around being ignored by the only people I truly deemed worthy (those that I haven't heard from or have no way of contacting outside of FB) or based on mind-numbing commentary "makin' brownies!". That is when I decided I would use my Facebook page to be everything that all the other pages weren't. A dumping ground for all the odd thoughts that run through my head. Everyone has them. You are watching a tv show, a movie, or idiots at the mall, and then a comment comes to mind that makes you giggle or think "gee it's odd that people with machine guns can't figure out how the hell to hit a target when they have 150 bullets spraying out of that gun".

Is that what Facebook was intended for? Fuck I don't know. All I know is that trying to find validation on Facebook is like to trying to find a plot in a Paris Hilton movie.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to finish compiling my Top 5 Reasons Why Performing Oral Sex On A Cadaver is Better Than A Live Woman while watching my "Friend Count" drop like an H-Bomb out of the Enola Gay.

2011-09-22T23:10:00.019-04:00

MY STAY AT THE BATES MOTEL

I've stayed in some real dives before...but this one tops the list. I ended up at this dump out of sheer desperation. I had been turned away by three hotels, and was heading in the general direction of Canada looking for the next hope when I passed two hotels/motels on a one way street in a matter of seconds while the GPS directed me to the next failed hotel event.

And then I saw it.

The Andrea Motel.

The neon lights let me know that this was a top notch affair, yet I couldn't help but try anyway because I was tired of canvassing most of South East New York.

So I pull in and head to the office and inquire about lodging. The guy tells me the rate is $80 and begins to tell me that I probably can't use my Am Ex card because apparently the credit card machine was purchased at the Flintstone's Garage Sale. So I pass my Mastercard through the slot in the no-doubt bulletproof window between us. As I stand and wait, I can't help but notice the disclaimer posted nearby....and the Magnum Condom with the note to hold it for someone underneath that. Oh....My....God.

He hands me the key and I proceed to my car to strip every item that is worth more than 5 cents from it to make my car more resistable to the local crackheads, and then to my room.

What I see when I walk through the door is something that can only be described as something straight out of the set of Super Fly or countless other blaxploitation films.

A soft red glow lights the room and the bed underneath. I hate to blaspheme but JESUS CHRIST THIS IS CREEPY. I think this would have fit in Kubrik's The Shining!

I turn on every light switch to examine the place where I will be spending my foreseeable future (and I was kind of scared to be in the dark with only the red light on). Wall to wall red carpeting. Crushed red velvet wallpaper. Mirrors on the wall above the bed and to one side.

At this point, the only thing missing is ...well... this :

The Remote Control for the TV even has it's own restraining device in case someone happens to have a Philips TV at home and lost their remote...cuz that happens a lot I am sure.

...and are those mystery stains on the floor Mr. Lennon?

And that leads us to the bathroom, which....well let's just move on...

I move the table away from the Stain of The Week to set up my laptop so I may enjoy some down time on the internet. Ok I would enjoy some down time on the internet but it hasn't been invented yet in the confines of this establishment. Someone needs to call Al Gore so he can invent it. *sigh* I then turn to the TV to provide amusement. let's see....NBC, CBS, some Spanish tv channel...some OTHER Spanish TV channel....Some news channel...some other news channel....and a TV channel devoted to showing close-ups of some dudes face. WTF? Why are they showing this dudesHEYYYYYYYYYY! FREE PORN! WOOOOOOOOO!!!

Best...motel....ever.

Well it was until I realized that every time I passed the channel (Seinfeld was on commercial breaks I swear!) it was some bald black dude. Hey I am all for affirmative action, but I am getting a Small Penis Complex over here! Have these people even HEARD of circumcision??

At this point I have decided to give up any hope of finding something to watch and concentrate on writing this blog to pass the time. I would go to bed but my next door neighbor keeps walking around his room and I'd swear he's poaching wooly mammoths because for fuck sake it is LOUD. I hear people yapping...and furniture being rearranged. For Petes Sake there are FIVE CARS in the parking lot and according to the sign TWENTY THREE ROOMS. You mean to tell me you can't put empty rooms to either side of mine??? GARRR!!!!

And that's when I heard the moaning. Apparently the furniture being arranged was the bed...and mine too....cuz the fuck-me mirror on the wall was rattling like a 6-on-the-rictor-scale earthquake was shaking the place. Oy vey. I then put the TV on mute and they provided an alternate soundtrack to "Friends" playing on TBS! Well...at least SOMEbody is enjoying their stay at this establishment. While this means that Joey, Ross, Chandler, Monica, Phoebe, and Rachel have never been funnier, it is at this point I have to question whether there is any sheetrock between my layer of wall-paper and theirs.

(five earth-shattering minutes later)

Ok they're done.

No wait....thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump noooooo they're not.

Is this what it's like when the Energizer Bunny has sex? Dammit man! Stop raising the bar!!!

(five more emasculating minutes later)

Annnnnd they're done.

(cue sound of shower which, yes I can hear as well)

They then laugh and yell and carry on and so I decide to listen to my ipod because I can't sleep until they decide to go to bed themselves. This SO going into my Frommer's review.

Huh. Sounds like they are moving the furniture back.

No. No. Wait. I know that sound. I've...made that sound....just....for a lot shorter time...It's...OH CRAP! MY MIRROR IS SHAKING AGAIN! REALLY?!?!?!?! THEY MUST BE PAYING BY THE HOUR FOR THAT ROOM! (for the record it is now 1:30am)

*sigh*

It is at this point that this blog comes to an end, as this blogger has to make his way outside to wait for them to emerge so he can hold up a score card.

(I give them an 8.5...woulda been a 10 but they didn't break anything)

Oh, and as for the review of my stay at this motel, I give this hotel Two Dead Hookers out of a possible Five.

2011-08-29T23:08:00.026-04:00

Concussions of a Dangerous Mind

I was vacationing in the 1,000 Islands at the family camp when the life altering event took place. This particular weekend it was just myself, my son, and cousins of various sizes and ages. My two cousins...whom from here on out shall be known as the Brain Trust....inform me that Cousin #1's nieces are going to go tubing and asked if my son like to go too. He was game, and so we all piled into the boat and headed out to the deeper parts of the channel.

My two little cousins hit the waves first, and their uncle takes it easy on them as was to be expected, and for the next 15 minutes I watch the girls get tugged behind the boat having the time of their lives. Up next I assume my son would be taking the reins, but my older cousin decides it's time to tempt fate. It takes all of 6 minutes for my cousin to get banged around on the waves, eventually succumbing to the call of the surf and getting dumped ass over tea kettle into the sweet by and by.

My cousin hops in the boat after his less than spectacular wipe-out and begins the traditional hazing ritual, egging me on and letting my son know that his dad is less of a man if he doesn't go tubing. I'm not fooled by his transparent chest pounding. He just wants to see me get dumped into the water at ludicrous speed...so after my son enjoys a leisurely tug around the islands, I put my foot down and say...

I put on the water floatation device and discover that I....may have grown out of it some time ago. My cousin, whom is built like a brick shithouse, assists me with putting on the vest. Of course by assisting I really mean forces the buckles to come together, thus making my manboobs squish together like the first wonderbra for men (patent pending). After the emasculating moment has concluded, I climb awkwardly into the tube.....or should I say I fell out of the fucking boat into the tube and then promptly flipped out of it backwards into the river below. *sigh*

I make my way through the indignity of climbing back into the boat, made more difficult by the fact that the vest is stiff and does not have any give when I am trying to hoist my fat ass out of the water to try again. I then "fall" out of the boat into the inner tube, landing in the seated position. My cousin then drives away leaving me to wonder if my girth will make the inner tube's tow line tear free of the tube leaving me behind in a rapidly shrinking body condom....and then it hits me....

You see, my cousin neglected to mention the fabric bottom of the tube. I mean this not a real inner tube from a tractor tire...it's made for kids to be pulled behind a boat, and when an adult sits on the tube with his arse plugging the giant hole at the top like a cork, it creates a heretofore unforeseen problem. When the tube gets pulled, it pulls everything taut. I was under the impression that the front of the tube would be the only part of the tube that gets yanked when the boat pulls away. WRONG. The middle of the mesh bottom gets gets pulled as well (as the middle of the tube is being pulled away and the mesh is attached to said tube). This means that the first sensation I have is of my colon being forcefully pulled out and the second sensation is that my tender arsehole is being greeted with a constant horse-powered watery battering ram!

I...um...WHAT? yeah. You heard me. My anal cavity was getting brutalized by the world's first boat powered water pik! OH THE HUMANITY! First I get the five finger fandango from my doctor during my physical the week before, and now I am being ass raped by a large body of water! "But couldn't you clench up?" says one of the three people who read my nonsensical rantings.... geeletmethinkNOOOOOO! Let me remind you people of the fact that I am sitting in the tube LEGS AKIMBO HERE PEOPLE! Oh, just an FYI...an unpleasant side-effect of all this was that the constant battering of the colon makes it feel like you have to take a dump worst than that time I mistook week-old Mexican food as a light snack.

As if feeling like my intestines are being power washed by Hurricane Irene and the feeling that I was about to crap a Volkswagon Beetle wasn't enough, there was also the fact that my neck felt like it being crushed under a sadomasochist's leather boot heel. Two years ago I had a slipped disc in my neck removed and fused together with a piece of cadaver bone, and so rides like this...where centripedal force is a given...feels like my throat is collapsing.

Coincidentally, Michael Jackson passed away at roughly that same time though I have never been able to confirm that the bone in my neck was donated from him...although this would explain why I moonwalk to the bathroom each night at 2am when I get up to take a piss. Anyway...doing this shit made my neck fuckin' hurt.

It was at that time that Mother Nature decided to throw the first curve in my face in the form of a rouge wave. Ok wave may be a slight exaggeration, but it felt like I had been bitch slapped by a phone book. The spray smacked me dead on and cleaned out my sinuses like I had just snorted Liquid Plumbr. As I rocked back and forth on the LATEX OF DOOM I did the next most logical thing I could think of....Taunt the driver of course! I mean really...I can't pat the top of my head (which indicates I have had enough) because that would mean my son would known how unmanly I am (as if the lack of coordination and the general poor state of my physique wasn't already enough). So despite the fact that I was being raped by a large body of water, I pressed on. Nay, I SOLDIERED ON. I laughed in the face of danger (more of a nervous laugh really) and proceeded to put on the greatest exhibition of muscle flexing my 2 inch pythons could muster.

My cousin accepted the challenge and begin driving in circles trying to whip me off. At this point I am skipping across the wake trailing behind the boat like a stone hanging on for dear life. I got to tell ya...I don't see what all the rage is about doing this shit...cuz it fuckin' HURT. Where is the fun in getting whiplash and a 12 inch deep colon? ::shrugs:: Still pondering that question, I made it through to the straightaway once more. I contemplated pantomiming the Y-M-C-A dance but thought better of it as it would require taking both hands off the tube handles. I guess it was at that time that Karma paid a visit. My cousin yanked the wheel to the left, I went to the right, and all I remember is having time to glance at the 1.5 foot high wake wave I was about to hit and remark to myself "oh THIS is gonna HURT."...and then

WHAMMO!

I have my first sailing experience.

....Except it doesn't involve a sailboat.

No....no....I hit the wave and was sent careening in the general direction of Canada, sans water, doing the best Peter Pan impression I can muster.

I know it was sans water, because for the split second I remember before I crashed like the stock market in 1929 was looking up and seeing water and saying to myself "That's the water and I'm not in it." before I crashed to the watery grave before me. And hit it I did! My head hit first...kind of like a plow till dragging through the soil behind a tractor during planting season, and then my body slapped down like the clapper they use on movie sets when someone yells ACTION!

My boat-load of cousins swing around and drive back with the no-doubt blood covered LATEX COLON ENHANCER tube and my pain and sacrifice for my son's amusement is met with gales of laughter. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! TEN FEET! YOU WERE TEN FEET IN THE AIR! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!" taunts my cousin. He even remarks that the people on the shore were even laughing at me because they saw it too. Great. Thanks. Glad I could be of service. I hadn't realized I went that far and high as I had roughly enough time between the collision and the splash down for my sex life to flash before my eyes...so I was truly unaware of the amazing performance I had unwittingly given.

Like an idiot, I then unbuckled myself from the life vest so I could breathe at full capacity once again without thinking that to get out of the damn thing, I would have to allow myself to slide down under water out of it because being as it was a life saving floatation device, the sumbitch floats...and being as I am dead tired from hanging on to that fucking tube...I was not so floaty.

Luckily I managed to hold on to the vest and was able to haul my fat ass back into the boat and safety. Well...safety from the water, not my cousins' pointed barbs. (YA DICK!) My son gets another ride as well as my two little cousins as I relive the gory details of my Mary Lou Retton-like dismount from the WEAPON OF ASS DESTRUCTION. By the time we get back to the dock, we are greeted by my Aunt and Uncle. While I would have liked to have had a great laugh at my expense with my family, I was over-taken by the sudden urge to evacuate my stomach contents in the worst way. Not wanting to show weakness to my son, I walked calmly to the bathroom and then dropped onto the seat like a two-ton....heavy thing. (hee hee...a Queensryche reference!)

It occurred to me that I was nauseous and had a headache, which are two signs of a concussion, and my aunt (the former nurse) was right outside. So I did the logical thing. I pulled myself together and went out to tell her my symptoms....and by tell her about my symptoms I mean go straight to bed and take a nap to feel better. Yah. I know. Sleeping with a concussion is probably the stupidest thing to do, but it must not have been one because I awoke, battered and bruised (well my colon did anyway) and relatively none-the-worse-for-wear.

Moral of the story : Never listen to my cousin Harold.

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Disclaimer :
MrWoodman makes no guarantees that he will be witty, thoughtful,
sensitive to people's feelings, or generally likable in any way shape or form.

No animals were harmed in the filming of this blog.

2011-08-22T18:56:00.017-04:00

On a whim, I decided to check out the latest craze in music entertainment. The MEGA CONCERT. This mega concert was entitled "Q-Ruption", a clever name play on the radio station Q103 and it's general lack of originality. What this means to ME is that between every act, those WACKY DJ's from the Free Beer and Hot Wings show come out on stage to speak to the crowd and to make poor attempts to get the crowd whipped up into a lather. Free Beer and Hot Wings? This is the best they could come up with when Howard Stern left terrestrial radio? Really?

Anyway, The concert was all set to start at 6:30, but the mongoloids at Ticket Master conveniently moved it back an hour and told everyone two days before the concert. Thanks assholes! So this meant that I had to hop in the car and drive so fast that there was a risk of going back in time....well....if I was driving a Delorean and had enough Plutonium to get the 88 Jigawatz required for such things. But I digress.

We get to the concert and are forced to park all the way in the back, along the fence line. I guess this makes sense, as we are getting there right as the concert starts (THANKS AGAIN TICKETMASTER!). As we make our way up to the venue, they start parking every one who came in even later up front by the entrance. Thanks Saratoga Performing Arts Center (flips bird in general direction of Saratoga).

So we head in and find our seats after taking a moment for my friend to grab a $20 beer and for me to point out that a few shitheads brought their 6 year olds to the concert. REALLY??? I can only imagine it is so Sully from Godsmack can sing "Cryin' Like A Bitch" to them. Boy will THEY feel silly when they get called out...

Anyhoo....here comes the opener :

These guys came out with the best of intentions with the bald lead singer pulling off the David Draiman look and the bass player thrashing and beating on his bass like there's no tomorrow. The drummer is louder than everyone, which is ok because the manic beat he is pounding out gets all 20 people at the front of the stage jumping up and down. The first song they play is Taking You Down and even though I have no idea who the fuck these guys are...I enjoyed it. The band then rocks out four or so other songs, including their first single White Rabbit (which I had also not heard of). I give them an A for effort though because they tried hard.....well....too hard. Ok actually I am demoting them to a solid B because in between every single song they made the rookie rock band mistake of trying to get the crowd on it's feet. DUDE. There are like ONE HUNDRED PEOPLE ASSEMBLED HERE. The next 200 are in the beer and food area not listening and the other 1,500 people are still on the road and either didn't know of the concert start time change (THANKS TICKET MASTER!)....or they are being fashionably late as they are here to see GODSMACK and simply don't wish to rush here to see the next SemiSonic/Tantric/Cowboy Mouth/Insert-Flash-In-The-Pan-Band-Here. The lead singer and bass player took turns telling us to get to our "motherfucking feet". Sorry pal. If there were more people out there then I guess I wouldn't feel stupid getting up in row DOUBLE J out in the middle of left fucking field.

Anyway, they are off to the concession stands to sell T-Shirts but not before asking the audience if they were ready to see all the bands coming next. They must have been told to read off the list one at a time and then pause to allow for the audience to scream in excitement. man that has to suck. You just sang your ass off for five songs straight trying to win over new fans and then you have to say "ARE YOU GUYS READY FOR SICK PUPPIES? HOW ABOUT SKILLET? AND WHAT ABOUT THAT BAND FIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH?" while all the while making the audience forget the name Egypt Central!

So they take off, the stage is struck and the next band is ready to go up. We can see from the banner that it will be :

...I guess Egypt Central didn't rate a banner as I don't remember seeing one....and that's when the mutiny begins. Now I understand that in the front row...you're gonna jump up out of your feet to stand in front of the stage, thus making yourself an astounding FIVE FEET CLOSER to the sweaty performers, and thus making it virtually impossible for the poor bastards behind you to see the lead singers ankles and prompting those people to stand as well causing a chain reaction where MORE people behind THEM have to get up, etc etc.....but I'm in fucking row DOUBLE J fer cryin' out loud. There are perhaps 20 people in the back left hand corner of the audience seating...and the fucking douche nozzle couple three seats in front of me have to stand up and shake their hips. REALLY MOTHERFUCKERS? Thankfully they have a video camera on each side of the stage so I can watch the video screens instead.

Anyway, they rock out to several tunes of theirs, including their radio friendly hits, Riptide, Maybe and You're Going Down. The lead singer is better on the mike than the E.C. guys were. He has a bigger crowd than the last band, and he plays up to the crowd with a rousing combination of smirks, jokes, and middle fingers....and knew enough to not scream GET THE FUCK OFF YOUR FUCKING FEET to the beer soaked audience. The best part had to be somewhere in the middle of the set when the band played up to the crowd with a cheap crowd popping teaser of Killing In The Name Of...before stopping half way through and switching to Cee Lo Green's Fuck You instead. Yeah I don't think this would end so well for these guys normally....but it was such a shock when he played that song out of nowhere that it worked and the crowd gleefully screamed FUCK YOU at every opportunity. (did I mention that there were several 6 year olds or so in the audience?)

Sick Puppies finish their set and then those WACKY DJs come out to ask us if we too are ready for Skillet (YEEEAAAAHHHHHH), Five Finger Death Punch (WOOOOOO) and Godsmack (AHHHHHHHH) (you get the point) They thank everyone for coming out and blah blah blah get the fuck off my stage.

20 minutes later and it's time for Christian rockers :
Now this band I wanted to see more than S.P. because they have some good rocking tunes...and they are a Christian band so you just know I am getting some good Karma with God for liking them. By this time a couple in their late 40's/early 50's take a seat behind the dancin' fools from before....and when Skillet comes out...it is at that time that I realize that this tall drink a' cocksucker is 7 feet tall and HE LIKES TO STAND TOO. *GARRRRRRR* So now I am forced to stand up for the entire set. Bleah.

Skillet made up for it by sending out a violinist and a cellist clad in an all white ensemble...yeahbutwhaaaaaa? No shit. A fucking cellist. But it's ok...His cello was TOTALLY METAL. It was stripped down to just the neck and strings and it had not one but TWO kick stands he used to stand it up with. He was all like "MOTHER FUCKIN' POPSICKLES BITCH" and I was all like "WOAH BABY! YOU CAN PUT SOMEONE'S EYE OUT WITH THAT" and he was all like "FUCK YEAH."

Like I said....TOTALLY METAL.

So Skillet has even more asses in the seats and the crowd was really into Skillet's set. They played some songs off their last album and off the current album...and then they almost lost their audience when the lead singer reminds us that we are in a war....and I think to myself "please don't say for our souls" and he says..."not in Iraq....for our SOULS" (I slap my head like I could have had a V8). He says something about not being embarrassed about the Gospel of Christ and then they jump into one of their best songs (of the uh....four that I know)....Awake And Alive. Totally rocked. They then rock out Monster for us and soon their set is over....that is, once they ask us if HEY! ARE YOU EXCITED ABOUT THE NEXT BAND?? DID YOU KNOW THERE WAS ANOTHER BAND COMING? REALLY? Ugh. The things people have to do to get their stage time. Poor bastids. I do find it amusing that a Christian band is opening for a band called GODSMACK. Let that sink in for a moment....heh. Honestly though, Godsmack got their name from the story of one of the band members making fun of another band member for having a cold sore on his mouth and then a week later the sore was gone and the band member who made fun of his friend now had the sore on his own mouth and the first guy said "See that? That's God smacking you down for making fun of my cold sore!" and hence, a band name was born.

So Skillet takes off and we suffer through the douche crew from Q again..And then it's time for :

I wasn't expecting much....but I have to admit...they impressed me. Skillet was awesome because they had a lead guitarist who actually had interesting solos to listen to...and so did FFDP. FFDP had two guitarists and they seemed to share the solo's...Which was cool. The lead singer was also more charismatic as well. It seemed that every singer got more and more charismatic as the night went on. This guy though...he slayed me. He comes out with no socks or shoes on, and talks more with his hands than I do. I mean this guy can't say two words without his hand moving up, down or side to side. He looks like a mime with Downs Syndrome. The band runs through part of their set and then they too start playing cover songs....beginning with Pantera's Walk...until the lead singer's like nahhh nah nah forget that....try something else....so the lead guitarist switches to Crazy Train by Ozzy. nope. The singer is not satisfied. So to placate him, he tries Smoke On The Water by Deep Purple and the lead singer is like "Are you kidding me!?!?!?!" and then starts wagging his fist in front of his crotch to let the guy know how he really feels...which contrary to the motion...is not too good. Then they break into the real reason they are here, which is their cover of Bad Company's Bad Company (no that's not a typo for anyone born circa 1990 or later). Then, before they play Under And Over It, the singer lets us in on some rumor control. He hates the internet and just has to clear things up.

Rumors he cleared up :

He has 14 kids from various women - MMMMMaybe True.

He is addicted to drugs - False.

He has a huge penis - .........False. he is Irish and hung like his pinky.

Oh well you can't win them all.

So FFDP wraps it up and it's time for the main event!

When they finally come out ...the people are off their seats and goin' banana. God comes out and runs through Cryin' Like A Bitch out of the gate. I'll admit...I was kinda underwhelmed by this one. I wanted more. They then cracked out other classics throughout their set like Straight Out Of Line and Awake before hitting on one of the other hits I wanted to see and that was Love, Hate, Sex, Pain (or as I like to call it, "Booty Call From My Ex-Girlfriend")...not to mention Voodoo and Keep Away.

That's when they got to the highlight of the entire night for me. Battala De Los Tambores...also known as the best Goddamn drum solo I have ever seen. No shit. The drummer's set drives out into center stage and he starts bashing the skins. Ok...I dig the beat. What-evs. Then Sully drives out in a second drum kit and he's bashing on the bongos so hard it would put John Stamos' drumming in that Beach Boys video to shame! So Sully drives the crowd into a frenzy with his showboating on the bongos and I figure he is done...little realizing that he was just getting warmed up. he then turns around and starts bashing the skins himself, and he and the drummer go at it for five minutes of synchronized drumming while the guitarist and bassist keep the rhythm going on the ramp behind them. I mean I haven't seen something take a beating like that since Rodney King (FUCK YOU THAT'S FUNNY). Sure, if you are a big Godsmack fan, you probably already know this shit happens on probably every dang tour they do...but I was not prepared for it. Loved it.

Unfortunately due to prior commitments, I had to get outta dodge before the encore...which was Serenity and I Stand Alone. We actually left during Whatever (heh...appropriate...) and that would have bummed me out had it not been for the mind blowing drum solo. That, and being on my feet for the last three out of five acts...yeah I am fuckin' tired too. Five bands in one sitting is still five bands in one sitting.

The Good :

Godsmack's Battala De Los Tambores (click link below)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MTXv8xPBGww

...And the rest of the Godsmack drumming. For a drummer he looks a little on the lean side. I mean someone hand him a sandwhich! Stat! Other than the fact that his arms are skinnier than Iggy Pop or your average aborted fetus...his drumming was kick ass. He played in the vein of Rikki Rocket from the Poison videos of the 80's. I mean he was NOT boring AT ALL. He was really fun to watch.

Skillet's set in general...and the lead guitarist. His solos always kicked ass.

Sick Puppies doing Fuck You by Cee Lo Green.

Five Finger Death Punch's cover parade followed by their Bad Company cover...and their two lead guitarists. They shredded pretty good by my estimation.

Egypt Central's Taking You Down - It got me in the mood for live music from that first note.

The Bad :

The Bass playing. Sure Egypt Central's bassist tried hard and had a ton of energy....it didn't even look like he was playing that thing. Same goes for the hot female bass player for Sick Puppies. She plucked, strummed and finger popped the strings but the wall of sound I kept hearing was like....the same wave of of one-note sound as the last song. Once in awhile she would play a progression of notes and it sounded like she could play, yet she always had her back to the crowd so I have no idea if she was actually the one playing. ::Shrugs:: The bassist for Skillet was okeedokee...but he is more of a Kip Winger bassist...IE he plays a minimum of notes and does not play any rhythm outside the vocal posts he is hitting....still better than FFDP's bassist who tortured his bass and looked like was rubbing a cheese grater on it (and sounded about the same). Can he play? Yeah I'm sure...but when the sound is turned up to 11 no one is ever going to know. Godsmack's Bass player was great, plucking his way through all their hits....when he wasn't passing out drum sticks to the front row.

The lead guitarist for Godsmack also goes in this category as he had ZERO energy. Looked like he had about a million better places to be. Strike that. he had NEGATIVE energy...he actually sucked enjoyment out of me because I felt bad for making him entertain me! That and he is guitar solos were a mess of wiggala wiggala weeeeer over and over again. Slash does a solo...it's different from the last. Same flavor...so you know it's him...but different from song to song. Didn't feel that way here.

Actually a lot of the guitar work was more feedback than actual notes. Again, you turn that shit up to 11 then you hear a wall of sound more than intricate notes.

The UGLY :

The women there. I mean holy shit. I was surrounded by either Goth chicks, fugly chicks, or OLD chicks. That was the surprise there. Yah I'm forty now...but there was some 50 year olds there and people with white hair. I was like....seriously WTF? Shouldn't you be at a YANNI concert? There is nothing more sad than the woman wearing some kind of sequined mini skirt looking all shiny....and seeing that she had a pair of flannel shorts underneath, because she obviously realized that she hasn't been able to pull that look off since Reagan and the Iran Contra Affair (look it up n00bs).

Now go click on my feedback or risk making me come to your house and ask you why. Trust me....the last thing you want to see is this in your living room...

Think of the children!

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Disclaimer : MrWoodman makes no guarantees that he will be funny, thoughtful, sensitive to people's feelings, or generally likable in any way shape or form.

2011-08-12T22:30:00.015-04:00

LET'S GET (a) PHYSICAL! PHYSICAL!

Of all the mysteries of the universe I have pondered....how far a man can jam his finger up my ass was never one of them. Today's story of Chinese finger-cuffs-gone-wrong came about because I had not had a get-yer-freak-on physical in two years and whether I liked it or not...being as I am 40 now...unfortunately I was due.

So I make an appointment with the new doctor (my old one had retired) and I head over to meet my fate head on. The nurse checks my vitals (presumably to make sure that I won't have a heart attack when he does the five knuckle shuffle on my battered colon) and then has me put on a gown. ugh. This emasculating moment is almost the worst part of the exam..I mean why don't you just have me put on some lipstick and an ankle bracelet at that point? *sigh*

My new doctor impresses me right off the bat by being 15 minutes late, and when I meet him, I feel like I can't really hold it against him because he looks like Morgan Freeman...and dammit...no one can be mad at Morgan Freeman for very long.

I guess it's an upgrade from my last Doctor, whom looked like he belonged on the set of Slumdog Millionaire....or the one who looked like Long Duck Dong from Sixteen Candles....which now makes this the fourth ethnicity that has lost a knuckle in the recesses of my ass...so I got that goin' for me (#3 was a white bread honky).

So anyway, Prior to the doctor arriving (without a dozen roses for our first date I might add...I mean Jesus is it too much to ask for some romance once in a while?)....er...where was I....oh. right. Um...so ok! So the new doc comes in and he asks me a few personal questions like do you smoke, have you ever been raped on roofies, does this smell like chloroform etc etc...and then it's go time.

LET THE SEDUCTION BEGIN!

The doctor starts out by blinding me with his pen light followed by the tongue depressor routine (or as I like to think of it...mood lighting and a quick check of my gag reflex wink wink). He follows this "routine" by touching me all over, pausing at my moobs. I assume he was looking for lumps (cancerous lumps as opposed to my humps...my humps..my lovely lady lumps) but regardless, I am getting nervous and start to sweat worse than a whore in church. He then proceeds to have me do some seductive heavy breathing while he listens through the stethoscope after which he lays me down and starts touching my belly playing a rousing game of "Does this hurt?". I've got to say...there's nothing quite like heavy petting followed by heavy foreshadowing....

He asks me to stand on this platform thing that he pulled out of the exam table and then it's time for the final phase of the exam.

(or as I like to call it....THIRD BASE)

He putters around by the cabinetry prolonging my agony while he takes out a tube of anal lube which had the picture of those two guys from Brokeback Mountain on it (oh come on...you didn't see at least ONE Brokeback joke coming out of this now did you?) and the rubber gloves. *gulp* It's.....that time.

....or not. He sits down in front of me, wanting to savor every moment of my uncomfortable experience. He pulls up my dress and asks me to hold it there like a woman from the 1700's doing a curtsy. He then grabs my Fruit of the Looms and begins yanking them down with one hand. This takes a few tugs because there is a reason they call them "tighty whiteys". I cannot explain how awkward it is to be de-panty-ed by another man. I mean I have done my fair share of de-panty-ing to the opposite sex and for the love of God it felt like I was being seduced.

AWK-WEEEEEERD!

So there I am....dress up around my treasure trail, undies 'round my knees, and he starts playing with my balls. He must have thought they were going to tell him something akin to the answers you would get from one of those Magic 8-Balls and apparently the answer he was getting was "Ask again later" because then he starts feeling up the other one. Dear GOD the pain was excruciating. if only the Doctor would do something to take my mind off the indignity of this man grabbing my change purse and playing with it like an X-Box controller (which he did next whilst having me cough). And then it was over. *phew*

What comes next was kind of a surprise. I mean I know the prostate check was next, and every doctor likes to do things his own way....but his methods made me wonder if he has watched the movie The Secretary one too many times. In other words, he has me turn around on my little diving platform, lean forward, and rest my forearms on the exam table.

The first few guys that checked my prostate, did so with incredible speed. I mean they are setting land speed records with their exams here....almost as if they were doing it on a dare, rather than trying to actually get an accurate reading on whether my prostate is getting large and needs to go on the Atkins Diet. I mean if you want to point to my brain, there are easier ways of doing it. Just sayin'. Anyway, these first two gentlemen did your standard bend-over-the-table-like-a-prison-guard-searching-you-for-contraband technique. Now my last doctor, he favored the lay-on-your-side-and-curl-into-the-fetal-position-so-I-can-mine-for-gold technique. This was fine for me because I was already in that position sucking my thumb as I attempted to block that 15 minutes of my life out. Wait. Did I say 15 minutes? I mean...15 seconds. yeah that's it.

Now I have to say that since I am standing on this little platform, I have to keep my feet together to maintain balance....and if my feet are together, then so are my arse cheeks. So in order to uh.....drive his point home....he makes like my marshmellowy ass cheeks are THE WORD....and he needs to spread the word. I resist the urge to utter a sound effect like velcro being undone as he parts my cheeks like he's opening up a newspaper....I mean the guy spread my arse cheeks so far apart, I thought he was going to put his face in there and peer through my eyes like a Human View Master!

Inevitably....I feel something slide into place. I have just enough time to think to myself "gee...that finger looked deceivingly small when I spied it earlier..." before the doctor started rooting around checking my prostate. I mean if he was any further up there I'd swear he was going to strike oil, but before I could ask him if he was looking for an answer to the high price of gas or if he he was playing a solo game of Rock Paper Scissors back there (and I think Rock just won)....he pulls out. *phew* It's OVER. It's finally...*WOAH*...and in it goes again....and by "it" I mean his wrist.

At this point, my fractured psyche was busy blocking out this second violation with images of puppy dogs and Christmas trees so I was unable to ask him the questions burning in the back of mind. Questions such as..."Was I born with two prostates?"..."Are you trying to check my prostate or REMOVE IT?"...and "What do you think Tiger Wood's chances are at the Masters this year?"...but alas. It was too late and the psychotic break from reality was complete. On the plus side...he removed his appendage (or was that a coat rack from the lobby?) and we were done. Well. Thank the Good Lord Above that this unpleasantness is finally behind us thought I, as I pull my thumbs out from where I had buried them (in my eye sockets)....and that was when round three of what would be forever known as the Colon Blow Trifecta happens....

Yep. He rams his BOOM STICK back in for Round Three. At this point I can't be sure I trust my senses, but I BELIEVE he said something akin to "THIS IS FOR SLAVERY!" as he assaulted my tenderized back door man cave yet again. I can't be sure, but my anus was either completely numb or had been burned off from friction. I don't know. At the very least I was going to have to downgrade my asshole from a brown eye to a black eye on account of the bruising. "Doc...Seriously.....are you trying to solve a braille rubik's cube in there?"

...and then at that point, he snaps out of it and removes his forearm.

I half expected to turn around and see Dennis Hopper wearing an oxygen mask from Blue Velvet screaming "DON'T FUCKING LOOK AT ME!!!!" but no. It was just the doc. The guy then refused to cuddle or make eye contact and I was forced to do "The Walk of Shame" down the hall to the Nurses' station where I was passed off to the nurse on duty. I then hobbled out of the doctor's office looking more bowlegged than a novice cowboy whom had just been on horseback for the past 8 hours not knowing what day it was...but certainly glad to be alive.

I don't know if there has been any permanent psychological damage....but it does seem like more than a coincidence that I am now addicted to poking myself on Facebook. That and the fact that every time I take a dump...sooner or later my finger ends up lodged in my asshole.

The Moral of the story is : Always pay your medical bills on time because the late fees they impose on you are a BITCH.

2011-06-02T18:12:00.027-04:00

THE BEAST WITHIN

The Greatest Movie Ever
(if you think you are watching a comedy)

This steaming pile of suck scared the living shit out of me back then when I was a pre-teen kid staying up late at the drive-in when I should have been sleeping and so I feel it's only fair that I exact my revenge by dissecting the living shit out of it for the comedy starved masses.

The movie starts out with the tried and true "Oh Crap! The Car Is Stuck! You wait with the abandoned car alone in the dark while I go get help" plot followed by the "Say! Why don't I just chase after my dog in the spooky woods because nothing EVER happens to attractive blond chicks by themselves" plot. I mean in the pale of the moonlight you could actually SEE the foreshadowing!

To avoid the Obvious Plot Twist Trifecta, the writer doesn't have the woman killed by a chainsaw wielding madman with a hockey mask. Instead, the woman is assaulted by some random horny and conveniently naked man beast (ummm yeah sure let's just go with that...makes total sense)...and he puts his beast within her...annnnnnd then we skip ahead 17 years to find the bi-product of the beast with two backs is sick. Why 17 years? It has something to do with cicadas. Cicadas you say? Yes. Cicadas. Anyway, the offspring of the Beast Master is sick and the doctors can't figure out why.

(Editor's note : It may be that the kid is sick from the stench of this script...)

The father realizes that the only way to save his son is to go back to the scene of the crime 17 years prior, and see if they can find the rapist who was never caught and who is sure to want to help them and um...stuff. So they start asking the locals about the one murder that happened over the last 17 years because more than likely it is connected to a rape in the woods (and perhaps a walk in the park). This is where we meet the sharp-as-a-tack Sheriff who utters perhaps the greatest lines ever uttered in a movie.

I mean this is actual dialogue from the film...and the guy is completely calm when talking to this person about some mouth rape that happened somewhere. This dialogue was necessary somehow?

*ahem* Their sick kid back home has some kind of wet dream nightmare and then hightails it to the same town his parents are at. He visits the haunted root cellar from his dreams, before going and killing some random guy because the sound of the cicadas drives him crazy. (huh?) Then ends up delirious and covered in blood at some random chick's doorstep who then helps him without asking a single question. I don't know if it's the blonde hair or the fact that we're in the South...but the first tell-tale sign that someone is evil and you should stay away from them is that they SHOW UP AT YOUR DOOR STEP WITH BLOOD ALL OVER THEIR SHIRT! We'll call this Nonsensical Moment # 1...

The kid is taken to the hospital and then breaks out of there to go see the chick while the parents are all like "We're stupid and don't question why you are here and covered with blood". So he gets the chick to take a walk and then he "collapses" because he hears the sound of the cicadas (WTF???) and then gets her down on the ground WITH him so they can make out (wait that move works?!??!). However the moment is ruined when the second tell-tale sign that the person you are making out with may have....a beast within....occurs. Yeah that would be when your golden retriever retrieves a human hand from the area nearby.

The parents for both kids show up, as does the Sheriff's department...and everyone leaves...except the boy's father who says he's going to "stick around" for seemingly no good reason whatsoever. Um....why? Your kid is the only reason you have to be here and he just left! Hello! That's when the Sheriff and his two deputies are digging up the body and the Sheriff leads us to Completely Nonsensical Moment # 2...

yeahbutwhaaaaa?? The guy is a complete stranger, has nothing to do with the crime scene in any fashion except his son happened to be there when the body part was found...and oh yeah. HE'S A CIVILIAN! HELLO! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING? Alright fuck it...let's just move on.

So the kid starts talking to the local village idiot and begins to tell him that it's him...his best friend from 17 years ago. Aha! A plot twist! He starts talking about the Cirwins and how he is going to kill them all or something. I dunno...I don't think I was paying much attention at this point. I'm still trying to figure the fucking cicada thing out. Anyway...sooooo he then goes and kills one of these Cirwin family members who is somehow connected to some conspiracy which is mentioned vaguely here...and then the Sheriff shows up with the town doctor and the boy's father (also known as the NOT DEPUTIES) and discover the newest dead body. Ummmm.... shouldn't you be looking for that rapist in the woods so you can save your son? What happened to that plot point? And why would the Sheriff take the civilian to question a suspect about the 37 bodies they found? (37? In a row?) No wait...then it gets better because the wife shows up and tells the father that their son is missing so they think, of course, that he must be at the blond girl's house in the middle of the night! Well ok in all fairness he was there but still! How would you know to even GO there? and how did the wife know her husband was at the funeral home?!?!?!? This is 1982...it's not like you had cell phones back then to call each other on!!!

And that's when we get the third tell-tale sign of the apocalypse boyfriend. He's trying to kill you with a snow-globe. Am I right? Huh? Am I? I mean the girl wakes up to find the kid she doesn't barely even know, in her room, in the dark, standing over her holding a snow-globe in a menacing way...But I'm sure it means nothing....

Meanwhile the parents and the Sheriff are at the door talking to the girl's father and she wakes up and is screaming at the sight of this ugly kid standing over her "admiring" her snow-globe collection. So the Sheriff arrests him for attempted murder, trespassing, and breaking and entering. HAAHAHAHAHA!! Nooooo. Sadly, no....he didn't. The boy explains that he was there to protect her because of all the murders happening. Oh that's completely plausible....I believe him...

So then the boy goes back to the hospital where the doc notices an ominous bandage on the back of the innocent murderer's neck and decides to check it out. The boy flips out and smashes the Doctor's head into the wall and then goes and kills his best friend by dropping him on a transformer. They didn't explain why he is killed but I am sure he had a valid reason....owed him $20 for a football bet or something...17 years...that's a lot of interest....

The Sheriff checks out the power plant because of the mysterious loss of power (because that's the first thing police do when you lose power is to check for a murder) and then they go to see the Doctor, whom is talking to the parents calmly about Billy Conners for reasons I have yet to figure out except that it pushes the locust plot ahead a few steps. The Doc mentions Billy's love of the woods and how it was said that he could talk to bugs (hello! cicadas!) and that they would even talk back. So I guess that is how the locusts figure in... ::shrugs:: The Sheriff says "We want to talk to your son" while COMPLETELY ignoring the BLOOD SOAKED BANDAGE on the Doc's head. Nahhh...We gotta talk to him about that dang power outage!

Where could he be?!??!? (Hint : Check the girl's house) This time though, he is trying to warn her to leave and drive far far away because she is in danger....until she cuts herself and the blood drives him into a hungry blood rage! Which leads us to the fourth tell-tale sign that mmmmaybe you should run the fuck away from this person as fast as possible. Yep. He tries to kill her. Again.

But wait! He recovers his humanity long enough to run through the second floor balcony railing and fall to the ground below in an effort to save her (here's a hint...try STAYING AWAY FROM HER). He awakens in the Doc's office. Is he in handcuffs yet? Nope. Aw hail no! Anyway....the father, Sheriff and Deputy leave to go check out the ominous root cellar because the boy tells them to (sure why not...got nothing better to do besides solve 40 murders 'n stuff....), meanwhile the girl's father talks to his cousin (the judge) saying he has to kill the boy to protect his daughter. The Judge says he could use the other murders as a cover-up (oooh sneaky!). Meantime, the girl FINALLY GETS THE HINT THAT SHE SHOULD LEAVE and takes off in her truck from the Doctor's office. Yes. She was with him at the Doc's office because she STILL HASN'T GOTTEN THE HINT THAT HE IS EVIL DESPITE THE FACT THAT HE HAS TRIED TO KILL HER AT LEAST TWICE. The girl's father then shows up with the Judge (wait what?) to kill the kid. Doesn't that ruin his chances of reelection being as he is present for the murder which is happening to take place in front of TWO WITNESSES (the Doc and the mom)??? This movie is really starting to give me a fucking headache. Anyway, so the kid starts flipping out right as the girl's dad and the judge walk in (and the judge says he tried to stop him.....so much for his alibi I guess). Anyway, the transformation scene is ON!

First...he starts swelling up...and kinda looks like a horrible horrible blow up doll you would by at a ghetto sex shop.

I mean the only thing missing is a penis here....

...never mind...

Then his face starts pulsating and he looks more like Eric Stoltz from the movie Mask...

Then his head starts to swell. I mean he starts to look like a combination of a Garbage Pail Kid and Stewie from Family Guy....

Now what fascinates me is that these four people are standing there watching the whole thing and yet no one thinks...gee...maybe I should get the flying fuck out of here. Maybe it's because of the vagina he has growing on his back....

Or is it a hemorrhoid?

Anyway it's like five minutes later and the guy finally decides that maybe it's time to shoot him twice, which of course does not affect him and the girl's dad is killed. The mom and Doc hightail it out of there and the beast without busts through the wall and into the woods. Fast forward and the Judge gets it too....and then what makes the least sense to do? Right! Let's do that! Let's track the beast into the woods in the dark. So the parents, the doctor, the Sheriff and the Deputy all head out into the woods where they find the girl's dad dead...and the shed skin of the son. Not even a scream from the mother! WTF!

Meantime the chick who finally ran away runs into a well lit construction zone and is knocked unconscious. She wakes up to find what looks to be E.T. fapping one out on her passenger side window.

She makes a run for it and knocks herself out and then it's time for a cockmeat sandwhich....or as I like to call it...Tell-Tale Sign #5 that this boy is not going to marry you, IE: Raping you after he turns into something that looks like The Fly. The search party ends up finding the body of the girl (presumably knocked up so we can have a sequel 17 years from now) and the parents press on and find their son shuddering and convulsing on the ground having just spilled his man gravy. The "beast" then attacks the father and the Mother blows his head off. Where the hell is everyone else? Oh there they are!

Yes! Time for the end scene where they explain the dangling plot lines! Um...Why are they...Why are they rolling the credits? What do you mean this is the end of the movie?!?!?!? What was with the locust references??? Did the girl have a baby with insect wings? And what happened to the oral sodomy victim?!?!?!? GARRRR!!!!!! I would come up with a better ending to this review but since the filmmakers didn't see fit to give me an ending, you get screwed too. :P

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

2010-09-07T11:42:00.008-04:00

Ah, the first day of School. It started off the usual way, with my wife speaking in tongues about something currently pissing her off (Note to self : Call the priest and schedule that exorcism as soon as possible) and her boot half way up my son's ass because he was ignoring her constant requests for him to get dressed for school. It didn't take long for the day to lapse into complete chaos, which by my usual standards is roughly 3 minutes.

My day of chaos starts with Loving Wife telling me that she forgot to get batteries for the camera. Not to worry says I, Nothing-Gets-By-Me Husband, we can can get batteries out of one of the gajillion remotes we have laying around the house...or even better....one of those Wii remotes that no one ever seems to use (as opposed to the plastic uterus massager my wife thinks I don't know about hidden under her mattress). So with that catastrophe avoided, we all head out to the place where my son gets on the bus. As the time draws forth and it is almost "that time", All-Knowing Wife begins the ritual of documenting my son's ascent into the big yellow bus....not to be confused with the pictures of him getting on the same bus LAST YEAR...no...these would be totally different and totally worth documenting.
So my wife, the Annie Liebovitz of the Lunchables Set, starts snapping pictures.

*CLICK* "That's right...that's right..." *CLICK* "Work iiiit...woooooork iiiiiit. Give me more! You own that lunch box!" *CLICK* "You're hungry! Show me hungry! That's right! You're not a bad boy! You're just misunderstood! That's it!" *CLICK* "That's it!"

Well that would be it if the batteries didn't die after ONE PICTURE. GARRRRRR!!!!!!

No fool this one, I speculate that I could hop in my truck and speed down the hill to the local Inconvenience Store and snap up some Double A's with juuust enough time to scope out the Double D's (sploot!)...yet still have enough time to make it back for prime photo op time. Upon returning to the bus stop as predicted, I hand off the batteries and the bus arrives. CLICKCLICKCLICK Action shots of my son standing in line and staring at the back of the next kid's head are gobbled up by this newly energized and reinvigorated camera. This camera is the best. It's the Cadillac of Cameras let me just tell you.

(This is what my English teacher would call FORESHADOWING)

That, of course, is when the unthinkable happens. The wife says she needs to get to work because the loading ritual has taken too long. So the task of immortalizing his trip OFF the yellow bread box is left to me. So I don my Super Dad cape and drive like a mad man.....right across the road to where the school lies. Thankfully my Super Dad peripheral vision notices my old nemesis LIGHT POLE trying to attack me when I backed out so I manage to swerve and avoid it. Curses! says the Evil Light Pole. Foiled again! Anyway, I get into the parking lot and begin fighting my way through the herd of water buffalo...er....jobless school moms in the parking lot before running to the grassy knoll to gain a high vantage point for maximum photo op happiness. I am rewarded with a perfect view of my son, ready to exit stage right. Awesome! With camera in hand I power up the photo capturing device, and with hand trembling prepare to take THE MOST AWESOME PICTURE EVER. Whoop. No. Wait. Not yet. They are taking off the kindergarteners first. Power off. (Don't want to waste those batteries!) and then.....AHA! Movement! The time has come! The light is perfect...I'm zoomed in close.....the world has stopped around me....nothing can prevent me from fulfilling my DESTINY!! .....except that they didn't get off the bus....GRRR. The bus was merely moving forward one bus length. *sigh* OK! NOW they are exiting the bus! I check the lighting...perfect. Zoomed in just so....awesome. This will be THE BEST picture of children exiting a bus EVER. My heart begins beating rapidly as I slowly reach for the silver button that will ensure my winning the Nobel Prize for Photography. CLICK! HA HAAAAA!!! YES!! My immortality is assured! My greatness will be talked about for many.......say, why is the screen black? WHAT? AIGH!!!!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

THE &$#^@&!!!! CAMERA SHUT OFF!!!! GARRRR!!!!!!

So at this point all there is left to do is to get a shot of my son as he WALKS to the school as opposed to the awesome sight of him coming down off those bus stairs like he is the mother-luvin' Fonze! Fine. I can still do this..... "Hey L'il Buddy! Pose for Daddy!" *CA-CLICK!* .....aaaaaaaaaaaaaand that would be the same moment some random dumbass would happen to walk right in front of him blocking my shot.....Illustrated herein with a few minor adjustments, namely protecting the faces of those who randomly walked into my beautiful shot here and totally ruined it's awesomeness. For those of you with IQs in the 30's....no, my son does not go to school with Homer and Lisa Simpson....I just don't want to get SUED for posting some kid's photo without permission. :P

Anyway....it is at that point that I abandon all hope of the Nobel Prize and snap a few panoramic crowd shots from 40 feet away that wouldn't be worthy of the last page of a student newspaper, so I don't come away COMPLETELY empty handed. *sigh* Oh well. If anyone needs me I will be away preparing my lawsuit against Fuji for negligently putting the stupid power button next to the more important picture taking button. Good day!

The Day The Music Died

2010-06-15T00:20:00.020-04:00

It was June 14, 2010 and I was glad to be alive. I remember the day as if it were yesterday, for it was the day I survived another noxious round of my friend/co-worker's gastrointestinal failings. I also remember it because, ya know....it *was* yesterday and stuff....But anyhoo....I would like to dedicate the following blog to my friend Simon, who's Adventures In Babyshitting has inspired me to create a guide exploring the best places to relieve pressure in public. Now farting in public may seem like a dangerous and embarrassing escapade, but if done carefully and considerately you can make it past your unfortunate choice of Chinese food washed down with Pale Ale.....Orrrrr you can continue down the path of the Dark Side and hope that the co-driver in your car finds your Dodge Charger version of the Dutch Oven, complete with automatic window lock-out for maximum nasal penetration, as funny to him as it is to you. Yeah. That's right fucker....I lose one more nose hair to your faulty colon and I will introduce you to a new brand of suppositories.....

That being said, let's start out with the easy stuff.

Situation # 1 - The Right Cheek Sneak
Need to scrape the scab off a turd yet find yourself stuck in the line to purchase Miley Cyruss tickets? RESIST THE URGE. The odds of getting away with it are really against you. In a line full of strangers, escape may not be readily available. Instead you must pick the right moment to unleash a torrent of liquid air on the unsuspecting masses. Might I suggest the line at the local McDonalds. Trust me....With all the smells of the shit they serve....ain't no one gonna smell the difference between their quarter pounder with cheese and YOUR quarter pounder with Fromunda Cheese.

THE VERDICT :

Situation #2 - The Crop Duster

Three day old lasagna looked so promising sitting in your refrigerator, and now it is putting pressure on your lower intestine. Dear Lord when will this day end? Not to worry! The solution is awaiting you nearby. The local mall or office building is the easiest place to squeeze cheese until you can unload that two pound Hershey's Kiss payload that is currently coating your cantankerous colon. But beware! There are dangers abound! That revolving door may look like a quick in-and-out operation....but if you have a long drawn out flatulation, you run the risk of discovery...or worse.....coming 'round full circle and walking into your own fart cloud. Not Cool! Instead, opt for the down escalator. Heat rises, thus making your escape from the Ass Cloud of DOOM much easier.

THE VERDICT :

and finally....

Situation # 3 - Floating The Air Biscuit

There you are. Standing in line at the local supermarket and boy do you have to blow mud. You think you have the perfect patsy standing innocently nearby. Yes. The poor sucker standing there with his Sugar Smacks and a six pack of RC Cola has no idea the trap you are laying for him. The problem is that he will know it was you! This can lead to parking lot confrontations and you may spend some time in someone's trunk if you choose the wrong unknowing accomplice. No, What you need is the nearest busy crosswalk. The busy crosswalk is THE BEST PLACE TO UNLOAD UNWANTED ASS BAGGAGE. Think about it. You're moving...there are random unassuming (heeheehee..ASS....) accomplices crossing the street with you....and sometimes but not always....it could be windy. You drop your payload of brown heat right in the middle of the crosswalk, and if anyone noticed the pungent odor of Indian food and the equivalent of the smell you would get from turning your mother inside out.....who's going to figure out that it was YOU? And even if someone does pipe up in the middle of the wandering pack of street nomads you can always whip out with the indefensible logic of "Whoever smelt it, dealt it!"

THE VERDICT :

If you found these few insights helpful, you might want to check out my new book written especially for situations like these.

And for those of you who did not find my new self-help book very helpful at all and feel the need to voice your opinion to the negative....well let's just say I have a book for that problem too. :P

Woody's Guide to Surviving NYC - Part II

2010-04-10T23:29:00.013-04:00

So you read my guide to how to survive the city and you *still* want to go there? You think that just because you know enough not to piss off the local prostitutes, pigeons, and punjab cabbies that you are technically sound enough to taunt fate once again? Not even close! My original outing was designed to allow one to make a quick in and out calculated strike. However, If you plan on staying for more than one night without ending up on a milk carton, your going to need my help.
Today's tips are all about blending in. Like a chameleon blending in with his surroundings to ward off predators, so must you blend with the native street level inhabitants.

Lesson # 1 - Under no circumstances do you wear apparel that reflects the local sports teams.

This invites confrontation by way of conversation! Unless you are a fan of said sport and can hold your own, it is unwise to throw out random sports terminology as if you know what a balk or a hat trick are....

Seriously...Are you TRYING to get killed by an overzealous fan?

Lesson #2 - Never wait to cross the street until the pedestrian light says it's time.

You want some warm milk and cookies before you go to bed too, sissy? Suck it up! City dwellers are brazen anarchists! They break the law whenever they can! You wait for the Stoplight Gods to tell you when to walk and when to stand still then you may as well paint a target on your back for pickpockets and ne'r do wells!

In a smaller city, you could get away with something like this....

But in New York City it's complete anarchy! There is no rhyme or reason to the comings and goings of your average New Yorker. Even the traffic lights have an understated attitude that you won't find in your average Zagat's guide! The following picture was taken from Times Square. No...Really. What do you mean it doesn't look like Times Square? Who's telling this story anyway! *ahem* Anyway....You will notice the general lack of common sense when crossing the streets, as illustrated herein:

See? A complete clusterfuck!

Lesson # 3 - Never make eye contact!

Eye contact leads to bad things like conversations about how the local sports team is doing. Eye contact leads to Alpha male chest puffing. Eye contact leads to this:

Thankfully the Ronald McDonald house is there to pay for his hospital stay. Note to self : Never ask for a Whopper at McDonalds.

And now it's time for the final lesson. The biggest mistake one needs to correct when visiting the big city.

Lesson # 4 - NEVER and I mean NEVER take pictures!

Listen. These people live in, walk around and have survived tall buildings every day. Nothing annoys a native more than the group of idiots bumping into them because they are trying to snap a shot of the Empire State Building, or blocking their way because you just HAVE to pose in front of the mini Statue of Liberty sitting on the corner next to the souvenir store. These people are from the streets! You wanna get shanked on 5th Avenue? Whip out a Nikon and start snapping away. People! This is serious! I beg of you! Leave the photography equipment at home! Your unruptured kidneys will thank you!

And there you have it. Follow the rules and you might survive long enough to be around for when I publish my Tips on Surviving The Grand Canyon....but I doubt it.

THE END!

2010-03-25T21:21:00.011-04:00

The Real Story Behind The Healthcare Debate!

Behind the scenes of any great debate is usually a greater story struggling to be heard.
The Healthcare debate is no different.

In this corner....Weighing in at 12 sweat socks and hailing from Trousersnake, Ohio....House Minority Leader and Republican Senator John BOEHNER!

ANNNNND IN THIS CORNER....Weighing in at 16 ounces and hailing from Tubesteak, New York.....Democratic Senator Anthony WEINER.

Yahoo.com reported today that Weiner was under attack for his support of the health care bill, which will bring insurance to all the people who suffer from irritable hemorrhoids and have no way of seeing a proctologist. Boehner on the other hand, stood FIRMLY against the bill, stating that those assholes should pay for their own insurance. While usually an athletic supporter, when asked for further comment, he told reporters to "get bent". When reporters finally managed to ketchup to Weiner for a rebuttal, he explained....with great relish....that Boehner was being a real DICKHEAD. Weiner is, as a matter of public record...behind the people all the way. He is deep into the problem with America's buns, and frequently champions their cause with all the passion he can mustard.

As a result of his passion for the Healthcare bill....Weiner received a package in the mail. The contents of which could only be described thusly....

Contrary to popular belief, it was not Boehner's "Dick In A Box". No. It was a vicious attack by a contingent of the Senate known only as the Republi-CANS. Their motto being "Are you a Republi-CAN or a Republi-CAN'T...ya know...like that Palin chick..." While Boehner is said to be a part of this group and sticks out as the obvious leader, the group is rumored to be led by Senator Mariah Kuntz of Summer's Eve, Virginia. Sources close to the matter said that while it does smell fishy the way Kuntz has cozied up to Boehner, in the end...it was a perfect fit.

Kuntz is said to be keeping a stiff upper lip when talking about the attack on Weiner. In fact, it's pretty accurate to say she....clammed....up. She later issued a statement through her assistant which read : "Loose lips sink ships". Indeed!
I imagine Boehner was pissed that his group was blamed for this sticky situation, However, he has only himself to blame. The man may have a lot of stroke in Washington, but this is what happens when you go off half-cocked like that. As I find myself with my head bobbing up and down, I realize it is because I am subconsciously "giving the nod" to Boehner as the winner of this cockfight....or as Alex Trebek would put it....

WHEN IT'S A BOEHNER!

My advice to Weiner is to stop backing the bill and if someone grills you as to why you gave up support of the bill for people with sore buns in need of some free government paid for lubrication....Just remember....
(Editor's Note : No Democrats were harmed in the writing of this blog. None of the names have been changed to protect the innocent....but only half of this shit is made up!)

(link to original story which spawned this idea below)

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ynews/20100325/ts_ynews/ynews_ts1335

2010-03-08T23:00:00.021-05:00

Woody's Guide To Surviving The Modern Bathroom

Laugh if you will, but there is danger and excitement (and a hint of feces) behind every corner when you step into one of these public bathrooms. I came to that conclusion recently when I narrowly avoided having my change purse permanently stretched to the length of your average disco mirror ball. But I am getting ahead of myself....
Back in the day, things were simple. You went into a box, dropped trou and did yer business.

Ahhhh yes. The good old days. "Doing some paperwork in the Reading Room."...."Sitting on the Throne." As the ages rolled past, things started changing. For one, men were unceremoniously forced to urinate side by side like cattle. I don't know who came up with that idea...but it must have been after a hard night of drinking and perhaps involved some limp-wristed tendencies.

Now I don't know about you....But the last thing I need while having a meeting with the "Heads of Staff" is greedy eyes upon my Heat Seeking Moisture Missile. No good is going to come out of using this medieval device! Thankfully the Powers That Be came to their senses and the use of individual urinals became the norm. I know what you are thinking....We're saved! Right?

WRONG!

Don't be lulled into a false sense of security! Sure, the possibility of getting dysentery from your pee co-mingling with 10 other dudes standing with you at the trough is waaaay down...But there is still a threat lurking in this corner of the bathroom!

Tip # 1 - DO NOT EAT THE BIG GREEN MINT

Wait. That's not it.....

Tip # 1 - ALWAYS BE AWARE OF YOUR SURROUNDINGS

Yes! Your surroundings! Unless you are Chuck Norris (Chuck Norris Fact # 157 - Chuck Norris can pee with YOUR dick) then you had better get used to keeping an eye on your nether regions because one moment you are an off duty cop tapping a kidney...and then next thing you know you look down and George Michael is palming your magic mushroom! A wise man once told me that he "looked down and that's when [he] realized [he] wasn't born with three hands" split seconds before having to defend another man's amorous advances. Ya see? One moment of wool gathering and the next thing you know you are the victim of a KNOB GOBLIN. Fortunately, some genius out there (probably a victim himself) finally came up with the idea of Urinal Screens (those neat privacy dividers between urinals), thus literally cock-blocking would-be Bone Smugglers.

The next pitfall I'd like to discuss is an equal opportunity offender. Yes. It's The Bathroom Stall of DOOM (OOM OOM) (Echo Echo). Let us say for argument's sake that you have to fire Torpedo #2 off the Poop Deck.

BEWARE!

That innocent looking toilet is two steps away from being the next SKYNET bent on wreaking havoc on your genitalia!

Oh sure, it may LOOK safe....but rest assured. This is a throne of PURE EVIL. That's right. It's time to talk about the auto-flusher! It has a life of it's own. I wrote an expose' on this on Facebook but I feel it must be revisited here. As you sit on this porcelain monster...perhaps reading the latest issue of Jumbo Jugs...perhaps flushing down yet another virgin blood offering to Satan...whatever. Ok perhaps "Virgin Blood Offering to Satan" is a little much. Let's just call it Aunt Flo. But how else do you expect me to understand why these auto flushers act this way! I mean you sit there....minding your own business...and then when it comes time to perform some rudimentary cleaning of your naughty bits, the toilet takes over and releases the hounds of hell on you! Alright....it only flushes....but it flushes so hard that I'd swear a rift to another dimension appears. This is where Sid and Marty Krofft got their idea for Land of the Lost I tell ya! And therein lies the danger! No....not ideas for cheesy Saturday morning TV shows....but suction capable of removing any signs of sex! What happens if you die on the toilet after an episode of this magnitude? They would need to identify you by dental records........or...that....wallet in your pocket. Listen, I'm not saying it's impossible...just more difficult. :P

If you happen to survive the suck of Satan's glory-hole....you ain't out of the woods yet. Because the damn thing has a fail safe plan! Upon flushing, the toilet shoots a geyser of cold water upwards at the force of roughly, say, a firehose....into your crotchal region. This is a ploy to get you to spend more time on the bullseye while it gears up for another attack! You need to be prepared! Hence...

Tip # 2 - ALWAYS HOVER TWO INCHES ABOVE THE BOWL! MINIMUM!

It may actually be easier to hang from the top of the stall walls if you can manage. This prevents making a seal around the toilet bowl, thus negating half of the suction power. if you feel like living dangerously, FINE. You may use the alternate tip instead.

Tip #2A - ALWAYS USE THE HANDICAP STALL RAILING!

Holding onto the railing will prevent you from being the next fatality. However...your girl and boy parts may be irrevocably altered forever. When I sat down on the toilet that fateful day, my boys were hanging at a cool 2 inches below the meat thermometer....now, tragically they hang down like a GRANDFATHER CLOCK. Ladies, time for a reality check. I don't care how neat and manicured everything is down there...when these power flush toilets get done with you, it will go from looking like a little man in a boat to a pound of CANADIAN BACON! Use those toilets enough and you will have more Moose Knuckle than Bullwinkle's family tree. Trust me, no one's going to want to watch you pull a rabbit out of a hat after that.....Don't believe me? Take a gander....

Not pretty eh? You were warned.

Moving on....let's say you manage to not be groped by pedophiles, contract dysentery, or be sacrificed to Satan on the porcelain altar....or just get a bad case of camel toe for your troubles. Well you still have to wash those hands...you don't know who was in that stall before you...so you head for the sink thinking you've made it home free. I don't know who invented these things but the automatic sinks are the spawn of Satan. You put your hand under the sink. Nothing happens. You put your hand under the next one...the first starts spraying water. So you stick your hand under it...and it stops...or the trickle is barely enough to get the head of a pin wet much less two hands. Or better yet....you have the kind that you have to push the nozzle down to start the water, and yet you have to keep one hand on the sink at all times because every time you take your hand away, THE WATER STOPS. So you end up lathering up and then holding the sink mechanism down while you rinse each hand...which guarantees you will only get them dirty again as you have to take your NOW CLEAN HAND and put it on the sink mechanism where your dirty hand was a moment before!

Tip # 3 - BRING YOUR OWN HAND SANITIZER AND WIPES

This will be your new best friend. Otherwise you have to take your STILL DIRTY HANDS now fermenting with bacteria and possibly the Ebola virus and then take on one of your last adversaries. The dreaded automatic towel dispenser. This beast has a mind of it's own.

It never gives you enough paper to work with...unless you have, say, a bloody nose from losing your grip while trying to hold onto the top of the stall walls when pooping like some kinda idjit. So you then have to sit there trying to make the sensor acknowledge you so it will spit more paper out. But yet since it already did, it won't do so again! So you have two options...Either sneak up on it like a Ninja and fool it into thinking you are a different patron of the bathroom...or
perform a bizarre ritual of dance and hand gestures in front of the bank of paper dispensers like you are drunk and trying to play the Dance Dance Revolution game. If you are lucky, between the three or four dispensers...you may get enough paper to dry your hands.
Now all you have to do is walk out......without touching the doorknob that some slovenly scumbag touched after he took a crap and didn't wash his hands. ah HA! Didn't think of that did you. And that ladies and gentlemen leads us to my final tip.

Tip #4 - ALWAYS USE THE BUDDY SYSTEM!

Buddies are wonderful things....they can tell you when you have a piece of tissue on your shoe...they can help you if you "accidentally" fall into the toilet....yeah like anyone believes that one...and if you use them wisely...they will open the door for you and then you can grab the edges of the door so you don't have to touch that doorknob where more germs are congregating than there were at Woodstock. And that as they say.....is that.

2010-03-01T22:15:00.013-05:00

WHY I HATE POLITICS
(AND EVEN WORSE PEOPLE WHO TALK ABOUT THEM)

There is nothing worse in this world than someone with a working knowledge of politics who is not *IN* politics TALKING about politics....

WHY do I hate politics? Well! Allow me to retort!

#1 - The Party System - Why must you be a Democrat or a Republican or an independent? Why can't you just go into that frickin' big room with the microphones and just vote what you feel is best for the country? Gee. This bill banning abortion makes sense to me! I'll vote for it! But wait! I can't because it is a Democrat bill and they are the root of all evil! Darn! Oh well.
Seriously? WTF! Yes...people do cross party lines blah blah blah. Save your comments for the Rush Limbaugh Show. I ain't interested. Put it to you this way....Here's how I feel about the different parties....

# 2 - Salaries - You want to help the friggin' deficit? Here's an idea...A PAY CUT WOULD BE NICE. Seriously, You guys continually vote yourselves raises....and wonder why people hate you. How about term limits for every top job in government? Sure the President has a limited term...but how long was Senator Kennedy a friggin' senator? Or at least a salary cap. This job is worth X dollars no matter if it is 1977 or if it's 2015. Oh that's not fair, right? Well...I guess if you had been doing your job keeping inflation in check then your salary would be buying you a better class of prostitute (the kind with teeth anyway).

# 3 - Mixing Business with Pleasure and then business again - Bill Clinton, Eliot Spitzer, some gay yet still married to a woman New Jersey Governor. Yes. They cheated on their wives. Here's an idea. How about you let the wives deal with the potential ass kicking (or threesomes if you are slick enough....yeah I'm talkin' to you Bill Clinton!). What does it have to do with his ability to run the government. But wait...that means we can't trust him! Hi. How ya doin'. You uh....know you have a sheep sitting on your face or did it sneak up and pull itself over your eyes? Yah. THEY'RE POLITICIANS ASSHOLE. YOU COULDN'T TRUST THEM TO BEGIN WITH! You mean to tell me if someone cures cancer tomorrow you are going to stone him to death before he writes down the answer because he got a handjob from a coworker in the lab one night?

Say what you will but I was paying 99 cents a gallon with this dog loving, cigar chompin', intern screwing cheating husband. I for one can turn a blind eye to him sampling the goods. :P

# 4 - Welfare Reform - Never happen. I believe that it is merely one of those hot button issues politicians use to make you think they care. They should just walk up to the podium for the debate and say "Abortion! Welfare! Taxes! Oil! Stem Cells! Iraq!" and then walk away. Guarantee he's the next President. Solving the welfare problem is simple. If you are on it...you have to produce. Not kids idiot! Produce a valid excuse to BE on welfare. How is that it just so happens that you...your wife and alllllll 6 kids of yours are ALL too impaired to get jobs? Really? Ok fine. Here's what we're going to do.

A) We take away their right to vote. You don't pay taxes...you don't get to decide the direction this country is going in.

B) We make it illegal for anyone under the age of 18 to have children. People are clamoring for babies to adopt. So if you get pregnant...we take it and give it to someone who WANTS to have a child because they have love in their hearts...not because they didn't pull out in time. This will alleviate the need for NEW Welfare recipients. You have a child under that age then you pay the price. The price being some jail time. Yeah...we might have some over crowding issues...but I have a plan for that too (see below). And besides...I was paying for this dumb slut's food and room and board anyway...so I'll still pay for it...just on my terms. >:P

...and finally...

C) We change the way Food Stamps work. There's this thing called W.I.C. (Women Infant Children). It says you get the bare essentials for your kids. Milk. Eggs. Plain Cereal. Formula. Peanut Butter. THAT IS HOW FOOD STAMPS SHOULD BE IN GENERAL. No more steak. No more Lobster. No more of ANY FOOD that contains a certain level of sugar....because I am not paying for your fucking Diabetes either asshole. You want cereal great....you have a choice. Cheerios...King Vitamin...and Ka motherfuckin' BOOM. Get it? Problem solved! You make Welfare no fun to be on...then the leeches will leave! HELLO!

# 5 - Big Brother - The U.S. always has to save the world from itself. Why do we keep overstepping our bounds?

Abortion - Ask yourself this. How many people in politics are women? Like...5%? Secondly, do you have a uterus? If not then why is it that you feel like it is your job to decide what a woman does with it? I am pro-choice for no other reason than because I don't have a uterus. (well...not since I fell off my bike when I was 7......no wait that was my appendix nevermind) I don't think I would ever want to tell someone that I think they need an abortion....but it is their body...their choice. And if you feel like debating this...well don't. If a girl wants to have an abortion, and you stop her....she will find a way to do it. Be it throw herself down a flight of stairs, smoking/drinking/drugs, or abandoning it in a train station trashcan. As disgusting as that sounds...it happens people.

The Stimulus Plan - Why am I bailing out greedy mortgage companies who are just going to thank me by FORECLOSING ON MY FUCKING HOUSE. Fannie Mae goes under....well who's going to be there to foreclose on John Q. Public's house now? Fuck it. He gets a free house, right? Who am I to argue? Now...no one bothered to bail out the poor folks who were stupid enough to think that they could handle the strain of a $1,000 a month mortgage on a stockboy's salary. Nooooo. He still gets screwed. Let's bail out the greedy fucks with the Golden Parachutes! Makes sense to me! Hey...next let's go bail out the auto industry for kicks too. Mark my words...the colleges will be next because the kids can't keep up with the ridiculous student loans they are allowed to take out. Never mind the fact that I could wipe my ass with half the degrees out there. No lie. I have seen and worked with college graduates who can't spell half the words they type. Forget about punctuation too. Yet they probably make more money than me because they have a "degree" in French.

Iraq - We're there for the oil! No! The people need democracy! Nononononono! It's those damnable weapons of mass destruction! Let's see...we didn't find WMD's...the people over there hate our guts and are still fractured into what....5 different groups? And as far as oil goes...The price doubled under the Bush administration, and remains elevated today. Brilliant.

Afghanistan - Oh noooo! The Taliban are oppressing us. waaaaah. Hey assholes. I remember a time when we were oppressed....it was by a whole country by the name of "England". You may have heard of it. By the way...we whupped their asses. We used these things we got called "GUNS" and got the courage to use them because we had these things called "TESTICLES".

But since you are having trouble in that department...I am going to help you. Not because you idiots deserve it...but because I am selfish. We have this problem in the U.S. We have too many people in need of an attitude adjustment. Yes, I am talking about our over populated prison system. So here it is...

Two Birds. One Stone.

Nooooooo, not the sequel to the world's most popular web sensation (google it if you dare).....but a viable solution!

First thing we do is take all the especially bad prisoners....IE : the killers, the wanna-be "gangsta" killers, the child molesters, and for the sheer enjoyment of it...Bernie Madoff. We round them all up and load them into planes. Strap in knuckleheads...it's going to be a long trip! When the prisoners arrive and step off the plane they are gonna notice three things. First is all the damn sand. It's pretty much everywhere. The second thing they will notice is a bag with a map and instructions inside it which will show what they need to find....what they need to do, and one global cellular phone to use for when the job is done. The last thing they will find is
crates of guns and crates of ammo with instructions on how they are loaded.

WELCOME TO AFGHANISTAN.

Yes folks, it's time to put your skills to good use for once. Your objective is one thing. Killin' Nazis! I.....wait...that was the plot to Inglourious Basterds.....uh....wait I know what it was. Your objective is to remove every terrorist, shoe bomber, and suicide bomber in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and any surrounding Muslim territory, including burning down their training camps, and putting Osama Bin Laden in a room with all the aforementioned child molesters, preferably dressed in a diaper.

When you have completed your mission, feel free to call for your pick up.
Until then, we'll be watching from a safe distance....like say......Canada. Think about it. Win win. If the murderers and pedophiles do their job, natural selection will do ours. If they run away....they'll be Afghanistan's problem....Iran's if we're lucky. Sure some of the smarter ones will make their way back to U.S. Soil....but by the time they get back...man they won't ever wanna go back into the system again. A win all around.

Now do me a favor....if you are still with me that is....Please don't bother me with your rhetoric about how I know nothing about politics and have an IQ of 12. I don't have an IQ of 12...it's 47. So there. :P You wanna shut me up....re-read my post here and go do something about it. Peace.

Open Letter To The Trix Rabbitt :

2010-02-25T23:01:00.015-05:00

Dear Mister Rabbit,

I regret to inform you that all my attempts at reaching you have failed and that it has now come to this. I tried being nice but you just won't get it through your thick skull. Trix.....the confectionary treat loved by billions of adolescent offspring world wide.....is for kids. Yes.

KIDS. CHILDREN. YOUNGSTERS. BOYS. GIRLS. TEENAGERS.

I can assure you dear sir...that it is

NOT FOR SILLY RABBITS.

Ya know what...I don't even find you silly any more. I find you quite annoying. Matter of fact, I cannot find any redeeming qualities when your name comes to mind. You never bring me chocolate like the Easter Bunny....You aren't funny like Bugs Bunny....You don't bounce around like Ricochet Rabbit....You aren't lovable like Roger Rabbit...and you don 't shit golden Cadbury Eggs like that rabbit on the TV commercial. You are useless. Actually...speaking of shit....Trix cereal looks like something a rabbit poops out. So why the hell are you so obsessed with them? Sure, dogs eat other dogs poop...But there is no reference point for Rabbits eating rabbit poop. It's true. I Googled it.

Now it's time for the reality check. The first few times you jumped out of the bushes or dressed like a security guard to fool my child into giving up the delicious nutritious part of a complete breakfast. That's the most important meal of the day motherfucker! How dare you!

Upon doing some research on my enemy (this means YOU)...I uncovered an unsettling item from your old yearbook.

Yeah that's right you sick sunnuvabitch. I know all about your proclivities for violence and that you have been profiled by the FBI as a Cereal Killer. I know all about you. I am in your head. So listen. Let's let cooler heads prevail here. I asked you nicely to fuck off, and now I must insist...nay... demand it. I wasn't looking for trouble, but if you want me to bring the pain I will. I'll have you know that I had a sit down with Cap'n Crunch and King Vitamin and they have given me the go ahead to take you down. So I would advise you to change your address as soon as possible....because one night....and I am not saying when...it could be tomorrow or next week....you'll never know for sure....but one night....when you least expect it....the last sounds you are going to hear are.....SNAP! CRACKLE! POP!

That's right. You better sleep with your Lucky Charms every night. Cuz it's comin' you Silly wabbit. Don't let these goons fool you with their effeminate clothing or name tags. They are like Ninjas on Red Bull. Ya know what....You ain't even gonna hear the crackle or the pop bitch. And if that ain't enough....I got Diggum just waitin' in the wings to give you some Sugar SMACKS..... Bitch. :P

*ahem* So yeah uh....in summary.....please just....just knock it off ok?

Yours Truly,

Count Chocula

P.S. - If you come around my house again....this is the scene that will greet you.... >:P

2010-02-19T21:52:00.015-05:00

WOODY'S GUIDE TO SURVIVING NEW YORK CITY

There are Three Simple Rules For Surviving A Trip To New York City....As opposed to 8 Simple Rules for Dating My Daughter....

Rule # 1 - The Local Cabbies - While riding as a passenger in a taxicab, do not try and engage the driver in any way shape or form. These men have no sense of humor what-so-ever. Offering to stick your arm out the window and wave your fist at the other moron drivers who routinely cut you off will not get you a discount. The guy may stab you in fact. If forced to sit in the front seat, it is also frowned upon if you look at your friends behind the plexiglass and pretend that you are the Viet Cong yelling at POWS : "SHH! notalkingnotalking!"

Rule #2 - The Working Class - If it looks like a prostitute, walks like a prostitute....it is probably not a prostitute. Commenting to your friend "How Much?" when two ladies walk by you as you are waiting for an elevator at a local hotel...not such a good idea. In my defense, the two ladies walked by looking like they had just raided Paris Hilton's wardrobe closet.

And finally Rule #3 - THESE GUYS -

You do NOT want to piss these guys off. They are not in your way. You are in their way. Try kicking one of these guys if he gets in your way and not only will he make you his bitch, but he will likely poop on you when you least expect it....and probably sleep with your wife. I am not kidding. Do every one a favor and don't rock the boat...just toss him some bread crumbs and then slowly back away. If we are lucky we can avoid this fate....

And there you have it. It's as easy as 1-2-3.

Rick Springfield Hates Everyone

2010-02-17T23:11:00.001-05:00

So we, that is to say my sister and I, go to the New York State Fairgrounds to take in the local color and to see The Man....nay....The Legend perform in concert. Yes. Rick "Don't call me Bruce" Springfield. We got there an hour early, cuz let's face it...we knew we would be fighting a throng of horny housewives and lonely people who couldn't get a date on a calendar. We settle for some seats towards the back and as I sit down and settle in, that is when I notice (DEAR GOD!) that the heavyset 55+ year old woman sitting in front of me has...perhaps the worst case of dandruff I have ever seen. I mean her shoulders looked like the snowy caps of the Himalayan Mountains. ::shudder:: To distract myself from the dry heave inducing scene in front of me....I scanned the stage for any signs of life. I wanted to know if they were close to coming being ready to get the show going so I could get out of there and delouse myself.
The tech was on stage testing guitars and that is when it occurred to me. How far down the music business ladder do you have to be to work as Rick Springfield's guitar tech. Seriously. Does this guy have to fight back an urge to nibble on the barrel of a gun every night at around 7:30pm? Sheesh. If I were him I would be tuning the guitar behind the drum stand! "Matt? Is that YOU tuning Rick Springfield's guitar?" "Uh no...noooooo. My name's Arjun. I uh...just moved here from the Punjab Province...." The tech gets done with the guitars and then it's time for the show! Not really! Some guy comes out and wants to talk about some insurance company....I think they must have been sponsors or some crap. The guy practically blows his load on these people and wants us to know that the workers are ALL LOCAL. All the money comes in and is paid out in New York! woo hoo. First off...the claim of everyone living in New York would mean more if, say, we lived on the border of the tri-state area...but we're smack dab in the middle of the state....what....Like someone is going to commute from Minnesota? Then the guy calls out one of our senators. Yes! Finally some star power! He of course verbally masturbates over all the different foods available at the Fair and then he says something about how New York has the best cheese....or something....I don't know...he was trying for a rallying cry from the crowd..so i shouted back "And the highest taxes! YYYYEEEAAHHHHH!!! WHOOOOOO!!!" to which I instantly became the idol o' millions (Sam Millions....he delivers my mail). And then the other douche tool comes back out and introduces the woman to one side of the stage whom is responsible for the sign language tonight. I...what? Sign... language?

Is it me? Am I taking crazy pills or something? Why the fuck would anyone with a hearing disability take in a concert? It's not like you'll get a cool visual show like at a Pink Floyd show or anything....But I digress. So anyway....the douche tool leaves the stage and then the tech comes out and places some wrapped up bouquets of flowers on the stage off to one side. Groan. Don't tell me he is going to give them to the ladies...LAMEST MOVE EVER. ....or so I thought until the screen turned on and there is a camera shot of someone waking up Rick Springfield in a hotel room bed. Um....did someone forget to tell Rick he had a show tonight? Oh. Wait. *PHEW* It's just a commercial......for the Rick Springfield and Friends cruise. I only wish I could make up something that funny. By popular demand, last year's musical guest is coming back....Richard Marx! ...At this point the question begging to be asked during the advertised Q&A Session that comes with the cruise is...."Mister Marx, after we get off the boat are you going to be looking for another agent?". Heh. Nooooo. The cruise is not that bad. I mean Richard Marx is not the only star power on the boat...hell no....there's also some guy from like....Guiding Light! Yeah...not even the soap Rick was on....a different one. Like why the fuck would a fan of music give a shit? Ok, I will say there is also a guy from General Hospital too...so there. That cements it. We'll throw Mark Goodman in the mix too.....How this guy can host the shows based on music from one time period for almost 30 years without stepping in front of a moving bus I'll never know. The icing on the cake....Rick is going to perform in concert the entire Working Class Dog album IN IT'S ENTIRETY...FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER. Ok I would like to see that. >:) But on a Rick Springfield cruise...uh no. I suddenly have an image of there being a back door to fame and that Rick is one cruise or free state fair show away from having one foot out that door and the other on a banana peel....

Anyway, the commercial is over and then they start showing camera shots from the crowd. One pudgy woman was wearing a Rick Springfield silk screen shirt with Rick's face on it...which made me comment "SOMEbody's sleeping alone tonight". Then they started zooming in on hands in the crowd...hands holding up Rick Springfield memorabilia....which of course there isn't any so they instead held up old albums and 8 track tapes. "Finally!" said the lonely guy in the audience...."A use for this Rick Springfield 8-Track tape that I can't play but held onto all these years for nostalgic reasons! I'm not a total loser after all!" (News flash son...YOU ARE) (and you probably live with your parents still)

Anyway....that is my review.

Oh shit! I forgot to talk about the show! Well...at about 8:30pm I commented to the crowd, who at this time are hanging on my every comedic gem, that someone should tell Rick Springfield that he is not famous enough to keep me waiting. Well apparently he heard me because out he comes...looking pretty good for his age...and just TEARS UP THE STAGE with the classics we all came to hear him play!!!! Ok in reality he came tearing out and ripped through two songs that I have never heard before off his new-ish album from a couple months ago. Now the music sounded good. I will say that. His guitarist, drummer and keyboardist all sang along...so the chorus and such sounded really good...and I will also say that he wasn't ever out of breath like alot of the idiots make themselves while performing (I'm talking to you lead singer of Danzig!)....but I really expected him to come out of the gate with something I knew and I was disappointed. The third song in, he played something off of an old album...I forget which...and that is when I noticed something. Rick is strumming the strings of his guitar and yet....I am not hearing anything that remotely sounds like what he was playing coming out of the speakers....like chords and such. (heh...Rick Springfield hates his guitar) I asked the deaf people in the audience what they thought....but they were no help. It really cracked me up that he was doing this...As each song goes by I tune out (no pun intended....well....maybe a little one) everything else and focus on the air guitar he is playing...until finally he takes a break and during the latest switch out of his guitar....which he does after each song...which makes it even FUNNIER....he starts tuning his own guitar..... TING TING TING (turns down volume) ting ting ting (turns up volume) Finally he tosses the guitar back to the tech who brings him another (to which he apologizes for the guitar not working) (Rick Springfield hates his roadie). I'm cracking up and yell "There's something wrong with this guitar Joe! It's plugged in!". Once he got a guitar he liked (one with strings this time)....he actually started playing. I was blown away. The sumbitch can actually play pretty damn good and ripped a solo for a minute or two before launching into, I believe, Crossroads by Clapton. When he does new music or covers...he is serious and spot-on....which I think is nice. When he plays "Jessie's Girl" he goofs off alot because my sis and I think it's because he has played that song in concert literally millions of times and he is sooooo f'ing tired of playing it straight. (Rick Springfield hates his music catalog) He did a nice job on Crossroads though...and later on with Jet by Wings. I silently sent a prayer to God for not letting him play Broken Wings by Mister Mister, as I still haven't forgiven him for recording that.... At one point he has to change his sweat soaked shirt and he asks the ladies to look away. I think he was trying to be funny but it just seemed desperate for attention. I will say that he has aged well. I can give him that much.

He then does some new songs (one, Venus In Overdrive sounded pretty good) and that was when we finally find out what his intentions are for those damnable roses. I thought he was going to do a song about his father (his death and Rick's mourning has been documented in song a few times) and when he does one of those songs, he gives out roses and stuff (so I have heard anyway)....but no. Rick instead picks up a bundle of roses every once in awhile and does the Pete Townsend half-a-windmill move with the roses as his pick. (Rick Springfield hates flowers) It is the saddest thing I have seen thus far....and he does it three or four times. I can just envision the ladies in the front row thinking they are going to get these roses and STRUMMMMMMMMM he makes those roses his bitch and creates a unique sound which probably sounded WAY COOL...or would have had the sound been turned up on his guitar....At one point during a song (an oldie he probably didn't care about f'ing around during)...he asks the lady hand signing his lyrics some question...forget what it was...but then he makes a goofy comment about how they (the deaf presumably) are watching her and not him....Real class act that Rick Springfield. (Rick Springfield hates the disabled)

Annnnnnyway...Towards the end he does Don't Talk To Strangers and it turned into the most God awful mess. This is the point in the concert where he does the most dreaded move in any concert going experience.....yes....it's time for the sing-along. *gag* He starts with singing "Don't talk to strangers...baby don'tcha...." and then sticks the microphone into the audience for them to sing back. LAME LAME LAME. But he took it, much to his credit, to a whole 'nuther level of suckitude to which I had to break out my old school Butthead voice and yell "Stop in the name of all that does not suck!". He first yammers on and on with a state trooper about how this week alone, all the people in the audience have a get out of jail free card because....well frick I have no idea why we would have one...but that's just WACKY RICK!! (Rick Springfield hates crime) He then gets a couple girls...and then their grandmother to sing the line...annnnd then goes into the audience to do it again for what seems like 20 minutes...annnnd then he is finally back onstage...........so why not bring some of today's youth up there! YEAH! He assembles about 15 kids....all under age ten or eleven (Rick Springfield hates teenagers) and then someone hands him a mini pink acoustic guitar. Rick, knowing right when to deadpan a line says (after attempting to play it while holding three microphones), "Does this make me look gay?" to which the crowd laughed hysterically......I am like...am I the only one who finds the fact that he is cracking gay jokes in front of 15 KIDS alittle odd? (Rick Springfield hates queers) So he gives them all a hug after they sing for him and boots them off stage (Rick Springfield hates kids) and finishes the song. After that he is gone...only to reappear to do Jessie's Girl (as if we actually believed he wouldn't come back to play his biggest hit). When he left after the encore, we left too....even though the synthesizer was still making a humming noise, which as you know is the international sign that they will be back for a second encore...but enough was enough. That Don't Talk To Strangers But Make Them Sing For A Half Hour song really took the joy out of watching him perform to the point that I just couldn't stick around for another song or two...which makes me end this review with just one more thing. (Rick Springfield hates ME)

2010-02-17T17:38:00.001-05:00

ADVENTURES IN MAZELAND

So there I was at the St. Lawrence River for the weekend. My wife wanted to go check out some antique store about 10 miles outside Clayton that we always pass when we run up to the river. So I tell her that I will take my son to either the Aqua Zoo or to Mazeland. I ask him and he says Mazeland. Hokay. No problemo. So I take him there and I start into the maze. The front section is all canvas and when you make your way out of that, then you get to the hedge section...which surrounds the canvas area and is shaped in a square....they have a picture of the layout and it is reminiscent of the maze in the Shining....cept it's alot more friggin' smaller in path size...which I soon discovered. No sooner do I get into the hedge part of the maze when I find that the friggin' hedges are grown together up high...and since it is up high, my son has no problem running ahead of me, while I run through invisible spiderwebs and, my favorite part, the water-logged tree branches. It had been sprinkling and raining on and off the past day or so....and so after about 30 seconds, I was soaked through from the waist up while my son was nice and dry down below.

So we are running around like (wet) idiots, trying to find special letters posted inside the maze. It was something you can do while you are in there and I had to have a ten minute lecture from the retired guy manning the place so I figured we would try and find them. Basically you are looking for 5 green letters and 4 yellow letters. Get 'em all...or enough to figure out the word of the week...and you get a chance to win a whole $100 prize at the end of the season! No way! I have no idea how anyone found these frickin' things...cuz there was only 3 sure thing places they would be in...and that is 2 circular area and one square area in the maze. The letters are pinned to the trees...so you have to look INTO the trees to see them. Lame. We found TWO the entire time in there. But I digress. This is not a story about stupid letters....no. This is a story about one man's quest for the exit. A search which went horribly wrong when his son utters the four words no parent ever wants to hear while trapped in a hedge maze with no exit in sight.....

I HAVE TO POOP.

There it was. I HAVE TO POOP. No you don't says I, the all-knowing wise father figure who KNOWS his son likes to say stuff like this when he is in movie theaters and has gotten bored and wants to get out of his seat every five minutes....So I tell him so and he shuts up....for about a minute....and then he says the seven words no parent really doesn't want to hear....

I have to poop REALLY REALLY BAD. *sigh* So I say ok. Do what you have to do, and hopefully a family of four doesn't walk around the corner laughing and giggling....but thankfully I think we're alone now. There doesn't seem to be any one aroooound. (hee hee...a Tiffany reference in the middle of a poo story!) So he drops his drawers and I am like....WOOOAHHHHH NELLY....You need to squat and lean back so you don't poop on yourself. So there we are....#1 son squatting...#1 Daddy holding on to him so he doesn't fall into the hedge and land in the soft serve mess that is his doodie. Yes. Soft serve. Not a nice log cabin. Noooo. That would be slightly less disturbing to watch when I am holding onto my son and being a captive audience to my son's latest bowel movement. Also more helpful when it comes to wiping my son's ass with......with what? Oh. That's right. I'm in a FUCKING HEDGE MAZE. I don't know how many hedge mazes they have in North Carolina, but I can assure you that they have the same genetic make-up that does not lend itself to having LEAVES!!!! So I scramble, looking around for something...ANYTHING to get this nightmare over with and make it a painful yet humorous memory. So I do the best I can, and as I leave him there momentarily to go look for makeshift Charmin, my son asks if I am leaving him behind. What. Did he really think I was going to leave him alone, half naked, covered in shit and confused in the middle of as maze while I head out to the road to ask for TP?!?!?!?!? Uh, no buddy...Daddy just needs to look around for something to clean you up with. Finally, I opt for some one inch leafy weeds I found as I silently send a prayer up to God to ensure that this stuff doesn't turn out to be poison ivy. How trippy would that be? My son's ass and my hand are both itchy? hmmm....Mr. Inman would you mind answering a few questions in the back of this squad car? Aigh! So I do the deed as best I can and then the nightmare is over.....oh wait...except for the fact that I am STILL IN A FUCKING HEDGE MAZE.....and my hand probably smells funny (you try wiping a child's ass while leaning face first into a hedge with a couple one inch leaves as opposed to the catchers mitt of TP I usually envelop my hand with!). We then start making our way through the maze again once I cover the evidence of my son's trailblazing with a plastic bag I find nearby. In retrospect I probably shouldn't have covered it, as now when the owners go through, they might see the bag and decide to pick it up to dispose of it (people leave water bottles and such in there as well, so I imagine they have to make trash runs). I shudder to think what will happen when someone reaches down to grab that bag. Ok maybe not. It will likely make for one of the funniest things you will ever see. Unfortunately this was not the last time I saw the bag, as, if didn't mention this...I am frickin' LOST in a MAZE. So, like a modern day Hansel and Grettel, we keep running across the trail of "breadcrumbs" he left behind. Yes, like a gift that keeps on giving....every 5 minutes it would be like "Son! Look! There's your poop again!" which of course told me that we were running in circles.

I finally made it out after what seemed like forever. Freedom! Then, to top it off, the old man tells me that we can come back for half price next time.......for what? VISITING HOURS? Like I am going to want to step foot in there after what I just went through? (of course you know I say this and next year it will be like "Daddy I want to go to Mazeland!")

The moral of this story : What happens in Mazeland...STAYS IN MAZELAND.....and sometimes gets covered up with a convenience store bag.

Amusing follow-up anecdote to the story....I relate the story to my co-workers this morning and as soon as I say "I took my son to Mazeland", My co-worker says "ooh. I was thinking about taking the kids there next weekend.". Uh....probably not after you hear this story... >:)

Excuse Me While I Whips This Out

2010-02-16T15:25:00.000-05:00

Nosy little fucker ain'tcha.

Piss off. I ain't blogged nuttin' yet!

- MrWoodman