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

...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...

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

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

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...

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.

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)

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.

Deleted due to too many hits.

We don't like hits here.

Ok. Top 10. Right now.

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....

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

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

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

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?

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?!!!

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...

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

Marty (1955) w. Ernest Borgnine

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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.

Hey! Idiots!

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.

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

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

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!!!

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

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...

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!!!!

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

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.