Mr. Wrong

I think I’m going to be wrong today in my post. I’m hearing and reading too much about our government is responsible for this and that all over the nation and world that I’ve pretty much had it. So sit back and enjoy, because even good ‘ol Pat B hasn’t expressed it like this yet.
I just read about how an entire village (and I have to use the term ‘village’ – it lends to the idea of small and out of date) in Iraq decided it was a great idea to dance and parade the charred and smoking bodies of some folks that went too close. We don’t know who these poor souls were, but the media has a good idea that they were Americans, and probably journalists. Ok – mental note – cancel plans for family trip to Fallujah. I know we have some tree-hugging leftist bonefaces out there that think our presence in Iraq is all so wrong since we didn’t find any WMD. I personally sleep a little better that we didn’t. Saddam was way out of whack to start off with – now just imagine the possible state of things if he actually DID have something to drop on us infidels? But I digress. Bottom line - it’s a freakin SHAME we don’t do the right thing now and essentially take all the oil away from these sandpeople and leave them alone in their settlements to kill each other in the name of their god. Yes – I DO believe God is Greatest except I don’t chant this over someone I just personally returned to dust. If I didn’t have this personal aversion to getting shot at or more specifically I have no desire to kill anyone, lest I would be tempted to join the forces over yonder to put down this resistance to what? Oh, wait – they’re resisting the creation of personal freedoms they haven’t the capacity yet as homo sapiens to understand, never mind socially accept. Even if we don’t usurp the oil, let’s give the dems what they want and leave town in a cloud of dust. Of course – we’ll just get blamed by the rest of the world that we destroyed their precious country’s system and left them to rot. Personally – I can live with that. At least they’ll only be a danger to themselves now. And maybe – just MAYBE – some of the Islamofascist neighbors will think twice before screwing with Uncle Sam.
Blood for Oil. Whatever, hippie. Do us all a favor and stand by that statement and stop using oil products. Please don’t drive your VW bus on my roads, because it’s your sorry arse in my way when I’m trying to get somewhere to stimulate YOUR economy. Like the King once said, “I’d rather be angry than bored.” And boy – I’m not bored with writing this right now.
And while I know I’m probably oh-so-wrong in some of your eyes, enjoy this other piece of wrongness – or should I say – Wongness.

Idiot!

It never ceases to amaze me that I don’t have to go far or long to encounter idiocy. Even when I can’t get out of doors I put on a good enough effort of my own to produce some class action stupidity as well. The crank of it all is that I abhor having to deal with it, most of all my own. Of course, we all like dumb humorous things, how else would guys like Ben Stiller have such a career? But, when you get folks that are seriously TRYING to go about their life in general and are just plain in the way of human progress – we have a problem.
You know who I’m talking about. The miscreant that leaves their shopping cart completely in the middle of the aisle, the boneface that doesn’t turn off their blinker for twelve miles, the marketing schmuck that calls my house at 10:30 PM on Sunday night (that poor bastard had the balls to call again – I almost made the kid cry), the folks that are trying to grow crops in the desert (and we’re not talking about scientists here), the idget that had five miles to get into the right freakin lane before the toll or exit came up and now has to cut across six lanes to get where they have to, the person that thinks the “less than 10 items” checkout lane is their personal cashier, and maybe even every pop singer or actor/actress that attempts to say something intelligent or seem into a political opinion.
So what makes me want to post about the greater average of our surrounding community? Why not? Leave it to me to point out the obvious… Hey – send me your favorite idiot story or profile – I’ll compile them and post my results! “Paging Mr. Stupid… Mr. Stupid…”

LDBMCs

Folks – I never would have thought that something as simple as a snack cake could bring so much joy to my heart. It all started in the outskirts of that quaint village of Lake Placid, NY. The male clan makes its pilgrimage to the Ausable River each year in search of some fly fishing and over all a week of unabashed debauchery and idiocy. Good ‘ol Uncle Armand got us gents a great deal up there by locking in a low low rate for lodging and meals. Those meals included a stipend for a daily breakfast, a big ‘ol dinner and most particular to this story a bag lunch complete with sandwich, fruit and yup, you guessed it – a snack cake.
Now, this snack cake varied from day to day – but most usually it took the form of those oatmeal cookie and crème sandwiches. Most yummy. Of course, none of these guys were the dieting type so the cakes were instantly recognized as the work of our baking icon Little Debbie.
It is also common knowledge that the level of maturity is inversely proportional to the number of men gathered in one place. Since we had half a platoon of drinking bucks engaged in what was considered to be a “manly” activity, any mention of a female in any form was instantly degraded to simple perversion.
Enter poor Little Debbie. She never knew (and never will, thanks to simply being a corporate icon/logo) what abusive language and references she would endure from this gang of hooligans, and still does. I can’t pass by her shelf at Shop-Rite without adding the extra suggestive remark when saying her name. Poor Deb got caught in the middle of a male contest of wills and dander, as we all would taunt each other with the crudest of insults, and use whatever we had at our disposal as fuel for further displays of adolescent offences. With Little Debbie around, you can only imagine how she was put to service to meet the needs of our desires of achieving Alpha male status. Each one of her cakes were labeled forever onwards as a symbol of that day’s tomfoolery. Yes – they were now the Little Debbie Blow Me Cakes.
Go ahead – say it out loud. It’s so crude you might not get it right the first time. Of course – you ladies out there probably won’t be able to. It’s just not right. Guys – deep down you’re chuckling because it’s so stupid your y chromosome takes over and makes you laugh.
I gave the kids a LDBMC last night for dessert. The kids, just like poor Deb, are too innocent.

What Rich Thinks!

I told y’all it was a-comin’, and so there he is, my bro Rich, in all his prejudiced glory. Check out the right side of the page and you can see the little chrome dome with his special addition to Rants from Graceland with “What Rich Thinks”. I figure it was time to share with the world of how I might think that Rich perceives some topics, because man, sometimes it’s too good to keep to myself. I may rename the link at some future time to “The Tao of Rich” but we’ll see…
Those of you that are familiar with the ‘cuz should be quite excited about the new feature, as you all know how Rich stands for what he thinks is right. Granted – what’s right to Rich might not stroke some folks the right way, but that what makes it so great. I back the man 100%, so be warned, webcrawlers!

Brains...

Everybody loves Zombies. This might be due to the fact we ARE all zombies, or at least have been for a while at some point. It being Monday morning – I was a zombie four cups of cawfee ago. But what gets me writing is the headline I eyeballed. There is something inherently wrong with the mental picture attached to some brain-jonesing undead junky laying hands on good ‘ol JC.
But hey – zombies by far might have the right idea. Could you imagine existing as a zombie? “Sorry honey, but I can’t stay, I’ll pick up some eats on my way home…” Like a zombie would need anything in the way of home. It would seem all they exist for is to consume more and more brains… Eventually there might be a shortage. Then again – there probably is right now…

Family Ties...

So I’m Polish. You know it – kielbasa, pierogi, babka and all the jokes to fill volumes. Here comes the perk. Me and the Holy See are like, brothers. Cousins at LEAST.
Yup – good ‘ol PJPII solidifies my claim to the Throne of the True Prince of Warsaw. Click on my beanie wearin’ cuz to see for yerself.
I figure my relation to Karol is what has kept me from receiving Holy Wrath from all my past endeavors. I’m sure a few souls have petitioned the Big Man to lay down some brimstone on me – but no – I’ve got relations…
It takes some work on my part though. I gotta keep up the rep the fam has built up throughout the world. That means not getting caught. Not that I’m up to anything illicit enough worth the Weekly World News, but no need to tarnish PJ’s style… You all have to admit that Karol is one smooth cat, and he knows it. I mean – he practically IS history.
So next time y’all catch me out and about – let’s toast the cuz with a little Jez.

Game on...

Maybe my love for gaming has gone a little too far. I love board games, word games, puzzles, video games, RPG’s, and of course, a myriad of card games including the most majestic of all games – poker. But what sits me down for hours in fits of paradoxical exasperation and glee is that on-line shooter called Counter-Strike.
I personally blame one of my former customers for getting me hooked on this. Well – him and the brotherman’s then amazement and tortuous obsession with Half-Life. After I started playing I realized the only thing better than killing people on-line was killing peeps you know. Then rubbing it in their faces the next day. Joy.
Let’s take it further by getting the most obsessive people you know hooked on it, and letting them take it up several notches by creating an organization, no, a clan, who challenges the punks we find on the ether to mortal battle. Yeah – we’re there. We even have a nifty (if not masculine or threatening) name. We are the Purple i clan.
I’ll talk about the origins of the name another time. Some of y’all might know, or are a gun-totin’ member. All I can say is really we’re just a bunch of kids pretending to be adults by day. At least some of us pretend…
It might be tough gaming tonight since the ‘lil Bone has contracted the Ailment du Jour.

Erin go Blargh!

Folks – on this day of any other – you have to appreciate the power of drink. Yes, maybe I call the power of alcohol a little too often, but this is the DAY, man! St. Patrick didn’t just blow his bagpipes and lead the rats and kids and snakes out of Wonkaburg, he taught them all how to get the Lucky Charms, boil meat, and imbibe enough stout to make the boiled meat appealing. Maybe that’s why I have to call special attention to today’s Ailment du Jour. Then again, maybe it’s just that 90% of my friends are Irish today. Gotta go check on the boiling pot ‘o beef and cabbage. Sliente!

Bless My Soul...

Oh, man – I just couldn’t keep this action to myself. Ever since I almost drove off the road seeing one of these kinds of church signs, I’ve had a soft spot for “Holy Marketing” if you will.
Give it a click and enjoy this dude’s collection. And yes – when the goats are separated from the sheep, you’ll find me selling directional maps to the Lake of Fire.

Jolt!

Sometimes there is just TOO much to post about. Recent disappointments, that tight pain in my chest, political debacles, kid stuff, and of course – my personal favorite – food. Let’s get on the absolute importance of a subset of my favorite topic of food – coffee.
Java, brew, joe, jolt, juice, cawfee, mud – you get the idea. Man – I can’t live without the stuff. And I need it black, bitter, and Titan strong – just like my women. Well – not really. I like the women a little differently. Woman. Wife. Ok, bad analogy.
What? No milk, no sugar, no nothin’? You ain’t going for the lattes, cappuccinos, and other frothy milky permutations? Nope. I’ll take my espresso with a little lemon rind, please. Make it a double. What’s that, Ms. Waitress? No, hold the plastic cows – no need for them to clutter my saucer.
It’s been a LONG time since I liked my sugar with coffee and cream. Oh yeah – it used to be light ‘n sweet all the way. Then I got into High School, and I weaned off the moo juice. But I needed that sweet stuff. I added the cane all the way to a certain hung over Saturday morning at Rutgers…
My dehydrated compatriots had the energy to brew a fresh pot to revive our apartment’s living dead, and I was quite happy to receive a hot cup without having to leave the comfort of the recliner. Alas! Mein freund had forgotten the sugar! Upon requesting some granules, my cohabitants turned upon me, as they were java purists, taking it black as their cold evil hearts…
With fire in his eyes he returned with my sugar – all of it. He rained down the stuff in my mug like a frenzied bezerker – it had to be about twenty spoonfuls – and they made me drink it.
Since that dark morning – it’s just like Mom likes it…

Just ain't right...

Ok – it ain’t right. “I went to this fight, and a hockey game broke out…”
Whatever, you hockey noob. I love hockey. I mean – I LOVE it. I can watch games at two in morning when the teams are as far from local interest as the price of figs at a New Delhi market. Watching it on teevee ticks me off since I want to look at other things than what Mr. Cameraman is zooming in on, like the defense formations and who the coach is yelling at and who’s cherry-picking at the red line…
Then – something idiotic happens. Yeah – I’m talking about Bertuzzi. I loved watching this guy play. If your lunch and him went into the corner together – you’re officially on a diet. If he wasn’t smacking you around, he was burning you on his way to your net with the biscuit. Simply a marvel, especially on the line with the other master, Naslund. Looks like he had some anger management problems.
I can’t defend his actions here. He deserves everything the NHL throws at him, and maybe even local authorities in terms of criminal charges. I believe in fighting in the NHL, but not this stuff. This wasn’t fighting, and it was WAY beyond paybacks for going after your star player.
This won’t keep me from loving the game, nor will I stop condoning fighting. Let’s see what the “authorities” do here and let’s build from it. More importantly – let’s all hope Moore comes out of this ok.

Amazing!

Ok – just when you think that all might be peachy-dandy in the world, something wacko happens and you have to start second guessing everything. The best part is that it doesn’t have to be life altering, like surviving a bear mauling or having a safe fall next to you on the sidewalk. I’m talking about reading a small headline that makes you think.
Sorry reader – I used the five-letter word – think. It’s hard for a lot of us these days but I’m out on the limb already and there’s no going back now, so…
I read this quick update on the Mars action, and what would you know – they got a rock.
Literally. Seems they can’t drill into some rock they rolled up to. Couldn’t even scratch the surface.
Of course – this made me flash to almost every sci-fi flick I’ve ever seen, since the “scientist” tries to analyze the alien substance and it’s ALWAYS something he/she has never encountered and is neigh invulnerable. Much like the Tick.
“Oh, now we’ve done it…” I say to myself… "We’ve gone too far this time. We’ve found God’s Play-Doh and He’s gonna slap our hands for messing with His stuff…"
That’s right – and you left-wing idgets thought the space program is/was a big waste of tax pesos, well – you’re WRONG. We found the hardest substance in the universe and our propellerheads are gonna mass produce it into everything we all need not to break. Coming soon to a Wal-Mart near you – indestructible toothbrushes and toothpicks and shopping carts (which you don’t have to worry about smashing your SUV, since THAT’s armored, too) and RC cars with their own black boxes (you know kids love to drive them off cliffs) and flatware and plates and by golly buildings and roads and churches that will never fall. Well – maybe not churches since we DO have hindsight here, folks…
You catch my drift.
Alas – ‘tis all fantasy since the jetnerd forgot to carry the one.

Worryin'...

Ok – I’m worried. Maybe even a little upset. But what about, Mr. Blogman? The future of the NHL.Well, maybe not just the NHL. Let’s throw in the economy, my job security, job path towards might be called a career, personal relationships – friends AND family, our uniforms out taking fire from the Islamofascists, the GOP, the evil left side, not knowing what the big deal is over gay marriages, modern music, my lack of education, my kids’ future education, reality teevee shows, my complete ignorance of fashion style, my obsession with food, American beer, the stability of my pc, rebuilding the kids’ pc, the lack of maintenance on my car, the necessity for some serious landscaping, admitting to loving the Harry Potter books, what ailment my wife will diagnose next, insurance rates, taxes, religion (let’s not even start here), my lack of exercising, blood pressure, Girl Scouts, soccer coaching, data security policies, fly fishing, deck repair, water filtering, that eventual first date, drugs, new glasses, parents’ longevity, contracts, cell plans, the Mars mission, government “intelligence”, traffic, deep water, sewer grates, fad diets, my missing patience, and maybe the volume of the voices in my head.
Needless to say – I’m thinking about a lot these days. I miss the good ‘ol days when all I thought about was sex. And beer. And food.

Cirque de Pain...

Every so often something occurs that causes you to do a double-take, to make sure what just happened really did. I had one of those the other night on my trek home.
While radio-surfing, I paused to listen to a current traffic report, as if it would help me choose other than the one way I travel. 30 minute delay here, backup there, accident here, and delays due to the moving of circus animals.

Um, say again?
Now I didn’t think I heard that one right. So my surfing was darn right frantic to hear another traffic update. Sure enough, about five minutes later – there it was again – delays caused by the moving of circus animals.
I knew the circus was in town. My dear sis-in-law was taking the first born to the Big Top. But the mental imagery of the possible pandemonium caused by the wild beasts let loose on the highways of East Rutherford… glorious.
Think of it – elephants illegally parking at the Candlewyck so the trainers can go to Shakers Lounge… monkeys tearing Steve’s Sizzling Steaks apart… lions and tigers mauling fake knights at Medieval Times… bears placing bets and sipping coladas at the Pegasus…
The possibilities kept the brain-bone working ‘til I got home – to my own circus.

Exodus 20:4-5

Go ahead check it out, according to King James. We’re talking False Idols!

Uh-oh…We all have our idols – whether we realize it or not. I was reminded of this today by the first born. Her carved image was that of the teevee. ...

You see – our aging and creaking Swede Björn entertainment unit was about to fail. Thus – we ordered anew, and today it was to be delivered. To make way for the unit, the old had to be disposed of, resulting in an empty space where the child’s beloved once rested.
Needless to say – the child broke down in biblical agony upon the morning discovery of its disappearance. Alas – the pain didn’t last, as with any young person, the attention span is only slightly longer than the lifespan of a tsetse fly, and she was happily bounding about in the newfound space. Amazing turnaround, only to turn yet again when the teevee was discovered lying about in the other room, dark and lifeless. “Why, Daddy, WHY?!?” Back to the tears, bereft of her soul’s companion.
JUST when I was thinking I was doing a decent job at the parent thing. Drat.

Fork You...

I love the fork. It’s really as simple as that. I love it so much that I have difficulty eating anything without one. A few of you out there are nodding your heads right now saying to yourself, “yeah – he IS odd like that” and maybe I am borderline OCD but I NEED the fork.

It’s gotta be like my mealtime security blanket. With the fork in hand – I can handle anything from the Colonel’s Extra Greasy to a Fuddrucker’s half-pounder. Sandwich and platters alike – you need a fork. What’s that? The sandwich is a two-hander? No problem. Cut the bugger in half and don the fork.
“Why fork?” The main reason we use a fork nowadays is either to not burn our fingers on warm food, or simply be a little more civilized than our Middle Ages knife and spoon predecessors. Me? I use it to keep at least one hand clean.
“Why keep one hand clean? Is this topic getting kinky?” No. It’s simple. You have a drink, right? If you’re slobbing it up and you need to take a swig of that nice cold root beer – you don’t want to slime up your glass. You’ll just get your hand dirty again when you take your next drink. Bummer. Also – suppose you’re chowing down and you spot Lisa Marie over by the raw bar. It would be bad taste to have a flavored handshake after you drop everything to go run and meet her.
How about to simply answer the phone? Yeah – you WANT BBQ sauce on yer brand new Motorola…
Use the fork… Love the fork…