Happy Birthday, Dice

Today is your birthday, Diceman. Here's to you . . . . . SUCKIN' MY DICK! OOOOOOOHHHHHH!

Inspiration for Today

The Art of Dan Collins

Dan Collins has been doing published cartoons for 30 years. Some people are familiar with his work in "gentlemen's magazines". He's also been on greeting cards, newspapers and books. He ranges from the generic funny comic to the "Oh, fuck, that's sick but it's still funny" comic. You can check out his comics at dancollinscartoons.com. Just to make sure to tell you, several of his comics are NSFW, or really, most places anymore.

Beware of Smoke

epiphany

I got one of those cheapass knock-off MP3 players for being on the same job for 10 years and I had a buddy load some stuff on it, which he gladly did.  I was in the middle of some mundane, git it done project when Robert Earl Keen's "Christmas from the Family" came on.    I don't know why I had to put every thing down and laugh myself silly, but the song just struck a very deep chord as a true portrait of what sort of stock I came from.  I pretend to be refined and genteel, but truth be told,  I have spent several Christmases making a run to the Kwik Mart with my cousins for Busch Lite, some margarita mix, a box of tampons and some Salem Lites.   Of course, it does help to watch the video a few times to really get the picture, since the guy who plays the singer's brother in the song bears a scary resemblance to yours truly.    The reason that I found this little ditty so deeply funny is that after spending a lot of time with my cousins this summer, I realized that my extended family story looks more like "Raising Arizona" than "The Waltons."  I have 2 cousins who have, or are doing hard time.  I have 6 cousins who have, or are serving in the military and 2 of them graduated from service academies and even a couple who are drawing disability long before they are able to retire.  Upper crust indeed.      I'm taking that little moment to mean that I should be happy with who I am and where I came from and that the so-called "riff-raff" in the family makes for a great story and for a source of pride, because, even though I know how to clean up good, sometimes that "eye of the outlaw" shows up in me and the best thing I can do is hope that I don't get caught...   even if I was wearing a panty-hose on my head.   Thanks Robert Earl for telling my family story so well that it makes me giggle even as I write this.

Inspiration for Today

Brrrrrmmmmmpppphhhhhh! Brrrrrmmmmmppppphhhhhh! You motor-boatin' son of a bitch!

A Swift Kick in the Butt

The Great Bill Watterson commented on his artwork in "The
Calvin and Hobbes Tenth Anniversary Book":

"People will pay for what they want, but not for what they need."

Amen, Bill. Amen.

Bitch Slap

Bugs would have been a great pimp. He looked cool slapping the shit out of someone, and it looked like he had a good time doing it.

If you had the chance to be Bugs Bunny for a day, would you do it?

Inspiration for Today

Everybody is good at something.

Sense of Humor (Part 2)

Do You Believe in Angels?

Well, do you?

I tell you, if this is my angel, I'm fucked.

One in a Million Photo

Talk about having your camera ready at the right time. Sheesh.

Sense of Humor

It's good when people have a sense of humor. It sure sucks when they don't.

I love good advertising

Thiz shit has got to stop

Just when the fuck did it become socially acceptable to misspell words? People are always putting a z on the end of a word instead of making it properly plural. It only becomes worse when they combine it with improper spelling. Dawgz, boyz, Katrinaz boifriend, ez gurl, Bobbyz Burger Howse. What the fuck is going on here? No wonder people hate America. When I see shit like that, I hate America. I don't applaud the freedom we have to express ourselves, I want to find these people and their parents and punch them in the fucking throat. It's not cute, people. It's stupid. Stop it.

If you work at a sign shop, or provide a service to create something that is displayed, you have a responsibility. Correct the mistakes. If you cannot spot the mistakes, try a spell check. Chances are, you are using a computer. The ability to check spelling has been on computers for quite a while. If you look, you may find that there is also software on your computer that checks for proper use of grammar. These tools are there because people are stupid. Use them. If you still have a problem, then we must employ what is called "thinning of the herd".

Remember to also check your use of the apostrophe. Just because a word has an s on the end of it, that doesn't mean you need to automatically put one in "just in case".

I hope this rant has helped at least one person. If anyone is offended, I say, "Eat shit, muthafukkaz."

The evolution of a word

Words change their meaning over time. Some change a little, others really transform. Sometimes, not just the meaning changes, but the impact as well.

Take the word "extreme" for example. It gets used so often that it has lost its place as a word that really means something. Chevy put it on a piece of shit truck, for crying out loud. When someone tells me that they want something taken to the extreme, I think of that abomination of automotive engineering and marketing. The ad agency for GM should have put it truthfully:

Chevy Extreme: the same piece of shit we sold yesterday, but with more plastic on it. That's it people, we've reached the pinnacle. This is as good as it gets.

We had a debate around work about what the term "gay" really means anymore. It used to mean "lighthearted and carefree; characterized by cheerfulness or pleasure; brightly colored; showy; brilliant". Some time in the 20th Century, it changed to mean "homosexual", and loosely referred to lesbianism. Now it means, well, "gay". If someone says, "that shirt looks gay", I don't think they are saying it is "brightly colored, showy or brilliant". They don't like it. The shirt obviously isn't going to have inter-gender sex with another shirt, and they most certainly aren't telling me they like the shirt's cheerfulness.

The word "gay" has taken on a whole new transformation into something generic. Its versatility should make other words jealous. You can use it in place of "stupid", "ugly", "sloppy" or any number or words. Not only that, you can use it to convey an emotion, or fill in when you just can't find the right words.

Jane: "This pencil is not working."
Dick: "That is gay."

It really means nothing, but yet it is powerful enough to convey a message. Some years ago, I was blessed to receive an audio file that was an English lesson on the use of the word "fuck". The argument was that it was the most versatile word, and gave examples like:

"John fucked Shirley."
"Shirley fucks."
"I got fucked at the used car lot."
"Why don't you go outside and play hide and go fuck yourself?"

Now, I wouldn't be so bold as to suggest that the word "gay" can trump the word "fuck". That would be ludicrous. There may come a day, however, that it will be argued amongst social etiquette artists and a new edict will emerge.

Gay is the new Fuck.

Is it just me?

Fall is here. The best season. The colors. The arrival of cool, crisp air. So, is it just me, or when a woman comes in from the outside, and exclaims that "it's chilly", do you instantly look at her nipples?

Treeginas

response to "them wimmin"

I feel your pain. Many times, it doesn't matter if you are right, it only matters if you were built with indoor plumbing. Women want an answer that gets to the emotion they are wanting you to invoke in them (and you). They don't want a voice of reason, intellect, insight, or truth. They want an affirmation of sorts, and they want you to be their girlfriend while you answer.

fuck that (unless there's a piece of ass in it)

them wimmin

Oh man, I need a cigar and a beer...now!

First off, I'm finishing this annual review form that must have been formulated by the consensus of a committee of folk who haven't a full set of cojones among them. These vague, nebulous questions that are kinda, sorta about my feelings about my job just don't quite butter my toast. Look, I like the coffee, the vacation, the pay and the bennies, now leave me alone without all of the psychobabble about how I am going to actualize my potential even while I take a dump on company time.

Of course, when you try and bullshit the bullshitter, you're gonna get what you asked for, so my little one page form has blossomed into a six page dissertation (with references from everybody from Aristotle to Zig Ziglar) about what really gets me hot about my job and what it might take to make me fill out a resignation. Look these shiny lightbulbs on the Christmas tree want a load, I'll give them a load. You guys know what I'm good for.

#2 issue

Nancy Drew-yep, she's in the theater and my wife wants to take my wannabe 'tween daughter and her little buddy as well as the buddy's mom to the movies tonight while their younger sisters play together with my niece babysitting.

So far, so good. I'm supposed to have little to no involvement with this scheme, right?

Nope.

I get this call and I can feel the beavergeddon oozing out of the receiver and dripping on my shoulder while I try to acknowledge that I am listening to this wee mess. They are all at the buddy's house with the sitter and buddy's little sister doesn't want the buddy to go to the movies and by extension, the buddy's mom and guess what, the sitter is on the clock and the wannabe tweenie is unhappy because this date isn't gonna be much fun if it is just her and mom. My wife wants me to be Solomon and pull an equitable solution out of some bodily orfice so that all of them will have a really nice, nice time this evening.

My first mistake was this little phrase,

"ok, so who's the Mommy here?"

With that I flunked the Mr. Sensitive test yet again.

My second strike across the plate was this,

"Well it sounds like it's girls night out for the mommies."

That also went over like a turd in a punch bowl.

So I reverted to the "yep, uh-huh and I see," strategy while much discussion was occurring on the other end and by time the soliloquy about "if this happened, then we could do that." was done, I was given a relieved "good-bye." I'm not sure what part I played in that solution, nor why the call was necessary in the first place.

On the other hand, I don't need to make a phone call to find out if it's ok for me to feel better after this.

Pass me a glass and the matches.