The Realm Of Darkgarden

Countdown sequence...

2012-01-23T18:25:00.003-05:00

I thought I'd take a moment and check in with my dear reader(s). Things have been extremely stressful and hectic regarding the opening of the Courthouse Corner Cafe'. If ever there was a food business focused on the correct concerns prior to an opening, it is this one.

Everything has been revolving around keeping the quality as high as absolutely possible, while maintaining an appropriately projected cash flow. Though it often times leads to verbal blows between Sis, Dirt and myself, the balance seems to be working as we all have contributions, views and concerns from different angles. Our skins get thicker and we trudge forward toward the dream.

Tonight has me in a different work-mode. Usually after my regular job in the evenings, I do research, crunch numbers, make orders and generally stress out. Sis has been keeping up with the test-kitchen and recipe side of things, which has been a God-Send! (Can I get a mu-fuckin' GAWD BOMB here?!! Laws yes!) I haven't had to do shit with the testing up to now... This evening, I had to break down my chili recipe, alter it some for regular people to eat (as opposed to those like my brother and I who like a little chili with our helping of hot sauces and spicing), and then ... (AHH!)... write it down.

Yeah! I had to write down how I make chili. Its usually one of those meals that is made different every time... So this was tough for me. (Especially making a mild recipe.) However, it was quickly done, and easier than I thought. It was also a nice break from the regular evening of figures and fretting.

There was an interesting side-incident that took place today that involved the arrival of the commercial Panini grill... It involved burning off the bees wax coating that is on the grill surface. I fired the bad-boy up and it was soon smoking like crazy. It was smoking like... well... like a commercial Panini grill with a shit load of bees wax on it.

Now not having a venting system... The entire cafe was soon engulfed in its own fog. I guess, in retrospect, after reading this as I type it, its really not that interesting. It was, however, GAWD awful funny at the time. Especially watching Sis and Dirt try to concentrate on a food order while I pranced around the cafe ever filling with fumes.

So, here we are, with about a week to go before the opening.

I feel I shall pee myself.

Can a brutha' get a mu-fuckin' Gawd-Bomb for peeing himself?! Laws yes!

Naa... No pics today... Gotta go play w. my chili now... So... Go on...

Shoo.

Licenses! Paperwork! ... Those sudden zoning costs!!!

2012-01-07T08:46:00.003-05:00

I've read a couple books, talked to people, did a large amount of online research in order to prepare for the current adventure I'm sort of chronicling here.

The latest surprise was my quote for a monthly fee from the accountant.

$500.00 - per month.

Yeah. It even deserved its own paragraph. It is times such as that when one realizes the meaning of cliches such as "falling out of his chair" and "like a strike to the head" and the growing line, "He fell dead right there in front of the lady who just told him $500.00 per month."

It is at these sickening (for they truly are gut-wrenching, sickening moments) times that I wonder and become amazed at how perfectly and thoroughly the government and supporting businesses (undoubtedly driven by the same operation costs) suck you as dry as humanly possible as you try to succeed.

As one may view their journal, I hope to some day look or think back to this entry, and realize how silly I was being, or how weak I was. I've surpassed points where in the past I would have fled back into comfort, but I feel out of my element and quite defensive. (Yes, more than I usually am.)

Now this is strange too, as I think I'm on the verge of discovering (perhaps rediscovering is the correct word) what a positive attitude and approach to things is like, even in the face of anything to the contrary. I'm not there yet, and at times I feel it pulling my fucking head apart, but there is something happening upstairs in the noodle factory.

So with all that in mind (as I hadn't planned on rambling about my head), I now turn back toward those sudden accounting fees. I gave a shout out to Sis who should be able to take care of most of the accounting, and feel a little more comfortable that some medium ground can be had, and that the business will not have to fork out that ridiculous amount each month. A business that only has, really, one full time fucking employee, and that person is my sister, the co-owner! COME ONNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!

So I should be heading over to the cafe' shortly to meet up w. Sis and Dirt to do some more work on the place. I think I enjoy those times most. When I can just do some work and see something physical getting done, instead of writing checks and filling out forms and not seeing a goddamn thing for it.

So here was are reader(s). We're in the waning days before an actual opening. Things are starting to move quickly. Stress is rising as is some excitement. I will try to keep you (all) posted on the progression.

...K... ... ... go-on...

Piss off.

Painting Drum Beat On Walls

2011-12-29T18:11:00.001-05:00

No, its not an attempt at a clever title. It is what me, the Snowboyz and Heir (put number here) spent the evening working on.

The cafe needed a little more pizazz so the administration decided to get a color close to the counter tops. It was a no-brainer when the color "Drum Beat" was discovered to be close enough.

"Drum Beat" is also the most unforgiving color I have ever worked with in my life. I was hoping that today it would look much better then it did last night. However, its in bad shape. It will take another coat or two (which I'm planning to work on tomorrow night). Overall you can already see how much warmer and inviting the place is. So I don't regret the decision.

The past couple of days saw some major advances. Here's the quick run down (as we continue to document the ups and DOWNS.... DOWNS DOWNS DOWNS... DOWNY DOWN DOWN... Morrrton DOWNey Jr.... DOWNsyndrom!... DOWNNNNN town, things'll be great when you're DOWNNN town!... ... ... there's been a lot of DOWNS!)...but ah!.. the runDOWN:
-FEIN comes in.
-Last major banking transaction takes place.
-Application in and paid to health dept.
-Nice, beautiful, new restaurant equipment ordered (via Dirtman, aka Dirtymon!) (this also being the most exciting shit so far!)
-New coat of paint and a slightly new look (almost).
-Inventory completed.

So, not a bad few days progress-wise. Most of the time I don't feel this way, but this evening all is cool.

So kiddies, thats it in our series that may be titled: Why To Stay The Fuck Away From Starting Your Own Business, but would rather see: This Is The Reason I Listened To The Few Positive People In My Life.

Give you da' business...

2011-12-27T17:43:00.002-05:00

After taking a week longer than it should have, I literally sat with our business' accountant today for an hour while she called our wonderful federal government. Everything administrational has been on hold waiting for one stupid number that now carries the weight of a deity. The FEIN number. (Cue the chorus of fuckin' angels here. Because when that number arrives... Its the mutha'lovin' second coming, baby! Mu'fuckin' Glory-To-Gawd-AwMighty accompanies that fuckin' set of digits!!!)

You would think that the IRS would have better customer service in this day and age. Especially since we're trying to jump start our economy... Ya know? Little help here? Can't a brutha get a table dance?! Answer the fuckin' phone maybe?!!! Mope recorded message (once navigating the menu that rivaled Columbus' first crossing) said there was an approximate 15 minute wait. The wait was approximately 40 minutes (+/- 2 mins). After the accountant spoke with the agent for several minutes, I was put on the phone. Then I was put on hold for 10 more minutes.

BUT!... (a hush came over the entire Romney valley area) ...
The number was revealed. I'm pretty sure it was God himself who uttered the number.
Laws yes... God his self!

So lady and/or gentleman, this is but a wee speed bump in all the hootin' fuckin' hoopla-o-fun... FUN!... that we've been experiencing at Courthouse Corner Cafe' ... LLC ... With HONORS!

No pics today... Now... Go away!

When next you see...

2011-12-10T18:58:00.002-05:00

Another landmark today. I figure that there will be many now (landmark events), coming and going frequently.

Today was pretty exciting from a business standpoint, and from a gringo in entrepreneurship.

The view above was actually taken by my partner from CID, when the family and I viewed the establishment for the first time. (My office is just on the other side of the courthouse you see outside the window.) Its really exciting to think that next week we'll be inside getting things ready, and soon there will be a new logo on those large windows. Our logo.

... and there will be soup... Laws yes! There will be soup!

Coffee n' Gruel

2011-12-08T18:22:00.005-05:00

I debated a small bit about writing about the behind the scenes look at opening a small business. If for nothing else, to vent a little and have a little fun. So I’ll give it a shot.

It seems that I have come to a point in my life where I’ve noticed things becoming stagnant, and more alarming, that I have started to become comfortable with the daily doldrums of absolute gray.

What remnants are left of my family, I have come to realize, mean a lot to me, and, frankly (I can’t believe I’m saying this because those of the Darkgarden need no one!) I like the fact that I need them. As whacked out as a bunch we all are individually, when we join together, … we become... umm... well... a GROUP of whacked out people.

I realize now that I could actually lapse into a completely different blog entry here… on (GAK!) family and … oh… no… fogetaboutit!... Mushy shit. Stuff that those of the Darkgarden do not speak of because we’re dark, messed up people who dwell in the darkness within.

Right.

I thought it might be a good time to start up a small business (something I’ve been wanting to do for years), and what is better, I now have the opportunity to have it family operated. Sis and Dirt will be coming on board. The Snowboyz will be joining in some, as well as one of the Heirs. (I don’t know which number. I can’t keep ‘em straight!) There were rumors of Johnboy making appearances, however, I believe, if you’re lucky, on some lonely night, you may see him daintily sipping a glass of fine wine through the large bistro window; sitting by himself…scooping spoonfuls of gruel into a wet, sopping mouth, occasionally looking up slightly from side to side, only to return to his steaming bowl (and we don’t even serve gruel). “Where did you get that gruel, Art?!” we would ask. “Go away!” he would reply gruffly… (Wow! That vision changed drastically in the scope of one sentence.)

I digress.

The plan is to open a café on the corner of the main street in the quaint county seat where I reside: The Courthouse Corner Café. Specialized coffees and affordable eats. Consistent hours and quality food in a comfortable atmosphere or for take-out.

It all sounds great, and it IS great. What I didn’t realize was the administrational aspect of getting such a project underway. I researched such an endeavor many times through the years, but until you actually take the plunge you never appreciate the weight of everything involved.

I ran a sole proprietorship business once, and did my own finances, but at this level I need the assistance of an attorney and accountant. Applications, licenses and forms abound. Forming a corporation and setting up accounts comprises the daunting part of it all. You get a real clear idea where and how the various levels of government want their share.

At this point in time, we are about to close the deal on purchasing the establishment. So tension is high.

This evening, however, I’m taking a break from everything and allowing myself to be happy and dream about the moment that will soon come, when we all gather quietly after some hard hours of our first day of preparation, and open a bottle of champagne to toast the successful future we are about to embark on.

This simple event will signify a lot (to me at least). It’s a turn-around point in life where we will finally take some control, together, and produce something positive. You know, I think it’s even ok now to wonder where all this may lead us, and actually believe it will be forward and upward.
So from here, I’ll try to drop in and give whatever reader(s) may also still be dropping by a status report.

I guess the big question is: What would Billy Zane charge to conduct the ribbon cutting and grand opening?

A Warm Welcome!!!

2011-10-20T08:17:00.002-04:00

I hope you will all join me in officially welcoming our newest member of the back yard clan. It was touch and go for awhile, but he's finally joined up with the rest of our whacky crew.

Get Out Of My Drink!

2011-07-30T09:10:00.002-04:00

"Why put devil against devil for most? Go all in!"

Please don't ask, because I don't have an answer.

Dollar General - Customer Service

2011-07-30T08:58:00.002-04:00

Follow up on True Living by Dollar General.

Ta'rooooo Livinnnnn' !!! Yeah, baby!

Actually received a reply from my legitimate complaint I filed. One quick reply from Dollar General Customer Service. They wanted the UPC code from the bag. When I explained the bag was burned I received no further reply. I did also add that I would buy another bag if they'd like and try it again just for the fun value. (I couldn't help it. Sarcasm. Thank my sister for it.)

I figure it may also have been possible that someone may have connected may oh-so-popular blog and linked it to my complaint.

No, I don't think that's unlikely. I mean, what else are they doing over at Dollar General? Its certainly not in their Human Resources Department, and most definitely not in Quality Control. Low prices to the economically targeted areas = SHIT all the way around.

...and the super stores a lot of us depend on now, like an adult diaper, are not too far off this mark either.

???!!!! Yeah... That... That didn't work... I don't wear a diaper.

Dollar General, True Living, Charcoal ... FUUUCK!

2011-07-19T19:35:00.004-04:00

Ok …friends(snicker) acquaintances and the curious who find their way here, it’s time for another round of Darkgarden vs. The Corporation-Who-Is-Begging-For-It!!!

Dollar General – True Living – Charcoal.

I already realize that those of you who know me are already asking, “What the fuck are you doing using some under-rated charcoal to do your grilling/bbqing with anyway?!”

I have learned to always give the no-name stuff a try from time to time; especially the up and coming items who are striving for perfection. However, in this case I also learned that sometime you end up with what you pay for (which is the best percentage to play, but putting it up against a small investment change, I thought I’d take the dive).

I gotta tell you knuckleheads out there, I sometimes try not to bash something into the ground with ridiculous shock-value type language and descriptions, and in this case I was especially trying not to make the blog entry go that way. (Because FUCK knows I sure don’t want to go offending my single digit number of readers who probably mainly read my blog as one visits a freak show! You common sonsobitches! SHIT!... See?! See?!!! See what happens?! It is the fault of you all!!! PISS OFF!!! .. Wait. .. Not yet… Wait for it…)

Anyway… Dollar General – True Living – Charcoal.

I would have had a picture of the bag, but I thought someone would have a pic online I could grab, and the one bag I had (which has been with me for about a year) finally met its demise in flames out back.

I wrote to Dollar General about this particular True Living release of theirs. Face it. We know who the target buyer is for these items. I won’t mention it here, because it opens things up for all sorts of jagoff rebuttals, but you fucknutz who read me regularly know the deal. The stranger to the site would also be amiss if they didn’t realize the aggressive language is not geared to the reader, but to the subject at which I point this hostility at (of which I cannot seem to control.)

The basic point here?

Dollar General – True Living – Charcoal smells and tastes like you cooked your food (any type… I literally tried several types because I couldn’t fucking believe what I was experiencing!) in a pile of long, slow burning aged tires that have been previously soaked in the juice of large, decomposing mammals for about a year. Now, that is a description used in the nicest way I can put it. The tires would have to be soaking in the bodily fluids in a large sealed container, but only at about a constant temperature of 70 degrees. Now, if some drunk security guard happened by the bins, barrels, containers or whatever it was aging in, and happened to vomit the entire contents of a huge meal of pizza and boxed wine… that would fit in just fine. Take the delicately seasoned tire and light that bitch on fire. Get it good and smokey. Place that nice $15.00 rack-o-mutha-fuckin’-ribs on it and ENJOY!!!

THANKS DOLLAR GENERAL!!! YOU SHO’ DO A FINE JOB FOR YOUR CUSTOMERS!!!
YOU COMMON FUCKS! LIKE EVERYONE ELSE! NOW GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!!!... umm.. you too readers… PISS OFF!

BBQ Nightmare

2011-07-09T17:59:00.003-04:00

I was preparing to post the events of the July 4th Celebration (from July 3rd), when... a nightmare occured. It was like the tail end of Avalon I tell ya'!

THE GRILL caught on fire. My first instinct... Grab a fuckin' camera. (Thanks Sis!) Only, I couldn't find it (and as is usual, was right in front of me in a place that is not assigned for the placement of a camera... THUS my rationale for putting everything in a certain location is now bolstered!)

So anyway... I go onto the deck and there's flames flying everywhere around THE GRILL which has seen so many masterpieces in its day! After not finding a camera and getting sickened by the sounds of burning "stuff" (paint, wood and such things that you don't want to see cooked on a grill) I decided to grab water in the coffee pot which so recently had housed an awesome batch of Cafe con leche. (2 pots actually; of water.)

THE GRILL lives, but the trauma lives. THE GRILL, however, now carries more of a scarred look, like an old soldier that has seen one too many close-quarter fights.

I give you... THE GRILL... photographed just after the FIRE OF 2011!

Sign In Bull Shit

2011-07-09T17:40:00.003-04:00

Yo!

Blogger!

What the FUCK is with the fucked up sign in?

If someone wants to hack my shit... Let them have at it. I figure I accomplished my mission in having some fuck-wad waste his/her time in entering the Darkgarden. Yes... Just like our fucking government... lets give you MORE simulated control over my shit.

Fuck-nutz.

The Day Before... July 2nd...

2011-07-02T20:32:00.005-04:00

Shuffles Shuffle

2011-06-19T13:24:00.000-04:00

For Total Kitchen Fools

2011-06-06T07:35:00.003-04:00

https://www.perfectmeatloaf.com/

If you can even manage to get through the commercial (which is pretty funny), look for the knife. The knife makes it. Oh... and the initial noise the sick looking meatloaf makes as its taken from the pan!

I wanted to find a commercial just on that retarded knife though. (Yeah... I said "retarded" against the preferred nomenclature.)

Smells Like Da' Coqui

2011-05-28T17:51:00.002-04:00

A blog outta nowhere…

In doing some general research for a trip I will soon be embarking on, and because such things concern me, I ended up researching what Puerto Rico smells like.

Thanks to our World Wide Web I have now determined that coquis smell like Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. So I’m now looking forward to, beyond seeing and hearing these little things, smelling them.

One may ask, “Wow! How did you come to research the smell of the coqui, Darkgarden?”
It all started one day a long… no… not long, as time is relative to me. It all started one day in the past when I started thinking about Puerto Rico being a possible new home for me. The allure of the endless lack of cold is a pleasing thing for one of my nature.

Though I grieve deeply for America, I do dislike the idea of turning my back on it as well. I don’t believe there is any revolutionary hope for it, and I feel as I type that it is dying; the America as we know and love it. I have served it civilly and as such feel that I know a deeper pulse that it carries beyond the majority. This led to a dilemma. In so serving, I also feel attached, and don’t fancy the aspect of severing that tie. The idea of investigating Puerto Rico became relevant when one researches the cost of everything in the keys of south Florida. With Puerto Rico receiving the percentage based highest amount of government benefits, I figure they probably don’t hate us too much either. This has strayed a bit from the topic at hand, but some background never hurts a blog that no one (ok…hardly anyone) reads anyway, and serves as an outlet of thought and reflection.

So we come back to the wee coqui.

I think the Smell-O-Da-Coqui has gained its fame more from the likes of Smell-O-Da-Puerto-Rican.

Of course anyone from Puerto Rico at this point, probably wouldn’t welcome me with open arms. I admit, the concern that I have most about Puerto Rico is how everyone smells.
I hear the generic tales of Europeans being a slight more lack in hygiene than we are used to here in America (the more civilized parts). I am thus hoping that, perhaps in Puerto Rico, people received their cleanliness from … umm… those in habitation nearer to high populated towns or cities in mainland America.

I admit I have more than once ejected someone from my office who arrived there for a prearranged meeting, only do be stinking like things I dread in my thoughts on olfactory experiences. (I mean.. COME ON!... You people die and lay and gather stink that an everyday person could not vaguely imagine! This is all well and good, but someone has to remove you after the fact, and in this area, I seem to have a knack of ending up with you. I can always forgive this accompanied by the feeling of pity and dread, but when you’re alive and you present yourself to someone else in public smelling the foulest of fouls, don’t fucking act surprised when someone eventually tells you, “Dude, look. You smell terrible. Why would you think of presenting yourself in such a manner? I’d be happy to meet with you when you return clean.”) Therefore my concerns about an overall public smell seem relevant… and shall remain so.

I have been constantly bombarded by people telling me that I would never move to such a location. This, of course, only serves to make me hope like hell that the place smells ok, as I’ve lost count of how many people I would so dearly love shove my dick in their ass upon my departure. I’ve unfortunately recognized so many, that it would bring tears to your eyes if you allowed the emotion to take the steering wheel for a short time. …and yeah yeah… You have those types everywhere. Fuck! The majority of the population consists of those types! However, the good ones out there always overpower the assholes (smelly or not), and for that reason I, for one, continue to fight the good fight.

Lets just say, I want a change of ass-holes. I’ve exhausted the ones around here.

...and I do wonder how the coqui smells at twilight.

Quantum Zombie Rapture

2011-05-21T18:41:00.003-04:00

So I got to wondering with this Rapture business...

Considering Quantum Mechanics... Could the world be ending simultaneously along with creation?

On that thought... If every neutron decided to go rouge for whatever cause at the same time... Would we just blight out in a wink, or would shit get really fucked up n' stuff? Like, all of a sudden instead of playing paddle-ball, you are suddenly a vapor of smoke blowing over the top of a rotting log that also used to be President Eisenhower.

I guess the immediate answer (that came to me anyway) is that there would be no realization whatsoever, and if one were looking from the outside in (which wouldn't be possible I imagine) the existence in front of them would readjust into something probably non-describable here. (I'm guessing any more than we could write a working formula for time travel.)

So I then fall back on the concept of the world ending instantaneously.

See... Now.. If the fucking Rapture would have just come along (especially accompanied by the Blondie song a few minutes ahead of time!) all this would be for naught. I'd be driving around in a really cool vehicle of sorts, shooting the shit out of zombies (no doubt on my way to hook up with Charlie) and loving life. Unfortunately Sis (if not taken up by The Rapture) would have had her head bitten off by some zombie looking like Tom Bombadil in the first half hour while she believed she was tromping off to The Shire.

..and Johnboy... Would live several weeks without even knowing shit was going down... Cause even zombies couldn't find him up on that mountain.

Damn you Rapture!

I was LOST

2011-05-07T19:19:00.010-04:00

I recall several years ago trying to enjoy a series I thought at the time to be my kind of thing. LOST. I started the first few episodes watching, but I couldn't understand what was going on. The rest of the main family (at that time and place... which is a cool thing to say when speaking of LOST) seemed to follow it pretty good, but it took too much thinking on my part and I soon tired out.

So years later, I decided to try again. Mainly thanks to NETFLIX streaming thing where I can watch a shitload of stuff without having to wait for it in the mail. It just streams into my Blu-Ray however it does, and I get to watch episode upon episode.

I just got done investing around 100 hours of LOST viewing to see what everything was about. I enjoyed it actually. Being able to watch episodes back to back helped me understand the flow of the story (though I can't say I understood shit about what was going on at times).

Like a train-wreck you're watching in real time... I viewed the last few hours. Those who know anything about me know I don't watch (try to avoid) anything where a dramatic death of anyone major takes place.

I'm not sure I understand a lot of it, but by the end of LOST, I can now add just a little more trauma to my psyche.

I have a lot of questions, but refuse to revisit what I'm sure are thousands of threads on the matter. I will carry the baggage of LOST's deaths with me as just another weight added to an athletes training pack.

The writers did very good with Hugo and Jack (and I hate that fucking name). Yup... Everyone did love Hugo. However, where most liked Jack... I liked the fact that no matter what, he remained this pathetic, searching guy throughout the entire series. Right up to the end he is the one who still seems out there at sea hanging on a buoyant piece of debris. They chose an actor with the best "What-The-Fuck-Is-Going-On?" look.

Hell, frankly, they did an outstanding job with most of the characters for that matter.

Though I'm not really sure what the fuck I just spent about 100 hours watching, I think it was enjoyable and recommend it to anyone.

Watching it week to week? I can see why I gave up on it and left it to the rest of the family at the time. You miss one viewing or forget something and you're going to be lost. (I took notes from time to time, and asked questions from the ex at times... not that I got any type of relevant answer.)

So... when it comes down to watching FOX and the whole Osama thing, or being LOST, I chose LOST. (...and quite a few nights were spent watching non-stop FOX anyway.)

Back to LOST... I'd like to say who my favorite dude was on the show... However, it sort of just creeps to the group favorites. Hugo, John, Benjamin, Smoke-dude, Jack, et al. Just can't name one. Where I'd like to pick Hugo, I won't because everyone else picks him. So... I'll choose the noise that Smoke-dude makes after he grabs someone and is reeling them in!... It sounds like my brother making his old-car sound with his mouth.

Snowz Birthday... but... This is just a tribute...

2011-04-22T23:19:00.003-04:00

What could I possibly give the two dearest things in my life on what is classified and celebrated as such a special day?

I asked myself that very question and pondered on it today. For today is the day before your next birthday.

The number of your years doesn’t really matter. You’re both men now, and yet there is that emotionally attached feeling for you both that will forever remain suspended in a timeless existence.

The date for that matter also doesn’t really matter, for I need no reminder to celebrate your first breath and my first gaze upon you both. I feel these things as an ever present constant in my life; every conscious and alert moment, in the depths of my dreams and deepest slumber.

Every momentous to mundane moment from the first time you entered my life was a pleasure. The bond I see between you is stronger than any living thing I know, and could only compare it to the strength of, like… the hefty Roosevelt Elk, or mighty Sequoia… no… because… those are living… so…wait... Perhaps… Bedrock! Yes. Solid and ageless bedrock … or granite! IRON! Yarrr! All those things! Yes! Mighty dead things that are very strong, but not alive that they would rot away or something like that!

I remember the feeling of tightly wrapping you both in your blankets for nap time. How still you would both lie. You were both most comfortable when you were next to each other … … Even though I’d wrap you both so tight that your faces would turn this really attractive purplish color.

You’ve heard me say it before, and I’ll say it again, (for its hard for me to believe as well) that every diaper I changed (you had to know this was coming) I truly enjoyed the moment. It was the caring and comfort that I could provide you. That simplest of tasks and servitude became an honor. … … … ... and…. There were plenty of other times, tasks and things of servitude that I guess were a little more pleasurable. I’m guessing, like, perhaps the offering of a nice piece of fluffy cake was a little more appealing, or so some would think. So… … … Fluffy cake and the diaper change! They are right up there boy-os!

The years of gaming came on quickly as well. What dear, sweet boyz you both were. Crawling up on the couch to glimpse your first experience with gaming. Sonic, Echo, Mario of course, and within a year… my boyz went hardcore with Resident Evil. What a proud moment. The quest continues. Myus, Syladren, Theabyss! (Oh yeah!) They are all represented here as well. All of Virginia is here on this day… … … wait… … Sorry… Wrong moment.

I’m very proud how you have both been aware and careful to monitor your physical health and stamina. You survived four years at Hampshire High School and came out the other end (which is a very appropriate analogy if I do say so myself) better men. It was an honor to watch you both mature beyond any comprehension I even had of maturity at such an age. Your caring and pleasant nature effects everyone you touch. You have learned and practice compassion, and that my dear boyz is a rare trait indeed.

In the concept of life, you allow yourself to learn something new all the time, and yet retain the ability to teach a wise man a lesson or two. You… are fancy lads.

I figure this is about enough for your reading attention span right about now, and I’m running out of attempted clever lines and other written things.

So, because it is tradition, I say unto you, “Happy Birthday Snow-Boyz!!!” However, I merely shake my head and smile because I cherish and celebrate you both so very deeply with every passing moment, every single day of the year.

I so love you both.

Memories of The Taylor Pork Roll Grill

2011-04-10T10:09:00.002-04:00

The memories of my childhood seem to be somewhat skewed, as is often pointed out by others. (cough… Linguiniandjohnboy!) However, for good or bad, I thought I’d touch on a favorite of mine; brought on because I purchased some pork meat.

Atlantic City didn’t have any casinos back then, and I’m sure it wasn’t even an unrealized idea. In looking back I guess it was a sad time for the boardwalk as everything around it was aging and dying off. There was a new time rolling in that would eventually be swallowed up by the mega-casinos now overpowering every square inch of the boards.

The late 60’s and very early 70’s still kept a great flavor up and down the boardwalk for a lot of us. One of my favorite places was the Taylor Pork Roll grill. I don’t remember where it was, but the smell and atmosphere left many of us with memories that will last more than a lifetime.

Many times I remember going into the grill and getting a nice hot Taylor Pork Roll sandwich, fresh off the flames and an ice cold root beer. WIth that kind of a combo, man, you are in heaven. Sometimes we’d sit inside on cushioned barrel type chairs, or we’d carry our eats out onto the boardwalk, where any dropped crumb was immediately devoured by stalking gulls or people-friendly pigeons.

The interior was dark woods and brick. It was very comforting and smelled delicious. The only thing you could smell inside was the grilling.

Outside, the moms and dads all looked swell with their truly happy kids surrounding them. Smiling and laughing they would go by dripping ice cream from overstuff cones or leaving a trail of peanut shells as they shared a freshly roasted bag from the Mr. Peanut store. The air was intoxicating with smells of the sea, boardwalk and roasting pork roll. The ocean’s roar the cynical scream of the gulls and the sound of the pork roll grill all combined to complete this simple event.

All of that was brought to those of us lucky enough to experience it because of Taylor Pork Roll, which was(is?) a staple in New Jersey board of fare.

Probably right here I would have posted a picture of the infamous grill, if I could have found one. Alas, my internet searching came up short. So if anyone out there has a picture or a link to one, it would sure be appreciated and would fit right in.

Taylor Pork Roll is a treat you never get sick of, and it remains a shame that it is hard to find it in our area. There is just something about peeling off the burlap casing to slice off a few pieces to fry up.

I don’t know when they started packaging it like the following, but this is what Taylor Pork Roll is reducing itself to look like in present times:

That’s my brief recollection and how I like to remember it. I shall now look forward to Linguini telling me something like, “You know we only took you there once, and you threw up on some kid with an ice cream cone right after you ate. That was the trip where a gull shit on pa’s shirt and you pitched a fit because you didn’t get some toy.”

OMG... My Nephew plays for Phily Union!!!

2011-04-09T19:33:00.001-04:00

SWEET!!!

THE ARM! aka Why I haven't blogged.

2011-04-07T20:36:00.001-04:00

Leaking? See Whoopi make a bigger ass of herself than The View!

2011-03-06T07:45:00.006-05:00

My god.

I just saw a fucking commercial about Whoopi Goldberg's leaky vagina.

Holy shit.

I'm damaged (more), and speechless.

Donald Trump - 2012

2011-03-03T11:20:00.001-05:00

Should Trump run? Damn right! Click here and give him your support.

What does THIS mean?!!!

2011-02-18T13:52:00.002-05:00

As you know, the past few days have been busy up at Hell House. There's been a lot of turmoil out in the back yard. I had been hearing rumors from The Voice Of Morgan Freeman that Hosni Mubarak might have showed up in the back yard, but couldn't confirm it.

There's been a strong smell of shit, cumin and lamb coming from the back yard and woods the past few days. There's been periods during the night when I swore I've also heard some sort of chanting. I'm sure I'll know more this weekend.

However.... This morning... delicately positioned upon my outside deck table.... the following picture. America. I, for one, am scared.

Somebody get me Beck on the phone! NOW!

New To The "Back Yard!" Caliphate!

2011-02-10T18:09:00.003-05:00

Vibes, karma and all that partying with tea... It can lead to shit, ya know?

Somehow, in all the insanity up here at Hell-House... It seems I now have a Caliphate organizing out in the woods behind the house.

I don't know what's going on out there, but last night Billy Zane is banging on my window wanting to talk. Scared the shit outta me! I yelled at him, "Go away Billy Zane! Get away from my window! Ya hear?!!" This went on for a few minutes. He'd keep knocking and I'd keep yelling at him to get back in the woods. Finally he seemed to realize I wouldn't talk to him at 3 in the morning and he went away sulking toward the back yard.

So this morning I'm trying to get to work, and there he is waiting on me. He started ranting about the Caliphate being out in woods out back and they're all worked up and causing unrest, plus they're running out of room and stuff... I had to break him off. (I HAD to get to work! I didn't have time for his antics. Come on! You know how he gets.)

So I quickly met with The Voice Of Morgan Freeman who was contentedly in place, who did firmly relate that there was indeed a Caliphate gathering, but not to worry, and everything was fine.

I just don't know... I headed off to work... Billy Zane took off running toward the populous... and I had to go to work. Life goes on right?

Bring Out Your Dead!!!

2011-01-14T20:15:00.006-05:00

"…trying to bury their dead."

Now I’ll give you this much (and for some of the blind, I’ll WARN YOU), that our country is in some really serious trouble.
However… I’m just thinking… that whenever you hear commentary that includes the verbiage, “…trying to bury their dead,” shit has GOT to be really fucked up beyond anything we want to experience.

I was just sitting here, hanging out, trying to do anything with my blog to keep it up to date (with what I had NO idea), and I heard that line on some news blip, that I still haven't heard since.

It struck me that it was uttered with the same emphasis that one would suggest we purchase a softer toilet tissue to clean our ass with, or whether or not I wanna step on a Sham-Wow when I get out of the shower… or chop shit up with a SlapChop (you’re gonna love my nuts).

So in that context I now have a dilemma of three things:
1. Where do I bury “THE DEAD?” (Oh man… Plural!)
2. What tissue do I clean my ass with?
3. Do I really need to worship a guy named Vince, and all that he has to offer?

How in the hell did this become an equally enthusiastic question in my life?!

We’re talking about the disposal of multiple corpses and not having a location available that subsequently warrants the question of where to put them!... AND!.... Whatdaya wipe yo’ ass with?... AND!!!... Am I gonna love Vince’s nuts? I don’t want to love Vince’s nuts!!! I got a pile of fucking dead people here! I ain’t got time for Vince's fucking nuts!

So, mayhap I’m just looking at things in a strange perspective, or perhaps a perspective that is being ushered unto us all for undo equal consideration.

Where the hell are we heading?

I’m viewing a commercial now where a fucking reptile is telling me to let him insure my driving because he’s pop-culture. That was followed by a credit card company wanting me to go into debt for a shit load of Vikings and a singing fucking goat!

We have GOT to be the laughing stock of the fucking world.

…and I have NO idea where that fucking poor sap is supposed to bury their dead!

Hmm... My Blog Pic

2011-01-12T18:14:00.003-05:00

My blog pic is freaking me out.

I realized I've been staying away from my own blog because of it.

I must contemplate this for awhile.

.... Then I'll probably have enough sense to change the picture to something else.

Glenn Beck with a visiting Billy Zane or Billy Mays perhaps is sounding good.

We'll see.

Jeff Probst DID Fart... I am SO sorry Jeff.

2010-12-20T18:00:00.003-05:00

...but that shit was SO fucking funny!!!

Luckily, I had it all on HDTV and on my DVR so it could be reviewed countless times.

Ok... For anyone who is in the dark...
On the final Survivor this season, Jeff is interviewing Terry Bradshaw, and in the midst of the interview (this part of the show was live), you can see discomfort on Jeff's face... His jaw starts to tighten, his lips purse, and then he lets a lil audible POOT fly.
HOLY SHIT! It was so funny!!! Right as the poot goes off, his eyes wince shut as well.

The follow up reactions of Jeff and Jimmy I believe verify this act further.

Jeff let one fly on live TV, and it was fucking hiliarious. Needed the laugh.

Luckily, I also saved the DVR of it (and will for awhile).

I am pretty sorry I posted this, as the poor fucker probably really had to let one loose to go and do it on live TV, however, I've been through some pretty fucking uncomfortable shit in my day as well, and I'm not getting paid shit loads of money for it... sooooo... Laugh it up!

LET IT SNOW - What it REALLY means...

2010-12-15T19:38:00.004-05:00

Oh the weather outside is frightful
But the fire is so delightful
And since we've no place to go
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

It doesn't show signs of stopping
And I've bought some corn for popping
The lights are turned way down low
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

When we finally kiss goodnight
How I'll hate going out in the storm!
But if you'll really hold me tight
All the way home I'll be warm

The fire is slowly dying
And, my dear, we're still goodbying
But as long as you love me so
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

Greetings reader(s).

This weekend, in a rare burst of jovial holiday spirit, I popped on the classic Christmas song channel on DISH, and commenced to decorate a tree I had purchased the day before.

I gotta tell you, I was feeling downright good. Was really enjoying the day.

Great part of the festivities was watching my boyz walk in the door and looking at me like Ebenezer Scrooge’s house-maid looked at him the morning after he woke up realizing he hadn’t missed Christmas (and the spirits had done it all in one night).

I exacerbated their confusion by yelling, just a little too loudly, cheers of Christmas greetings and merriment. (Ala Jimmy Stewart.)

Once the laughing was over, they (and their friend they brought along – who is also used to my eccentric performances) settled down in peaceful comfort; Lucas napping soundly in front of the fire while Trev and friend settled in to some World Of Warcraft.

All was right with the world… UNTIL…. Let It Snow came on.

Ella Fitzgerald was cranking it out, so there was that amount of respect going on, and I didn’t think too much on it until… I thought about it…. And…. Realized…

Whoever it was (I didn’t attribute it to Ella. She was just singing about the act), but whoever it was… Brought some corn for poppin’.

Some chick…. Brought Some FUCKIN' Corn For Poppin.

I don’t know what snapped inside of me at that point, but the entire song took on a whole dark theme. Understand, however, that normally I would rejoice at such an event.

That day, as today, it was not welcome, and now has slid into the concept of funny. So I’m now going to drag this poor, simple song through the garden… because I can!

Right.

So… Here we go…

Let It Snow

Obviously the weather is starting to suck outside, and this chick singing away is noting this, but also singing the praises of the fellow’s interior setting. (She's diggin' his fire, and fine rugs and furnishings.) Also adding her own chant to make the weather grow in intensity.

“It doesn’t show signs of stopping…”

So now she’s a meteorologist and is working her wicked wiles on the poor fellow.

AND! This is where it all goes south:

“I’VE BROUGHT SOME CORN FOR POPPING.”

People (or person… or… just me re-reading this next year), I ask you to explain why the fuck this woman decided to bring along some corn for popping!

Can you do it?!

What was she doing sneaking in some fucking snack into the house that would require preparation and some sort of ritual to prepare? VERY presumptuous, says I!!!

“The lights are turned way down low.”

They are?!
By who?!!
So now she’s also walking around the house turning lights off?
It seems so! About the same time she starts that weather chant again about the weather building its fury.

“When we finally kiss goodnight, How I’ll hate going out in the storm…”

Yeah? Too bad!
At this point the poor fellow has GOT to be thinking he’s doomed.

She pulls out a tricky line next with, “But if you really hold me tight, all the way home I’ll be warm.”
Hmm… Does this chick think I’M going out in that cold shit WITH her???!!! She’s outta her damn mind!

“The fire is slowly dying…” Our poor man is really pissed at this point, because while she was walking around the house turning off lights and chanting for bad weather, she couldn’t get her lazy ass to toss a fuckin’ log into the fireplace?
Of course not. Our prima-donna wouldn’t dream of lifting a finger to help keep the place warm! She’s too busy toting corn around that the poor son-of-a-bitch has to pop for her now!!!

“But as long as you love me so…”
WHAT?!!!
GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY HOUSE, TAKE YOUR CORN, AND TAKE YOUR DAMN VAMPIRIC CLAWS OUTTA MY BACK!!!
OH! AND IF YOU’RE GONNA THROW SHIT AT ME, MAKE IT A CHUNK OF WOOD SO I CAN GET MY FUCKIN’ FIRE GOING AGAIN! BITCH!

Ok. So that’s what ran through my head when I heard the song and decided to analyze what it was about.

I asked some people around work today about their thoughts about the gal bringing some corn for popping. Some (ok… FEW) saw my point. Most… Well most reacted as they usually do when I bring up some strange concept. This results in funny looks, sometimes nervous laughter, and me being suddenly alone.

There you have it though, and I stand on my feelings.

Further note that when you have a man singing it (Like our Lord Frank’s version) all of this goes out the window.

So, for now, Happy Holidays!

...and stay tuned for my rantings on, "... For the Holidays you can't beat Home Sweet Home."

I'm sure you can just imagine where THAT one's gonna go!

Peace n' Love KNUCKLEHEADS! Now.... GET THE HELL OUTTA HERE!

No Country For Old Libertarians

2010-12-07T18:28:00.006-05:00

Was hanging out at my second home (FOX NEWS) away from home... well... if I had a "home," ... and the following sort of speaks for itself. Its just fucking hiliarous. I'm not trying to make any political point here, just pointing out something that I KNOW quite a few more out there HAD to have also notice.

I just wanna know... If you go and piss Nick Gillespie off (he's a head editor for reason.tv, and frankly, an educated fine speaker), does he break out that fucked up killing instrument that was used in No Country For Old Men?!!!

(And hey! Did I ever tell you all that I officially own a shirt from that film?... HEEE!!!!)

Ok fan(s). YOU make the call! ROFLMFAO!!!!...

Nick Gillespie

Anton Chigurh

CBS Parade Coverage

2010-11-25T09:33:00.002-05:00

I should have known better.

I have NO idea what I was thinking.

Well, yeah I do... I thought it would be neat to pop the parade on and catch a few marching bands and see some of the visitors in New York... So far its been nothing but garbage. I mean some SERIOUS garbage!

I can't make it to the parade. I switched over the the city where all da' brothers love each other on ABC (not that I'm any sort of fan of that network).

CBS - Miley Fucking Cyrus? Come onnnnn!!!!! Makes me wanna shove a turkey up someone's ass! ... Then... like... take it back out and prepare it in the oven... and feed it to Miley and the entire staff over at CBS... with some bum gravy on top! Eat up Maggie!!!

At least over in Philly their doing live stuff w. normal looking performers and not-so-perfect performances. They toss a band or two in there, and I'll feel as if I saved a few of my remaining brain cells.

Ooops... Goodbye ABC too! Couldn't even get this thing posted before ABC's coverage went to shit as well.

Its cool... Found a James Bond marathon going on. That'll work for some ambient media while I putz around the house.

Hmmm.. I guess I need some sort of picture in this thing...

Ok...

Beer Basted Boar...

2010-11-01T20:01:00.003-04:00

I could think of a more awesome way to celebrate the this past holiday...
Wait...
Nevermind.. Yeah I could...

HOWEVER!... A great ambient household and the proper food preparations...
That shit goes a long way for me...
Lady(ies) and/or gentleman(men)... Beer Basted Boar Ribs...

I give you the before......and after...

The little things... and a saw.

2010-10-30T16:59:00.005-04:00

With the ever constant doldrums at Hell House weighing heavier and heavier by the day, I realized a drastic change was needed. Everything in my life was becoming completely emotionless; like aged dust on a sealed crypt. I was starting to fill the dusky void with anger and sarcasm, leaving little space for anything else. I had abandoned the flow of the living and evolving world, along with pretty much everyone in it. I continue to do my job well (not the best by a long shot, but above average still), as that remains the only social interaction I care to endure (and by necessity at that).

So an interesting side note is appropriate at this time:

This posting started out to be a quick, fun post about cutting some wood. Upon pondering how to start the theme, the post seemed to turn into some sort of psychology project!

I'll march onward anyway...

Hell House was in dire need of wood, as my miserly ways will not permit me to run my furnace unless absolutely necessary... and I SO dislike the COLD!

I figured instead of paying a boatload of money for a couple dump trucks of wood, I would purchase a good quality chainsaw and get myself out into the woods where I could reconnect with the ebb and flow of life.

It worked out well, and although I was using a machine, the bulk of my time was spent walking, loading, carting and stacking the wood. Plenty of time to meditate and just connect with things. Quite refreshing.

So, the end result (which was the only reason I was doing this post!)...

Chiller TV, The Langoliers ... WTF?!!! (and my spatula)

2010-10-24T08:13:00.002-04:00

I settled in to watch Stephen King’s The Langonliers last night. (Was on Chiller TV; commercial channel, so I pre-taped it a couple hours before watching.)

So I’m layin’ in bed, and its not the greatest (was made for TV in the 90’s), but it was a good view for one time. So after 2 hours… its half way done… AND THERE’S NO SECOND HALF!!!

So 1:30 this morning, I’m cussing out the TV because Chiller didn't indicate that there was no second part to watch. (On the guide, it just looks like they’re showing the movie back to back. I figured they just marked part 1 and 2 exactly the same. .... yeah...)

I looked ahead and saw another double shot starting at 2 a.m. and BOTH ending by 6 this morning. So I time record the second part (which made me over-ride a bunch of settings because it kept telling me I already recorded it once.)

I got up early (about 6:30), started laundry, did dishes (yup, I left ‘em dirty last night!... I’m so proud!), then made nice breakfast for me and shit-head-bird. Plopped down to watch part 2…. And….. IT WAS MUTHA-LUVIN’ PART ONE AGAIN!!!

Went to the Chiller TV web site. Tried to find an answer. Nothing. Signed in as a member because their forum didn't seem to work. It still doesn't. You can't search. Couldn't figure out how to post anything.

Did a general search over the internet, figuring (hoping) I wasn't the only person pissed off about the second half. Sadly... I seem to be. Its that or I'm completely missing something right in front of my face.

Now here at Hell House, I realize that I'm living in some sort of vortex, however, I doubt that it reaches as far as Chiller TV. I think they messed up... or like messing with people.

The following is now a completely different issue based on a spatula and the Vortex of Hell House:

This morning as I was preparing to start some eggs, I went to the usual drawer to get my metal spatula, but it wasn't there. Mild panic ensued as I could not believe what was happening, because it is always there and always put away in the same place. I glanced over at the drain board, just to make sure (though I know it wasn't since I just did the few dishes from the night before), and then even opened the oven to look. I checked another drawer that contains back-up and rarely-used utensils, but it wasn't there either. I started removing items piece at a time from the original drawer, heart racing in disbelief.

I closed the drawer and looked all around me, breathing heavily and laughing at the silence. (Well... Aside of the bird yelling, "Let me outta here!" in the background.)

I uttered, "No way!" and opened the drawer again, and there, right on the very top of everything, was the spatula; a big honkin' spatula glistening bright silver from the overhead lighting.

Too many hits.

2010-10-04T10:12:00.001-04:00

Deleted due to too many hits.

We don't like hits here.

Ok. Top 10. Right now.

2010-10-01T18:24:00.004-04:00

Ok reader(s), whoever is out there, and wants to participate.

I'm going to list, right now, my top 10 favorite songs and covering artist(s).

If you would be so kind, all (probably one) of you post YOUR top 10 favs (right now) in the comments area, but DO IT AS ANONYMOUS. I want to try and guess who posted what. I don't know if I'll follow up with anything from this point on, but right now it intrigues me... It pleases me.

So, if anyone cares to indulge... POST AS ANONYMOUS and have some fun.

Here's my shiz:

1. Ain't No Rest For The Wicked / Cage The Elephant
2. Little Light Of Love / Eric Serra
3. Dead Again / Type O Negative
4. 99 Problems / Jay-Z
5. Fade Into You / Mazzy Star
6. Ah! mes amis...Pour mon ame / Pavarotti
7. Wings Wetted Down / Blue Oyster Cult
8. The Court Of The Crimson King / King Crimson
9. Book Of Roses / Andreas Vollenweider
10. Vicarious / Tool

Ok.. remember... this is just right NOW. Cause I realize everyone's shit changes almost by the minute.

...and... y'all ain't gotta do shit if you don't want as well. I'll keep talkin to my damn self on here.

Now...

Piss off!

German Fest of Mt. Olive, VA....

2010-09-25T22:03:00.006-04:00

More like.... Over-rated, Dust-Fest with Shit Food and overpriced warm, lousy beer.

I understand that its the first event this organization has had at this location, and obviously there's bugs to be worked out. HOWEVER, you can not excuse poor food and drink.

Parking wasn't too much of a problem, and I'll chalk the $5.00 fee as a push, as there was no entrance fee for the grounds. There was enough staff to make sure you parked appropriately.

The day was warm (hot in the sun), and there was a large number of visitors, but no tents or shaded areas, unless you camped out next to wooded areas. The few tables that were there, were packed with people and sitting in direct sun. I didn't have a problem with any of that, but I'm sure some of the older visitors weren't too happy about it.

After arrival, the Old Guard Fife & Drum Corp were doing their thing. They were awesome. Kind gave me some hope for the event. Unfortunately, after they were finished, there was a brief interlude of really creepy German music, that instead of sounding festive, sounded more like it belonged in Das Boot down in the sub. (You had to see the movie to get that one.)

So Sis, Dirt and I got in line to get some food.... At the only vendor at the event. There was a long line, and after finally reaching the ordering area, things were a bit chaotic. The food that was there was sitting, and sitting; some looking pretty special. I went with the bratwurst with kraut, some beans and apples. Sis had the same. I'm not sure what Dirt was scarfing down, however.

While in the food line, I went over to get Sis and I a beer. $3.00 per little plastic mug, and $3.00 to fill it with beer. ... .... Which ened up being mildly cool, if not warm, Yuengling and only about 8 ounces (as half the little mug was all foamy head). That was it on the beer too. One location. Just Yuengling and Yuengling light.

So we grabbed a seat (on the ground in the sun) with our food and cup of warm beer. That's when I tried the brat. I don't think the putrid sausage ever saw a grill, and tasted like it was run under a hot water tap and served up. After almost gagging, I turned to Sis, who had a similar look on her face, and summed up the flavor as being like "eating a big ole nasty cow dick." Sis didn't eat anything else.It was just aweful food. The beans I had were hard, cold and very un-noteworthy. I don't know what they did to the poor apples, but they threw so much spicey shit all over them, I don't know what I was tasting. My plate ended up in the trash.

About the time I was chokin' down that bite of cow dick, the German band started up. Gotta give 'em credit. They were sure trying, but not many there could get in the spirit with the hot sun, inability to get a decent sized cold beer and a decent table and chair to sit at.

We all departed after a little over an hour there.

Was it worth it, you may ask?

Sure it was.

Because I could just drive down the road to Sis' and hang out. If I would have driven from Northern VA, or from where I live (for that matter) just FOR that event, I would say it would NOT have been worth it.

There was good times watching the Ole Guard and yackin on cow dick though. I won't be going back there in the future, however, unless I see them invite more (COMPETITIVE) food vendors and some decent cold beer.

Oh... and look... If someone came over to my blog by searching this event.... I really don't wanna hear your shit in defending that poor excuse for a Brewfest. It sucked. Suck it up and get it right next time.... and find someone who knows what real BBQ and German food is!

Now piss off!

Wakeman's Grove Invitational Blues Jam, Part 2

2010-09-21T10:23:00.005-04:00

Now prior to attending the WGIBJ, and after posting my initial post about prepping the ribs, I Googled the event. Aside of finding an immediate link to the post I had just authored, I found some hits, and managed to find one with Johnboy playing some congas. I won't embed the "movie" here, but if you're that hard core, here's the link to it:
http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=45332942
Evidently that was from a song back in 2o08, and after what I saw, I vowed that night I would not be caught dead near those conga drums.

The event kicked off slow, as events like that often do, which is totally to be expected. Leo, the host, and his family were extremely nice people, and it was nice meeting them.

The evening waned and live music eventually started making an appearance. Personally, my favorite artist of the evening was an aspiring, eccentric guitar player and singer who was really on to something somewhat refreshing. Sort of wish I had his name, as I'd give him the credit due. He's got talent he can do something with.

Leo did awesome playing a slide, and Chris (a real blast from the past) remained clean and open to fill in with whatever was needed on bass. (Not fair to comment on my own brother, my readers KNOW how I view his expertise and his music preference.)

Well, those were the musicians that I personally found note-worthy among the ones I observed, and there were quite a few.

One may, but probably not, wonder what happened to the ribs... LOL... I couldn't tell you. I departed. From what I heard, upon my departure someone started hacking them up into pieces and trying to grill them individually. I'm sure the taste probably worked, but any semblence of tenderness would have taken a dive out the window. So my appologies to the Leo family for not having them done in an adequate time frame.

Thought about asking how much Leo was selling his bike for though.

Ok readers.... Piss off!

Wakeman's Grove Invitational Blues Jam, Part 1

2010-09-17T21:38:00.005-04:00

Ok... It seems because I'm a friend of a friend (or more like a brother of a friend), I will be attending the 9th Annual Wakeman's Grove Invitational Blues Jam.

I'm'a document this shit.... as its bound to have some good war story shit by the end of it all.

This blog entry merely addresses some preparatory work regarding the event.

I was in a slight panic over the title at first (Yadda Yadda Invitational?), as my golf game sucks; especially since my shoulder is pretty much shot and my right elbow is completely shot to hell-n-gone... However... I've been assured this is a musical event. ... ... SWEET!

As I am not known by the host, I was concerned about showing up, and thus wanted to make sure I contributed as best I could. Now Leo is "Grillmaster" of this event. That's not a title to be taken lightly. I don't think I've ever even dared take on such a title, so I'm a little skittish with my contribution.

I chose ribs.

When Art (ooops...) When Johnboy related this info to Leo, it was indicated that I could assist with the grilling. Now this leads to some additional anxiety, as I'm nervous about rubbing anyone else's rhubarb, so to speak. Hell, the last thing I wanna do is infringe on the cooking expertise of a gracious host! I am assured that all is cool.

All I was hoping for was a shot at some jamming on some percussion at some point until my right arm falls off and digging some sweet music. Maybe some enchanted jam or two.

Well... RIBS it IS! It started out with a small problem, as they only had two racks of the big boys, but my hope was for four racks. I substituted two additional baby-backs.

So here we go dear reader(s).... I did a paste rub... almost jerk-like... let that shit sit in for about a half hour... then finished them all off with another dose of a total dry rub. With the up and coming transport to Leo's tomorrow...I wrapped the ever-livin' shit outta them pork fuckers in the hopes that the jerk/rub will meld nicely. The smell seems pretty good for a jerk/rub... nothing overbearing, and if nothing else, the aromatic aura is one of a only slight sweetness, but more woodsy and primal. So I'm feelin' good about it.

The recipes some (one) of you may wonder? Ahhh... That would be the property of Mr. Nick himself. So sorry.

So here's my "Oh-Shit" all wrapped up and ready for transport in the morning!

Obama Get Out

2010-09-09T19:33:00.002-04:00

Obama Get Out

You don’t have a clue
And you’re killing us all.
You take all our money
With no plan in stall.
You’re deranged in thinking your plans are anew,
They’ve been played out before
And all gone askew.
You’ve been nothing by hype
Since before day one.
Can’t you hear America sing
Get out da’ West Wing?!

Unlike Rob Ross painting happy little trees
He’ll draw on your brain with a rusty nail.
Implant visions that’ll make you wail.
You won’t see shit though
Until it’s too late.
Don’t get used to no fine dining
On that dinner plate.
You’re kids ‘ll be whining.
No more to sing.
Till you get that fucker
Out da’ West Wing!

You socialist pig
Wallowing in the mud of the left,
I got a small business, baby,
But you taxed it to death.
Once had a house
Nothing big, but clean.
Nothing like yours
Nor with your fantastic dreams.
I had a small business, baby.
I once had a house.
You stomped it to death.
But you’re akin to that, baby.
Bring your ass into the ring.
Knock you the fuck out
Of The People’s West Wing!

The Classics (?) Hey Buddy! Got A Cigarette?

2010-09-09T18:30:00.005-04:00

So I got home this evening and got in the mood to possibly write something. Went into my files of stuff and got to reading some older stuff. Some might have been published on an older blog in the past. I don't remember anymore what was or wasn't.

Some that I thought of revisiting for publication were pretty... frightening? Good shit though (to my twisted ass anyway). Anyway, I found this one and thought I'd occasionally do a revisited classic. This is a strange piece to have been authored by "DarkGarden;" where usually works such as this were penned by "Mr. Nick."

So, for your poetic enjoyment, I present:

Hey Buddy! Got a Cigarette?

Met the lonely man,
Scarred from chest to his cock.
So many nameless operations.
Body a battlefield.

They cut him over and over,
Each time take more and more.
Take some gut,
Take some disease,
And each time lose a little more
Of what that person was.
Little more of that supporting
Soul slips away.

Like a gas under pressure.
Hissing leak.
Contents escape into space.
He was proud once.
He was mighty once.
Children sang and played about him.
Weathered and quickly aging.
A little more of
That soul slips away.

Paranoid and bent.
Wanting someone to understand.
Wanting someone to listen.
His every step, now, is labored;
Where once it bounced lightly.

Begging for cigarettes
Smoked in stained and colorless shorts.
Tell him not to smoke inside.
A little more of
That soul slips away.

Trying to remain tough
Trying to save face.
Picked on.
Trodden on.
Sipping on an old coffee
From a Styrofoam cup.
And every moment
Trying to forget the man he was.
Another veteran from some forgotten war,
A proud father of four.
But no one cares now, brother.
Things move fast now,
And we have no time for past.
A little more of
That soul slips away.

I saw them carry his body away.
Then I looked across the street where
Someone carried some trash to the curb.
I gazed at both scenes as one.
They looked the same.

They laid him out cheaply,
Just down the street.
I walked inside.
I don’t know why.
Several dusty people roamed about.
I searched around a bit for an answer.
There was none.
There was silence.
I walked back home,
A little more bent and a little slower.
A little more of
My soul slipping away.

-Dark Garden

Phil Fucking Collins... WTF?!!!

2010-08-28T20:22:00.005-04:00

Oh! OH!!!! Ya know what?

Anyone that is here right now as a result of a WEB search.... GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!!

Here's the deal...

This dickhead (yeah.. he's a dickhead now... he's worked at earning the title!!!) has been at it forever, and I've left him alone - out of respect.

Now... Like the fuck he is... I can't figure what he is thinking; where he is coming from; what he is about... So...

He needs to be put to rest.

He needs to tour w. Type - O.

He's lost his sense of reality. He has joined the Choir of STING.

He needs to burn.

Fucking FRY, baby... F R Y

Glenn Beck - Its whats for dinner...

2010-08-28T10:11:00.002-04:00

Anyone else out there get the urge to eat steak when Glenn stepped out at the rally?

Marty (1955) w. Ernest Borgnine

2010-08-21T08:22:00.005-04:00

Started writing an email back to Sis this morning about an old movie I watched last night that I had saved on my DVR, and figured I should blog about it. It fits. Nothing here makes any rhythmic sense. So, I take up where I was writing Sis:

Yup! It was my first Marty! (I discovered was a favorite of Sis'.)

Man, you know… You watch a movie like that, and its just great. I found myself getting overly nervous (so used to the noir themes in even the comedies we have these days) waiting for a complete disaster to happen everywhere, and then on edge hoping they would adequately sort things out by the end. But it didn’t go that way. It was just goddamn good acting, good cinema, a good story and uplifting at its simple end.

You just don’t get that anymore.

You got CG out the ass, or plots that writers think need to be so complicated its like having to go to work to watch.

Now, not being hypocritical here, I'll admit I'd also be the first one to pop in all the Harry Potters in order of release and watch them straight through (if I had the time these days), and because I'm not ashamed, I also follow the Twilight series with anticipated delight.

Now I can hear those who are still reading this moaning out there about my credibility as a film critic, and you people can take your moaning asses the hell outta here and drink some pee. Yes, go drink pee. Warm or cold, weak or bold, from young or medicated old.

(Stop that. Stop that!... That's silly. Just silly. Right!)

Ok, where was I before my mind turned?...

Marty. Right!

The movie is about a gentle butcher (Marty, played by Ernest Borgnine) who lives with his Italian mother, and who meets a shy woman (Clara, played by Betsy Blair).

I won't go into any more details, lest someone out there actually watch it who hasn't seen it, and anyone else knows how to navigate IMDb.

Look for Marty on TCM, put it in your Netflix cue or buy it somewhere. Its worth the watch.Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time!

NO.... MORE.... FUCKING.... COWS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2010-08-18T21:14:00.004-04:00

Yeah... OH YEAH!!!!

This morning! Record high, baby!!!

Three of those beasts on the side of the house.... AND.... (in the words of Frank Zappa)... as if that weren't enough!... Four more out fuckin'front!!!!!

These fucking beef sum-bitches are starting to make me late for work on some mornings. I'm fucking GLAD I got them documented. Who'd believe I'm being bombarded by fucking cows by the dawn's early light???!!!

OH!... and get this shit... Here's what they tell me at work... 'Just go out there and start waving your arms around and yelling at them.'

What?!!! YOU go out there and start yelling at shit 20 times your fuckin' weight that drool and shit anywhere they want!!!

GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF THIS CURS-ED PLACE!!!!!!!

Where Sisiggy is going to be a recluse.

2010-08-18T10:27:00.002-04:00

Hey! Idiots!

2010-08-15T20:24:00.005-04:00

Hi there you knucklehead readers.

Just dropping in for a moment to let you know that we here in the Dark Garden are quite alive and very well.

There's all sorts of cool shit to talk about and warn you of, but I just don't have the time right now.

Ah, so many topics, so little time for you worthless readers! (and dear readers)

So for now... Piss Off!

Cows. We got cows.

2010-07-18T19:14:00.004-04:00

Yet another daily reminder of the hell I live in, are these fucking LIVING pieces of beef, that I'd love nothing better to do than shove their hardly warmed meat into my waiting gut!

I'm surrounded by these fucking farm fiends 24/7... and even have to go out of MY way to open and close various gates (the number of which depends on the time of year here at hell house) to get the fuck away from the house!

Now I see they mock me. Yes they do. Here's one that escaped the main coven to breech the main prison house, just long enough to shit in a few places and eat some of my mown grass (at least the fucker did that!):

Look at that beefy sonofawhore!!! Right in my fucking front yard! By the walkway I just muthafuckin' weed-ate!!! Starin' at me! Shittin' and starin' at me!!!!!!!!

I hope to eat him soon!

Fat Fuck Burger

2010-07-18T18:59:00.003-04:00

May I present to you, the newest in Mr. Nick's line of recipes. It was named by "Ten" last night after its preparation. The Fat Fuck Burger is all about the use of Fat-Back. Johnboy would be so very pleased.

FAT FUCK BURGER

Pounds of Chop Meat (80/20 pref., but any will work)

Onion finely chopped (or powder if you're out of fresh) to taste.

Garlic finely diced (or powder... ) to taste

Worchesterstershistershire Sauce

Ketchup

Kosher Salt

Ground Pepper

Swiss Cheese
Fat Back (no cheating with bacon or any of that simple, non-complex shit!)Top w. Mayo,
Ketchup, Mustard, HOT SAUCE!, and whatever else.

Set your burger out for about a half hour to warm up. Mix all your shit in with it and let it sit another half hour. (Good time to prep your grill and get it going.) Fry your fat back up in a pan and have it ready to go onto the burger. Cook it to your desired level.

Make your patties into at least 1/3 lb. pieces and have them ready.

Slap onto medium high to high heat section of your grill (depending on how your grill works), and I'd make 'em as bloody as you can inside with a nice crisp outside (but you can kill them if you must; it won't hurt).

Cheese goes on the last minute.

Remove and let them rest a few, then pile on the buns w. extras... this is where you pile on the Fat Back!

Chow down on that Fat Fuck and wait for the heart attack another day!!! Mr. Nick says to enjoy!!!

Day of Death

2010-07-05T15:13:00.008-04:00

What an interesting story, possibly worth mentioning in passing.

July 4, 2010 started with some major panic over a snake discovered in my garage. After bellowing out an animalistic guttural scream, I attacked the serpent with everything I could think of from long distance. (I opted out of using the shotgun, though reached for in passing, as I figured the ricochets might cause some personal damage that would be quite difficult to explain to the snowboyz. The same reasoning opted out the Glock .40.)

A hose and various chemicals ended up causing nothing more than a mystery as to where the fucker slithered, but managed to leave an ingrained memory.

This morning, after the Departure Of The Boyz, I was down and blue; on the downhill side of melancholy actually.

I decided to attack the entire house once again with every chemical I had on hand starting with the garage.

This I did, and continued all around the house, as I have done several times prior.

It was at that time I noticed the mummified birds of sorrow.

Yes. As I worked my way around the house, I once again passed over what I thought to be an old unoccupied bird nest, and continued spraying shit all over the place. For whatever reason on this passing, I gazed higher and looked further into the nesting area. There I saw a bird preserved in death staring back at me with blackened eyes. I knew immediately I was responsible for yet another senseless unintended destructive death. Destroyed and preserved in death before me was a young little birdy, forever preserved to stare at the unknown assailant that took his ass out of existence.

That was enough to toss some over the edge.

I popped on Leaving Las Vegas and after watching the whole fucking thing, contemplated what to do at that point.

I decided to start by digging a grave and documenting it.

When that was completed, I went to immortalize the little birdy for posterity.
At this point, my fears spiraled. As this is what I discovered:

TWO LIVING BIRDIES!!!

.... That I had JUST doused with fucking poison!!!

UN-MOTHER-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE!!!

Should these shadows fade. like the rest of this cursed fucking place where nothing else other than death matters,.... The grave shall be filled.... and may the rest of us rest in HELL.

No.... More.... PAINT!!!

2010-07-03T17:02:00.003-04:00

I'm totally fine with not seeing a paint brush or roller for about the next 20 years or so.

However... I know the living room and bedroom are coming soon.

The finished product is:

Hell's Kitchen

2010-07-03T11:41:00.006-04:00

In the ongoing preparation for winter, I figured among other things that I better get some color in this dreary place. What I thought was a mild red, ended up being something completely different, but very much up my ally.

I present to you shit collected during the transformation. Completed pics are forthcoming. Thank you Tom Waits for your inspiration.

...and all the B O C dorks sing...

2010-06-19T19:41:00.000-04:00

B.O.C.You can be whatever you want to be
You got the power, we got the key
Yeah, B.O.C.

You're a rebel and you got no friends
We all know that it all depends
On rock and roll

Do you feel like they're keeping you down
Ain't no fun with your feet on the ground
So let go
Let go let go let go

B.O.C.
You can be whatever you want to be
You got the power, we got the key
Yeah,
B.O.C.

Schwinn, Pump, Worthless PIECE OF SHIT!!!!

2010-06-19T19:25:00.006-04:00

Schwinn Quality?

Well reader(s), here’s another probably useless review of a totally random object that has come across my path.

Note that the last one was Summer Oreo cookies, which I spared you the review of and went straight to the source. Mainly because I like Oreo cookies and all of those by Nabisco, however… When you start tasting dye in the tasty cookie cream I think someone oughta say something. (It still boggles me that NO ONE in quality control could taste the blue dye.)

BUT!... That’s water under the bridge. (Another saying I hear a lot, which I have discovered REALLY means -> “Water under the bridge which-I’m-really-falsly-saying-just-to-appease-you..."

As my bird says daily, “FUCK-A-YOU!!!”

Where was I?

OH yes… Schwinn…

So I go to Walmart (because I still go there with the theory that I can’t beat them) and get what I thought was a high end bicycle pump.

Schwinn.

Can’t beat it. Right?

The FUCK!!!

All around pump w. a guage and a 5-in-1 nozzle! HELLS YEAH! RIGHT?!

WRONG!!!!!!

I get this bad-boy all unpacked and attempt to blow up a mutha-fuckin’ riding mower tire (OH! HEY! DEAR {and undear} READERS… THE WHOLE RIDING MOWER STORY IS ANOTHER ONE WORTH WRITING ABOUT SOME DAY… W. MUCH MIRTH FOR ALL!)

RIGHT… so where was I?... … … … AHH! Right!...

So I get this SCHWINN TOP OF THE MUTHA-FUCKIN’ LINE PUMP out… and the sum-bitch has more fucking garbage to deal with than unpacking a mutha’ fuckin’ refrigerator from mutha’ fuckin’ Lowes or wherever!!!

I had to tear this bitch apart 15 ways to the apocalypse and back and NEVER got it to work right!

You know that stupid fucking lever you gotta bend over to lock on your mutha’fuckin’ bike wheel so you can pump it up? (Think back to when you were able to be or think like a kid and had a bike.) Well on this high dollar SCHWINN (with QUALITY!) pump, this stupid lever did nothing. NOTHING!

The entire workings (which here means where the air-giving-nozzle hits the air deprived hole) come apart in pieces, and no matter HOW you put them back together (YEAH I SAW YOUR WORTHLESS FUCKING DIAGRAM!) it doesn’t work correctly!!!

SO! Because it’s my fucking space in nothing-that-matters-at-all, I hereby proclaim that SCHWINN’s bike pump with the 5-IN-1 NOZZLE sucks my ever loving, now tanned, SACK!!!!!!!

PISS OFF SCHWINN!!!! SEE IF I BUY ONE OF YOUR FUCKING SECOND RATE FUCKING BIKES AGAIN!

The rest of you… GET THE FUCK OFF MY BLOG!!!

"Ish" and Will Ferrell

2010-06-14T20:15:00.006-04:00

So the Snowboyz have graduated and are moving on. The following day they headed off for Ocean City for a celebration week. From the stories I've been told thus far, there is one that remains epic (for me anyway).

Though the boyz chose not to take the liberty of drinking (alcohol), their friend "Ish" did. No big deal, right? I mean, like, no surprise or anything. Ya know... 4 guys and 5 girls in a condo for a week... You sort of expect some shit to go down.

There was a share of drama of course. (5 girls, remember?)

The epic story, however, was "Ish" and Will Ferrell.

Now usually (almost always) I refuse to pass along any type of anecdote that I am not a part of experiencing. However, this one struck me funny enough to pass along.

"Ish" is obviously not a drinker at all. Was never into it, and is most definitely not into it now (nor in the foreseeable future). His first encounter with the liquid beast had many a vacationer cracking up.

After imbibing for a time, "Ish" eventually reached that point many a drinker has reached. That blacking out phase combined with the throwing-up-all-over-the-place phase. In the midst of being sick, and vacating all the poisonous fluids, "Ish" had visions. Visions of Will Ferrell.

Yes, out of all the things that could have happened, that could have been seen, heard or experienced during his time of complete inebriation... It was Will Ferrell that chose to visit him. He spoke not a word, but hung out for quite a long time... in the following manner: He placed himself in a painting for some time, staring vacantly. A miniature Will Ferrell at one point did lie upon the chest of "Ish." Yes! Upon the chest of "Ish" he did lie! Alas, and the final location was the trash can in which "Ish" did spew within.

Upon his disappearance "Ish" was heard to exclaim, "Hey! Will Ferrell! Where'd you go?!!"

Distraught over his absence, "Ish" commenced to beating up on the couch for a period of time, and then upon the very trash can which had previously contained Will.

In what might have been a moment of clarity... There was only "Ish".... and the expended contents of his digestive system staring back at him from the depths of the can before him.

There was no voice... There was no body.... And the man they called Will was silent.

The Little Lady of Hell House

2010-04-24T12:16:00.005-04:00

So I’d like to delve into the case of the mysterious Little Lady of Hell House.

I’m getting over a case of some sort of bad chest infection or flu or H1N1 or some other sort of dreadful thing (which for whatever reasons, caused me to be on 4 prescribed meds). We had a really rough week, as we had an office move from one building to another, so I had to keep going into work; which also meant a good deal of physical labor. Physically I haven’t been up to par yet since surgery and still have to limit my activity. By the time I would get home in the evenings, I was pretty much comatose. (I say all this to give a full background of the mystery.)

With the stress of the move, and being sick, and being in Hell House in general, my sleep was for naught. So the other night, feeling on the verge of just shutting down completely, I figured I would take an Ambien and force sleep upon me.

I imagine that right now my reader(s) is/are going to chalk all of this up to that little white pill. I guess that would be the easy way to go. However, bear with me on this, and recognize my analytical cognizance for what it is.

Before going to bed that night, I started to fall asleep on the couch, however (and this is sort of backwards from what I recall, vs. the order in which things played out) I typed the following in the midst of some writing that I had been doing: “…I’m just one slip in to sloeep, but imm’ still wring this ,but it feels like I’m on another plane. Strange . like the lam p next to me wat just a real still sort of small lady… just standing there. I was sure of it…”

I’ll reiterate here that I didn’t find what I had written until the following day, and had no recollection of it. (And, NO, I had not been drinking, smoking or taking in anything other than the Ambien!)

At shortly after 2:00 a.m., I woke up. I was quite aware of everything and was angered that the Ambien had started to wear off. I could tell that I would be restless for awhile in attempting to try to get back to sleep, and probably have to put the TV on. I got up and retrieved a glass from my dresser (which I placed there upon going to bed) and got a drink of water from the sink. I recalled placing the glass on the sink and even debating upon its placement there, as I usually will not reuse any glass situated in a bathroom once it is placed down on the surface of the counter. I didn’t think I would need another drink that evening (which would have meant a walk to the kitchen for a new glass, or replacing the glass back on the dresser) so I set the glass down on the counter. (The glass was on the counter in the bathroom the next morning.)

I returned to bed and recall rubbing my feet together 4 times each to make sure no debris follow them into the “foot area” of the sheets. Nothing worse than that feeling of, like, a single crumb or something down there among your feet, and having to go after it and removing it, and then having to search the entire area for any other remnant.

I lay down and felt like it would take awhile to fall asleep, so I laid on my back and sandwiched my head between two pillows; the top one just covering my eyes basically.

Within several minutes I became aware that someone was next to the bed and within seconds of that, the young female had lain down in bed next to me. I scooted over some and rolled over onto my side away from the young lady, making sure she had room and not wanting to invade her space.

I contemplated this after rolling over, and reasoned what was happening. It was not scary. Though I wondered why it wasn’t. I contemplated that I was in the midst of a dream and analyzed that factor for awhile, and came up with the conclusion that I wasn’t asleep or dreaming. This in and of itself was difficult, as my dreams are such that it is not uncommon to have a large amount of control and an ability to think.

So it is here that I also place that element of doubt that may be present. However, usually when in any thought process within my dreams, I also have the ability to recognize that it is a dream and then continue to interact in kind (at least as long as possible. The more control I take within the dream, the more the percentage of becoming fully awake increases.)

I did not physically see anything at any time when the lady entered the bed. I only felt her lie down, and heard the whisper of the bed itself. She did not talk or communicate in any way audible, but I felt everything was ok.

After that I told myself I really needed to try and sleep because my body was wearing out. I also debated falling asleep with this lady next to me, and contemplated getting up to turn the light on and probably just end up scaring away this phantom anomaly. I decided to let things ride out and allowed myself to go back to sleep.

Nothing was present upon my waking the next morning, but I recalled the events that occurred earlier, in explicit order and detail. It was also later that morning that I discovered my writing mentioned previously.

So, though long-winded here. You’ll have to make your own call.

I think I just had an encounter with the Little Lady of Hell House, and she means no harm.

Facebuke of me...

2010-04-15T19:47:00.003-04:00

If the throngs of you out there that follow my pathetic life are wondering what happened to my facebuke acct. ... It's gone.

Evidently some fuck attempted to hack it the evening of 04/14/2010 and gain access by trying to finagle a password change. SO... not that it had anything on it anyway... It's history.

The faithful may still follow my (and often my family's) antics here.

Its actually a good omen...
I had a case today (in court) where I was meeting w. the asst. PA and complainant and had to endure a 10 minute conversation about shit they had on their Facebuke and their associations with others in they Keyser area. (I left the room after about 1/2 minute... so I'm just guessing they kept up the theme as I reentered to get the asst. PA to come into the court room, they were still going at it.)

So people... as previously suspected... FACEBUKE = KNUCKLEHEADS w. nothing else better to do.

and if the FUCK-NUT who attempted (rather feebly) to hack my FACEBUKE acct. is a follower of my blog. Then shame on ya. Hope ya' die alone, spittin' blood. (Though I think that would actually be pretty cool to experience.)

Back the 3 1 1

2010-04-11T17:01:00.002-04:00

Chill with indica and guiness,

Steer clear of white powder

Kick it you sing it in a space,

Go out to play it louder

Plague my brain with no cocaine

I don't wanna, I don't wanna go insane

Roll up the bones if you can affix a word to smoke it

Except for you're doomed in the morning if you bake the hills

Oh and I get up to the sun and then I smoke out

It's begining to smell like Mota and I'm down with no doubt, sing

Plague my brain with no cocaine

I don't wanna, I don't wanna go insane

Every country 'round the world,

The people smoke the herb,

Prohibition is absurd

The people want it

Mushrooms.... Know what you're getting into.

2010-04-06T18:59:00.003-04:00

What I learned today.

When your buddy explains how you should go out into your property of hundreds of acres and search for mushrooms:
1. He is probably being serious.
2. If you're from the city, remember number 1 when you try calling him from your cell phone when you get lost in the hundreds of acres.
3. You won't be finding anything.

Such was my early evening after work today.

My instructions: Just head out into the woods just to the right of your house and look under all the Poplar trees... they're the tall ones with green on top.

So off I went. Couple beers in my pocket, I thought I'd surprise him with a neat ... allotment of the things (whatever a nice grouping of shrooms are called).

I soon realized that ... there were a LOT of tall trees that had green shit on the top; and thus further realized I didn't know what the fuck a Poplar was!

Working my way over several ridges in an easterly direction, and summarily getting lost, I first called my secretary to inquire if John (my Chief Deputy/boss) was sending me on some sort of snipe hunt. After her laughing was completed she advised that he wasn't kidding and with the assistance of her mate, actually instructed me to further my search.

After probing deeper into the forest, I started to think it was a conspiracy, and put a call to John's cell phone; basically border-line cussing him out for managing to have me lost on what I thought was still my own property. At this point I had no idea.

I managed to find an interesting stream though in the interim.

After another call to Carolyn, I saw where the sun was setting and headed back in that direction in the hopes of finding the house. Upon topping one ridge, I noticed the fields used by those fucking cows that I recalled the snow falling upon this winter and made for that location. Within a half hour of reaching the green fields, I saw where the fucking house was.

In conclusion:

Fuck mushrooms.

Just like fucking steak.... The goddamn store works fine for my ass!

The Dead Thing In My Basement Hole I Met Last Night

2010-04-05T22:31:00.000-04:00

I managed to be situated in an old basement type area of some sort of vast ancient catacomb of sorts. There was an entry hole into an even darker area where perhaps evilness was afoot. Whatever was going on inside of this deeper, darker hole, it did not radiate goodness. Inside was a demon being of sorts. One of a limited intelligence would say the devil dwelled inside of this hole, but that was too easy.

I leaned inside and felt the dark, scary, unfamiliar evilness of the creature within. It held no form, and spoke or communicated no language familiar to me, and my first reaction was to retreat , nay, commence into a full route away form whatever this nightmare was turning into.

The entity spoke or communicated but just remained within this deep, dry, dead room in silence among old bricks. Old red bricks. Dim, dead, red bricks. He communicated to interact with him and I was drawn. So I did interact and the more I did, the more I understood what this demon was communicating unto me. I interacted with him, and the piles of dusty old bricks and mortar that he dwelled within, cleared more and more. He was undead for sure. He was nothing pleasant, and was pure horror that dwells in the deepest of a common person’s nightmares. I continued to interact with this dead being, and the more interaction that took place, the more he became known unto my intelligence.

This dead being did not attempt a relationship of any sort, but interacted just as a dead demon would. He created before me slight, and pitiful living beings and beasts; akin to dogs they were, but misshapen and disturbed. The dead one found no mirth in this, but the created creatures were nothing more than a byproduct of his ongoing death in this decaying and aged alcove where he existed. Some of the creatures approached and seeked love and friendship, but only to turn around and belch forth the overpowering feeling of death that the demon creature himself exhumed, lying among his rotting section of buried and forgotten catacomb. His presence there was to remain of the dead and rotted menace that he was and nothing more.

He could communicate if you reached your mind into it. He would range from nothing more than a long dead, decaying body with no life, to a semblance of something demonic, almost satanic in mirth if you tried to interact with him among his bricks and stone.

He’s there any time you want to visit him.

heh...

2010-04-03T22:08:00.001-04:00

Smells Like Da' Ocean, etc. ...

Fuck you all.

Easter Time... WHITE NOISE is all...

2010-04-03T18:27:00.003-04:00

Easter time is here. Celebrate.
Celebration at Hell House! Its in full bloom, baby! FULL FUCKING BLOOM!!!

The first (hope to gods ONLY) annual Hell House Easter Festivity Festival has begun!!!

It started with the commencement of the laundry-at-an-earlier-than-usual-time! (See, that would be because the Snow-boyz had an earlier than anticipated departure..... and THAT's a whole nutha' story folks.)

BUT... This is all about the Hell House Easter Festivity Festival! So let's get on with it!

The garage was emptied, scrubbed, hosed and cleaned. Unfortunately the various items that I was hoping to be of service during the upcoming months will not be of much use. What appeared to be a really neat looking riding lawn mower ended up being in a state of such uninstallation-of-parts that I will be donating it to the John Alkire collection of stuff he manages to find uses for.

The garage is clean though.

As the day progressed, the music became louder, the post-operation drinks started flowing, and I found an old wash tub of sorts. The louder the music became, and the more post-operative drinks flowed, the more the tub looked interesting. So after the scrubbing of the garage, the scrubbing of the tub commenced.

Now a side note here... As I retrieved another post-operative beverage and one of my most favorite songs "Perfect Water" (by Blue Oyster Cult) came on, I realized that Dionysus (my parrot) did not seem to understand my same over-the-top enjoyment of the song, and became confused by my added lyrics and inflections.

After the tub-scrub, came the tub painting. Twas primed and painted. At this moment it sits content in a quiet corner of the garage next to the most perfect of unmarked police cruisers you will ever see, drying in complete solace and peace. PLEASE.... REPEAT.... "TWO TEARS IN A BUCKET..... MOTHER FUCK IT!!!!"

For awhile, after the work of the day was done, I sat upon the edge of my deck and sipped more post-operative beverages while sucking in the succulent sounds of Frank Zappa when I realized I was now hanging over a rather high edge and it did take but a small amount of concentration to remove myself from such a chosen perch.

As Confessor started belting out some much needed angst filled tunes, I tore into some Easter flowers and shoved them into a vase; thus placing them upon my kitchen table dais among my monkeys and Peeps. I probably won't eat the Peeps, as they've been there for awhile now, and I think I'll just keep them there.

So there you have the celebration thus far.

I hope to soon put on some Sepultura and increase the level of celebration here at Hell House.

A side note to HeStillH8Sidney... I have a brand new outdoor grill for you! I can't believe I found it... No shit! Next time you're up... You're in tall mother-fucking cotton, my boy. Remember... I FEEL LIKE SHIT DE JA VU!!!!!! .... And when I feel like shit... I FEEL LIKE SHIT!!!!!!!!

ROCK ON YOU EASTER FUCKERS!!!!!!!!

Ahrens, Richard Toms River, NJ: Calling Out

2010-04-01T18:53:00.003-04:00

Hey buddy. Where are you? Its been too long man.

I hear you're in Florida somewhere. Figure we need to make some peace and some closure.

Richard Ahrens, a relative from NJ is looking for you. For closure. It'll be a hoot! We can talk about old times!

Respond.

Come on buddy. Its Easter! (chuckle)... You got immunity! (shit coming outta my nose)

Easter Time! YEAH! Celebrate! The happy bunny!

2010-04-01T17:53:00.007-04:00

It's Easter time. Everyone all happy?! YAE!!!! Its a beautiful weekend too! Thank you Lord for the beautiful weekend! See, its because we all know you did it for us! So we know we're even more loved then before!

Remember all that down time shit you were all going through? Rought times, maybe even still are? Hating life. Wishing you didn't have to even COPE with life? See? Its all better now! Cause its EASTER TIME!!!! Its another one of those holidays that come around where Christ does shit for us and makes all the goofy shit we did in the mean-time ok! I (wish I) LOVE(d) THIS RELIGION!!! You can do anything in it! If you're powerful enough (and everyone in it, IS), then you can even have shit changed OVER to make shit better for you! Dudes.... Christianity... Catholisism.... Come on... Its where its at. You all know it. They did this shit right! New, modern, better... Christianity. Where we're sorry we killed ya, and even more sorry we're gonna be ridin' to glory on the Lord God's ass right after we do it!!! Fuckin' A!!! I'm totally down with that. Just gotta remember to do all that shit in HIS name, and not, like , in the name of Shamee The Butcher down the road's name. You go doing that shit; you're gonna get Shamee in all sorts of shit himself.

Anyway, I'm side-tracking here. I'm busy celebrating Easter!

Bunnies and eggs and shit.

Remember, if you got a beef with an ass down the street that you wanna, oh,... kill... just be sure to think of him as a lamb (as you kill him of course) and ... I dunno... maybe eat some of his ass. It might make things go farther with the Father God dude in a long run. I figure his son would be down with it, saying shit like, "OHHH! DAD! DAMN!!! That dude is eatin' that guy's ass he just shot and calling him one of your lambs!!! OH! I GOTS to have me some of that power! That is just sick as shit Dad of the Almighty Dads!!!"

So this Easter.... I want you to remember what its all about. Lets keep it real:

Be thankful that you can get away and rationalize any shit you want and be fucking blessed for it.

Be thankful that you can smoke some stupid fuck that has it coming to him and still get your ass hauled up to have a seat next to the almighty (though I'm pretty sure you gotta wait in some kind of line siminlar to pickin' up free cheese-cakes they give out at a casino promotional).

Be thankful for all those fucked up, trippin rabbits shitting multi-colored eggs all over your fuckin yard! How often does that shit happen?

Now, you all go make nicey-nice with you families. Jesus Love You. (Just haven't figured out why yet, but I'm workin' on it.)

The Disaster At Mine Shaft 1

2010-03-21T13:26:00.002-04:00

Just sing it any way you want like Johnny Cash.
It works.

The call rang out from Mine Shaft 1
“There’s trouble down below!”
“We better send a team in, Jim.”
The foreman cried, filled with dread and woe.

No one knew what the problem was
But headed under ground.
With pick and shovel and saws in tow
They tore up everything around!
No rhyme or reason did they think
But tore everything up around.

When you got trouble down below,
And don’t know where to turn
Keep ‘em steady and think things out
Lest this bunch make you burn.

Don’t let ‘em mine that deep, dark hole.
Don’t let ‘em underground.
Don’t let ‘em dig down low, Jim.
Send those boys back to town!
The men attacked ole Mine Shaft 1
Like there was no tomorrow.
Of what they were saving
They did not know
But with fervor they did burrow.

They hacked and dug and cut away
Everything in their path.
The sweat and tears and blood did flow
As they toiled through the day.
Hell was in their wrath, Jim.
Hell was their wrath!

When you got trouble down below,
And don’t know where to turn
Hold ‘em back and think things out
Lest this bunch make you burn.

Don’t let ‘em mine that deep, dark hole.
Don’t let ‘em underground.
Don’t let ‘em dig down low, Jim.
Send those boys back to town!
Have ‘em take them tools back with ‘em!

And a yell was heard from who knows where
As the boys worked in a frenzy.
The bossman screamed,
“You leave old Mine Shaft 1 alone!”
The call was heard a bit too late.
The boys had hacked down to the bone.

Poor Mine Shaft 1,
They did thoroughly destroy.
No soul to save
No family’s grave.
A major mistake had been made.
Was a mere mistake that was made that day
By a toiled worker who thought he’d say
Something to make a better way
To ease the burden on Mine Shaft 1
But an error now; miscommunication made.
There was no danger
No one was trapped.
But poor Mine Shaft 1
Was now mutilated and scrapped.

The men retreated
Came out of the hole
Dragging their bodies and saws and hoes.
They did their best
To seal the rest
Of poor ole Mine Shaft 1.

Now an unusable meandering mess.
The company men are out of work
For Mine Shaft 1 they’ll be no redress.
The damage had been done, Jim.
The damage had been done.

When you got trouble down below,
And don’t know where to turn
Hold ‘em back and think things out
Lest this bunch make you burn, Jim.
They’ll fuck you in the end, Jim.
They’ll hack your hole to hell, JIM!
They’ll hack it all to hell.

Don’t let ‘em mine that deep, dark hole.
Don’t let ‘em underground.
Don’t let ‘em dig down low, Jim.
Send those boys back to town!
Get them the fuck away from the hole, Jim!
Send ‘em back to town!

The hole’s been fine for years before.
And would have been 50 more.
Poor Mine Shaft 1’s all empty in ruin.
The boys did a number on it
That’s for sure.

The seal they constructed on that day
Never held back shit.
Screams continue to this day
To echo from the deep, dark ways.
From underground, from who knows where.
They never should have fucked
With Mine Shaft 1,
And were haunted evermore, Jim.
Haunted evermore.

So when you got trouble down below,
And don’t know where to turn
Keep ‘em steady and think things out
Lest this bunch make you burn, Jim.
They’ll ruin you and you will burn.

Don’t let ‘em mine that deep, dark hole.
Don’t let ‘em underground.
Don’t let ‘em dig down low, Jim.
Send those boys back to town!
No need to mine that deep, dark hole.
Don’t let ‘em underground.
Don’t let ‘em so far below.
Don’t let ‘em hack n’ slash their way.
Mine Shaft 1 has ended its day.
This bunch made us burn, Jim.
This bunch made us burn.

Atlantic City Local Entertainment

2010-03-08T13:05:00.003-05:00

Some of the local entertainment on the boardwalk.

AC approach on Rt. 40

2010-03-08T08:51:00.002-05:00

I dunno... This is a fucked up video I took of whats left of the old motels that were the shit back in the day on Rt. 40 as you enter Atlantic City. The song, though sort of hard to hear, just makes this work hilariously.

Just another thing to go to hell over.

2010-03-04T18:27:00.000-05:00

Dee Pest Revisited

2010-02-15T15:31:00.006-05:00

I went outside today.
Had to dig through feet of snow
And feet of ice.
I cursed and spit
With the thought of it.
Its been there for days
And still falling now.
I noticed the snow
Has been covering cows!

We’re not here for snow.
We’re not here for grief.
We’re not here to discuss
The shoveling off of beef.
Though I often dream of
Why cows are subjected
To their own snow accumulation.

The animal I speak of
Is hallowed and worshiped.
He makes a meal
Into a magical feast!
Its Dee Pest I speak of!
The ultimate beast!

While I dug through the snow
I noticed a path.
Never observed before
I had to laugh.
It looked so inviting
Familiar too.
I heard the singing
So soft and clear
That I knew in my heart
Dee Pest was near!

As I neared the road
The temperature rose.
My coat came off.
I blew my nose.
Foliage became green
I could smell deep grass and
The dusty vanilla of fern.
When Dee Pest calls
Your heart will yearn.

Dee Pest, Dee Pest
That Quality Pork.
Feed you right,
Make you york.
Calling softly
Ignore the cold
Its always perfect
At the home that’s Dee.
If you had a lick of sense
You’d come with me.

The house was there
With steaming vats n’
Feral cats
That kill the rats
By friendly bats
With nary a gnat
How ‘bout that?!
But those cats won’t piss
Or make a fuss.
They smell like flowers
And lick your cuts.
You’ll heal forever
At the home that’s Dee.
You’ll feast like
The most honorable royalty!

I walked inside
The kettle was on.
Steaming stews n’ brews
Intoxicating the senses
Blowing the mind.
The root cellar called
I took a peek.
Heaps of taters n’ veggies
There’s anything you seek.
I returned to the fire
To worship the feast
I knew shortly
I’d be eatin’ the beast.
The beast that’s great
Ain’t no fake.
The quality pork
Pulls apart with a fork.
He cooks himself daily
Over and over again.
Feeding believers and sinners
Suffering and sickening
Killers and blessers
The harmful and meek
All you fuckers line up
For a taste of his meat!

So if you’re out on the road
And see the path
Don’t question, just follow.
You do the math.
Come find Dee Pest
The Quality Pork
Stuff your face,
Then your ass with a cork.
Dee Pest, Dee Pest
He’ll make you full.
Refill your soul with
That quality pork.
The pots always on
The pork’s always ready.
Come and find Dee Pest
Try his combo medley!

Partying In The Snow At Hell House! Part 3

2010-02-11T14:40:00.005-05:00

Well, frankly people. There isn't anything else going ON except for fucking snow at Hell House! So look at these charming fucking pictures and shut up!

Partying In The Snow At Hell House! Part 2

2010-02-09T14:45:00.002-05:00

Partying In The Snow At Hell House! Part 1

2010-02-08T15:07:00.002-05:00

no more cold no more snow

2010-01-30T14:24:00.002-05:00

Here’s a fucking white nightmare ramble.

Words can right now not describe the anxiety, anger, hatred, restlessness and panic I feel while sitting here writing this load of shit.

White! Every mutha’ fucking thing around me is white!!! The walls, this fucking hell-house, the fucking shit falling in droves outside the window and the blankness in my mind as I try to find a path to solace from this cold, heartless and barren place.

The white shit falls as if mocking me. I think it has its own thoughts and every flake whispers negative chants. Collectively they make up a white dirge ushering those who start to weaken.

Fucking white shit everywhere!!! It can’t wait for me to come out and shovel the ¼ mile or so that keeps me from panic. Panic that I can’t escape.

I can’t escape!!!

Fucking fireplace. Ain’t worth a shit today! Sitting there as if it is joining the mocking of the white shit outside! My hands and arms shake in…. what?.... anger? Plain old being pissed the fuck off!!!

This fucking cursed land!!!!!! I spit and shoot forth every toxic chemical within my body at you!!!!!! That’d be one helluva gross scene too!

Obviously, any attempt at writing with any sense is out the window I see. I guess it went out in the third paragraph. Didn’t last long. Like this fucking white shit falling outside!!!! It’s lasting plenty long! Oh yeah… and plenty fucking deep again!!!! I just wanna get outta here man! I’m gonna get outta here soon man, and I’ll tell you what… Fuck you all… Fuck you! There’s no fucking WAY I’m ever coming back anywhere NEAR here!!!! You fucking white shit falling mutha fuckers!!!!!!!! Fuck you!!!!

Every time I turn around and gaze out the window… it still falls. More and more. NONE OF THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN! YOU HEAR ME?!! YOU FUCK! I was not supposed to end up here like this!!!!! Fucking shit man! Fuck you all!!!! FUCK YOU!!!!!

SONSOBITCHES!!!!!!!!

I can’t find any reason right now not to go ahead and put in my resignation, pull my fucking pittance of a retirement and get the fuck out of here. I’ll piss on the last patch of soil upon my departure and leave a curse on the land if I weren’t in my right mind!!!!!!! I’d settle for a mere departure from this land though.

Thankful?!!! Thankful for nothing, fucks!!! You could stick me fucking anywhere other than this place and I’d flourish 100% more effectively. I think deep down somewhere my heart remains true and good, and for that many should be thankful, cause I’d love to unleash some dark-angel type shit right about now. Fortunately or unfortunately, I don’t want anything negative released upon anyone, and so I just let it fester within until I find a safe outlet. My steam release valve is straining, and I feel every square inch of pressure, baby!!!

Look at the horses at Gulfstream. How pretty today. The grass is green and everything seems so normal. I could be a jockey…. Just toss my fuckin’ cookies for the next few weeks and eat nothing but mutha fuckin’ brussel sprouts or something. Then I could ride one of them 80-1 four-legged fuckers around the track! It’d be better than this shit! This white barren shit hole life!

My last memory of being back home was sitting on the little hearth of our fireplace wondering what the fuck was about to happen. A huge part of me, I think, haunts that location. I think when I leave this fucking world, the last bit of innocence that I had will strengthen in that location. Maybe that’s how some ghosts come into being as we know them.

Ok, that wasn’t the last memory of being back home, but the most memorable. The last memory was pulling out, driving one of those big-ass fucking U-haul trucks heading for Virginia. How fucking funny, I’m just realizing. I don’t think I was old enough to drive one, but there were two, and I was the driver for one of them. It seems I’ve been driving those fucking whore-hound vehicles ever since. My life has become one long fucking U-haul drive that never ends!!! YEAH!!! Fuck that! My ghost won’t be on that hearth back home! It’ll be in the cab of a fucking U-haul mutha’ fuckin’ truck!!! It’ll be in the cab of every mutha-fuckin’ U-haul type truck everywhere in the country!!! Wherever a family is packing up and movin’ on… I’ll be there with them! Forever riding in that cab to the new location!!!

Sonsobitches!!!!!!!!!!! FUCKIN’SHITS!!!!!!!!!!!FUCKIN’UHAULMUTHAFUCKERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

U-hauls carry a lot of baggage with them too, don’t they?!!! Yeah they do!!! They got sugar bowls, and dishes, and boxes galore!!! Wonderments containing more and more mysteries as hours turn to days, and days to years and years to decades and BEYOND!!!! Can you imagine the glory!!!! Centuries old boxes of STUFF of SHIT of FETID PAST PUTRID SHIT waiting to be discovered and brought back to life!!!! OH the ecstasy!!!!!!! YOU FUCKING PUTRID MUTHA FUCKERS!

Fuck all of you.

More shit to do with your fucking butts.

2010-01-30T12:53:00.005-05:00

If you're like me, which you most definitely are NOT, you probably wonder what variety of things you can do with a fuckin' butt of pork. I know I have been looking for a little variety lately. So... watch this dude, or get lost, or whichever is your fancy. You probably don't belong here anyway, so .... just go get lost will ya.

Remember, not knowing how to cook, is like not knowing how to fuck! (Unless, of course, you excel in fucking someone over!... Then you probably cook like shit to begin with!)

Thanks to Mt Laur for the inspiration of this post on such a fucked up day.

Traversing The Darkgarden with Leonard Dinnabell

2010-01-20T14:45:00.004-05:00

I’m Leonard Dinnabell, but don’t call me Leo. You call me Leo, I’ll fuckin’ kill ya.

Don’t you call my ass late fo’ dinna’ either. You know why? Yeah you do. Yeah! I fuckin’ kill ya!

Now I hail from Louisiana. Jefferson Parrish to be exact. Well, that was until that fuck-nut Steven Seagal dun throw me out like some 3’5” African pigmy! Good thing too! I was fixin’ to whoop up on him.

Let me tell you folk ‘bout myself. My momma was a debutant, and daddy worked at the corner liquor store. Now, not inside or anything like that. He worked real hard crackin’ open cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon in the back alley. He bring me home some of the money he get from them cans to keep me in smokes. That’s when I was about 5. It was daddy who taught me about the streets, and it wasn’t long before I was out on them helpin’ with the family income. I remember most of them, to this day. Ole’ Pokey McGuire, Spanks Beudreau, Two-Shot Murph. They called him Two-Shot cause he’d go in da bar there and get him two shots of Old Crow, then come stumblin’ out back and pay me a double saw buck for hand job. There’s just too many to remember now, but hell, if you wait around awhile, some of ‘em are sure to stop by.

So I hear about this special place. A special place I knew I had to come visit. A place where I don’t have to put the suck to no stinky old drunk. You know the place. The Darkgarden. We all hear about this place, and we all come here at one time or another. I hear some of you stay and never leave. I wonders some time if they’d let me stay? I don’t smell too bad anymore, and my limp is getting better. I just got done doin’ 5 on a 20 year bit over in Angola, and I need a break. Oh, they liked me over there in Angola, but I sure didn’t like them. No sir. So here I am.

Now that I’m here. I was wondering where the food at?! Ain’t this a fuckin’ garden for Christ’s sakes?! Where da food at?!! There’s Olive Garden. I heard of that, but I don’t like olives and I can’t see a whole garden of them ugly ass things. So I come to Darkgarden. I figure at least there might be some ‘shrooms here or something. Dark and dank piles of ‘shrooms. Ohhhhhh, shmmmmffffffffaaahhhh! I could, I would, if I might, take a nice little bite of a darkened shroom of delight!

I do have this thing for peaches too, but I think that is for another time. I saw no peaches here either. I wonder if Steven Seagal eats peaches or pears. Sometimes I dream of Steven Seagal eating a single pear, but not in a garden. He’s usually eating one while squatting under a bridge around dusk.

It reminds me of this one time when me n’ Stumpy Loche were out back of Steven Seagal’s house smelling his garbage, and Stumpy leans…

Hey! The fuck is that?

I swear I hear that Drivin’ Miss Daisy mutha’ fucka out there in the woods! You know who I mean there. It sound like he’s whispering to me! Is he the dude who tries to sell those shit Soy Joy things?!!

Man, fuck this place, and you all too. This is just too weird for me. I’m out of here. You need me, you know where to find me. I’m’a get my ass outta here and head over to Delmas. Maybe find me some Tsutsi to get into.

Haiti - Looking for my Tsutsi!

2010-01-14T13:45:00.003-05:00

Has anyone seen Tsutsi Embongwater? She was last seen on the streets in Delmas with her chickens. Please find Tsutsi for me.

Birdseye, Steamfresh, Meals for Two!!!

2010-01-13T15:38:00.003-05:00

One more time:

Steamfresh, Birdseye, Meals For Two: Roasted Chicken in Honey Chipotle Sauce

Those of you out there who know me, also KNOW that for me to post an article about certain foodstuffs, that its either gonna be really good or really awful.

So here's my story:

I hesitantly decided to include, among my collection of Birdseye frozen vegetables, the above named meal during my last shopping trip. I thought it might be nice to cheat one evening and fix myself an already prepared frozen meal. Not being accustomed to eating these things, I figured it couldn't be all that bad. I also figured that since it was Birdseye, it would actually be pretty good. They usually do very well with their fresh frozen veggies.

My first warning should have been that you microwave this thing. I didn't heed said warning though.

Sunday night came and I thought it would make a nice easy meal. Popped it in the wave, and a short time later the bag (after turning it a couple times) was ready for opening.

So I dumped it onto a plate and gave it a sniff. The aroma was not pleasing, but not sickening.

Then I dug in.

and.... then....

"HO-LY SHIT!!!" I said aloud to no one at all, except my white fucking walls (of which I won't go off on about here because its a very long story which wouldn't end nice, and which I did actually post on here once, but removed it w/in 24 hours because of its vehemence toward others).

I have NO idea to this day what Birdseye was thinking, or what chef managed to get this mess past quality control. The peppers were slimy, the chicken over cooked with a nasty seasoning, and the sauce tasted like thick cleaning solution.

So what did I do?

I took another bite of that shit because I couldn't believe my fucking senses!

Unfortunately my senses were tuned in just fine. Same slimy, thick cleaning solution over noodles.

I started laughing at the horrid plate of shit before me and did the next thing that came to mind; taking a picture of that pile o' shit!

So, anyone out there that is considering any of these Steamfresh meals: DON'T DO IT! I know I didn't try any of the other ones, but I have a REAL strong suspicion that that thick cleaning solution is gonna be all over the other ones too.

I now present to you the contents of my plate before being dumped into the trash.

Hey Birdseye! If you want me to, like, say, REMOVE this worthless blog entry... I could use a few months of your fresh frozen veggies! Until then, I'll just boycott you guys for awhile and spread the good word on Steamfresh!

Even sounds like what you gotta do after a big meal.... Man.... that shit I took was STEAMFRESH!

PEACE to my loyal readers who are welcome here.

Theabyss...

2009-12-12T07:24:00.004-05:00

When you stare into the abyss... sometimes you just sort of wonder when to look away.

Sears .... Commercial

2009-11-24T16:16:00.002-05:00

Sears! Just in case.... I didn't forget....

YOU SUCK!!!!!!

Black Friday (fucking stupid name if you ask me, and I don't really give a fuck if you do) is coming up! Just want to do my part in telling anyone who happens upon my blog to stay the fuck away from your ass because you guys suck serious ass in customer service.

You hear that? SEARS S E A R S YO YO YO!!!

SUCKS SERIOUS ASS...

...and that's pretty bad.

You have a company that backs fraudulent activities on part of your direct and contracted employees, and because of that... yes... Sears... you do... suck some serious ass.

You are gross and deserve no patronage from anyone.... except maybe some rag-head, middle-eastern fuckers.

Now... where the FUCK was I?

Tesh 1

2009-11-21T16:52:00.001-05:00

In the approaching dusk of the third day I felt the distinct known click of my sanity plummeting over the edge of the abyss. Not that I minded any of that because it made my literal analysis of reality skewed beyond any recognition, and that was just the curse my brain needed to keep me alive from thence forth.

Mt. Hebron Villa had been dark for many years. I suffered in this darkness during the most sunny days and moonlit nights. Cursed with just enough affluence to remain in comfort and to belay any thought or attempt I might have at following one of many a pipe dream I constructed for over seven decades now.

My curse had been complete. I was the last of everyone. I lost everything I loved or cared about; or at least as close as I could come to such defined feelings. I used to ponder the concept of what it would be like to endure the loss of your children before you yourself have expired. It’s worse than my nightmares instructed. Sanity remains. Sanity remains as everything else around you wilts faster and faster. A crisp, scooped out, empty shell is all that remains. The shell smells of something just slightly unpleasant, and nothing more. Your mind remains sharp enough. Sharp enough to be able to slice its own existence into many tiny shreds of very clear and painful memory.

I would sit at Mt. Hebron contemplating the good fortune of my virility when I met Teshmeque.

Teshmeque was of avian decent, I think. He had all the outward appearances of a bird, though he never flew really; he sort of lurch-crashed. That’s the best I can describe it. He had wings, but they didn’t function properly. I think he was the way he was because he was meant to be a harbinger; my harbinger, and then my vessel. He would be my vessel to another, long-awaited life… or absolute death. Either of which was fine by me.

I sat in the garden at Mt. Hebron, soaked in Dickle, cursing any god that cared to listen these days and pissing off the neighbors in the process, when Teshmeque came waddling across the lawn at me. I looked queerly at the approaching sight, then at the level of Dickle remaining in my still iced glass, then back at this avian apparition approaching me. My mind wandered back to a parrot I once owned. Dionysus was his name. He was appropriated to outlive my existence as well, but nevertheless beat my children to his grave.

Teshmeque, whose name at that time was unknown to me of course, approached closer with the freakishness of a Japanese dark horror film.

I cocked my head in wonderment; mildly panicked, amused and hoping this oddity would kill me all at the same time.

As if in answer to my thoughts the fucking bird said, “Teshmeque! Here for you!”

He paused now, just before me, on the edge of the patio. He hopped, sort of, onto a raised brick that surrounded my in-ground pool.

“The fuck?” I asked to no one in particular.

“Teshmeque! Here for you!”

I gazed at my glass again. I started to laugh in happiness, thinking the buzz I had managed in conjunction with the shit I had smoked a short time ago had concocted this strange hallucination before me now. Like a controlled dream in an early morning hour, I decided that day to interact with the thing.

“You’re one ugly fucking, gimped up excuse for a bird,” I said to the thing.

“Fuck you! Teshmeque! Here for you!” it says.

I laughed, truly amused, “I had a parrot once that used to say that in…” I was cut off.

“Dionysus!” it said and cocked its head. It made a coughing sound, stared and blinked. The pain of a memory flowed through my body upon hearing this name of the dead spoken aloud. My heart fluttered and I prayed, like I had thousands of times before, that my heart would implode and end my misery. It didn’t, just like it hadn’t the previous thousands of times. I glanced at my glass again and grabbing it, downed the remainder of the beautiful caramel colored liquid.

More violently than my mind seemed to plan I replied once again, “FUCK-A-YOU BIRD!!!”

It shit. It stumbled closer to me, off of the raised brick by the water’s edge where it stumbled (if a bird could stumble) and almost fell in the cold water. I hoped in that moment that it would. Maybe I’d fall in upon it. Make sure it died; whatever the fuck this thing was. This fucking Teshmagoogee thing! This fucking cursed winged beast.

OHHH! The presence of any one of many heralded gods could not befriend me in all of over seven decades, but one fucked up tainted bird can?!!! What madness was this?!

“Be gone you fucked up cretin! You surely don’t please me by your presence here, and serve no purpose. FUCK-A-YOU! Though mildly amusing, I gotta ask that you get the fuck outta here!” I ordered the bird-thing.

It made a chuckling noise and simply replied with, “Teshmeque! Sphincter boner!!!”

“Ok then,” I submitted, “Come on in,” and I guided the stumbling fucked up bird into the house.

Alas. Its here. November...

2009-11-11T18:57:00.002-05:00

No shadow
No stars
No moon
No care
November

It only believes
In a pile of dead leaves
And a moon
That's the color of bone

No prayers for November
To linger longer
Stick your spoon in the wall
We'll slaughter them all

November has tied me
To an old dead tree
Get word to April
To rescue me

November's cold chain
Made of wet boots and rain
And shiny black ravens
On chimney smoke lanes

November seems odd
You're my firing squad
November

With my hair slicked back
With carrion shellac
With the blood from a pheasant
And the bone from a hare
Tied to the branches
Of a roebuck stag
Left to wave in the timber
Like a buck shot flag

Go away you rainsnout

Go away, blow your brains out

November

-T.Waits - a god.

Fuck Allah...

2009-11-06T15:13:00.003-05:00

All I think I have to ask is this: What are we so fucking surprised about?!!

Who was the stupid jerk who put a MUSLIM named Nidal Malik Hasan (or ANY name for that matter) in that position?!!

We're a violent, hateful, vindictive, selfish species, and we're going to wipe out our own kind in the end.

The Ghosts of Something! (here we go...)

2009-10-09T20:52:00.003-04:00

The Ghosts of Le Witt Bog

Back home I used to think I was into model railroading. In reality, my late father made a half-assed attempt at HO scale model railroading for some reason, and it affected me pretty much ever since. In dream; in nightmares. But, that’s pretty much how it always goes here in Darkgarden.

With the absolute fear of the upcoming winter, I’ve been scrambling for something to pass my time with. Something enjoyable, clean, succinct in application, and ,if nothing else, distracting.

I did some work on a local burglary of O scale model railroad cars and engines. Delving back into that world brought an amount of nostalgia; along with the aggravation of another felony probe. Like a drug, it seemed to seep back into my system.

So, what to do next. I got a subscription to Model Railroader (just like my father got back in the 70’s), and planned on visiting railroads around the area for inspiration. I noticed that in model railroading, you can agonize over the most minute detail as long as you want, and it will always just go to improve what you’re working on. This furthered my quest into delving back into a hobby that brings me memories as fond as possible from back in the day.

I’ll shoot you one now, though probably only my family would understand the finer details: Boring Saturday, and I go back downstairs to work on the LeWitt Bog addition. I’m not sure where pa is, but things are good anyway. I put Grand Funk Railroad, Survival on the record player and set to work. Grand Funk would be replaced by The New New Christy Minstrels album, and then I would usually put Grand Funk Survival back on. These two albums would be repeated over and over throughout the day-into-night. These were the fondest memories of model railroading for me.

The Le Witt Bog was never completed. People died, people moved on. It remained incomplete at the time everything was disassembled. It had been my first experiment with ground foam too. I recall a single spur that ran through the bog, but I’m not even sure if I ever had an engine traverse the line.

The original title of this entry was The Ghosts Of Cass Railroad, but I’m now changing the title. Just like the wind, when I write, shit sometimes swings around in another crazy direction, just as here. Then every now and then I start writing guttural shit that’s just hanging around in me… I’m guessing that’s what this is. We’ll see if it goes to blog, or just joins the rest of the misfits in my Unfinished Works section. Some mutha’fucka may make some money of my Unfinished Works shit, if anyone ever finds it.

Anyway, I’ve changed it to the Ghosts Of Le Witt Bog. It seems more appropriate now. I was going to describe to you a day I spent at Cass Railroad recently; my observations, thoughts and beliefs. Somehow, shit went south about the same time my fingers started dancing across these keys.

Now one could think that I failed in completing the Le Witt Bog expansion. I guess in specific terms I did fail. It was never completed, and I had no idea HOW to finish the fucking thing. I had a side spur with some fucking ground foam, and no fucking idea where to go from there.

We could take a look at the layout beside the Le Witt Bog section. There was a 4X8 section of some erratic shit going on, along with a poor turntable area, attached to another 4X8 section that included a mainline and a switch off into some area that I’m guessing was supposed to be a town. This area never came close to being finished either.

The layout remained destitute. No one rejoiced in any town. No train ever gave a triumphant steam whistle blast. No one ever shot the shit at some local general store; no switchman was ever seen waiting patiently. Oh if Art (Johnboy) was in for the weekend, you might see some minor cheer as perhaps General Lee and British soldiers were pulled around the mainline on a flatcar, but that’s all.

The layout remained cold from beginning to end. Grand Funk Railroad Survival and The New New Christy Minstrels being played over and over while I … While I what? I spent days down there. I don’t know what the fuck was going on, but I was down there, listening to the music repeat over and over; comforting; working on the Le Witt Bog… that was never finished.

My last thoughts now are remnants of the layout, pulled apart, and leaning against a cement basement wall. The house is empty and I sit on our fireplace hearth one last time, getting ready to leave for good.

It’s over. Time to go. The ghosts of Le Witt Bog; the ghosts of Jordan Drive! Are no more because we’re leaving.

No more ghosts, right?

They can stop visiting at any time.

Perhaps soon, I will log on again some time, and tell you the tale of my visit to another land of the dead… The Land of Cass Railroad!!! WOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

HAA!!! IT’S HALOWEEN MONTH AT DARKGARDEN!!!! COME ONE COME ALL!!!! BUT ONLY BRING YOUR DEEPEST, DARKEST, PERSONAL SHIT… OR DON’T COME AT ALL, BABY!!!

NOW! Go away! And don’t you dare look back!

Soy Joy is that pathetic?

2009-09-22T19:42:00.003-04:00

Soy Joy. Pathetic?

Now you all know my blog. All.... mmmm... what?.... 5 or 6 of you?

You know where I'm coming from (at least as much as I do when I write shit).
Silly, hopefully sometimes insightful stuff; random topics; unedited ramblings; colorful venting; delightfully mocking; even sometimes joyfully endearing (though at the moment that makes me want to hock a huge one in some hidden area of my house... no... Strike that... makes me want to hock a huge one in some hidden area in someone else's house of whom I am often prompted to be a fake-ass-mutha-fucka like most of us all have to be at one time or another.

Occasionally I look to see how many readers take a hit on my profile (figuring that a small percentage of those hits actually read my brain effluence).

So I did notice that one of the largest hit jumps (coinciding with my sincere smear of SEARS some time back) was for the latest slam-DUNK of that pathetic piece of cardboard poo-poo: SOY JOY!

With much glee I headed out back, taking with me a nice 2002 California wine, and called out the boys; trying to see if they may have been a part of the antic-profile-hits I received.

Jose was there, tenderly embracing Billy Zane (more to keep Billy from taking off on one of his hopping, hooping, hooting rampages he is known for around our town these days). Jose claimed Billy hadn't been near any of the computers in weeks. Billy's wide-eyed stare seemed to confirm this. He then whispered into Jose's ear at which point Jose let him go. Billy jumped in the air several feet to the side, but still in the bushes. He quickly glanced back and forth, dropped his pants, and while laughing with glee, urinated high into the air with a child-like, Christmas morning smile. There was happiness I needn't probe.

Muddy Waters, new to our crew, sat with purpose; strumming hypnotic alien tunes and sipping on Ancient Age. The look on his face made it clear that the answers I was in search of did not remotely include him.

Morgan Freeman gazed at me with contempt. He was annoyed to be called out for such an inquiry; especially because it is only his voice that remains an integral part of the back yard crew. I waited for his explanation, but like Muddy, his eyes told the story. They then panned over to Muddy. Soon there were ancient eyes, Ancient Age and Alien rhythms clouding the neighborhood.

I already checked on Micheal, who had been hanging out with Trevor and Lucas the past few weeks, working on some music; so I knew he was good.

This MUST mean... that.... (now laughing uncontrollably) ... that.... someone from the POO POO SOY JOY POO POO COMPANY (or agent thereof)... is reading The Realm Of Darkgarden!!!!

(I am now going to launch into a completely pathetic and loud period of laughing, spitting, farting, more laughing, slapping the backs of the backyard crew, more spitting and laughing, a fart or two more, more laughing and .. OH... a kick to one of the cats!!! SWEET!!!.. and then more laughing and spitting....)

This is just so awesome!!!!

There is sadness in this all:

I am of the realization that to get the most attention, you need negative related shock.

That, I sincerely feel, is sad.

... and I leave you with that.

Soyjoy... Joy? Good Times?....NO JOY!

2009-09-08T20:36:00.005-04:00

Ok... so its been awhile. You know... these days.... You think I really give a shit?

Right!

Thats why my faithful ones still mill about... some of the more hard-core down there in the basements and sub-basements and deeper areas where various characters hang out and inter-mingle and talk about the stuff beyond our constant grinding evolutionary process... BUT enough of that...

We're here today because of SOYJOY!!!! Doesn't it wanna make you have a mutha fuckin' party just over the name?!!! Does it not???? SOY JOY!!!! The JOY of SOY!!! I have SOY and I'm overJOYed cause I'm gonna visit my family and bring all the little tots one SOY JOY each!!! WOOT! for Soy!!! YAHOOO for SOY JOY!!! I'm going to take a SOY JOY and cram it up my ass while I stroke my fucking dick to orgasm!!!! I'm'a have some SERIOUS FUCKING JOY with my SOY, BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This all started when I heard a commercial one night for SOY JOY thinking it was Morgan Freeman narrating. This in turn made me think (as THEY wanted me to) that I had to go eat a SOY JOY at the next opportune time. (It also made me wonder when he left the back yard without asking me.) Even before I got my hands on one, Ms. Dark told me that I'd be disappointed. Convinced that my dear friend hanging out in my back yard would never steer me wrong, I thought her to be in err.

Then my world fell.

One day not to far in our normally perceived past, I purchased a singular SOY JOY and transported it back to my home place in preparation of the perfect period to partake of this pressed piece of joyful perfection. (HEE)

When the time came, I approached the wafe with a spot of cold milk.

I partook.

I chewed.

SOYJOY... mmm ... mm?

Well... Ok... It was nicely tasting pressed SOY substance... but...was missing... the JOY.

There was a definitive absence of any semblance of tenance toward any type of JOY.

SOYJOY was nothing more than an undersized piece of mediocre-tasting pressed solidness that was slightly over baked.

Only this and nothing more.

Luckily at that same time I realized that my dearest Morgan had nothing in it. He sat in my bushes, silent and in tears. I tried to hide the face, but he knew I already thought he was the orator of the gawdawful commercial joyously rejoicing such a fine bean.

A bean that should sever its pumping heart from that which they call .... SOY JOY.

Leave it be. There on the shelf under the coat of dust that is already forming upon the package.

Let it die and rot in perfect peace. Let it have peace. Let it end in peace.
In regular corporate English...
Soyjoy is burned/overcooked. The flavor is not pleasing. The portion is pathetic. The price is ridiculously inflated. It is a very poor choice for a nutritional bar of any type.

Frankly, it makes me think I'm eating a nicely squared off piece of shit, prepared by someone with unique hemorrhoids, eating a diet of nuts, soy and fruit.

Go away now.

T.G.I. Friday's Frozen Wings... Fa'Get-About-It!!!

2009-08-22T22:35:00.003-04:00

Box advertises that the "NEW" party size feeds 6-7 people. The count in the box: 20.
Giving TGIF the benefit of the count...that's still just 4 lil wings a person.

So perhaps they claim appetizer. Fine.
If that's the case... At LEAST figure me for five!

The taste was very good. Cooking times are appropriate.

The quantity vs. price... Poor.

TGIF is a poor name from the starting gate, but again, I over looked that aspect (on account of being quite hungry for quick wings... which I usually make myself.)

I'm thinking, overall, they should just stick with their over the top basic, cookie cutter restaurant chain and count their blessings.

Save your money... Take the extra few minutes and do it yourself.

MAN I'm sick to FUCK of these restaurant chains trying to broaden their scope based on their name and not quality.

I'll give TGIF this much... At LEAST they're not fuckin'-HOOTERS (the worst of the worst)!

Things on the table....

2009-08-22T20:38:00.002-04:00

TGIFridays BBQ Wings New Party Size! ("Servies 6-7"...and has... ummm... like... 10 fucking wings?!!!)... yeah.. I know... I was very tired and masses were hungry.

David Beckham... are you still here? (so long... and thanks for all the fish!)

Soyjoy (Is that you Morgan Freeman??? Please tell me it isn't you!!! Speak to me from my bushes out back when you get a chance! I "hear" your Soyjoy bars suck some serious ass, but I'm gonna check for myself this upcoming week.)

Regards pitiful readers.

Why are you still here?!!!

I abide.

Peace!

And now... the Fabulous Borrah Minevitch!!!

2009-08-09T12:33:00.000-04:00

Nonsense Ramble of Torture, Birds and Death

2009-08-09T11:24:00.003-04:00

I have a fire stick which I would remove from the fire. The end would be still smoldering as my bird would hop onto the end; not quite into the burning area, but near it… comforted by the warmth. Then I would gently place the stick back into a smaller fire on a table, and he would always scoot up a bit away from the flames to avoid being burned.

On this one day, perhaps I turned away too long, for as I turned back, realized that my bird was now roasting and … was he dead… OHHHH… The tortured horror… but no… I see him reach up with his claw toward me… reaching for the love of me…. He barely holds on as I pull him up, but he dangles, he has not energy to perch… he’s dying you see… OHHHH… the sickening feeling… I’m looking at him… Can I save him??? Is there possibly any way? OHHHH nooo he’s too charred… How does he still live??? Do I put him out of his misery? The love of my life? How can I do such a thing??!!!
Fuck that… I’m waking up now.

I did… then had to get ready for work.

It was unpleasant.

Just for Sis:

I KNOW you sent bad JU JU bird things at me… It was the hovering bird comments… You went and shot me bad Ju Ju over them! Don’t deny it!!!

Fuckin’ Charles Ingles fuckin’ mom’s dying! Fuckin’ hoverin’ birds and shit… THEN my bird-love is cast into fires at my own hand… and still he reaches out.. I see him now!!!!!! THE HORROR!!!!

STOP IT DEVIL WOMAN!!!!!

Sea Shepherd - What does this bunch accomplish?

2009-07-12T06:45:00.004-04:00

From the first time I watched this mildly entertaining show, I felt like I was watching the Keystone Cops on the High Seas.

If you don't know the Animal Channel program Whale Wars, this may not be of any interest.

Basically, there's this ship that goes out into the Antarctic Ocean and tries to chase down Japanese whaling vessels. Then when they find one or more of them... shit goes south. Its a reality show, much like Deadliest Catch.

The Sea Shepherd Conservation Society is neat enough. They seem to have a nice little organization going. Heck, I'd probably toss them some money if I was in a good enough mood. Until I saw Whale Wars, that is. I just couldn't see donating any serious money to a bunch of people that manage to screw up just about every small mission they attempt against the Japanese whale hunters.

They named the ship Steve Irwin, which is a neat tribute... if things ran a little smoother. I also never get sick of watching them answer the phone saying, "Steve Irwin." One of us usally yell or mutter, "No your not!" (The comedy goes with the show. Sort of like Rocky Horror.)

Don't get me wrong though. The crew is awesome. They're some really neat characters, and very passionate about their goals when working aboard Steve Irwin. I'd love to hang out on the ship with them and try to throw shit at whale boats. I just gotta wonder how effective all that misguided effort is on a full scale when compared to how much manpower and money is needed to carry it out.

They use tips and a helicopter to try to relocate the Japanese fleet (because they always lose them for whatever reason), then, if they manage to launch their smaller boats, bombard these huge ships... with.... stink bombs.

That'll show 'em!

"Go back to Japan or we shall taunt you a second time!"

The show has to drum up missing drama that usually falls terribly flat, and becomes embarassing. (Lately the crew is in serious contemplation over the Japanese having sound weapons. So we see somber, thought-provoking meetings and self reflection... while the ship doctor is cutting up foam for them to shove in their ears.) COME ONNNN!!!!

I could now go on and on and lampoon my favorite incidents, but then you could just go watch the show if you want.

... But... Just one more.... (This actually happens more than once.):

Uh oh! They find one of the various Maru ships. Everyone starts running around in a frenzy... even though you have to still close about 15 miles on it. Capt. Watson takes the helm. Ok. They're closing on the Japanese ship! They're piloting real close to the ship. Oh look! They turned and drove behind the Japanese ship! THEN BACK AGAIN!!! Man! They're puttin' it to them this time!!! Good sailin' Paul!!!

That's it.

It'd be really neat, if they added music, then showed the Japanese crew, like, laughing their asses off down in their galley or something.

Anyway, don't get me wrong, I love the show, and hope I don't get anyone mad that's attached to Sea Sheperd. (I know how whacked out you volunteers get with your organizations.) Look at it this way. I'm helping my throngs of readers want to watch your show!

If you'd like to donate to the Sea Sheperd (insert Ted Levine/Silence Of The Lambs chuckle), please visit this link and help them out. .... They really need it.

Don't fear...

2009-07-07T19:14:00.000-04:00

Michael Jackson On Tour Forever!

2009-07-07T12:39:00.005-04:00

I had to write this one down.

I've got MSNBC on while working; casually watching what they're doing to further torture this poor guy.

So the reporter is doing interviews along the street at the fans (or whatever most of these freaks are), and here's the exact quote:

“I don’t know if his coffin is even coming. That would be IN-SANE! (with thick California-girl accent) I was talking to a friend…”

It was only a matter of time... Thank you Sisiggy!!!

2009-07-03T08:42:00.008-04:00

Usually my long and detailed dreams in the morning hours reflect something relating to my job. Because of a really good day on Thursday, however, my work stress level dropped real low for a day. This left a gap in my rigid dream sequence creating a vacuum.

Occasionally these vacuums are often filled with really weird feeling dreams of back home.

I present to you, that which my SISTER is responsible for!!!

I am back home in the back yard, and the feeling is both pleasant (for being back home) and disturbing (because this visit is dim and almost colorless, it is dying slowly, it is lonely). Our patio was there, but barren of any furnishings or items. The flanking flower beds contained nothing but dead, gray dirt. Old grave dirt. A hammock flanked the longest section of flower bed, and in the hammock was our mother, but though intact, she was reminiscent of the rest of the yard. There was no interaction and no sound. There was hardly any movement... save... the bird.

There was what seemed to be a dead bird lying in the vacant flower bed, and my essence slowly closed in on it from behind. I reached out to stroke its feathers lightly and sickly realized it was still alive. It was dying. It slowly started crawling forward, and became the only thing to acknowledge me in this dream... It was the mutant bird, only he was twice as large, and he was dying and crawling slowly.

I had had enough and woke myself up. Feeling a bit sick and a little ill at ease I made a mental note to remember all of it so I could SHARE IT!!!

I gotta go now and hang with my new buddy in my back yard.

Hebron Road Titty Lady!!!! ... The VIDEO!

2009-06-21T00:13:00.004-04:00

Raise Your Glasses Mates!!!!

2009-06-20T19:40:00.004-04:00

OK you lot! Sing this one to just about any Irish Drinking Song!!!

All together now!!!! Please be sure to join in at the crowd participation ending!

TITTY LADY HO!

COME TO THE TITTY LADY
COME HERE ME SING
I SING TO THE WORKER
TILL FRESH TAR THEY BRING!
SO RAISE YOUR GLASS HIGH
AND TOAST WITH MUCH CHEER!
DO THIS CHEER ALWAYS
AND KEEP THEM IN FEAR!

FUCK ALL YOU YANKS
THAT ARE DIRTY AND QUEER!
GO BACK TO THE DEVIL’S NORTH
AND TOAST WITH THIS BEER!
MAY YOU NEVER RETURN
OR THINK OF A WAY!
AND ON THE SPACE SHUDDLER
YOU YANKS GO AND STAY

I WENT TO THE TITTY LADY
SHE SHOWED ME HER BREAST
AND OF ALL THE MT HEBRONS
HERS WERE THE BEST!
I GAZED IN WIDE WONDER
AT THE SIGHT BEFORE ME
BUT SHE SAW I WAS NORTHERN
AND SPAT UPON ME!
SHE SAID

FUCK ALL YOU YANKS
THAT ARE DIRTY AND QUEER!
GO BACK TO THE DEVIL’S NORTH
AND TOAST WITH THIS BEER!
MAY YOU NEVER RETURN
OR THINK OF A WAY!
AND ON THE SPACE SHUDDLER
YOU YANKS GO AND STAY

I PLEADED MY CASE
BUT SHE JUST STARED AT ME
I TOLD HER I LOVED HER
BUT IT WASN’T MEANT TO BE.
“MY VEGGIES NEED TENDING”
WAS ALL THAT SHE SAID.
SO SHE SQUATED AND SHAT
AND THAT’S WHERE SHES AT!

I ASKED HER TO GET UP
AND GIVE ME A CHANCE
I SANG HER A SONG
AND ASKED HER TO DANCE.
SHE GRABBED SOME ASPARAGUS
AND MADE HERSELF PEE.
AFTER SWIPING HER ASS
SHE SPAT UPON ME!
SINGING

FUCK ALL YOU YANKS
THAT ARE DIRTY AND QUEER!
GO BACK TO THE DEVIL’S NORTH
AND TOAST WITH THIS BEER!
MAY YOU NEVER RETURN
OR THINK OF A WAY!
AND ON THE SPACE SHUDDLER
YOU YANKS GO AND STAY

SO I WALKED AWAY SOLEMN
AND FOUND THIS OLD BAR
WHERE I DRINK EVERY YEAR
TO HER BREASTS AND HER CHARM!
I DREAM OF THAT WORKER
WHO SAVES HER FROM HARM.
I LOVE TO GET STONED
SNIFFIN HEBRON HO’ TAR!!!
SCREAMIN’

FUCK ALL YOU YANKS
THAT ARE DIRTY AND QUEER!
GO BACK TO THE DEVIL’S NORTH
AND TOAST WITH THIS BEER!
MAY YOU NEVER RETURN
OR THINK OF A WAY!
AND ON THE SPACE SHUDDLER
YOU YANKS GO AND STAY

OH YES ME AND ME TITS
(HANK TOMS BROOK!!!!)
ARE HERRRRE TO STAYYYYY!!!!!

GO 'TA HELL YANKS!!!

Not calling anyone, anymore...

2009-06-20T19:07:00.004-04:00

Ok... "She's" a no-show.

The original very nasty blog has now been replaced for the better juju of all concerned.

I now present to you an excerpt from Karl Marx:

Hitherto, every form of society has been based, as we have already seen, on the antagonism of oppressing and oppressed classes. But in order to oppress a class, certain conditions must be assured to it under which it can, at least, continue its slavish existence. The serf, in the period of serfdom, raised himself to membership in the commune, just as the petty bourgeois, under the yoke of feudal absolutism, managed to develop into a bourgeois. The modern laborer, on the contrary, instead of rising with the progress of industry, sinks deeper and deeper below the conditions of existence of his own class. He becomes a pauper, and pauperism develops more rapidly than population and wealth. And here it becomes evident, that the bourgeoisie is unfit any longer to be the ruling class in society, and to impose its conditions of existence upon society as an over-riding law. It is unfit to rule because it is incompetent to assure an existence to its slave within his slavery, because it cannot help letting him sink into such a state, that it has to feed him, instead of being fed by him. Society can no longer live under this bourgeoisie, in other words, its existence is no longer compatible with society.

Thanks for stopping by!

The Great Titty Lady of Hank Toms Brook!!!

2009-06-20T11:08:00.004-04:00

I have found a true master this morning; an entity that showed up on Sis's BLOG known as... The Titty Lady.

I have been bested. The following beautiful and passionate work was created by The Titty Lady in the wee hours of the morning, at the bottom of her daily 750 ml bottle of Smirnoff. After a feeble attempt at harassing my sister earlier the same day by calling the Shenandoah Animal Control on her, she took her routine jump off the wagon. I spoke with a neighbor near this woman who was telling me how she uses her own waste to manure her garden. She grows asparagus you see. As if on que, I looked over toward her yard, and there she was! Squatting on the stalks! She used a couple damaged pieces to wipe with, then cultivated the waste into the soil with her own hands! Anyway... I didn't really learn to appreciate this thing until it wrote. It wrote in a hazy, drunken stupor of crazed self hate. She would write, and cackle loudly; pissing herself and stinking her house of ripe asparagus.

I'll digress... There's nothing more to say, except.... Ladies and Gentlement, .... (softly)... The Titty Lady:

I THINK ITS PRETTY SAD WHEN PEOPLE DONT HAVE ANY THING BETTER TO DO THEN TAKE PHOTOS OF OUR VDOTS WORKERS .I KNOW YOU ONLY TOOK PHOTOS OF WHEN THAY WERE DICUSSING WHAT WAS NEXT TO DO ,,WHY DINT YOU TAKE OF THEM WORKIG ,SEE I LIVE ON MT HEBRON ROAD AND I WATCH THOSE WORKERS ALL DAY ,IF YOU WORRYED ABOUT YOUR TAX DOLLARS YELL AT NASA SPACE SHUDDLER ,, THAY SPEND OUR MONEY ON USELESS ,I JUST WANT TO HANK TOMS BROOK VDOT FOR THE WONDERFUL WORK AND JOB WELL DONE ,WALKING AROUND IN 300 DEGREE PLUS HO TAR IS A JOB MAYBE SOME OTHER SHOULD TRY GETTING A JOB ..AND WHATS UP WITH SMELLING TAR IN THE AIR SOOOOOOOOOO, BET YOU DONT CARE ABOUT THE SMELL OF YOU THE SMELL OF YANKEELAND,,SEE PEOPLE NEED TO STAY UP NORTH THAY THINK THAY KNOW IT ALL ,TAR IS A SWEET SMELL COMPARE TO THE NASTY ,,RUDE SMELL OF PEOPLE LIKE YOU FROM THE NORTH ..AFTER ALL ALL YANKES ARE DIRTY ..SEE YOU CAN TELL BY THE OUT SIDE OF A HOUSE THE WAY IT LOOKS IN SIDE.SO WHEN YOU ARE NOT SNEARING OUR HARD WORKERS WHOM DO WORK ,TAKE TIME TO CLEAN UP YOUR OWN MESS .AND GET THE HE-- BACK TO STINK LAND WE DONT LIKE YOU LOVE TO TOMES BROOK VDOT THANKS FROM THETITTY LADY TITTY LADY

Virginia Department Of Transportation, VDOT... etc

2009-06-19T19:36:00.004-04:00

Virginia Department Of Transportation, VDOT

Shenandoah County, Virginia

Well, well, well. I never would have thought that such a large organization would bully a single, small family in the Shenandoah valley. Apparently this is what is currently happening to my sister.

All because of a few pics of a few local laborers. A few local laborers ordered to a job-site, with nothing to do.

So bear with me here, my dear readers… (and all you new ones who have gravitated over from my sister’s site); For the best results, if you are that pathetically bored, please visit my sisters site linked in this sentence. (Its for the full effect… Like the Lord Of The Rings trilogy… you can read ‘em separately and enjoy it, but you’ll be missing the interesting details. Whether the details are in what Goldberry was wearing when she was prancing around the Withywindle, or what Mr. Anonymous might have been wearing under “her” pants on June 16th!!! It’s a barrel of fun….. Until someone crosses a line.) EMPLOYEE OF/ASSOCIATED WITH THE VIRGINIA DEPARTMENT OF TRANSPORTATION, VDOT, V-DOT, VA-DOT

I was notified that Shenandoah Animal Control was contacted to respond to my sister’s home almost before they arrived. My sister’s husband engaged in the interaction. After the officer completed his investigation, he departed good-heartedly, shaking hands almost apologetically. (He had also viewed my sister’s blog on the VIRGINIA DEPARTMENT OF TRANSPORTATION, VDOT, V-DOT, VA-DOT.)

I’m guessing that some of the upper management will probably make it over to my completely useless site. To those I say welcome! Seriously. This is a neat site if you’re trying to kick back after a hard day at WORK, and want to unwind and just be silly to relieve some stress. See… That’s what blogs are all about! Ya know… FREEDOM OF MUTHA’ FUCKIN’ SPEECH?!!!! Without repercussions!!! Unlike what I see developing at my sister’s home. Shame. VIRGINIA DEPARTMENT OF TRANSPORTATION, VDOT, V-DOT, VA-DOT I do hope an honorable administrator is reading. This site is known for open antics WITHOUT launching outright hurtful attacks upon its visitors. It is a FREE site. Nothing is edited or subject to redaction; save someone who illegally slanders another. This site would never take part in that.

I digress here. It saddens me that I must bring such a bitter tone to this site. It really does. However, if you needlessly mess with a family member of mine (of which I don’t have many left), then I get annoyed.

So lets get down to it aye.

VIRGINIA DEPARTMENT OF TRANSPORTATION, VDOT, V-DOT, VA-DOT, or those operating outside of the authority of same, which I’m SURE is the case, I implore you to not engage in a battle of harassment with my sister. She’s witty, spunky, will fucking stomp you into the ground if you try to match wits with her, tenacious, and honorable. Honor goes a long way people. Honor and valor.

So, to all my regular readers…. I say, “Take heed ye!” for I may have to call upon you to my side. Rest easy now mates, but know storm clouds are distant. Read up on all you see. I think in the end VIRGINIA DEPARTMENT OF TRANSPORTATION, VDOT, V-DOT, VA-DOT will do the right thing.

I shall research this further and talk to some peeps on this end… and I shall, as a dreaded always, return!

PEACE!!!

Virginia Department Of Transportation ...

2009-06-19T18:36:00.001-04:00

Virginia Department of Transportation, VDOT, VADOT, VA-DOT

Stand by.

Upcoming post .... upon approval of counsel.