Lucky Number 7

Can you feel that?

Is the excitement building?

No?

Certainly, you are not from the Midwest.

Lombardi Award Winner: AJ Hawk

Still not feeling any stirring?

No eager anticipation?

Surely you jest? I'm not joking and my name's not Shirley.

Well, you aren't a fan of The Ohio State University either. It is a great time to be a Buckeye. The football program has fully returned to prominence. A date with the Golden Domers looms in the desert air.

Terence Dials

The Thad Five are coming to town. After posting a 20 win season last year, culminated with a win over previously undefeated Illinois, the Buckeye hoops squad is off to its best start since 1990-91 with a win last night over Gardner Webb. Who? Gardner Webb. They lost to UNC by three and beat Minnesota on the road.

Ahh, such a nice time to be BuckNuts!

And Lucky Number 7...

Super Speedster: Ted Ginn, Jr.

GO BUCKS!

Benedict The Buckeye?

My brother recently returned from Rome.

He sent me this picture.

Move over Brutus...

How To Win On The Holiday Battlefield

Are the in-laws coming to town?

Is Aunt Sally, the lush, hitting the egg nog?

Does holiday cheer result in a holiday jeer?

Is the stress of paying off credit cards for the next 10 months, only to start over again, ebbing to the surface?

Well, look no further. I am about to present you with all of the ammunition you need to win a Richard Dawson-esque version of the "Battle of the Bulge". (Now, I wish I could tell you these are all original ideas, but I borrowed them from here.)

"The Lord, the Lord Jehovah has given unto you these fifteen..."

"Oy! Ten! Ten commandments for all to obey!"

The Ten Commandments of Artless Argument

1) Regardless of the issue ---- make sure you bring up your views on abortion, capital punishment, Christianity, and the political party you least like, regularly. Make sure your use the terms "wrong", "evil", "sinful" and "false" in describing views that differ from your particular beliefs. Try to work in the terms "blinded" or "deluded".

2) Depending on YOUR orientation refer to your opponents in arguments (or debates that hold the promise of becoming arguments) as fascists or communists as often as possible. Suggest that their views parallel those held in Nazi Germany or of Stalinist USSR at least once.

3) Point out the shortcomings of the opposite gender. Using tasteless jokes that you ascribe to others is a favorite ploy. If your opponent is of the same sex ---- cast doubt on their sexual orientation.

4) When you've managed to get a good heated exchange going try to score points by using a word that will drive your opponent to the dictionary. Mock any attempts on their part to do the same. If possible humiliate them and react to attacks on your arguments with ironic references to misspellings, ill-conceived sentence construction, or inappropriate word usage.

5) If you make an error, never apologize. Blame it on a technical difficulty or on your opponent's mischaracterization of your argument.

6) When inspired, make sure you word your attacks and counterattacks so that you leave no opening for your adversary to capitulate to your view except in disgrace. Try to make certain that every avenue of response is a path of shame. Phrases like "only a idiot or a scumbag would argue that ..." are very helpful.

7) If you start to slip in an argument attack the person. It's most helpful to know something personal about them so that your ad homonyms point out both academic/professional defects and their deficiencies as a human.

8) If someone levels an attack upon you, respond that in their reliance on ad homonym attacks the argument has deteriorated to a level that no longer warrants your participation. This can be a winning blow if played properly. Be subtle here, and clever; try to convey the sense of your opponent as dim-witted, ethically degenerate, desperate, and outmaneuvered by your overwhelming intellectual superiority. The real joy here is that you can neatly do away with any respect due your opponent, slander his character, lacerate his pride, and, if done properly and with elan, simultaneously represent yourself as a man or woman whose ethics and moral sensitivity make it impossible for you to do what you just did. This one is a real gem -- and when executed gracefully -- really an art form.

8) When you face a loss, construct a "straw man" argument either by taking your opponents words out of context or by changing the issue. Never lose ---- change the issue. If your opponent has the facts on their side, argue that facts don't constitute scholarship and understanding, and might even be a sign that one has not yet come to the level of understanding at all. Claim that computers store facts and that real scholarship is the sign of being able to understand and seeing the deeper connections.

9) Remember that you are always right. No matter what forces are marshaled against you, no matter how reasonable, humble, or generous, don't give an inch, don't be swayed. You are always right. It's the other side that caused this ruckus and keeps it going.

10) Always insist on the last word. The only honorable finish is unconditional capitulation by your adversaries or their defeated silence.

Now, I don't know why there are two number 8's in there, but I suspect the 11 Commandments just wouldn't have the same ring to it. These are actually rules for all Pseudo Intellectuals to live by. Just ask the Vixen...

"Committed, Dedicated, Anonymous"

It's been over 12 years since an unfortunate turn of events in Mogadishu took the lives of 18 brave Americans. I vividly remember the disgust, anger, fury and horror I felt when I saw Bill Cleveland's body decimated on CNN.

I was idly surfing the net tonight and stumbled across the Philadelphia Inquirer's archived pages of Mark Bowden's original story that became a best seller and box office hit.

No political statement here, I just thought that it would be nice if people took a moment to remember. I'm sure they've earned it.

In Memory

CW3 Donovan Briley
SSG Daniel Busch
CPL James Cavaco
SSG William Cleveland
SSG Thomas Field
SFC Earl Fillmore
CW4 Raymond Frank
MSG Gary Gordon
SGT Cornell Houston
SGT James Joyce
PFC Richard Kowalewski
PFC James Martin
MSG Timothy Martin
SPC Dominick Pilla
SFC Matthew Rierson
SGT Lorenzo Ruiz
SFC Randy Shughart
CPL James Smith
CW4 Clifton Wolcott

God Bless America.

The GoMAC Bowl?

The GMAC Bowl, in Mobile, Alabama, is quickly becoming the "Go MAC" Bowl. With Toledo's 45-13 thrashing of UTEP last night, the Mid American Conference ran its record to 5-0, all time, in the five year history of the game.

Now, if Texas can knock off USC in the Rose Bowl,Toledo's 35 game winning streak will keep Chuck Ealey's name relevant, at least to Toledoans.

This is going to make me puke...."Hook 'em Horns"....yeah, sickening.

Ooh, ooh, gotta go...Dances with Wolves just started on WGN.

Go Bucks!

Redundantly And Repeatedly Repetitious

Interestingly, today I find myself with nothing interesting to say. With Operation Hopelessness nearing completion, I feel hopelessly blogger blocked. Operation Hopelessness is where parents, hopelessly, try to get their kids to clean up after themselves without hope of them ever actually listening to you, doing what they are told or obeying their parents. It is a hopeless endeavor that usually doesn't get completed when it isn't finished at the end; hence hopelessness.

2,483 legos picked up; 347 lincoln logs picked up; one 98 piece science kit picked up; 68 matchbox cars picked up, and I can't think of a synonym that means the same thing as "picked up." I wonder if I can think of an antonym that means something different?

I tried to find good information about the Ohio State - Notre Dame match up on the internet, as well as the world wide web. Couldn't find any. Couldn't find any good news stories about the Fiesta Bowl, either.

I guess I could fold the laundry that needs to be folded and put the folded laundry where the folded laundry goes.

I could vacuum the carpet that needs to be vacuumed with the vacuum cleaner, but we call it a "sweeper" in Ohio. Should I sweep the carpet that needs to be swept with the sweeper or the vacuum? Are the two synonymous?

I could dust the dust off of the dusty items in the house. Should I use a duster?

I could feed the Urinator and MamaDog food that they are usually fed when they need food.

I could also stop redundantly restating and repeating myself in a repetitious manner.

Is this vacation, a day off, time off, or Goundhog Day?

Why do I feel like I'm running in circles, round and round, passing the same point numerous times, over and over, and over, time and time again, without ever getting anywhere?

Is this you, John Wayne? Am I me?

When will it end? Will it ever stop? Are we nearing the finale? Is the finish line near? Will it be over soon?

Ah, Christmas is in three days. The holiday to celebrate the birth of Christ is in tres dias, 72 hours, the day after the day after tomorrow, or Sunday.

I guess it just depends on how you look at it, what your perspective is or what is your point of view. But certainly, one thing is certain; without a doubt or reservation, it is clearly clear to me...

What Do You Think I Am, A Grown-Up?

(Left to right) ManChild, Princess, Fairy

From the mouths of babes:

Returning home from the daily daycare pick up, this nugget fell out of the Fairy's mouth (directed at the ManChild):

"What do you think I am, a grown-up? I'm only five years old!"

MC: "Well, that means you're a grown-up. Riiiiiight Daddy?"

(Never giving me a chance to answer) F: "You're crazy, I'm in kindergarten."

MC: "Well, you're older than me and daddy says I'm a big boy, so you're a grown-up!"

F: "Daddy's not a grown-up!"

PI (finally getting a chance to chime in): "Did your mother tell you that?" What can I say, my wife has four children and I only have three. Bless her heart.

The Princess has had a touch of the flu, this is but one of the "Diarrhea Dialogs":

P: "Mommy, I just went poopie and it was gold!"

Vixen, without missing a beat: "If my poop was gold, I'd take it to the bank."

P: "Not REAL gold mommy. The color! C'mere, I'll show you."

No thanks. Go flush, please.

The ManChild refused to eat dinner, so I had to re-heat his pizza for him. His response, and having ridden shotgun with Pseudo, leaves little doubt where he learned this.

MC: "Daddy, my pizza is too hot!"

PI: "It'll cool off; blow on it."

MC: "You cooked it too long, you idiot!" The Vixen and I nearly peed our pants before we dealt with that one...

I know that when the going gets tough, the tough get going. Me, I just look back and ask: "What do you think I am, a grown-up?

My poor kids; I learn as much from them as they do from me...

The Best Things In Life Are Free

The Vixen and I are having a series proud parent moments. Boorish are those who mire you in stories about how great their kids are, but I thought this one was special.

Last week, on the eve of "winter break" (aka - Christmas Break for those of us anti-Nazi's that respect Christmas as an actual holiday), the Princess brought home 80-some-odd Christmas projects she had completed at school. I think they started on them when the first Christmas decorations went up. Right after Labor Day. Or, is it the day after Halloween?

Two in particular caught our attention. On two separate occasions the kids were, apparently, asked to write a list for Santa and this is what she wrote (I am paraphrasing, of course):

"I want a doll house for my sister because that is what she likes to play with."

"I want a truck for my brother because that will make him happy."

No Princess, it is your parents who are happy. I know this seems sappy to some, but I find it remarkable that a 7 year old would ask for toys for her siblings instead of a selfish desire. She is a beautiful little person. (I hope I don't screw her up too bad.)

Saturday, I was helping the Vixen out with a little cooking project as shopping ran long in the holiday madness. She asked me if I could roll the meat balls she made for the WORLD'S GREATEST SPAGHETTI. As I was trying my hardest not to man it up, screw it up that is, the Princess asked me if I've ever seen meat balls.

"Of course I have", I replied.

"No daddy, when you were little did you ever see red meat balls?"

"You mean before they were cooked?"

"Yeah silly!"

Trying not to laugh I said, "well, my grandmother used to make meat balls all the time, so, yeah, I saw them when I was a little boy."

"Oh, you mean your grandma....uh, what was her name? I keep forgetting it."

(Bear in mind, the kids never met my grandmother; they have just heard some stories from me; she passed away in 1988.)

"My Grandma Georgia."

"Yeah. Is she dead?"

"Yes sweetie, she dies a long time ago; before you were born."

"I bet she is smiling at you in heaven right now."

"No sweetie, I think she's smiling at you."

Tears started to well up in her young, innocent eyes and she just sat there smiling at me, watching me roll meat balls. I thought I was going to start crying, or laughing, right then and there. A heart of gold this little angel of ours has, just like her mother.

Corny perhaps, but, damn, did I feel proud.

I hope she's smiling on us all, Princess. I hope she's smiling on us all...

Merry Christmas.

Women Make Holidays Possible

The Vixen has out done even her high standards this year. The stockings are hung by the chimney with care and my checkbook says loudly "Santa will definitely be there!" Seriously though, as I look about the Mummy household, I am in awe at the amount of time and sincere dedication that my beautiful wife puts into the little things that make all of the difference. However, it leads me to wonder: What would the holiday season be like if men were in charge?

Nothing would look nice. The trees would be pitiful. Imagine how much (read: little) detail would go into anything related to decorations. Could you envision a man spending two hours making a gingerbread tree or meticulously filling molds to make chocolate candies? I seriously doubt men could replicate the charm and warmth that make a home flourish in the glow of Yuletide decorum. The worst part about this is, men wouldn't even know. We'd stick out our chests and pat each other on the back while anyone with an ounce of decorating sense prayed for the mercy of our souls.

Essentially, December 25th would be a lot like February 25th, just another block on the calendar.

If it weren't for the tireless dedication of the Vixen, our tree wouldn't look quite so elegant, holiday treats would be store bought, gifts would have far less thought (although the ultra-loud H-3 remote control truck wouldn't be under the tree after Santa came either; the ManChild will haunt my nights and days with that one) and the home decorations would have the tacky appeal of this:

Now, we do have two oak trees that I believe could hold this marvelous chariot of southern charm, but I am convinced the Vixen would never let it happen. (And, for the record, our home looks better than the one pictured above...it didn't come on wheels and it's made with bricks, not help up by them.) However, I'd still love to do it. My neighbors would rather I hung myself from those trees, but I'm not polling them. My buddy, Redneck Steve, would help me right now if I posed the idea. (The visionary tale of the two of us attacking any number of home improvement projects is another long, but interesting, if not humorous story in itself.) Nothing beats a VW Bug trailing two classy, lighted deer suspended between two trees. Well, if you're a man, that is. If you have taste, two things are certain:

1. You are in charge of all decorations, not just the holiday type.

2. You are a woman.

The Vixen did allow me to help decorate the house for Christmas this year. (Note: She did the tree, as pictured above.) As I went about the business of putting out the Nativity scene, placing candles, and "knick-knacking" on shelves and tables, the Vixen covertly repositioned items to tasteful locations and I never knew. I was oblivious to it, but the Vixen and her co-conspirator, the Fairy, had many good laughs at my expense before I caught on. The woman should wear an earpiece to work and talk into her sleeve! I thought I was bringin' it and, the whole time, she was moving it. It all came together nicely though. I have convinced myself that if I hadn't placed the candle sticks on the sewing desk, she never would have put them on the other desk. My misplacement was the key to the proper placement. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Gentlemen, thank your ladies for making your holidays something to remember. And when you go shopping, buy her a gift that tells her how special she is. Buy her something special; put thought into it. Make it come from the heart. Thought and meaning are just as important as the gift itself; make your lady happy - your holidays would suck without them.

And, if all else fails, buy her diamonds. That'll shut her up...

Race For Accountability

Another day, another sickening article. I am not going to endanger my standing as an engineer for racial equality, so I will not waste my time offering my opinion.

America has made drastic improvements in race relations; leaps and bounds! We have also taken steps backwards. McNabb's recent comment was another step back.

It seems that the ongoing saga in Philadelphia will never end. Well, where one leaves off, another begins. This time, the face of the organization, Donovan McNabb has firmly planted his foot in his mouth.

Donovan McNabb is the "Chunky Soup" man, a Pro Bowl quarterback, the face of the Eagles, and now, in my opinion, an idiot.

McNabb told the Philadelphia Inquirer. "Obviously if it's someone else who is not African American, it's racism. But when someone of the same race talks about you because you're selling out because you're not running the ball, it goes back to: What are we really talking about here? If you talk about my play, that's one thing. When you talk about my race, now we've got problems. If you're trying to make a name off my name, again, I hope your closet is clean because something is going to come out about you ... I always thought the NAACP supported African Americans and didn't talk bad about them. Now you learn a little bit more."

I do not have a problem with McNabb defending himself when he comes under attack by the media. What I have a problem with is this: "Obviously if it's someone else who is not African American, it's racism."

"Obviously"? Really? Are you serious?

We live in a country where a white person cannot say that a black person is an idiot without fear of being labeled a racist. A black person can, at least up until now, but a white person cannot. Does anything about this perceived culture help anyone?

McNabb should have left this one alone. He didn't and he is an idiot. Mondesire says McNabb is "mediocre at best." Someone really needs to enroll Mondesire into a remedial course on the NFL, because that is one of the dumbest things I've ever heard. Look at his four Pro Bowl selections, three NFC championship games in a row, or merely his stats.

Why can't there ever simply be an element of truth to something someone says. When Rush Limbaugh said ludicrous things about McNabb on ESPN's "Sunday NFL Countdown", he became a scapegoat. Could there have been an element of truth to what he said? Could the NFL be trying to market McNabb to make money and improve the league? Say it ain't so!!! Surely, the Atlanta Falcons and the NFL do not market Michael Vick in any way because of his skin color. You're only kidding yourself if you do not recognize the marketing advantage they possess because they are African American. Limbaugh's comments weren't even startling at the time they were made, as evidenced by his co-hosts' lack of outrage. Only when the media, the next day, ran wild with the story did they say that they "were in shock".

What a load of crap, and I'm not buying it. Could it be, that part of what Rush said is correct? (Of course, it is overshadowed by the stupidity of saying McNabb is an average quarterback.) Could there be an element of truth?

None of this would be an issue if the Eagles were 8-5, instead of 5-8. It's about wins, losses and money. It is not about race. Making issues that have nothing to do with race, become entirely about race, only feeds an agenda. Typically, these agendas are hidden.

I don't smell anything cooking in this kitchen but "rotten rhetoric stew". I hope no one is wearing a white apron.

So much for not giving my opinion. What did you expect?

****BREAKING NEWS****

Today at lunch, Fox News was televising a report as to whether or not King Kong is a social commentary on colonialism and racism.

Will wonders never cease?

Crazy Days And Rubber Monkeys

I turned off the stereo in my car two days ago; it hasn't been turned back on since. Granted, in L.A. there isn't an overabundance of good radio shows to tune into, but I think I just wanted the solitude. I think I am really a commuter at heart. I have found that I enjoy the quiet drive, country scenery and mobile homes not withstanding.

I should also mention that I am, what I consider, a three dimensional thinker. Others may say "I'm not all there", but who's to judge? Me? Allrighteeeeethen, three dimensional it is. Hence, I digress. I can't explain the cerebral firing of my brain in the thought process, but it leaps to and fro pretty freely. Sometimes it seems that completely innocuous things trigger entirely unrelated memories or thoughts. Yesterday was no exception.

Driving through the mighty metropolis of Enterprise I saw the rarest of sights, a Blackhawk flying back to its base field. A spark and a fizzle led me to think about where I'd be if I had ever gotten around to submitting the flight packet I was always "almost done with". I thought of the Punk shaking his head in comical disgust offering only word: "slacker". I thought about my cousin telling me how he'd be reluctant to fly in anything he never personally worked on. He said that he saw a watered down maintenance process and it scared him, thinking of continual lowering of knowledge from one generation of helicopter crew chief to the next. Then, the rubber monkey.

Before I get to that doozy, please allow me to jump ahead to a few of my subsequent thoughts; memories really.

When I was in high school and college, my group of friends included Dave. Dave was the lovable loser, if you will. (He wasn't a loser literally, but the guy that always seemed to get crapped on by life and he had a heart of gold.) Dave's unique nature and peculiar memory frequently made him the butt of many a joke.

Dave lived with two of my other friends. Dances With Wolves was just coming out on pay-per-view at the time. One day, I sat there dwelling on some of life's great mysteries with Todd and Jay (Dave's roommates), like what beer to drink, when to start and where our late night trek for a greasy omelet might lead us, when one of the aforementioned crazy thoughts occurred to me. Looking at the movie magazine they received I blurted out "Dances with Daves". After the laughter died down, they asked me what the hell I was talking about. Holding up the magazine, I said "Dave knows more about movies than anyone we know. Why doesn't this say Dances with Daves?" And so, it was on. I grabbed a pencil and put my fine Catholic school education to work. Using the eraser like a CAD program, I transformed that cover like a skilled professional. Jay and Todd retrieved a picture of Dave and some scissors. Within minutes, the masterpiece was complete. The "Dances with Daves" magazine cover, complete with Dave's face replacing Kevin Costner's, sat before us. An overwhelming feeling of pride filled the three of us. Dave was perched on a horse, in his army blue uniform, braving the untamed west. It was a classic.

That night, the typical, unplanned party erupted completely out of nowhere. How did these things happen? A few hours in, having shown everyone the magazine, Dave finally caught a glimpse. We anticipated appreciation from him for our creative effort. However, what ensued was entirely unexpected. Dave threw a fit. He was livid! And, it couldn't have turned out any better...

Another night, another unscheduled fiesta. However did these things happen? As any college vet can remember, no one had class on Friday. It was the holy day for collegians. Dave didn't work on this particular Friday either. That, combined with a penchant for alcohol was a deadly combination for poor Dave. By the time the three of us,Jay, Todd and I, arrived at their apartment Dave was passed out in bed. After some gratuitous binge drinking and burning up the phone lines, we were amped for some fun. Todd, the sadistic bastard, came up with this whopper.

We went up to Dave's room and pulled his hockey bag out of the closet. Of course, the preliminary investigation as to Dave's level of unconsciousness was already complete. We undressed our friend, so he could be nice and comfy. We then adorned him with his helmet, gloves and skates. Wearing only his birthday suit and four articles of hockey equipment made quite a scene. As each girl arrived that evening, one of us told them "Dave's been looking for you. He needs to talk to you right away; he's up in his room." A shriek or laughter was the typical response. Some time, and many viewings later, Dave awakened. A stumble and a few loud thumps were all we heard before Dave emerged on the stairwell, wearing exactly what we left him in, to declare "really funny assholes". What a night...

Another day with nothing better to do, we drank. We had a few cases of beer and a couple of tubes of crazy glue. We had a target. Dave wasn't there. It didn't take long for this Pseudo plan to come together. "What would Dave do if we glued everything in his room down?", I wondered aloud. Hysterical laughter ensued and off we went. We glued a huge pile of change together in a random display. His phone receiver was secured to the base (this was in the days of the tethered phone). His "Kodiak" can was glued to his dresser. A picture of him, frame and all, was glued to his mirror. We didn't want Dave to forget what he should look like when he got ready in the morning. After Dave returned home, we sat and waited. It won't be long we thought. The anticipation was killing us. Dave went to his room and we giggled like school girls. Then, it happened. The phone rang. Right on cue, Dave yelled "I'll get it". And get it he did. He smacked himself right in the face with the entire phone. "What the fuck?!", was all we heard.

The "Dave Archives" contain many, many more volumes of debauchery and humor, but on to the rubber monkey.

As a child, I worshiped my cousin, NSDQDu. When my aunt and uncle moved from Toledo to Canton it was like they took my "big brother" with them. I have two older sisters and a younger brother, so you can do the math. The girls were evil and teamed up on me. I was raised not to hit girls and they knew it! Bitches... (then, not now) My precious baby brother was NEVER to be touched, under penalty of death - or so I thought. Ergo, I really looked up to NSDQDu. Whenever we went to visit, I was on him like white on rice. That is, until he entered his teenage years and didn't want to be bothered by his little cousin. This is completely understandable now, but as a child I was slightly bitter. At least in the subconscious.

NSDQDu had this big, I'm talking two foot, rubber monkey. Pseudo was a big fan of rubber monkeys. I can't explain it, but it was the first thing I went for every time we went to Canton. NSDQDu also had one of those ultra-sheik beer can collections that were oh-so-popular in the '80s. He had the coolest cans. Gennessee, Schlitz, Steel City Beer, Buckeye Beer; all of the greats! He had them arranged meticulously in a pyramid. I distinctly remember the time NSDQDu showed me how he could pull a can out of the middle without it falling. I was forbidden from trying this magic trick. What do you think happened next? As soon as he walked out, I grabbed a can from the bottom and yanked. And the cans came tumbling down. Everyone was sooooo pleased with me! They were saying nice things like, "what the hell were you thinking?" or "what is wrong with you?"; it was very fulfilling. After a token punishment, my mom felt sorry for me, I was back up in NSDQDu's room again. He was painstakingly reorganizing the cans. I had only dented one, so he wasn't too upset. There I stood, admiring my hero stacking up those cans and twirling the beloved rubber monkey. Just as he finished we were departing the room and I couldn't resist one last look. I stopped but the rubber monkey didn't. I haven't been back to Canton since.

I wonder whatever happened to the rubber monkey?

I get reminded of my affinity for the rubber monkey frequently. I think that everyone thinks it is funny today, or at least they patronize me well. Sometimes I miss that rubber monkey.

The human brain is an interesting thing...

The Human Train Wreck

I'm the drunk one. The sober one stole my Churchill!

This past Friday the Pseudo celebrated another year on Earth. The DixieVixen treated me to a great night out. At least that's what I've heard. We started off by pawning our tribe off on some unsuspecting fool for the night. Alone, to do whatever we wanted, until about 9 a.m. the next day!

We had tickets to go see David Allen Coe in concert. Before you double over laughing, stop to think about where we live. There's just not a lot to do in Lower Alabama (L.A.), so our choices were limited. Since the tractor pull was sold out, we figured that going to see one of the most stoned entertainers on the planet couldn't be too bad. Well, "it" wasn't bad. He, however, sucked. That's the mild explanation. He talked more than he sang. It was like seeing a really, really bad version of "VH1 Songwriters".

So, there I was. Sitting in a dimly lit country bar just a stone throw from the Florida border and this was as good as it got. Of course, I was in good company (that was as good as it got for all of us).

Beer. Tequila. Rum. More Rum. Another beer or three. More Rum. Train wreck.

They said I had fun. I think I slept in the garage. So much for doing "whatever we wanted until 9 a.m."! But, at least they said I had fun. Saturday was another story.

What an offer!

SPAM OF THE WEEK

Sir/Madam,
Your existing homeloan meets the criteria for you to receive openhanded revenues.
Our database will match you with the most adept company, so that you will have more tender in your account at the end of each month.
Its really that simple..
Tons of Americans are Re-Fi-Nancing their dwellings every day.
Now its your time.
This brief 1 minute form will be your next step towards perfect financial security.
Hoping on the best for you all.
Roderick Shook
Should you decide not to attain this prospect any further say no more.

Dearest Roderick,

Why thank you for the wonderful offer! I have already began the process of providing you with unabated access to all of my financial holdings, personal information, and major account numbers. I will be sure to include all addresses and routing numbers too, just to make sure you can bilk me dry with the least amount of effort! After all, I owe nothing but the very best to the man who selected me, just me because I am special, to Re-Fi-Nance my dwelling! The Lord knows that we all need more tender each month!

I appreciate the time and effort you took to purchase my email address from one of the high-integrity companies that looks out for trusting chaps such as I. Boy oh boy, Roderick, you are right; it is my time!

Sincerely,
Pseudo

P.S. Go away...buh bye....it's really that simple...

- Legitimate advertisement or scam, who gives a shit!? I think I speak for 98% of e-mail account holders in America when I say:

"Hoping on the best maming accident for you all! You damn annoying pricks!"

SAVE TOOKIE!!!

The time is now to stop the madness!













Tookie saves lives!
Jesse Jackson told me so.

William Kreutzer doesn't deserve to die!
The ACLU told me so.











Go sign the PETITION before it's too late!

Huh? What do you mean I'm too late?

They did what? When? Man, I've got to start watching the news...

MyUndays

"Every other day, every other day,
Every other day of the week is fine, yeah
But whenever Monday comes, but whenever Monday comes
You can find me cryin' all of the time"
- The Mamas and The Papas

What is it about the power of Mondays, now commonly referred to as MyUndays? Why is block number two on the calendar's row so powerful? Why does the inaugural day of the standard work week create a roller coaster ride of emotions?

This morning I woke up just fine, only two-too-many smacks on the snooze bar. Get up, get ready real-quick and get the kids out the door. Too easy. (The DixieVixen is heading out of town on business today, so I endeavor to get this done alone. Be careful not to bite off more than you can chew.) Day starts fine.

The K-Princess and E-Fairy were semi-cooperative getting out of bed and ready for school. I adjourned to the shower upon thinking my lovely girls would complete the task of readying themselves for school. (A limited amount of self-sufficiency can be a terrible thing to rely upon.) My "flight of the bumble bee" shower complete, I go check on their progress. I see the E-Fairy first. Argh. Unkempt. Disheveled. Hair in dire need of brush one of two. The bus comes in 5 minutes. Yippee! The K-Princess comes trotting down the hall, as proud as can be. I cannot believe what I see, and literally laugh out loud, when the "responsible" one appears to me with more schrunchies on her arms than a Bananarama concert, but her hair brushed......sort of. Day going south early; slowly, but gently losing altitude. At least it's entertaining.

Flying around there like Michael Keaton, I believe that I can finish getting these two ready to get down to the corner in less than five minutes. Realistic expectations, Psuedo, realistic expectations. Brush 1 prepares their delicate hair for the ponytail and prevents "daddy-abuse" and brush 2 makes for finely brushed, healthy-looking hair. (Any girl who's had a man put their hair in a ponytail knows the deal.) But the PseudoDaddy has hair going into ponytails like parachutes being rigged for Normandy. Tearing off down the hallway I get their bookbags out. While I am frantically trying to get them out the door and quantum leaped to a bus that has already gone; I cannot understand why they haven't gotten their coats on already.

"What's the problem ladies?"

"We're trying daddy, but we can't get our coats down!"

Aaahhh....they aren't quite 4 feet tall and the coats are hanging off of a rack on the top of the door. (Give the E-Fairy an "A" for effort though because she was hanging off of her coat and by darn, she and gravity were going to win that battle.) Of course, by the time I get the basketball clothes in one book bag and snack money in another and shoo them out the door, I'm just kidding myself by thinking they can still make the bus.

Then, I said to myself: "self, go see if the bus has already come". Of course, we're officially migrating south now because the bus is gone and I have to give them a ride. Deep six. In the can. Down the tubes.

Of course, I'm getting one very distinct look from them: "piss poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine, daddy"....

Now, on to the ManChild. Getting this gargantuanly large child-wonder to dress himself is a complete exercise in futility! However, today he is feeling me. We're there. In the zone. Clicking. (Or whatever euphemism you want to interject to underscore a 4 year old bailing me out.) He got dressed! You think Mike Eruzione pulled off a miracle? So, away we go. Right? Wrong.

The Urinator and Mama Dog are going nuts at the back door. All they want is some food and water. Damn demanding animals! So, to further hamper my departure I get the tribe to get in the car so I can feed and water the beasts. Getting better all the time...

Finally, off we go. Drop the girls off at their school and then the ManChild safely invades his daycare like the Third Reich descending on Paris. Aha! Things are looking up! Of course, I still have to go to the source of professional disappointment, boredom, inefficiency and malaise. And I'm only 30 minutes late. Thank heavens for flex hours...

At least I didn't have a tire blow out on my way to work today. That was last MyUnday...

Maybe I can get my wife to cancel her trip? PLEASE DON'T GO! MY SANITY MAY DEPEND ON IT!

There isn't even a good football game on tonight. Three days of peace, love and happiness. Uh huh. A regular old Dadstock. Any takers on the over-under for the number of times I beg my wife to come home early?

If you can't laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at? Look on the bright side. It's only Monday...

You Can't Make Up Something This Good

SAN FRANCISCO (Reuters) - Lesbian motorcycle enthusiasts in San Francisco have won their fight to trademark the name "Dykes on Bikes," a lawyer for their group said on Thursday.

The U.S. Patent and Trademark Office had denied applications by the San Francisco Women's Motorcycle Contingent to trademark "Dykes on Bikes," arguing the phrase would be perceived as disparaging to lesbians.

But the National Center for Lesbian Rights and the Brooke Oliver Law Group said the word "dyke" is no longer viewed as derogatory.

"Within the lesbian community that term has been reclaimed as a very positive term that denotes strength and pride and empowerment," said Shannon Minter, a lawyer for the National Center for Lesbian Rights.

The San Francisco Women's Motorcycle Contingent sought the trademark after a woman in Wisconsin not affiliated with group attempted to use the phrase for a clothing line.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Is arguing over the definition of the word "dyke" really the best use of our legal system? What's trivial to some is important to others...

Only in America!

Ironically Irish

Return to glory, huh?
Two losses at home.
Opponents records horrible (and that's including 11-0 USC).
Beat ranks teams with the power of Pittsburgh (lost to Ohio U.) and Tennessee (lost to Vanderbilt).
They won the games they should have won.
Didn't Terrible Ty run off to a grrrrrrrrrrrreat start and earn a trip to the Fiesta Bowl? How'd it go from there?


Maybe it's just a bit to soon for cannonizing Saint Charlie.

P.S. They lost the game pictured.

Better Than Sliced Bread

I would like to visit our Nation's Capitol one day. Yes, it is sad to say, but the PseudoIntellect's world travels have never led him to DC. (I've been to Detroit many times though; same murder, same drugs, different aesthetic value.)

I would love to dedicate a month, OK maybe a week, to the Smithsonian alone. The monuments...a must. The White House would be cool to check out, if for nothing other than to say you were there. I would love to go to the greatest of all puzzle palaces....The Pentagon. The Library of Congress. Ahhhh. That is my dream. I want to know if they have a "History" section.

I propose that someone from the Hill run, run, run as fast as you can down there and see if they have anything pertaining to Franklin Roosevelt. (Yes, this week's reading was the Gingerbread Man, which the K-Princess nailed!) So, if we can just find something on FDR. Got it? OK. Now, let's see if we can back it up to the New Deal. Anything? Good. Look now for something on the Public Works Administration. Is it there? Well, keep looking...

Times change and people change, but history just has this funny way of rolling right along. Why do we go to school? To learn. Well, some of us did....I think. One of the greatest lessons I ever learned was "make us of all available resources". My crazy, and I mean that in the MOST lovable way, grandpa tried to teach me that as a child, but he called it "get your head out of your ass and quit trying to reinvent the wheel." Both versions make complete sense to me. I'm not positive, but I think that an element of common sense may be required to accept the fact that the answers (part or some) may lie in the past.

Wow. What a concept. I know, I know. OK, stop it I'm blushing.

Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. I am not 100% sure, but I don't think doom is a "positive" connotation there. I have a hunch it is meant to be a baaaaad thing.

If we can pay contractors hundreds of millions of dollars to rebuild storm ravaged regions, think Louisiana and Mississippi, then why can't we employ people who do not have jobs? Why couldn't residents rebuild their own cities, earn a paycheck, stimulate the economy and pay taxes? Why can't people on welfare be put to work? Just think of the leveraged savings if welfare recipients got raises and assisted municipalities and state DOTs. Highway funding could be cut. Their payroll would shrink. I am not an economist, but I play one on TV.

Empower people. Give them a means to improve their lives instead of a handout. Allow people in bad situations to have an actual chance to improve it. The structure of this country is set up so that the poor stay poor and the rich get richer.

Close up all of the tax loop holes. Institute a flat tax rate. Yes, I am aware that this is not an original thought. I am also aware that it makes sense! Someone making $150 million per year should not be allowed to complain about paying $15 million in income tax (under a standard 10% flat tax rate) when someone making $50K pays $5K. Who feels it more? I guarantee you, it isn't the millionaire.

Another brainbuster? Let military units, or any government organization, roll over any unused portion of their budget into the ensuing fiscal year's budget. Oh, right, the system isn't designed for that. Well, that makes sense. We will continue to waste billions of dollars each August and September because the system isn't set up to roll it over and it must all be gone before it gets frozen. Yeah, what was I thinking? Your system just might suck.

Apply some common sense! Plenty of people will give the countless reasons why this would never work. My response is simply that the system we currently have doesn't work, so thank you for your opinion, now please step aside while people who are willing to think outside of the box make it work.

Anything, and I mean anything, can happen in America if the right person supports it. Believe me, if you ever worked for the Government, then you know everything is waiverable! Every order handed down by a judge can be overturned by another judge. The Supreme Court can be trumped by the President. It's called checks and balances and under this system anything is possible.

There are two worlds we live in: the literal world and the real world. Won't you join me in the real world?

Rhetoric Of A Fool

Today I just wanted to get a chance to think about John Lennon, Christmas, my weekend plans, and whether or not I am a "sitting duck" for the bird flu (as the media has so elloquently tried to scare me into thinking). I didn't want to get bogged down with a debate about how overpaid our military is.

Bing!

Microsoft Office had just kindly informed me I had a new e-mail.

Upon reading it, I immediately felt sick to my stomach. I did a quick dogpile search and found out that Cindy Williams is real....well, real as in, really nuts and grossly out of touch with reality!

I am not going to give it any more time to tell you how distorted her belief is that the military pay is a-o-k. She is a nutbar. I just want everyone to get more exposure to the flawed liberal idealism that is sweeping across the nation, one college campus at a time.

Ronald Reagan said it best when he said the problem with liberals isn't that they were ignorant, but that they knew so much that wasn't true.

If you can read this, thank a teacher.

If you are reading it in English, thank a Soldier.

More Popular Than Jesus Christ

Born
October 9, 1940

Assassinated
December 8, 1980

Twenty-five years ago today, outside the Dakota Hotel in New York City, a deranged lunatic struck down the most influential man in music history.

John Lennon changed an entire world seeking a new direction. He, along with Paul, George, and Ringo, captivated the hearts and minds of generations of Americans. Their music and influence will live on forever.

I could go on and on about how listening to Beatles songs as a young man affected my outlook on life or how many of their early hits remind me so fondly of my beautiful bride. I'll spare you the boredom of enduring that. It would likely be agonizing and lead you to vow to never return!

On March 4, 1966 John Lennon introduced the world to a fact that people were not ready to accept. It led to widespread protests and the burning of what would be some damn fine collectibles nowadays! Love John. Hate John. Love Yoko. Hate Yoko. Whatever your position, the fact behind his "outlandish" statement was true.

"We're more popular than Jesus now; I don't know which will go first-rock 'n' roll or Christianity." - John Lennon, 1966

Sorry for the cynicism, but it was true. It was never intended to upset millions and draw the ire of the Pope. It was simply a fact that, at that time, The Beatles were more popular than Jesus. As I recall, it was "Beatlemania", not "Jesusmania" that swept across America.

John Lennon was a man of conviction who spoke his mind about the world as seen through the brilliant round spectacles that helped define his image.

Like I said, you can love him or love Mark David Chapman for assassinating him, but you cannot deny the profound influence he had, and continues to have, on the world.



Rest in Peace, and Thank You John.

Paul is dead...
Paul is dead...
This is an imposter...
Paul is dead.

P.S. I know what day Lennon died. I wrote the draft on the 7th and posted this today, the 8th, so I guess that's why the posted date up top is wrong. Peace.

Days That Will Live In Infamy

"Yesterday, Dec. 7, 1941 - a date which will live in infamy - the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.

The United States was at peace with that nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with the government and its emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific."

President Franklin D. Roosevelt, December 8, 1941



"Today, our fellow citizens, our way of life, our very freedom came under attack in a series of deliberate and deadly terrorist acts. The victims were in airplanes or in their offices: secretaries, business men and women, military and federal workers, moms and dads, friends and neighbors.

Thousands of lives were suddenly ended by evil, despicable acts of terror.

The pictures of airplanes flying into buildings, fires burning, huge structures collapsing have filled us with disbelief, terrible sadness and a quiet, unyielding anger.

These acts of mass murder were intended to frighten our nation into chaos and retreat. But they have failed. Our country is strong. A great people has been moved to defend a great nation."

President George W. Bush, September 11, 2001

God Bless America!

We The People

"We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America."

When is enough enough?

When have we gone too far?

Will common sense ever prevail?

Perusing the internet, my daily newspaper, for the headlines of interest, box scores, fantasy sports tips, my daily dose of Jinxy genius, and celebrity rumors I saw a headline that caught my attention. The USA Today ran an interesting piece that inspired this rant of incoherent confusion and moral abomination.

I just do not understand how people in this country can continue to oppress others, inflict pain, create animosity, and initiate social disorder under the ruse of merely exercising their First Amendment rights!

"It's freedom of speech." Sure it is. You are correct, you can say pretty much anything you want to, so long as it doesn't violate any sort of legal contract or order, nor is it slanderous or defamatory in nature. Got it. "I am entitled to express my opinion." Entitled you are. Express away. Knock yourself out. However, don't complain when the result of your public declarations is that no one buys your albums! Understand this Liberal America, there are consequences for your actions. There are ramifications as a result of your words. There are repercussions. There is accountability. It is an onus you alone must bear when you express yourself so cleverly under the protection of the greatest document ever drafted by man. Boo hoo. If you want to protest the war, knock yourself out. But, don't cry about it when people who haven't forgotten what you did in a Vietnamese prison camp boycott your movies! They are just exercising their First Amendment rights!

Do not edit out an entire letter to print only that a fallen Soldier will miss starting a family, when every other word written clearly states that he believes in what he is doing; that he believes in his mission and the cause behind it. If you want "free press" then report ALL of the facts!

If you want Federal $coin$ to keep your institution of higher learning afloat, then quit exercising your personal agenda and beliefs on the student body. Unless you are Brigham Young, it is not your school! You are an employee. I am positive that allowing young men and women to get an education is why you are employed there in the first place, so if you want to deeply influence more children, procreate. Reproduce. Adopt 40 Himalayan whistle-kids like Angelina Jolie. (Who bears an uncanny resemblance to the DixieVixen....yes, I am a lucky man!) Pass your liberal agenda off on your own kids and just make sure mine have the best facilities possible to obtain an education. Beyond that, just shut the fuck up. There, that's me exercising my First Amendment rights.

Here are a few more examples of me exercising but one of my inalienable rights under the Constitution:

I think you are a MORON for discriminating against military recruiters on your campuses.

I think you should start to protest the US presence in Bosnia. If you want to cry about Defense spending in support of the Global War on Terror, then let's just break down that long-since-forgotten lie President Clinton told in 1995. Remember, the one where he said that the US would lead a NATO force into the Former Yugoslav Republic to bring peace and stability. One year deployment. Unprecedented since Viet Nam for a unit to be deployed for an entire year. (Billary set the one year deployment precedent in Bosnia, so you can also quit crying foul on W. for deploying Soldiers to Iraq or Afghanistan for one year.) Trust me. I was there. One year, huh? We're still there! Add up those dollar signs and let me know if that was economic?

I think conscriptured service to our Nation may be in order.

I think the Right to Bear Arms needs to be modified, but it is a necessary evil. It must be protected!

Your sorry-ass Liberal view points need to be protected too. If for no other reason, just so I can tell you that I think you not worthy of the respect that you get based on your educational accomplishments because I don't think you learned a damn thing as it pertains to REALITY!

I love the fact that the First Amendment affords me the opportunity to tell you to "go piss up a rope", without recourse.

WWTDJD?

For those of you religious zealots that bore the ultra-faddy "WWJD?" neck lanyards and adorned your modus transportus with similarly expressive bumper stickers, this is not an article of faith. Unless you are a member of the Buckeye Nation!

With four weeks to build anticipation for the Bowl de Mas Grande Fiesta (excuse my crude hack on Spanglish), I expect a multitude of inspirational moments. I suspect my insane obsession with The Ohio State University will undoubtedly rile the Weis-ians out there. Brady Quinn, yippee. Touchdown Jesus, well now you're talking! Which brings me to my point...

"WWTDJD?"

What Would Touchdown Jesus Do?

In these decrepit times of political scandal, war, rising crime rates, and the reunion of Dave and Oprah, I often turn to a higher power for guidance. I was born and raised in the Midwest. I am Catholic. Naturally, when I breakdown pre-game film I ask myself "WWTDJD" when AJ Hawk drops into weakside zone defense and Bobby Carpenter stunts inside? I think I'm onto something here...

When Notre Dame controversially fired a shitty head coach who was, by all accounts, a good man, I think the administrators collectively asked themselves: "WWTDJD"? I can envision 8 rich, white people standing near the spot where Rudy earned his movie deal, I mean fulfilled his dream (of a movie deal), looking up at Touchdown Jesus and asking for direction and guidance. "Go West" He said. With that, the rich suits looked to Utah for salvation. I'm positive that they were not looking to the Church of Jesus Christ and Latter Day Polygamists for help, but up and coming then-Utah head coach Urban Meyer. Upon further review, there is irrefutable video evidence that Meyer diverted his career south, second down. On second down, the Irish locked up the next best thing. Asking again, "WWTDJD?", Notre Dame called on Charlie Weis to save them from competing for little more than bragging rights in Vatican city.

On Weis' first day as head coach at ND, it is rumored he looked at game tapes from last year. Upon his release from an undisclosed Indiana mental facility, where he was immediately taken for treatment as a result of his nervous breakdown realizing that Willingham didn't know he was actually supposed to recruit players, Weiss stood tall (and round) at mid-field and asked "WWTDJD?". I doubt the answer was "lose to a non-bowl-eligible Michigan State", but whatever He told Chuckles, Weis must have listened. Maybe Notre Dame just has fabulous connections in the AP, but this is serious business so let's not think they were ranked where they were just because they polish the Golden Dome.

Despite losing two games, an instant disappointment, The Ohio State Buckeyes are poised on the brink of salvation. Senator Tressel is in his fifth season at the helm of one of the greatest football programs in the land (with the best damn band in the land) and so far, so good. Following a 2001 loss in the Outback Bowl, the Bucks have turned it around going 3-0 in their last three bowl games. 2002 National Champions. 2003 Fiesta Bowl Champions. A third BCS Bowl in five seasons. A 4-1 record against "that team up north". Aaaah, Woody would be so proud.

Charlie Weis doesn't have much room for error in the head scratching department, so I am sure that he will spend his holiday season asking "WWTDJD?".

AJ Hawk, Troy Smith, Teddy Ginn, Santonio Holmes, Antonio Pittman, and Bobby Carpenter. It just feels good knowing that they are on our side.

Of course, Notre Dame has Touchdown Jesus.

"WWTDJD?"

Lose...



Go Bucks!

Table Saws and Mondays Always Get Me Down

Table Saws

Imagine learning to count to ten as a child.

Imagine clipping your fingernails.

Imagine picking your nose...both nostrils.

These are all simple tasks that can be easily accomplished by nearly everyone in the world...well, except for those who were raised with better manners than to pick their noses and let me assure you, the ManChild is not among them! The ManChild will go knuckle deep at the drop of a hat, much to the chagrin of the DixieVixen (not a big fan of the mining).

The sound of Karen Carpenter spewing anorexic ballads is dancing in my head, ad naseum.

Oh, how I long for the good ole days. The days of a balanced two-fingered peace sign. The days of "you're number one" being easily discernible if I held it up. The days of the high five. Typing, writing, eating cereal, washing my hair, wiping my rear end, carrying nearly anything, and turning on a light switch just took on a whole new level of complexity.

In one lightening-quick instant my whole world changed. Face it, I'm a man so scratching my ass and picking my nose are very important to me. So is using my right front pocket when I'm wearing blue jeans. One bone-headed lapse in judgment; one careless nanosecond; one crude meeting with a 10,000 rpm instrument of destruction and chaos changed all of that.

Mondays

The worst day of the week. Always has been; always will be. No day for anesthetic. No day for nerve blocks. A day where waking up early sucks bad enough as it is, let alone for the horror of a skilled scalpel finishing what you started. A day where many dread explaining their weekend exploits to their boss or coworkers. Not a day to explain how stupid you are. Hardly the day to be shown off like a circus freak.

"Who does that sort of thing in the middle of the night?"

"There's the guy who was cutting wood in the middle of the night."

"Why were you cutting wood in the middle of the night?"

They've never heard of "sleep cutting"?, was but one response...

If 11:00 p.m. is the middle of the night, then I guess you're all talking about me. Here I am. Yo! Over here! The guy with 62 lbs. of gauze on his hand. The guy mentally preparing himself for the lifelong reminder that fatigue has been known to cause complacency.

Fatigue + Complacency + Table Saw = High 4 1/2!


You see, DixieVixen and I had recently moved to a new house and we were finishing up the installation of a new wood floor in the kitchen. I know I had been burning the candle at both ends. I also know that, judging by the reaction of the medical staff, I am the first person to ever suffer an accident at the wee hour of 11:30 p.m.

I live in ALA-FRICKIN-BAMA people! Are you honestly to have me believe that far more bizarre medical curiosities haven't rolled through the doors of that emergency room "in the middle of the night"? Not a single mobile home moving accident? No one's ever accidentally discharged a firearm directly into their naked cousin in a tent behind WalMart under the influence of alcohol? Am I REALLY the most interesting medical marvel you've ever seen or do you just treat everyone like carnies? No one injured in a shotgun shell reloading/welding accident? No interesting "muddin" injuries? C'mon, surely at least one deer spotlighter has been on the business end of a 180 grain boattail! I don't know if it was in Alabama, but the penis in the meat grinder guy blew my teeny old partial amputation away! No pun intended. Are these medical professionals in Bama trying to make me think that there's never been a single Boa Constrictor sex accident? Christ, not even a little Meth Lab explosion?

If you haven't figured it out by now, I took the end of my right index finger off with a table saw. Upon finishing a cut (of wood), I was simply reaching from right to left across my body to shut off the saw and walk in the house.

PING! Turning that saw off didn't go quite as smoothly as I had hoped...



The sound of bone meeting table saw is one that can never be forgotten.

In my mind, of pseudo intellectual knowledge, I thought I was pretty calm about the entire ordeal. Without looking I knew that I had just topped every other anatomically disfiguring mishap I had ever inflicted, bestowed, or exacted upon myself. I didn't need to see it. I did, however, feel a compulsive need to squeeze my finger like a reticulated python hugging a goat. Calling the DixieVixen with as much calmness as I could muster surely must have sounded to her like the wails of a bear caught in a claw trap based on her complete denial. Well, maybe it wasn't denial, but all I remember her saying (screaming) was "NO!" and "NO YOU DIDN'T!". Well, as a PseudoIntellect, the best I could come up with was "YES!" and "YES I DID!". "CALL 9-1-1!" were my next words. Oh, and something about could she maybe get me some ice. Please. If you're not too busy? Thanks...

As the fire trucks pull up, shattering the serenity of Southern Suburbia, they ask me where the accident victim is. I am not kidding! I am standing there with my hand in a bag of ice squeezed, as tightly as I can physically squeeze, up against my stomach. Not hidden behind my back; not like I was trying to surprise some kids on Halloween with that old pull-a-severed-finger-out-from-behind-your-back gag. It's right there in front of me! I'm just standing there thinking "I have an obstructed bowel and lacerated liver, the guy with the jacked up paw is in the house jack ass!" My silent stare of amazement over the stupidity of their question must have answered it for me, because they correctly surmised it was me that was injured. I guess the ice was a dead give away after all. To this day, I am not completely sure how they ever figured it out. Well, this really should have prepared me for the freak show hospital stay I was in for. It didn't. I guess I thought that people employed in hospitals, a large number of which possess higher education from accredited institutions, were more concerned with helping and healing than trying to figure out how stupid one person can be!



To top it all off, it was a friend's table saw, codename:"Benny". As luck would have it, the DixieVixen called Benny to have one of his offspring watch the K-Princess, the E-Fairy, and the ManChild so she could accompany me, at that moment People Magazine's "Dumbest Man Alive", to the hospital.

As I sat there, being tended to by the city's finest, I see Benny walk around the corner.

Dude.

Duuuuude.

Duuuuuuuuuude. What the hell?

I know, I know...sorry about your saw.

I think the saw got the better end of the deal, let's see.

You sure?

Niiiiiice!

I could do without the mocking thank you very much.

Just wait until you come back to work...

Oh great....

I GET IT! STUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-PID! OK, now on with the healing...

I don't know why I'm surprised by this, but I did find what I could of the less fortunate part of my finger and put it in ice. (See I told you I was calm...maybe PseudoCalm?) The doctor in the emergency room dwelled and pondered on whether they could successfully reattach the finger tip. Well, for at least 1.04 seconds. That was about the amount of time it took him to spit out "well, that won't go back on". And so my fate was sealed...

Then it hit me! The accent...it...it...it isn't southern....it isn't foreign...it's...I'll be damned, I thought. "Are you from New York?", I asked the Doc. "Yeah, what gave it away?", was his reply. I was jumping up and down in my mind. A Northerner! Hey, don't blame me, I don't know anyone who gets an overwhelming feeling of intelligence when a southern drawl butchers the English language. It just isn't comforting.

Perhaps it was a result of my Damn Yankee attitude, but I was tortured for a while before the guards took me to my cell....I mean, Nurse Ratched took me to my room to let me sleep peacefully through the night. Well, it was "peaceful" if you overlook being awakened every 20 minutes for "vitals" and upwards of twice an hour to ask me if I was in pain. How do you answer that? Easy, given the proper mixture of pain killers! You incoherently babble on about how great you feel and that you'd like to see if you can shuffle a deck of cards if they have some handy. Maybe they know a good cheer and I'll just clap along? Well, sarcasm is not welcome in a hospital!

Sometime Monday morning they finally dug up a surgeon who wasn't doubled over laughing at my stupid ass to perform the surgery. Fortunately for me, he was a good one and believe me I know a good orthopedic surgeon when I see one. Take my word for it, most NFL teams can't stack up against the number of surgeries I've had at the skilled hands of orthopedists. (He did a great job, but I don't want to get sidetracked.)

The remainder of my hospital stay was pretty routine....for a bearded lady. The number of blue-and-salmon-colored-scrub-wearing-on-lookers rivaled that of any number of Dale Earnhardt memorials found in the Southland.

Well, they finally released me, O.R., later that day. What day of the week was it, you ask? What was the weather like when the DixieVixen walked what was left of her husband out of the hospital?

Rainy days and Mondays always get me down......screw that....table saws and Mondays always get me down.

The New Exit Strategy

I want to apologize right up front to all of my moderate to conservative friends out there. I simply cannot keep quiet any longer. I watch the news and it sickens me to hear the reports of terror and death. I read the news on line and it breaks my heart to think of the parents and families of the slain burying their loved ones for no real reason at all! I cannot imagine the volume of traffic pouring through the morgues. The young, the innocent; death knows no racial boundry.

When the truth is so plain to see, I just cannot imagine how we can go on any longer tolerating this insanity! The DixieVixen initially suppported staying, but when I explained to her the number of Americans dying she quickly changed her tune.

I'm sorry W., it pains me to say this, but it's time for you to move. Mr. President, please break it gently to Laura but it's time to PULL OUT OF D.C.!


If you consider that there have been an average of 160,000 troops in the Iraq theater of operations during the last 22 months, and a total of 2112 deaths, that gives a firearm death rate of 60 per 100,000.

The rate in Washington D.C. (among others) is 80.6 per 100,000. That means that you are about 25% more likely to be shot and killed in our Nation's Capitol, which has some of the strictest gun control laws in the nation, than you are in Iraq.

Conclusion: We should immediately pull out of Washington D.C.