Who's there?

Well how the hell are you people?

Rut Roh.

Okay, ....necessities.

2 bottles Captain Morgan private stock rum. ---check.

4 boxes Nabisco double-stuf Oreos. ---check.

6 boxes Hot fudge sundae flavored pop tarts. ----check.

3 12 packs caffeine-free Diet Coke. -----check.

5 cases zephyrhills bottle water. -----check

Extra supply of batteries, candles, and rum (better safe than sober). ----check.

Throw potential projectiles over fence into neighbors yard. (lawn chairs etc..) ---check.



Invite blog friends over to board up windows tonight. ------- check?


Click here to volunteer. (bring your own damn pop-tarts)

Does That Come With Tentacles?

There's nothing to eat around here.

Nothing good anyway.

And since I'm all out of bacon, I'll have to improvise.

I need something different, something fresh.

The problem is that there will never be anything new to eat.....EVER.

Kinda sad.

Somebody on this planet has caught, picked, speared, trapped, shot, grown, hooked, and clubbed everything there is to eat.

Then they baked, deep fried, basted, char-broiled, nuked, barbecued, blackened, double-boiled, steamed, or swallowed it whole.

It seemed that our last hope was that those doofus t.v."survivalists" would find some new species of delicious aardvark in the rain forest or at least some Antarctic caterpillar that would liven up the taste buds.

But no.

Everything they've found is either disgusting, poisonous, or tastes like chicken.

I've tried chicken. It tasted like chicken.

That's not new.

I think that's why NASA gets so much funding. They're searching for intelligent life in other galaxies,

-so we can eat them.

Oh sure, they say they're conducting valuable experiments which will further advance mankind.

I say they're lookin for food.

So until they fricasee a giant squid or saute up some bigfoot,

This is it folks. Dig in.



_______________

The Prize Patrol Cometh!

This blog has been called many things.

Most of which will get you duct taped to an angry pelican and made to listen to David Hasselhoffs newest c.d. until your ears bleed.

But of all the things you could possibly think of,
...award winner

must now be one of them.

For pee your pants funny and original material, I now own THIS bad boy.

A special thank you to my friend chatblanc over at Wit's Bitch for presenting me with my first blog award ever! Oh sure, lots of blogs have been given this prestigious little trophy, but eff off this one is mine.

And if that weren't enough, Meg over at Prefers Her Fantasy Life, informs me that I won something over there too! She held a caption contest and even though I didn't win the Ed McMahon super ultra cash extravaganza prize, my entry made her laugh.

Strange, I thought.

It's kinda weird to get a prize for not winning, I thought.

Making someone laugh is prize enough, I thought.

I thought wrong.

Thanks Meg!


Let's make it 3 for 3 ---------------> click and vote with a smiley!

Splash, Boom, Bang

My fine hometown.
Working harder than any other to entertain its citizens.
Searching the globe for quality amusements and well...

The 2008 Red Bull Flugtag!


The idea here is to push your homemade flying machine off of a 20 foot high ramp and see how far it will fly.
The problem here is that they held the competition in the "freak show state", which ruled out the common sense factor. See, most of the "flying machines" did not even have wings.

Seems that would have made a checklist......somewhere.

The first thing flew like a 100'. It did have wings. They won. Go figure.
After that, the contest was a plunkfest.
42 piece of crap go carts being shoved off a cliff.
That's not entertainment - that's gravity.

---------------------------------------------------
Next up....

Criss Angels Mindfreak!
Even closer to home, Clearwater Beach.

Take this dork-

Handcuff him to a railing on the 3rd floor of hotel -

Set the timer for 4 minutes - then blow up the hotel.

Seemed like a brilliant plan. But it turns out, dork is a magician.

Oh no! Lock pick thingy no worky! Oh no! Took too long, now helicopter ride on roof has to leave him!

The suspense makes it hard to even breathe. Wait, no it's not the suspense, it's the damn dust.

He must be magic. He must have said hocus-pocus. He must have known where the back stair was.

_____________________________

After all that, the city has redeemed itself...

Coheed and Cambria...

After going 0 for 2, they owed me...big. So they lured my friends from NY with the promise of cheap t-shirts, salt water taffy and painted sea shells, - just for me.

You owe me too. ----------------->click

The Power of "duuh."

I don't exactly know when I became the smartest guy on the jobsite.
Maybe it's my quick wit and stunningly studious good looks.
Or maybe it's my "I'm with Stupid" t-shirt.
I can't be sure.

Whatever the reason, I've become some sort of stupid question vacuum.
A dumb-ass information booth where mindless wandering nimwads, stop and check in.
It's driving me nuts.

But now I have a new weapon.

One simple word that eliminates the stress of processing stupidity.
A single syllable which can send 'em away scratching their empty skull cavity in utter speechlessness---


"DUUH"



I have set my mind free!
No more searching through my few remaining brain cells for an undeserved answer!
No further thought processes to fathom insane inquiries!

"Damon, should we install a LOCKING knob on the bathroom door?"

--Last week- "No jackass, in the true interest of privacy, we've decided to install the toilet in the middle of the driveway."

--This week- "duuh."

See how this works? I am cruisin the construction zones with a crapload of 'duuh' strapped to my hip like a gunslinger.

"Damon, do you want all the garbage thrown in the dumpster?"

-- Last week- " Not this time braindead, load it up in your car until it reeeeaalllly starts to stink. Then drive to the dump and leave your car there."

--This week- (simply) - "duuh."

It works for anything, and has nooo comeback.
Just a priceless blank expression-


If you choose to use the 'duuh', be careful.
It does have it's limits.

Officer --"Do you know how fast you were going?"
Young Pa-duuh-wan learner--" You're the one with the radar gun, duuh."

You gotta be careful and not abuse the 'duuh' and all it's powers.
A wise man once said:
The power of duuh, is a curious thing.
Make-a one man weep, make another man sing.
Change a hawk, to a little white dove.
More than a feeling, that's the power of "duuh."


*Damon, where do we click to vote for you? Right over there --> "duuuh."

It's all about the bacon, my brothers

I've been searching the internet for the perfect man-meal.

Something we all can appreciate.
Something every man, regardless of age, race, or super-hero preference, can say they agree on.

.......and I found it.

Enjoy.

The salad.
Served up in a bowl - made of - you guessed it - bacon.
How can it be unhealthy? It is a salad!

The appetizer.
Bacon wrapped... well ,anything. Who gives a crap. Bacon rules.

The Entree.

I will not ruin this glorious moment with commentary. Look at it. Take it all in. I present to you...

Bacon cheeseburgers served on a Krispy Kreme donut bun.

Dessert.
And because you have not yet had all the greasy, fatty, goodness, you deserve.....
Oooooh yeah,
Chocolate covered bacon.


Oh no. That's not where it all ends.
You're gonna need a little somethin' extra.
Somethin' to get that lettuce and chocolate smell off your breath.

...and you know I found that too.

Click here and vote!

DRINKS ARE ON ME

I don't think I like being told by my local drinking establishment when to be happy.
Sometimes I go in, not happy at all.
And 2 for 1 draft beer and well drinks, ain't gonna change that.

#1. I hate draft beer.
#2. They call them 'well' drinks, because, well, they suck.

I, for one , am not putting the timing of my oh so fragile emotions in the hands of an industry that purposely sets their clocks wrong, and calls 4pm - 7pm happy 'hour'.
That's three hours, and if you drink well drinks for three hours, well, you won't be happy, you'll be sick. Or maybe, you're lucky enough to find a bar with "happy hour" all day Sunday.
Once again, what the bartender wrings out of a rag and serves up as half priced, all day on a Sunday, will have you yackin clear through Tuesday.

So, in Damons Drunkatorium, (that's my bar name, if I had a bar) we're gonna cover all the reasons you're in a bar.
Happy or not.

"Slightly Peeved and Perterbed Hour" - You get 60 minutes to drink your way into a memory lapse to forget the weeks stupidity. I got to go with Captain Morgan & Coke on this one.

"Emphatically Euphoric and Delighted Hour"- We'll serve up that fu-fu garbage happy people all love. Pitchers of 'fuzzy navels' or 'sex-on-the-beach' should shut 'em up.

"Crazed and Out of Your Freakin Mind Hour"- Tequila shots aaaaaalll around. Buenos noches, mi amigo.

"Anxiety and Paranoia Hour"- I figure an Irish Coffee should fill the bill. I'm pretty sure the alcohol and the caffeine cancel each other right out. Just like the voices in your head. And if it doesn't, you won't worry about being seen leaving the bar with who's left at 2 am.

"Lonely and Depressed Hour"- Just for fun, I've decided to 2 for 1 draft beer is painfully appropriate. You know, that tear in your beer thing. Oh, and each table will only have one chair, so you can sit alone in all your solitary pathetic glory.

"Totally Ticked Hour"- This could be scary. I'll have to post a disclaimer (and an armed guard). With a bar full of angry workin stiffs and enraged alcoholics, I'm servin, you guessed it, Jack Daniels and Grand Marnier. Just wind 'em up and watch 'em go.

Note : Dart league cancelled during "totally ticked hour".

Bunch more drunks over at humor-blogs.

This is how we do it

Keepin it simple. Keepin me sane.
Rock Solid Household advice.
Time saving tips.
Words to live by.

In my kingdom, the only breakfast question is, "Do you want your Pebbles -Fruity or Cocoa?"
Simplicity- at it's finest.

If it's growing in the yard, and it's green, it stays.
If it's growing in the 'fridge, and it's green, it goes.

The spaghetti is done when all the boiling water is gone.
No need for pesky timers.

The pork chops are done when the smoke detector goes off.
Once again, no pesky timer.

In the case where dinner is not pork or pasta,
dinner is ready when the first kid says, "Oh man, not Helper again."

Clean the kids rooms with a rake.
What you get is laundry, what you miss is garbage.

Whites go in hot, colors go in cold. That's it.
All them other knobs and settings don't do anything.

When the kids are good, take them for ice-cream.
When they're bad, take them to Home Depot.

Buy a Swiffer-Vac for the wood floors.
Just do it. It's awesome.

Entertaining the little nose-pickers doesn't need to be expensive.
Just last night we played a rousing game of "find the smell."
Fun, free, ...and necessary. (Believe me.)

*********

Click this and vote. Remember to jam your cursor down the throat of the big smiley!

How do you train to eat wieners?

Jammin wieners down your throat is not only a sport, it's a competition.
..and it makes mama so proud.
Billed as "The Rematch II - this time it's personal," because, let's face it, what's more personal than a guy who can swallow more weenie than you.

Apparently ESPN could find no other sport worthy of airtime ( I guess there was no spelling bee or cheerleading competition goin on) and decided that the gluttony on Coney Island should draw those high ratings they've been dreamin of.

These 2 skinny dudes both managed to cram 55 (that's fifty freakin five) tube shaped whoknowswhatsintheres down their gullets in 10 minutes. Forcing a 5 dog frank-off.

...And we have a winner, Joey Chestnut.

Better at eatin wienies than any fat guy in our country.

Better than any woman, at crammin meat in - and swallowin it down.

He defeated his arch nemesis Kobayachi, who blames an arthritic jaw for his downfall. (I thought getting 'turf-toe' in football was weird, but this just proves that EVERY sport has its injuries!)

-

Just a bit of advice, from one dog to another, Joey. You may not want to make your accomplishments known on say, a trip to Key West or San Francisco. You would get a waaay different reception than you're expecting.

And if you're ever incarcerated, put the hush-hush on the gobblin skills.

'cause no one likes a bragger.

-

Keep humor-blogs funny - click here - then click on the smiley!!!

A Dream with a Hole

The store was a mess,

from the workmen you see,

A Dunkin' Donuts kiosk,

being installed - just for me.

The weeks flew past,

as I awaited the day,

that creme-filled goodness,

would be here to stay.

That day was today,

and with much anticipation,

this store now was much more,

than just a gas station.

Sweet greatness by the dozen,

hot goodness by the cup,

I'm gettin' 9 donuts,

I hope they stocked up.

As I skipped through the doors,

like a pastry explorer,

not a donut in sight,

(imagine the horror).

No colorful sprinkles,

no chocolate eclaire,

no wonderin' how,

the creme gets in there.

They're just sellin' coffee,

they think they're Starbucks,

but without any bearclaws,

I think this just sucks.

They hurt me this mornin',

they shattered a dream,

next time there's a choice,

.....I'll buy Krispy Kreme.

If you've ever been slighted, and know of my plight,

Then just click on this, and the world will be right.

Ugly Is Only Skin Deep

In keeping with our long standing tradition as the "freak show state", Florida has once again not let me down. We are still the home of the "worlds ugliest dog" champion.

This is Gus. Grand champion of all that is ugly in the canine world.

Gus' main strengths in this category included;

He only has one eye.
He only has three legs.
He is practically hairless.
He has skin cancer.
His right ear is mangled.

There was, of course, controversy. This is the newly de-throned past champion, Sam.

(Judges huddle)

Well Sam is ugly. He's got that crazy tongue thing goin on. He's balding pretty well and shakes a lot.

Yeah, but he's only partially blind. And he has all four legs. Those are major points deductions.

And don't forget about Gus' chewed up ear and skin problems.

We have a new champ!

More funny stuff at humor-blogs.

i-got some i-deas

Dear Apple

I would like to congratulate you on your sucess with electronic devices such as the i-pod and the newer i-phone. You have brought some pretty cool technology to everyday devices and we all enjoy using your products.

In case the gurus down in the nerdatorium are looking for new i-deas for '09, I've come up with a few for your consideration:

The i-pet. All kinds of animals with OFF switches, and best of all, no food to dish out or crap to scoop up.

The i-car. Hands free driving and downloadable road rage.

The i-pad. The ladies will love it! When it's that time of the month, who wouldn't enjoy a lttle music?

The i-pon. When the i-pad just won't do.

The die-pod. Dr. Kevorkian and Texas State Penetentiary will be first in line. (and those freaky goth people when they're not whining about somethin.)

The rye-pod. Make a call, then eat the phone. It's wireless AND it's lunch.

The tie-pod. I see this as a fathers day fave.

The i-rect. This has a little somethin for everybody. He won't have to remember his viagara and she can listen to her favorite Luther Vandross tune while she's down south.

Well thanks for your i-time. Gotta go write more letters. I've got some x-rated ideas for the folks over at Wii.

These people are all x-rated.

FOR SALE!!

Summer has arrived like a Buffalo herd crossin a Croc stream, and the kiddies are probably already gettin bored.

Well friend, have I got a deal for you!

12 feet in diameter, like a gajillion springs, soft rubbery bouncy mat, ripped and faded spring guard, and most importantly-- no pesky safety netting!

All this backyard bouncy fun can be yours for $11,877!!

All I need to do is recoup my investment up to this point. (You know, the initial cost, plus any unforseen incidentals that may have come up.)

Where else can you be guaranteed* a summer full of fun and airborne children, for less than $12g's? No where.
That's where.

AAAAnnnnd, because you are such a valued reader and member of the TTKU fan club, I'm gonna ship it free! Act now, and you will receive the entire set-up at your doorstep in time for the 4th of July!

(All except for 1 really big screw which will be shipped after surgical removal in about 6 months.)

*guarantee not actually guaranteed.

There are lots of screws loose over here.

No Octopii in Pittsburgh

Good news! Red Wings are Stanley Cup champions!!!

Bad news! No hockey for 3 months.

Now being a dedicated Tampa Bay Lightning fan, I had no real emotional stake in this.

But the Penguins pissed me right off and sent Monday nights game 5 into TRIPLE overtime.

Normally, I don't stay up that late unless there's a good buzz or some good nookie involved.

So, for keeping me awake until 1:00, and not seeing the Stanley Cup paraded around the rink in Detroit....

Take that Penguins.

...I hope you enjoyed being punked on home ice.

Click this for more punks.

Youth Gone Wild?

Technology has ruined the youth of our country.
Yeah, I said it.
They are laaazzy.
They spend their time on-line or attached to a video game, instead of doing their duty - as kids.
Bein' laaazzy.

But Damon, how do you know this?
What makes you an expert on teenage culture?

Three observations. That's what.

#1. Driving through my neighborhood I came across this mailbox.
Pretty cool, I thought.
But then it, dawned on me...
In my day Mr. Gator here, would have lost his head via Louisville Slugger about 2 days after we noticed it.
Todays kids just don't take the time to see that the neck is the weak point, and a not so precise blow, right above the nostril, would easily send his head onto the neighbors porch.


#2. There are some sweet-ass oak trees all over my fair city.
Beggin, just beggin, for a T-P job.
But, no.
Todays youth would rather tease you into therapy or give you an on-line virus, than put forth an honest act of playful vandalism.
..and that's just sad, because wikipedia even has directions for exactly how it's done!

#3. There are entirely too many power lines around here without shoes hangin from them. I can recall spendin most of a summers morn, pinning little Mikey down, stealin his shoes, and tying the laces together for a flight up to telephone line heaven.

But those days are gone.

And all we are left with....

are the memories.

humor-blogs smacks heads off gators

Oh, Hell Yeah

If you live in California, cancel your weekend plans!

Think about it.
Would you rather show up to your boring ass job on Monday and say, "I did a little yard work and then watched reruns of MASH until the hot pocket I cooked Tuesday finally cooled off enough to eat", or would you rather say, " I watched some drunk carpenters race their chainsaws, angle grinders, belt sanders and circular saws, down a home-made wooden dragstrip."


Choice is yours.
(Choose wisely)

May17-18. San Franciscos' Ace International Speedway.

Be there.

These geniuses hook up some of the best house wreckin, wall buildin, wood workin, electric driven, powertools, with guidewheels, redneck attitudes, and serve 'em up with a side order of damn straight.

Some dragsters are air powered, some are electric, all are freakin awesome.

Drag racers, however, are Pabst Blue Ribbon, Jack Daniels, or Tecate powered, and all are borderline certifiable.

Tip for newcomers:

DO NOT STAND ANYWHERE NEAR THE FINISH LINE.

Gettin a good look at the photo finish of a racer with 6 saw blades spinning at 3000 rpm is probably a bad idea.

Check out the video. Sweeeeeeet.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tG5kWmJKoos

And click for me- http://www.humor-blogs.com/ or we'll make you hold the checkered flag!

Not much to love..

Love bugs.

Or is it Lovebugs.

These little sex-crazed bastards are everywhere. Flying around like a two-headed lab experiment gone wrong. Decorating car fronts, radiators, and anything that they can possibly smack into.

If only Ford would make trucks with a teflon coating, maybe the front of my ride wouldn't look like it was a bug guts depository.

And maybe I could see out my windshield. Oh yeah, the wipers help. Help smear the innards and wings from paint ball splat, to loooong arched stripe. Nice heh?

Some people suggest puttin a layer of cookin oil on your hood, so the smushed entrails don't stick to your paint job. Or even a better suggestion I've heard, don't drive during the day.

So these people want me to drive around at night with a greased up front end, like a horny vampire, and look for a job on the midnight shift. All in the name of love bug preservation.

There is a beauty to them though.

The female only lives three days.

She hatches, hooks her ass up to the closest male, gets a free ride flyin backwards while they do it, and if they can avoid bein smashed on a windshield, lays eggs, then dies.

So basically, she hooks in, hangs on, shuts up, and passes away.

See the beauty?

My computer no worky

Thanks to Ken at the home office, my computer thing is up and runnin again.

Thanks to all of you who DIDN"T click for me in my state of internet despair and allowed me to plummet down the ranks of humor-blogs.
Yeah, yeah, I'll forgive you, (for a click apiece!)

But hey!
I can't remember when, and don't remember why, but I put this site of idiocracy on Blondies Humor and Fun. I almost forgot all about it. Clicked on it today to find that - (drum roll) - I am #1!

Just goes to show, that ... well , it just goes.

Anycrap on a stick, I'll be back with as much funny as I can possibly spew forth (without getting any on ya) as soon as I cash this check for 360 billion.
So if you need to borrow a billion or two, let me know.

Help Find the Monkees!

Here they come,
Walkin down the street,
Get the funniest looks from,
Every one they meet.....

Hey, hey...

thaaat's enough.

The Monkees are loose!
There is an APB out in Tampa for the Monkeys.

They escaped Saturday and haven't been seen since.

Well, not the Monkees, the monkeys.

15 Patas monkeys.

They escaped from their enclosure on Saturday and are still gone.
See, some zoological nimrod decided that the island surrounded by the moat would simulate their natural environment and hold them in.

Turns out that Patas monkeys CAN SWIM. Probably not a bad thing to strike off the old 'monkey enclosure' checklist.

So these little hellions are hiding out somewhere in Polk County, flingin poo and peein on rooftops.

Next logical step; 25 zookeepers wanderin the streets at all hours of the night, wavin bananas and callin " here monkey, monkey!" Maybe these idiots should google 'monkey' to make sure they eat bananas.

I swear, only in Florida.

Hold On To Your Nuts

Not to go too political on ya.
But I can't resist.

The Florida State Senate is voting on the "glands" bill. (Nice name 'eh?). I suppose now that health care and budgetary shortfalls are taken care of, it's on to the big important stuff.

I personally did not ever consider testicles as 'glands', but if that's what the gubment says, it must be so.

The law threatens to ban the lovely bumper ornament known as "truck nutz." You know, those lovely little hang-downs on the back of trucks that clearly indicate that not only is the truck a male, but it's owner was thoughtful enough display his inadequacies in 1 of 14 designer colors.

Call 'em "truck-nutz", call 'em "bumper-balls, call 'em "truckticles", call 'em "trunk-junk", it's testosterone runnin rampant - American style.

If they pass the "twins law"- anyone caught dangling these guys off their ride, will be fined $60.
To put that into perspective, there's already a law fining anyone caught taking cell phone pictures up womens skirts , $25. Which means boy parts are more than twice as offensive as girl parts. -Duh.

So basically, the gubment doesn't like people with balls.
If they catch you, they will have your balls removed - for $60.
I figure if they want to start legislating castration, they should start with the Catholic church.

ILLUSION EXPLAINED

Original, in all its misunderstood glory.

..and for those who saw the lamp, boobs, or Elvis at a gas station..

Just wanted to Bee sure to clarify any misunderstanding.

EENIE, MEENIE, MINEY....

....... I ..uhh ..got nothin. (nyuk nyuk)

It's Hip To Be Square

The weather has been absolutely great.

Which means two things.

Time for the sun-worshippers to hit the beaches

and time for dustin off the Hog.

That's right, every middle-aged, balding, overweight, yuppie who owns a Harley will soon be cruisin the streets of Mytown, U.S.A. in all their wanna-be glory.

The transformation begins at the local Harley dealership. Where polyester suit and tie are traded for the trademark Harley 'mandana' and a pair of leather chaps.

(Don't want to get frostbite on your legs ridin around in Florida)

They then, I assume, check your credit, check you for the grey/black goatee, and check that you are truly having a mid-life crisis.

You will then straddle 1600cc's of American made roarin' steel, with a saleswoman telling you just how wild and free you look on there and how young and dangerous you must be to be considering the 'Harley' lifestyle. And let's face it, since you've never ridden a bike before, you are gonna need the heaviest bike with tons of horsepower.

Consider this, pinhead.

You are old.

You are lame.

We are laughing at you.

You'd be better off driving around in a convertible, with the top down and the windows up.

And why not buy one of those cool helmets with the horns or the big spike on top?

That would make you the coolest guy on your block.

Don't get me wrong, the bike is bad-ass. Please, park it where I can check it out.

But then hide, so I'm not distracted by the walking stack of dork.

One question though, lame-o,

What is the penalty for riding a Harley without wearing a Harley t-shirt?

It must be pretty stiff, because no one rides without sportin the logo.

Wonder if it's safe to drive my truck without a Ford shirt.

Just wonderin.

WOO HOOOO!

Cover price of Playboy Magazine: $5.95

Price of discounted 1 year subscription of 12 issuues: $15.95

Having this information because your mailman delivered your neighbors Playboy to your house by accident:

Priceless!

My Celebrity Interview

After careful deliberation, 29 google searches, and a gallon and a half of Captain Morgan Private Stock, I've decided to play along with Ann Thrope (or whatever her new name is) over at Color Me Complicated. It's a happy little site. Frought with ponies, rainbows, crayons, and F-bombs.
Fun for the whole family. Check it out.

Here goes-

1. Your best friend is cheating on his wife. You think he's making a big mistake, but he's your BEST friend, so you keep your thoughts to yourself. Then, his wife calls you for advice. Assume that you admire and respect her. She asks you point blank if her husband is having an affair. What do you say?

I say attaboy! You only get one go-round on this big blue rock, so you gotta grab all the nookie you can get!
Actually that's a lie. But, would I rat out my best friend? No way.

2. Your children are extremely important to you. For the purposes of this question, assume your ex has taken you back to court and managed to get herself named the custodial parent. She then informs you she is moving across the country. What would you do? Would you pull up stakes and follow? Or simply wait for your visitation?

-AINT GONNA HAPPEN- (if you ever met "the beast" you'd realize how far off this question is)

3. You've been asked to be photographed for the cover of a romance novel. Give the name of the novel, the pose you like best, and what, if anything, you are wearing.

Being the hopeless romantic that consumes my innermost being...yeah right.

I'd have to call it 'Damons Deepest Desires- the laundry ain't foldin itself'-volume II-

I'd probably be posed in a bean bag chair, remote in hand, clad in my Darth Vader costume with gentle breezes flowing through my robes, like the tradewinds at a goat farm in eastern West Virginia. My image would be surrounded by scantily clad women, offering me roast beef sandwiches, washing my dishes, and scrubbing my floors.

TOURIST SEASON

Yes, it's that time of year again.

Time for that Canadian Mecca-like pilgrimage to my little hometown.

Now I'm a reasonable guy, (well, not really) but I'm gonna help you out with a few tips, pointers, and a few ground rules to smooth the inevitable tourist/local friction that accompanies your little uninvited ass.

Until Florida officially changes its state motto to "the come as you are state", let's keep in mind a few things. That 'black socks with sandals' look that is apparently so popular where you live, is no longer allowed here. Although hilarious to see, I took a vote, and you lost. 1-0.

And that neon Hawaiian floral print moo-moo?, that's out too. As a general guideline to save us all, if you wouldn't wear it at home, don't wear it here.

My rules. I make 'em up.

Consideration is key.

Keep in mind that just because your bright white, soon to be sunburned ass is on vacation, doesn't mean everyone else is.

Buy map, read map, study map, then proceed to destination.

Renting one of these stupid go-cart thingys does not mean I won't run your ass off the road.

As a matter of fact, I'm gunnin for you.

And just 'cause you see a pelican does not mean you can stop in the middle of the damn street to get a picture of it.

That's not the only pelican left.

I promise, there's more.

You also should know that all those shells and starfish on the beach are ours! They're there for our kids to find (and throw at you). Your shells are for sale at that brightly painted souvenir stand with the palm tree roof and the bathing suit mannequins with no heads.

Hey, and while you're there, hows about pickin up a coconut monkey, a rubber alligator, a seashell lamp, a shark tooth necklace, a 'life's a beach' towel, a new pair of flip-flops, and a 55 gallon drum of sunblock?

Our economy is a smidge tight, we need the dough.

Peep Show

Seems that reguardless of whether the chipmunk saw his shadow or not, spring is here.
Spring means Easter.
Easter means draggin out the grossest, marshmallow, sugar-coated nonsense confectioners could come up with...

Peeps.

Hate 'em.

Which means, by the end of the weekend, I should have every shape and color of these little bastards litterin up my house like Twinkie wrappers at the Rosie O'Donnel estate.

Alright. I get it. Ha Ha. I hate 'em and you keep sending me more. You got me.
Even this picture was sent to me.
I call it an e-peep.

Research has taught me that people do eat them. Fresh, stale, barbecued, fricazeed, or whatever. Even frozen. I guess that would be a peepsicle. There's even some sort of wack job fan club. Ooooh, i can hardly wait for the next peep rally and all the merriment that ensues from gathering all these idiots together.

Since I ain't eatin these things, there's only three uses I can come up with for the plethera of peepy stuff I am about to receive.
1. Sacrafices in some sort of satanic ritual.
2. Food fights.
3. Dropping them, millions at a time, from a Stealth Bomber over Iraq. (Which may be the fastest and cheapest way to end the war! Who has the will to resist us when there's peeps rainin down like hellfire?)

Anyway, I gotta go clear my in-box of all these e-peeps.
But one thing's still buggin me.

Is it a chicken?

humor-blogs.com/ is full of chickens!

Country Gold

It is officially official.
Nashville has run out of things to write songs about.

Not that I expect too much intellectual stimulus from country music, but come on guys, throw us a (ham)bone.

Gary Allen- I'm just sittin round here watching airplanes.
Rrrrrright. Okay then. So now you, Rainman, and Tatoo can all shout 'ze plane' together.
Just goes to show, three's company.
Especially in Tennessee.

Alan Jackson- The kids are gonna cry and the chickens gonna fry, you know it, Your car won't run, so your cousins comin by to tow it.
I smell Grammy! These brilliant, inspirational, lyrics are sure to get the nod from at least the Country Music Awards. Kids, chicken, and a towtruck in the family, that's the holy trinity of which redneck dreams are made.

Montgomery Gentry- You can work all day in the muck and the mire, dance a little jig, then stomp by the fire. I saw Deliverance too. (The pig part scares me.)

Brad Paisley- I'd like to kiss you way back in the sticks, and I'd like to check you for ticks.
Well Brad, that's what happens you ain't made your move 'til ya hear 'last call'. Now you gotta drag her ugly ass out into the woods (so no one sees who you ended up with) and perform a quickie tick check before she sobers up. Judging by the quality of your date, might I also suggest a 'crab scan' while you're at it.

Kenny Chesney- Well, I won't let evolution make a monkey outta me, Oh Lord! I think I want my rib back. And who don't luv 'em sum ribs? I think evolution has taken it's toll already.

Soulja Boy- Soulja boy off in this OH, Watch me lean and watch me rock? Super Man dat OH, then watch me crank that Robocop?

.................................I got nothin.

-But apparently rap music's runnin a smidge low in the idea category too.
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Oh, and a HAPPY BIRTHDAY to one of todays best lyricists, and my most very bestest friend, Claudio. The big 3-O, oh, Oh, Oh, oh, Oh, oh, Oh, you're runnin freeeeeeeeee..