Meadows
1.4.2k5
I started a new J O B this week and I swear to god it felt like the first day of school. 'Cept the chair was comfy.
Tonight - The Eagle Drift-In.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Remember ... The Eagle DRIFT-IN. Not the ... uh ... "other" Eagle.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Penny-stealing ... criminal ... man.
1.3.2k5
A Christmas tradition that had taken a backseat to getting smashed on NOG for me was enjoying the Christmas Stocking. My Ma was a champion at stuffing the thing with really great stuff back when I was a wee little Robot. And I ain't talkin' about "fillers" like oranges and such. Everything was precious and well thought out.
This past Xmas the small circle of Fam and Friends and I resurrected the tradition in Grand Style! We went as far as decorating our own homemade stockings (the 'blanks' deftly crafted by a crafty Delp) by cutting up bits of felt and glueing them on. This Robot, looking for inspiration thought of the things he liked most ... and came up w/ Nachos and Margaritas! Both rendered in felt quite well, if I do say so myownself.
So on Xmas morning I dissassemble the bloated stocking and much to my delight I find little booze bottles and cigarettes, a false moustache (and spirit gum), some lottery tickets, a Daily Racing Form, a bottle of dishwashing liquid, a pad of Post-Its and a small round pin - some folks call them buttons - that said in a crazy typeface: COFFEE SLUT.
I affixed the COFFEE SLUT button to my fleecy, warm sweatshirt and proudly wore it, as I am, indeed, a COFFEE SLUT. There the button remains and whenever I don the fleecy, warm sweatshirt I remember the joy of the Xmas stocking.
FAST FORWARD to last Saturday when the grrrrrrrl and I are on our way to a weekend in Yosemite and we stop in a grocery store. I'm again wearing the fleecy, warm sweatshirt and it indeed still has the COFFEE SLUT button on it but I don't really see it anymore because it's always there. All at once, in line to check out, I see the COFFEE SLUT button and laugh quietly to myself. Then the nice lady starts ringing up the beer, beef jerky, dry-roasted peanuts and, without looking up, says, "So ... you're a COFFEE SLUT." I said, "heh, okay." She said, "Your button. It says COFFEE SLUT." I looked down at the button and said, "Oh! That’s, uh, that’s uh, my piece of flair. I'm, you know, required to wear a certain amount of flair. ... uh ... I didn’t actually choose this. I, uh, I just grabbed a button and, uh, I don’t even know what it says! Y’know, I don’t really care. I don’t really like talking about my flair."
The nice lady looked me with sad eyes and said, "okay, fine. Sorry." I paid and left.
Tonight - The Il Pirata.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Why don't no one Rant in the Rant Section? It's fun, goddamnit.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
1.3.2k5
A Christmas tradition that had taken a backseat to getting smashed on NOG for me was enjoying the Christmas Stocking. My Ma was a champion at stuffing the thing with really great stuff back when I was a wee little Robot. And I ain't talkin' about "fillers" like oranges and such. Everything was precious and well thought out.
This past Xmas the small circle of Fam and Friends and I resurrected the tradition in Grand Style! We went as far as decorating our own homemade stockings (the 'blanks' deftly crafted by a crafty Delp) by cutting up bits of felt and glueing them on. This Robot, looking for inspiration thought of the things he liked most ... and came up w/ Nachos and Margaritas! Both rendered in felt quite well, if I do say so myownself.
So on Xmas morning I dissassemble the bloated stocking and much to my delight I find little booze bottles and cigarettes, a false moustache (and spirit gum), some lottery tickets, a Daily Racing Form, a bottle of dishwashing liquid, a pad of Post-Its and a small round pin - some folks call them buttons - that said in a crazy typeface: COFFEE SLUT.
I affixed the COFFEE SLUT button to my fleecy, warm sweatshirt and proudly wore it, as I am, indeed, a COFFEE SLUT. There the button remains and whenever I don the fleecy, warm sweatshirt I remember the joy of the Xmas stocking.
FAST FORWARD to last Saturday when the grrrrrrrl and I are on our way to a weekend in Yosemite and we stop in a grocery store. I'm again wearing the fleecy, warm sweatshirt and it indeed still has the COFFEE SLUT button on it but I don't really see it anymore because it's always there. All at once, in line to check out, I see the COFFEE SLUT button and laugh quietly to myself. Then the nice lady starts ringing up the beer, beef jerky, dry-roasted peanuts and, without looking up, says, "So ... you're a COFFEE SLUT." I said, "heh, okay." She said, "Your button. It says COFFEE SLUT." I looked down at the button and said, "Oh! That’s, uh, that’s uh, my piece of flair. I'm, you know, required to wear a certain amount of flair. ... uh ... I didn’t actually choose this. I, uh, I just grabbed a button and, uh, I don’t even know what it says! Y’know, I don’t really care. I don’t really like talking about my flair."
The nice lady looked me with sad eyes and said, "okay, fine. Sorry." I paid and left.
Tonight - The Il Pirata.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
Why don't no one Rant in the Rant Section? It's fun, goddamnit.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Alan's got clients ...
1.2.2k5
And I'm busy!
Tonight - The Attic.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
We'll both see ya at the bar, though.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
1.2.2k5
And I'm busy!
Tonight - The Attic.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
We'll both see ya at the bar, though.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Woodstock
1.1.2k5
I got a pal that surprised me one day with, "y'know, you sure seem to be 'into' scatology." I asked her what the fuck she was talking about. She said that I talk about poop and pee rather often. I told her that it was because I live in San Francisco (I did at the time) and it smells like piss everywhere and furthermore that it's not uncommon to see someone pissing in any given vestibule and when you do the odds you got a fifty-fifty chance that that shit-pile you nearly stepped in was passed by an actual canine and not ... uh ... some dude.
Anyway, I thought of her saying that the other day when I had finally had enough of the GIGANTIC poop-piles that I had to dodge along the path to the liquor store and called the cops. I told the 911 operator that they needed to send some cops over to investigate a hazardous substance.** (**You want some response from the 'authorities?" You gotta be dramatic. Don't lie, but be dramatic. I learned this lesson a while back from my dear Auntie who, while performing ranch-related duties in her Hughes 300 was buzzed by a couple of Idaho National Guard F4s and nearly crashed. She got on the horn to Mountain Home Air Force Base and after getting the run-around from the receptionist, she calmly asked who she needed to speak to regarding a couple of downed Air Force jets. A full-bird Colonel picked up the line and frantically asked her which downed Air Force jets and she replied the ones that would be brought down if his jackass flyboys wouldn't stop buzzing her ranch. Got ... his ... attention.)
So a couple cops show up and the tall one says, "If this is a hazardous substance we gotta call the HazMat team." I said, "If I wanted HazMat I'da called 'em. I wanted cops. Cops need to do something about this menace." The fat one says, "Okay. Where is it?" I walk them over to the enormous mound of plop and say, "Here it is, boys." They said, "What? That pile of shit?" I said, "Hell yeah, that pile of shit. It's as big as a house." One of them said, "Well what do you want US to do about it?" I said, "I'm glad you asked. Ya see, whoever shits there shits there often and I think it's a dog. I say that because while it's big enough to be a human's shit, there ain't a piece of newspaper with a shit-smear on it that indicates the asshole wiped his asshole after shitting on the sidewalk." They both looked at me quizzically. I answered their look, "I lived in San Francisco. Half of those fuckers shit on the sidewalk." They nodded in agreement. Then the fat one said, "So it's a pile of dogshit. So what?" I said, "Whoever lets their dog shit here lets it shit here all the time. He's a pattern shit-menacer ... pardon me: Shit-menacist." The tall cop: "So?" "So," I said, "so set up a fucking surveillance. A dump that big, the dog's gotta be huge. Stop the big dogs and get a sample. I been watchin' CSI Miami and I know you cops can get a poop-type off a sample. Match that sample with what ya got here on my path to the liquor store and fuckin' throw the cocksucker in jail for creating a illegal toxic dump!" I didn't even see the tall one haul off and hit me with his night stick. He fast.
Tonight - Annie's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
2005 already! I figure this will be the best year in years! Hot damn! We start at the TNSC Headquarters.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
1.1.2k5
I got a pal that surprised me one day with, "y'know, you sure seem to be 'into' scatology." I asked her what the fuck she was talking about. She said that I talk about poop and pee rather often. I told her that it was because I live in San Francisco (I did at the time) and it smells like piss everywhere and furthermore that it's not uncommon to see someone pissing in any given vestibule and when you do the odds you got a fifty-fifty chance that that shit-pile you nearly stepped in was passed by an actual canine and not ... uh ... some dude.
Anyway, I thought of her saying that the other day when I had finally had enough of the GIGANTIC poop-piles that I had to dodge along the path to the liquor store and called the cops. I told the 911 operator that they needed to send some cops over to investigate a hazardous substance.** (**You want some response from the 'authorities?" You gotta be dramatic. Don't lie, but be dramatic. I learned this lesson a while back from my dear Auntie who, while performing ranch-related duties in her Hughes 300 was buzzed by a couple of Idaho National Guard F4s and nearly crashed. She got on the horn to Mountain Home Air Force Base and after getting the run-around from the receptionist, she calmly asked who she needed to speak to regarding a couple of downed Air Force jets. A full-bird Colonel picked up the line and frantically asked her which downed Air Force jets and she replied the ones that would be brought down if his jackass flyboys wouldn't stop buzzing her ranch. Got ... his ... attention.)
So a couple cops show up and the tall one says, "If this is a hazardous substance we gotta call the HazMat team." I said, "If I wanted HazMat I'da called 'em. I wanted cops. Cops need to do something about this menace." The fat one says, "Okay. Where is it?" I walk them over to the enormous mound of plop and say, "Here it is, boys." They said, "What? That pile of shit?" I said, "Hell yeah, that pile of shit. It's as big as a house." One of them said, "Well what do you want US to do about it?" I said, "I'm glad you asked. Ya see, whoever shits there shits there often and I think it's a dog. I say that because while it's big enough to be a human's shit, there ain't a piece of newspaper with a shit-smear on it that indicates the asshole wiped his asshole after shitting on the sidewalk." They both looked at me quizzically. I answered their look, "I lived in San Francisco. Half of those fuckers shit on the sidewalk." They nodded in agreement. Then the fat one said, "So it's a pile of dogshit. So what?" I said, "Whoever lets their dog shit here lets it shit here all the time. He's a pattern shit-menacer ... pardon me: Shit-menacist." The tall cop: "So?" "So," I said, "so set up a fucking surveillance. A dump that big, the dog's gotta be huge. Stop the big dogs and get a sample. I been watchin' CSI Miami and I know you cops can get a poop-type off a sample. Match that sample with what ya got here on my path to the liquor store and fuckin' throw the cocksucker in jail for creating a illegal toxic dump!" I didn't even see the tall one haul off and hit me with his night stick. He fast.
Tonight - Annie's.
Here's tonight's: Find the Reference!
2005 already! I figure this will be the best year in years! Hot damn! We start at the TNSC Headquarters.
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!
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