The Pie Hole

Failure Tastes Like Pie

2009-03-31T14:14:00.005-04:00

What the hell. I have been diagnosed with CANCER, they canceled my deployment, and you guys can't even post on here? Sorry if my excuse is lame and hate me if you like, but damn, Justin counted on all of us to help out. Woot woot! Love ya'll.

Goodbye Piehole

2009-03-19T22:57:00.002-04:00

Hello and goodbye. Gots to go play Army for a while. Its been fun. Just plagiarize what I have written and posted so far and make it a book. You won't find better reading. Maybe if I have some time on the flipside you all will get to enjoy my writing again. And by you all, I mean the 2 people who read this blog.

My Bracket

2009-03-15T23:27:00.001-04:00

I am not saying too much in this one, but I am posting my picks from beginning to end.

Let's see how close I am in the end!

Let's Go Pitt!

Yet another reason you aren't as good as me?

2009-03-14T16:05:00.003-04:00

This is just getting old. It seems like every time we have this chat, you are lesser and lesser the human being I am. What's the reason why?

Of course, this is WHY: THE GREATEST THING I DID TODAY THAT YOU (AGAIN) DID NOT.

Heart,

Ed

'The Axis of Idiots'....

2009-03-12T10:42:00.006-04:00

I'm not as creative as some that post on here so I'm sharing this email that I got today from a friend...this was written by a retired Marine and I found it quite interesting, but I'm sure some will disagree!

'THE Axis of Idiots'

Jimmy Carter, you are the father of the Islamic Nazi movement.. You threw the Shah under the bus, welcomed the Ayatollah home, and then lacked the spine to confront the terrorists when they took our embassy and our people hostage. You're the runner-in-chief.

Bill Clinton, you played ring around the Lewinsky while the terrorists were at war with us. You got us into a fight with them in Somalia and then you ran from it. Your weak-willed responses to the U.S.S. Cole and the First Trade Center Bombing and Our Embassy Bombings emboldened the killers. Each time you failed to respond adequately, they grew bolder, until 9/11/2001.

John Kerry, dishonesty is your most prominent attribute. You lied about American Soldiers in Vietnam . Your military service, like your life, is more fiction than fact. You've accused our military of terrorizing women and children in Iraq . You called Iraq the wrong war, wrong place, wrong time, the same words you used to describe Vietnam . You're a fake. You want to run from Iraq and abandon the Iraqis to murderers just as you did to the Vietnamese. Iraq, like Vietnam, is another war that you were for, before you were against it.

John Murtha, you said our military was broken. You said we can't win militarily in Iraq . You accused United States Marines of cold-blooded murder without proof and said we should redeploy to Okinawa . Okinawa , John ? And the Democrats call you their military expert! Are you sure you didn't suffer a traumatic brain injury while you were off building your war hero resume? You're a sad, pitiable, corrupt and washed up politician. You're not a Marine, sir. You wouldn't amount to a good pimple on a real Marine's butt. You're a phony and a disgrace.
Run away, John .

Dick Durbin, you accused our Soldiers at Guantanamo of being Nazis, tenders of Soviet style gulags and as bad as the regime of Pol Pot , who murdered two million of his own people after your party abandoned Southeast Asia to the Communists. Now you want to abandon the Iraqis to the same fate. History was not a good teacher for you, was it? Lord help us! See Dick run.

Ted Kennedy, for days on end you held poster-sized pictures from Abu Ghraib in front of any available television camera. Al Jazeera quoted you saying that Iraqi's torture chambers were open under new management. Did you see the news, Teddy? The Islamic Nazis demonstrated another beheading for you. If you truly supported our troops, you'd show the world poster-sized pictures of that atrocity and demand the annihilation of it. Your legislation stripping support from the South Vietnamese led to a communist victory there. You're a bloated, drunken fool bent on repeating the same historical blunder that turned freedom-seeking people over to homicidal, genoc idal maniacs. To paraphrase Jo hn Murtha, all while sitting on your wide, gin-soaked rear-end in Washington.

Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid, Carl Levine, Barbara Boxer, Diane Feinstein, Russ Feingold, Hillary Clinton, Pat Leahy, Barack Obama, Chuck Schumer, the Hollywood Leftist morons, et al, ad nauseam: Every time you stand in front of television cameras and broadcast to the Islamic Nazis that we went to war because our President lied, that the war is wrong and our Soldiers are torturers, that we should leave Iraq , you give the Islamic butchers - the same ones that tortured and mutilated American Soldiers - cause to think that we'll run away again, and all they have to do is hang on a little longer. It is inevitable that we, the infidels, will have to defeat the Islamic jihadists. Better to do it now on their turf, than later on ours after they have gained both strength and momentum.

American news media, the New York Times particularly: Each time you publish stories about national defense secrets and our intelligence gathering methods, you become one united with the sub-human pieces of camel dung that torture and mutilate the bodies of American Soldiers. You can't strike up the courage to publish cartoons, but you can help Al Qaeda destroy my country. Actually, you are more dangerous to us than Al Qaeda is. Think about that each time you face Mecca to admire your Pulitzer. You are America 's 'AXIS OF IDIOTS.' Your Collective Stupidity will destroy us. Self-serving politics and terrorist-abetting news scoops are more important to you than our national security or the lives of innocent civilians and Soldiers. It bothers you that defending ourselves gets in the way of your elitist sport of politics and your ignorant editorializing. There is as much blood on your hands as is on the hands of murdering terrorists. Don't ever doubt that. Your frolics will only serve to extend this war as they extended Vietnam. If you want our Soldiers home as you claim, knock off the crap and try supporting your country ahead of supporting your silly political aims and aiding our enemies. Yes, I'm questioning your patriotism. Your loyalty ends with self. I'm also questioning why you're stealing air that decent Americans could be breathing. You don't deserve the protection of our men and women in uniform. You need to run away from this war, this country. Leave the war to the people who have the will to see it through and the country to people who are willing to defend it.

Our country has two enemies: Those who want to destroy us from the outside and those who attempt it from within.

Semper Fi,
J. D. Pendry - Sergeant Major, USMC, Retired
"The strength of America is not found in our government. It is found in the compassionate hearts and enterprising spirit of our citizens." -Bobby Jindal

The Best Party Ever...Until The Next One

2009-03-03T22:50:00.012-05:00

I remember the days in my life when all I knew of parties was that you threw one whenever someone had a birthday. Invite some of friends over, have cake and ice cream, open some presents, and play some games. I do not recall at that time seeing people running through the house naked, friends passed out in the hallway, or a kiddie pool filled with Jello. Who could ever hate Jello? For some reason, it appears that there is nothing like a house party to bring together the people of the world. In that regard, it ranks up there with the Olympics, McDonalds, and War Crimes Tribunals.
However, there is nothing else quite like a house party (apparently there are even campus guides at universities covering the matter), especially if you are the one throwing it, which can bring down the value of a house. If you have never thrown one, then you will never know the true elation of finding a window screen ripped apart, discovering mysterious stains on your carpet and walls, and of course the crater left over from the backyard bonfire which includes among many other remnants: broken glass bottles, charred articles of clothing, and that lamp your mother-in-law said would look great in the living room. There is no denying that hindsight would caution you never to throw another house party again. Alas, the weekend is coming and you really don’t feel like going out. So let’s break down the anatomy of throwing a house party. Now remember I didn’t say throwing a “successful” house party, as there is really no true metric to measure success with these things, other than friend feedback the next day. Then again, whoever has the best time wins. But let’s get down to it, shall we?

The plan is simple. Let’s get as many people together with as much alcohol as possible and meet at my place. Well that was pretty easy now wasn’t it? Blog post complete. Credits roll. So let’s say you are planning the party for Saturday night and today is Wednesday. Plenty of time to get everything together that you need. You start calling all your friends a couple days in advance. After I taught you about planning more betterly America you know what you are getting into but still it looks like things will be ok. You make the calls, tell your buddies to invite their buddies, so on and so forth. One of your friends suggests making it a theme party. Wow, great idea mouth breather. A theme party. Nothing brings the troubled masses together quite like a theme party. Because showing up isn’t as fun if you aren’t in some stupid costume. Usually the conversation goes something like, “Dude, Ed, I think it would be cool if we all came dressed up as our favorite character from ‘Lord of the Rings’ oh hell yeah!” After you say no, you immediately slam down the phone wondering why you have friends like that and begin to question their sexual preference. Now reader, I have nothing against stuff like that and I am sure by now you are a Level 56 Beastlord Elf Mage in World of Warcraft, but those kinds of parties are best left at pizza joints, back parking lots of your old high school, and the basement of your mom’s house that you still live in. Loser. But I digress. Back to planning the party. Other than having alcohol, party people want to be entertained. So instead of hiring a creepy clown that seemed quite appropriate for your birthdays as a kid, you gotta have something that provides guests something to gravitate towards.

Kegs work. Why do they work? Keg stands, that’s why kemosabe. Brilliant. Since drinking beer is just so damn boring, let’s grab somebody by their legs, flip them upside down and have them drink beer this way. Better yet, let’s count the seconds out loud so we create an atmosphere of competition. Awesomeness. You now have a gathering or intoxicated people and if there are any guys around that have a pair, they cannot easily dismiss the challenge of “outlasting” someone on a keg stand. Ever try to chug really cold beer? Yeah after a few seconds the numbing effect feels like you are swallowing pieces of frozen North Pole glaciers. But hey, you don’t wanna not do a keg stand. I mean who wants to be known as the dude who was too afraid of doing a keg stand? Probably the same dude who breast fed until he was 14 and an pees his pants every time a good looking girl talks to him. Funny thing is, I bet you know somebody like that. You sir, step away from that mirror let’s not get into too deep thought or reflection here. Your self-esteem is YOUR problem, not mine.

Ok, so the keg is easy entertainment. Along with that, two words can ring through the ears of most party-goers as a call to arms, “SHOT TIME!” Yes yes, lets all ingest some 120 proof elixir of death straight up. As my buddy TJ would say, “I put the penis in happiness!” and I would say shots put the “let’s get fucked up really fast” in the “oh my God, what the hell did I do last night?”. Parties are good at bringing people together, heck that’s the point and honestly why not accelerate things with a few shots of liquid coma together? Well a downside is that if you are like me you have a particular brand or shot you refuse to do. Mine is tequila. I hate you tequila. OH-MY-GOD I hate you so much. I hate you like that old chick on the airplane I wrote about before. I hate tequila so much I would much rather masturbate with a cheese grater than do a shot of it. Actually, there are no words in my lexicon that can justly describe my emotional hatred for tequila. Thus, I could only diminish the power of such an emotion by assigning words to it. If I saw tequila getting gang-raped in a dark back alley, I would join in, high five everyone around me, slap tequila across the face take a dump on its chest and then run off clicking my heels as I jump in the air proclaiming, “Ha ha tequila, that was for all the times you fucked me you sorry sack of shit!”. But of course as soon as I say that, what is the first shot of? Thaaaaat’s right sports fans, my good old Mexican nemesis. I abhor you. Can’t Homeland Security do something to curb the import of such a heinous vomit inducing liquid into these United States? And just like that, the shot is poured. No turning back now. You take the shot. You say something to the effect of, “I just died a little on the inside” or “fuck that shit”. You begin to question if the people at this party are patronizing your existence, how you will get home, and of course how that fat chick you saw earlier somehow just got hotter.

Ok, so it appears planning this party wasn’t so tough and things seem to be going great. Keg stands and shots. All is well in Pleasantville. That is until the unmistakable sound of a glass breaking pierces your ears. But really what did you expect? Alcohol will do that, of course. So, go with plastic. In fact, pad your entire house, tape up the windows as if you were preparing for a hurricane or impending nuclear war, and put the safety thingies in the wall outlets that keep kids from electrocuting themselves. You can never be too cautious. Remember, a hangover will last only until tomorrow, but the calamity that could consume your house and cause irreparable damage, will last much longer.

Ok, we covered some party safety. I feel good now. But what else. What else happens when you get drunk dudes and chicks together at a party? Well unless you are hosting the Westminster Guild of Eunuchs there will be some sexy time brewing. Leave your inhibitions at the door and wipe your feet. Everyone, regardless if they deny it or not, is doing some fashion of hook-up math at a party. The selection process goes something like this:
9pm: Hmm there are a couple of pretty good looking chicks here
10pm: I thought she was married, no ring though, oh well
11pm: Wow, her boobs are HUGE…with the lights off that could work
12am: I hate tequila, wait wait is that girl crying? I see joyous opportunity seeping from those tears of sorrow
1am: Her, her, her, and her. Wait, isn’t she 40 or something with herpes to boot? Man, screw it.
2am: You there! Coming out of the bathroom after taking a massive dump, yes, you’ll do just nicely
3am: Grunt, grunt, must have woman
3:05am: Pass out next to her. Will you wakeup in a bed of your own piss and vomit? Ohhh boy who knows! Exciting times fellow countrymen!

Ok so taking the above into account, your place better have some spare rooms, an attic, a broom closet, or a dark area under the coffee table to accommodate these guests and the acts they will inevitably engage in. Oh yeah, you’ll want to Febreeze/Lysol/burn your futon the next morning too chief.

Ok, those are some of the basic party considerations for you. But by all means, use your imagination, some of the best parties I have gone to have involved much of the above. If all else fails, just get a clown you fucking loser. In fact, here is the one you will probably invite for your next sucky party.

Why (STILL) aren't you as good as me?

2009-03-03T21:25:00.002-05:00

This is WHY: THE GREATEST THING I DID TODAY THAT YOU (AGAIN) DID NOT.

Pretty easy answer. Glad we keep having this chat. Some of you say its just a video game and not real life, to that I say, your momma.

Heart,
Ed

Why aren't you as good as me?

2009-02-27T00:40:00.002-05:00

This is WHY: THE GREATEST THING I DID TODAY THAT YOU DID NOT DO

Pretty easy answer. Glad we had this chat.

Heart,
Ed

Happy Birthday

2009-02-25T17:22:00.001-05:00

Well, from the Piehole Blog to its creator, happy birthday Justin. Hope your 30th is a blast. You're halfway to 60...congrats old man!

Violation of urinal/stall selection and noise pollution

2009-02-22T07:42:00.004-05:00

Having a lifelong fear of public restrooms, joining the Army has made it nearly impossible to avoid using them. Without any formal training, I knew the basic principles of bathroom etiquette and followed them religiously. So this is my story of my first encounter with the ultimate rule breaker.

I was at AIT in good old San Angelo, Texas. It was after lunch, and due to the high quality food at the DFAC, I could not wait until school was over...so I made the long walk to the bathroom. Slowly opening the door, my prayers were answered when I realized that the room was empty. There were three urinals and four stalls against the wall. I required the use of a stall and made the decision to choose one at the end naturally, decreasing my chances of having someone sit next to me. As I was getting ready to "drop the kids off at the pool", I heard the dreaded sound of the bathroom door opening. While I was annoyed, I knew that no one in their right mind would use the stall next to me, as I had left to viable options at the other end. But some asshole, with a complete disregard for "rules" barges into the stall next to me, hastily sits down and "lets loose the Kraken". With as much noise as possible and unnecessary grunting, this person quickly does their business and exits the bathroom. Needless to say I was extremely pissed. I finished my business and returned to class to tell Murphy the story, as I knew he also believed in the "rules".

While I tell the story, he is clearly amused not only at my retelling of the tale, but how pissed I was....his only response, " IT WAS ME"!!!

Damn you Murphy...that day will forever haunt me.

F the Steelers and F Pennsylvania (The third largest state)

Tattoos! Tattoos! Tattoos!

2009-02-20T14:53:00.009-05:00

I know I haven't been writing much, but I have been doing other "important" things. Not really, but I tried. Honestly, I have been concentrating on my primary blog, Everything Pittsburgh, because I figured that with all these schmucks listed as authors, someone other than Ed and I would write. We have a couple takers, but not nearly what Ed and I were hoping for. Maybe that will change in the near future, who knows. Ok, onto better things.

Tattoos.

I want to see everyone's tattoos. I want every reader that sees this post to submit a picture or two, depending on how many they have, to this site. If you can't post them here, then send them to me and I will.

the.pie.hole.1979@gmail.com

We can have a whole section dedicated to tattoos.

I will start by putting mine up and its meaning:

Neart, Gra, agus Onoir- Strength, Love, and Honor in Celtic. Obviously, I am Irish!

Now it is your turn...Submit them!

Some enjoyable videos for you

2009-02-20T00:26:00.007-05:00

So, in a quest to shorten my posts, I will post some videos for your entertainment. That is, instead of boring you with my far superior ability to write amazing tales and the fact that nobody reads this shit anyway. So enjoy the videos you lazy piece of crap.

The first one is about a dog. Not just any dog, but the Chuck Norris of dogs. What an awesome story. Right? Do you own a dog? Can he or she do this? If not then you may want to question his or her loyalty. I mean do dogs only do this for other dogs?

This next video should demonstrate with compelling evidence that certain dumb people should not be allowed to drive. If you fall in that category, so be it. I like the one with the Mini-Cooper. You could almost scream at your computer, "you idiot!" Its ok, if you do it. I don't mind.

This last video is actually kinda disturbing. But hey life throws you curveballs when you least expect it. So I guess the moral of the story is to never let your guard down, even when you let your pants down.

Ok that's it. Thanks for reading and viewing. See now that wasn't so bad. Ya'll come back now ya hear!

And you thought you were struggling???....

2009-02-17T11:03:00.003-05:00

A long time ago, in a land far, far away…okay really it was just a few weeks ago in Pocatello, Idaho…there was a young chap who thought to himself, “Boy, I’d sure like to go snowmobiling today!” There was just two teensy, weensy problems…1. No truck 2. No trailer for the snowmobile! How on earth were they going to get to the glorious snow covered mountains you ask? Don’t ask me HOW they did it (my mind says it was a couple of big, buff dudes with greased up chests), I can, however, tell you WHY they did it…because desperate times call for desperate measures (or so they say) and well, at some point in your life you come to the realization that all you are ever going to be is a country redneck in po-dunk Idaho, so why not act like it! I know the economy is bad right now, but these people had some pretty heavy budget cuts in their household! I hang my head in shame that this was spotted only a few blocks from my house! YIKES!!

If you look hard enough you can see the box on the trunk holding up the tailend! A-freakin-MAZING!

Understanding Non-Verbal Communication and Facial Expressions

2009-02-16T17:07:00.019-05:00

For many years I have been fascinated by how non-verbal communication, and furthermore facial expressions, can really tell you a lot about people. Even if those people are talking to you and saying something completely to the contrary. But in practice, observing strangers from a distance (not stalking you sick fucks, just people-watching in the mall maybe) is a pretty good way to hone your skills of understanding and recognizing non-verbal communication. For example, the next time you are in a public place and see a girl and a guy together... if you notice that the girl's feet are crossed at the ankles subtly swaying back in forth under the table, it is a likely chance she is relaxed or comfortable around the guy. Twisting back and forth in a chair (think of an office chair) while talking is also a pretty solid sign that a person is comfortable or really in to the conversation. Additionally, and in regards to facial expressions, some experts say excessive blinking is a sign of untruthfulness or nervousness in a setting. Of course it could just be a nervous twitch. Anyhow, let's get into some pictorial examples shall we? Indeed we shall.

The above is a great example of content. It is clearly evident by the man's expression in the picture that he is content with his lot in life. He is also in a seated position, likely indicating that while he might be at work, he is hardly being over-worked. Since the photo isn't zoomed in too closely, it is really hard to get a good look at his eyes, but if the picture could talk it would say, "yeah I'm a pretty happy fucking camper".

Now here is a great example of astonishment. The young man pictured is definitely in amazement that something he has eaten or will eat may possibly taste like a relative of his. What can be deceiving is that this picture is used in an advertisement for what appears to be an edible product. Many times advertisers would like you to believe something about the product based on what the label shows you. However, many of the retards in America have bought whole cans of Crisco, only to find out there is indeed, no fried fucking chicken leg inside.

This is a tough one, but a great example of openness. His face is actually quite readable, even taking in account he is wearing shaded spectacles. He is actually trying to play it cool but underneath is a man ready to openly share his talents and feelings with the world. He is definitely going places and you wanna meet people like him. Don't let the helmet throw you off, he is also a man who fears very little. He also appears to work well with his hands and is not easily distracted by semi-transparent floating bar charts.

Here we sample a picture from the moving picture technology known as the television. Normally, the people pictured on these television "broadcasts" have varying and sometimes well-rehearsed false facial expressions. However, in this case the man is certainly excited. It is hard to tell what the excitement exactly involves, but quite possibly given what appears to be his profession forecasting the weather, he appears excited that he is predicting something big that some people may experience in the future. Given the time frame provided on the photo, it appears that his excitement may also be associated with activities people may engage in at midnight on a Saturday. Such as playing their favorite board game, Apples-to-Apples.

The eyes searching, eyebrows slanted upwards , mouth agape, and hands in the air are tell-tale sign that the subject in the picture is in the groove and about to do the Humpty Dance. He also appears to like his oatmeal lumpy. What is going on off the camera is unknown, but likely given the surroundings and the white shirt the subject is wearing it is apparent that someone else in the room is limping to the side like their leg was broken, shakin' and twitchin' kinda like they were smokin'. Crazy wack funky indeed.

Here we have another picture from the television. Again, very tough. However, the slightly raised eyebrows, pursed lip with mouth open just a little, and tilted head show the man is quite confident. It also appears it is trying to tell us something. Maybe he is trying to tell us that the temperature tonight will be in the low forties or that the time on the clock reads the same forward as it does backwards. Spooky huh? Wait, I think I once wrote a story about stuff like that in Plan More Betterly America.

This woman is an idiot.

This one is actually the easiest of all the pictures. This man is conceded. If you look really closely, one side of his mouth is dimpled in. As conceit is the only human emotion/feeling that is displayed unilaterally on the human face (Educational Follow Up: anger, fear, happiness, deceit, uncertainty, etcetera are normally display on both sides of the face and are bilateral in nature), the dimpling by the corner of his mouth lets us know he is a stuck up son of a bitch. He is probably trying to tell us that he is head-and-shoulders smarter than us as he saved money by not buying a protective mask to filter out the toxic fumes he is undoubtedly working around and instead used a readily available household product. Yes, he may have gotten the best of us all today, but karma's a bitch.

This is me. I am awesome and you didn't really need a picture of me DOMINATING Rock Band on the drums to know this.

Well, I hope we all learned a little something today about non-verbal communication and facial expressions. If not, try reading some or all of my other postings on this blog. If nothing else you will learn that I am smarter, funnier, and better than you. And by all accounts, that is something we all should learn at sometime in life. Toodles.

Heart,

Fan on Game Day

2009-02-15T16:13:00.005-05:00

So I am feeling tired today and dually lacking the inspiration to write my own stuff. So below is a pretty funny story. I have kept it in its original format, so now links/pictures/videos that I usually include with my postings. I guess the dude is a Texas fan. A team I don't really follow too much, since the SEC remains the only interesting football conference to watch. The story is actually from ten years ago, but a decade later and it is still pretty funny. So I guess sit back and enjoy. Maybe I won't be lazy later this week and actually write some of my own material.

Story goes:

---
This is an e-mail from some guy named J.D. Horne, he sent it to his friend Brian Brice and it got forwarded around the country.

A chronology of events for Saturday, December 4, 1999, and the early
Morning hours of Sunday, December 5, 1999:

6:00 Arise, play the Eyes of Texas and Texas Fight at full-freaking blast

6:20 Get in car, drive to New Braunfels

7:30 Tee off (me and a buddy were the FIRST tee-time of the morning)

8:50 Turn 9 (crack open first beer)

8:53 Crack open second beer

8:58 Crack open...(you get the idea)

10:30 Finish 18 (holes, as well as beers), sign scorecard for smoooooth
95.

10:35 Headed for San Antonio (Alamodome - Nebraska vs Texas)

10:50 Buy three 18-packs for pre- and post-game festivities

11:10 We decide we don't have enough booze, so we double-back to a liquor store and buy the good ol' 750 ml plastic bottle "Traveler" Jim Beam

11:50 Arrive at the tailgate spot. Awesome day. Not a single cloud in the sky. About 70 degrees.

11:55 I decide that we're going to kick the shit out of Nebraska.

11:56 I tell my first Nebraska fan to go fuck himself.

12:15 The UT band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. We're on the
Second floor of a two-story parking garage on the corner (a couple hundred of us). We're hooting and hollering like wildmen. The band doubles back to the street right below us and serenades us with Texas Fight and The Eyes of Texas. AWESOME MOMENT.

12:25 In the post-serenade serendipity, 50-100 grown men are bumping
Chests with one another, each and every one of them now secure and certain of the fact that we are going to kick the shit out of Nebraska.

1:00 The Nebraska band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. Again, we
Hoot and holler like wildmen. Again, the band doubles back and stops right below us to serenade us, this time, however, with the Nebraska fight songs. Although somewhat impressed by their spirit and verve, we remain convinced that we are going to kick the shit out of Nebraska.

1:30 I begin the walk to the Alamodome, somehow managing to stuff the
"Traveler" and 11 cans of beer into my pants.

1:47 I am in line surrounded by Nebraska fans. They are taunting me. I am taunting back, still certain that we are going to kick the shit out of Nebraska. I decide to challenge a particularly vocal Nebraska fan to play what I now call and will forever be remembered as Cell-Phone Flop Out." Remember flop out for a dollar? The rules are similar. I tell this Nebraska jackass that if he's so confident in his team, he should "flop out" his cell phone RIGHT NOW and make plane reservations to Phoenix for the Fiesta Bowl. And then I spoke these memorable words: "And not those damn refundable tickets, either! You request those non-refundable, non-transferrable sons-of-bitches!" He backs down. He is unworthy. I call Southwest Airlines and buy two tickets to Phoenix, non-refundable and non-transferrable. Price: $712. He is humbled. He lowers his head in shame. I raise my cell phone in triumph to the cheers of hundreds of Texas fans. I am KING and these are my subjects. I distribute the 11 beers in my pants to the cheering masses. I RULE the pre-game kingdom.

2:34 Kickoff. Brimming with confidence, I open the Traveler and pour my first stiffy.

2:45 I notice something troubling: Nebraska is big. Nebraska is fast.
Nebraska is very pissed off at Texas.

3:01 The first quarter mercifully ends. 9 yards total offense for Texas. Zero first downs for Texas. I'm still talking shit. I pour another stiffy from the Traveler.

3:36 Four minutes to go in the first half: the Traveler is a dead soldier. I buy my first $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. While I am standing in line, a center snap nearly decapitates Major Applewhite and rolls out of the end zone. Safety.

3:56 Halftime score: Nebraska 15, Texas 0. I wish I had another Traveler.

4:11 While urinating next to a Nebraska fan in the bathroom at halftime, I attempt to revive the classic Brice-ism from the South Bend bathroom: "Hey, buddy, niiiiiiiiice cock." He is unamused.

4:21 I buy my 2nd and 3rd $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. I share my beer with two high school girls sitting behind me. Surprisingly, they are equipped with a flask full of vodka. I send them off to purchase Sprites, so that we may consume their vodka. I have not lost faith. Nebraska is a bunch of pussies.

4:51 No more vodka. The girls sitting behind me have fled for their
lives. I purchase two more $5 beers from the Alamodome merchants.

5:18 Score is Nebraska 22, Texas 0. I am beginning to lose faith. This normally would trouble me, but I am too drunk to see the football field.

5:27 I call Southwest Airlines: "I'm sorry, sir. Those tickets have been confirmed and are non-refundable and non-transferrable."

5:37 I try to start a fight with every person behind the concession
counter. As it turns out, the Alamodome has a policy that no beer can be sold when there is less than 10 minutes on the game clock. I am enraged by this policy. I ask loudly: "Why the fuck didn't you announce last call over the fucking PA system??!!"

5:49 Back in my seats, I am slumped in my chair in defeat. All of a
sudden, the Texas crowd goes absolutely nuts.
"Whazzis?," I mutter, awaking from my coma, "Iz we winnig? Did wez
scort?" Alas, the answer is no, we were not winning and we did not score. The largest (by far) cheer of the day from the Texas faithful occurred when the handlers were walking back to the tunnel and Bevo (the Texas mascot) stopped to take a gargantuan shit all over the letters "S", "K", and "A" in the "Nebraska" spelled out in their end zone. I cheer wildly. I pick up the empty Traveler bottle and stick my tongue in it. I am thirsty.

6:16 Nebraska fans are going berserk as I walk back to the truck. I would taunt them with some off-color remarks about their parentage, but I am too drunk to form complete sentences. With my last cognitive thought of the evening, I take solace in the fact that if we had not beaten them in October, they would be playing Florida State for the national championship.

6:30 Back in the car. On the way back to Austin for the basketball game.

8:00 Texas-Arizona tip off. We can still salvage the day! I crack open a beer. It is warm. I don't care.

7:12 We have stopped for gas. I am hungry. I go inside the store. I
Walk past the beer frig. I notice a Zima. I've never had a Zima. I wonder if it's any good. I pull a Zima from the frig. I twist the top off and drink the Zima in three swallows. Zima sucks. I replace the empty bottle in the fridge.

7:17 There is a Blimpie Subs in the store. I walk to where the
Ingredients are, where the person usually makes the sub. There is no one there. I lean over the counter and scoop out half a bucket of black olives. I eat them. I am still hungry. I lean further over the counter and grab approximately two pounds of Pastrami. I walk out of the store grunting and eating Pastrami. The patrons in the store fear me. I don't care.

8:01 We are in South Austin. I have been drinking warm beer and singing Brooks and Dunn tunes for over an hour. My truck-mate is tired of my singing. He suggests that perhaps Brooks and Dunn have written other good songs besides "You're Going to Miss Me When I'm Gone"
and "Neon Moon" and that maybe listening to only those two songs, ten
times each was a bit excessive. Perhaps, he suggests, I could just let the CD play on its own. I tell him to fuck off and restart "Neon Moon."

8:30 We arrive at the Erwin Center. My truckmate, against my loud and
profane protestations, parks on the top floor of a nearby parking garage. I tell him he's an idiot. I tell him we will never get out. I tell him we may as well pitch a fucking tent here. He ignores me.
I think he's still pissed about the Brooks and Dunn tunes. I whistle
"Neon Moon" loudly.

8:47 I am rallying. I have 4 warm beers stuffed in my pants. We're going to kick the shit out of Arizona.

9:11 Halftime score: Texas 31, Arizona 29. I am pleased. I go to the
bathroom to pee for the 67th time today. I giggle to myself because of
the new opportunity to do "the bathroom Brice." There are no Arizona fans in the bathroom. I am disappointed. I tell myself (out loud) that I have a "Niiiiiice cock." No one is amused but me.

9:41 I walk to the bathroom while drinking Bud Light out of a can.
Needless to say, they do not sell beer at the Erwin Center, much less Bud Light out of a can. I am stopped by an usher: "Where did you get that, sir?" I tell him (no shit): "Oh, the cheerleaders were throwing them up with those little plastic footballs. Would you mind throwing this away for me?" I take the last swig and hand it to him. He is confused. I pretend I'm going to the bathroom, but I run away giggling instead. I duck into some entrance to avoid the usher, who is now pursuing me. I sneak into a large group of people and sit down. The usher walks by harmlessly. I am giggling like a little girl. I crack open another can of Bud Light.

9:52 I am lost. In my haste to avoid the usher, I have lost my bearings. I have no ticket stub. I cannot find my seats. Texas is losing.

10:09 Texas is being screwed by the refs. I am enraged. I have cleared out the seats around me because I keep removing my hat and beating the surrounding chairs with it. A concerned fan asks if I'm OK and perhaps I shouldn't take it so seriously. I tell him to fuck off.

10:15 After the fourth consecutive "worst fucking call I have EVER seen," I attempt to remove my hat again to begin beating inanimate objects. However, on this occasion I miscalculate and I thumbnail myself in my left eyelid, leaving a one-quarter inch gash over my eye. I am now bleeding into my left eye and all over my shirt. "Perhaps," I think to myself, I'm taking this a bit seriously."

10:22 I am standing in the bathroom peeing. I'm so drunk I am swaying and grunting. I have a bloody napkin pressed on my left eye. My pants are bloody. I have my (formerly) white shirt wrapped around my waist. I look like I should be in an episode of Cops.

10:43 Texas has lost. I put my bloody white shirt back on my body and
Make my way for the exits. I am stopped every 20 seconds by a good
samaritan/cop/security guard to ask me why I am covered in blood, but I
merely grunt incoherently and keep moving.

10:59 With my one good eye, I have located the parking garage. I walk up six flights of stairs, promise that when I see my friend I will punch him in the face for making me walk up six flights of stairs, find the truck, and collapse in a heap in the bed of the truck. I look around and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I take a nap.

11:17 I awake from my nap. I see my friend in the driver's seat. I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I am too tired to punch my friend. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."

11:31 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that
traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."

11:38 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that
traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."

11:47 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that
traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid cocksucker."

11:58 I am jostled. The truck is moving. I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is beginning to move on the second floor. I jump out of the truck, walk to the edge of the parking facility, and pee off the sixth floor onto the street below.
My friend looks at me like I just anally violated his minor sister. I turn around pee on the front of his truck while singing the lyrics to "Neon Moon."

12:11 We are moving. We are out of beer. I jump from the truck and go
From vehicle to vehicle until someone gives me two beers. I am happy. I return to my vehicle.

12:26 We have emerged from the parking facility. We make our way to my
apartment and find Ed sitting on the couch with a freshly opened bottle of Glenlivet on the coffee table in front of him. We are all going to die tonight.

12:59 We have finished three-quarters of the bottle of Glenlivet. We
Decide it would be a wonderful idea to go dancing at PollyEsther's. Ed has to pee. He walks down the hall to our apartment and directly into the full length mirror at the end of the hall, smashing it into hundreds of pieces. We giggle uncontrollably and leave for PollyEsther's.

1:17 The PollyEsther's doorman laughs uncontrollably at our efforts to
Enter his club. "Fellas," he says in between his fits of spastic laughter, "I've been working this door for almost a year. I've been working doors in this town for almost 5 years. And I can honestly say that I ain't never seen three drunker mother fuckers than you three. Sorry, can't let you in." We attempt to reason with him. He laughs harder.

1:44 We find a bar that lets us in. We take two steps in the door and
Hear "Last call for alcohol!" I turn to the group and mutter: "See, dat wasn't that fuckin' hard. Day don't fuckin' do that at the Awamo...the
awaom...the alab...fuck it, that stadium we was at today..." We order 6 shots of tequila and three beers.

2:15 Back on the street. We need food. We hail a cab to take us the two and one half blocks to Katz's. The cab fare is $1.60. We give him $10 and tell him to keep it.

2:17 There is a 20 minute wait. We give the hostess $50. We are seated immediately.

2:25 We order two orders of fried pickles, a Cobb salad, a bowl of soup, two orders of Blueberry blintzes, two Reuben sandwiches, a hamburger, two cheese stuffed potatoes, an order of fries, and an order of onion rings.

2:39 The food arrives. We are all asleep with our heads on the table.
The waiter wakes us up. We eat every fucking bit of our food. Most of the restaurant patrons around us are disgusted. We don't give a fuck. The tab is $112 with tip.

2:46 I'm sleepy.

9:12 I wake up next to a strange woman. She is the bartender at Katz's. She is not pretty.

---

Ok well that was it. Pretty funny even by my standards. The Ed mentioned in the story is not me. Just in case you thought it might be. I was in Saudi Arabia in 1999. Which by all comparisons was not as much fun as this dude had.

Part 1 of a 1 Part Saga

2009-02-10T22:39:00.018-05:00

So I have seemed to be lucky recipient of many cross-country trips. About eight to date (that rhymed) by my count. Anyone who has driven cross-country has probably encountered what is par for the course. You drive, you pass people, maybe you get passed, and you stop and get gas and go potty (how cute). Wash, rinse, repeat as desired. Throw in a hotel stop along the way and it appears you have all the excitement of watching a ceiling fan go round and round. Watching ceiling fan blades go round is easy to do for the first few seconds but damn hard focusing in on that one fan blade for longer than that. Try it sometime. What follows is a roll up from my last trip across the great land of America a few years back. I was enroute from Alaska to Georgia, via Alabama, Arizona, and Utah. Yes in that order. Needless to say I covered some serious miles. Yes Alaska was a cold place. What can be lost in the mileage sometimes are the chance encounters with humanity. And when I speak of humanity, of course I mean the stupid ones. Not you though reader, I don’t think you’re stupid.

To give you all a quick rundown of some of the details, I owned and still own a Chevy Blazer that I drove for this trip. I got a wild hair and decided to Rhinoline the entire thing. Yeah that spray on bed-liner you put in the bed of pickups, I did my entire Blazer in that. Novel idea huh? Clean up is a breeze and there isn’t a shopping cart in any given supermarket that doesn’t fear me pulling in the parking lot. The below excerpts a story that starts after departing Salt Lake City, Utah on my way to the heartland. And by heartland I mean the great state of Georgia. Go Dawgs, sic’ em! I apologize in advance if I have mis-represented any of your favorite states because they aren’t as cool as Georgia and lack sweet tea on their menus, I know all the evolved beings in those states must live nowhere near the Interstates.

Enjoy the ride (notes as I wrote them down):

DAY 1 - Today has been an interesting day in the life of me. So I would like to share. Because I was taught in 1st grade that sharing is good. Indeed, I lost my paste bottle back then to some whiney kid who said I wasn't sharing and eating it all, but the end result through my own tears is that sharing hurts, but for some reason, it must continue with or without my bottle of paste. So I hit the road this morning from Salt Lake City after staying with friends in Salt Lake for the last week. Great stay, many good memories, Ed much like Salt Lake City. So it's raining this morning as I leave. A little cold, 39 degrees I think. Not Alaska-cold by any means (much props to my tundra friends) but cold enough. I stop at the gas station, fill up, and set off on my fantastic voyage, sans Coolio. About five minutes after hitting I-80 East, I discover that the snow fairy has sprinkled magic f-you dust on the road ahead. (great pic of it huh?)

(Actual Cell Phone Photo! NO WAY!)

I am not pleased...the weather gets worse. 60 minutes elapse and I have traveled an astounding 25 miles. For those of you who can do the math and convert it to MPH, it equals = slow. I have time now to really appreciate the fun of being played like a pinball by all the 18-wheelers in the world. It appears that once you have 18 wheels on your vehicle, weather effects are null on your vehicle. Alas I only have four wheels so I am screwed and they can keep on truckin’ around me as if I wasn't there. I begin to notice that I am indeed the only non-18 wheeler on the road. I feel comfortable because I can hold my own in the snowstorm. Now you know. Visibility is about at my front bumper and I am loving life. I approach and see an old-school Thunderbird that had swerved off the road and hit an embankment. The driver must have been ok as he was facing his car from the road with his arms crossed. Brain damage, maybe, as he was standing out in the cold and wind just looking at his vehicle, pondering. Before I pass him he turns around and waives his arms at me. To demonstrate how highly intelligent I am (and so in love with myself apparently), in that one split second my mind processes a multitude of thoughts, an almost Pavlovian response of brilliance:

Thought 1 - Dude you're screwed.

Thought 2 - It appears that he thinks flailing his arms will aid my vehicle stopping rapidly on ice so I can pick him up.

Thought 3 - Bad karma man, what if I don't stop?

Thought 4 - Screw karma, if I slow down at all I may the next guy flailing my arms.

Thought 5 - Dude you're screwed.

Ok so I took care of that and continued on. What? Oh I’m sorry, he who hath not helped every distressed motorist cast the first stone. Now the next five hours of driving resembled much of the first hour. It would clear up a bit in spots but no love for the duration.

(yes I was listening to Yellowcard. Crazy windshield wipers huh?)

This is a good time to tell you of the many great conversations I had at each gas station:

"Hey nice paint job, is that scratch and sniff?"

RE: "No, please leave me alone and never re-produce"

"Can I touch your Blazer?"

RE: "That'll be $2"

Ok, so not great conversation but I promise it gets better. Now it appears somewhere beyond the border of Utah, there is a magical place. A place where dreams come true. This place is called Wyoming (Why-Oh-Ming, that's right now say it with me, Why-Oh-Ming). I have driven through this place Wyoming before but somehow had forgotten just how magical of a place this is. To compare, Buzz Aldrin must have spent days or weeks here to get a good feeling of how being on the Moon would be or maybe the Native Americans tried to warn us by naming the area Wyoming which roughly translates in English to, "Land of the Suck". Fantastic.

So as I drive down this Yellow Brick Road called I-80 East, into the promise land, I am met with gale force winds backed up by highway signs that say, "High Winds Possible"…thanks for the update Kreskin. Now, these aren't cool breezes on a nice spring day. They cut and run through you much like a Cheesy Double Beef Burrito from Taco Bell. My Blazer sways back and forth as if dancing to the music on my stereo. How nice. Snow, ice, no visibility, and now wind. I was expecting a Tsunami shortly there after but it was environmentally eliminated from contention. Sheer torture on me, if you have ever ridden in my Blazer, you would know that it handles like a covered wagon (due to the after-market lift I put on it) and the only kindness it shows is that fact that it has endured. Endured 13,000 miles over the last five months (I made some long stops along the way in Alabama and Arizona). The odometer now reads 120,000 miles. When I got to Alaska three years ago, I had just hit 100,000 miles. Again, for the math whizzes, well you can figure it out. If you can’t don’t worry it isn’t as significant as I first thought.

So anyway, back to magic land. The Land of the Suck apparently has exacted revenge on the 18-wheeler mafia. I glance into the westbound I-80 traffic to see a completely overturned semi, laying lengthwise, blocking both lanes of traffic. I could be next. I mean if an 18-wheeler can be done in, I am a sure goner. So I pull off to the next gas station as I see that the accident had been stale for about five minutes and emergency vehicles started to arrive and help (I did not have any thoughts as I did for the Thunderbird dude, sorry to let you down). At the gas station, a trucker mentions the wreck to the cashier attendant, I had to translate for myself though, "Yeah, looks like old boy rolled 18 and laid a 9 back on 80 West a few miles back.” I was proud of myself cause I understood. Good job Ed. But, the gas station chick had an interesting reply. Oh and she was a world of a woman too. Looked like she had misunderstood the South Beach Diet and went on the South Beached Whale Diet. Please hold your applause, thank you, no, thank you. A whole lotta loving indeed. But the best part is when she says, "Well those damn truckers need to slow the hell down and that kinda crap won't happen.” While I sort of agreed to myself silently as I held my Mountain Dew awaiting purchase it, the other trucker there did not agree. The argument that ensued after that had all the meaning and impact equaling the earth-shattering decision of what side to butter your toast in the morning. Exactly. I laid $2 down and left.

My next stop was Cheyenne. So here I am at a hotel in Cheyenne. Funny enough, the check in clerk was named Anne. I asked her if she was shy. She looked at me with the kind of glare that dogs possess as they try to decipher the words you are telling them.

I got my room key and went down for the night. I have nothing funny to say at this point.

DAY 2 - What's the best thing that has ever come out of Wyoming? That's right baby, Interstate 80. Well glory from the roads of America is there for the taking, but usually you will have better things to do in your lives than drive cross-country. Day 2 of travel was much better as far as the weather goes. It was only cold and windy but pretty much "safe". Of course no 700 miles trekked across the USA can go without something interesting happening. Apparently, the police (no I have nothing against the police, man you guys need to lighten up) have given up on lowering the murder rate, catching drug dealers, or chasing down kids who attempt to stick their tongues to frozen flagpoles. No, indeed they have re-focused their force structure in an operational swarm to pull me over. Not once but twice today, within an hour of each other. I wasn't speeding in either case. Luckily, I did not get a ticket either time. The conversations were pretty friendly actually. Friendly cops are nice aren’t they? But I really didn't care at the moment why the officer wanted to know why I would Rhinoline my Blazer and how much it costs (I think it cost about $2800, see I don’t mind sharing with you reader). Nor did I care for them asking me if it is REAL cold in Alaska, I guess my Alaska plates gave me away. My first instinct was to reply, "REAL Cold? As in GENUINE cold? As in, is the cold actually cold for real? Oh I'm sorry, you meant REALLY cold. Why don't you REALLY leave me alone for REAL.” On a side note, I realize that I am a prick to a certain extent. But only because I choose to tolerate who I wish. Try it sometime, you won’t regret it. If you do and it doesn’t work out, you shouldn’t have listened to me in the first place. So yeah the police interaction was entertaining at least. I was more pissed that all the people I had passed on the road before I was pulled over were now passing me. "Look George, it's that young man with the 'I Brake for Monster Booty' bumper sticker. Serves him right getting pulled over, now let’s drive really slow in the left hand lane George." Now here is where I would like to petition for a digital scrolling sign on my vehicle or all vehicles. You can update the message using a simple keypad/touchpad and it would blink and scroll where all drivers could see it. Mine would say, "I didn't get a ticket assmaster, but if you would like to pull into the next gas station and frown and point some more we can settle this face to face so you aren't hiding away in the safety bubble you call your car where you believe you are impervious to all harm, danger, or reality.” Of course, that would take a lot of typing. Maybe a simple message like, "I hate you" would suffice.

Speaking of gas stations, those are my only contact with the human folk while on the road. Yes, I see people while driving but it's like watching snow globes orbit around you. Each with their own ecosystem, climate, and habitat. I am really concerned with some of the drivers as they seem seconds away from epileptic seizures or heart attacks. So much anger out there on the roadways. I am not sure what is going on in some cars, but it appears that mixing it with driving seems to be the wrong answer. Where was I? Oh yeah, gas stations. I walk into the gas station to get a Mountain Dew and piss. I pissed first, for the curious. I was ecstatic because they had the orange Mountain Dew. I like the orange Mountain Dew and can't ever seem to find it. I also liked Clear Pepsi. Maybe the problem is with me. Anyhow, I walk up to the counter and see two women clerks there. One was bent over facing away from me as I approach the counter. I was the unfortunate witness of what is now recorded as the first Sasquatch sighting in Nebraska. An amazing view of this chick's hairy (oh God, I am having a relapse) ass crack was all for me and my innocent and un-anticipating eyes as I only wanted to make a simple transaction for a soda pop. At this juncture, you forget about the happier things in life like being at Bar A, Bar B, or Bar C.

So, she gets up (the other chick there was lost in space I guess) and rings me up for the soda. By this time I was shaking in fear that I would either be consumed by the Yetti or worse captured by her and forced to perform unspeakable acts involving a paint shaker and a diesel-powered ass-hammer. The other chick finally shows sign of carbon-based life and says, "I think this is like the best song ever!" Now she wasn't saying this at any one person, as there was only the three of us in the store (oh the possibilities, right?). She kinda looked at me as if I was gonna approve of her friggin’ once-in-a-lifetime revelation. Thing is, this "best song ever" was some crap on the radio with some American Idol reject chick singing about shit nobody cares about. And by nobody, I mean me. Not only that, the beat sucked and her singing sounded like the whine you get from a lawn mower when you get something caught up under it, like, a litter of kittens. Meow.

.....So without hesitation (please refer to Pavlovian response comment involving Thunderbird dude from Day 1) I replied, "I am sure Led Zeppelin would argue that comment". I got a nasty look back from her because for some ungodly reason I didn't agree with her roodie-poo ass (roodie-poo: adj, “having the qualities or properties of roodie-pooness”). But if I wasn't scarred enough from the Sasquatch encounter, she replied, "Who the hell is Led Zeppelin?" Now ladies and gentlemen what I would like to confide in you is that I showed unparalleled restraint saying nothing in retort and calmly walking out the door back towards my Blazer. Said actions by me would be lauded by the Nobel Peace Prize Committee, Kofi Annan, and the rest of the United Nations. So yes, again, not much to speak of from the road today. Nebraska is almost 100% under construction and constantly reminded me that speeding fines would be doubled if I dare sped around orange colored objects and unearthed dirt with no workers near any of it. I hold each and everyone of you responsible though. Yes you. Because I cannot go a single sports game on TV without John Cougar Mellencamp telling me in a Chevy commercial that "this is OUR country". (remember how annoying those commericals were?) We, and to a more significant degree, you are all to blame for letting people like this out of their cages and padded cells. Ok well for the sane people left in the country, which is the majority of the people reading this (see reader, I’m not all that mean to you, am I?) I just want you to know this stuff is out there in OUR country. Beware.

DAY 3 - I woke up to my last day on the road to a nice shitty hotel continental breakfast. I was almost finished eating when the only other dude up at 5:30am walked in for breakfast. He was older guy and came in and he seemed a little bothered. When I say bothered, I mean the feeling you get when you run out of toilet paper in a public bathroom and end up having to "deal" with what is left. I said good morning and he was quick to reply that indeed it was morning but there was nothing good about it. I guess this is what I have to look forward to when I get that age. Anyhow, he started talking about his better half. Now I was ready to leave but for some reason couldn't resist being his sounding board this morning. He had the look in his eye that he was ready to leave her in the hotel room after pouring hot coffee on her in bed and escaping the place. Whatever had occurred between them had spun his life into certain peril, the peril only known by bungee jumpers launching off a 200-foot cliff with a 201-foot cord. While I would have loved to see him stew and prod him to bring him to the brink of collapse, I had to go. As I left, I saw him grab a plastic knife and shove it in his pocket. Of course, he also had some butter and a bagel, but I knew that those were just covers to alibi his murder weapon.

So hitting the road I noticed that indeed, if you are over 65 and wish to drive on the Interstate, you must own a Buick. Nothing against Buicks, I am sure they are great vehicles, just an observation. I began to wonder if I someday would fall victim to growing old and driving a Buick. Such petty fears consume me, I know. So I stop into a gas station, the social highlights of my day, and I am mean-mugged by this 12 year old kid. Well he looked 12 I guess. He is just staring at me in my Blazer looking like he had just eaten a frown-sandwich. His dad looked like he had been mulling over the fact for the past 12 years that indeed instead of having a son, he should have shot that load into a towel and moved onto greater things. He will be driving a Buick someday I know it. As I felt no need to entertain the thought of talking to the kid, I just minded my own business, paid for my gas, wondered who really buys the fruit in those baskets at a gas station, and was on my way. No big deal. While back on the road, I had the pleasure to witness a great road argument. Dude and his girl coasting in their Ford Probe, (stylish huh?) and this chick is throwing shit inside the car, yelling and screaming at the dude. The dude was on autopilot though. Absorbing it and bubbling up inside. She might have well as been Forrest Gump offering Lieutenant Dan ice cream. "Ice Cream Lieutenant Dan!" The guy wasn't having any of it. I had to finally pull forward of them on the Interstate because I was certain her car door would open and she would be barrel-rolling out of it shortly. I did check my rear-view mirror as I pulled away in eager anticipation of her exodus. No dice. Drats. End of my story there. Yeah that was about it, a few days on the road. Exciting? Well reader you are the judge of that. I can venture to say to some extent we have all had similar experiences on the road such as mine. Now you may have thought to yourself, “am I alone, am I the only person who is seeing this when I drive?” Of course not, I am here to tell you that you are more normal than you think you are. Stop doubting yourself tiger, you’re gonna be just fine and if you think that whole digital scrolling sign in the car idea is a good one, raise your hand. The first one out the door to patent the idea can have it. I cannot be bothered with such a task currently.

Yup that wrapped it up. Hope you enjoyed my story....and back by popular demand...Pork Chop McFattington!

Life of Poordom

2009-02-10T13:30:00.012-05:00

So, I am getting ready, well, at the end of this week, beginning of the next, to resign up. I definitely don't want to do this. It is quite possibly the worst case scenario for me. I know it sounds dumb, but I may only do one assignment. I know, I know, retirement, blah, blah, blah..but if you have been in, I believe you might understand a little. I could be doing so much better on the outside if only that new GI Bill would kick in today instead of maybe August. So, I get out at 10 years and go back to college at lik 33. Who cares. I look younger than I am so I shouldn't be considered the old guy too much, right?

I just received my first unemployment payment today after getting out on December 19th. Apparently they lost my DD214 and couldn't process the unemployment. The funny thing about that is the fact that noone was planning on calling me and telling me. They were just waiting till I wasted away from starvation or something. It wouldn't be so bad, but I do have a wife I have to take care of too. I went day after day hearing all about the money and where it was. After their waiting perioud of up to four weeks, that is what the website told me, I was fed up and called in. They said I never turned in my DD214, which I know I did. So I resent it in and recieved a letter of financial determination shortly thereafter. I thought this was great. Then again I still didn't revieve any money still. So I called in again and they were like, Oh my! Let me get that started right away. That was Friday. Another weekend of being flat broke. This morning was more or less like Christmas. We got a huge check, well, not really, but it was back payment from the last week in December. Cha-Ching. Who knew half of what I used to make would feel this good. The other sad part to all of this is that it is all pretty much accounted for.

I am hoping to get back to Augusta. Yeah, wild, wonderful, Augusta. Why? You may ask. Because it is so cheap to live down there it is incredible. It is even cheaper than Pittsburgh. I am looking to save some money, so Hawaii, Maryland, and Colorado are out of the question, no matter how much my wife loved Colorado. It was an Air Force Base too, so it was real nice. I know my wife would not appreciate Texas, Germany, or Korea either, hell, neither would I. That leaves like Georgia and Alaska, unless I can find a cushy AFB somewhere else that isn't in the middle of nowhere. Bottom line is, this sucks. I just moved into my shitty apartment and got comfortable. Well, not really comfortable. We are hijacking poor internet from one of my neighbors and have no cable to watch, except for what they provide with an antennae. I do get to watch some shows that they now put on the internet.

The moral of this story is, even if you have your ducks in a row, you probably started the idea when they were ducklings. They looked all cute and nice at the beginning, but then they grew up and screwed you.

An open letter to Taco Bell

2009-02-08T22:00:00.012-05:00

Ahem.

Dear Taco Bell,

Recently I finished part two of a four part dental procedure. Each part takes roughly four hours to complete. It has been painful so far, and I just finished roughly two straight weeks on a liquid diet consisting of Ensure and fruit juice. Sooooo....it was much to my joy when the dentist cleared me to eat solid food. I knew exactly where I was going for my first meal. I ordered two cheesy double beef burritos and even though I could hardly open my mouth enough to fit the food in, with each painful chew came a tear down my cheek. No not the tears from the agony of a complex dental procedure coupled with my mouth re-learning the art of chewing, but tears of joy from the taste of solid food. I was so succumb by the moment a poem jolted into my head. I wrote it down between painful bites. And here it is:

Through days of pain I patiently waited for you
Although you cared not for the pain I had been through
Long was the journey to run for the border
I entered your restaurant and could not hold back my order
The cheesy beefy goodness now destined for my stomach soon
You even offered me a spork, your attempt at a hybrid fork and spoon
But no eating utensil could aid me in the speedy consumption of your food
I had been depressed for two weeks but Taco Bell had brightened my mood
After finishing the burritos, like a Christmas tree my face was lit
And only a few seconds after finishing, I realized really had to take a...dump
FIN

What? The last line didn't rhyme? Oh well. This guy is a pro at it. Just don't take him to get doughnuts. Of course I have been deployed to combat zones for over a year at a time and always longed for Taco Bell while away. But this time was different, maybe because I would drive by a Taco Bell and knew that I couldn't have it. OH CURSE YOU TEMPTATION!

So really, Mr. and Mrs. Bell, I would like to take a moment for making me a happy man once again. But apparently I am not the first, nor likely the last. But really, I want to use this posting to reflect on how many great things you have provided us, the people of the world, aside from that damn dog. So let's go ahead and release some facts here.
Your food is good. Maybe good is not a strong enough word to describe how amazing your food is. But, so good, it has made it all the way to kids' lunchboxes via the Lunchable. Which by all accounts is an innovation of our generation that rivals the Industrial Revolution and the invention of punctuation and of course, this song.

And as if you needed any more help, you have Paris Hilton showing up to your counters of joy and merriment, ordering what is likely the best food she ever ate, immediately prior to her going to the restroom and throwing it up. Man, those are some huge ass sunglasses.

But back on topic. It isn't solely your menu or how you have always seem to be open after a long night of drinking, it is that you have also reached out to our disabled Americans as well. Satisfying their God-given right to enjoying your delicious Taco Bellyness.

All said, I could go on and on and on (to the breaka' breaka' dawn?) singing your accolades Taco Bell. But I wanted to at least send out this short note to express my heart-felt gratitude that you helped improve my quality of life. I am also sure there are some readers that may say, "Taco Bell isn't healthy Ed". To that I say, well, maybe, but if you had a choice between Taco Bell and McDonalds, based on the graphic I am about to provide you, which one would you choose?

Seriously, look at that fat fuck. Looks like he Crisco-squeezed his way out of husky size into oh my God you lard ass size jeans. Mean? Maybe, but no sir, NOT BY THE HANDS of Taco Bell. Good day to you sir. I put the blame squarely of Pork Chop McFattington's mom and dad...and McDonalds of course. Note: RIP to Count Chubby O'Flabbybelly's brother (pictured to his left) who was eaten by his fat fuck of a brother shortly after this photo was taken after being mistaken for a #4 Value Meal Super Sized with a Diet Coke. We all miss you Manuel.

Heart,

Your Pal Ed

Top 10!

2009-02-06T21:58:00.000-05:00

Top 10 things to be doing right now instead of blogging:

10. Watching the Steelers win the Superbowl for the sixth time. Again.

9. Drinking at Bar C.

8. Fishing (involves drinking probably)

7. Drinking at Bar B.

6. Listening to the hockey game on the radio (and drinking)

5. Drinking at Bar A.

4. Attending a Minor League Baseball Game.

3. Drinking at a Party.

2. Attending an NHL Game.

1. Drinking. Period.

So what if dinner WAS the show?

2009-02-06T15:39:00.002-05:00

Listen, I'm not telling you where to go for entertainment or what kind of restaraunt to go to. But if you are bored this weekend and are looking for something to do, this nice lady has an invitation you may just have a pretty hard time refusing. See what I'm talking about. Stick with the entire 5:24 show!

A Trivial Pursuit of Bars, Song, and Dance

2009-02-05T16:21:00.016-05:00

We, the American people, of sound mind and body request the unalliable (ha my spell check says that ain’t a word, good thing our Forefathers didn’t have spell check) right to sing karaoke and play trivia at locations such as bars and pubs while consuming the alcoholic beverages of our choice or the choice of the one guy who seems to like the taste of shots of tequila and who believes that if he buys the shots for everyone they will like him more when in all actuality nobody is sure who’s friend he really is or if he is stalking his next murder victim. Stick with me on the long sentences. We can make it through this together. Now reader, let us cover some norms of the nightlife spots, drucanery (it is a word now my friends) is usually a staple at these places. Of course, we are talking about those night-crawling areas that don’t involve dancing and furthermore have absolutely zero affiliation with anything dance-like to include a dance floor with that one dude dancing by himself and hovering towards every chick on the dance floor or God-forbid places that offer private screenings of the low-budget Canadian film, “Dirty Dances with Wolves”. Because most guys of sound mind and body don’t come running out the shower in mid rinse, call up their buddy on the phone and say, “Dude, were are gonna dance our asses off tonight bro, oh hell yeah!”. Ain’t in the plan brother man. What I am talking about, are the places that have a good bar aroma and feeling to them, a place you can get a gang of people together (here goes that planning thing again), drink some beers, play some darts or pool, and maybe engage in trivia or karaoke. The rest of this posting will be dedicated to such places, and a few of my many experiences in them.

I would first like to draw your attention to a place I will refer to as “Bar A”. Bar A has all the mad flavor of a whole roll of Lifesavers, it is a place you could drink a beer, drink many more beers, then drink at least one more beer, do a shot, do a couple more shots, ok and then do just one more shot, and end up with the next recognizable verbiage from your mouth being something to the effect of, “What? Shit! It’s already 8:30am? Dammit, what the hell? Is this alarm broken? I’m late! You gotta be kidding me! Who the hell is this chick in my bed? Why are there three armadillo and lawn gnome in my bathroom?” Yes indeed, a great place Bar A is. Bar A met standard pre-requisites of lacking a dance floor, which made it a “safe zone”. Bar A was no place for the time-honored art of rump shaking. In fact, local folklore from whom else but the locals, indicates a splinter group consisting of shunned members of Menudo, Starship, Kool and the Gang, and Digital Underground formed the Rump-shake-istani Resistance Movement (RRM) in Bar A. Ahh yeah, my nose is big, big like a pickle, I once got busy in a Burger King bathroom). It is unknown what the status and/or influence of the RRM is these days, but it is assessed that The Department Homeland Security wouldn’t view them as a viable threat to anyone except possibly themselves. Bar A also had panache to attract that certain 80-year-old drunk dude wearing a Members Only jacket who smells of crawfish and generously applied Jovan Musk. For the sake of naming rights, we’ll refer to him as Skippy. Now Skippy would be in the bar when you got there, somehow linger and hover around until closing time and way past his bedtime. He gives Bar A some character and animation although all the regulars would as quickly roll their eyes at his presence as they would offer him a drink, a smack across the chops, and the number to Alcoholics Anonymous. To quote the Skippy, “Skippy don’t do that dance but hold that thought while I undo your pants”. Wow, upon further review now, the Skipper was quite the wordsmith in the bar scene. Guys like that are bar oddities yet strangely the more you see them the less odd they become. Do you know a Skippy? I bet you do, don’t you? They are the scapegoats for those bad dates and the butt of off-color bar humor…or humour depending how good your dental work is. Yet Skippy was cool enough to stand in your fat face and tell you how easy your life really is. That is because more than likely, he has done everything you have, except while he was doing it all he was high on meth and heroin, wearing a milk crate and Christmas garland for clothing, and scolding birds on telephone wires for being “all high and mighty”. Skippy was the kind of guy who would walk up to you at the urinal in the men’s room while in mid-piss and ask you, “hey killer, you need a spot?”. God bless you Skipper.

*BEER BREAK*

Now, moving from Bar A we have Bar B. A place I would venture to now and then to partake in the magical game of trivia. Because truly you are only as smart as you think you are, especially when you think you are sober enough to answer trivia questions when in reality you are at the level of intoxication that corresponds more to an Alcohol Blood Content vice a Blood Alcohol Content. Now reader, it is important to inform you that there is a culture within a culture that exists during the trivia festivia (I know, not a word either). First you have the normal bar crowd that just happens upon spontaneity and joins up for some trivia, conversely you also have the die hard trivia maniacs who opposite of the first crowd, are there for the trivia more than the alcohol and relaxation. These trivia nomads wander from trivia hangout to trivia hangout sporting such team names as, “Backdoor No Babies”, “I Know Who Your Grandmother Did Last Summer”, and my personal favorite, “Schindler’s Fist”. Ok that last one used to be my team’s usual name. The secret is out. Drats, I guess you could place me as part of second crowd now. Alas, I do enjoy the antics involved and surrounding the competition, or any competition for that matter. I mean who doesn’t like to compete? Guys can make a game out of anything. Seriously, you may simply see a plain piece of chewed gum in the urinal, guys see target practice. However, even sans gum, as long as the urinal has a little plastic guard with the holes in it, there will be a guy ready to step up to the challenge of hitting each hole before his river runs dry. Alas, trivia can bring out the best and of course, the worst in a group. I mean who knew that ketchup was sold in the 1830s as medicine or furthermore would argue that fact to the point of emotional distress and dividing lines over the once perceived medicinal value of said tomato paste? But as useless as some of it may seem, unarguably there exists a natural attitude that you can in fact be smarter than the person sitting next to you and can be afforded the opportunity to have it displayed in a semi-intoxicated public forum. Imagine the great minds at work that only get sharper through alcohol facilitation and which can correctly answer that indeed, birds have the right of way on all Utah highways. No Mormon on a bicycle could argue that fact my friends. ---> Most of all, through the many bar trivia games I have participated in, my favorite one involves the much-revered drinking challenge. Basically, a representative from each team comes up with a pint of beer or maybe a shot of liquor and engages in an almost Neanderthalian (it’s a word now buster) ritualistic competition of who can consume the most frosty beverage in the quickest time. At the completion of the contest the winner struts around as if he or she (props to those alcohol drinking chicky mamas) was the pimp-nastiest peacock on peacock block. Then the victor quickly reverts to a celebration routine resembling the interpretive dance rendition of the song Stairway to Heaven, yeah the good part of the song, the part you wait forever for and then it finally comes and you get all happy about it. Don’t act like you don’t know what I am talking about man. Indeed, Bar B is always a given gold mine on any Saturday night to watch the mightiest, proudest, and drunkest of humankind congregate in ritualistic slaying of intellectually weaker foes or at least find out that Venus is the only planet that rotates clockwise or even that the longest one-syllable word in the English language is “screeched”.

Lastly, on the tour de bar we have Bar C. Bar C is a magical place once a week. As it overcomes the inherent inhibition of performing in public by utilizing the influential strength of alcohol. Oh mighty and powerful alcohol. We bow before you. That’s right rock star, it’s time to put out all that singing practice in the shower and bring it up to the plate and take your swing at Karaoke Idol. Here, Sinatra comes to life again, manifested through a 40-something balding man with the supernatural gift to follow words on a TV screen and sing his heart out, completely and utterly off-key. As a flock of birds somewhere in the world unexpectedly fly off in a mad frenzy, one could only surmise that somewhere else in the world at the very same moment there is a singer up on the karaoke stage attempting their best rendition of “I Will Survive”. Yeah I was petrified myself sister. But there are also those karaoke masters of ceremony who know they can sing and accordingly, Bar C becomes a haven for those capable few. Usually it’s a chick, and they blow the socks off an audience lulled to a drunken even-keel by the prior singing which has almost become white noise at this point. These starlets belt out tunes like “Fancy” by Reba McEntire and blatantly lie to us as they tell us what it is like to be “Like a Virgin”. Then you have some dudes who step up to the mic and completely and unreservedly rock the crowd so well that the next day people are like, “damn remember that dude who sang last night, he was friggin’ amazing, I want him to impregnate my daughter, now”. The example that comes to mind is a dude who sings the “Smooth Criminal” cover by Alien Ant Farm. We’ll call this fortunate son Ed Rader. That’s right readers, not only can I spin you a yarn on a blog but I can outright take down an entire crowd and leave them awestruck with three minutes and twenty-nine seconds of entertainment and skill in its purest form. I also work birthdays, office parties, and barmitzfahs. Alas, my weakness is that song is the only one I do really well. I can do a little “Love Shack” (B-52s are from my home town too, woot woot) but really the only solo endeavor is the aforementioned Michael Jackson cover. But enough about me, let’s talk about you and your singing talents. Bar C is always looking for the next performer to step up and sing their favorite song. Never mind the five-dollar bottles of beer, slow service, or the smoky atmosphere, you got talent and should step up to the plate Pavarotti. I respect the karaoke singer though. Somewhere in between inebriated foolhardiness and sober anxiety lies the karaoke singer’s optimal operating environment. Not to say that you can’t sing sober, but there is a reason why there isn’t a Mothers Against Drunk Singing. All you have to lose is some small pieces of dignity. Well that and maybe some of the same fears you have when you think your secret morning dance ritual in front of the mirror after you get out of the shower will be exposed to the masses and you magically discover, damn, I’m just like everybody else. Feel better about yourself? Remember, I’m here for you and heck, so are all the great bars in these United States. So get out there and say hi to Skippy if you see him. And back by popular demand here is our friend the rabbit again, keepin it real.

Most Wonderful Place

2009-02-04T13:49:00.013-05:00

I am going to tell you a tale of a journey into a mystical land. A land most males never venture due to pure fear. A place of bright lights, small passages, and narrow escapes. This is a magical land with only one entrance and one exit, the exit turns out to be a gauntlet of doom and destruction if you aren't smart and quick witted. If you ever venture to one of these places and live to tell the tale, you must, I repeat, you must warn others never to enter the forbidden zone. Luckily, I somehow survived. So, I am doing my duty as a soldier and a man to warn all of you. I bring you this story at the risk of my own life.

I was forced into a car, kicking and screaming, but there were too many of them for me to fight them all off. It was like me being the girl and my captor being Jason Statham in Transporter 2. I was shoved in the back, with no idea where I was heading. All I could tell was that I was apparently going somewhere that I didn't want, for I was taken in duress. Trapped in the back for nearly an hour, the door to the SUV finally opened and I was dragged out onto the street. As I gathered my wits about me, I realized that I wasn't alone. There were a few more like me in almost the same situation. We looked at each other, searching for the answer of what to do. It was obvious, none of us knew.

As I was dragged across a busy highway, dodging speeding cars and huge trucks, I thought I caught a glimpse of my captor's hideout. I couldn't tell though because just then a van came barrelling down on me and I had to dive to get out of the way. It was amazing that my captor was seemingly unfazed. Apparently they had only one thing in mind, getting me in and stable so they could do their dastardly deeds.

Suddenly, I saw an opening, so I made a break for it. I only made it a few steps, though, and was surrounded again. I felt foolish that no matter how hard I tried, despite all the training I have had, I was no match for my enemies. I hung my head in disgust as I realized, just like in Star Trek, resistance was futile.

I could see the entrance a few feet further and knew that once I crossed the threshhold, there was no escape. I had no idea how long I would be held in that god-aweful place, but I did know that I wasn't going to like it. I didn't even get to say goodbye to my friends and family. Upon entering the complex, it was like a hundred programmed robots attacked all at once, asking my captor if they needed any help. They, of course, with a snide smile, said no. I don't even think they realized that I was being held against my will. I needed to get a signal out, so I said I needed to use the bathroom and it was an emergency. I figured that was the best escape plan I had, maybe I could catch them off guard. Unfortunately, they didn't fall for it. They just kept saying it wouldn't be much longer. That definitely worried me.

As we walked, I kept trying to find the nearest escape route as we fell further and further back from the entrance. I realized it was hopeless. This would be the end of me.

Finally, my wife said she was finished and we walked out of Sephora with a pile of expensive makeup in hand. I am sure glad we got the tax return back because we would be even poorer now. We headed home and I turned to hockey to get some of my masculinity back.

Sweet American Mullet

2009-02-03T18:10:00.010-05:00

During a recent romp through campus I was fortunate enough to spot the majestical head dressing we know as the mullet. I was half tempted to approach the spryly young David Allen Coe fan but, I my better judgement told me to just keep walking. Now, it wasn't that I cared about him being less than pleased with my liberal douchebag approach to his sense of style but, I contemplated that he might think I was actually being social and I was in no mood for whatever conversation young Jethro might have thrown my way.

However, while gazing at that sweet piece of Americana I couldn't help but, to think that the mullet may be the quintessential hairstyle. Although not extremely pleasing to the eye, its a full-bodied cut with minimal frill. It takes a serious set of rhino balls to rock that bad boy and isn't that what America is about? Don't we aspire to be ballsy mutherfuckers not giving a shit about anyone else? (I mean, other than PETA (fuck PETA!) and Habit for Humanity or any of those other touchy-feely organizations hellbent on saving animals and people and shit.) And so it came to me, the mullet is the perfect embodiment of American values.

From the leisurely executive who has it all, to the blue-collared mill workers, sweating red, white, and blue, the bushy backside and clean and classy front of the mullet have been a symbol of strength, pride, and patriotism since the dawn of man. Heralded by some for it's exotic glamour and devil may care attitude and hated by others for it's outspoken nature and menacing appearance, the mullet is the America of hairstyles.

Built upon a foundation of freedom, with a strong sense of business on top, the mullet is the ultimate display of patriotism. Unlike the indecisive nature of the crew cut of the brute force of the buzz cut, the mullet gives an impression of fairness and sensibility with a slight bit of "boot up your ass" attitude, the classic demeanor of the hard-working American. Symbolic of the wigs worn by our early forefathers, the mullet shines gloriously though a crowd of drab comb-overs and arrogant mop-tops, as a symbol of independence and determination. If you could smell a mullet, it would smell like Jack Daniel's, apple pie, and the burnt-rubber from a Camaro barreling down country roads with a pretty little lady in the passenger seat, gold locks flowing against the southern sky. It would smell like America.

A true symbol of achievement, the mullet has been sported by many of America's greatest heroes, including Billy Ray Cyrus, Chuck Norris, MacGyver, The Incredible Hulk, and my childhood-idol, the eco-friendly do-gooder Captain Planet. The preferred haircut of the thinking man, Benjamin Franklin perfected an early version of the mullet, with a completely bald top and lushes mane growing from the back and sides. Pop-singer extraordinaire Lionel Richie rocked a jheri curl variation throughout most of his career, projecting him to the top of his professoin. Teen heartthrob Mario Lopez, of Saved by the Bell fame, wore a jazzed-up, curly mullet, garnering him, much well-deserved attention from the ladies. Even Florence Henderson, beloved Carol from the Brady Bunch, wore a mul

let during the opening sequence of the sitcom. I mean, sheer versatility alone is reason enough to consider the mullet the greatest hair-grooming achievement in history.

So next time your out pimpin' with your homies and you peep a whack ass g with a mullet, (Oh... You don't speak thug?) don't point and laugh, walk straight up to that proud patriot and shake his hand because he's the total package my friend. Besides, you don't want him cutting your brake line next time you go in for a tune-up, do you?

~ Jay

Wow

2009-02-03T08:08:00.004-05:00

Just a short post. This guy actually works in my building here and is in my unit. Crazy.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/skydiver_death

http://cosmos.bcst.yahoo.com/up/player/popup/index.php?cl=11856242

http://cosmos.bcst.yahoo.com/up/player/popup/index.php?cl=11854206

Our Future

2009-02-02T23:06:00.045-05:00

Ok, just looking at random things and found this on Popular Mechanics.com and thought this was the coolest thing. I am also not a big fan of copy and pasting, so I will help it out with my 3 1/2 cents.

The Technology Hunters at Inventables, a Chicago-based firm, collect and sift through thousands of unique materials, products and gizmos every year. Then they pick the winners and drop details about the materials that have the right mixture of utility and uniqueness into an enormous electronic database, along with suggestions for how they could be incorporated into new products. Here are 16 of the best, brightest and quirkiest from Inventables.

By Emily Anthes Published on: January 29, 2009

	This ink, developed by New Jersey company LDP LLC, writes and dries normally but contains particles of iron, making it responsive to magnets and able to conduct electricity. The ink could be used to print circuits on paper.
	WTF. Need I say more? Do we really need our electronics to get any smaller. Like Leo Getz(aka Joe Pesci) says in Lethal Weapon 4, "They fuck you with cell phones. That's what it is. They're fuckin' you with the cell phone." That is exactly what is going to happen. Everything is going to get so small that we will lose them and have to buy theirs.
	Zircar Zirconia, Inc., a New York manufacturer of thermal products, created this cloth knit from ceramic fibers, which will insulate against extreme temperatures.
	I guess this is for the Middle East or Arizona. Ok, firefighters might need it too. I guess being from Pittsburgh means you don't think of heat alot.
	Flavor-changing additives, developed by New Jersey–based Salvona Technologies, contain nanospheres encapsulated in larger microspheres. When the microspheres burst, one flavor is released. The rupture of the nanospheres, some time later, releases another flavor, creating a taste experience that changes over time.
	I like this. I am all about food tasting better. They need to master it first though, some combinations would be terrible. I wonder if they took the idea from Willie Wonka with his three course meal chewing gum. Yeah, I brought up qhite a movie there. Childhood nightmares from them aweful little blue Oompa-Loompa's and that freaky song.
	Electronic paper, a thin, flexible display technology that reveals digital images in full color, was invented by Israeli company Magink. Inventables imagines that the material could be used to create a portable “origami DVD player,” which would unfold to reveal a big screen.
	This would be cool. I mean think about it. If you use the paper circuitboards from above, you have digital schoolbooks. You can view what you are supposed to be reading. Kids will be coming to school with all kinds of crazy shit in their books.
	This Velcro, manufactured by Aplix in North Carolina, conducts electricity, completing a circuit when the hook side comes into contact with the loop side. It could be used to create a soft switch in clothes, backpacks and other consumer products.
	I think this is ideal for the military with their ridiculous Velcro on the uniforms. It wears out so fast it is stupid. We could have light-up patches on our Blues! Ok, that is dumb, but you know some commander will want to be the first.
	A Hungarian architect invented these translucent concrete tiles that contain optical fibers, allowing light to pass through. They are now sold through his company Litracon Bt.
	I don't really know what use this is yet. Maybe a window shade? Who knows. Maybe a shower shade?
	Glass tiles that change color in response to temperature were created by California-based Moving Color. They have already used the tiles to create a shower with walls that change color as the water hits them.
	This will revolutionize the ghost hunting now. You see them use heat sensing devices, like on Paranormal State. They had a ghost handprint on the wall. They can just set up this glass and go to town.
	This antigraffiti film, a clear adhesive with a Teflon surface, is manufactured by Integument Technologies, in New York. Paint and ink applied to the film won’t stick and can be easily wiped off.
	I think this will eliminate alot of downtown community service for lawbreakers. Gang member's artwork would rinse off the walls pretty easy then.
	“Stone” paper, sold by Design & Source Productions, is made of calcium carbonate, making it more eco-friendly than wood-based paper.
	I wonder how heavy our paperwork would be then? People complain about the paperwork now!
	This plastic expands in water, maintaining its proportions. The material, manufactured by Texas-based Industrial Polymers, can be used to produce a cast for enlarging sculptures or fossils.
	I think this is different. Weird creations, but I see the point.
	This durable antifog coating is the creation of Film Specialties in New Jersey. The coating’s hydrophilic properties means that water slides off the surface rather than turning to fog.
	I guess this will help our windshields and the glass inside a visor for you bikers.
	This water-soluble glass is blown and can break like regular glass but dissolves in water.
	I am still not sure why we would want that when there is so much water around. What if you accidentally wash a glass? Oops! Its gone! Ok, Ok, noone accidentally washes dishes.
	This paint contains iron powder, making it magnetic. Several companies, including Kling Magnetics, Inc., and Krylon, make magnetic paint.
	Not bad for people that ran out of room on their fridge.
	This all-natural, stretchy fabric is made by the Swiss company Rohner Textil AG and contains wool and ramie. Unlike most stretch fabrics, which are made of synthetic materials like lycra, it can be fully composted.
	I guess another "green" product. No more naked sheep.
	Developed by Watson Inc. in Connecticut, this edible glitter can be added to food products.
	A little bling on our cupcakes........Dumb!
	This paper honeycomb is lightweight but strong. Developed by the Dutch company Honicel, it can be used in furniture and as packing material.
	Another "greener". Instead of peanuts? They are so much fun though.

Now, I think everyone knows that I am no genius, by any stretch of the imagination, but I know that some of this is useless. How about you all give me some uses.

Urination

2009-02-02T19:11:00.005-05:00

One of the many pleasures of being married to a teacher is great stories that you get to hear. Every day she comes home I hear yet another story about all of the crazy shit kids come up with. Because of all of the confidentiality rules I can't talk about what she tells me, so instead I am going to come up with random stories about the insane stuff an 8 year old will do to get back at their teacher (of course having nothing to do with the stories she comes home to tell me).
No No, unlike the many instances of a disgruntled co-worker making a hungover morning relief into the company coffee, I have not heard of an 8 year handling hot objects with such precision as to successfully relieve themselves without scalding the skin off of their soon do drop testicles. However, I happen to know of another phenomenon that happens and it involves the cup used in a popular game of beer pong.So, lets say your teacher gives you a bad grade; what do you do? Do you slash her tires? Threaten her gold fish? Shit on her hood? No, your 8, you can definitely come up with something better.
First we'll call this sinister kid Habeeb. Does Habeeb think taking a pair of the teachers cups out of a closet into the bathroom (that your teacher happens to use as well) would start as a good idea? Seems so. Habeeb takes two cups and fills them to the brim with his warm urine and leaves them on the floor in front of the very cabinet he got them from. But it's not over, he still has some left. Little Habeeb continues to relieve himself all over the bathroom floor, only to zip up and return to work as if nothing happened.

Does the revenge work? Probably not, but the look on the teacher's face would be pricless.

Lesson to be learned here? Don't fuck with kids named Habeeb.

Plan More Betterly America

2009-02-02T12:59:00.015-05:00

Ok, now that I have your attention let's you and I have a little chat, mmkay?

Who in the reading audience likes palindromes? Who doesn’t right? Who hasn’t broken out a few good palindromes at a party to spice it up? Good, very good. Now, who in the reading audience knows what a palindrome is? Hmm I see. Well don’t be ashamed if you don’t know what they are, you are probably more familiar with them than you give yourself credit for. Oh yeah, I’m not trying to say I am smarter than you are, heck I ended the last sentence with a preposition. (ha ha, use the link dumbass). A simple palindrome, is “mom” or “dad”, as they spell the same way backwards as they do forwards. Longer ones are “racecar” or my favorite palindromic sentence, “a man a can a canal panama”. Now, as an old lady smoking a cigar while pumping her gas once told me,

“Palindromes aren’t solely words that spell the same way front and backwards, they are also words or phrases that can be re-arranged to spell different words using the same letters”. Yeah what she said. God bless her for filling us in on that. Wait isn’t that an anagram? Now I’m confused. An example would be “Osama Bin Laden” into “Old man in a base”. Funnier if you know that Al-Qaeda translates in English to “The Base”. Ok maybe that was only funny to me. The point is I wanted to share the above with you for the simple reason that if you glean nothing else from this post, you have learned a little about palindromes and quite possibly anagrams. If nothing else, these kids will help you find really smart people who can help solve all the world's problems. Wait or maybe they have the answer all along.

So let's get to work here right? Ok but now into the real purpose of this post. Ever tried to plan stuff with a group of people? Sure, we all have. Be it an office party which inevitably turns into Phil from accounting copying his butt cheeks on the office copier, an outing on the town that graduates into drucanery (that’s drunken chicanery for those also creating their own words at home) , or a vacation to some great out of country location that results in your incarceration in the local jail as your cellmate El Hefe forces you to sleep on your stomach with your boxers turned around to backside…proper planning with a group of friends can be the lynch pin that ensures success. Alas, as you have probably found out via El Hefe or other sources, it can be a pain in the ass (ha, no pun intended there amigo) to try to get the gang firing on a cylinders towards a plan. Usually, you go through a non-scientifical (that's a word, honest) scientific process during planning. It closely resembles coming up with an idea, “Hey guys, let’s go to the Super Bowl this year!” followed by an immediate synchronized response from the gang of, “oh hell yeah bro, I am so there, oh hell yeah”. That puts the wheels in motion so let's pile everyone into the pickup and head down there!

For the next couple of hours or days you and the gang are all energized, looking at prices on tickets, hotel packages, and making your picks on who will “go all the way”, excluding the obvious choice of the chick in high school who did indeed go all the way but has no relevance to a conversation regarding the game of pro football. Now what seemed so damn supported early on, encounters in its middle-to-late stages what I like call “buddy bailing” or “friend flaking”. Alliterations aside, this is the fine art and practice of an individual evaluation of the situation applying such contributing factors as, “the wife”, “the kids”, “the bank account”, and also quite possibly “the rash that you thought would go away in a day or two but seems to burn on like an oil-well fire for yet another week”. That being said, when you and the gang meet up days later the chorus is still a resounding, “Dude we are so going to the Super Bowl this year, we are gonna do it this year baby, oh hell yeah!” Let’s say you are the one who is planning and organizing this holy pilgrimage to every man’s Mecca. It is a safe bet that you got a pretty strong commitment from your buddies that the trip will go down as planned. Plus you have been told your buddies are pretty good parents to. So if they can plan and raise a kid, then this should be easy right?

A month passes and you bring it up maybe once or twice a day, something to the effect of, “dude can’t believe we are gonna go to the Super Bowl, oh hell yeah”. Some kind of strange exotic man dance ensues shortly after the exchange and then a high five seals it. The elation can…not…be…de-nied! Then, weeks or even days prior to the big day, carefully planned and rehearsed bailing and flaking operations commence. It is the forecast that no weatherman wants to predict on the innocent masses,

“tonight folks it looks like we have prevailing wind and rain coming from the northeast into the metro area with a 100% chance of a shitstorm hitting you when you least expect it”. Indeed, one by one, they approach you, “hey man, my wife and I talked about it last night, and she really wants me to stay home cause of bills and stuff”. Hmm bills and stuff. Dude just threw up the stiff-arm, showed off his best Heisman move, and placed all bets on the home team. The rest follow suit in similar fashion, “dude, I think I am coming down with some kind of cancer, my knees are always popping when I wake up in the morning, I gotta see the doctor that weekend we were supposed to go”. Right dude, thanks, I can tell you got your medical degree from playing the board game “Operation” when you were a wee laddy. As you get hit with each reason, they get better and better as if the stakes were being raised each time. “Umm hey, remember those Super Bowl plans (why no I don’t, we made plans for the Super Bowl? Wow that is news to me!), yeah it looks like, and dude you’re not gonna believe this (oh yeah is that so? Try me oh mysterious mystic mystery wonder of mysteriousness) but um, yeah, my dad just got admitted to the hospital cause some guy kneed him in the junk at Wal-Mart while he was sock shopping”. Yeah? Really? Wowsers, I guess I will just go by myself and wear all nine of the individually lettered jerseys we all bought together that spell “GO FALCONS”. Yes, reader, the Atlanta Falcons will soon return to greatness. If you are unsure of who the Atlanta Falcons are, close this blog, hit yourself once in the head, open the blog back up and continue reading. No Mike Vick comments please. Now here is a great picture of an Alabama cell phone.

So, whatever the case, planning a group excursion to whatever glorious destination seems to be an arduous process at times. I mean when is it easy to get a group of people to come to a conclusive endstate without a little compromise along the way? Would we really have an operating body of government in these great United States if we didn’t have a bunch of people deciding on plans in advance, adding their own opinions and options, backing out at the last minute, and then leaving it up to one person to dictate policy and procedure and follow through on said plans? Wait, now wait a doggone minute, the Super Bowl has nothing to do with governing or bodies of government. But this dog just might!

What was I thinking? Must have had my mind on anagrams. Nevertheless, planning doesn’t have to be as grueling and demanding as cat herding nor as painful and uncalculated as masturbating with a cheese-grater. Which the just mentioned, by all accounts, measures high on cost and relatively low on benefit.

So to enable, nay empower you to be a perfect planning guru I have devised a way for you to come out smelling like roses at the end, regardless of the situation and circumstances that present themselves. To apply some credibility to this course of action to perfect planning I am about to relay to you, I want to say that over thirty years on my behalf have been applied to research and development regarding this subject. Moreover, here I am, passing the savings on to you at this very moment. Yes, even as a young kid and through my teenage years to my twenties I have been experimenting with the best way to plan for such occasions. The result and answer is quite simple…get someone else to plan it. Credits roll. Can I get a “Bling, Bling” from the audience? Oh hell yeah.

Ending not to your liking? Ok let's end it with another nice picture for you. Here, happy? Doesn't this look like fun?

When opportunity knocks, sometimes you don't answer, you put a waffle on your head and shut up.

2009-02-01T06:44:00.018-05:00

I know what you're thinking, actually no I don't. But, sometimes offers are just too good to be true. Sometimes even when life walks up to you in a stretch limo and a nice suit and you are thinking that stardom is soon to follow....your hopes and dreams are crushed as you only discover that life wants you to suck its cock first and often.

What does this have to do with anything? Well unless you're a cocksucker like most Cubs or Steelers fans...it means you shouldn't have to suck all the time.

Now before all the Cubs and Steelers fans get all militant on me and start crying about things......

I wanted to use this post to take your mind off sports for a second. I know the Super Bowl is today and you, much like me, will be watching it today/tonight. Cool, very cool. But that is all most people will talk about today. Wouldn't it be more constructive use of your time to invent something creative like a self-licking ice cream cone or a cat carrier?

Ok, since you are all still drooling over sports today and I cannot connect with you. Just forget I brought any of this up. It appears instead of reading mindless things on this blog you would rather go watch sports. Which, by all accounts, is what I would rather be doing to. Unless, I was busy laying waffles on top of rabbits today, of course.

Enjoy the game. In a leap of faith, the Cardinals will NOT win. Hey, congrats Steeler Nation.

Never Too Early to Talk About Baseball...

2009-02-01T00:15:00.004-05:00

Baseball is America's past time and the Cubs are the lovable losers!

Where do I start with this...I've been ready for the new baseball season to start for a couple of months now. As a die hard fan of teams from Chicago I haven't had a lot to cheer about since the Cubs postseason disaster. The Bears were exciting at times and then disgusting to watch at other times. The Bulls...not even gonna start with them. It's time to get excited about another year of Cubs baseball. 101 years is a magic number and this year is gonna finally be the year. The Cubs are coming off one of the best years in franchise history. They have made several off season moves that have both confused and excited me. Now the club has officially been sold to a new owner...hopefully this is a good move...I'm still a little nervous. If they change the name of Wrigley Field I might have to leave the country.

Gotta love the money that gets thrown around during Baseball's off season. The darn Yankees broke the bank again with the cash they spent. It is utterly ridiculous and proves that baseball needs a salary cap like the NFL. They have four players combined that make more money than entire team bankrolls...it's outlandish. Oh well, if you got it...spend it on the best. I hope they miss the playoffs again this year.

How'd I get talking about the Yankees...must be because that is where the Cubs open their season this year. New Yankee stadium...it's enormous...I can't believe we are in a recession cause it doesn't look like the Yankees are struggling. I do like that the Cubs will open up there...it's only right considering the history behind both teams. The most world titles vs. the longest streak without winning one. Sweeping the Yanks might boost the teams confidence for their run this year.

Either way the season is close...only two more exciting events left...well three if you count the NBA playoffs. Super Bowl and March Madness...then it's spring training and opening day before you know it.

I can't wait...

LET'S PLAY TWO! Hey Hey!!

Music Eh?

2009-01-31T23:23:00.010-05:00

Unlike, my counterpart Ed, I can't name my ten favorite bands. I tend to rotate around newer bands all the time. In fact, I have been doing small music reviews pretty much every other week for a while now. I have been doing this on my other page set in Pittsburgh, surprise, surprise!

Anywho, back to what I was saying. I think music has come alog way and also gone downhill at the same time. It seems the most popular songs are just dubbed over recordings of electronic sounds and aren't really created on the stage or through practice. The "artist" goes out on stage for their "live" concert and barely any of it is performed right there. It may be "sung" there, but nothing is played there. Ok, this distate for some of the new R&B music might be stemming from somewhere else. Yes, I once was in my school band. I might have learned a thing or two to which I have already forgotten. There is nothing wrong with this. At least I keep telling myself that. Hell, I played soccer for ten years, that gives me man points, right? Anyways. I still stick to what I was saying. I love rock. I think that if there is talent out there, rock is where it is at. It a team that has to cooperate in the sense of millions of dollars are being flashed in their faces and they have to split it. And they are only as good as their worst artist. The R&B is like an ugly girl in a popular magazine. You can enhance their image. Seriously, I almost threw up. I apologize if anyone else just did. That is like a train wreck. Dear God! Ok. The other point I wanted to make is that it is only going to get worse. They are removing music from public schools one by one. It is ridiculous. I mean that and gym class. GYM Class! I mean who learns great sports skills like dodgeball, realize it takes talent to destroy the smaller guys with a hard, rubber ball flying at mach 10 speeds by football linebackers causing the poor, helpless kid to fly into the wall divider leaving him an inch from death. If you smiled at that, Jason Held, I owe you one! The people who are making those decisions apparently were the ones that were first out or sucked at blowing a horn. I really don't know if that is a good thing or a bad thing, but it is what it is. I know you want to scroll back up and look at that hot chick again, so I will get to the point. Keep these vital things in school. It is important for the upbringing of humans that we continue this or in ten years, our football teams will suck, and our music will be a giant electronic voice. Quit looking at her!

Lets talk about music, but not much about it

2009-01-31T21:24:00.016-05:00

Ok, I happen to like Journey and I am not ashamed to admit it. It happens to be a well-known fact people associated with Journey and their music have gone on to do great things with their lives. There happens to be other things that I like in life as well.....but, we are talking about music here. But more importantly let's focus on the bands.

For the purpose of keeping this short, I will name five bands (at least from the late-80s on...fair deal ok?) that you should have been listening to all along in life (I said this would be a short discussion by me) and you go ahead and tell me if you agree, disagree, or by rare chance are only able to listen to music in braille or sign language and have no opinion. Hmm, I should probably delete that. Nahh. Nevermind.

So here we go. All I will give you is a name and a ranking out of five, maybe a picture and a link. You do the rest of the discovery learning you lazy bum.

#1 NOFX (yup, my favorite by far)

#2 Bayside

#3 Billy Talent (formerly Pezz)

#4 Lagwagon (I love that I can read Russian, makes this even more hilarious)

#5 Tie - MXPX or

Pennywise

Ok ties are dumb. I could have just made it top six or something. Even dumber is that I am no music expert, rather, I am compelling you to now like the music I like. If you don't, I never liked you anyways. Yes I know, I left many great bands and ALL OTHER genres off. Please tell me how much I suck at life again.

Pittsburgh schools on a two-hour delay Monday after Super Bowl

2009-01-31T17:30:00.005-05:00

The superintendent of the Pittsburgh public school system has already decided that city schools will run on a two-hour delay on Monday, because the Super Bowl means a "late night" for the students and teachers. I can't decide if I should be happy about this or not.

My initial reaction is that if the adults of America have to be at work the morning after the Super Bowl, then these punk high school kids can drag themselves out of bed and get to that bus stop, too. The game should be over by 9:30 or 10:00 p.m., which isn't that late. Even some of the dorks routinely stay up until 11 on a school night.

And we're talking about a football game. It's not like we're witnessing the moon landing here. This is not like the Obama inauguration. This isn't even like the O.J. verdict. Get up and get your lazy selves to home room.

There may be a few hardcore young Steelers fans out there who legitimately need that day off, especially if their team loses, and I respect that. But they can take the day off on their own. In Georgia, where I grew up (and where Hines Ward played his college ball...GO DAWGS!), most of us went to high school with a guys who needed the day off of school after Francisco Cabrera singled home Sid Bream to beat the Pirates in the 1992 NLCS. I respected that. Go Braves.

But the more I think about it, the more I think we might look back on this and see it as the first step towards everybody getting the day after the Super Bowl off of work. It seems to have lost a little bit of steam the last couple of years, but the movement to make the Monday after the Super Bowl a national holiday is still out there. Visit SuperBowlMonday.com for more information.

When everyone gets the day off, then I'm okay with school kids getting the day off. And even though in my particular line of work in the military, I'll never have that day off, I'm fighting for the rest of you and the global war of bad dudes...and I'm waiting for the day a terrorist takes a day off.

MMM Bacon

2009-01-31T16:42:00.005-05:00

I know my fellow countreymen and women. What DOESN'T bacon make better? Well it shouldn't just be limited to food anymore.

Click here

Then type in whatever web address you want after the "www" and BAM! Sweet sizzling bacon is slapped on your favorite site.

Now, Justin, I have just made our Blog that much more appealing. You can thank me later.

Beers?

2009-01-31T15:06:00.002-05:00

Wow. I never thought that this would happen, especially with the no liquor laws in Iraq!

Shopping on the Eve

2009-01-31T13:52:00.002-05:00

Good Idea: Having a Superbowl Party when your team is going to the Superbowl.

Bad Idea: Shopping the day before that party at the local grocery store.

That was ridiculous. I just spent an hour collecting six items from a grocery store that were all in the same location. The lines were ten people, at least, deep. People were cutting in line, a grocery store faux pas, and ramming carts. People were yelling and grabbing food like a blizzard was coming tonight. I don't even know why I went in there instead of my wife, oh, yeah, she just had a root canal finished and is swollen a bit. She just wanted to stay in the car. I am sorta glad she didn't go in because she has sorta a road rage problem in a grocery store. You just know to stay out of her way and not be stupid around her. Hell, I even know this. I usually fail though. Needless to say, it was an adventure.

What amazes me is that Pittsburgh is not unique in that we have hometown team pride, but where we are unique is how intense it is. Everyone from their own town thinks they are the best fans and that is great for them, but I have been a few places and none compares to Pittsburgh fans.

There was a few oddballs in the store. One had a Raiders jacket on. We can overlook that, he was elderly. There was a guy with a Chiefs sweatshirt on. Ok, they are both losing teams. The one that surprised me was that there was a girl with a Cardinals Jersey on. I have no doubt by hearing her talk that she was from Pittsburgh. Who knows what that was all about, but insane nonetheless. It is risky business being a fan of another team in Pittsburgh.

I am going to miss this town.

There Ain’t Nothing Friendly in These Skies

2009-01-31T08:21:00.010-05:00

Many on the ground are awestruck at the concept of flight. More so if you ever get into the mechanics of it. Me, well, I am more awestruck at the people I meet while in flight. Through many flights across the USA and to overseas destinations the experiences has left me thinking that when Orville and Wilbur Wright set out on to invent flying (well at least for human beings), they probably had no idea that a separate culture would develop in those friendly skies. Me, well, I am the quiet flier. I really don’t care for much conversation. Not that I am afraid to share, heck, I am writing a book, honestly I am fearful of the conversations that I may encounter. I can’t feel but a little helpless, sans parachute, that the lavatory is my only escape from such conversations. And really, how many times do I really have to take a dump before it gets suspicious? Not that anyone would be keeping track. Except the dude who’s seat is next to the shitter. Poor guy. So anyhow on one trip, a much older lady smelling of fresh doilies and possibly old cheese, has a seat next to me.

But, before she has a seat I get this look from her. It appears that the bag in her hand will not fly itself into the overhead bin. ~Ya take the good, ya take the bad, ya take it all and there you have…the facts of the life, the facts of life!~ Easy enough right? I should get up and help cause I am a pretty nice dude. But, before I can do such an act of kindness, she looks at me and mutters, “son, are you gonna get up and help me with my bag?” What the? You bitch! Are you kidding me? But, knowing this is a cross country flight, and she will be sitting next to me for the duration, I decide to swallow my words and help her out. Of course, her bag won’t fit, right? Indeed. So, I try to wedge the thing in, as if only on planes I am able to defy the law of physics.

She remarks to me, “there are some breakables in there sonny, be careful with it”. Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you wanted help with your bag lady, I figured that your collection of fine crystal inside of the bag was wrapped in bullet proof bubble wrap ahead of time. So the line in the aisle way, oh that line of the anticipatory and fidgety passengers, grows longer and people attempt to slither by me. Finally, I remark to her, “maybe it will fit under the seat?”. Yeah, that went over well. “son if I wanted to put it under the seat, I wouldn’t have asked for your help”. Asked for my help? Wow, I thought you basically ordered me to help you Ms. Little Old Crusty Bitch, you didn’t really ask. So I am looking around at the people buried in their laptops or books or who already settled in, ready for take-off. I could have been one of them. Oh how I envy them. None of them seem interested in what is going on or in possibly restructuring their bags to help me get this woman’s stuff to fit. So, I grab my bag from the bin, put her bag up there and figure to be done with things I will just put my bag under my seat. SCORE: Ed Rader 0, Old Lady 1.

So, I sit back down in my kick ass window seat. I think she said thank you, but I was to busy hoping death would pay her a visit, soon. As I get buckled in, I notice she is fumbling around her pockets in her seat. She comments, “I can’t find my glasses, I think I left them in the bag”. I try not to listen and play deaf. Cursing the Wright Brothers for the seed they planted. It comes. “Son, you mind grabbing my bag and…” What and slam it into your head causing your brains to leak out onto your un-stowed tray table? So, of course, I get up, get the damn devil woman’s bag. She unzips it looks around and cannot find her glasses. Then she notices that her glasses are indeed, in her pockets. What, did another magical fucking pocket sprout out of nowhere and your ninja glasses snuck in there? Sigh. I put the bag back for her and before I sit back down she opines, “maybe it would be better if I sat in your seat so you don’t have to reach over me to help”. What? Are you kidding me? Where’s my 40 acres and a mule? Is it Punk Ed Rader Day on the calendar? Apparently it is. I decide to put my foot down, “no thank you, I am fine in my seat”. I was fine, I wanted to look out the window and mind my own business, watch the birds and clouds or whatever. Anything that would let me relax. But ohhhhh nooooo, she wants to sit there. I sit back down, all proud of myself for not giving in. I wonder if she keeps a secret scorecard of how to pimp out the younger generation. Well missy, the window seat operation won’t be another tick mark you are adding. Now, I’ll pause to allow you to recount the events of the above story. What would you have done? Was there something I could have done better? Should I have acted like I was asleep or retarded or something? I’m asking because there is no handbook I know of that covers courses of action in the event of senior moments like this on an airplane. I think the cunning of the old has been underestimated for years. Maybe it is the ignorance of the youth that continues to be taken advantage of. Likely, it is a combination of both. So there I am, dreading my flight back to Alaska. Yes, the truth comes out. I was flying back to Alaska. I know, earth shattering information. Maybe she will get off at a connecting location or something. I was not fond of the thought of importing her into the Last Frontier State. Then again, maybe I could run her off the road up there, or at least slap a bag of groceries out of her hand. Cruel, I know.

So we are ready for take off, finally some progress. Now I have slipped on my head phones, my escape from the rest of the world. But, of course I can’t play my MP3 player during take off. Nevertheless, maybe the appearance of my headphones being on will save me from her talking to me or at least attempting to. No dice. It appears she thinks the bag fiasco has somehow bonded us. So she starts telling me why she is going to Alaska. Great, glad that question is answered. The anticipation was burning me up inside. She said she was heading up there to do some sightseeing before it gets too cold. A couple things about Alaska, you never really get used to the cold and you never really get used to the tourists. I am elated that she gets to behold the beauty of the state. Maybe a bear will eat her while she is snapping photos. So she asks me if I have ever been to Alaska, wait, WAIT A DAMN SECOND HERE, its takeoff time and she has not stowed her tray table. We takeoff, her tray table remains in the un-stowed position, I fear the plane will certainly crash because of it. So, I reply that yes I am going back to Alaska, to Fairbanks. At this point I tell her what I do up there (although I wanted to say that I worked at a morgue and had a vacancy for her) and she replied, “oh so you are a tourist too!”. Well technically, but crap, I had been up there almost two years, that does not count as tourism in my book. Heck, I changed my state residency to Alaska from Georgia (no state taxes, works for me) and I could see Russia from my house in Alaska. Ok not really. Additionally, I did not want to establish any commonalities with her. I just wanted to listen to music, look out the window, fart in my seat, and relax. So I reply, “well I am not there for the sight-seeing”. She then tells me her husband lost his eyesight a few years before he died. Great, now I am getting it from all angles. You ruthless bitch, now I am compelled to feel bad for you. Yes, what a tangled web you weave you old spinstress. I am thinking, “how the heck did she slip that in there?”. Who talks about stuff like this on planes rides with complete strangers? So she starts to tell me all about her late husband. Ahh yes, the odds and ends of him sleeping around on her and she knew it but did not confront him and of course the rants of him playing golf with his buddies and not showing her enough attention. All very qualified complaints I am sure, but I ain’t the sounding board today. She should have left that shit in her checked baggage. Get it? Checked baggage? Ahh cha cha cha. I smile and nod for what seems to be an eternity. She has the stamina of a warrior panther. So it occurs to me that I have no outs from the conversation. I frantically look for a parachute but my search is impeded by the fact that I am indeed the window seat and while I see hope 25,000 feet below I can neither escape the situation physically or mentally.

So what do I decide to do with this verbal ambush? Attack it head on. Seize the initiative. Time to pull out the big guns. I had to use my inside voice, because proclaiming that I was ready to “pull out the big guns” would not have only been awkward to the conversation (yes for some reason that concerned me) but simply pronouncing the word “gun” on a plane would likely have me assaulted by airline trolls as a threat to the plane. So I ask her in a very sincere soft calm voice, “ma’am I don’t know how to tell you this but I would rather have my balls bashed by an epileptic who was high on PCP and wielding a sledge hammer than listen to anything more you have to say”. Pause for effect. Now my friends, I have seen a few classic moments in my life, the fall of the Berlin Wall, Jesse Ventura sworn in as Minnesota’s governor, Mike Tyson taking a bite Evander Holyfield’s ear…but the horrified look on her face tops them all. I think she would have had a cheerier response to me biting a chunk of her ear off than saying what I said. As I coldly stared into her eyes, eyes now vacant of logical thought and filled with the burning fires of visible emotion, she could only muster an “oh my God”. Yes yes, enjoy your serving of fuck-you pie. Soooooo, the rest of the flight was relatively calm. Seriously. I had repelled the enemy forces into submission. Not another word from her. After we landed and began to file out I gave two glances. One to her bag o’ hell in the overhead bin….which was immediately followed with one glance at her. Ensuring eye contact with her I simply grinned. Wishing I had somebody to high-five as I walked away. I could have high-fived myself, but then it would just look like I was clapping. That would have looked dumb although I felt like clapping was appropriate at the time. Then again, I just high-fived myself while writing this. I think Tucker Max put it best, “I hope they serve beer in hell”. Thanks for the memories Orville and Wilbur Wright.

My Kind of Fight Song

2009-01-31T00:29:00.003-05:00

Ok, if you are from Pittsburgh or you love the Steelers, you will appreciate this. If you are in an area that swearing would be bad mmmkay, then put your headphones on!
Oh, and ignore the big guy even though he is a true Pittsburgher...

My Kind Of City!

Troops Abroad

2009-01-31T00:01:00.002-05:00

http://www.cnn.com/2009/TECH/01/30/super.bowl.troops/index.html

WASHINGTON (CNN) -- Ready for your Super Bowl party? Sure, you have drinks, hot wings, maybe even a favorite jersey. But do you have an M-16, a Kevlar helmet and body armor?

Not everybody is watching the game from the comfort of the family den.
Hundreds of thousands of U.S. troops will be deployed in remote war zones, on lonely oceans and at overseas bases -- all far away from an NBC affiliate. So the military is going out of its way to make sure that many soldiers, Marines, airmen and sailors can watch Super Bowl XLIII live.
"Super Bowl day has really become a holiday, military-wise, over the last couple years," said Petty Officer 1st Class Grant Shannon.
Shannon is from a town about an hour north of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but is on board the USS Mahan, a destroyer deployed to stop pirates working off the coast of Somalia.

When they finish their duties, sailors like Shannon can head to the ship's mess to watch the Pittsburgh Steelers take on the Arizona Cardinals. The same is true for soldiers, Marines and airmen in combat zones.
"We can broadcast to every forward operating base in Iraq and Afghanistan," said Andreas Friedrich, the deputy director of Armed Forces Radio and Television Services, which has been sending the Super Bowl to troops overseas since the first Super Bowl, broadcasting it live since 1981.
All told, about 1 million American military personnel and civilians overseas will be able to watch the big game.
Some of those watching will be benefiting from the same technology that makes Predator Unmanned Aerial Vehicle missions possible.
A global broadcast system will beam the game to ships and submarines far out in the Pacific Ocean. GBS is how pilots in the United States can watch and fly an unmanned vehicle over a battlefield halfway around the world, and then feed what they see to the battlefield commanders on the ground below.

Raytheon, the company that runs the system, will use one of its video channels to feed the game to several U.S. Navy submarines and ships in the Pacific. Tens of thousands of sailors will be able to see the game via GBS, which first broadcast a Super Bowl in 2003, according to Guy DuBois of Raytheon.
"It's a pretty amazing feeling, when you get to do that, to watch it on the ship and knowing that everybody else is back home having a good time, just like we will be," said Petty Officer 3rd Class Ryan Wright, a Cardinals fan from Arizona. Wright is on board the USS San Antonio, an amphibious transport dock that is part of the anti-piracy task force.
A Steelers fan on board the USS Mahan agrees.
"It would be nice to be home and watch the game in my hometown," said Seaman Sheresa Coleman of Pittsburgh. "But it's a great honor to support and defend the Constitution of the United States."
One thing Wright and the other overseas Super Bowl viewers will miss is the legendary Super Bowl commercials. Instead, the multimillion-dollar ads that some people consider the best part of the game will be pre-empted in favor of Department of Defense-produced ads and public service messages.
Still, even without seeing football-playing Clydesdales or movie-shilling monsters, those in uniform appreciate being part of America's unofficial midwinter holiday.
"We have lots of sailors and Marines on board who have followed the season," said Cmdr. Eric Cash, the commander of the USS San Antonio. "Any time we can enjoy some traditional American sports like the Super Bowl, it's always a great time for us, a good mental break and also a good time for people to get together and socialize."
Just like home. But you have to wonder -- does the ship's galley have nachos or pigs in a blanket?

Heros come in all shapes and sauces

2009-01-30T16:40:00.003-05:00

Jonathan Squibb you are my hero. This is a sport and you will read about it HERE
The subplots are so intense, I had to wait to go to my fridge and get something to drink. Yeah, THAT INTENSE!

Morons....

2009-01-30T16:33:00.015-05:00

So, I have a story to tell...all about this idiot I know.

He spent almost seven years in the Army and was up for reenlistment with a huge bonus to stay in a cushy job in a wonderful assignment. You would think no-brainer, right?

Well, you are right in some ways.

He thought he was like George and Weezie and on to better things,but he was wrong.

He thought he was going to use the government to get an education.

He was wrong again.
He thought he was going to be rolling in the dough...

He was wrong again.

A combination of evils rueened...

I meant Ruined that plan...

I am not going to name names, but overall the economy sucks. It needs fixed. I don't see it getting better over the next four or even eight years as of right now.
So, now, he is trying to return to the military after one month of getting out. He joined the National Guard before outprocessing...
...thinking they would help financially.

Always Ready, Always There? That is only half right. They are always there.

So, he is still waiting for a signature so he can sign up again for no bonus and also for needs of the Army. That should be interesting.

Who is this moron, you may be asking.

None other.

G'head take your best shot!

2009-01-30T15:53:00.005-05:00

Did this seriously just get printed: Army Protective Vests Suck
Luckily during my three combat tours so far, as this picture to the left certainly depicts, my good looks may have helped save my life..

I also made the extra effort to stuff sheets of kevlar down my pants. Yeah it may have looked funny, but I had to protect the "Grower" (not pictured) and his two little brothers, Hekyll and Jekyll (also, unfortunately not pictured). Anyways, I blame Jimmy Carter (also, not pictured). Just because I can.

Steelers Win!

2009-01-30T15:22:00.001-05:00

Ok, if you didn't already know, I am a huge Pittsburgh sports fan. I make predictions and picks regularly and I must say I am not too bad at it. These are my thoughts about the Superbowl:

I think it is completely ridiculous that anyone is writing as much as they are abour how great the Cardinals are. Remember, they are the team that went 2-4 down the final stretch. You know, when you are supposed to be ramping up for the playoffs? They keep saying the only reason they didn't play better was because they didn't have to. That is a crock. What team wants to go into the post season with a couple losing games? Noone in their right mind. They played terrible. Yes, it looks like they got it back together, but they are going to be coming back down to Earth this Sunday. They have not faced a defense like the Steelers. I know they think the Eagles were like the Steelers are, but that simply isn't true, no matter how you stretch it. The Steelers and the Ravens, yes I said it, are heads and shoulders above any team in the league on defense. We put up 23 on the Ravens remember. What can we do to the Cardinals? I think that commentators are being oh so nice to Arizona simply because we have so much steam heading down to Tampa. They keep whining that they get no respect, how about us? We have officially earned it and we aren't getting it. Ok. That's fine. We will see come gameday. When the Cardinals are looking like the Cardinals that played Seattle at the end of the season instead of the ones that played the Eagles last week.

Steelers 24 - Cardinals 10

Wisdom is getting it done earlier in life

2009-01-30T07:37:00.005-05:00

What does this cat have to do with anything? Read and you shall discover. Sooooo...as a man in his early 30s I feel compelled to share with you (and kids of all ages) to get your wisdom teeth taken out early. I mean like right now, stop what you're doing or reading and get it done right now. Go naked, I don't care. Just get it done. DO IT NOW! Much like male circumcision, the earlier in life you get it done...the better. I am no doctor, nor do I play one on TV, however, allow me to explain. It hurts. Ok that just about wraps it up. Need any more incentive? I just had the pleasure (in concert with some associated dental surgery) with having two of my four wisdom teeth removed. I know, but worry not, the other two will be removed in a few weeks. I'll webcast it. Wanna know the fun/funner/funnest part? No, its not the fact that oral surgery and oral sex have very little do to with one another, other than the orafice most likely associated with the action verb used. It is.....drum roll....Dry socket. Yes indeedy. Like the agony of dental pain isn't enough to take a dump in your Cheerios, dry socket sneaks up like the annoying mother-in-law in a marriage you wish you never had. Other then some tarot cards, a ouji board, and some native-American dance ritual involving drum beating and old men yelling "yu-waa-ah-ay-hayyyy-yah", there is really no way to stop it. You honestly have a 50/50 chance of getting dry socket, regardless of what the damn ouji board says. Well, that is, unless your name is Journey.

Ok, well while you are watching the Steelers pummela-pummela-pummela the Cardinal Sins this Sunday for the Super Bowl. Think how enjoyable the event would be without eating chips, maybe some great-tasting barbecue, and of course sucking down a few cold ones. Yeah, Suckville, population me and Mr. Dry Socket. Thanks a lot. I hate you Mr. Dry Socket, more than tequila. I hate you so much that I would ponder adopting a flood rescue cat from the pound, naming it Mr. Dry Socket, and kicking it all day. Yes, revenge WILL BE MINE!

here it is

2009-01-30T00:27:00.004-05:00

it is designed simply to create laughter or to vent, when necessary. the free speech ability is here and wide open. oh, if you are going to talk about someone and don't want them to know...don't use their name.

and so it becomes your pie hole!

oh, I am pretty good with graphics and that so we can add flash and other things when it gets more popular.

...and hilarity ensues

2009-01-30T00:09:00.001-05:00

Just like that my friends, the good, the bad, and the ugly thing you took home from the bar last weekend. But if you are lazy like me and wish your grass was emo so it would cut itself, worry not, just sit back and enjoy the reads to follow. Thanks to Justin for setting it up, even if you suck at life.