You must be at least this tall to ride this ride

::Tip Jar::


View My Stats

eXTReMe Tracker

Crusader for Christ Crusader against Islam

This blog is protected from memes by Grundir the Implacable

Creative Commons License
This work
licensed under
a Creative
Commons License


email me


Pat Dollard

James Lileks
(My Idol)

Sharp Knife
(My Other Hero)


Now With Best ofs!

Haunted Soldier

Curses & Chrome

All Atwitter

Maiden Magnetic

Random Bits of Pomposity


Vox Day



Doc in the Box

Protein Wisdom

Atlas Shrugs

Twenty Major




  • On The Day...

  • ::Past::
  • September 2002
  • October 2002
  • November 2002
  • December 2002
  • January 2003
  • February 2003
  • March 2003
  • April 2003
  • May 2003
  • June 2003
  • July 2003
  • August 2003
  • September 2003
  • October 2003
  • November 2003
  • December 2003
  • January 2004
  • February 2004
  • March 2004
  • April 2004
  • May 2004
  • June 2004
  • July 2004
  • August 2004
  • September 2004
  • October 2004
  • November 2004
  • December 2004
  • January 2005
  • February 2005
  • March 2005
  • April 2005
  • May 2005
  • June 2005
  • July 2005
  • August 2005
  • September 2005
  • October 2005
  • November 2005
  • December 2005
  • January 2006
  • February 2006
  • March 2006
  • April 2006
  • May 2006
  • June 2006
  • July 2006
  • August 2006
  • September 2006
  • October 2006
  • November 2006
  • December 2006
  • January 2007
  • February 2007
  • March 2007
  • April 2007
  • May 2007
  • June 2007
  • July 2007
  • August 2007
  • September 2007
  • October 2007
  • November 2007
  • December 2007
  • January 2008
  • February 2008
  • March 2008
  • April 2008
  • May 2008
  • June 2008
  • July 2008
  • August 2008
  • September 2008
  • March 2009
  • June 2009
  • July 2009
  • August 2009
  • October 2009
  • November 2009
  • May 2011
  • September 2012

  • This is my Blog...There are many like it, but this one is mine...

    This page is powered by Blogger.

        Saturday, April 12, 2008

    On The Day...

    And what a lovely day it is. Gonna hit 80 by noon, supposedly. The windows of the house are open, and the sweet smell of freshly cut grass, gas exhaust, as the wife mows the yard...just that alone makes it sweeter. At the suggestion that perhaps I should do it, I go into my 'wounded bird' routine, flapping around in a circle and looking as crippled as I can.

    Hey, later, I'll make it up to her, and fuck her into a lovely nap. But she's got to shower first. All that sweaty smell, mixed with yard-stench, makes her smell like a hippy.

    The kids are attempting to kick and toss a football (Nerf) to one another. I have a pistol handy, because there is a car out there that is the extension of its owners penis, he washes it every day, literally. The car. I have no idea nor care how he cares for his penis.
    Anyway, if the kids so much as touch his car with the barest tip of one of their little fingers, I fear I shall have to shoot the fellow to calm him down.

    Oh, who am I kidding, I always have a pistol handy. Or an AK-47.

    Okay, I am now liveblogging Nat's meltdown. She got frog-marched into the house for pitching a fit because Johnny got to push the wheelbarrow full of grass from the mower to the grass-dumping spot, and much drama ensued. Okay, she just pulled her own shit together, and is back outside chucking the football with Johnny. Whew. And I only had to talk to her once.

    The wife is tickled because the landlord bought a new mower, which is essentially a heavy-duty Honda like the other one, but 2/3's lighter, and more easily controllable. Plus, it is new, and hey, shiny! Good for you, honey, now get back out there and mow for Daddy.

    Oops! Now Nat's either back in the house, or being forced to sit on the stoop. Take that, violator.

    Darn it, I get crepes again for breakfast/lunch. With apple pie filling, and Cool Whip on top, drizzled with pure Vermont maple syrup. Life is hard, so hard. Pity me.
    And tomorrow, I have to have fresh raspberries as filling, with heavy cream drizzled on them, unt again mit der drizzled maple syrup. I will decide then whether I want a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side, or Cool Whip. Maybe both. Maybe sliced bananas on the side. Fry them in butter and bourbon? Maraschino cherries and crushed pecans on top? Crushed walnuts?

    Life is so hard. Pity me.

    My philosophy of food is to make it so wonderful, you just want to fuck it. Only being able to eat it should be a letdown. With my birthday coming up, I see baked macaroni in my future. And a coconut cream pie. I despise all cake but carrot. Unless it is from an extremely high end bakery or restaurant. You can keep your giant frosted Twinkies, which is all store bought cakes are.

    Okay, Nat came back in the house and grounded herself, crying piteously. She came up here to see me and wailed 'I can't even pull a weed out! I just wanna watch Spongebob...' so I stood up, and let her hug on me and sob her weed-pulling-impaired anguish out on me until I got tired of it, and then I held her away from me and said 'I know what you need, baby' and she sobbed and said 'What?' and I said 'Easter Candy!'

    So we bounced downstairs, and I got her a paper plate out and poured Sour Skittles (damn, those are good) out on it, tossed in three pink Starburst, and a couple of chocolate eggs, and some Kisses. With nuts in them. Now, Patrick is dressing like a transvestite, Spongebob is trying to pass him off as his 'girlfriend', all of the male sea creatures in Bikini Bottom are hitting on the transvestite starfish, and Nat is munching happily away.

    And Johnny is happily working his butt off outside with the wife. And I'm back up here working my fingers to the bone for you all.

    And all is right with the world. Well, mine, anyway.

    Happy Saturday!