Shoes On The Highway

On many occasions, I’ve been minding my own business and driving down a highway. Out of the blue, there is a shoe lying on the roadway. This has happened enough times that I’ve made mental notes about it.

The last time this happened, I questioned the origin of these shoes. Where do they come from and why is it always only one lone shoe? There are the questions that I would like answered and with no reasonable answers provided, I’ve come up with a few of my own.

Perhaps someone is tooling down the highway and scanning the wonderful selection of tunes provided on the radio dial. They settle on a station playing some crappy Elton John song, which segue ways into an incredibly nifty song that literally blows a shoe off and out the back window. Since most radio tunes clock in at about four minutes and most cars are traveling at the allotted speed limit (work with me here), we’re talking several miles. Is it really worth the time to backtrack that many miles for a tattered Nike with much road wear and a lace that is hanging together with one thread and a prayer? Probably not.

Personally, I will swerve across many lanes of traffic just to run over an abandoned flip-flop. If ever there was a footwear faux pas, it would be the flip-flop. Time permitting, I will even get out of my vehicle and club these shoes with a tire-tool or any available blunt object. Hopefully, this senseless act of violence would forever silence the hellaciously annoying sound that these shoes make. Excessive? Perhaps, but I tend to be an extremist.

Another theory involves someone hitchhiking a little too close to the traffic and in particular, one of those gas guzzling bastards from Hell, yes, an SUV. One SUV going at a good clip would hit a body so hard that it would only leave a shoe. The rest of the person would look like an incredibly life-like hood ornament. Grizzly, but life-like and also missing a shoe.

The Graffiti Files--Episode 1: They don't write bathroom graffiti like they used to. Apparently the Pistons even rule a bathroom stall in Owensboro, Kentucky.  

Ride 'em Cowboy!!

Howdy!!

Play this delightful audio post that accompanies the image of a young, innocent, Mr. Bloggerific Himself.

(This is the 2nd to last horse Bloggy would ever ride on.)

I Too, Can Have Redneck Qualities.

And so can you.

This Match Man does not live on my desk at work with the others. He was created the night of the visit to Bw3s.

Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello

I didn’t memorize all of Jeff Foxworthy’s redundant commentary on rednecks and am therefore not certain if being a redneck is something you’re born into, or something you become. Being from Kentucky, that most likely makes me an automatic candidate in some people’s minds. I don’t give a shit. (That last statement doesn’t help, but I don’t give a shit.)

Us bloggers seem to enjoy playing with words, I know I do. I have pointed out my wonderful ability to unintentionally post the incorrect word at times…and how I actually choose to do so. What I don’t think I have talked about much is my use of “southern slang.” Most of the time the use of southern slang IS intentional. In my typed and spoken word posts, I pile on the this n that’s of southern style for fun. I have had the pleasure of talking to some of you on the phone (or you may have been the unlucky recipients of one of my voice mail bombs) and you have, knowingly or not, had the experience of my borrowing slang from my neighbors of Kaintuck to spice up my speech.

At the office I tend not to do this so much unless I’m able to get comfortable with you on a more personable level and can let my guard down, and my redneck up. I also attempt other patterns of speech, one of which I have been told a certain person does not like. (It’s been 5 minutes, so it’s time for me to do my “Apu” again. Yeah!)

If you listen to the following audio post, please expect the following, however successful it is or isn’t:

1. Curse words a’plenty.

2. Odd sounding audio as I was recording this while driving on the busiest road in our lovely town. I WISH I could say that places where there is a slight echo, or some weird feedback was intentional, or edited in for effect, but it’s straight cellular technology.

3. A hunked-up redneck drawl that could be possible only from living life in Kentucky.

4. Complete off-the-cuff commentary as I’m zipping through town. This was not scripted; you will easily notice I am sure.

I hope you enjoy. If you do not, I do not give a shit. (OK, I do, I’ll be wounded if you don’t like it, but work with me here folks.) (Constructive criticism accepted when accompanied with home-baked brownies.)

Fingers are crossed this crap posts. I've been without my Internet connection ALL weekend until about 30 minutes ago. Sucky ISP Packaging!!

Does it not suck when

Does it not suck when your net connection is down for the entire weekend? Looks like Monday before I can post normal.

Destructive packaging.

And package destoryed.

What Part Are We On Again?

Out on the Prowl: Slight Return

Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello

Seen here, an Owensboro resident walks his dog in protest of sucky packaging. These two put forth great effort and although the pooch is still in the right frame of mind, the Tin Dude starts to stray from the path.

Also shown is how The Great Packaging Gnome arrives in style in his search for the packaging that sucks like whack. Do you not agree that it is one wicked cool ride? Vroom, vroom baby!!

We See Your Sucky Packaging!!
Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello

Musical Teachings

WARNING: THIS IS A TAN GENT POST!!

*Updated* A few words from the YPS!! Board of Directors concerning the first official YPS!! contest.

Here we have two boob photo submissions that drove the gnome into hiding. Exhibit
A. Exhibit B.

Woo hoo to ~J~!! What a cutie!! (And the baby boy's cute too.)

Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello
Avante guarde boobage via EmGee!!

The FIRST pre-contest submission. Ahhh yesssss! Ferst is gewd! Thank you Miss Kitty.

Fortun(@)e Son

I usually take great delight in cracking open a fortune cookie and reading the words that have no chance in Hell of ever actually happening to me. Sometimes, I get the fortune that makes no sense at all. Other times, I strike pure gold and such is the case last week. We were having an informal meeting of the YPS!! Board Of Directors at the town's choice Chinese restaurant and going over our plot to take over the solar system. Being bad and nationwide is one thing, being bad and global is a notch higher on the coolness scale, but being bad and interplanetary is the shit.

At the conclusion of our power lunch, I cracked open the cookie and this is what I saw before bursting into a fit of laughter.

The challenge has been thrown down and now, I am on a quest for...(dramatic pause)




socks.

12 Ounce Mouse.

This has nothing to do with packaging, but simply a head's up about a new TV show with a fine group of gentlemen providing the theme song. The show is 12 Ounce Mouse which just happens to premiere on Cartoon Network this fine evening, so check the proverbial local listings forthe important crapola. The gentlemen providing the tune are none other than Nine Pound Hammer.

Baby-sized Packaging!!

Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello


This morning the 2nd brother to Bloggy Jr. was born!!

Just over a year ago Bloggy Jr 's mom and step-dad helped bring "Baby Bubber" into the world. Today, with your help, we welcome their latest addition: "Baby Baby Bubber" !! Coming in at 20" & 9lb 3oz, BBB arrived EARLY this morning via a scheduled procedure.

All is well we have been told, though we have yet to make it for a visit.

I took the day off to be with Bloggy Jr and may or may not be blogging today. Have well-packaged fun for me!



Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello

**Contest Ended** Don't Have Sucky Packaging!! WIN The Swag That ROCKS!!

It’s time to share the wealth! We don’t have any, so here’s the next best thing…Your Packaging Sucks!! Swag! YOUR TWINS, COULD WIN!!

Anyone game for a contest? The Staff at YPS!! are, and have we ever got one for you. It’s harmless, it’s fun & won’t YOU be the stylish one?!

The winner will receive one large, white t-shirt proudly displaying the Your Packaging Sucks!! logo on the front, and the Packaging Gnome on the back with sign language alerting any onlookers behind you that indeed, their packaging sucks!!

And now, in a tip-of-the-hat to the Fairly Odd Parents, Da Rule Book:

1. SUYT!! – Yes, that’s right. As you know, here at YPS!!, it’s all about the packaging and more specifically in this case…YOUR packaging...and YOUR boobies. So grab a friend/loved one/cohort or a tripod and get those cameras, and boobies, flashing.

2. The winning submission will be the first to email a good and clear photo to Bloggerific@gmail.com at a date and time to be specified in another post.

3. The winning submission will be a photo of the winner’s boobies wearing either a bra or a bikini …although non-clothed submissions are STRONGLY encouraged.

4. The winning submission will be holding a printed copy of the YPS!! logo next to, but not obscuring the clothed boobies in one hand and an object of his/her choice in the other.

5. The sender of the winning submission will be notified via email and will be asked for a mailing address to mail out the YPS!! swag as soon as possible. We want you to wrap those winning boobies with the love that is only found at YPS!!

Any questions?? SUYT to win! (Just remember to wait for the appropriate date and time …to be announced in a separate post. This will give you time to focus on the boobies and make it more fair. Keep in mind we’re talking CENTRAL Time Zone here folks.)

Please feel free to post a link on your blog so we can have all sorts of fun entries. (Or hog it to yourself and have a better chance.)

We will be asking politely to POST THE WINNING BOOBIES ON THE YPS!! BLOG. It’s YOUR blog, and you’re already a winner in our book, so SUYT and share the love!

**Date: Thursday, June 16th Time: 12:32 - you know, the one just past NOON - CENTRAL TIME ZONE -- That's it folks! You've got a week to get your mamms in front of the cams and flash your way to the victory circle!! Remember, this is NOT a beauty contest; it's about taking your boobies across the finish line....FIRST. So on June 16th, starting at 12:32 CTZ on the dot...the FIRST boobies across the line that follow Da Rule Book can be wrapped in stylin' swag and you won't be no hag.

The Errors of My Weighs - or - Up Scope

Picture now, words later. (MORE words later ya smartass.)
Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello


And now, words…


This morning I read a lovely post by a fellow blogger. Very good post, very nice photos. My posts are so freakin’ far from perfect, it AIN’T funny. On this other blog, I did notice two tiny areas that might improve the clarity of the post for other readers, even though it was easy to see what the poster intended. So, behind the scenes I dropped a note and said something eloquent like “yo, dude, sup?! Check it, yo.” Rather than getting hate mail in return, my note was well received.

Later in the day I would go on to royally screw up in a few comments, as I usually do. Most of the time I catch them and correct them before (I hope) most people see them. Sometimes I say screw it and leave it. But what bothers me is when I use one word, but really mean another. I do it ALL the time. Sometimes it’s on purpose to be funny, but sometimes I show how stooopid I really am.

Today’s stooopidity was “utter.” What JACKASS uses “utter” instead of “udder?!” Hell, I live in Kentucky, I’ve seen cows up close…I’ve taken pictures of the bastards, and still I said “utter.” Big deal right? “It’s just a stooopid blog.” I know, but that’s not what bothered me.

What bothered me was that I didn’t realize I said “utter” instead of “udder” until I got to Wal-Mart. Yes, I realized the errors of my WEIGHS while in line to buy some Benadryl. I look to my left while the lady is getting my crud and there it is…”Udderly Smooth Foot Crème.” I said to myself, “Damn. You jackass. You said utter, not udder. Well, fuck it.”

But then, as the B’dryl chick was walking up I was like, “Wait a fucking minute!” (No, not to the B’dryl lady.) “Wait a minute, nobody returned the favor!! I am a dumbass, I fucked up, and nobody called my ass on it…and it took some sucky packaging for me to realize it…I need a tissue…whaaaaaaaaaaa!”

So I buy the crud thinking it would go nicely with my foot-shaped bottle of peppermint and plum foot soak. I bring it home and take 2 photos. Both blurry. “What the?!” So I decide I needed something to prop it up on and I look to the left to see the remnants of what was this weekend’s toy store. Now I’m sure I’ve said before my living room looks like a toy store, and that’s not an exaggeration really, but this weekend the boy and I played “toy store”. I wanted to call the store “Doomafloppies Crap & Crud” but after the laughter was over, Bloggy Jr. thought it best to go with just “Doomafloppies Toys.” Of course I said, “Booooooooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiinnnnnnnngggggg!!, but…ok.”

One of the items available for sale was this fine periscope we built last summer. It went for a large but fair price, which made me swell with pride. (Hey, watch it!)

So when I was looking for something to prop up my Udderly Smooth (Hey, watch it!) I saw this periscope and had the same exact reaction I’ve had like 10 times now. It’s funny how the human brain doesn’t work sometimes. You know, how something that surprises you once can keep on taking you by surprise?

When I see this box, with whichever side is facing me, the hole is always covering up “TR” so all I ever read is “IPOD.” I immediately think, “where the hell did I get an Ipod box and why the hell do the dumb asses have such sucky packaging?!” Count 2, 3 4… “Doh!”

So of course I HAD to use this sucky packaging to elevate the other sucky packaging to better highlight it, and the error of my weighs.

Woo hoo! I make such a good jackass!

And now, Derek the Tree.

Bloggy Jr has made an appearance, but for the first time..Derek the Tree.

I wanted to plant a tree when Bloggy Jr was born, but being the non-outdoor person that I am...it got put off...and put off. Once in a while I would think about planting one on his birthday, but it didn't happen. Today our doggie Jack finds his way under the fence and into the neighbors yard. Twice. (I guess our yard packaging sucks!!) So while at Lowe's picking up some heavy gauge galvanized wire Bloggy Jr suggests we get a tree. How can the father of the best boy in the world say "no" to planting a tree when it had been a thought all along? Procrastination ain’t so bad when a wish comes true.

So until I get the bill from the credit card company, Derek's ownership will be a bit in limbo...but he'll be surrounded by love...and since the fence has been mended, doggy urine.

Can Derek the Tree get a YPS!! saaaaaaaaa-lluuuuttte??

(Oh, and yes Bloggy Jr provided the name and picked him out of a huge line-up.)

Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello

Bone and Bloggerific On the Prowl: Part 5 minus 1

Awe, pooey!!
Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello

A grand tour of Disgraceland...for the office type(s)

After many years of working for the lovely establishment that I do, I was genuinely shocked that they would offer an office to a certified oddball such as myself. I was raised to be an individual and even at an early age, I exhibited warning signs of strange behavior. From playing "Patty Cake" (whatever the hell that is) with my feet (I'm told that it should be done with the hands) to always going backwards in whatever mode of kiddie transportation my ass was plopped in, the warning signs were firmly in place.

It seems a request was put in by one of Tres Angeles for some photos of my office and as honorary Charlie, who am I to say no. So without a lot more of that adieu stuff, here is my office which I have lovingly christened "Disgraceland." I was too lazy to lift the blinds and thus, I offer an insincere apology. There's also one of these thingies on the same window.

The first thing folks see is the door. I didn't design it that way, but it generally makes it easier to get into the place. Rather than have a naked door out there for all the world to see (and not tuck dollars into the door frame), I put a little ornamentation on the thing. Subtle, but it's there. Other than that, it's just a door, but it serves me well. Thank you, Mr. Door, now sit your ass down and act accordingly.

Once the door has done its thing and you stand there gazing at the office in all its wide shot glory, this gives you an idea of what you might see.

Dead ahead and if you strut your ass into the main office suite and just happen to peer through the glass in my door, you can see this here file cabinet with my beloved "Destroy what bores you on sight" sign. I snagged that little chipper item over at a website that shall not be named lest I get the tight, white, and with a lotta might types after my mostly harmless ass. On top of said cabinet looks a lot like this. What we have here is a mailbox (which is actually rather uncluttered at the time of the photo and this is pretty damn rare, I might add), a purple candle (unlit), a pumpkin with some kind of plant in it, an action figure of Ace Frehley of Kiss because he is the coolest member of said band, a vital organ of our interactive television system that has since crapped out and taken up residence in my little slice o' Heaven, and a can of Whoop Ass. The can has yet to be opened, but it is locked and loaded to be opened and spring forth the wrath on some unsuspecting fokker or fokkette, as the case may be.

This is a view from the vantage point of anyone brave enough to sit in the chair for my guests. While they can be disgusted from the clutter, their attention usually goes to this little jewel that someone in our office planned to throw away. If you look closely at the pushpins, they're shaped like little stomachs. Here, let me help you with a zoom. Why anyone would want to throw away such a kick ass item is beyond me. It was saved and now adds class and sophistication to what could be the Buckingham Palace of the office suite. If anyone is wondering what it looks like from my spot at the helm, it's kind of like this. You'll notice that nary a soul is here to visit. Sad. For yet another zoom, click on this! For those with an eye for detail, they may think that it's actually a Fat Albert action figure, but nay nay, sinner, it's my buddy, Buddha. He's sitting there all sassy-like. Major religious figures can get away with that where mere mortals such as myself can't.

On the wall near the cabinet, we have the home of a celebrity and his buddy, Twinkie The Kid. If you don't recognize said celebrity, shame on you. They like to keep a clean place, so they have a trash can in close proximity. They also keep a section of PVC pipe just in case the threat of violence arises. They ain't above or afraid of kicking a little ass.

In the other corner, we have my computer with a cavalcade of kick assity going on. Some of the bastards that live on this block of the street include Johnny Bravo, Ozzy, a skeleton prone to doing headstands, the evangelist's arch enemy...the purple Teletubby, and the ZZ Top car. The car actually looks much larger in videos, but this is the real car. Yep. Uh huh. We also have a Hot Wheel shaped like a toilet. It's called Hot Seat and unfortunately, I couldn't get a good shot of it since it is still encased in its plastic and cardboard packaging. Right beside ol' Hot Seat is Cluckers. This is the chipper little chicken that likes to shoot bubble gum eggs out of its ass. Of course, I will give you a gratuitous ass shot. Nice ass, huh? Also lurking in the corner is a kick ass piece of art given to me by a supremely great lady who made a jailbreak from this place. There's also a purple rabbit wearing black shoes and a Motorhead necklace. It's not as cool as my own, but dammit, this is some bad ass shit right here.

On the wall, there is a calendar from the local Chinese restaurant of choice. I don't have a nifty link for them, but what the hell. Good food and I hear that some folks like-a da fish. Myself, I am more of a Chinese chicken kind of dude, but that's beside the point.

The main focal point of this trainwreck is the shrine. Yes, it's a $3 poster living in an $80 frame. I really took a beating on that one thanks to the damn oddball size of the poster, but I asked myself "What would Lemmy do?" Lemmy would probably have spent the money on bourbon, but I opted for the poster.

So that's it. I think it's pretty cool and has a certain amount of myself injected into the decor. With all great tours, things must come to an end. Rather than doing that gay-ass crap they do on MTV's Cribs, I am going out with style.

Introducing: The Tan Gent & "Open Letter to Santa"

We have a few more “On the Prowl” pics to assault you with, but in the meantime I thought it might be good to introduce The Tan Gent. In moments of weakness, my mind may wonder…shocking as it is…away from packaging. In these moments I may lean on The Tan Gent for his strength, words of wisdom, and dashing good looks…and make a post completely unrelated to packaging. Bone Machine of course has fewer moments of weakness than I, but may allow the power of The Tan Gent to enter his posts as he feels the need.

I now give you the first The Tan Gent posting:


Open Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

Our town got very hot this weekend. In a word, it was, “icky.” I know I don’t need to tell you Santa, but I’m a wuss, and I do, I find anything over 86.5 just a little too hot for me. This weekend it got to…(ominous music) the 90’s. *Wilt*

Now, I know I wasn’t a very good boy this past…uh...couple of decades…but could you have one of the nice reindeers to fly over and breathe a little of that magical coldness on us now and then throughout the summer? Is that a Jack Frost thing? Should I contact him instead? (Ooh! Think he would let me borrow those cute little pointy shoes…oh never mind.)

I promise not to hog all the cool air to myself. The entire planet could benefit from a nice cool outlook on life.

Now, I don’t want go messing up any kind of ecosystem-natural-weather-patterned-bla bla bla, but sometimes “less, is more.” When it comes to heat, less of it is more pleasantries from my mouth, less hatred toward my fellow man.

So, thank you for your consideration Santa. Please remember, when it comes to the natural wealth of the Northern cold, “share that shit so I won’t bitch.”

Thank you, your humbled Elfin cookie eater,
Mr. Bloggerific Himself.

Bone and Bloggerific On the Prowl: Part (whichever comes after II)

IF, I only...had a brain...I would while away the hours, conferrin' with the flowers, consortin' with the rain...
Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello

Bone and Bloggerific On the Prowl: Part II

Alien Mutant Bovines, Set Laser Vision to Charbroil!! [Deep in the heart of the BBQ Capital of the World.]
Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello

Outside the YPS!! Offices: Bone and Bloggerific

...On the prowl.



This was intended to show you the fine YPS!! Swag...but as fate would have it, my inner aura (a nice purple) did not allow the logo to be fully displayed.




Here we have the gratuitous Whoopsie!! Ass Shot.

Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello

Sealed For Your Protection...And Your Aggravation.

Before YPS!! became a gallery for photos of obscene hand gestures and a place to declare Toby Keith a menace to society, it was about the packaging. Not all packaging, mind you, but packaging that sucks ass. Since we live in times of great paranoia and political correctness, we couldn't very well call this place Your Packaging Sucks Ass!!, because someone tight, white, and with a lot of might would bring the hammer down on two backwoods boneheads for flagrant use of the word "ass" while letting other, more volatile sites run rampant in the devil's playground with their smut and danger. The truth of the matter is that inclusion of the word "ass" was never even a consideration, because "Your Packaging Sucks Ass!!" doesn't roll off the tongue with the youthful enthusiasm of "Your Packaging Sucks!!" It is the !'s that command respect and demand the throwing of money (and nudie pictures) in our general direction. While you are very loyal (we do appreciate the loyalty), but you're stingy with the money and the nudies. We'll let that slide, because we like you. We like you a lot.

In past exposés, we’ve cussed and discussed products with packages that are real bastards to open. With some products, it’s the package itself and others, it’s the protective measures taken to prevent spoilage, cheap bastards from stealing the shit with the packaging that sucks (!!), the threat of the product being tainted by some schmuck with basic knowledge of chemistry with a vendetta to poison your unsuspecting ass, or a combination of them all. Regardless of the motive, the point of this shit is simple—when did products officially need to be sealed for our protection?

I’m not throwing out the question as a segue way into a detailed historical essay on the rise and fall of the sealed and protected society. However, I am just as confused as anyone. Those people that know me will confirm this fact and testify that I am actually more confused than most. I’m a damn over-achiever in the confusion department, but for the most part, I mean well.

While I am certainly no religious expert, but I do not recall any mention of vacuum packed apples being offered from an organic grocer in the Garden of Eden. It could very well have been a tainted apple that led the dudes in Iron Butterfly to hallucinate themselves into In A Gadda Da Vida, but again, I do not know. Perhaps it was a rhubarb pie laced with rat poison or a moldy squash given by a member of the Hatfield clan to someone in the McCoy family. One thing led to another and before we knew it, the shit had indeed hit the fan and everything was encased in some form of shrink-wrapped chastity belt to make our post-purchase jubilee into a trip to Hell without the postcards.

I have only vague recollections of the days when you could buy a jar of mustard (this was the pre-squirt bottle days, kiddies) and not be drawn into a battle royale with the protective seal while your food grows cold and you get angry. It shouldn’t have to be this way, but thanks to a handful of rat bastard motherfuckers out there, it now does have to be this way. It’s a dog eat dog world where everyone is out to get us including our mustard-clad hot dog.

I have to wonder if the very people that our protective seals are protecting us from in the first place hate the seals as much as angry bastages like me. Does the person that went on the Tylenol-tainting spree in the late 70s or early 80s have trouble removing the outer wrapping before dealing with the child-proof caps that only children can open? If so, that is a case of the bird of karma coming home to roost.

While I should be happy that manufacturers are working hard and flexing the thinking muscles to make sure I get a jug of Bugs Bunny vitamins that haven’t been doused in kerosene, but in all honesty, those protective measures are just a pain in the ass. But I do thank them for their efforts, even if their packaging sucks!!

Greetings from the YPS!! legal representative. 

I Sleep Like The King

Sorry ‘Scilla, but I, I, I sleep like The King.

When it works perfectly, and that’s not as often as I’d like, I really do sleep like The King. Now maybe she was exaggerating for the media, or maybe I’m just remembering incorrectly, but I’m thinking that ‘Scilla mentioned this during an interview about life with The King. It seems as though she claimed that “E” liked to have the bedroom very dark, and very cold. That it was almost like sleeping in a dungeon or a cave.

I’m that way.

If I get really good sleep it’s when the room is DARK, QUIET and COLD. I don’t know if that’s a guy thing, a weird thing or what, but I know it’s a ME thing. In addition to the dark quiet cold stuff, I also have to be covered up. Now what is up with that? I have to be cool to cold to sleep, but I also have to be covered. I am nothing if not a man of great contradictions. Also, I can’t sleep with a shirt or pants, I get too hot. I can literally wake up in the middle of winter wearing nothing but my boxers and covered with nothing but a sheet…and be sweating like I mowed the back 40.

Recently someone mentioned how they can’t sleep if their partner is sleeping soundly because they tend to hog more of the bed when they’re sound asleep. I thought about where I sleep, sound or not, and it seems like I’m all over the map. I start off on my back so I can stretch out the old and aching bones, but I can’t sleep on my back. I must be on my stomach or my side to stay asleep. Oh, and I can’t have had any caffeine after 3pm. Also, I’m screwed if I take any type of pain or sinus medication less than two hours before going to bed. (Of course my allergies keep me awake too, so I have try and see into the future early enough into the evening and take my allergy medicine then so as to avoid the medication dilemma AND the allergy problem.) I also have to have had something to eat within the past couple of hours, or my tummy keeps me awake. I even try to avoid ANY liquids during that last hour or so.

NO socks. Socks will keep my unhappy ass awake all freakin’ night.

No pets of any kind are allowed to be in the bed during the attempt at sleep. (This rule is set aside on the nights my son sneaks a stuffed animal friend into my bed so I won’t be alone. Thank you sweetie!)

Also I can’t allow myself to think about relationships or money before trying to go to sleep. This is like handing a puzzle-geek a Rubik’s Cube already messed up and tell him not to try and solve it. Yeah, it’s just not done. Even the guilt of having purchased that $2.99 “Buck Pets” CD at CocoBallz is enough to cause the loss of 2.67 hours of sleep.

Of course there are times, such as times of deep, deep depression (or illness) that I can stray from this detailed path…but I have to be bummed like crazy. Once in that state though, I can sleep in blue jeans, on the couch…and get this…during the day. Whoa, now that’s some depression (or illness)!

All these scientific studies on sleep deprivation and how the lack of sunlight causes depression and makes us feel sleepy all the time seem almost like a waste. I feel more tired when it’s a cloudy day, I don’t need a study to tell me that because that’s what yawning is for. (Streeeeetch!)

Regardless, if I slept well or not, I can still get out of bed tired and grumpy as a mofo. All that effort, down the shitter. I shower, I caffeinate. Nothing. Nothing but puffiness, eye boogers and a “get out of my FUCKING way” attitude. Muttering to myself, “I followed the steps. Darkness, quietness, coldness, boxer-shirtless, hunger-less, liquid avoidness, thoughts of no stress…good sleep. Why do I have such bitchy packaging?”

Then I giggle and smile to myself. “Bitchy packaging.” Hehe. “Hell yeah baby! I got me some bitchy packaging and you bess not mess wit da bitch!”

Now I’m good to go ‘cause I got me some bitchy packaging, I had a nice Ding Dong in plastic packaging (thanks to 1/3 of The Angels) and I’m about to go have an inexpensive lunch at Tico Taco Hello Bello with 2/3s of THE Angels…with which I have a lovely relationship.

Oh yeah, my shit will be sleeping tonight!


“Johnny Knoxville is hot!”

(Insert sound of screeching breaks.)

Yeah, one of The Angels said that…and the other agreed. If 2/3s of The Angels think he is hot (and maybe the other, she’s not here to ask), I don’t have a chance in hell. Just when I think I understand a smidgen of women, and get just a tiny tiny glimmer of hope… a “Johnny Knoxville” comes along and screws it all up.

So to you, dear reader, please let me know: Johnny Knoxville, hot or not?

Answer if you will and please, forget all about my need for sleep and having a sound mind and package…just the facts. Does Johnny…ewwww….do “it” for you? I really must know. Is he a “keeper”, a “sleeper” or do you just wanna sex him up and dump him?

[I promise to respect your opinions and will appreciate your input.] [Gag.]

End of Days Packaging

Don't leave home without it!