OK, it's probably going to be Cheetah. After all, he and I had more in common than I did with Great Leader. (Refer to the illustration at the left, it speaks volumes!)
I just don't know where to start with Uncle Jung-iL. No, wait, yes I do. How about a little humor to brighten up the worlds loss. Ahh, poor Kim Jung-iL. But at least he no ill no more. He dead. HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I swear, sometimes I just kill me.
I'll give the balding little Asian pear credit for one thing though, he sure knows how to make an exit. I mean, c'mon, THREE 1976 Lincoln Continental stretch limos (where the bloody hell did he get those things???), a fleet of Mercedes S-class sedans that stretched back to the horizon (how did he manage to keep all of the garage door openers organized???) and enough hired mourners to cast an Andrew Lloyd Weber musical with (all of whom were wearing brand new Western-style clothing. When did UPS start servicing Pyongyang???). I did think the Lincoln's were a nice touch even if the media did keep screwing the funeral cortege description up. They kept referring to him going to his last rewards in a Lincoln hearse. As in INSIDE a Lincoln hearse. What he actually did was go to his last rewards ON a Lincoln limo. As in strapped to the roof of it. I don't know about all of you but the only thing I could think of when I saw that was how the Griswold family strapped poor Aunt Edna to the roof of the Country Squire after she died in "National Lampoon's Vacation". All it would have taken was the driver slamming on the breaks to avoid a stray dog running across the street (yeah, like that's ever going to happen in North Korea) and the People's Glorious Republic would have had a dead despot, nipples to the wind, cascading down onto the hood of the Great Satan's vintage land yacht while children fainted, women wailed and vendors sold the local North Korean delicacies of dirt clod on a stick, dirt clod in a cup and dirt clod on a rope. As an aside on the Lincoln's, Ford headquarters has refused all requests for a comment. Something tells me someone in Detroit got a train load of kimchi back in 1976...
Have you noticed that there hasn't been a single word about how he died? That can only mean one thing: EMBARRASSING AS HELL!!! I'm opting for a scenario that includes a whore house, a three-legged mulatto conjoined twin hooker, a Hennessey cognac enema, a leather umbrella and a bit of auto-erotic asphyxiation that took a turn for the worse. I can only assume that the mop and bucket brigade that got sent in to "sanitize" the situation are all now pulling double shifts in a salt mine somewhere and their families have all been relocated to a communal farm where they are happily planting next years crop of dirt clods. Arbeit macht frei, as they say...
More than anything I will miss his fashion sense (OK, I've stopped laughing now) which was always about as exciting as beige. Well, now that I think about it, it actually was beige. He single handedly brought new importance to the polyester leisure suit, the comb-over and vintage Jackie-O "spot welder" sunglasses of which he was reported to have had over 500 pairs. He once told me that he had so many so he could keep a pair in each of his Mercedes'. Spoken like a true fashionista!!! Thank god Gianni Versace is dead, this would have killed him!!!
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
I'm So Damned Old That I'm Analog!!!
OK, so a couple of weeks ago I got my car mushed. By a monster 4x4 creature about 22 feet long and 9 feet high. In a parking lot of a grocery store. In all honesty, the damned thing literally backed up completely over my car. Stop laughing, it's true. It flattened my hood and killed my grill. I was not amused. Pleasantries were NOT exchanged to say the least. I never knew how liberating it is to stand in the middle of a parking lot and scream "FUUUUCK!!!" at the top of your lungs 5 or 6 times. But I digress.
So, I take my car in to be fixed (at the 4x4's idiot owner's expense) and they hand me the keys to a free rental car. Very cool. A brand new 2012 Toyota Camry. VERY cool. And that puppy is loaded up to its tits with toys. Happy dance! I wasn't in the car more that 2 seconds when I went all deer in headlights though. I realized that I honestly didn't know how to drive it. Seriously, I was lost in the technology. Now I know how my great-grandfather must have felt when he retired the horse and got that Model T.
First, I couldn't find the parking brake lever. It wasn't on my side of the console, it wasn't on the passenger side of the console, hell, it wasn't even IN the console. I finally found it down in the foot well, to the left of the brake pedal. The same place they used to put them way back in the 1960's. Ahh, those wily Japanese, always something new to confuse us with. When I figured out where to put the key and started it up all hell broke loose. Lights, buzzers, bells and whirly-gigs started going off like crazy. Basically, everything short of a disco ball. The instrument cluster went nuts. It has 5 analog readouts, two multi-function digital ones and a total of 27 diagnostic idiot lights, including tire pressure, oil pressure, air pressure on Mars, MY blood pressure and one that told me that I was putting too much pressure on the steering wheel. One of the multi-function displays started giving me a choice of odometer, trip odometer, my average mpg rating, how many miles I had left on the tank or how many miles I had left to drive to my preset destination. Personally, I don't give a rats ass about any of that shit but thanks for the offer anyway. ALL of the controls for the windows, locks and the mirrors lit up on the armrest. ALL of the controls for the phone and the stereo system lit up on the steering wheel. As did the control arms for the lights, the wipers, the turn signals and the cruise control that were protruding from the steering column. The controls on the center stack looked like something out of the Starship Enterprise. I had heated and air conditioned seats, dual front climate controls (I could actually have the heat going on my side and the air conditioning going on the passenger side. Don't ask me why...), air bag controls and a 9-inch touch screen thing that was my radio, cd player, equalizer, phone, Blue Tooth, Blue Ray, Blue Meanie, Blue Danube, GPS, satellite navigation system and EKG moniter control command center. It was a bit like being trapped inside a 270 horsepower Christmas tree, for chris' sakes!!!
It has a floor mounted automatic and I couldn't figure out how to shift it into drive!!! You didn't do a straight line P-R-N-D-L shift, you had to jog it around like you were shifting a manual transmission. Then I noticed that it had one more position after the "L", something labeled "S". Huh??? Ahh, yes, that would stand for "Speed Shift". Huh??? It seems you put the car in that "gear" and it allows you to shift gears like it was manual using the two other paddles on the steering wheel. Left paddle, clutch. Right paddle, gear shift. What cretin thought that that makes any sense??? Give me a leather wrapped short shifter and a clutch pedal any day!!! I quickly found out that when you take the car out of Park all of the doors automatically lock and the trunk lid puckers.
The outside mirrors have a control signal that lights up to let me know if someone is trying to overcome me from the rear in my blind spots. I'm sorry, I just can't say that without blushing. And giggling. The inside mirror has 3 separate controls to work the 3 separate garage doors it apparently thinks I should have. I can't for the life of me figure out how to use the wipers but I have the cleanest front windshield you have ever seen because I somehow keep managing to mist it with solvent.
Cubby holes. Oh god, does this car have cubby holes. Everywhere!!! 5 in front and 3 in back. And they all have power plugs and USB points in them so we can all happily play our hand held games and listen to our iPods in peace. My god, don't people talk to each other in cars anymore???
I spent half an hour reading the manual for the touch screen thing just to learn how to work the stereo and I have to tell you that it was SO worth the effort!!! That bad boy ROCKS!!! It not only shows me the name of the radio station and the song they're playing it also tells me the title of the cd I'm listening to as well as the artist and title of the track. It has 4 front and rear mounted mid-range speakers, a front center mounted super tweeter, two front door mounted bass speakers and a SUBWOOFER IN THE TRUNK!!! It makes the mirrors vibrate, the trunk lid rattle, the fuel door to pop open indiscriminately and my ears bleed. In a Toyota!!! I'm in heaven. People next to me at stop lights just shake their heads. Not so much because of the noise but because they have been following behind me in the left hand lane for the last 5 miles afraid to pass me because I don't know how to turn off my right blinker.
Yes, I am an old man. In a big car. Sitting on the yellow pages so I can see over the steering wheel. With my turn signal in perpetual blinking mode for no good reason. With the radio tuned to "La Movida" 1480 AM and the volume cranked up to air-raid siren level while I sing "My Heart Will Go On" by Celine Dion. And thinking that all is right with the world while I cruise down the street doing 27 mph in a 40 mph zone during rush hour. In my Toyota.
So, I take my car in to be fixed (at the 4x4's idiot owner's expense) and they hand me the keys to a free rental car. Very cool. A brand new 2012 Toyota Camry. VERY cool. And that puppy is loaded up to its tits with toys. Happy dance! I wasn't in the car more that 2 seconds when I went all deer in headlights though. I realized that I honestly didn't know how to drive it. Seriously, I was lost in the technology. Now I know how my great-grandfather must have felt when he retired the horse and got that Model T.
First, I couldn't find the parking brake lever. It wasn't on my side of the console, it wasn't on the passenger side of the console, hell, it wasn't even IN the console. I finally found it down in the foot well, to the left of the brake pedal. The same place they used to put them way back in the 1960's. Ahh, those wily Japanese, always something new to confuse us with. When I figured out where to put the key and started it up all hell broke loose. Lights, buzzers, bells and whirly-gigs started going off like crazy. Basically, everything short of a disco ball. The instrument cluster went nuts. It has 5 analog readouts, two multi-function digital ones and a total of 27 diagnostic idiot lights, including tire pressure, oil pressure, air pressure on Mars, MY blood pressure and one that told me that I was putting too much pressure on the steering wheel. One of the multi-function displays started giving me a choice of odometer, trip odometer, my average mpg rating, how many miles I had left on the tank or how many miles I had left to drive to my preset destination. Personally, I don't give a rats ass about any of that shit but thanks for the offer anyway. ALL of the controls for the windows, locks and the mirrors lit up on the armrest. ALL of the controls for the phone and the stereo system lit up on the steering wheel. As did the control arms for the lights, the wipers, the turn signals and the cruise control that were protruding from the steering column. The controls on the center stack looked like something out of the Starship Enterprise. I had heated and air conditioned seats, dual front climate controls (I could actually have the heat going on my side and the air conditioning going on the passenger side. Don't ask me why...), air bag controls and a 9-inch touch screen thing that was my radio, cd player, equalizer, phone, Blue Tooth, Blue Ray, Blue Meanie, Blue Danube, GPS, satellite navigation system and EKG moniter control command center. It was a bit like being trapped inside a 270 horsepower Christmas tree, for chris' sakes!!!
It has a floor mounted automatic and I couldn't figure out how to shift it into drive!!! You didn't do a straight line P-R-N-D-L shift, you had to jog it around like you were shifting a manual transmission. Then I noticed that it had one more position after the "L", something labeled "S". Huh??? Ahh, yes, that would stand for "Speed Shift". Huh??? It seems you put the car in that "gear" and it allows you to shift gears like it was manual using the two other paddles on the steering wheel. Left paddle, clutch. Right paddle, gear shift. What cretin thought that that makes any sense??? Give me a leather wrapped short shifter and a clutch pedal any day!!! I quickly found out that when you take the car out of Park all of the doors automatically lock and the trunk lid puckers.
The outside mirrors have a control signal that lights up to let me know if someone is trying to overcome me from the rear in my blind spots. I'm sorry, I just can't say that without blushing. And giggling. The inside mirror has 3 separate controls to work the 3 separate garage doors it apparently thinks I should have. I can't for the life of me figure out how to use the wipers but I have the cleanest front windshield you have ever seen because I somehow keep managing to mist it with solvent.
Cubby holes. Oh god, does this car have cubby holes. Everywhere!!! 5 in front and 3 in back. And they all have power plugs and USB points in them so we can all happily play our hand held games and listen to our iPods in peace. My god, don't people talk to each other in cars anymore???
I spent half an hour reading the manual for the touch screen thing just to learn how to work the stereo and I have to tell you that it was SO worth the effort!!! That bad boy ROCKS!!! It not only shows me the name of the radio station and the song they're playing it also tells me the title of the cd I'm listening to as well as the artist and title of the track. It has 4 front and rear mounted mid-range speakers, a front center mounted super tweeter, two front door mounted bass speakers and a SUBWOOFER IN THE TRUNK!!! It makes the mirrors vibrate, the trunk lid rattle, the fuel door to pop open indiscriminately and my ears bleed. In a Toyota!!! I'm in heaven. People next to me at stop lights just shake their heads. Not so much because of the noise but because they have been following behind me in the left hand lane for the last 5 miles afraid to pass me because I don't know how to turn off my right blinker.
Yes, I am an old man. In a big car. Sitting on the yellow pages so I can see over the steering wheel. With my turn signal in perpetual blinking mode for no good reason. With the radio tuned to "La Movida" 1480 AM and the volume cranked up to air-raid siren level while I sing "My Heart Will Go On" by Celine Dion. And thinking that all is right with the world while I cruise down the street doing 27 mph in a 40 mph zone during rush hour. In my Toyota.
Monday, November 28, 2011
The Catch-22's Of 'sconsin...
When the bloody hell did this state turn into Gomerville??? 'sconsin used to be sensible. And safe. Or at the very least a little bit sane. Not any more though. We're so clustered here we couldn't fuck if our lives depended on it. I swear to god, every time you drop the soap here you've got an elected official sneaking up your ass just to hit you with a new turd tax!!!
We recently passed a new state law that makes it perfectly legal to carry concealed hand guns in public. As in EVERYWHERE in public. Schools, hospitals, stores, churches, town hall meetings, bars (never a good idea), public buildings and government buildings. You name it, if you can GPS it then you can pack heat in it. Needless to say, license applications poured into court houses from one end of the state to the other like a tsunami. It seems like every one and their grandmother wanted to get in on that ride. So much so in fact that the State Attorney General just enacted an official order that resends the mandated 4-hour training course that was required to qualify for the license. Why? It was going to cause an "undue financial burden" on the state and would be a "constrictive and invasive burden" on the applicants to have to schedule the time to learn how to properly use a hand gun. Huh??? A one week waiting period for purchase? No problem. A background check? No problem. Four hours to learn how to not shoot yourself or your kids? Now THAT'S a serious violation of your god given right to be stupid!!! And of course, the local police are dumbfounded at the recent increase of arrests of suspicious individuals in and around the county courthouse. Who, BTW, are all packing heat. DUH!!! Hell, I'm gonna start packing heat myself. And using it too. I've got the perfucked alibi now. I didn't know it was loaded. This thing has a safety??? I didn't know that it was a gun. Don't ask me, I couldn't see it either. Ah, yes, four hours very well saved...
As an aside to the above mess, we have the newly elected governor from hell. He's a bigger ass wipe than Charmin. He's fucked up every thing he can get his hands on since the day he took office and has driven the citizens of 'sconsin to protest in numbers not seen since the heady days of the late 1960's. He's so bad that even the Republicans who put him in office hate him. Of course, he's in the process of being recalled. His latest "cost saving" maneuver has been to remove all of the metal detectors and security at the entrances to the Capital building. Which is where he works. Hmmm... Please refer to the previous paragraph...
Necrophilia. Yes, I know, I hate to keep harping on this one but it just sort of riles me a bit. It's not against the law in 'sconsin. Yep, you heard me right. Humping a has-been is perfectly legal here. Just as long as you can manage to figure out how to jump through all of the states legal caveats that is. Want to date a corpse? No problem. Want to become engaged to a corpse? No problem. Want to marry a corpse? Again, no problem, just as long as the two of you are of the opposite sex. (More on that little catch-22 later.) Want to possess a corpse? That's a no-no. Want to dig one up? That's another no-no. Want to "defile, defame or degrade a corpse? (Yes, they actually do word it like that!!!) MAJOR no-no!!! Now, correct me if I'm wrong but to be defiled or defamed don't you have to have something to lose to begin with? You're a corpse. You're dead. Psychologically, isn't your bank account already empty??? And as far as degrading goes, don't corpses already sort of do that one on their own without the need for any outside help??? This is the most convoluted set of laws and non-laws I have ever seen. It's like a hiring a security force of eight year olds to guard the Hershey's factory!!! Here's your badges, boys, just make sure you don't touch anything...
Marriage. OK, personally I don't believe in it. Straight or gay. Legal marriage only leads to legal divorce. Trust me, the last thing we really need to see is a couple of pissed off, lawyered up queens on opposite sides of the net going after each others Cuisinart in court. In a valiant attempt to make sure that us gay folks don't try to muscle in on the straights side of the pie we passed a resolution that legally defines marriage as a civil or religious based, performed and recognized contract of union between one man and one woman. In their minds this does not discriminate against gays it merely takes us out of the running. Marriage is not a "right", it's just a "service" that we don't biologically qualify for. Disregard the fact that sexual orientation is one of the many things that cannot be used for the purpose of discrimination or the denial or rights and freedoms under our state constitution. At any rate, Sea Squirt and I granted and guaranteed each other all of the rights and protections of marriage that we needed just by sitting down with a lawyer for an hour and half and filing some legal paperwork for things like powers of attorney, executorships, inheritance, etc. Bases covered. And it still protects my right to toss his ass out onto the street if he doesn't stop leaving those damned used teabags on the counter without the need to hire a lawyer and start claiming dumb ass shit like alienation of affection, he's a whore or that I have just decided that I want someone who is taller.
In 'sconsin we actually have a law that says individuals are not legally required to carry car insurance. Odd, I know. It is followed by a law that says if an individual is involved in a accident, no matter how minor, and does not have insurance that the state has the right to fuck with you for the rest of your life, literally. Why? Because you are an ignorant shit head that was stupid enough to take the first law seriously. This is very akin to the conundrum that a hungry fish must face as it stares at the worm. Yes, that worm looks damned good but is it good enough to make you want to spend the last few hours of your life in a cooler with the Old Milwaukee???
Why am I required to show any law enforcement officer that asks for it, for any reason, a valid photo ID but the concept of having to show a valid photo ID at a polling place is considered, by our state legislature, to be some sort of attempted communist take over?
Why does the city council think raising the small business license fees of family owned resale shops from $66 a year to over $500 is the perfect way to keep crackheads from stealing stuff to pawn?
I swear, I'm gonna run for public office. I think my campaign slogan will be "C'mon, How Much Worse Could I Fuck Things Up?"
We recently passed a new state law that makes it perfectly legal to carry concealed hand guns in public. As in EVERYWHERE in public. Schools, hospitals, stores, churches, town hall meetings, bars (never a good idea), public buildings and government buildings. You name it, if you can GPS it then you can pack heat in it. Needless to say, license applications poured into court houses from one end of the state to the other like a tsunami. It seems like every one and their grandmother wanted to get in on that ride. So much so in fact that the State Attorney General just enacted an official order that resends the mandated 4-hour training course that was required to qualify for the license. Why? It was going to cause an "undue financial burden" on the state and would be a "constrictive and invasive burden" on the applicants to have to schedule the time to learn how to properly use a hand gun. Huh??? A one week waiting period for purchase? No problem. A background check? No problem. Four hours to learn how to not shoot yourself or your kids? Now THAT'S a serious violation of your god given right to be stupid!!! And of course, the local police are dumbfounded at the recent increase of arrests of suspicious individuals in and around the county courthouse. Who, BTW, are all packing heat. DUH!!! Hell, I'm gonna start packing heat myself. And using it too. I've got the perfucked alibi now. I didn't know it was loaded. This thing has a safety??? I didn't know that it was a gun. Don't ask me, I couldn't see it either. Ah, yes, four hours very well saved...
As an aside to the above mess, we have the newly elected governor from hell. He's a bigger ass wipe than Charmin. He's fucked up every thing he can get his hands on since the day he took office and has driven the citizens of 'sconsin to protest in numbers not seen since the heady days of the late 1960's. He's so bad that even the Republicans who put him in office hate him. Of course, he's in the process of being recalled. His latest "cost saving" maneuver has been to remove all of the metal detectors and security at the entrances to the Capital building. Which is where he works. Hmmm... Please refer to the previous paragraph...
Necrophilia. Yes, I know, I hate to keep harping on this one but it just sort of riles me a bit. It's not against the law in 'sconsin. Yep, you heard me right. Humping a has-been is perfectly legal here. Just as long as you can manage to figure out how to jump through all of the states legal caveats that is. Want to date a corpse? No problem. Want to become engaged to a corpse? No problem. Want to marry a corpse? Again, no problem, just as long as the two of you are of the opposite sex. (More on that little catch-22 later.) Want to possess a corpse? That's a no-no. Want to dig one up? That's another no-no. Want to "defile, defame or degrade a corpse? (Yes, they actually do word it like that!!!) MAJOR no-no!!! Now, correct me if I'm wrong but to be defiled or defamed don't you have to have something to lose to begin with? You're a corpse. You're dead. Psychologically, isn't your bank account already empty??? And as far as degrading goes, don't corpses already sort of do that one on their own without the need for any outside help??? This is the most convoluted set of laws and non-laws I have ever seen. It's like a hiring a security force of eight year olds to guard the Hershey's factory!!! Here's your badges, boys, just make sure you don't touch anything...
Marriage. OK, personally I don't believe in it. Straight or gay. Legal marriage only leads to legal divorce. Trust me, the last thing we really need to see is a couple of pissed off, lawyered up queens on opposite sides of the net going after each others Cuisinart in court. In a valiant attempt to make sure that us gay folks don't try to muscle in on the straights side of the pie we passed a resolution that legally defines marriage as a civil or religious based, performed and recognized contract of union between one man and one woman. In their minds this does not discriminate against gays it merely takes us out of the running. Marriage is not a "right", it's just a "service" that we don't biologically qualify for. Disregard the fact that sexual orientation is one of the many things that cannot be used for the purpose of discrimination or the denial or rights and freedoms under our state constitution. At any rate, Sea Squirt and I granted and guaranteed each other all of the rights and protections of marriage that we needed just by sitting down with a lawyer for an hour and half and filing some legal paperwork for things like powers of attorney, executorships, inheritance, etc. Bases covered. And it still protects my right to toss his ass out onto the street if he doesn't stop leaving those damned used teabags on the counter without the need to hire a lawyer and start claiming dumb ass shit like alienation of affection, he's a whore or that I have just decided that I want someone who is taller.
In 'sconsin we actually have a law that says individuals are not legally required to carry car insurance. Odd, I know. It is followed by a law that says if an individual is involved in a accident, no matter how minor, and does not have insurance that the state has the right to fuck with you for the rest of your life, literally. Why? Because you are an ignorant shit head that was stupid enough to take the first law seriously. This is very akin to the conundrum that a hungry fish must face as it stares at the worm. Yes, that worm looks damned good but is it good enough to make you want to spend the last few hours of your life in a cooler with the Old Milwaukee???
Why am I required to show any law enforcement officer that asks for it, for any reason, a valid photo ID but the concept of having to show a valid photo ID at a polling place is considered, by our state legislature, to be some sort of attempted communist take over?
Why does the city council think raising the small business license fees of family owned resale shops from $66 a year to over $500 is the perfect way to keep crackheads from stealing stuff to pawn?
I swear, I'm gonna run for public office. I think my campaign slogan will be "C'mon, How Much Worse Could I Fuck Things Up?"
Friday, November 18, 2011
Sea Squirt Is Convinced That I Am The Anti-Christ...
I suppose it had to happen sooner or later so I resigned myself to my rightful destiny and wear the title proudly. At the moment I am still waiting for my crown, scepter and cloven-hoofed feet to arrive...
For reasons unknown (I decided not to ask for fear that I would receive an answer) Sea Squirt has recently decided that it would be "fun" to go grocery shopping with me. Keep in mind that in the 7 years that we have been together he has never accompanied me into a grocery store to do the weekly shopping or as I refer to it, my sojourn into hell. I do not know where his decision came from but I can only surmise that it is linked to some form of recent blunt head trauma. Once the shock of his announcement wore off and I had a chance to think about it I actually thought that it could be a good thing. After all I could plant him at the end of an aisle to guard the cart (with an end cap of bright shiny objects to keep him occupied) while I ran the gauntlet of stupid shoppers, screaming children and cell-phoners on foot to grab the single jar of marinated artichokes from the far end of the aisle that I needed without having to maneuver the cart through the log jam. Please, don't ask me what I was thinking.
So, off to Woodman's we go. With me on a mission and him completely lost at sea. Just so you know, when I go shopping I have a plan. And a routine. I have been shopping at Woodman's for 16 years and I know the place like the back of my hand. My shopping list is organized by the aisle. I am also armed with my recycled shopping bags, a pen, a calculator, a stack of coupons and more attitude than one human should ever be legally allowed to have. Sea Squirt, however, was not so prepared. Did he offer to push the cart? No. Did he offer to manage the list? No. Did he work the calculator? No. The coupons? No. What did he do? Tope me at every opportunity and get smacked in the face with sticker shock:
"Honey, is butter always this expensive?"
"Yes, dear."
"Honey, does orange juice always cost this much?"
"Yes, dear."
"Honey, is peanut butter really $5.49 a jar?"
"Yes, dear."
"Honey, how come cookies cost this much?"
"Yes, dear." As my eyes glazed over.
Did I neglect to mention that we had gone shopping on a Tuesday? Tuesday is "Senior Day" at Woodman's. Don't ask me why, it just is. And they don't even offer any senior discounts. But the store is always a sea of little blue hairs with their totally disinterested retired husbands in tow who are always just totally lost in the whole adventure. It was also apparently a school holiday of some sort because every child in the free world was there with mom. All of them kicking, screaming, running, tearing into boxes of cereal or just wandering around in their pajamas. Yes, their pajamas. WTF??? Log jam!!!
So, we turn into the ethnic aisle and it's just a cluster-fuck of confused gringos blocking the entire aisle. I groaned. Then I barked. Then I got ugly. I loudly announced "Comin' through! Comin' through! Old guy with cancer! Clock is running! Comin' through!" and launched the cart into the fray with no concern for the casualties that might ensue. When I finally made it to the section that I needed I found it blocked by Edna and Earl. Edna was 112 if she was a day and was having difficulty seeing over the handle of their cart and Earl, who was about 115, had come to a screeching halt directly in front of her and was staring straight up, scratching his head totally confused by the pinatas. This did not amuse me at all because they were blocking my access to the Maria's, the cajeta and the Crema Media. I was close to exploding and I turned around to let Sea Squirt know that I was going to kill them. What do I find? Sea Squirt pointing up and asking me if we can buy a pinata!!! OMG. I had my own personal Earl!!!
For seven years Sea Squirt has heard me bitch like crazy when I get home from shopping, complain about the brain dead people that block aisles and gets a play by play of who I cussed out and who I decided to play "secret shopper" to. He always thought I was kidding. He now knows better. He has heard me tell a 5-year old to shut the fuck up, seen me toss expensive weird shit into other peoples carts just to piss them off after they get home (this last trip the recipient got 3 jars of saffron, total value $58.00), ram someone on a cell phone with my cart and has experienced me letting loose with that "noise from the back of the cave" sound that I learned from my mother when the lady blocking the aisle in front of me thought it would be a good idea to let little Jimmy take his damned sweet time deciding which size box of Coco-Puffs he wanted. He is amazed that I have not had security called on me or at the very least been punched out a time or two. I explained to him that as long as I don't touch them then they have to make the first move and that keeps me in the enviable position of being able to claim that I am the innocent victim of shopping-rage and elder abuse. That, coupled with my amazing ability of have nose bleeds on command should pretty much cover all of my bases...
When we go shopping next week I am going to use one of those motorized carts, wear my sunglasses, pretend to be blind, run the cart into every end cap of stacked canned goods I can find, have Sea Squirt follow me around the store and every time he asks me a question I'm going to look in the other direction and scream "I DON"T LIKE CHEESE!!! IT BLOCKS ME UP!!!". I should be back to shopping on my own before the end of the month. :-)
For reasons unknown (I decided not to ask for fear that I would receive an answer) Sea Squirt has recently decided that it would be "fun" to go grocery shopping with me. Keep in mind that in the 7 years that we have been together he has never accompanied me into a grocery store to do the weekly shopping or as I refer to it, my sojourn into hell. I do not know where his decision came from but I can only surmise that it is linked to some form of recent blunt head trauma. Once the shock of his announcement wore off and I had a chance to think about it I actually thought that it could be a good thing. After all I could plant him at the end of an aisle to guard the cart (with an end cap of bright shiny objects to keep him occupied) while I ran the gauntlet of stupid shoppers, screaming children and cell-phoners on foot to grab the single jar of marinated artichokes from the far end of the aisle that I needed without having to maneuver the cart through the log jam. Please, don't ask me what I was thinking.
So, off to Woodman's we go. With me on a mission and him completely lost at sea. Just so you know, when I go shopping I have a plan. And a routine. I have been shopping at Woodman's for 16 years and I know the place like the back of my hand. My shopping list is organized by the aisle. I am also armed with my recycled shopping bags, a pen, a calculator, a stack of coupons and more attitude than one human should ever be legally allowed to have. Sea Squirt, however, was not so prepared. Did he offer to push the cart? No. Did he offer to manage the list? No. Did he work the calculator? No. The coupons? No. What did he do? Tope me at every opportunity and get smacked in the face with sticker shock:
"Honey, is butter always this expensive?"
"Yes, dear."
"Honey, does orange juice always cost this much?"
"Yes, dear."
"Honey, is peanut butter really $5.49 a jar?"
"Yes, dear."
"Honey, how come cookies cost this much?"
"Yes, dear." As my eyes glazed over.
Did I neglect to mention that we had gone shopping on a Tuesday? Tuesday is "Senior Day" at Woodman's. Don't ask me why, it just is. And they don't even offer any senior discounts. But the store is always a sea of little blue hairs with their totally disinterested retired husbands in tow who are always just totally lost in the whole adventure. It was also apparently a school holiday of some sort because every child in the free world was there with mom. All of them kicking, screaming, running, tearing into boxes of cereal or just wandering around in their pajamas. Yes, their pajamas. WTF??? Log jam!!!
So, we turn into the ethnic aisle and it's just a cluster-fuck of confused gringos blocking the entire aisle. I groaned. Then I barked. Then I got ugly. I loudly announced "Comin' through! Comin' through! Old guy with cancer! Clock is running! Comin' through!" and launched the cart into the fray with no concern for the casualties that might ensue. When I finally made it to the section that I needed I found it blocked by Edna and Earl. Edna was 112 if she was a day and was having difficulty seeing over the handle of their cart and Earl, who was about 115, had come to a screeching halt directly in front of her and was staring straight up, scratching his head totally confused by the pinatas. This did not amuse me at all because they were blocking my access to the Maria's, the cajeta and the Crema Media. I was close to exploding and I turned around to let Sea Squirt know that I was going to kill them. What do I find? Sea Squirt pointing up and asking me if we can buy a pinata!!! OMG. I had my own personal Earl!!!
For seven years Sea Squirt has heard me bitch like crazy when I get home from shopping, complain about the brain dead people that block aisles and gets a play by play of who I cussed out and who I decided to play "secret shopper" to. He always thought I was kidding. He now knows better. He has heard me tell a 5-year old to shut the fuck up, seen me toss expensive weird shit into other peoples carts just to piss them off after they get home (this last trip the recipient got 3 jars of saffron, total value $58.00), ram someone on a cell phone with my cart and has experienced me letting loose with that "noise from the back of the cave" sound that I learned from my mother when the lady blocking the aisle in front of me thought it would be a good idea to let little Jimmy take his damned sweet time deciding which size box of Coco-Puffs he wanted. He is amazed that I have not had security called on me or at the very least been punched out a time or two. I explained to him that as long as I don't touch them then they have to make the first move and that keeps me in the enviable position of being able to claim that I am the innocent victim of shopping-rage and elder abuse. That, coupled with my amazing ability of have nose bleeds on command should pretty much cover all of my bases...
When we go shopping next week I am going to use one of those motorized carts, wear my sunglasses, pretend to be blind, run the cart into every end cap of stacked canned goods I can find, have Sea Squirt follow me around the store and every time he asks me a question I'm going to look in the other direction and scream "I DON"T LIKE CHEESE!!! IT BLOCKS ME UP!!!". I should be back to shopping on my own before the end of the month. :-)
Saturday, October 29, 2011
It's raining... WHALES???
Even though it was almost 41 years ago I remember this news story way too vividly for my own good. I think that I actually blew milk out of my nose when I watched it the first time.
DATELINE: 1970, Florence, Oregon. BTW, at that time Florence was a small village on the Pacific coast where you could literally walk out of your front door, cross the street, walk across the sand dunes and be in the ocean in less than 300 feet.
So, one morning the village wakes up to a rather vile, over powering stench. Shortly thereafter a number of beach walkers discovered the culprit: an 8-ton, 45-foot dead whale had washed up on the beach and was rapidly (RAPIDLY!!!) decomposing. EWW!!! Within a matter of hours a horde of onlookers and slew of news crews from Portland had arrived to "admire" the disaster. Hmmm, what to do with this nightmare. Bury it? No, it would only wash up again in the tide. Drag it back out to sea? Nope, it just pulled apart when they tried that. EWW!!! Cut it up for disposal? No one in their right mind volunteered for that cluster fuck!!! Hey, I know! Let's blow it up!!! WHAT??? Yet, that solution won approval...
The DOT was called in with some backhoes, some forklifts, a half a TON of dynamite and an additional half a ton of idiots to supervise the insanity. The beach side of the whale was hiked up and dynamite was packed underneath it with idea being to blow the majority of the thing back out to sea and leave the "smaller parts" left to the natural beach scavengers to take care of. ROLTFLMFAO!!! OK, whatever, sounds good on paper... Why does it always sound good "on paper"???
So, with the explosives set, the crowd is moved back a safe distance of a quarter of a mile and the blast is let loose. What happened next can only be described as unholy and truly unhuman. The blast rivaled Nagasaki in it's attempt. The assembled crowd was cheering. The newscaster was overjoyed. And then the unthinkable happened. It started raining whale. Everywhere. Yes, they had all been taught a very valuable lesson... just like sheep, whales do not fly as much as they, how shall I put this... plummet. Spectators were running for their lives. The camera crew was pummeled. The newscaster was covered in decomposing whale parts. EWW!!! And then they cut to the parking lot several blocks away. Not a pretty sight. Multiple cars had been smashed beyond recognition by sofa sized pieces of whale parts. And I am talking SERIOUSLY smashed. I wasn't sure how to view this mayhem. Was it "It's Raining Men" from the Weather Girls gone horridly awry or that chapter from the "Hitch Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy" about the inter galactic interstate by-pass reconstruction thing come way too true. It was whale "goo" on a scale way too much for me to even consider... Oh, the humanity!!!
Think I'm kidding? Google up YouTube, do a search for "1970, exploding whale, Oregon" and see what you find. I CANNOT make this shit up!!!
Now... for those of you out there with even a stronger sense of stomach, stay on YouTube and search for "exploding whale Taiwan". Other than that it involves a larger whale, a flatbed truck, a crowded intersection and couple of mini-malls, that is all I'm gonna say. Happy flukes to you...
Again, I just can't make this crap up...
DATELINE: 1970, Florence, Oregon. BTW, at that time Florence was a small village on the Pacific coast where you could literally walk out of your front door, cross the street, walk across the sand dunes and be in the ocean in less than 300 feet.
So, one morning the village wakes up to a rather vile, over powering stench. Shortly thereafter a number of beach walkers discovered the culprit: an 8-ton, 45-foot dead whale had washed up on the beach and was rapidly (RAPIDLY!!!) decomposing. EWW!!! Within a matter of hours a horde of onlookers and slew of news crews from Portland had arrived to "admire" the disaster. Hmmm, what to do with this nightmare. Bury it? No, it would only wash up again in the tide. Drag it back out to sea? Nope, it just pulled apart when they tried that. EWW!!! Cut it up for disposal? No one in their right mind volunteered for that cluster fuck!!! Hey, I know! Let's blow it up!!! WHAT??? Yet, that solution won approval...
The DOT was called in with some backhoes, some forklifts, a half a TON of dynamite and an additional half a ton of idiots to supervise the insanity. The beach side of the whale was hiked up and dynamite was packed underneath it with idea being to blow the majority of the thing back out to sea and leave the "smaller parts" left to the natural beach scavengers to take care of. ROLTFLMFAO!!! OK, whatever, sounds good on paper... Why does it always sound good "on paper"???
So, with the explosives set, the crowd is moved back a safe distance of a quarter of a mile and the blast is let loose. What happened next can only be described as unholy and truly unhuman. The blast rivaled Nagasaki in it's attempt. The assembled crowd was cheering. The newscaster was overjoyed. And then the unthinkable happened. It started raining whale. Everywhere. Yes, they had all been taught a very valuable lesson... just like sheep, whales do not fly as much as they, how shall I put this... plummet. Spectators were running for their lives. The camera crew was pummeled. The newscaster was covered in decomposing whale parts. EWW!!! And then they cut to the parking lot several blocks away. Not a pretty sight. Multiple cars had been smashed beyond recognition by sofa sized pieces of whale parts. And I am talking SERIOUSLY smashed. I wasn't sure how to view this mayhem. Was it "It's Raining Men" from the Weather Girls gone horridly awry or that chapter from the "Hitch Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy" about the inter galactic interstate by-pass reconstruction thing come way too true. It was whale "goo" on a scale way too much for me to even consider... Oh, the humanity!!!
Think I'm kidding? Google up YouTube, do a search for "1970, exploding whale, Oregon" and see what you find. I CANNOT make this shit up!!!
Now... for those of you out there with even a stronger sense of stomach, stay on YouTube and search for "exploding whale Taiwan". Other than that it involves a larger whale, a flatbed truck, a crowded intersection and couple of mini-malls, that is all I'm gonna say. Happy flukes to you...
Again, I just can't make this crap up...
I SO Know This Womans' Pain...
I live for stories like this. Have you heard about this one yet? It's hysterical. For the last two days I have not been able to not break out into snorting laughter when someone even says a word that remotely rhymes with dildo. BTW, much like "orange", there are NO words that rhyme with "dildo". Trust me, I have Googled it with no success.
OK, short story long. A woman flying from Newark, NJ to Dublin on vacation goes to "Babeland" (yes, it really was called that) and purchases a dildo that she feels will not alert the TSA officials when she packs it in her checked luggage. Oh sweet jesus, what is stranger, buying a dildo that meets TSA standards or thinking that anything in your checked luggage isn't going to give TSA a hard-on that demands a search??? So, she gets to Dublin, checks into her hotel and begins to unpack. What does she find inside the suitcase that has the dildo in it? One of those ubiquitous TSA forms that lets you know that your luggage was selected for a "random" search. And on the the official form is a note written in ink that says "Get your freak on!". Well, of course, she feels horribly "violated" by this action. Personally, I would have been standing there in the hotel room, laughing my ass off and raiding the mini-bar with a vengeance. But that's just the way I am... This woman scanned the TSA form into her computer and posted it on her blog. Guess what, it has gone wildly viral. It's everywhere. And she is so pissed off she could eat nails. Hey, lady, exhale. You have proof that at least one TSA Nazi has a sense of humor and you still have your dildo. It was NOT misinterpreted as a potential incendiary device and detonated on the tarmac. FYI to the TSA, by their very nature and design and how they are meant to be used a dildo is not meant to explode. You? Yes! The dildo? No!
Again, I know her anguish...
Several years ago on our return trip back to the States from Mexico I found myself in a somewhat similar situation. Does this surprise you at all??? We were flying Business Class that trip so we had pretty much unlimited checked luggage availability which I of course pounced on like a street dog on an unguarded child. Two of my three checked suitcases went down empty so I could fill them up on one of my famous Mexican shopping sprees. Which I happily did. On the way back all three of my suitcases were not only grossly overweight and WAY over the limits on things like booze (just shy of a full case) and cigarettes (about ten cases) but stuffed full of groceries, handicrafts (I love that term, it's so all encompassing) and assorted weird shit that only I can find in a serious alley crawl south of the border. Now, Mexico has its own version of the TSA. It's called the TdHdC. Which basically translates to Transportante de Horrible de Chupacabra. They descend upon you like a swarm of flies before you get closer than 20 feet to the check-in counter, seize your luggage, spread it out on banquet tables and begin to rummage through it like they were at a flea market. OK, I'm used to that so I'm not paying attention to what is going on until I notice that Sea Squirt has this rather shocked look on his face that was a bit deer in headlight-esque and he's staring over my shoulder. Then I turned my head and saw what was getting his attention. The TdHdC guy has just opened my first suitcase and is starting to go through my shaving kit. What does he have hanging off of his rubber gloved index finger? A cascade of 4 cock rings. One metal, two leather and one a combination of the two. Oh, fuck... And btw, I do indeed travel internationally with a selection of those things. Yes, I am indeed THAT gay...
Suddenly I find myself between a rock and a really shitty place. Sea Squirt is beside himself, I'm trying not to burst into laughter or make myself look like I have a couple of kilos of coke up my ass and I'm desperately trying not to strangle the rancid old queen at the table to my left who is getting her luggage raped but is snickering at what is happening to me. Well, since I didn't know how to say "baby bracelets" in Spanish (which I knew stood a snow balls chance in Jalisco of even getting remotely airborne) I was considering just pointing at the rancid old queen to my left and starting to scream "Le Bomba!!! Le Bomba!!!" at the top of my lungs. Which, btw, does not mean "bomb" in Spanish as much as it means "water heater" but I figured, what the hell, I have nothing to lose at this point. Then I hear the sound of grinding metal as all of the gears inside TdHdC guys head lock as he finally realizes just exactly what he has hanging off of his finger actually is. At that point I am resigned to being led away to a small, windowless room and forcibly strip searched by a crowd of badly uniformed Federale's who are all making a rather unsettling sucking noise through their teeth and saying something loosely translatable as "Hey, Bay-bee!!! Hey, Bay-bee!!!" while they make me dance on a table for them.
Luckily, calmer heads prevailed. TdHdC guy slipped the chandelier of cock rings back into my shaving kit, zipped it up, put it back into my suitcase, closed it and then proceeded to grab all three of my suitcases off of the table and took them straight to the check-in counter with a look of disgust on his whitened face which, I might add, is quite difficult for a Mexican national to attain. After he gave my luggage to the ticketing agent he grabbed the bottle of hand sanitizer from the counter and drank it. Two minutes later we are ticketed, boarding passed and on the escalator up to the boarding level, where I immediately plant my ass at the first bar I can find, slam a couple of shooters and then head to the Duty Free area to fill my empty shoulder bag with a couple of more bottles of tequila and a carton or two of more cigarettes. Needless to say, Sea Squirt was appalled at my bravado. Fuck him.
Guess who sat directly across the aisle from me from Vallarta to O'Hare??? That snickering, rancid old queen who was not at all happy since she had gotten her luggage dumped completely out on the table and had been put face up against a wall and patted down like an illegal alien. Hey, bitch, what comes around goes around... I happily drank my way to O'Hare and relished on the two contraband apples I had stashed in my shoulder bag. Apparently, if you distract security with some rather unsavory sex toys they just don't seem to care that you're smuggling produce...
OK, short story long. A woman flying from Newark, NJ to Dublin on vacation goes to "Babeland" (yes, it really was called that) and purchases a dildo that she feels will not alert the TSA officials when she packs it in her checked luggage. Oh sweet jesus, what is stranger, buying a dildo that meets TSA standards or thinking that anything in your checked luggage isn't going to give TSA a hard-on that demands a search??? So, she gets to Dublin, checks into her hotel and begins to unpack. What does she find inside the suitcase that has the dildo in it? One of those ubiquitous TSA forms that lets you know that your luggage was selected for a "random" search. And on the the official form is a note written in ink that says "Get your freak on!". Well, of course, she feels horribly "violated" by this action. Personally, I would have been standing there in the hotel room, laughing my ass off and raiding the mini-bar with a vengeance. But that's just the way I am... This woman scanned the TSA form into her computer and posted it on her blog. Guess what, it has gone wildly viral. It's everywhere. And she is so pissed off she could eat nails. Hey, lady, exhale. You have proof that at least one TSA Nazi has a sense of humor and you still have your dildo. It was NOT misinterpreted as a potential incendiary device and detonated on the tarmac. FYI to the TSA, by their very nature and design and how they are meant to be used a dildo is not meant to explode. You? Yes! The dildo? No!
Again, I know her anguish...
Several years ago on our return trip back to the States from Mexico I found myself in a somewhat similar situation. Does this surprise you at all??? We were flying Business Class that trip so we had pretty much unlimited checked luggage availability which I of course pounced on like a street dog on an unguarded child. Two of my three checked suitcases went down empty so I could fill them up on one of my famous Mexican shopping sprees. Which I happily did. On the way back all three of my suitcases were not only grossly overweight and WAY over the limits on things like booze (just shy of a full case) and cigarettes (about ten cases) but stuffed full of groceries, handicrafts (I love that term, it's so all encompassing) and assorted weird shit that only I can find in a serious alley crawl south of the border. Now, Mexico has its own version of the TSA. It's called the TdHdC. Which basically translates to Transportante de Horrible de Chupacabra. They descend upon you like a swarm of flies before you get closer than 20 feet to the check-in counter, seize your luggage, spread it out on banquet tables and begin to rummage through it like they were at a flea market. OK, I'm used to that so I'm not paying attention to what is going on until I notice that Sea Squirt has this rather shocked look on his face that was a bit deer in headlight-esque and he's staring over my shoulder. Then I turned my head and saw what was getting his attention. The TdHdC guy has just opened my first suitcase and is starting to go through my shaving kit. What does he have hanging off of his rubber gloved index finger? A cascade of 4 cock rings. One metal, two leather and one a combination of the two. Oh, fuck... And btw, I do indeed travel internationally with a selection of those things. Yes, I am indeed THAT gay...
Suddenly I find myself between a rock and a really shitty place. Sea Squirt is beside himself, I'm trying not to burst into laughter or make myself look like I have a couple of kilos of coke up my ass and I'm desperately trying not to strangle the rancid old queen at the table to my left who is getting her luggage raped but is snickering at what is happening to me. Well, since I didn't know how to say "baby bracelets" in Spanish (which I knew stood a snow balls chance in Jalisco of even getting remotely airborne) I was considering just pointing at the rancid old queen to my left and starting to scream "Le Bomba!!! Le Bomba!!!" at the top of my lungs. Which, btw, does not mean "bomb" in Spanish as much as it means "water heater" but I figured, what the hell, I have nothing to lose at this point. Then I hear the sound of grinding metal as all of the gears inside TdHdC guys head lock as he finally realizes just exactly what he has hanging off of his finger actually is. At that point I am resigned to being led away to a small, windowless room and forcibly strip searched by a crowd of badly uniformed Federale's who are all making a rather unsettling sucking noise through their teeth and saying something loosely translatable as "Hey, Bay-bee!!! Hey, Bay-bee!!!" while they make me dance on a table for them.
Luckily, calmer heads prevailed. TdHdC guy slipped the chandelier of cock rings back into my shaving kit, zipped it up, put it back into my suitcase, closed it and then proceeded to grab all three of my suitcases off of the table and took them straight to the check-in counter with a look of disgust on his whitened face which, I might add, is quite difficult for a Mexican national to attain. After he gave my luggage to the ticketing agent he grabbed the bottle of hand sanitizer from the counter and drank it. Two minutes later we are ticketed, boarding passed and on the escalator up to the boarding level, where I immediately plant my ass at the first bar I can find, slam a couple of shooters and then head to the Duty Free area to fill my empty shoulder bag with a couple of more bottles of tequila and a carton or two of more cigarettes. Needless to say, Sea Squirt was appalled at my bravado. Fuck him.
Guess who sat directly across the aisle from me from Vallarta to O'Hare??? That snickering, rancid old queen who was not at all happy since she had gotten her luggage dumped completely out on the table and had been put face up against a wall and patted down like an illegal alien. Hey, bitch, what comes around goes around... I happily drank my way to O'Hare and relished on the two contraband apples I had stashed in my shoulder bag. Apparently, if you distract security with some rather unsavory sex toys they just don't seem to care that you're smuggling produce...
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Amy Winewhore...
Let me preface this by stating that I am a firm believer in kicking them when their down. Especially if they are 6 feet down. Then I kick them even harder. Why? Because they can't fight back and if they're 6 feet under it's more than likely due to stupidity on their part. More on the "Darwin Awards" in a bit...
Which brings me to Amy Winehouse. Just typing her name makes be shake my head in bewilderment. I will be forever linked to weirdness in a truly strange way... She died on July 23, 2011. My birthday. If I ever get that as a Trivia question I am SO snagging a piece of the pie!!! Now, in all fairness, I did think she had a truly amazing voice and I loved the way that she barged through life like a rhino on steroids. Which apparently was about the only class of drugs she wasn't abusing. Schedule One's, Schedule Two's and a variety of Schedule Three's seemed to serve as a form of mother's milk to that train wreck. Oh, yeah, and let's not forget alcohol. That seems to have served as her alternative to oxygen from all accounts. She passed out on stage more times than I have been served with speeding tickets. She had more ink on her body than she did pink and had a fascination with over the top bouffant hairdon'ts that would make even the most seasoned drag queen run for the exits. One of the more exotic traits that she exhibited was in her touring contracts. She demanded that she be given a private dressing room and that it be stocked with two (yes, two) cases of Chivas Regal. That clause may have played a factor in the passing out on stage thing...
Yet, she had a wall of awards to her credit, including 5 Grammy's that she won on a single night which included 3 of the big 4. Tony Bennett recorded a duet with her and described her as the single most amazing female performer that he has ever encountered. OK, either she was really fucking amazing or he's so damned old he puts his Depends on backwards over his head!!!
So, she dies on my birthday. She was 27. Why do they always managed to die at the age of 27??? Her death did not surprise me. I waited with baited breath for the release of the coroner's report. I could only imagine that they would find enough drugs in her system to perform a root canal on King Kong. Guess what??? Nothing. Nada. Zip. She was clean. And just to deepen the mystery the coroner reported that all of her internal organs appeared to be in a healthy state. WHAT??? At the very least I was expected to hear about a liver that looked like something out of the Petrified Forest.
OK, so I'm getting my hair cut today and a "News Of The Weird" blurb comes on the radio and it's about Amy. The medical examiner released her official cause of death. Of course, my ears perked up. Would you believe "wreckless misadventure"??? Something to do with a blood alcohol level of .53. .53??? .53!!! Holy shit, what did she drink, fucking Milwaukee??? I cannot comprehend a blood alcohol level of that amount. Hell, I can't imagine having the ability to successfully find my mouth after I hit a .3 let alone maintain the ability to keep pounding them down to achieve a .53. Let's just say that I was sitting in the chair giggling my ass off at this news. Of course, my stylist is completely unfamiliar with the term wreckless misadventure so I had to explain it to her. I started out with the self-inflicted injury route but that just didn't seem to carry the weight I was looking for so I just jumped right into the Darwin Award's category. Which, btw, are ALWAYS awarded posthumously. It's just the nature of the beast. Think of that news story we hear every 4th of July of the idiot who blows himself up lighting off fireworks outside of his single wide while smoking a cigarette and standing next to 5 gallon can of gasoline. Or the idiot who takes his Hummer H3 out on the lake to go ice fishing. Or the idiot who decides to put his car battery in the oven to keep it warm in the winter. Oh, wait a minute, that was me... Or, my favorite, the idiot who climbs up to the top of his silo to get a really good picture of that funnel cloud. #1, you are too stupid to be allowed to live anymore and #2, you actually do pose a serious threat to the gene pool. My stylist, bless her heart, understood perfectly. Or so I thought. She asked me if the awards were televised. I mentally penciled her in as potential nominee.
Which brings me to Amy Winehouse. Just typing her name makes be shake my head in bewilderment. I will be forever linked to weirdness in a truly strange way... She died on July 23, 2011. My birthday. If I ever get that as a Trivia question I am SO snagging a piece of the pie!!! Now, in all fairness, I did think she had a truly amazing voice and I loved the way that she barged through life like a rhino on steroids. Which apparently was about the only class of drugs she wasn't abusing. Schedule One's, Schedule Two's and a variety of Schedule Three's seemed to serve as a form of mother's milk to that train wreck. Oh, yeah, and let's not forget alcohol. That seems to have served as her alternative to oxygen from all accounts. She passed out on stage more times than I have been served with speeding tickets. She had more ink on her body than she did pink and had a fascination with over the top bouffant hairdon'ts that would make even the most seasoned drag queen run for the exits. One of the more exotic traits that she exhibited was in her touring contracts. She demanded that she be given a private dressing room and that it be stocked with two (yes, two) cases of Chivas Regal. That clause may have played a factor in the passing out on stage thing...
Yet, she had a wall of awards to her credit, including 5 Grammy's that she won on a single night which included 3 of the big 4. Tony Bennett recorded a duet with her and described her as the single most amazing female performer that he has ever encountered. OK, either she was really fucking amazing or he's so damned old he puts his Depends on backwards over his head!!!
So, she dies on my birthday. She was 27. Why do they always managed to die at the age of 27??? Her death did not surprise me. I waited with baited breath for the release of the coroner's report. I could only imagine that they would find enough drugs in her system to perform a root canal on King Kong. Guess what??? Nothing. Nada. Zip. She was clean. And just to deepen the mystery the coroner reported that all of her internal organs appeared to be in a healthy state. WHAT??? At the very least I was expected to hear about a liver that looked like something out of the Petrified Forest.
OK, so I'm getting my hair cut today and a "News Of The Weird" blurb comes on the radio and it's about Amy. The medical examiner released her official cause of death. Of course, my ears perked up. Would you believe "wreckless misadventure"??? Something to do with a blood alcohol level of .53. .53??? .53!!! Holy shit, what did she drink, fucking Milwaukee??? I cannot comprehend a blood alcohol level of that amount. Hell, I can't imagine having the ability to successfully find my mouth after I hit a .3 let alone maintain the ability to keep pounding them down to achieve a .53. Let's just say that I was sitting in the chair giggling my ass off at this news. Of course, my stylist is completely unfamiliar with the term wreckless misadventure so I had to explain it to her. I started out with the self-inflicted injury route but that just didn't seem to carry the weight I was looking for so I just jumped right into the Darwin Award's category. Which, btw, are ALWAYS awarded posthumously. It's just the nature of the beast. Think of that news story we hear every 4th of July of the idiot who blows himself up lighting off fireworks outside of his single wide while smoking a cigarette and standing next to 5 gallon can of gasoline. Or the idiot who takes his Hummer H3 out on the lake to go ice fishing. Or the idiot who decides to put his car battery in the oven to keep it warm in the winter. Oh, wait a minute, that was me... Or, my favorite, the idiot who climbs up to the top of his silo to get a really good picture of that funnel cloud. #1, you are too stupid to be allowed to live anymore and #2, you actually do pose a serious threat to the gene pool. My stylist, bless her heart, understood perfectly. Or so I thought. She asked me if the awards were televised. I mentally penciled her in as potential nominee.
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