Snidely DoGooder And The Behavior Police
SNUFF IT, SUBJECT!
North Carolina rang in the New Year with legislation enacted on January 4th that banned smoking in all bars and restaurants. Snidely DoGooder, economist and Job Destruction Czar for the state of North Carolina summed it up this way;
“For too long the evil tobacco companies provided our country with over 15 Billion dollars and our state with over 171 Million dollars a year in tax revenue. We felt that it was unfair for smokers to be the only ones carrying such a large tax burden, so the only logical conclusion was to tax the tobacco industry out of business. We are well aware of the fact that people can still smoke in their homes, but if we can get the help we need from Washington to tax the air, then we’ll be well on our way to abolishing that right as well. Cap and Trade legislation should help us in this endeavor as it taxes carbon dioxide, or, the air that people exhale; we’re hoping to tax the air that they inhale as well. This will be more fair as not everyone smokes, but everyone breathes.”
Why not allow bar and restaurant owners to wall off areas for their smoking customers? “We thought about that, but the fact is; if we allowed these owners to remodel their own private property to allow smoking, that could create thousands of jobs in the construction and the air filtration industries. We simply weren’t prepared for that” Mr. DoGooder said. “Besides” he continued, “what will they expect next? Freedom to choose what foods to serve? The ability to serve alcohol AND food at the same time? Who do those people think they are?”
Mr. DoGooder’s work has been well documented. Between 2001-2007 Mr. DoGooder and his team were able to destroy almost 80,000 jobs in textile mills and furniture plants alone. “It just got out of hand,” Mr. DoGooder stated; “There were workers coming home from a shift with achy hands from running the sewing machines, workers who were bringing home samples given to them by their employers, we even had over 1,000 cases of chair caners coming home with splinters! That’s just unacceptable. It got so bad that some of the workers were actually coming home with enough money to go out and purchase cigarettes; we couldn’t have that.” Mr. DoGooder went on to say; “It’s the old parable your Mom used to use at the dinner table; ‘Eat your food, there are starving children in China!’, this is our way of giving back; our Mom’s couldn’t feed those kids in China, so it’s up to us to send those jobs to China. It’s all about their kids.” When asked what about our kids here in North Carolina, Mr. DoGooder responded; “Oh, we have welfare for that; our kids will be fine.”
When asked how he felt about the agricultural renewal happening in North Carolina, with many former tobacco farmers now growing wine grapes, he chose his words carefully; “While our banking industry suffered due to a decline in farm machinery repossessions and farm foreclosures, we don’t feel that the NC vineyard industry is large enough yet to be an issue. Once they employ over 10,000 people, then we’ll look at eliminating those jobs.”
What about the issue of drugs in our schools? “Although we don’t have the capability yet to produce a How-To guide for injecting heroin like our friends in New York, we are working on it. They’ve promised to share some of their information with us, but we’re still lacking the information for the 3rd and 4th graders because their veins are so small. We’re hoping health care reform will allow us to take over some of the big pharmaceutical companies so that we can manufacture the smaller syringes ourselves. Once we make enough of them, we’ll be able to hand them out at no charge.”
I Scream, You Scream…Yada, Yada, Yada
THIS..IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT
I’ve got issues with NukeMom. It’s nothing major, just a little food faux pas that drives me crazy. She’s an Ice Cream Candlewicker. Don’t Google that, I just made it up. What exactly is an Ice Cream Candlewicker you ask? She’s one of those people that will only dig half way through the 1/2 gallon carton when dishing ice cream. Once she hits the half way point, she’ll flip the carton over and start digging from the other end. Think The China Syndrome, but with frozen dairy treats. Now, when it comes to ice cream cartons, I’m a backhoe kind of guy; you dig till you hit bottom and you’re done. I don’t mind the sticky, gelatinous, gummy remnants on my knuckles when I reach the bottom ‘cuz I’m going to lick it off anyway. It’s no different than making a cake and licking the bowl. And the spatula. And the spoons used during mixing. And those few drops that fell on the countertop. And the oven rack. Of course, you need to make sure the oven has cooled down first. It only took me one experience to learn that. I also learned that gauze and athletic tape will not stick to the human tongue for more than 45 seconds, tops. It hasn’t been an issue of late because she and the kids like chocolate, and I like chocolate chip. Well, that is, until a couple of weeks ago when she convinced NukeBoy2 and NukeGirl that they reeeally would like the chocolate chip if they would just ask Daddy for a bite. Daddy? Daddy? Her ploy worked; now 2 of us like chocolate and 3 of us like chocolate chip; which brings me to the reason for this post. Now that I’m having to share the chocolate chip, it’s shelf life is noticeably shorter. I went for a bowl tonight and it wasn’t there. I retaliated by reaching for the chocolate. Mumbling something under my breath about proper family dessert hierarchy, I jammed the scoop in the middle of the chocolate ice cream and experienced what the people in the video below experience for the first 4 seconds.
Now, I know I said I don’t mind licking my knuckles every now and then, but what I do mind is going forearm deep into the carton when I’m least expecting it. I’m also not crazy about digging dried chocolate ice cream out of my arm hair for the next 4 hours. A shower, you say? Sure, but I have forearm hair like Robin Williams; it isn’t easy. When the NukeBeagles come inside and want to get warm, they lay on my forearms. I lost my keys once. For 2 days. I found them in my arm hair. Just sayin’. We tried the other way, where you open up the whole side of the carton, and while it was easier to dish, storing it was a pain; it didn’t fit on the door the right way. I know, I know; call the wahmbulance, poor NukeDad. All I’m saying is; if you’re going to convince the kids to eat my ice cream and insist on scooping from both ends of the carton, then be prepared to dig a few arm hairs out of your bowl. Love, your hairy hubby.
The Weasel Momma Chronicles
SARAH "WEASEL" MOMMA IN EXILE-MEXICO 1985
Leading the resistance was never easy for Sarah “Weasel” Momma. She didn’t choose to lead the last few remnants of humanity through the vast wastelands of a post apocabrewtic world; but when the cans and bottles of BudNet became self-aware at 2:14am on August 29th, 1997, her fate was sealed. AnheuserDyne Systems had developed BudNet for the United States Grocery Forces to ensure the freedom of all cases of beer throughout the land. Lagers, Ales, Bocks and Stouts; the market was supposed to be free to all, but it didn’t turn out that way. The mighty overwhelmed the weak, laying waste to competitors far and wide; the dark, looming presence of BudNet always just over the horizon. Soon small pockets of resistance began to surface in the suburbs; taking victory in small bites–a neighborhood bar promotion here, a Greek Orthodox Church festival there–longing for the day that they could mount a large scale campaign to unseat the mighty BudNet and its ill-gotten market share. Weasel Momma and her band of Silver Bullet rebels led the insurgency valiantly, taking the fight to convenience stores and Mom and Pop grocery stores throughout the Tri-State area; but in the end, the Evil Axis of Sam’s Club, ESPNZone and Applebees proved to be too much. Led by the evil Brewmaster Dr. Doofenshmirtz, the Axis was able to secure prime shelf space and numerous end-cap displays for BudNet products nationwide. With Jimmy Football commercials airing during NFL games, Microbreweries disappeared one by one as the war progressed: Shiner, Fat Tire, Blue Moon, Lone Star, Samuel Adams; like dominoes they fell. The BudNet Cyborg Girls patrolled the bars terminating any non-conformists. In the end, it was up to the new coalition of Miller and Coors to mount one last push to try and defeat BudNet and its Axis of Evil.
THE BUDNET CYBORG GIRLS
Sarah “Weasel” Momma was born into a military family, so giving orders and preparing bad meals came naturally to her. The day the T-1000’s came on the scene was the day Weasel Momma knew she had to join the fight. She was at a kegger on the Jersey Shore when a just tapped keg of Coors Light morphed into Robert Patrick in a police uniform, who flashed a photograph of Bob Seger and asked; “Have you seen this boy?” Weasel Momma cried bitter tears that day; tears for the 15 and 1/2 gallons of Coors Light that lie sinking into the sand. She swore revenge and hopped into her AMC Pacer and headed for Detroit; home of Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band of Brothers. She had no way of knowing at the time, but Bob Seger was actually the father of her unborn son; Jimmy the Weasel, who had tried to send Bob Seger back from the future to the year 1984. Jimmy’s plan was to protect his mother from the 800 series of Terminator that had already been sent back to kill her, thereby erasing him from existence. He couldn’t very well lead the resistance if he was never born now, could he? In what can only be described as a Doc Brown McFlyism, Bob Seger missed his target of Philly in 1984, and ended up in Detroit in 1964. He quickly established a deep cover alias as a multi-platinum recording artist, dominating the charts from the mid 70’s to the late 80’s. Check his Wikipedia page, I’m not lying. Weasel Momma caught up to Bob Seger’s tour bus in Sandusky, Ohio and told him of the morphing beer keg/policeman. Bob sat her down and gently told her of his journey from the future, about the bleakness of living in a world dominated by Bud products, no pork rinds and the occasional Schlitz Malt Liquor 40 oz. He explained how he’d had to hide out for 20 long years waiting to finally meet up with her, how he’d had to “Get Out of Denver”, felt like he was always running “Against The Wind” and how (if he ever got out of here) he was going to “Katmandu”. That’s really, really where he’s going to, and that unless she was a “Beautiful Loser”, she’d follow him back to the tour bus, that was parked on “Mainstreet” but could she wait just a minute because there’s a bathroom right there and he had “The Fire Down Below.” Bob Seger and Weasel Momma traveled the world together; both reluctant soldiers in the Beer Wars. Bob taught Weasel Momma how to fold and properly display overpriced concert t-shirts, she showed him how to play beer pong and how to properly skin and field dress an 18 pack. Together they worked on strategy and logistics for the coming conflict.
TILL IT SHINES, SUNSPOT BABY, TILL IT SHINES!
During their travels, Bob Seger would write songs on the tour bus as they drove from show to show. One song in particular would give Weasel Momma the urge to slide across the bus in nothing but socks, her underwear and an oversized oxford shirt. It also made her want to play Xbox 360. It was on just such on occasion that Bob Seger told Weasel Momma; “We’ve Got Tonight”, and that was the day that little Jimmy the Weasel was conceived. Shortly thereafter, Bob Seger suffered a debilitating scapula injury when the tour bus was forced off the road by a Bud Light truck and hit a tree. Witnesses said they saw a cop that looked like Coach Willis from “The Faculty” driving the beer truck. Not long after, Bob Seger’s career died and Weasel Momma fled to Mexico to learn all about home brewing and how to make fragmentation grenades. Knowing that she was soon going to be a Mother, she educated herself on appetizers, beer games, how to make a diaper out of a 12 pack carton, what time does the drive thru window at Taco Bell close, how to pass a breathalyzer test, the 7th inning stretch and the designated hitter rule. When the war started; she’d be ready. Oh, yes, she’d be ready.
Happy Birthday Weasel Momma! You’ve been BLUNKED! Just as you, Momo, Tom and Melisa blunked me, I am now returning the favor. Visit these links to read the blunking of Weasel Momma by Momo Fali, Being Michaels Daddy and Suburban Scrawl. For my response to my blunking, click here.
Great Moments In Incredibly Inappropriate Children’s Birthday Gifts
OOOOOKAY!
I saw a story this morning about a new doll that is causing quite an uproar. Like most dolls, it allows little girls to act all grown up. This doll, however, allows little girls to play “Mommy” in the biblical sense. It’s a breastfeeding doll. Yep, just slap on the suckling vest and go to town. I am an advocate of mothers breastfeeding their children, I just think that the mothers should be biologically equipped for it before they learn the procedure. Was this really the next progression in dolls? They made the doll that cries, the doll that eats, the doll that wets its diaper, so, yeah, I guess nursing was next on the list. Where do they go from here? Maybe they could make Beasty Buffet Barfy Barbie to teach girls how to develop that eating disorder. Bratz could counter BeBuBaBarbie with Fat To Phat Party Chick. Bratz makes edgier dolls, so this one would teach the girls how to evacuate before they hit the clubs. Why stop there? Next could be Oops-Am I Really Pregnant Barbie, Whoa-Girlfriend I’m So Drunk Disco Bratz and Tats and Brats Barbie: Tailgate and get a Tattoo! What parent wouldn’t want the role-playing help that these wonderful dolls could provide their 1st and 2nd graders? All I know is that I’ll feel no guilt whatsoever telling NukeBoy2 no when Erectile Dysfunction GI Joe shows up on his birthday list.
THE MEADOW MUFFIN EXPRESS
The timing of this story couldn’t be better as I had a brush with an inappropriate gift just last week. NukeGirl got invited to a birthday party so I took her to the store to buy the gift. I was in a terrible hurry so I told her to choose quickly. She headed straight for the Barbie aisle and chose a Barbie that came with a dog. “She likes puppies, Daddy; let’s get this one.” I threw it in the cart and we dashed off to the frozen foods. It wasn’t until later that night that I finally got a good look at it. I was putting it in the gift bag when I noticed that what I thought was a leash now seemed too big. As you can see from the package, all it says is “Barbie” and “Tanner”; there’s no hint at what Barbie and Tanner plan on doing together. Then I spotted the 2 pink circles designed to blend in with the packaging. One read “Tanner loves treats!” I glanced up and saw the “treats” that made me queasy because they looked like brown tic tacs. The second pink circle read “It’s clean-up time!” and it all hit home. I had bought a pooping puppy. The leash was actually a pooper scooper. The brown tic tacs were Tanners treats AND his road apples; in one end, out the other. While it is an educational toy that teaches kids that dogs make a mess and require work, I didn’t feel that it was the right way to associate my child to another. I could just see her Senior Yearbook; “Wow! What a year! Thanks for helping me in Chemistry; I am so not a science girl! Hey! Remember that time in 1st grade when I first met you and you gave me that Barbie doll with the dog that liked to take a shit? Yeah, just wondering….Have a great summer! Call me!” Not exactly the first impression we were looking for with a new friend. NukeMom took NukeGirl to the store on the way to the party for a new present. There were so many choices, but I think they finally settled on Bi-Polar Schizophrenia Barbie. It came in two boxes.
A Part Used To Run Through It
DIAMETRICALLY OPPOSED EYEBROWS
I never figured God would pay me back for all of the bald jokes I used to dole out to my friends, but I was wrong. He believes in an eye for an eye; or, a follicle for a follicle. It happened slowly, over time, so I didn’t notice it at first. Then I realized that it was more than a little thinning hair, and that it seemed to be falling to my back and re-establishing itself there. It appeared to be more like a migration. My back resembles a feral dog with a bad case of mange. I thought about calling the Discovery channel to do a nature show on it; they could tag a few hairs and follow their migration patterns when they flew south for the winter. Sigourney Weaver could narrate. They turned me down as I wasn’t as cute as a penguin and I didn’t drive 18 wheelers across frozen oceans. I’ve reached the point that style isn’t even an option any more; I refuse to go the comb over route, it’s just too pitiful. I’ve gone to a short cut on the sides with the top blended in, that way I can just shake my head after getting out of the shower and I’m good to go. Combing is no longer necessary. Since I no longer have enough hair to justify a $40 “Styling” at the fancy salons, I’ve been frequenting the budget haircut guys. They say you get what you pay for, and boy, do I. This last trip was almost enough for me to seriously consider buying my own Flowbee off of e-bay.
I won’t call anybody out, mainly due to the fact that I probably couldn’t afford any litigation, so let’s just say it’s a not a SUPER-GREAT place to get CUTS and CLIPS. I realize that these places are usually the starting spot for those trying to fill their resume so that one day they can move up to the Major Leagues (”You did it Darla! You’re going to THE SHOW!”), but I’ve had success there in the past and wasn’t worried. I should have been. The girl I got this time must still be finishing up her 10 day class. That, or she’s taking the online version. I sat down with my magazine and explained what I wanted. It isn’t too hard; use the #3 cutter on the sides and blend in the top; as long as it doesn’t stand up straight like Rod Stewart’s hair circa 1979, then I’m OK with it. She finished the sides and asked for my approval. I nodded and returned to my magazine. I paid little attention as she was blending the top in, and when I heard the blow dryer, I knew that we were almost done. For someone in my situation, the hair dryer is usually used simply as a means to get the hair off of the shoulders and to the floor quickly; I don’t require a lot of hair drying because, well, there’s not much to blow. She must have seen something towards the front of my head that caught her attention, because at some point she quit moving the hair dryer. The problem was that when she ceased movement, it was parked about 3/64th’s of an inch away from the crown of my head. Where most of the thinning is occurring. It only took about 3 seconds for my bald spot to reach the same temperature as the surface of the sun. I yanked my head forward, and then she realized what she had done. “OHMYGODIMSOSORRY!” she said. I glanced at my hair in the mirror and it looked good enough for me; I wasn’t being overly critical at the time because my only thought was to escape the clutches of Sweeney Todd and her Ray Gun. After all, there is a Little Caesars next door, and you could classify those as meat pies.
MY DESTINY?
When I got home I assessed the damage. The sides aren’t too bad, but the top is a little too Emo Phillips-ish. I also noticed that the diametrically opposed ends of my eyebrows are still at it; my right eyebrow points to true magnetic north, and my left is searching for Ft. Lauderdale. I just can’t bring myself to shaving them completely off and drawing them in each morning; I know that at some point I’d forget and the kids would freak out thinking I’m that guy from Fringe. Maybe I’ll just bleach the crap out of them and go for the Mr. Clean look; I don’t know. I’ve learned that a quality haircut is worth the price. I’ve also learned that if you get a quality haircut at one of the cheap-o places the person that gave you the cut will be gone the next time you go back; cutting no-hitters in the Big Leagues, no doubt. Either that or you won’t remember their name, or they won’t be working that day, the list is endless; just understand that you’ll end up with a different person cutting your hair. There may be hope for me, though. I’ve heard friends talking about it, and I think 60 Minutes did an expose on it; they have these things now called; appointments. Maybe I’ll give them a try.
Hospital Update
To fully tell this story will take more time than I have right now, but I wanted to let everyone know where we are. NukeBoy2 had his EEG yesterday, and his MRI and MRA this morning. The MRA is when they inject a dye in the body to see the blood vessels. Those were completed this morning, and the Neurologist just left a few minutes ago. EEG is normal, MRI looks normal so far; they are still downloading some of the images and getting them together. She (neurologist) is still reluctant to say that this was a seizure. I don’t know what else you’d call it, and, apparently, she doesn’t either. The preliminary MRI shows no sign of stroke, which is great news. The EEG also came back normal; again, good news. Blood work looked normal but they are running a few more tests. They won’t have final MRI results until this afternoon, but odds are we should be able to go home today. All. Good. News. Except this: they don’t know why this happened, and they say there is a 30% chance that it will happen again. I feel worse now than I did yesterday; are we now to be held prisoner by a condition that has a 70% chance of never happening again? A condition that we don’t even have a name for? “If he has a second episode then we can get a better idea of what we’re up against”, the neurologist said. I understand that, but I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around it. This thing came completely out of the blue, and there are no signs that it even happened; now we have to wait and see if it happens again? For how long? A month? 2 years? Until he graduates? For the rest of his life? I’m relieved that he is back to normal; I am terrified of the future. Hopefully we’ll get more definitive answers this afternoon when the full MRI/MRA results come in, but you’ll have to forgive me if today my glass is 1/2 empty.
The Love/Hate Dilemma
It started out innocent enough. I’d heard everyone talking about her. She was the new girl; she seemed nice. All of my friends knew her and talked well of her, but I hadn’t been introduced yet. I took my sweet time getting around to it, but when we finally met, we hit it off right away. I liked her energy. She was vibrant and fun and carefree, everything you would want in a friend. I’d be lying if I said that after a while being just friends was enough; I wanted more. I wanted a commitment. She balked at first and I understood. It just seemed like I was putting in a whole lot more effort than she was, and for this to work I was going to need to see some reciprocity. She agreed and from then on we were a couple. Inseparable. We chatted several times a day, told each other funny stories, it was great. A few weeks in I could see that although she had committed herself to me, she was still quite the social butterfly. I didn’t have a problem with that until I started to feel like she was just biding her time, waiting for a better deal. She started spending more and more time making new friends and less and less time with me. I tried to keep up with her, but a man can only have so many friends, am I right? It finally got to the point that we hadn’t talked in several days and I knew that I had to make a change. I ended it. Right then. I just couldn’t do it anymore. But now I feel like maybe my decision was too hasty. I’ve had a few developments in my life that make me think that maybe we could get back together, give it another try. So I need your help. I’ve got unlimited texting now; should I get back together with Twitter?
Lest We Forget
The three day weekend of Memorial Day has always signified the beginning of summer for Americans, but I think it is important not to forget its true significance. It is a time to say thank you to those brave men and women who have given their lives to protect our way of life. I heard it put best by Zell Miller, former congressman from Georgia:
Never in the history of the world has any soldier sacrificed more for the freedom and liberty of total strangers than the American soldier. And, our soldiers don’t just give freedom abroad, they preserve it for us here at home. For it has been said so truthfully that it is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us the freedom of the press. It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us freedom of speech. It is the soldier, not the agitator, who has given us the freedom to protest. It is the soldier who salutes the flag, serves beneath the flag, whose coffin is draped by the flag who gives that protester the freedom he abuses to burn that flag.
While it is a time to honor those who have fallen in the line of duty, it is also a time to remember those who have been wounded protecting the American way of life. The Wounded Warrior Project helps those soldiers returning to civilian life after suffering traumatic injuries in battle. Fisher House is another great organization that helps military families by providing housing and basic needs that allows them to be close to their soldier as they receive care for injuries and illness. Let’s remember all of our fallen heroes this weekend.
Blunk’d
I was mercilessly attacked yesterday. My character was assaulted by four, count ‘em, FOUR fellow bloggers! They beat me with the parody stick and then threw my bloodied carcass into the pond of satire, leaving me for dead. But it didn’t happen; I’M STILL HERE! And like Michael Myers, I shall have my revenge. Granted, I’m not a 7 foot tall hockey mask wearing sociopath, but I’m a quick study. My chainsaw lessons start at 3 o’clock. They were able to coerce my sister Leta into helping also; I can only surmise that they used Internet voodoo to make her do it.
This all started in the mind of Melisa at Suburban Scrawl. Apparently she was reading one of the Tiger Beat back issues she keeps locked in her hope chest and came across a picture of Ashton Kutcher. As she was dreaming of how best to knock off Demi Moore and take her place, she thought of Punk’d; Ashtons MTV prank show, and thought; “What if we punk’d someone on our blog? They would be BLUNKED!” I think she should have gone with the apostrophe instead of the “e”, but until she becomes Mrs. Ashton Kutcher, she can’t risk possible copyright infringement. She knew she couldn’t pull it off herself, so she recruited three of the better known interenet delinquents: WeaselMomma, Momo Fali and Tom from Being Michael’s Daddy. Individually, they are tolerable; together, they are insufferable. They’re like a reverse gender version of Blondie with Tom taking the Debbie Harry lead: they sound good, but after the show, you know they’re trashing hotel rooms and tossing TV’s into the pool from the 12th floor balcony. They each had a turn at the “blunking”, so now, it’s my turn to add to some fiction, and clarify a few facts.
Melisa-Suburban Scrawl
Melisa’s blunking of me was centered around movies from the 80’s. In an obvious cry for help she referenced 2 John Hughes movies; Ferris Buellers Day Off and The Breakfast Club. Both great movies, but the sad truth is that Melisa is so delusional that she thinks she’s Molly Ringwald. Seriously. Just last week a customer in a salon on the west side of Chicago paid 5 dollars to look at her underpants. I know; can you say stuck in the 80’s? How many people do you know that have been sent home from work because they wore Sasson jeans and jelly shoes? She eats sushi because Molly didn’t in The Breakfast Club, not because she likes it. Then again, she isn’t a vegetarian because she loves animals; it’s because she hates plants.* She peppered in several references of my ability to dance. For the most part, she is correct; I dance like a a typical white guy when sober; give me a 12 pack though, and I’m Travolta. The Fandango reference was nice; a Groover always appreciates accolades, and for the record; I DID once bury a bottle of Dom. It was subsequently dug up and consumed when that chapter of the young NukeDad chronicles came to an end.
* Humble apologies to A. Whitney Brown
Tom-Being Michael’s Daddy
Being the only male wielding the blunking club, Tom had to swing harder. I guess that’s why unlike Melisa’s 80’s references, Tom smacked me all the way back to the 70’s. That deaf, dumb and NukeKid sure plays a mean pinball! I write one post about the roller rink and all of the sudden I’m a duet partner with Olivia Newton-John in Xanadu. That movie, by the way, was the end of ELO as a group. You just don’t do stuff like that. God will punish you. Just ask Peter Frampton and The Bee Gees; God sent them into exile after that whole Sgt. Pepper fiasco. He also made Aerosmith wait another 10 years for a hit. Tom had a perfect opportunity to knock it out of the Park with an Asia reference, but blew it. I think he got sidetracked. He pulled out his Asia catalog and wanted to listen to every song with Eye or Eyes in the title or the lyrics. His wife didn’t see him for 3 days. I think he was also shocked to see that Steve Howe now looks like the Crypt Keeper. I also need to thank him for ensuring that I will NEVER be invited back to my friend Patsy’s parents’ home after he mocked their cabinetry. It was the 80’s! Give them a break! At least they got plantation shutters…eventually.
Momo Fali’s
Momo. Poor, sweet Momo. She just can’t let this football thing go. It’s not my fault that her Buckeyes couldn’t stop an obviously superior Longhorn football team from scoring in the final minute to win back in January. That ‘ole boy from Texas knew which way to run on that play, didn’t he, Momo? What’s her blunking retaliation? Telling everyone I was kicked in the head by a mule when I was a child. The sad thing is, she’s not that far off the mark. My head and solid objects didn’t really get along when I was little. I cracked my head open 8 times before I was 6 years old. Most of you are saying; that explains a lot, and Momo is thinking; I’ve got blog fodder for a year! The part of the story that Momo doesn’t want you to know is that the leading scorer in football in Ohio State University history is, in fact, a Texan. (Did I forget to put THE before OSU?) He is also a mule. Ain’t that a kick in the head? He was a field goal kicker. He broke the NCAA record for longest field goal when he connected with a 100 yarder against Kent State in 1974. His name was Gus, and you can see his life story in the movie documentary of the same name. It chronicles Gus’ time with the team when head coach Don Knotts took them to 4 consecutive Guava Bowls and 6 straight 2nd or 3rd place Big 10 finishes. This was when the Big 10 actually had 10 teams and not 11. At least the Big 12 knows how to execute 2nd grade addition when they add teams to their conference.
WeaselMomma-World Of Weasels
The blunking spewed by WeaselMomma was projectile launched like tossed cookies from a Yak buying buicks. Now that the barfing correlations are out of the way, let’s get a few facts straight. The night in question that she describes did happen, they just didn’t happen the way she remembers. It wasn’t ME who threw up in HER bra, she threw up in mine. It was a mansierre; or maybe it was a bro, I can’t remember, but I was never able to wear it again. I loved that bra. It went with everything…it lifted…separated…didn’t dig into my shoulder blade. She did offer me fresh clothes, but her blouse was ugly and didn’t match my shoes or my handbag. I had to decline. They didn’t call me “Yellow Cake” for nothing; it was my ability to accessorize any shade of yellow. Make up, lip gloss, purses, pant suits, stilettos; I was the complete package. We gave her some Altoids and a glass of water and let her stay. She would walk up to guests and say; “Hey, buddy, got change for a dollar?” and then she would laugh hysterically. Sadly, our contribution to the “Rolls of Quarters For Tots” campaign was way down the next day. We lost track of her for awhile, but she turned up out back on the picnic table. She was asleep and no longer posed a danger to herself or others, so we let her stay. Anne Geddes snapped this picture, but it never ended up in any of her baby books; don’t know why.
The Blunking of NukeDad was quite unexpected, but lots of fun. Melisa even got her word in the Urban Dictionary. All of you other bloggers out there had better beware, Melisa may have started a viral campaign here. When you least expect it you’ll go check out one of your favorite blogs and see a picture of yourself looking like you’re 3 sheets to the wind, even if you aren’t. (I was only a sheet, maybe a sheet and a half to the wind in that picture) I’m flattered that they thought enough of me to assassinate my character like that, it should come in handy when I go looking for a job.
You Should See The Other Guy
NukeBoy2 learned a valuable lesson the other day. His Mother and I have always tried to teach him to stand up for himself. “There will be times that you may need to defend yourself” we’ve told him “so be ready if the time comes.” We told him to stand his ground. I guess we forgot to tell him that the other guys parents may have told him to stand his ground too, and if that other guy happens to be a tree; well, you’re going to lose. Sixty-two and a half pounds don’t stand a chance against 30 foot roots; it’s just not going to happen, Big Guy. It’s not like it was a fair fight anyway, the other guy sucker-punched him when he wasn’t looking. As he was running. With his head turned the other way. In this case, he most definitely didn’t see the forest for the trees.
This all happened at a neighbors house. NukeBoy1 says that he saw it coming, but couldn’t yell out to his brother fast enough to prevent the inevitable. “Remember when that guy got clothes-lined in The Longest Yard?” NukeBoy1 said. “I do.” “Well, NukeBoy2 got more airtime than that guy.” I think it probably looked something like this:
To his credit, NukeBoy1 didn’t cry for very long. He was hyperventilating when he got home and the tears were flowing, and after 5 minutes of cold towel on the eye he was still complaining that it burned. That’s when I explained to him that tears have salt just like sweat does. He stopped crying right after that and the burning went away. Thank God he closed his eye before he hit the tree; sometimes the body knows what to do. It also reminded me of one of the all time greatest break up songs. It’s total early 80’s, you know; when MTV was watchable. Enjoy.
Attack Of The Killer Cosmetics Saleslady
THE STORY YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ IS TRUE. ONLY THE NAMES HAVE BEEN CHANGED TO PROTECT THE OVER-ZEALOUS.
This is the big box store. Sam’s Wholesale Club. I shop here. I carry a membership card. My name is Dad. NukeDad. It was a warm spring morning in the Carolinas. The kind of morning that makes you wish you’d stayed in college. Then you’d be in a swanky office building checking out the gams on the new dame taking shorthand for the boss. Instead you’re pulling grocery duty on the far side of town. The building was clean. Freshly painted. I notice things like that. It’s my job. Wait; no it isn’t. I don’t have a job. Not one that pays cold hard Benjamin’s, anyway. The carts were lined up like shining steel horses itching to join the battle. I picked a maverick looking loner hanging out by the flatcars. I’d need that kind of attitude with the list I had today.
I flashed my membership card at the receipt jockey standing in the foyer. A quick squint and a nod and I was on my way. Frozen foods was on the far side of the store. A good place for them, since I’d be stopping there last. Blocking my way was a wall of Plasma TV’s. 42 inch. 50 inch. 65 inch. Mocking me. Every last one of them. Not on a stay-at-home gumshoe’s pay, I thought. I steered my cold blue steel steed around the mountain of frivolity and headed for the paper aisle. Charmin makes a good product. You’re either built for comfort, or you’re built for speed. Charmin’s got you covered either way. I grabbed a 36 pack of Ultra-Soft. Guy’s like me can’t afford to chafe. I was set for the week. I made my way to the pallets that were lining the side aisle like hedges on Mulholland Drive. The spacing perfect. Almost too perfect. Someone here can handle a pallet jack like it’s an Alfa-Romeo on the 405 at rush hour. Bravo Mr. Associate, bravo. I rounded the last pallet with the speed and grace of a gazelle eluding a hungry lioness on the Serengeti when I saw her. Her over-crimped hair hanging like so much busted plumbing. Her eye shadow thicker than a college textbook. Her lipstick three shades darker than that swirly spot on Jupiter. It was the Make-up Lady.
I braked hard and banked left, but it was too late. The jig was up. She’d seen me. Like a grasshopper that ventures too close to the slumbering toad, I was mince meat. “Special lady in you life?” she beckoned from her lair. “Special lady?”, I thought. Crafty; this one. She left every option open. A wife? A mistress perhaps? Or maybe a man who just likes to try on lingerie and play dress-up on even numbered Wednesdays during months that end in Y or R while the family is away. Shut up, it’s a case report I read once. I told her yes; my wife, and she dove right in. My mount was skittish and refused to move. I was stuck. Through the Initial Contact, at least. The words were flying at me faster than ladies underwear at a Poison concert. I heard words like; exfoliate, microdermabrasion and glazing. Blusher, emulsion and putty. The last bringing visions of nail holes I’d repaired on the front porch railing, wondering why I would ever want to see it on or near my wife’s face. My breathing was rapid. My heart increased its pace by five beats a minute. My four wheeled stallion continued to buck and fight me at every turn. I glanced down at its hoof and saw the scoundrel. In her zeal to close a previous sale the Serial Rouger had lost a cap from a lipstick barrel. It was holding me prisoner. The wheel was locked up tighter than Kate Moss’ lips in a donut factory. I stepped back and yanked with all my might. The cap shattered like Roseanne Barr’s dreams of a comeback. I tipped my fedora and said good day.
I made my escape through the book section and ended up in C-storeville. If I owned a convenience store, Sam’s would be…well, convenient. Having no need for a 72 pack of Snickers bars in a counter-top display box, I ventured over to the fruits and vegetables. I grabbed a 12-pack of garlic cloves and a gross of oranges. Hey, they were on sale. As I came around the cooler I heard it. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. “Special lady in your life?” I whipped around too quickly for her frail mind to comprehend and she screamed. “Oh! I’ve talked to you already, haven’t I?” she managed. I nodded and she turned tail and power walked to an elderly couple perusing the 5 gallon tubs of potato salad. She’d left her kiosk and taken her show on the road. Tenacious, that’s what she was; pure, unadulterated foundation-hawking tenacity. A shoebox full of moxie cleaned out of a closet of stick-to-itiveness and tossed in a heap of doggedness. The girl wouldn’t take no for an answer. I made my way to the parking lot and was loading my items into the van. I heard that familiar voice again. I looked up just in time to see the Lip Balmed Avenger accosting a lady who only had one leg out of her car. Even on lunch break it was like shooting fish in a barrel for her. She’ll never stop. She’s like luggage; she’s with you for life. I wonder how much a membership to Costco is?
Scrabble With The Kindergartener
There’s nothing like a rainy day to help expand the mind. It was just NukeGirl and I at home, so she said; “Hey, Dad, want to play a game?” I thought she would pull out something easy like Connect 4 or Chutes and Ladders; instead she pulled out Scrabble. “Are you sure you want to play that game Honey?” I asked her, “We’ve never played it before and I don’t know if you’ll like it or not.” “It’s OK Dad, it’s just spelling, right?” she asked. Little did I know. She said I could go first since I was the oldest. I started off with something simple.
Not bad; 5 points! I’m rollin’! I won’t beat her too bad, I want to help build her confidence. Maybe she’ll grab a T and use the O to spell TO. There she goes. Wow, that’s a lot of letters she’s grabbing. What is she doing? Are you allowed to make your word go all serpentine like that? Holy Crap!
ANTIDISESTABLISHMENTARIANISM? 38 points? Are you kidding me? That’s it! No more NPR for her! Somewhere, Rachel Maddow is smiling. Alright, NukeDad; gather yourself, it’s not over yet. Hmm, maybe I can use the O from DOG…
That’s it? That’s the best I can do? OUCH? 9 measly points? Sure, it’s plenty descriptive, but it won’t win me any double word points, that’s for sure. Why is she smiling like that? Again, with all of the letters; eleven, twelve, thirteen letters? One of them a Q? I am so screwed.
SESQUIPEDALIAN? I taught her that word! Damn, she’s good! 26 points. What’s she up to now…carry the one, 64 points?! On 2 words?! Wow, she sure kicked my butt. Are there even any letters left for me to use? Wait; there’s a couple. Let’s see, use the D in SESQUIPEDALIAN, yep, that’ll do it.
9 points. Final score: NukeDad-3 words, 23 points; NukeGirl-2 words, 64 points. I’m out of here. Next time it’s Chutes and Ladders or nothing, at least then I’ll have a chance.
Pholph’s Scrabble Generator         My Scrabble© Score is: 18. What is your score? Get it here. |
The Ebola Virus Couldn’t Be Worse
A 48 hour stomach virus has swept through the NukeHousehold. Dividing and conquering like Genghis Khan storming through China, with nary a Great Wall in site. It hit NukeBoy2 first. It was easy to blame it on the blueberry slurpee and 12 pack of starburst he ate in less than 10 minutes. Those, by themselves, would have been no problem; putting them on a base of Doritos, Pepsi and Burger King are. This was while we were on our way home from DC. NukeBoy2 is usually a very healthy eater, lots of fruits and vegetables-the kid has about 2% body fat-but get him on a road-trip and he turns into John Belushi in Animal House. Anything sugary or bad for you is all he craves. The one good thing about this virus is that NukeBoy2 will think twice before mixing slurpees with chewable candy again.
In a fifteen minute span on Sunday night he went from happy to projectile vomiting. I told him that standing over the toilet bowl with your head resting on your hand on the raised toilet seat might be comfortable, but it does nothing for your aim. It was like trying to shoot water from a fire hose into a soda can from atop a 12 story building. Which is what prompted the sign. I haven’t cleaned that bathroom that many times in the last 6 months. He also learned that caution is key when it comes to all other bodily functions as well. Thinking it’s just a fart is great until the reality starts to take hold in your boxers. The laundry queue tripled.
I was next. After getting NukeBoy2 semi back on his feet by Tuesday afternoon, my stomach began feeling a little “groggy.” By early evening I was talking to Earl on the big white phone. I called NukeMom to get her home before 8pm and took my pillow into the bathroom. A full night of Linda Blair barf-obics and sphincter pilates put me in the clear. Meanwhile, upstairs, NukeGirl was starting her run through the virus jungle. NukeMom only got about 2 hours sleep, but, thankfully; she avoided the plague. NukeBoy1 avoided us the best way he knew how barring a haz-mat suit; he stayed in his room and played guitar.
NukeGirl had the worst of it if you go by frequency. I know this because every time she had to throw up she would announce it to me; “I have to throw up”, then she would let me know how many times this had been; “DAD! This is the 8th time I throwed up!” “DAD! I throweded up for the 10th time!” I lost count when I had to start carrying numbers. She found the sink to be the most convenient place to toss her cookies. This was easiest for her until she started getting lazy and resting her chin on the very edge of the sink; then the path of least resistance was up for grabs and the acreage needing to be cleaned doubled. I reacquainted her with the porcelain bucket.
Now that everyone is done with their bodily spring cleaning, I guess it’s time to start on the house. At least I’ll have one less bathroom to worry about; it’s so clean you could eat a blueberry slurpee and a 12 pack of starburst off of the toilet seat. Though, I wouldn’t suggest it.
No JC Penny On This Mall
The NukeFamily spent the weekend in DC. We went to the Mall. The one without the stores. It was my first trip, but it won’t be my last. Although the weather was overcast with light rain, it actually kept the crowds down and made navigating the monuments easier. The Smithsonian was having their Annual Kite Festival at the foot of the Washington Monument. Every other spot of grass was occupied by kickball teams. No, it wasn’t Ms. Thrankston’s 3rd grade P.E. class, it was about 2,000 grown ups. Apparently, kickball is quite the “Thing” in DC for young professionals. A google search brought me to a DC Kickball blog (no, I’m not kidding-Read the comments; you’ll thank me later) that grades the local bars on their drink specials and treatment of kickballers, and a pari-military anti-kickball site that just raised enough money to “free” their founder who was incarcerated for disrupting kickball games all over the District. If you’ve got some time and want a good laugh, peruse this site for a while. It’s the best laugh I’ve had in a while. The good thing about it? It makes me feel infinitely better about my whole dodgeball fiasco. Even my ACL is laughing.
We could have spent 4 days trying to see everything and not even come close, but we did pretty well for a one day tour with 5 kids. We saw: The Vietnam Memorial, The Lincoln Memorial, The Korean War Memorial, The World War (WWI) Memorial, The WWII Memorial, The Washington Monument, The White House, The dead grass left by the Inauguration crowds, and The Air and Space Museum at the Smithsonian. Whew! Talk about some tired legs. We’ll tackle them all; one at a time. I’ll try to be brief (cough, cough).
The Wall
Overwhelming. I don’t know how else to put it. The emotion that is in the air is palpable; you can feel it before you even enter the grounds. I knew that it would be a humbling experience, but I had no idea how humbling until I saw the letters sealed in sandwich bags to protect them from the rain.
Or the school composition book left by a grandchild for their grandfather.
The flowers, the trinkets, the t-shirt made by a local elementary school; all of it gathered and catalogued everyday; and, when possible, given to the families of the fallen soldiers. I lost it about halfway through and had to backtrack because NukeGirl didn’t understand why Daddy was crying. I don’t know anyone who died in this war, but I do know men who served. The stories that they told of coming home to taunts of “Baby-Killer” and being spat upon by protesters fueling my emotion as I read name after name after name. I don’t know how they made it through, I really don’t. God Bless them all.
The Lincoln Memorial
This was awesome. The view from the top of the steps is incredible, or, it would have been, if it hadn’t been overcast. We could barely see the top of the Washington Monument because of the clouds.
On a clear day we would have been able to see the US Capitol building beyond the Washington Monument. Today the best I could do was sit where Ben and Riley sat in National Treasure contemplating the theft of the Declaration of Independence, and stand where Forrest Gump stood before Jennie came traipsing through the reflecting pool.
I still had to marvel at the detail of this statue; it’s almost like they carved the air blowing across his jacket and pants. Amazing. NukeGirl was upset that he didn’t have his hat on, and NukeBoy2 thought he should be shirtless like in the Mountain Dew TV commercial.
The Korean War Memorial
The detail on the statues was precise. They had scouts, radio-men, infantry. It captured the hell on earth that they experienced battling the elements as well as the enemy.
The far side has a Vietnam Veterans Memorial like wall with reflected pictures of the men who served; be they American, Korean or any of the other Allied soldiers. The footpath had granite stones with the names of each country who helped fight the war.
The World War Memorial (DC WWI Memorial)
This was upsetting. This memorial sits on the right side of the mall between the Korean War Memorial and the WWII Memorial. It sits back off of the path, and they say that in the summer when the leaves are on the trees that you could walk right by it and never even notice it. It was originally built to honor those from DC, but there is a push to restore it and expand it to include all of the 4,734,991 veterans who served, and the more than 116,000 that died.
It’s shameful that this monument has been allowed to deteriorate so badly. Frank Buckles, the last surviving veteran of WWI is the Honorary Chairman of the WWI Memorial Foundation that is seeking the refurbishment of the monument, and it’s establishment as the National WWI Memorial.
The WWII Memorial
This is the newest of the battle memorials. It opened in 2004 and is bigger than most of the other monuments. It sits at the end of the reflecting pool between the Lincoln Memorial and Washington Monument.
Every state has it’s own pillar and wreath, and the 2 opposing arches are labeled “Atlantic” and “Pacific”. Each arch has a large bronze wreath inside of it being lifted by 4 bald eagles.
The Washington Monument
Or, as NukeBoy2 likes to call it; “The big tall pointy thing” was evident everywhere we walked. We couldn’t get inside of it (tickets go out in the morning, and they go quick) and you’ve already seen it in some of the other pictures, so let’s move on.
The White House
I knew the grounds were big, but to see it in person is to realize that you were thinking small. It’s about 18 acres. The funny thing is, whenever you see pictures of the White House, you never see anything around it, so to see large tall buildings all around it was strange indeed. I guess the “transparency” of the new administration has worn off: instead of 1 fence to keep the riff-raff off of the south lawn, there are now five. You’re all the way on the other side of the street beyond the sidewalk even.
Then the cop that’s assigned to sit in front of the White House parks his car smack dab in the middle of the best camera angle. I think he used his GPS to place it in maximum piss-off position. It worked. Must be a Garmin.
Trampled Underfoot
The Mall between the Washington Monument and The Capitol building took a beating during the inauguration. Stands to reason when you have over a million people walking on it.
The Air and Space Museum
Unbelievable. I love planes and space craft, so to be able to see some of the most historic aviation specimens in history was nirvana. See that up there? That’s not a model of the Spirit of St. Louis, it’s THE actual Spirit of St. Louis that Lindbergh flew across the Atlantic. Whoa.
The Apollo 11 command module that went to the moon and brought Armstrong, Aldrin and Collins safely back to splashdown? Right here. Not a model, not a simulator, but the real deal.
It’s amazing how small that thing actually is. Every square inch was spoken for. They didn’t even have room for a cup holder.
Asides
I could have posted some more of the 200 pictures I took, but I’ll spare you; thank you for indulging me this much. We’ll definitely be back to explore some more in the near future. There is the Airsho at Edwards Air Force Base coming up, we still need to get to the Capitol building to see how our tax dollars aren’t working and the Smithsonian could be a 2 week trip in itself. I also need to tell you about the bald eagle nest 2 blocks from Wil and Nancy’s house. Very cool. It’s bigger than my bed.
A Bird In The Mouth Is Worth Two In The Paw
Did you hear that they finally found the gene that causes shyness? They would have found it sooner, but it was hiding behind some other genes. In related news; the murder of 4 rednecks remains unsolved as all of the DNA is the same and there is no dental record. Speaking of teeth; what has 12 tits and 26 teeth? The morning crew at Waffle House. I’ll be here all week.
Our lovable little NukeBeagles; Buddy and Penny, continue to struggle with domestication. I wrote about it before; here. Instinct is one thing, blood-lust is quite another. This morning they stepped over the threshold from Thrill-killers to Mass Murderers. They are now felons. They killed the state bird. North Carolina’s state bird is the Cardinal. Sports teams in St. Louis, Arizona, Louisville, Palo Alto, Ball State and St. Marys University are also partial to this beautiful bird. Beagles, apparently, couldn’t care less. Is that the look of guilt, or what? If you look closely you can see the victim at her paw. The NukeBeagle body count now consists of: 3 squirrels, 1 cardinal, 2 footballs, 1 water bottle, a hair clip and 3 socks. I’m running out of chalk. Every time they look at me, I feel like a 24oz T-bone. Now I know what happened to the steak seasoning that disappeared last week; it’s hidden under the deck where they plan to drag my warm, lifeless carcass. At least their tails will be wagging.
Two Tales Of A City: Part II
Previously I told you about the Women of Juarez and how they are being slaughtered in numbers that should be too big to ignore. I intimated that maybe the authorities aren’t as culpable as it would seem. The reason for that goes beyond the corruption that has plagued Mexico for decades. In recent years, it has less to do with corruption, and more to do with survival. The Mexican Drug Cartels have recently engaged in violence on a scale not seen since the early 80’s when the Colombian Cartels ruled Southern Florida. I will be giving you lots of links in this post, and I encourage you to click on them and learn the full story of what is going on both South AND North of the border. The scope of the story is too vast for me to cover in a few posts; but I’ll try anyway.
Let me give you a number that you’ll have trouble wrapping your mind around. In 2008, Juarez had almost as many murders as New York City, Los Angeles, Chicago and Philadelphia Combined. NYC had 523 homicides, LA 303, Chicago 509 and Philly had 323. That’s 1658 murders total. Juarez had over 1600. Here’s one that’s even more astounding; so far in 2009, over 300 murders have occurred in Juarez alone. The year is only 61 days old as of today. That’s more than 5 murders a day. That’s only 14 less than American combat deaths in Iraq for ALL of last year. Almost every single one is drug related. The Mexican government just sent 3,200 additional troops to Juarez, bringing the total to 7,500. The problem is, the residents don’t want them there. They feel that the military presence is helping to ratchet up the violence; never mind the fact that many police officers and Mexican soldiers are on the payrolls of the Drug Cartels. The people don’t know who to trust. Two weeks ago the Chief of Police was executed along with 3 other officers. Three days later the new Chief of Police resigned after 3 more officers were found executed. They were found with signs on their bodies telling him to resign or else they (the cartels) would kill one officer a day.
It’s not just in Juarez anymore, either. The violence is spilling over the border. Gangs routinely go to hospitals to finish off rivals while they recover in their beds; prompting a SWAT team deployment to Thomason hospital in El Paso to protect a Mexican police commander. The mayor of Juarez has moved his family to El Paso. Residents in some of the upscale neighborhoods in El Paso are concerned about the amount of Mexican license plates they are seeing move into their neighborhoods. Are the new neighbors well to do Juarez businessmen? Drug Lords? Who knows? They bring their bodyguards, who can be seen in cars on the street keeping an eye out for anything “fishy”. How would you feel? Would you let your kids go outside and play if your neighbor had armed bodyguards waiting on the street to quell an assassination attempt?
Since 1996, the sovereignty of the United States has been breached at least 200 times as Mexican soldiers; or drug smugglers dressed as Mexican soldiers, have aided and abetted drug smugglers. One incident in 2006 got a little bit of press, but then everyone forgot about it again. This incident happened about 50 miles east of El Paso near Sierra Blanca, Texas. My brother and I went duck hunting in that same area over Thanksgiving a few years ago. It’s desolate, and prime smuggling territory. The 2 Border Patrol agents who were imprisoned for doing their jobs, Ramos and Compean, saw their lives change forever not far from this very spot. Border Patrol agents, Texas State Troopers, County Sheriffs, Local Police Officers; all have been told to “avoid causing an International incident” and to be “delicate” while enforcing the laws of the United States. Is it any wonder these brave men and women question who has their backs when they get thrown in jail for doing their jobs? When they aren’t allowed to enforce the laws that they have sworn to uphold? To have those same laws turned against them while rights are granted to the criminals? I don’t think so.
The drugs that come across the border don’t stay in places like El Paso, Laredo, McAllen or San Diego; that is just the start of the journey. The drugs travel throughout the United States to New York, Chicago, Denver, Phoenix, Atlanta, Boston, Dallas, Miami and Memphis. In those cities you have dealers; when those dealers don’t pay, the Cartels come looking for their money. Phoenix is now the kidnapping capital of the United States, and is second only to Mexico City in number of kidnappings worldwide. There were over 370 kidnappings in Phoenix last year. In June of 2008 six men dressed in body armour and armed with automatic weapons invaded a home and killed the occupant; Andrew Williams. They fired over 100 rounds of ammunition into the house during the assault. They wanted to take on the police, but couldn’t because they ran out of ammo. It could have been the LA bank robbery all over again. There is suspicion that some of the assailants are or were members of the Mexican Military. Perhaps you remember the story of the little boy who was kidnapped by Mexican drug dealers in Las Vegas because his grandfather had stolen from the cartel. There are examples of this everywhere. Check the papers in your city; have you been paying attention to some of the things that are going on around you? I think it’s time we all pay a lot more attention.
The Off-Season
I’m getting all geared up to coach NukeBoy1’s flag football team again this year, and I’m wondering about the time commitment. Will I be able to spare the 1 hour a week needed for practice? Will the 2 hours spent in the sun on Sunday afternoon become too tedious? I’m toying with the options. I know that I’ll be spending hours in the film room dissecting opposing defenses. Recruitment is down this year, but I should have 3 returning starters from a team that went 4 and 4 last year. I think we’re poised for a run deep into the playoffs. My only hope is that I’ll be able to crush my nemesis; Coach Crow-Eater. I can’t wait to run up the score on him. Oh, wait, that’s right; we don’t keep score at the Y. That’s OK, the kids do. Here’s a short video for you to enjoy about another Coach who has his “priorities” straight. (?) You gotta love that Reggie Greengrass; he’s so insightful.
Tom Coughlin Retires From Family To Spend More Time With Team
Have Fun Storming The Castle
NukeBoy1 had a Social Studies project that required him to do a report on Medieval times. The choices were varied and they could choose weapons if they wanted. He chose catapults. We found some plans on-line and built a variation of the Onager catapult. This one was called; “The Troll”. We call it The Widow Maker. It took a re-design of the launch mechanism, but we finally got it to where it would work consistently without breaking rubber bands every launch. We upgraded it to surgical tubing like they use on “Wrist Rocket” slingshots. We will probably spend some more time on the launch arm and bucket also because the round bowl isn’t giving us the distance we feel we deserve. Anyway, here is a video for you to enjoy of the initial testing of The Widow Maker. With Obama’s promised defense budget cuts, we’re expecting to get lots of orders from the Pentagon.
If You Give A Hobo A Porkchop
The NukeKids have a myriad of children’s books; we’ve been accumulating them since NukeBoy1 was born. We’ve got most of the classics; Dr. Suess, Charlotte’s Web, Sarah Boynton, whose titles If You Give A Mouse A Cookie and If You Give A Pig A Pancake inspired the title of this post. Lately I’ve been relegated to the role of “Assistant Reader” for NukeGirl when she gets home from kindergarten. We aren’t up to the “classics” yet. We are stuck in rhyming and phonics land. We’ve been reading gripping novels such as; I Can Play, Who Can Win, I Am Fox (a scintillating tale of a juvenile member of the dog family trying desperately to stay out of a box and avoid wearing sox) and War And Peace. Don’t ask me how that got in there. We’ve had it 3 months and we’re on page 2. Maybe I’ll write her teacher a note. Pray for me, I have no idea what she’s bringing home today. I think I’ll go jab the corner of Stephen King’s Misery in my eyes; at least the rhyming will be more interesting.
Phished To Death
I guess some lessons have to be learned the hard way. This was hard. My computer melted down 2 days ago. Everything I tried to correct the virus problem I was being assaulted with failed. I had to call in the infantry. His name was Jaime. He spent 3 hours de-bugging my system on Thursday. We got back online and everything checked out fine. Once he was gone, the same problem popped up again. I had a pop up virus from “bestfreevirusscan”, or some such nonsense, that was throwing pop-up ads at me faster than Dax Shepard throwing groceries in Employee Of The Month.
Jaime showed up again this morning to do the dirty deed. He. Purged. My. Computer. Everything; totally gone. It’s like the day I bought it, but with 1/3 the software. It’s actually kind of nice, since I didn’t realize how much useless and old stuff I had on here. Did I really need to bookmark all of that? No, I didn’t. The problem is getting everything loaded back on. I rushed trying to get pictures, videos and documents saved to flash drives, CD’s, 8-tracks; anything I could find. I think I got most of it. If I didn’t; well, then I guess I didn’t need it that bad in the first place.
Whatever this thing was, it was buried deep. You may have read a few weeks ago that Microsoft was rushing out a patch for IE7 because they had found a “fatal flaw”. Well, the patch didn’t work so well. This thing hit me Tuesday morning and once it was in my system, it was over. I got all the way to system restore; but the system would freeze there. This thing won’t allow you to go back to an uncorrupted restore point. Your only option is to reinstall your operating system. Ouch. I was about 70% IE and about 30% Firefox before this happened; now? I’ll never open up IE again. Ever. It’s just not worth it. Too many ways in for the bad guys.
I did come across a few things while I was downloading like mad; one of them was this video. It’s from the summer and I figured all of my friends north of me could use a reminder of summer. Melisa will love it; that’s a given. Weaselmomma will wonder if 2 beagles can provide as much warmth as a fleece blanket (they can) and Karen will ponder the number of microbes that were exchanged in the last 5 seconds of the video. Even though he’s in Europe, Xbox will enjoy it as I believe he has become smitten with the NukeBeagles, judging from his comments; and Busy Dad will just wonder how many Newcastles he could put in their bowl before they get sleepy. I’m thinking 2 would do it. Take heart, all you frost-bitten bloggers; summer’s coming! Just not as fast as you’d like, unfortunately.
Subdued (a little) Gloating
This post is more an appeasement to WeaselMomma and her desire for a victory dance than it is a slight to Momo Fali and her Buckeyes. Let’s be real; if there had been 2 more minutes on the clock last night this might be a very different post. So; here is the victory dance for WeaselMomma. I hate this song, but it’s the only video I could find with Longhorn players dancing.
I also wanted to include this. It’s “The Eyes Of Texas”. This song has irritated many a carpetbagger over the years, so why quit now. The history of it can be found here.
The first line is actually missing from that clip. A true Longhorn fan can’t be expected to hold a cellphone camera and 2 Lone Star Longnecks at the same time; so I’ve included the lyrics below:
The Eyes of Texas are upon you,
All the live long day.
The Eyes of Texas are upon you,
You can not get away.
Do not think you can escape them,
At night, or early in the morn’.
The Eyes of Texas are upon you,
Till Gabriel blows his horn!
Next we have a picture that probably demonstrates the feelings of Momo, The State of Ohio, Ohio State Football fans and Texas haters everywhere:
And lastly, we have the only image that anyone needs to remember from last night. The image that will haunt OSU fans for years to come. THIS image:
What a game. I hope the National Championship game is as exciting as this one was. See you next year, Momo.
A Dream For Momo
Dear Momo,
Poor, sweet, delusional Momo. I know that you think your Buckeyes have a shot tonight, but I need to remind you of something. It’s after January 1st. Everyone knows that Ohio State can’t win football games in January. Well, the ones that count, anyway.
Don’t get too down, though; I want you to keep your dreams alive! You’ll still have a chance to win National Championships in Rhythmic Gymnastics, Air Rifle and Chess. All admirable trophies to add to your case. Even though this game isn’t for the National Championship, we all know that one of the teams should be playing for it. You know which team that is, right? The one that actually WINS them when they get there. That would be the Longhorns; in case you were confused.
See, they make those toilets in Texas too. Didn’t color the porcelain, though; that would be a waste of good dye. I look forward to your complete and total submission tomorrow when you are forced to post about the magnificence that is UT Longhorn football. You might want to start some research.
Curses! Foiled Again!
In this post for my sister Laura’s birthday I mentioned a box that a I had made in 7th grade shop class. I had traded her that box for her Kiss-Destroyer LP. I had plans to get it back, but she sold it to a friend of mine right under my nose and made a handsome profit. She called me this morning after reading the post for the first time (she was out of town) and after talking with her I realized that I had been out-smarted by her not once, but twice! Here’s some history.
The box you see pictured above was actually the first box I made. I had forgotten about this one. I brought this box home and immediately was offered some unbelievable sum for it by my brother. I don’t remember exactly how much, but it had to have been at least 5 dollars. In 1977, that was a fortune for a kid like me. I relented and held out for more. If he was willing to pay 5 dollars for it, surely he’d pay more? Like, say, $5.25? OK, so I wasn’t exactly Bill Gates, but I got more than 5 dollars for it. I think it was 5 dollars and a Bachman-Turner Overdrive album. After about 15 minutes, I had a change of heart and decided I wanted my box back. According to my brother, it was “too late” because I had “already listened to” the BTO album. Tears and gnashing of teeth did no good as Mom and Dad sided with Steve; “A deal’s a deal” they said. What a conspiracy!
Do you see the craftsmanship in that box? The smooth, un-mitered corners; the uneven stain for that “rustic” look; the outside mounted hinges that would keep all thieves who didn’t possess a screwdriver safely away from your treasure. Sure, it was a design flaw, but it was MY design flaw and I happily re-created it when I built my second box; the box that upon finishing would be in my possession for about 4 days before my sister and I worked out our box/album trade.
After failing to get the box back from my sister, the one she sold to my friend, I was undeterred. “I’ll just make another one!”, I told myself. When I got to shop class I was informed by my teacher; Mr. Kind (Ironic, isn’t it?) that; “This isn’t called ‘box’ class, NukeDad. If you want to make another box, do it at home. We’re working on jigsaw-puzzles until the end of the semester.” I was crushed. Since the 2nd box I had made was gone (sold) forever, my only option was to somehow get my first box back from Steve.
Before it was all said and done, I think I offered Steve more money than he had paid, my first born child and Doobie Brothers tickets and still never got that box back. When he moved to Dallas years later, I assumed he had taken the box with him. I was wrong. What should appear in my email in-box today but the pictures you see here: box number 1. In the possession of sister Laura. Outsmarted again. I don’t know what deal she and Steve had, but it was apparently better than concert tickets and a newborn.
Billion Dollar Baby Bills
You’d think that the Medical Gods would have shown some pity on us this week after the fun and excitement of last week. I guess I’m just an easy mark. That, or I’ve seriously pissed off somebody up there and they know that the flexible spending account has been zeroed out as we wait for January 1st to arrive so we can start getting sick before taxes again. NukeGirl stayed home from school today with the sniffles and a little cough; no big deal, right? We played Candyland until I almost fell into a diabetic coma. I have no doubt that if I had, NukeGirl would have found an insulin injection for me somewhere just so she could kick my butt one more time. Gramma Nut tripped me up a couple of times, but in the end it was Queen Frostine (along with NukeGirl’s double purple card draw) that did me in. She’s just too formidable of an opponent. NukeGirl, I mean; not Queen Frostine. She’s a pushover; just offer her some coffee cake and you can sneak right by her. I’m breaking out the Candyland Calculus Edition next time we play; let’s see NukeGirl beat me in that.
NukeGirl finally went down for a nap around 2:30. I was thankful that she was getting some rest. She hadn’t been running fever at all, and the sniffles and cough weren’t too bad; I thought she’d be well enough for school tomorrow. Until 4 o’clock came. I think 4 o’clock is now my new Friday the 13th Midnight Hour. All hell broke loose around here at 4 o’clock. I checked on NukeGirl and she had a red glow on her cheeks that wasn’t there 20 minutes before. I woke her up, took her temperature and saw 103.9. A good number for an FM Classic Rock station, not so much for a little girl. Right then NukeBoy1 comes in the room and says “Phoebe is bleeding all over the carpet”; Phoebe being the NukeBlackLab who has nails longer than Milli Vanilli’s Grammy reign. She somehow got one of them caught between boards on the deck or in the carpet, but either way, the carpet now looked like an Alice Cooper concert. She’d snapped it off almost at the base. Pedi-Paws was looking like a must have right about now. I told NukeBoy1 to get her outside and try not to slip on the blood. It was everywhere. I called the Vet and asked what I should use to try and stop the bleeding and they suggested flour. I tried it and succeeded in making Blood Pie. Not exactly the solution or dessert I was looking for. The bleeding had slowed and I had to get NukeGirl to the Doctor. Buddy and Penny (The NukeBeagles) had come over to comfort Phoebe, so I figured 3 dog tongues would provide enough coagulant until I could get back.
I piled the NukeKids in the car (it was now 4:21; Doctor’s office closes at 4:30), called the Doctor’s office to let them know we were on the way, then called NukeMom. She’d told me earlier in the day that she wished she could leave work a little early today. I granted her wish. She would meet me at the Doctor’s and take over with NukeGirl while I went back to the house to get Phoebe to the Vet. The wet towel on NukeGirl’s head had helped as her temp was manageable at 101.4 when the nurse temped her. That was a load off of my mind. NukeMom showed up and NukeBoy1 and I headed back to the house. I wasn’t expecting to see the opening scene from No Country For Old Men when I went on the back deck, but it was close. Phoebe had been pacing on the deck while we were gone and the bleeding hadn’t completely stopped. Everytime she put pressure on it, it would bleed. We did our best to gauze it up and put a plastic baggie around it. The deck now looks like the guest house garage floor at a Drug Lord’s house. Once we got to the Vet they got the bleeding to stop (mostly) and proceeded to trim the rest of Phoebe’s nails. Four of them began to bleed. “Do you own a carpet cleaning business on the side?” I wanted to ask her. My carpet problem had just gone from bad to you’re sleeping in the garage tonight, dog.
NukeGirl came home with a virus and no prescription. Of course. Had to be a virus, didn’t it? Couldn’t be a little dose of strep, or even an ear infection; something we could treat and destroy; no, it had to be a stay at home for 3 days monitoring this Devil-spike fever event. Again. Bob and his cronies are starting to rear their ugly heads again. Phoebe is resting comfortably on her bed in the linoleum sanctuary that is the laundry room. The receptionist at the Vet’s told me that it’s corn starch (write it down), not flour to use when a pet’s nail gets trimmed too close. She also told me that Rave hairspray will take the blood out of the carpet. I relayed the information to NukeMom from the Vet’s office and when I got home we had bloody carpets that smelled like a hair salon. I’ll try again tomorrow. After the carpet cleaning bill (we just had them done a month ago) today’s little adventure should put us over the $200 mark. Can’t wait to see what next week brings; maybe a foundation failure, or a water main break? I’ve still got checks left.
