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.