Tuesday, February 28, 2006
What's Grosser Than Gross?
(You might want to have a barf bag handy for this one.)That was one of the many questions that I was bombarded with today. Just to bam it up a bit (spiceweasel), I decided to give the guy an answer he wasn't expecting. So instead of saying "What?", I said " It's when you hear what you think is one of your cats coughing up a hair ball, only to realize it's a big warm pile of dog vomit which consists of undigested cheesy rice surrounding a large hunk of squishy cat shit that the dog had apparently eaten earlier."
He promptly left and did not return with any more annoying questions for the rest of the night. Looks like I have for something as effective as baked bean and egg farts.
greasemonkey1320 at 4:37 AM
Friday, February 24, 2006
Pass Me the Remote
Here at the ole hillbilly homestead we don't have a cement pond, but we do have satellite television. 150 plus channels to choose from. Now this would tend to make one assume that there is a vast selection of progams to watch at any given time of day. I thought that this would be great since I work second shift and the local stations cut out around one or two in the morning. It was real nice at first. TVland always had something funny on, and if not, you could go to Nick@Nite. Maybe an educational show on National Geographic or a tantalizing bit on the History Channel. There was always something on that would peak my interest or tickle my funny bone. Then the bastards started changing everything around.First, I Dream of Genie went from color to black and white, Bewitched went from black and white to color. Then they started replacing decent programs with annoying shit like Roseanne.
Next entire stations dropped out at two o'clock to broadcast paid program bullshit. Who the hell wants a Magic Bullet anyway!? Then we got Mr. Ron Popeil. I'd like to set and forget his infomercials. Unless he's gonna stick his head in that oven, I don't even want to see his face on the screen.
At this point I'm grateful I have not seen anymore of those commercials with that old man and his juicer. That guy sticks anything and everything in that damn juicer. You know some day he's gonna snap. He'll start juicing his dirty sweat socks with broccoli and carrots. Next he'll be tossing in brussel sprouts and get his hand run through the machine. The crazy old bastard would probly keep going. Maybe even toss back a belt of his own bloody appendage smoothy. I could just hear him remarking on how much protein it has. I got to give the guy a thumbs up on those eyebrows though. Looks like those caterpillars could take over the rest of his face at any time.
Maybe I should call complain about the lousy program selections. Send them a couple tons of letters requesting more quality and less bullshit. Send them a emails until their hard drives melt. They would probly still blow me off. Bastards. Be a day late on that bill though, and they are on you like stink on shit.
I have discovered that people who get to see prime time television are also bombarded with a non-stop stream of crap. Apparently there is some show on now called Dancing with the Stars? What is this garbage? A bunch of F rate celebrity hosiers that can't dance. Oh the joy that must bring. I'm sure that this next season of Who wants to Marry A Big Brother Ugly Duck Wife Swap Survivor will be the one show that everyone will want to watch. Or maybe the last nail in the reality T.V. coffin. I can only hope.
greasemonkey1320 at 4:49 AM
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Master of His Domain
WARNING: This post has been rated mature yet juvenile for cat on mouse violence and excessive use of catnip.Recently, I discovered a small mouse village in my garage. They were getting into everything. Chewing on this, pooping on that. I was very unamused, so I bought some mouse traps. I baited them with a three cheese blend on the first set, peanut butter on the second set, and placed them in the garage. Days later the traps laid bare, some with bait intact, some stripped clean, but no mice. It turns out the little bastards just relocated to the house. The house with twelve cats inside. Not the wisest decision.
It didn't take long for the cats to notice the new arrivals. The cats spent most of today keeping an eye on this one baseboard in the dining room. They knew something was back there, and they were determined to get it. It was only a matter of time now. I made the wait more enjoyable for the kitties by liberally covering said area with catnip. Nothing better than hunting mice with a nice buzz.
Later on I came into the house to find most of the cats huddled up in the center of the living room. They were all circling Roo, who was letting out a low growl. I think this might be why.
No front claws. Missing most of his teeth. Older than most of the cats in the house. The old man is still on top of his game. So at this point, I start telling Roo what a good boy his is, in an effort to get the dead mouse away from him. Everyone scatters and disappears. All heading different directions. I followed Roo into the basement. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I find Roo, Rowdy, Smidge, and Wobbles playing hockey with the mouse. The last time they caught a mouse, I found Wobbles tossing it through the air like a ragdoll. It's all fun and games until someone gets a mouse in the eye.So now the cats are taunting me as I try to catch which ever one has the mouse at the time. I guess I'll just have to wait until they get bored with it, fall asleep, or maybe they will just keep playing hot potato with the thing to see how long I'll chase them around.
greasemonkey1320 at 12:47 AM
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Don't You Hate It When...
Don't you hate it when you go to scramble eggs, crack a couple open, and find what appears to be extra bits that are not yolk or whites? I'm talking about that long white blob that looks like a giant sperm. It reminds me of when I lived on a farm and we would go collect the eggs from the chickens and the ducks. Sometimes, you would find a few that had been fertilized. Eww. The only thing nastier than rooster cum in my eggs, is all the monkey cum in Gleemonex.greasemonkey1320 at 4:51 AM
Monday, February 06, 2006
Stolen from Squirl again
| You Are an Old Soul |
 You are an experienced soul who appreciates tradition. Mellow and wise, you like to be with others but also to be alone. Down to earth, you are sensible and impatient. A creature of habit, it takes you a while to warm up to new people. You hate injustice, and you're very protective of family and friends A bit demanding, you expect proper behavior from others. Extremely independent you don't mind living or being alone. But when you find love, you tend to want marriage right away. Souls you are most compatible with: Warrior Soul and Visionary Soul |
greasemonkey1320 at 3:00 AM
Thursday, February 02, 2006
I Should Have Know
I just got back from dropping off the oldest boy at his high school. I think that this experience justifies me driving the monter truck next time. Well, after I put on a huge push bar or some sort of cow catcher/plow device. It must be the moron-mecca of driving over there.greasemonkey1320 at 7:37 AM
Way WAY Back In The Day
Prior to writing this post, I was checking the ol' site meter to see if I've cleared five thousand visitors yet. I haven't yet, but I did check out the world map feature, and I found something that brought back some amusing memories. One of the visits was from someone for Macclesfield in the U.K. A town that just happens to be to home of a band called the Macc Lads. A crude and unusual band I might add, but I found them entertaining in my young punk rock days. Which leads to the main focus of this post. My punk rock days.In a land long gone the lived a punk with a big purple Mohawk (that would be me), who knew many people. He was friends with a few people and tolerated most others with the exception of a few shining individuals. Those special some ones that I loved to torture and fuck with at any opportune moment. Kyle was one of these poor retarded fuck nuts. Actually he was on the top of the list. A long, long list at that.
There was a small indy record shop in town that most of us would frequent. This guy could get all sorts of crazy shit. Shit that was out of print for ten or twenty years. He also did alot of special orders, and one of these orders was for Kyle. Kyle was also into the Macc Lads and ordered an album on the terms that he would pay for it in full when it arrived. Two weeks later the album shows up and Kyle is flat broke. I was completely aware of the situation due to the fact that I worked with Kyle at the time. I was also aware the his beer money never stretched past Saturday night. So, after another week of this album sitting in limbo and the store owner wanting payment, I went in and convinced the owner to sell me the album instead. He was eager to accept, and I was off with another tool in my bag of torture tricks.
Fast forward a couple weeks to a party in the apartment building some of us lived in. People are drinking, mingling, and wandering from apartment to apartment. Everyone just kept their doors open during the party. Everyone was playing music. Everyone was having fun. This is when I struck. I popped in a tape in had in my pocket. Kyle's ears perked up and he says to me " This is the Macc Lads, I got one of their albums on order." I said "Yeah, I know, I bought it!" Man, you could just see it in his face, he was pissed. He asked me if I wanted to sell him the album. I told him that I couldn't because it was already gone. Oh, he was very interest to find out where it went to, so I told him. I told him I gave it away to this guy who liked them alot. Someone we both knew. A guy named Eli. A guy Kyle could not stand in the least. Kyle fucking hated Eli and probly still does to this day. Eli was a good guy though. He never did me wrong and he was always honest and up front. That what made it so sweet.
Man, Kyle was pissed about that and it still amuses the hell out of me to this day. It reminds me of the times when I would challenge Kyle to a fist fight and he would always back down. I should point out that he also out weighed me by at least 50 or 60 pounds at the time and was a couple inches taller than me. He would always have some lame excuse about how he wouldn't do it because I wouldn't take off my iron cross ring and it was unfair. There was always some pansy excuse with him. Or maybe deep down he knew I wanted to rip off his arms and beat him with them. Oh well, I guess we will never know.
Stayed tuned for future installments from Way Way Back in the Day(insert fading echo effect).
greasemonkey1320 at 4:08 AM
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Minor Modifications
In light of the recent injury over at the Cotillion, I thought I might share one of my own. If you are squeamish, you may want to stop reading now. If you decide to read on, don't say I didn't warn you.The other day I was hammering nails out of a 2x6 and apparently one of the nails was bent a bit. Upon hammering this nail back out of the board, I promptly punched the head of the nail into the heel of my left hand. When I felt the nail hit, I moved my hand, in the process removing a chunk of skin. A chunk of skin that was the size of a number two pencil eraser and fairly deep. The bad part (as if there is a good part about this whole thing) was that the piece tore completely off and I was left with nothing to patch the hole. My only option was holding gauze over it until it stopped bleeding. So now I'm stuck with a patch of exposed subdermis and raw nerves. Fun. Fun. Fun.
The irritating part about his is that I was fixing some else's mistake. Shit like that pisses me off just a bit more than if it was something that was my own fault. Makes me wish I had death rays or lasers in my eyes. You now, just to keep them on their toes.
Oh and Bucky, as far as the sketch artist goes, they are having a hard time finding reliable witnesses. It seems that everyone that looked directly at the drunken blob, is now irreparably blind.
greasemonkey1320 at 4:43 AM