Self-Portrait.

Yes, YPS!! faithful, it's storytime yet again. Put on your protective eyewear, comfortable shoes, and clothing that does not bind in any way. Otherwise, I am in no way responsible for injuries suffered from this shit. ANY of this shit. Nary a speck of the shit, so gently apply the brakes on your litigation. Settle down, relax, and it will be relatively painless. Of course, "relatively" is relative and since I am getting bored with stirring this shitpot of an introduction, I will shut the hell up and get on with the damn story.

On Wednesday afternoon, I'm out wandering aimlessly at the workplace and when I got back to my office, one of my most favorite of co-workers informs me that a student called in with a technology-related question while I was out walking the Earth. This student couldn't remember my name and therefore had to describe me to said co-worker. As you will no doubt gather from the image, I was described as...

Tall
Dark Hair
Weird
Devil Stuff

By this time, the co-worker was getting a great deal of enjoyment from it all and as soon as I heard the story, it made my day. Hell, that is the nicest description anyone has ever given of me. Tall, I guess so. Dark hair, what's left of it, yes with some gray thrown in for kicks. Weird, you damn right! Devil stuff, well, I do try. Okay, the devil stuff in question is my skull ring and Motorhead necklace.

But the story doesn't end here. No, no. My stories usually do not end until someone tries to render themselves deaf by jabbing an ice pick in their ear, they jump from a tall building or the paramedics and/or cops are called.

Put down the ice pick, dammit. It's almost over.

So I call the student back, sufficiently answered the question and as our conversation is nearing the end, the asshole side that makes up the vast majority of my personality took over and said "So...what's the deal with the 'devil stuff'?" The conversation got really quiet after that and if I was going to add a sound effect, it would be the screeching of brakes on her end of the conversational pipeline. She sort of stammered out an explanation before I let her off the hook by saying that I got a kick from it. A nice guy would have just let it go but an asshole would make a mockery of it all.

I am an asshole and assholes don't sway.

Groomed Packaging

Mapmaster Bone presents...

Log Lick.

Cheers to Unrequited Love – or – Tanned Contest Winners

And so there I was, in my backyard, minding my own business. I had my dirt bike turned upside down and was working on the chain and tires. I’m not sure how many times it had happened, because I was pretty focused on getting my knobby wheels aligned. (Watch it.) But something allowed me to become aware that someone was whistling. It wasn’t Dixie, or any other tune, it was one of those “Hello! I-want-to-fuck-your-brains-out!” types of whistles. I sat up, and tried to not be obvious as I began to look around to see who the whistler was, and more importantly, who was the whistlee.

I saw no one. Not a single sunbather, yard mower or fellow bike-mechanic could be found, much less a whistler or a whistlee. But now it didn’t seem to matter, as the whistling had stopped.

I took advantage of the break in excitement to reach over and get a drink. It was a very clear and very hot summer morning. Back then I had the habit of putting a Tupperware cup nearly full of water in the freezer just long enough to have an outer layer of ice to form. I’d use a butter knife to break a hole big enough for a straw.

Just as the lip of the cup touched my lips, I gently tipped it upward so the water-filled ice tube wouldn’t slam into my face as I tried to cool myself off. As the water started to dribble, another whistle came. It was slightly louder and seemed closer and more pointed. It startled me and caused the ice to slam into my face. Oh yeah, I was a smooth operator.

I dropped the orange Tupperware tumbler out of my dripping face and looked around as another “Oooh baby!” whistle shot right into my ear. This time I was able to zero in.

Two houses down, or up in this case, up on the second floor was my darkly-tanned neighbor smiling from her tiny bathroom window, “Are you deaf?”

I heard the words, but I wasn’t listening. Her cute little nose, bright white smile and little round cheeks caught me off guard and I shouted, “What?!” I was confused when she burst into laughter and then I realized what she must have said. She unfolded one of her arms from under her tiny chin and held up one finger and told me she’d be down in a minute…right after she got dressed. Without moving her head from the windowsill I realized that her bare shoulders were moving and she reached and grabbed a towel. She never once stopped smiling as she wrapped herself with the over-sized white towel and quickly stood up. My eyes only saw a cute girl in a white bath towel, but my imagination saw so much more.

Up until then, I’d resented her. Her family moved in after my buddy and his family moved out. Of course it wasn’t her fault he was gone, but still this GIRL and her sister were there. No more Hot Wheels in the dirt. No more peeing in the back of the house. No more playing with matches and getting told on by the nosey neighbor. All gone. All gone. All replaced by pink t-shirts, tight blue jeans, rubber “jelly” shoes, skimpy swimsuits and two sisters in shorts wrestling in the grass.

What was that boy’s name that used to live here again? Was he even in this house, or did he live around the corner? Who cares, the girls are laying out again!! Hot damn!!

I won’t state her poetic name here, to protect her identity. But, to give you an idea, saying her name paints the scene of a small forest in the early morning, as a thin fog is lifting and the dew is left behind. She danced like some funky chicken and had eyes that were both bright lights and dark tunnels at the same time. Her cheeks were so rounded it looked as though she had half of a large pearl just underneath the skin on both sides. She snorted if you made her laugh enough and then she’d pinch you so hard on the ass you felt like a wuss yelping out, but couldn’t wait until she did it again. And she did. Often.

A few times she would come to the door when I’d knock, and cut up and carry on through the screen, never actually opening the door. It was often dark in the front of their house, so I could never see beyond the entry way. After a few minutes I’d hear her mom yelling for her to “Close that damn door until you get some clothes on!” Talk about your pounding heart move from your pants to your chest! That’s what happens when having thoughts you’re not supposed to have at the same time the mother of the person you’re thinking about is one room away.

Later she’d come home from winning a tanning contest in tears. The other contestants had accused her of being “naturally dark”. Stunned that she was vulnerable after all, I offered what comfort I could as she tearfully demanded, “You’ve see how much I lay out. Haven’t you? I use tea. That’s how I get so dark!” She was right, she did lay out a lot and she did use tea and I did see her do all these things.

Boy did I ever.

I always wanted to ask her out, but we never dated. We got along like we could, like we should, like we were. But we weren’t, we didn’t.

But that didn’t stop me from working on that bike in the backyard as much as I could. It didn’t keep me from stopping by hoping she’d answer the door, only not to come out on the porch, or to pinch my ass if she did. It didn’t stop me from getting jealous when I’d see her sneak out of her bathroom window, jump down on the roof of the porch on the first floor and slide down the pole so she could go see her boyfriend.

Those were the years I became me more so than any other time I suppose. Connecting with people in the neighborhood, exploring boundaries, making mistakes, making choices that grew into regrets and lost opportunities and most of all, making memories.

Written By: Bloggy Jr - Directed by: Bloggy Jr...

Meat Products: Brought to you by, CK!

Mixed-Media Packaging

The boy and I rented a DVD and got very tickled at what we found inside.

Blockbuster Video....Your Packaging SUCKS!!

Quote of the Day (two days after Benito Juarez' birthday edition)

"What you're doing is no different than what I'm doing. It's just plotted at a different point on the graph. It's really no different than the child putting crayon to paper in order to depict the truth. Everyone has their picture of the truth and none more true than a truth untainted by age and indifference. Growing old tends to destroy complete layers of truth like implements of construction taking down hills and mountains in the name of progress."

Gleepin', Gloppin', Glutton

Well allllriiiiiiiiiiiiiight! I've got somethin' ta say.

Sold! Get Your 8 Pack TODAY!!

Blogger is starting to really suck. At least one can get a good deal on a piece of ass.
Wicked Action Shot! Tx to Hello

I have another image I TRIED to post from home, in addition to this one, but Blogger wasn't coopoerating. Bitches.

Stooopid Blogger!

How can I wish Office Type and ...that guy...whatshisface...good luck and congratulations if Blogger.com won't let me post the image I labored over?!

Grrr!

I was trying to let you all know a certain person got a ring placed on her finger this weekend with hopes of the wedding to happen SOON. But, I guess I can't. I'm just typing into space my well-wishes.

Stoopid Blogger.

On the Way to Womack

We were lucky enough to catch Mr. Womack again at the coffee shop. He was under the weather, so I opted not to bother him with my camera. He also had a couple of opening performers with him this time that weren’t too bad. We didn’t actually watch them closely however, as they played a little too loudly for my boy’s taste and we chose to sit in the closed-door smoking room and listen through the vent. Tommy sounded fine, but at least 72 times I miss-called the title of the song just beginning. Guess I was off my game. I blame IHOP.

1. First very own box of Red Hots! Though he ended up only eating one or two and Daddy had to eat the rest. You know, so they wouldn’t spoil
2. Flashlight readied for in-car reading after the sun goes down
3. MULTIPLE perfect attendance awards
4. Fake heartburn (from candy)
5. One selection from the collection of the Captain Underpants series
6. T-shirt hidden from view with “Tommy Womack is a personal friend” right on the front
7. The best boy ever
8. Homemade Captain Underpants bookmark

The YPS!! Staff: Starting the Shopping Season Earlier and Earlier

Happy St. Patrick's Day from YPS!!

Say hello to an Irish Setter, listen to lots of Thin Lizzy, and have a Happy St. Patrick's Day.

A Boy, His (Son’s) Dog and a Sink – or – Doo Doo Doo, Looking Out My Kitchen Window

You’ve seen the spinning pussy! But now you can see just one of the many, many, many ways I annoy the crap out of my (our) puppy Jack.

I hope it’s clear enough to view. But here’s the setup:

Whenever Jack goes out and I see him standing on top of the old sandbox that hasn’t been used in ages, I am forced to annoy and distract him from his watchful duties. He gets on top of this thing to get a better view of the world while he’s guarding the homestead…well and to keep his wittle footsies dry. Anyway, when he’s up there, this is how I distract him. (Unless it’s dark and then it involves a laser pointer.)

As a warning, I am in no way a drummer, so please forgive me.

What the hell am I talking about? Watch the vid for crying out loud!!

Bloggy's Combination Green Tea-Shirt and Personals Ad

I thought this might make for a nice t-shirt and personals ad all-in-one.

Talkin' shit from the middle of nowhere.

The Butthole of My Cat

The Butthole of My Cat
----Mr. Bloggerific Himself, March 2006

Sometimes I sit around
Not wantin’ to do a thang
I gaze upon my monitor
And thank up somethin’ strange
But then one day my brain just froze
And nuthin’ could I thank
And that’s when I looked down at
The butthole of my cat

That’s when I looked down at
The butthole of my cat
I can’t believe I looked down there
It didn’t have no hair
I looked and looked and looked until
I thought it spoke to me
So gently I got down on
Down on bended-knee

Sometimes I sit around
With nothing on my mind
I can’t think for nothin’
And my noggin’s in a bind
It grinds and groans and grinds and groans
And grinds and groans some more
My gaze falls across the floor
And I spy a nekkid hole

That’s when I looked down at
The butthole of my cat
I don’t have no words to say
I couldn’t look away
The little o-shaped piece of flesh
Made me moist in my swimming trunks mesh
A yearning built inside of me
And nearly released my pee

As reality starts to focus in
On payin’ bills and washin’ drawers
I decide to get up from here
And whip up a mess of candy-appled ‘smores
The ingredients aren’t hard to find
At your local convenience store
Just walk across that rubber matt
And ask my good friend Matt

That’s when I looked down at
The butthole of my cat
It’s a good thing we’re all alone
and turned off the telephone
We can take comfort in our company
cuddled together we flick away the fleas
Huddled close upon our throne
without a chaperone

without
a
chape-
rone…HOOT

Da Pulse

Da Pulse

It’s time to take da pulse of the blogosphere.
Try to find out, just what’s happenin’ here.
Tell us what’s up with the usual spunk.
Whether it’s ick
funk
a whole lotta junk.
(Or if you just wanna get crazy drunk.)

Does it seem to you
it’s on the downswing?
Moving targets
feel less sting?
Gotta keep movin’
at the right pace?
Got somebody up
in yo face?
Ready to get the fuck up
outta this place?

Maybe it’s all on the
re-verse
You got no reason
to wanna curse.
For you
THIS is the right way.
You have no troubles
to make your mind sway.
Everybody’s letting you
have your say.
You don’t feel the need to say
“That’s gay.”

What I’m trying to say
in my strange unusual way
is that it’s time to check in.
Park next to the computer
and plug in.
Speak up now
and let out
what’s in.

Don’t feel the need
to lay it all on the line.
Just a word or two
to say “I’m doin’ fine.”
Because what we get from you
is the worst and best of you.
And it’s only YOU…

who we’re tryin’ to hear.

-Mr. Bloggerific Himself, March of 2006

3 Bits O' News

Part I:

Part II:

(Yes, I realize that the title is claiming 3 bits, and I assure you, all 3 are within the two audio files.)(Heck, I might even come back and put up a photo.)

Bloggy Jr is Workin' Blue

New addition to the Disgraceland decor...

Disgraceland just gets classier and classier.


MONKEY MAN
(M. Jagger/K. Richards)

I'm a fleabit peanut monkey
All my friends are junkies
That's not really true

I'm a cold Italian pizza
I could use a lemon squeezer
What you do?

But I've been bit and I've been tossed around
By every she-rat in this town
Have you, babe?

Well, I am just a monkey man
I'm glad you are a monkey woman too

I was bitten by a boar
I was gouged and I was gored
But I pulled on through

Yes, I'm a sack of broken eggs
I always have an unmade bed
Don't you?

Well, I hope we're not too messianic
Or a trifle too satanic
We love to play the blues

Well I am just a monkey man
I'm glad you are a monkey, monkey woman
Monkey woman too, babe!

I'm a monkey! I'm a monkey!
I'm a monkey man! I'm a monkey man!
I'm a monkey! I'm a monkey! I'm a monkey! I'm a monkey!
Monkey! monkey! monkey!

Who is responsible for this bullshit?

Microfiber is an agent of Satan and it's doubtful that the dark lord even likes the shit. Why? Because He can't be a blue-eyed devil in a shirt that has got a fucking powerhouse of static cling brewing within.

I wash the shit with kid gloves (not the kind of kid gloves that Michael Jackson is likely to wash and why he's washing them in the first place...damn "DNA" stains), use my dryer sheets like a good boy, and within ten minutes of putting on my suave ass shirt, it's clinging to me like a drunk crack whore after a substantial financial transaction, a fifth of bourbon, and a rock. That is some serious cling, folks.

Sure, this crap doesn't require ironing, but fuck it. As much as I hate ironing, I would much rather iron something or even go wrinkled than deal with the ordeal of static cling. Of course, I find out ex post facto from the fairer-sexed co-workers that there is indeed some kind of anti-static cling spray and I guess I missed that infomercial and didn't pay attention in chemistry class that day.

Regardless, I harbor one hellacious resentment toward the person or people that invented the microfiber shit in their laboratory of evil. It's probably the same fuckers that created Toby Keith from the tainted sperm and egg of a challenged pair of jackasses and spawned the uber goober that he is today.

So the next time I pull one of my four microfiber shirts from the hanger, drape it over my carcass, and let the static cling circus commence, I will truly know that...

MY PACKAGING SUCKS!!

Nanner Chips

All Packaged Up In Manners -- or -- Smile and Grin and Shine!!

I Got Yer Card...Right Here!!

It's been a while since I've fired up a rant of less than epic proportions, but I will serve no rant before its time.

I'll be damned. Would you look at the time!

While I appreciate discounts, coupons, and other assorted perceived benefits to me, the consumer, as much as anyone. Well, probably more than some but less than a lot of folks. It would appear that I'm in the murky, gray area somewhere betwixt the two. I'm not a big coupon person, because that requires a level of organization that is really a strain on my already straining brain. My organizational style is what you could possibly refer to as "Modern Chaotic." I won't say that it necessarily works for me, but it has yet to get me arrested. It's probably obvious that it hasn't gotten me killed either. Unless it's (pardon the pun) a ghost writer doing the typing. Although a ghost writer would probably have more decency than using a profile picture of a douchebag. I have no shame. I am shameless and fancy free.

Since I am not a coupon-clipper and I'm not observant enough to really pay attention to sales, that leaves the 00's equivalent of the exclusive country club. Yes, the discount card.

While I am sure that they probably weren't the first, one of the area grocery chains was the first place I noticed the discount card offer. Sign up for the swankier than swank club and they will pass the savings on to you. To make it even easier on you so that you don't forget your access to endless savings, they will even give you a beautiful little card that will hook on your keychain. Unless you lock your keys in your vehicle from the excitement of it all, you will have your exclusive club card with you. Whoopie!! If you lock your keys in your car, you're pretty much shit outta luck unless you have a baseball bat or other blunt object on your shopping list that can break glass. However, you'll be paying retail until you can provide the cashier with your card, Bucko.

Again, I appreciate their simulated generosity, but what I don't like is their diligence, persistence, and sassiness.

Anyone that has visited a store with one of these card systems is probably rolling their eyes just thinking of the harassment that they've suffered at the hands of these gatekeepers of savings. You accumulate your mass of consumer treats, goodies and supplies, then make your way to the finish line to wait in line with a truckload of mindless zombies. When it's your chance to spend quality time with the cashier, the first question they throw at your head is "Do you have your _______ (fill in the blank with a snazzy card name) card with you?" No "Well hello, friendly shopper, you're looking simply smashing in that radiant outfit." None of that shit. You generally get the aforementioned terse question.

If you say yes, then you have to dig out said card from your collection of wallet-sized nudie shots of Bulgarian midgets in various states of undress and perversion. From my own experience, that can be somewhat embarrassing, especially when animals are involved. Household pets tend to raise fewer questions and sneers, but when we're talking barnyard animals or woodland creatures...look out.

If you say no, then you are officially opening yourself up to one hell of a sales pitch and/or guilt trip. Chances are good that they will try to convince you to join the ranks of the happy multitudes who have already joined. If you have the sheer audacity to say no, you're going to get the guilt trip. "You'll be able to save 2.3% on your next purchase of Field & Stream and our brand of bandages, but if you don't want to save money..." By this point, the mindless zombies standing behind you are slowly transforming into belligerent mindless zombies ready to hop on your back and ride your ass out the door like some kind of terror picture rodeo.

It's not that I don't want to save money, but I just don't want the hassle of keeping track of some gay-ass card and having to pull it out of my sleeve like some kind of magician. If you want to give me the discount, then just give me and anyone else that crosses the threshold into your store the same discount and cut the shit. But oh hell no. It doesn't work that way. Not anymore.

They give you a pretty card and discounts, because they care. Of course, they will also track what you buy and probably use that in court should you ever be brought up on some kind of fuckered up deviancy charges. This is precisely why I buy oddball items that I don't need should I need to plead insanity in the future. As a backup plan, I also gave them an alias and a fake name when I signed up for the card.

This is additional proof that I am an asshole.

Quote of the Day (the other day edition)...and surprisingly vulgarity free.

"For such a small dog, he's quite the urinary machine."

Bloggerific Flashbacks

THIS kind of bird. This kind of bird EXACTLY as a matter of fact!

He was easily one of the funniest, nicest guys on the planet - my uncle. He could "play a song by ear" on his electric organ. Center, holding a younger cuter me, is the person KY Brat and I referred to as "Aunt Ick." She once made me a turtle pillow that I was very fond of. (I had two turtle pillows [one red, one purplish], not sure if she made them both, but I loved them equally.)

I took this photo for a high school photography class. She was my great grandmother, and she was indeed great. With an apricot tree in her backyard and the notion in her mind that peas, corn and lime Jell-o should be served with pizza. (Or "peessa" as she called it. hehe)(Oooh! She also had a pet bird! Bleck!)

This was often my playground. Many hours would be spent here as a young and impressionable Bloggerific. I watched soaps, Phil Donahue and the first piggy-back Space Shuttle launches on that tiny TV. This is the business my folks have run for several years in town. Though in a different building now, it’s still in operation, and actually doing better than ever.

Oh Brain...

Yes, I’m serious. And no, I don’t have a terminal illness (that I’m aware of). And no, I’m not suicidal. And no, I’m not taking drugs.

This offer good to Brain ONLY.

Sit and Rotate! -- or -- Spinning Pussy!

Eat your heart out, Archie Bunker.