I love my TV

I love my new TV. I still love it even though I had to send it in for repairs recently. It's one of the more expensive pieces of property I own in my home. It requires tender loving care and no small amount of respect. Because Lord knows, she returns that show of love and respect in kind with hours of sweet delicious high-definition goodness.

But I am beginning to fear that I may be losing perspective. Last night I was sitting in my living room basking in her warm glow when my wife came over and sat down next to me.

"What's on TV?" she asked me.

My response was, "Dust."

I was lucky to get out with only one black eye.

And now for something completely different

I took the DART (or Dallas Area Rapid Transit) into work today. I rarely do this but I'm turning over a new fiscal leaf and that means cutting gas expense for the month. Every time I ride the DART, I always grab a free copy of this city newsletter called Quick. Anyway... I stumbled across this article in it by a gentleman known as Alibaster K. Abthernabther. I cannot describe the genius of this author. You really must read it for yourself. In fact, as it turns out - this quasi-fictional-man-about-town has his own blog. Feel free to visit it frequently. I know I will. Sadly, I could not find his article from Quick on the blog so I am re-posting it here for posterity.

Dear Gary Coleman,

Good day to you, good sir. My name is Alibaster K. Abthernabther. I am a best selling author, champion yacht racer, hot-air balloon enthusiast and fellow recreational adventurer.

Welcome to our fair city! I could not help but notice the local news reports declaring that you had been spotted near and around our Deep Ellum entertainment district, filming a motion picture wherein you apparently wrestle a gentleman dressed in a taco costume.

That is to say the gentleman you were wrestling was wearing a taco suit; not you, Gary Coleman. Perhaps you were both dressed as tacos? Really, I'm not too clear on who was dressed as what, though I am quite sure that at least one of you was in a taco disguise. Nevertheless! Do you think for one moment that I have forgotten about the Ancient Golden Monkey Femur of Khali-Ahhh? Well, rethink that, my friend. Your goons may have knocked me out and tried to erase my memory with 100 CCs of hydromydrophenelin, which may have worked on a lesser man. But I am constructed of mightier stuffs!

I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday. Actually, I don't quite remember yesterday particularly well. I think I was doing whip-its behind a Dumpster yesterday. That's a "maybe," though.

However, last week I remember quite vividly. So I remember the events of Nov. 8, 1942, as vividly, if not more so. U.S. and British forces had just landed in French North Africa. It was mere coincidence that you and I would meet there, searching for the same prize.

The legend of the Ancient Golden Monkey Femur of Khali-Ahhh needs not be retold. It is as infamous as it is sexy, and as sexy as it is deadly. It's an infamously, deadly, sexy, legend. But it dare not be repeated.

Mere hours after our dinner with the prime minister of Oonk, as dusk begat twilight begat dawn, we were embroiled in fisticuffs atop a mountain peak, naked and slathered in baby oil. Possession of the precious Golden Monkey Femur would go to the victor. And we both know that you were the victor that night, Gary Coleman.

Mark these words, old chum: I will reclaim what is rightfully mine. Most likely by the time these very words meet your eye, the Ancient Golden Monkey Femur of Khali-Ahhh will once again be mine.

Yours,
Alibaster K. Abthernabther

Book Review: Webster's Way With Words

Last night The Wheel in Space hosted it's Cyber-Book-Club. We've all been reading a really compelling piece of work by Merriam Webster called The Dictionary. Today I'm happy to share with Blog-Country my review of this ground breaking work.

I have to say it is a dauntingly dense read, while at the same time rich with layered subtext. Webster demonstrates his powerful mastery of the English language by weaving into his story an elaborate vocabulary the likes of which I have rarely seen in other work. Webster also impresses with a fine grasp of structured story telling. Each of its 36 chapters are neatly organized, creating a natural flow to the overall work.

Admittedly, the attention to detail is, at times, tedious. While some have blamed Tolkien for taking a paragraph to describe a blade of grass. Webster actually takes paragraphs to describe the words blade, grass, and even the word of!

Still, the precision, creative use of language, and the near perfect specificity make it a gripping tale worthy of any personal library. In fact, more than 35 million people agree with me if the sales numbers have anything to say about it. In short, I highly recommend you go out and purchase a copy of The Dictionary. It is a real page-turner!

Next Month, the Cyber-Club is going to tackle another one of Merriam's great works. The Thesaurus.

Have a Big Dirty Valentine

So Valentines has come and gone once again. The roses have started to wilt and the chocolates have now turned to those unwanted extra pounds on your body. Like most, I love Valentines Day. So much so I was too busy getting busy with my woman to post about it on the actual day. But this morning I had a very troubling experience. You know who I'm talking about... that's right... Big Dirty.

This morning I was taking my garbage out the alley when I notice Big Dirty curled up on my back porch shivering in his sleep... or maybe it was a drunken stooper. He was wearing only a blue blazer, a pair of tighty-whities, and some pink bunny slippers.

I attempted to quietly step over him, hoping I could dump my trash and get back inside before he woke up. Unfortunately Big Dirty has the acute senses of a bald eagle and he stirred almost instantly. The following conversation followed.

Big Dirty: Of course I love you baby! (turns head from side to side groggy) Oh hey, CyberD.

Me: Oh, hey. I was just taking out my trash.

Big Dirty: That's cool... Sometimes you got to kick the chicks to the curb.

(He proceeds to cough uncontrollably as he stands up and dusts off his blazer, covered in all manner of unidentifiable grime).

Me: So what are you doing here?

Big Dirty: Me? Oh... you know, just hangin' out. You want to go do something?

Me: I'm kinda busy. Gotta go to work.

Big Dirty: That's cool, I'll just hang here until you're done. We can go grab an Old Milwaukie later.

Me: I thought you were spending time with your lady friend this weekend.

Big Dirty: Oh yeah, we totally partied last night, but I decided that she was gettin' too clingy, man. Big Dirty's got to roll free and unfettered, ya know.

Me: So you broke it off?

Big Dirty: Well not so much me as... er... um...

Me: Oh! Dude. Sorry man.

Big Dirty: Nah... that's okay. I got to keep it real and all.

Me: So what happened to your clothes?

Big Dirty: I had no idea how conniving high school girls can be.

Me: What?

Big Dirty: Well, I decided to hit the Valentines Dance down at the high school. Ya know how it is. So one minute I'm rockin' out with some hot babes and the next minute I'm tied to a tree with no pants.

Me: You know high school girls are underage right?

Big Dirty: And fucking thieves too!

Me: Well, okay... so I guess I'll talk to you later.

Big Dirty: Totally, man. Call me when you're ready to get that beer!

God bless the U.S.A.

Miss Teen South Carolina proves that beauty pageants are about more than just beauty!

Punch?

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

crap x3

dead x2

punch x1

Twas the Season...

Few opportunities of genius have presented themselves in my life. This one is a classic. Back in the fall of 1995 one of my roommates (Braveheart) insisted on holiday decorations. I'm not a big fan of this, simply because I am too lazy to put shit up around the apartment. However, I was always a big fan of pissing-off our other roommate (Urban Cowboy).

It just so happened that Cowboy hated this spider decoration that Braveheart had hung over the ceiling light in our living space. Any time you clapped your hands the thing would start humming this high-pitched squeal and it would shimmy and vibrate for a good sixty seconds, only to be awoken again by the next clapping of the hands. He complained about the damn thing for the entire month of October. Nothing pleased Braveheart and me more than to come into the apartment and greet the room with a hearty hand clap, prompting Cowboy to curse us while reminding everyone that Halloween doesn't last forever.

Late one night Braveheart and I bemoaned the fact that we would eventually have to part ways with the decoration and wished that there were versions of the same concept for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New-Years, and Valentines. It was in that moment of silence between us that an epiphany struck us simultaneously. This blessed love affair didn't have to end! Surely we could remove the motor and sound-activation system from the spider, and place it inside other plush toys!

A turkey, a Santa Claus, even a baby-new-year that could later be converted into Cupid! We had the entire year planned out. It was going to be beautiful.

Step One: Find a suitable host for transplant.

Step Two: Perform the surgery.

Step Three: Decorate for Thanksgiving.

Step Four: Wait for hilarity to ensue!

Unfortunately, step one didn't go as well as we had hoped. We went to every conceivable shop in our college town looking for a stuffed turkey doll. There were none. It looked as if our little plan was to die then and there before it ever got off the ground. Our final trip took us to the toy section of Wal-Mart. Lining one wall of the store were hundreds of stuffed animals and not a single turkey in sight. Braveheart was about to give up hope when I grabbed him by the arm and turned his attention to our salvation. At first he refused to think outside of the box. I pressed the issue. He objected on moral grounds. I insisted otherwise. Eventually he succumbed to the idea and we took our surgical candidate home to prepare.

The operation was performed beautifully by my pre-med roommate and I was proud to assist. Later that day we took down our Halloween decorations and put up the festive trappings of fall harvest, including our new addition to the ceiling light in our living space. That night Urban Cowboy was greeted by a sight that will live in infamy!

Say hello to squealing-vibrating-Indian-princess!

Lunching with Big Dirty

It's not every day that you can have lunch with a local legend. Unfortunately for me it wasn't planned. I was going to have lunch with an old college friend yesterday. I went to the local Bar-B-Q and reserved a table for two. I waited patiently and watched as patrons filed into booths and waitresses rushed around busily working hard for the money.

It was just then that I caught the eye of none other than Big Dirty! I quickly turned my gaze to avert making eye-contact but it was too late. His long years of scanning bars for hot babes came in handy that day and my knowing look caught his attention. He kicked his head back, (a typical Big Dirty sign for hello) and flipped his Razor phone off as he strode over to my table. The following conversation ensued:

Me: I'm expecting someone.

Big Dirty: No prob, CyberD. I'll keep you company until they arrive.

Me: Well, errrrrr, okay.

Big Dirty: So, have you checked out these waitresses, man? They're totally hot!

Me: Not really, I come for the food.

Big Dirty: Gotcha, (he over-winks at me) the food. So what do you recommend? The chicken BREAST or THIGH!

(He cracks himself up and catches the attention of the waitress)

Waitress: I see your friend arrived, what can I get you gentlemen?

Me: Actually, he's not...

Big Dirty: (whispers to me) watch this...

Big Dirty: (to waitress) Hello there... (ogles her strategically placed name-tag) Mandi. Tell me, how good is your... pulled pork?

Mandi the Waitress: It's the chef's favorite and a very popular menu item.

Big Dirty: I bet it is! (he gives me the over-wink again)

Mandi: ummmmmm (looking at Big Dirty unsure of what to say)

Big Dirty: So tell me, I'm in the mood for some... smoked sausage. How are you at... smoking sausage?

Waitress: That's my personal favorite.

Big Dirty: I love it! You naughty thing!

Me: Dude, the girl is trying to work.

Big Dirty: She can work it all she wants as long as its for me.

Me: I'll have a water. Thanks, Mandi.

Big Dirty: How's your... Rubbed Chub?

Mandi: Don't you mean baked spud?

(Big Dirty is now cracking himself up and his shoulders heave up and down as he attempts to contain his uproarious laughter)

Big Dirty: No!

Me: I can't take this anymore.

Big Dirty: "That's what she said!"

I've never been kicked out of a restaurant before but there is a first time for everything.

The Birthday Bonanza Bash Buffet - Part 3

We kicked this thing off with a bang on my birthday and we're wrapping it up on Q's birthday so for your reading enjoyment we present to you this Birthday Adventure: The Radio-Phonic Version.

“Pull over! Mango break!”

“What? It’s my damn birthday! I’ll do what I want to!”

“CyberD!”

“Q, show them what you’ve got!”

“Los Policia, Los Policia!”

“How do you like them apples?”

“This must be heaven.”

“Jackpot.”

“It’s our birthday!”

“Wanna fly?”

“No thanks, I’m already soaring!”

“Fair enough,”

“FIESTA!”

“Come On!”

“Dude, they want you to insert one of your US citizen babies inside of the barmaid”.

“With pleasure!”

“You’re so lucky, CyberD!”

“You’re next!”

“My heroes!”

“Get in, boys, we’re going home!”

“Damn! I forgot my Mangos!”

Q's Love Affair with Ernest or The Tijuana Birthday Bonanza - Part 2

Q appeared hesitant at first and I must admit that seeing Q in his “birthday suit” (and me in mine) wasn’t something I would have ever expected to behold in my lifetime. I searched for some semblance of reason as I heard the barmaid’s muffled voice talking to, what I could only assume was a host of sexy senoritas on the other side of the door. As if reading each other’s minds, we blurted out, “It’s our birthday!” at the top of our lungs before ripping off our clothes. Q struggled with his socks as he spun around in a circle attempting to unleash the damn thing from his ankle, while I emptied the last vestiges of the Dos Equis still clutched in my right hand.

I looked over at the naked glistening body of Q and I was thankful that my drunken stooper would not allow me to remember this come tomorrow. Q’s sock still dangled off the end of his foot as he reached his hand out and offered me some of the before mentioned “party dust.”

“Wanna fly?” he asked me. “No thanks,” I responded, “I’m already soaring!” as I lifted my bottle in tribute to Q’s partying ways. “Fair enough,” Q responded before bending over and grabbing his wrinkled up leopard print thong underwear and strapped it onto his head like a king’s crown.

It was at that moment that the barmaid returned to the room followed by two very professional looking women. It was unexpected that they both reminded me of my Uncle Carl and unfortunate that they brought a burro into the room with them. They barely had the time to say a single word before Q and I had bolted from the brothel. The faint sound of their celebratory mantra, “FIESTA!” still lingered in my ears.

*******************************************************

We ran as fast as humanly possible to our rental car. CyberD tried to slide across the hood ala Dukes of Hazzard but his sweaty skin stuck to it the moment contact was made. There was no time for me to laugh, though I wanted to really hard. CyberD gathered himself and continued to his side of the car. CyberD turned the key but nothing happened. “Come On!” I screamed. He kept trying but nothing was happening.

By this time the gaggle of people had gathered around us. The two women and the donkey were there as well as CyberD’s barmaid. They told us to get out of the car immediately. Once we were standing, they yelled for one of us to pleasure the donkey. I was in shock and CyberD was extremely toasted. I leaned over to him and said “dude they want you to insert one of your US citizen babies inside of the barmaid”. CyberD immediately took a step forward and yelled, “With pleasure!”

The enforcement officials pulled out their guns and led CyberD to the donkey. He looked at me frantically. I told him that I might have misunderstood and shrugged my shoulders.

*****************************************************

Either the frosty spirits were getting to me or the local militia was leading me away from the kind-hearted barmaid and over to the flea-infested donkey. I could hear Q yell over the crowd, “You’re so lucky, CyberD!” I began to struggle as I feared the worst, but it was to no avail. “You’re next!” I spewed back at him. This surely would have been the end for both of us but little did we know, Q’s court ordered electronic ankle bracelet went off the minute we crossed the border. I had forgotten about that stint Q spent in the pen and was reminded of the time he got that giant tattoo of Jesus on his back while bunking with a tattoo artist named Leopold.

The sound of the chopper came out of nowhere as a sleek black helicopter emerged over the tree line. Q and I both knew that Airwolf had been decommissioned from the military back in the late 80’s. What we didn’t know was that it had since been employed by the local fuzz for just such an occasion. As the bird touched down, it sent the locals scattering in all directions. Q and I ran towards our salvation with one more surprise. As the cockpit opened it was none other than Jan Michael Vincent and Ernest Borgnine at the helm! “My heroes!” Q screamed like a little school girl.

“Get in, boys,” Ernest barked, “We’re going home!” We both dive into the chopper and strap ourselves in as it takes flight, leaving the forlorn donkey behind. I am exhausted from the entire experience and I slump into my seat with relief. Just as I begin to drift off I hear Q blurt out in frustration.

“Damn! I forgot my Mangos!”

Q's Mango Explosion or CyberD and Q's Birthday Trip to Tijuana!

Q promised me that the border patrol wouldn’t be a problem. If you don’t count the rectal exam I suppose he was telling the truth. They did search the car but luckily we had already taken all those flea infested puppies out of the trunk of the rental and dropped them off at the local Home Depot. They had a half-price sale going on wood-chippers. Nevertheless, my knuckles are white with fear… well, either fear or the lack of blood supply to my extremities from having Q’s head in my lap all the way from Los Angeles down Highway 5. Hearing the mariachi music out the window after crossing the border into Tijuana, Q pops his head up and screams at the top of his lungs, “Pull over! Mango break!”

I jerk the wheel hard and a storm of gravel and dust fly up from the back bumper as we come to a grinding halt next to a string of road-side vendors. An elderly man, weighing in at no more than 90lbs, hobbled over to the passenger side door with a handful of wooden marionettes. Q either didn’t see him or didn’t care. He swung the car door open wide, colliding with the geriatric merchant, sending him flying into a chicken coop. Feathers plumed into the air like a mushroom cloud over Hiroshima. I glare at Q as I get out of the car and walk over to the fruit stand selling 12 mangoes for one dollar. Q looks at me indignantly and says, “What? It’s my damn birthday! I’ll do what I want to!”

**********************************************************

I purchase 24 mangoes and head back the rental car. As I am walking back to the car I noticed that CyberD had hit an old man when he pulled over for fruit. I turn back to let him know what he had done but he is nowhere to be seen. I ask the shop keep where ‘mi amigo’ went and all I got was a blank stare. So I asked him louder. He pointed down the alley way behind his cart of tropical fruit.

I secure my mangoes in the cooler by getting rid of the empty Dos Equis bottles that CyberD had left. I headed down the dark and foul smelling path. Every once in a while I yell out “CyberD!” but I don’t get a response. I turned to look in one of the windows and there he was at the bar. I mosey in – attempt to get CyberD away from the bar, but he yells at me causing a scene – he then directs the bouncer to me. I quietly walk outside and get my ass kicked by three rather large tattooed gentlemen, while CyberD watched and laughed. Have I mentioned that CyberD is an angry drunk? Well, he is and he was enjoying this way too much.

*********************************************************

As I chat up the young barmaid and down another frosty beverage, I laugh at her jokes uproariously even though I don’t understand a word she says. At that very moment I notice that Q is getting his ass kicked by some thugs. I don’t know what he did to deserve it but it must have been something awful. Something tells me these men don’t like Mango. But perhaps they like that special “party dust” that Q was flashing around town in the San Diego strip clubs. I yell, “Q, show them what you’ve got!” He looks at me strangely through blood soaked eyes and he begins to feverishly unbutton his pants.

This only seems to anger them even more as they begin grabbing bar-stools and shatter them into pieces before picking up the wooden legs. I think fast and dive in front of them while flashing a plastic badge that Q got out of his cracker-jack box no more than thirty minutes ago. Luckily I insisted on keeping it because he was going to throw it out the window. I hate litter. I scream over Q’s tears, “Los Policia, Los Policia!” They drop the stick and turn to run but Q is fast and he chucks several full Dos Equis bottles at them. Q nails each one on the back of the head, knocking them out cold. Eat your heart out Nolan Ryan. I yell at Q for being so wasteful but he is on a roll now. He yells, “How do you like them apples?” as he does a victory dance around the bar that includes thrusting his pelvis into the air and performing what can only be described as an x-rated version of the funky chicken.

I suggest we make a run for it and for the first time in our lives Q agrees with me on something. We begin to exit the bar and head for the car but the barmaid cautions us. She points out the window and we see that our rental car has gotten the attention of the border patrol. The barmaid insists on helping us. I guess I made an impression. It looks like The D has still got it when it counts!

*********************************************************

With my limited Spanish speaking/understanding ability the barmaid says that it will be three thousand US dollars for the both of us. CyberD gladly agrees to her fee and follows her out the back door. I am stunned that he would part with that kind of cash so easily, but hey this is ‘Vacation’D. I hurry to catch up so that I don’t get lost again in the maze of alleyways and drunken street people, or as CyberD calls them ‘living urinals’. We come up to a building with a metal door. The woman knocks three times and a metal hatch opens up. The woman says something very quickly and the door opens. She signals for us to come inside, once again I am hesitant but I proceed anyway.

Once inside I notice a vast array of erotic toys and resin molds of men’s and women’s private parts. I look at CyberD and he looks at me. He starts to speak but I stop him, touching my fingers to his lips. I already knew what he was thinking. “This must be heaven.”

The woman leads us to a back room. She locks the door behind us and turns on the light. We were in a hotel like bedroom. I tap CyberD on the shoulder and tell him that I think the barmaid is a prostitute. He looks back at me and slurs, “Jackpot”.

To Be Continued...

Lovingly for Gyuss and Q

I was chatting with Q on the phone the other day and he revealed to me that he has a full length mirror on his bathroom door. This in and of itself is not a problem and I thought little of it. But then Q went on to confess that his biggest regret in life was strategically placing the mirror so that he can view himself in all his glory while doing the most unholy of acts on the crapper. This disturbed me greatly and I did not believe him at first.

Why in the name of all that is sweet and clean on this precious earth would anyone want to watch themselves in that most disgusting state? Q admitted that it was an innocent mistake and one he didn't realize he was making at the time. However there is still that lingering question in my mind as to why he never rectified the situation.

Picture this:

You finish a tasty meal of Beef Wellington and frito-chili-pie and decide that a delicious meal like this isn't complete until you've really made room for it in your lower intestines. You push away from the chair and head down the hall towards the "throne-room." As you prepare for the "slow burn" you grab a copy of the latest Texas Monthly and flip to the classifieds for a little light reading. At first you're engrossed in the delicate writing of Don Gaylord's article on Bluebonnets but inevitably nature demands your undivided attention. Your face turns serious and your toes curl as you grip the towel rack and marshal all you energy towards the singular event that occupies your every thought.

And it's in that moment of clenched anguish that you look up and lock eyes with your own reflection in the most gruesome, jaw-dropping, and horror-filled sight you have ever had the displeasure of seeing your own body performing.

That would quite literally shock the shit out of me. Perhaps that is the real reason why Q has never taken down that offense of a mirror.

*shudder*

Lil' Higgins and The Big Tuna

It was late last night and we were cleaning up around the house. We had just finished dinner with a co-worker and put the toddler to bed. Mrs. Cyber was cleaning the kitchen and I was walking around the house with a wide awake baby in my arms. Being too tired to watch TV and too bored to sit on my ass, I started doing what I so affectionately call "mental drifting." It was in that moment, as I looked down at the limp sack of baby in my arms, that I came to the distinct realization that my son and Bill Parcells have so much in common.



Case in Point:

1) They both look exactly the same in a t-shirt and shorts.

2) They both are soft and "pudgy."

3) They both cry uncontrollably when they don't get what they want.

4) They both crap their pants whenever they feel like it.

5) They both have a solid mastery of a 3-4 defense.

6) They both smell better with baby-powder.

7) They both require 24-hour attention or else they may choke on small toys.

Phoning It In!

I'm not big into reality TV. I've dabbled in most shows like American Idol, Survivor, and even The Apprentice. but nothing has really stuck. My desire to call into shows and vote on contestants is even more minuscule. Enter: Dancing with the Stars. It's been four seasons in and I'm still completely hooked. Of course I watch it for the choreography, costumes, and competition! And for the first time ever, I've actually contemplated the "call in!"

That's right. I'm actually thinking about picking up the phone and wasting seconds of my precious time dialing a number so that my vote can affect the outcome of some meaningless TV show. Or is it meaningless? I mean it isn't really fair that one of my favorite dancers got saddled with a bad celebrity. She doesn't deserve to be kicked off just yet. I think the people of America still want to see a little more of Edyta before it's all over. But what if she gets voted off?

Perhaps there really IS something I can do to help. Oh no! But what about this other one. I'd hate to see them get kicked off. Perhaps I should place my vote here! Too many dancers and too little time! What to do... what to do. I think nobody should get kicked off and everyone should receive a ribbon of participation! How does that sound? Hooray for spray on tan!

A Pirate's Life for Me!

Q put me on to this little tid-bit.

My pirate name is:

Iron Davy Roberts

A pirate's life isn't easy; it takes a tough person. That's okay with you, though, since you're a tough person. Two things complete your pirate persona: style and swagger. Maybe a little too much swagger sometimes -- but who really cares? Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

What was I thinking?

In preparation for the upcoming cyber-tot, Mrs. Cyber and I were going through old photos and attempting to organize, as new babies always bring with it a flood of pictures. We got sidetracked going through some old albums. My goodness how fads change over time. Do you remember ankle rolled blue-jeans? Here's a picture of some of my favorite "looks" from the past!



My god, what was I thinking doing my hair like that. Oh well, it was the eighties! And look at those pants. How embarrassing! But I know you guys still love me, if you can't share the soft underbelly of your past with blog-country, who can you share with?

Drew is Back...

...with a special editorial. If you like the ramblings of the burger-loving gunslinger that was wrongfully jerked from his starting position, then check out one of his recent articles. He talks about the retirement of Bill Parcels.

Caught in Bermuda

In case blog-country hasn't figured it out: Dagromm, Q, and I live in and around the same metro-area and we have all been friends for many years now. Dagromm and I knew each other first but after he moved further away, the Q and I began hanging out with even more frequency. Now we all live about one hour's drive distance from each other and our friendships have become largely phone conversations with the occasional lunch get-together.

But an unsettling trend is occurring in this sacred triangle of love. The last few days I have noticed that when I place my daily call into either one of these dear friends their phones always go to voice mail. I then call the other and that phone is goes to voice mail. When I happen to be talking to one, they always have to jump off the phone to take another call and then when I call the other they aren't available to visit. It turns out that the Q and Dagromm are visiting with greater frequency and they have been each ignoring their caller IDs when my call comes through. Of course no one person in the triumvirate is more important than another but as the most important and influential member of the group, I worry for their eternal souls as their friendship drifts away from the moral compass that is me. To make matters worse I have now come to find out that they are planning a weekend tryst together! Of course they both have clumsily invited me to tag along after I unearthed their secret. Can you believe the audacity? I've had it with this love triangle! I'll not play second fiddle to anyone!

My solution: Gyuss, move to our metro-area and become my best friend! Short of that I have recently priced the cost of a stun-gun, a circle-saw, and a trash bag.

Skirting the Edge

If you're a regular reader of this blog then you already know I'm a huge game-geek. I'm not as high-tech as Q and Gyuss but I do love me a good table-top war game when I have time to play. Lately I've really gotten into the Axis and Allies Miniatures game. It's a fast paced, and fun war game with historical routes making it (perhaps) one of the least geeky of war games I have ever played. There are a few problems with the game, one being that a particular unit (namely the SS-Panzergrenadiers) is under priced and overly powerful... I digress.

In graduate school I took a class on starting a business and we were allowed to work on a project of our own design. I chose the Collectible Card Game market (or CCG for short). I had many discussions with fellow game-geek and project partner about which franchises would make good material for a CCG and we debated why certain games haven't already been made. Like why is there no CCG for the Indiana Jones property? One would think it would be a viable franchise to build a collectible card game around. One of our early theories was that perhaps the backdrop of the Nazi's as major characters in the franchise might make the game just a little too politically charged for someone to be willing to touch it.

Fast forward to today and the Axis and Allies Miniatures game. Now Axis and Allies has been around a long time as a board game but the recent development of a collectible miniatures game has brought with it all the trappings of the on-line fandom community including a forums section on the Avalon Hill AAM main page. Now everyone knows that membership in a forum requires a really cool avatar and fans of the AAM have chosen many an interesting avatar to depict their on-line persona. I was recently lurking around the forums and came across one thread that was initially started about a rules question but turned into a debate about one members avatar being a Nazi flag.

Out of the woodwork pop everyone with an opinion from mild-mannered level headed folks to the idiocy of what can only be pimply faced thirteen year olds spouting "free-speech" and "don't deny history!" Vomit! Like a car crash I was riveted and couldn't wait to see how long the moderators would allow this argument to continue. For a game that does involve Nazi Germany Avalon Hill shrewdly created a code of conduct that included no use of Nazi symbols and no political discussions allowed. Seams easy enough to respect. But there is always someone that believes the rules don't apply to them. This one guy whose member handle is "Himmler" and his avatar the swastika, actually felt like he wasn't doing anything wrong. What a jack-ass! I couldn't believe this guy actually thought he was in the right. And everyone that attempted to calmly and gently suggest he change his avatar and handle got flamed like you wouldn't believe! I was stunned. Eventually the moderator stepped in and explained to the group that the political discussion needed to cease and desist and return the thread to a gaming discussion. What followed was a series of posts resulting in quite possibly the funniest Nazi humor I have ever read.



MODERATOR: The political discussion is very definately out of place here, so please avoid that.

MEMBER X: Yikes, how did this just happen. Let's go back to complaining about the game.

MEMBER Y: Yeah! ... uhm ... SS Panzergrenadiers are underpriced!


MEMBER Z: Underpriced and big meanies. Those guys have committed many atrocities in my tackle box.



I have to say to Member Z, you may skirt the edge of socially correct humor but you are one funny son of a bitch!

Big Dirty is a Pro!

It's not every day that you run into the most over-the-top personality in the Metroplex and I've managed to do so twice in one month. It was a rainy Saturday afternoon and my son and I were getting cabin-fever from being in the house all day. I decided that we needed an outing and the brand spakin' new Bass Pro Shop had just opened up on the other side of the lake from where I live. When we arrived at the sprawling Mecca for all things "outdoor-sie" I noticed a familiar figure standing in the middle of the entry-way. It was none other than Big Dirty! He was staring up at a giant wall covered in dear antlers. He saw me out of the corner of his eye and greeted me in typical Big Dirty fashion.

"Hell yeah," he said.

"We keep running into each other," I responded.

"That's what I'm talkin' about," he stated as he pointed over to the wall of antlers.

"What are you talking about?" I attempted to clarify.

"Hunting big game. I'm all about hunting big game." He grinned from ear to ear as he watched a young woman decked out in all flannel walk past. He pointed both hands (mimicking two six-guns) in her direction and whispered "pow-pow."

"Nice," I said sarcastically.

"I see you got your little man-child with you again."

"You mean my son?"

"Whatever, let's roll." He replied.

We walked into Bass Pro together. I had heard that this store had a giant fish tank so I was taking my son there to watch the employees feed the fish. Big Dirty happened to be going in the same direction and he just assumed we were following him.

"You know next time we roll, you gotta ditch the kid." he said

"Roll what?" I replied.

"Ya know... roll for chicks. This is the perfect place to meet hot ladies. But you gotta be free and unfettered. Hot babes don't want to think you're tied down."

"I'm married, dude."

"Whatever," he said dismissively, "just don't call me dude."

"I thought you were all about the hot moms," reminding him of our last encounter.

"Yeah, hot moms are overrated. Don't get me wrong... hot moms are awesome and all but this is where the real action is at."

"What action?" I asked as I attempted to keep one eye on my son (who at this point was completely distracted by the enormous fish floating around the tank) I was glad he was distracted because Big Dirty continued to throw down some pretty dirty language despite my insistence that he stop. I guess that's why they call him Big Dirty.

"I'm talkin' about the butch broads, man. They're all manly and stuff so you know they don't get much action. But underneath all that denim and flannel, they're just as awesome as the next lady."

"You don't say." I replied awkwardly.

"Totally. Like this one chick in my office. She throws down the mountain boots and baseball cap so you know her phone ain't ringin' off the hook. That's when Big Dirty swoops in."

"So you're now referring to yourself in the third person?" I asked.

"You gotta stay on your toes if you're gonna run in my posse. Anyway, my only real concern is her pony-tail. Does that mean she's a lesbian?"

I look out of the corner of my eye and my son is headed for the video game machine. It was lucky for me because I'd had enough with Big Dirty at that point. "Um, I gotta go."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Like being a lesbian ever stopped Bid Dirty from making his move."

I headed over to the video-games and watched my son press on the buttons as he is still too young to actually play the game. Big Dirty must of decided that we weren't finished with our conversation.

"So you guys want to go get some pizza?" he asked.

"Pizza is awesome!" my son chimed in.

Big Dirty looked down and smiled, giving my son the thumbs-up sign. "You said it, kid!"

I suppose if my son had to pick up a catch phrase from Big Dirty, the word awesome wasn't too bad.

"Okay, let's go get some pizza," I said reluctantly.

"Great, cause you know what's best about the pizza parlor, right? The Babes!"

I rolled my eyes... Maybe that's why they call him Big Dirty.