Theabyss...

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

Sears .... Commercial

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

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...

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.

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

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?

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!

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!!!

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....

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!!!

Nonsense Ramble of Torture, Birds and Death

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?

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...

Michael Jackson On Tour Forever!

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!!!

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!

Raise Your Glasses Mates!!!!

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...

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!!!

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

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 ...

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

Stand by.

Upcoming post .... upon approval of counsel.

Just some neat shit... Found in my dive book...

From the dive log book of The Dark One:

My 12th dive.

June 24, 2003.

Dove w. Chuckie.

Made near fatal mistake by diving to 90' platform and following an old rope deeper. Voice inside my head was saying it wasn't a good idea. Didn't listen to voice. Pitch black. Got very cold by 120'. Made it to platform and observed rope and float off of the moring post. Panic & terror set in. Hyperventilated when I lost sight of platform. Overbreathing regulator. Thought I was going to guy the farm. (Narcosis was rockin) Got a grip & thought back to training. Slowed breathing down & was able to think better. Adjusted BC till I thought I had a little positive buoyancy. Realized old rope was still in my hand in death grip. Started to hand over hand. Pulled self back to 90' platform and found Chuckie hovering like some fucked up fish. Signaled to Chuck I needed out! Did safety stop @ 15' for a few.

I don't know who this would even appeal to. I was looking through some of my old dive logs and remembered that entry. With the OBX coming up and the smell of da' bay on my mind... I thought back to my favorite dives and thought I'd share this one.

I don't think I have many (if any) divers even reading this, but there is a lesson to draw from it: When you're down deep and dark, and shit goes south, and you're in total panic taking a look at death.... Just slow down; breath slow; think slowly; wait; your head will clear no matter how bad you think it is at the time.

Lesson over.

Now... aside of that... If you can get a good nitrogen narcosis buzz on, then GO FOR IT, says I!!!

I also figured I had to post something here... and I really have nothing (appropriate without pissing people off) to gripe about!

Hebrew Nationals & Thumb Jobs

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I got hit in the side of the head!

Check this...

I got hit in the side of the head (right temple) harder than shit!

We were going into this REAL remote location to discover a 3 month old dead guy. So we come to this electronic gate he had (he was a "manufacturer" to boot). As we pulled up I get out to examine the gate... straight into a broken off pine branch stub, about 4 inches in diameter, with a point, that jammed me right in the temple. I got out quick, do to the circumstances, so got struck like you would swing a bat.
So I went down, falling back into the vehicle, and did everything within my power to: a. Not pass out. b. Not scream like a girl. c. Cry.
So my head hurt like you could believe, and combined with what interesting stuff followed, made for an interesting day.

So now... I'm still having some trouble with it. Today was pretty fucked up stress wise.. and the side of my head felt like an ice pick was pulsing through it where I got hit.

I dunno why I'm writing about this... I guess to share the experience of it. Cause its sort of cool in a way. Its sort of funny.

I think I just want you to laugh at it. Its pretty funny.

Yeah.

Look at that title. Its funny as shit.

It still hurts now pretty bad.

Well.. that's it.

I just thought my site was getting stale and didn't know what to write about. It was gonna be this or why I was so fucking pissed off.

I chose this.

...Safer.

Links To Dirtymon History Continue!

For the fourth week in a row Jorn Hurum's team does it again. Field studies and physical proof have been released on another age old myth. You might remember him as Bigfoot, but around Byorn and Jorn's lab he is The Dirtymon! We speak of none other than Darwinius Dirtmusilix Foo Boosalix, of course.

"We set up a few sites in the Shenandoah Valley. Actually as far north as Maryland due to some reported sightings earlier this year," Byorn Mandata told our staff between dance numbers in the very clean, white laboratory he shares with Jorn Hurum, that they purchased with grant monies, funded by the Ford Foundation, Lou Dobbs and anonymous others, which has brilliant sun-quality lighting, and an air system that constantly sterilizes the air, and makes this ever present whooshing sound; a sound that is heard in places such as the Space Shuttle and some of those secret rooms at the CDC, "We got lucky in the second week when Mohamat "Jitters" Salim, who is actually our explosives expert, made the spotting while setting some charges in a local public transportation vehicle."

"Jitters" was unreachable for a follow up at the time of our press release.

We parted with Byorn as he madly talked himself into a frenzy about what a great day it was and singing praises of the Dirtymon findings; dancing and whirling about to the sounds of... nothing really... except for that whooshing air noise.

Don't nobody go acting surprised at this one!

I'm betting Dirt and Sis bet each other how long it would take the DG to do it.

Missing Link Not Missing Anymore!!!

May 19, 2009—Meet "Dirtium Maxus," or “Dirtymon” as the crew likes to call him, the "missing link" found in Virginia that's created a big media splash and will likely continue to make waves among those who study human origins and carnival folk.

In a new book, documentary, and promotional Web site, paleontologist Jorn Hurum, who led the team that analyzed the 47-million-year-old fossil seen above, suggests Dirtymon is a critical missing-link species in primate evolution.

The fossil, he says, bridges the evolutionary split between higher primates such as monkeys, apes, and humans and their more distant relatives such as Dirtman (thus the clever nickname the boys gave him down in the lab).

"This is the first link to all humans," Hurum, of the Natural History Museum in Oslo, Norway, said in a statement. Dirtum Maxus represents "the closest thing we can get to a direct ancestor. It’s the closest thing we can get to even attempt to explain this whole Dirtman thing."

Dirtium Maxus, properly known as Darwinius Dirtmusilix Foo Boosalix, has a unique anatomy. The carnival-clown-like skeleton features primate-like characteristics, including grasping hands, opposable thumbs, clawless digits with nails, and relatively short limbs… oh… and that fucked up tail thing.

"This specimen looks like a really early fossil monkey-wierd-thing that belongs to the group that includes us," said Brian Richmond, a biological anthropologist at George Washington University in Washington, D.C., who was not involved in the study, published this week in the journal PLoS ONE because he was sauced. Brian was present at the Dirtymon party, however, held later that evening.

“We’ve been sitting around, some of us smelling the thing. Byorn told me it smells of tainted sausages, and that started this huge argument over who would have made sausages. Before you knew it, we broke out the bottles of Vodka and formulated hypotheses into the wee hours of the morning,” said paleontologist Stu Karalewitz.

Byorn was not available for an interview. Byorn Mandata, paleontologist and dancer extraordinaire, was physically restrained by co-workers later that same evening. “He jumped up, knocking over one of the vodka bottles, ran over to the thing and started screaming, ‘I loves the tainted sausage of the Dirtymon! I wants me some of that tainted sausage of Dirtymon!!!,’ and then he started doing this very strange hunching motion on Dirtius Maxus.”

Dirtymon remains intact and smells just fine. When the public will get to see him has yet to be determined.

Trip To The Smell Of Da' Bay

When you gaze into the depth of an armpit,
You know what its like to gape into the abyss.
What’s it smell like in there? (Sweet, of course.)
Why do you kneel, gazing at me like this?

Walk with me, hand in hand
Along the beach, pink sand.
I’ll take you for the trip, baby.
Mind explosion. Make a stand.
Wandering pointless where
Desire points north
Come aboard, you’re about to be lost.

Roar of the ocean, come this way.
We’re on a midnight drive, brutha’.
Hold on tight!
Recollections fog with
The Smell Of Da’ Bay!

Pull the trigger.
Fire your inner feelings,
But that target’s hard to hit, man.
I didn’t see shit.
You don’t dive? Ain’t no fun!
You’re a pussy with a gun.

Stop filling your head
With fluff, stuff and dread.
Reach that titillating point
Will bring you a long way
To finally burying your dead.

Drop your shit, come this way,
We’re on a midnight venture, baby!
Hold on tight!
Your thoughts are gonna skew with
The Smell Of Da’ Bay!

Yeah, toss your baggage, come this way,
We’re off together at midnight, honey!
Strap in tight!
Your mind’s gonna fuckin’ blow at
The Smell Of Da’ Bay!

Smell!!!

Of Da’!!!

BAY!!!

(Smell of the mutha’ fuckin’ BAY!) (Thanks to Biohazard for the inspiration for the style of the last few lines!)

Curry and More Curry....

In an afternoon cooking frenzy, I have managed to trash the entire kitchen (again), feed the masses (again), AND create one of the sickest assortment of curry dishes I've ever consumed!

Because I'm surrounded by gringos, I had to make a couple sets of food. The curry stuff was potent enough to make Johnboy sweat.

I gotta say. It was some sick shit. The only one brave enough ended up being Monkey (pictured).

I did a chicken curry and black eyed peas curry. The chicken stuff went over rice.

(The gringos ate a chili-spiced chicken in a basil tomato sauce over rice. Wussies.)

The interesting event has yet to take place.

See... All that curry's gotta ... umm... return from whence it came; AND... I just found out a bit ago that I gotta go in to work at 4:30 this morning for something.

Now, my body and me... We got us an understanding. It tolerates me shoving stuff into it like... ohh... curry chicken and beans, and I assure my body that it has immediate/uncomplicated access to a "proper" bathroom (I could write an entire blog series on proper bathrooms).

Going to work at 4:30 a.m., however, is sort of reneging on our agreement. SO... with that in mind... perhaps I'll have an even more jovial follow up to this blog entry on the morrow!

Maybe something titled... ... .... Curry and The Captain-Who-Had-To-Bolt-Into-The-Woods-While-Dropping-Trou-To-Return-Said-Curry-To-Nature!

.... LOL.... Now THAT is SICK!

..and...

I am a dork too.

Facebook.... WTF... I mean.. COME ONNNNNN!!!!!!!!! W T F?!!!!!!


...shit!

Sears! SEARS!!!

Now my sister tells me that these larger companies have hired entities that gather data by searching the internet; for example my sister’s site was searched out by a one Pizzeria Uno (aka Pizzeria-Coming-Out-Of-My-Anus, aka Pizzeria-Customers-R-Gonad-Cheese, aka Pizzeria-Place-That-Sucks-As-Much-As-Chicago, etc.) and received interesting attention.

With that in mind, I now vent my little, meaningless dissatisfaction with Sears.

There comes a time when businesses get just too big and out of control. Literally out of control. (Remember to read what I write in the most literal sense.)

For this piece I’m going to bring forth my business position, which is usually a no-no on (especially) this site. However, I’ll keep it on the dark side too, so I don’t stray away from what it is we’re all doing here. Sears.

Funny thing is, this one instance wasn’t even that big of a deal, case or complaint. It was a concerned citizen that was directed to me by another because of various reasons. The reported actual victim, was the complainants mother; a senior citizen. The complaint: Scamin’ The Old Folks.

One of my peeves. It’s like bullying. Don’t fuck with the helpless or meek. So sure, I was gonna see what I could do.

Sears! (I’ll be putting that in every now and then just to be sure those ass-fucks doing the searching don’t miss anything.)

The complaint was that some knuckle-heads contacted this woman and gave her some story about Obama’s relief fund (fucking-joke) enabling these great offers… yadda yadda… regarding oil and heating something or other. A phone number was left and an appointment was made for someone to meet this woman on May 5th. The family member who talked to her mother about this, became concerned about a possible scam and was told to contact yours truly.

The number was for Sears. SEARS. SEARS!!! Sears.

Now is when it got interesting. At this point EVERYTHING could have been solved, and enabled me to write something in my action taken like, “…salesperson and method discovered to be valid. Nothing further.” This was not the case, however. I called the number and attempted OVER THE PERIOD OF OVER 30 MINUTES to reach a nominally competent person to answer a few verifying questions about what led such a complaint to make its way to mine-self. SEARS! Sears.

I ended up speaking to various people with heavy accents, which I had difficulty understanding. When I communicate at work, EVERY FUCKING WORD is of the most extreme value. It carries its own measured weight. I carry that weight. So I want to know exactly what it is I’m carrying; thus I wanna know EVERY FUCKING WORD! SEARS! Sears. See? Simple. Right?

I finally found my patience waning and asked where my customer service technician was located.

I never expected a serious answer, but I finally (think) I got one there. The guy said, “(unintelligible word) India.” I was starting to physically shake. I asked the guy if he could put me in touch with an office in America that would be familiar with the daily internal workings of their service personnel. He asked me again who I was and what I was trying to find out. Yes. SEARS!!! I snapped. (As much as I can at work.) I started going off like some crazed patriot telling him to get me “back over to America where I’m at and I can talk to someone who knows what the hell I’m talking about…” SEARS! Sears.

I’m eventually transferred to an entity in a southern part of our country (which I’ll leave out here because the person and I shared one helluva laugh over Sears and their FUCKING PATHETIC CUSTOMER SERVICE SYSTEM!!!) SEARS!!! Sears.

I never spoke with an American.

I called as an investigating law enforcement officer, and never spoke to anyone in America. (Oh… the person in America I told you about… Was not from Sears, but from an agency that handles the company’s personnel’s legal problems WITH Sears!)

The original complainant was MORE than filled in on everything, and told to spread the word.

Which I ask all of you to do. Spread the word. Let these ass-fucks know that their service in WAY the fuck outta hand.

You wanna go the way of the fucking car companies? (Maybe you do. Then you’ll get yo’self some free money. Right bitches? Sears.)

Get lost Sears. You’re some sick fucks praying on the elderly to generate business by bait and switch tactics.

I may not be able to see your ass in court myself, but I can do my part to put a little hurting on your ass.

SEARS!

Coward assholes.

Outcome of Bored

Oh yeah.... Sweetness...

Please don't think I'm posting these Dell-related blog entries because I need to toot some sort of horn. I sure as heck don't roll that way.

I post because this thing has me cracking up. This thing has been like an outta control feral animal! Just when I thought I had it... (the earlier blogs)... it all just crashed again on me! I about threw the sum-bitch outta my office, and down the stairwell! So rolling up my sleeves, I started muttering to it, and did the equivelant of what used to be big fun back in the day... Deleting The C Drive in DOS. Man, that used to feel sweet! Today... Not so easy, nor as fun... but it still felt good to slay this beast.

This thing could only have come from the basement where the Heir dwells.

So... we're hitting 8 pm, and finally linked to be able to download the REAL drivers for it.

I think it might make it!

Come on baby! Come on baby! Keep loading!

Will it... or Won't it?....

So far the repairs and reinstallation have been going along just swimingly. We'll see how things progress through the day....

The Battle Of Antietam

The sides: WE vs. THEM

Was actually a really nice day; weather-wise. The cold start led to some pretty comfortable conditions.

The original plan was to visit key Civil War (War Between The States for Chuckie) locations in/around Brunswick, MD.

I'm still not really sure what happened in Brunswick. I was there. I recall that, and some bricks that used to be part of a roundhouse, next to a few dead guys. (They were buried.) The bricks had a bell installed in them... I think it was one of those old things where a rope was run down into the graves of the adjacent dead guys, and if any of them weren't really dead yet, they could ring that bell and ..... we'd run like hell... cause frankly... some guy buried in a grave that got killed in a train wreck years before, waking up down there and ringing an emergency-casket-bell just isn't very natural. I'm thinking the guy that would be brought out of that grave would be fairly dirty (thus smell), and probably more than a little mad.

Ok... So that's what my head got out of Brunswick.

There was then a 90 minute break, while discussions ensued over where the next key point of the Civil War was in/around Brunswick. It was in that discussion that I first heard of some unknown location with a really long Indian "M" word. Apparently there's books on the place, and shit went down there back in the 1800's.

The decision was made (no.... there was no decision MADE! There never is!!! We just slowly gravitate places!) to head to Antietam Battlefield.

We were in two vehicles (not following each other), and both managed to get lost in some town called Funkytown. I think we were in Maryland. I really have no fucking idea where we were!

After what started to feel like some crazy urban driving game involving (GACK!!!) cell phones, we met back up and managed to find the battlefield.... along with 10,000 other pathetic people with no lives.

I mean geeze dawgs! 145 years later, and shit's still going down in Sharpsburg!

This was when the battle began.

WE vs. THEM

All that stuff before?.... No. That was what led up to the war.

Now the 2009 Battle Of Antietam mainly centered around The Bloody Cornfield. You can find it now by driving 1.4 miles east on 45 or 65 (or whatever the name of the road is that Dirtman happens to be looking at on his map at the time), then proceed to the south-west end of the north-east corner of the west woods. Just look for the sign. There'll be plenty of them. They'll point you to every fucking corner of those damn woods! .... .... Ain't really no woods there now... but man o MAN are you gonna know where they were!

So the battle was raging all around The Bloody Cornfield. Minor skirmishes erupted from all corners of the various woods. The Boy Scouts even launched their own probes. Ordering kids to their slaughter in droves; like Kamikazes, they were unleashed upon us. You can't have slaughter without laughter, and there certainly was plenty of that thanks to our whole group.

Strange people also felt the need to attack us in The Bloody Corfield. One unidentified soldier of the THEM side, conducted a drive-by, style attack; hanging out of the vehicle as his bitch hit the gas, screaming some strange battle cheer at us: "The Cornfield Walk!!! That's the Cornfield Walk!!!" They repeatedly attempted probes upon our position throughout the afternoon, but they were no match, and eventually fled from us around 2:30 p.m.

Dirtman was WAY too happy about pointing this out to us:

Just a little freaky, says I.

Hmm... You know.... I wonder now. ... Perhaps Dirtman was actually siding with THEM. Working behind the lines as a double agent, he would shoot us off in deadly directions, only to utilize modern technology to further thwart any sense of order with his disinformation.

Oh yes.... In this picture below, he appears to stand there bravely like a stone wall; right on the edge of The Bloody Cornfield itself! Intelligence confirms that he utilized his communications to contact another WE soldier.... ONLY to place an ambiguous order for a bizarre chicken dinner.

A WE soldier wrote, "He charged fearlessly right into THEM. He was trying to reach some corner marker in the field. We yelled to him that THEM was the ones that put that marker there to fool us. Still he went out there. My buddy yelled to us, 'Look he's standing there like a Corn-dog!' So that's how we came to know him." Corn-dog Jackson would go on to fight other battles that day.

However, I submit this to you, dear historian: Why would a WE soldier march so bravely upon The Bloody Cornfield, in the full face of THEM bearing down upon us, and order a chicken dinner? Disinformation, or just strange hunger patterns? You decide.

As thirst and alcohol withdrawal started to kick in, monuments started to take on a different feel. You know shit's going south when you stare at a Irish Brigade monument and start drooling at the thought of an Irish Pub.

Luckily, since Johnboy punked out of purchasing a "Best Of Antietam" CD (that you play in your car while touring numerous interesting points - like the west edge of the northeast south side of the north woods, across from the Drunken Church), we ended the little pamphlet tour and ended up being routed out of Sharpsburg.

They won.

We were pushed back to Middletown, VA where we bivouacked at the Irish Pub!

The Watch, The Bitch and The Battery

This is actually a continuing saga. Apparently (as is predictable) I end up with a watch that takes some rare alien battery size. Repeated attempts at CVS and Rite Aid have been uneventful.

CVS even suggested I visit Anderson’s Corner (the local rip-off jeweler) when I visited them the first time and they appeared out of the one I needed. I drove there practicing lines I would use in case that same old guy I dealt with last time said, “Did you try Anderson’s Corner like I told you two weeks ago?” or “Why don’t you try Anderson’s Corner?”

“Well, because I’m in HERE trying to buy it! Perhaps I don’t care for Anderson’s Corner! Perhaps one of the employees ran over my son while he was riding his bike through town! Perhaps I got a skin disease off their toilets once!!! Now just sell me the fucking battery if you have it!!!”

They didn’t.

He wasn’t even there. No one said anything to me. That lifted my spirits some.

I hit the local Rite Aid next. I didn’t expect to find it there, and wasn’t let down in my expectations.

Still unwilling to succumb to local pressures, I hit the internet. Duracell’s site didn’t seem to have the battery, though I found a cross reference… So I called them.

They, like every computer company, also seem to have support over in the Middle East. I could hardly get the receptionist to understand the numbers I was giving her.

HELLO?!!! Isn’t this business sort of fucking DEPENDANT on their staff being very thorough with numbers?!!!

I think I got through to her and was then put on hold. I can’t even picture this lady doing anything with my information. I still don’t think she understood me!

Oh… but I was waiting on hold! If I was still sitting here at 9:00 at night… I wasn’t hanging up (as long as the connection remained).

She did come back…. 12 minutes later.

She said something like, “I’m sorry sir, but we find no record of this.” (Add a really thick accent, and poor volume.) I think those were her words. I really couldn’t tell you. I just know she didn’t find any relevant information for me.

So irritated I say, “Oooo K. So Duracell doesn’t have any idea what crosses with their own battery. (pause… no reply… some noises… what? … was she having sex over there or what?) Fine. Ok. Look.. Thanks. Goodbye.” I could hear her finally saying something as I was hanging up the phone.

I went back to the WEB and finally found some crazy jeweler site that had a Ray O Vac battery that matched the crossed numbers.

I ordered it. We’ll see if it works in a week or so.

Jeweler wanted $15.00 to put one in (at Sears, 2 years ago.) The cost online was $2.80.

… Yeah I’m paying shipping, but it’s the point! It still only came to $10.98 total.

Product support! Come ONNNNNN!!!!!!

Finally... Someone got it right!

The Man!

Bring GOLTV back to DISH network!

Go here and add to this petition.

http://www.petitiononline.com/goltv08/petition.html

DISH / MASN Issues

I sent the following to DISH Network this morning.

What is going on with your programming? Regarding soccer (where every place else but here, it ranks supreme):

MASN used to cover all DC United games. That seems to be a wash now. (I realize this has nothing to do w. DISH. Just showing an increasing problem.)

You took away GOL TV.

You now have the option for SETA... but you gotta pay even more.

This one really hurt though:

USA vs El Salvador I had trouble finding that ESPN was even covering it.

Finally found it by accident on ESPN, but the on screen guide had it listed as other stuff, including some Strong Man competition!

At the half I was too tired to watch remaining and hit the record button to catch the rest this morning.

OH YEAH!....Apparently the strong man competition was scheduled to end at the same point in the game where USA just equalized, and about 2 minutes of regular time remained...

Meaning the entire end of the event went unrecorded.

Heck, even my wife blew a gaskit, and she's not a big soccer fan.

I just want it known that I'm extremely disappointed in DISH, and if I had much of an alternate choice, I'd probably drop the service.

Shoot me a free season of Direct Kick or something here. How about a free SETA subscription? Something.

Thanks for your attention to my gripes.
-John