I remember Halloween.

Considering my dark and gloomy outlook, it's probably no big surprise that Halloween is my favorite holiday (with Groundhog's Day as a close second). As a child, it was an incredibly big deal. As an adult, the day has all but dried up and fallen off like a scab. Deep down, I still love it and wish that it was more like it used to be or even a reasonable facsimile. It's not and that probably won't change anytime soon.

Even though my observation of the day has basically been reduced to the annual dusting off of my Misfits and Danzig collection for a few days and the distribution of mini-sized candies to those willing to brave the mean streets of Owensboro. It borders on the pathetic, but I haven't fully realized just how disrespectful I've become to the holiday. It's unintentional, I assure you.

While I don't do much to enjoy the day, that doesn't stop the mind from summoning entertaining ideas that are nothing less than entertaining themselves. In my profession, it seems that I've been given an abundance of time to crawl into the dark recesses (yes, the nooks and the crannies) of my own mind and do an uncommon amount of thinking. Quite often, these thoughts involves ways of blowing the minds of those around me if for no other reason than to entertain myself. It borders on performance art at times.

At my workplace, there is an annual chili cook-off to benefit the United Way. Basically, each building chooses a theme and various folks make chili that will be sampled and voted on by the patrons. The various concoctions are in the running for the best, the hottest, the weirdest, etc. The workers in the building dress in costumes that reflect the theme, but I guess that's a given.

I'm usually too busy or too lazy to contribute a crock pot o' chili, but I have given some serious consideration on the types of chili that I could make to clinch a prizes. Although I don't think actual prizes are actually awarded. They do it for the glory, baby.

Now that I think about it, I'm not sure that weirdest chili is even a category, but I think throwing a lump of shit or a Stuckey's Pecan Log (the official stunt double of shit) would easily take the title. As far as the hottest, I would think that chucking a gallon and a half of Chinese mustard (which I think is a key ingredient in fireworks) would probably make people spontaneously eliminate on the spot and that kind of power is better than any trophy. I figure that the kind of chili that I would make just might kill someone and I don't want to go to jail for chili.

Our building's theme was Dismal Rock, which is a book by some dude about farming, coal mining or something Kentucky-related. I haven't read the book and know nothing about it. I figured that most people would be dressed as coal miners, farmers, etc. and where's the fun in that? It's just not there. Being a wise ass, I decided that I would take the subtle approach and wore my Joy Division t-shirt. Why? Because Joy Division's music is pretty dismal and they rock(ed). I knew that I would spend the day explaining most of my costume ideas anyway, so what the hell. I was shocked as I was staggering through the hallway to have one dude acknowledge the shirt and he knew of the band. I nearly shat from the shock of it all.

Aborted Halloween costume ideas:

--Angus Young--A suit jacket, dress shirt, a pair of shorts and a hat with horns and voila! It's an Angus Young costume. If you're asking yourself "Who is Angus Young?", there is this band called AC/DC...

--Devo--Devo's official site has their yellow pseudo haz-mat suit with the Devo energy dome for sale and while that's about as stylish as it gets, I knew that I would spend the day explaining what the hell a Devo is. "There's this band called Devo..." It just didn't seem worth the hassle, but I like Devo.

--a large intestine--I'm not sure if I have any kind of explanation for this one outside of the fact that it would be pretty damn weird.

and saving the best for last...

A white suit, white shoes, and a black tie and go as Tattoo from Fantasy Island. When the idea hit me, I made a beeline for the office to share the wealth of weird. It's what I do. It goes back to that performance art thing. I throw out weird shit and wait for the reaction. The dialogue went something like this:

me: I have another idea for a Halloween costume.

office worker: What?

me: White suit, white shoes, and a black tie...Tattoo from Fantasy Island.

(uncomfortable silence)

office worker: I think you'd make a better Mr. Roarke.

me: No, Tattoo was the midget.

(I left them with the idea of a 6'4" crazy ass bastage dressing as Tattoo for Halloween and walked out the door)























Anyone for some music? Hit it, Ringo.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN from the gents at Your Packaging Sucks!!

Lunch with my MUCH Older Sis

I claim I'm coming for the pizza and to spend time with my sister, but here's the real reason I walk over to the elementary school where my sis has worked for the last three eternities. (Told ya she was OLD.) I get to meet new students each year. I am not there to give them homework and tests. I'm not there to scold them for running in the hall. I'm not there to do much of anything but to see if I can make them giggle. Sometimes I get lucky and they do giggle. Most times I bring a toy from my work desk, but yesterday I didn't. There's a rabbit in the classroom, a big bathtub in the corner to read in, and sometimes there's a pigeon sitting on the window ledge. (For a while they had a chicken, not sure what happened to it.) (also it feels like I've posted about this before, but I'm old, so I'm bound to recycle once in a while)

Also, that's my new work place they're building and the bottom one is the front of the building and it actually looks like it may have a window or two.

In honor of Circus Kelli's birthday...

Have a chilled beverage and hopefully she will provide the birthday cake.

...and people think I am the weirdo.

I have a tendency to wander through life minding my own business for the most part and somehow, the weird shit has a way of finding me. It's not like I actively pursue it, but it always finds me. Maybe it's because I am one of those social deviants that actually appreciates the weirdness floating in the air. In a weird way, I am sort of grateful for it.

The freak magnetism has been an ongoing phenomenon for more years than I care to admit. There was the time that a friend and I made a trek to Nashville, sans tickets, with hopes of getting into a very sold out Tool show in '94 (before they got boring, played arenas and became a poor man's Pink Floyd). It was a club show and well worth the $10 that it cost us to bribe the security dude at the stage door. Anyway, we were heading towards the venue and stopped for a piss break at a convenience store on Shelby Avenue in Nashville. En route to the pisser, there was a Rastafarian dude with a fish in a styrofoam cooler standing by the restroom doors. He was willing to part with the fish for a modest amount of money. I think we hooked him up with a buck or two and requested that he please keep the fish. This ain't no freakin' Long John Silver, Marley.

There was also the time that long-time associate Jason and I were accosted outside of the Barnes & Noble in Evansville, Indiana by what can only be described as a dancing street preacher named Tony. I'm only speculating that he saw two shaggy-headed dudes that he figured were in need of some serious saving. He was probably right. Once he started his rap, there was no stopping him. We were looking at each other with complete and total WTF expressions and this was before Tony started doing some kind of deranged jig to get our attention. He gestured towards a church over on Lincoln Avenue as some form of salvation. Of course, this just opened wide the gates of wiseassity and one of us asked if he was referring to the Hooters. And yes, there is a Hooters in close proximity to said church. As we made our way to Jason's truck, I wasn't sure if we were about to be robbed, hit up for cash (which is a non-threatening way of being robbed) or have a ride bummed. Thankfully, it was a none of the above scenario. The kicker is that Jason saw our pal Tony again outside of the same Barnes & Noble. Ol' Tony may be a lover but he ain't no dancer.

Back in my art major days, there was a gent named Ron that showed up to the art domain out of the blue. He supposedly rode his bike from Chicago to our little burg which is like a 6+ hour drive by automobile and I would guess that it's a damn sight longer trip via bicycle, especially when the bike is a child's bike of a more feminine variety. Not that there's anything wrong with that other than the things that are obviously wrong with that. Ron had a fucked up bird's nest of a hairdo, a shaggy goatee before the trendy boys commandeered the look and eyes that screamed Helter Skelter at stout volume. In other words, he was sort of throwing off a bit of a Chuck Manson vibe minus the forehead swastika. I always made it a point to be kind to Ron in the event that he ever snapped like a twig and went crazy ape shit bonkers in the place. He had this idea of running for senate, which sounded completely insane at the time, but nowadays, it almost makes sense. Ron just sort of disappeared one day and maybe that's a good thing for all involved.

Obviously there is no shortage of insane tales involving the YPS!! staff. Many of which have been documented and will likely continue to be shared because we like the attention.

Cut to the present. It's no big secret that I am the resident kook in the workplace because to the white and uptight there, I am just completely out there. When you're dealing with so many that are devastatingly tight-assed (and dare I say boring), it's not overly difficult to stand out from the pack. Not only is it not difficult to do so, it's also a shitpot of fun. I actively work on ways of freaking them out simply because I can. Like the time that I mentioned that I might put a toilet seat over my office door like a horseshoe and turn it up so that the shit doesn't drain out on me. More recently, there was an incident on the main campus that was rumored to have involved guns and was actually reported as simply being a couple of fights breaking out. After the smoke cleared, I called a contact down there and asked him if he'd step into the hall and yell "HE'S GOT A GUN!" and then added "No wait, there was no gun, so would you mind to step into the hall and yell 'HE'S GOT A CLINCHED FIST!'?" He didn't take me up on that kind of performance art and maybe it's for the best.

Cut to the even more present present. I walked into my classroom and saw the student talking on the classroom phone. I wasn't really paying attention to the conversation because it was none of my business, it's rude, and quite frankly, I just didn't give a shit. However, I was about to be pulled into the conversation and have my mind simultaneously blown into a mix of fine powder and confetti.

The student, who we shall call Emily because that's her name, was in the process of ordering something and asked me if she could have it sent to the university in my name. Well, that is a tad odd, but what the hell, why not. I figured that it must have been some materials associated with her class or something vaguely university-related. After she hung up the phone, I got inquisitive and figured I should ask what might be shipped to me.

The finest Peruvian cocaine?

An authentic vase from the Ming Dynasty?

Illegal imported fruit from Central America?

I was in no way prepared for the answer that I was about to receive. Considering my own track record of messing with people, I may have even replied with a "Get the hell out of here" but that cannot be confirmed because I was too busy shaking my head with one of those cartoon head shake sound effects--IEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIE.

"It's a sheep's larynx, esophagus, heart and lungs."

"Beg pardon."

"A sheep's larynx, esophagus, heart and lungs."

"Let me get this straight. You have having a sheep's larynx, esophagus, heart and lungs sent here to me?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

That's a little embellished for the sake of art, but not too far from the actual dialogue. Once I had established that she needed it for a project in her Communications Disorder anatomy class, I guess it sort of made sense in a completely insane way. I guess given a choice, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Figuring that I should let someone in the office know what was going on, I made a beeline over there and started the conversation with "I have said some oddball stuff over the years, but what you are about to hear is likely to take the trophy for it." I explained the scenario to them and all things considered, they took it rather well.

I went back down the hall to the classroom so that I could ask more questions and what not. It's that what not that usually gets me in some level of trouble. I got back there to find out that the order had been cancelled because it did not include the larynx. Hell's bells, what kind of bullshit is that when you order some funky ass shit and it doesn't include the larynx? Oh well.

The story doesn't end there.

It was about this time that the mind kicked in and the weird got turned up a notch or two. I started having fun with the situation. I asked her if the folks on the other end of the phone went as far as asking what kind of things she had planned for the shit or if they just assumed that she was involved in some kind of cult. Then I asked if it would be possible to hook up some kind of air source to the stuff and inflate the lungs. That quickly spiraled out of control of wondering if the lungs could be filled with helium and use the esophagus as the string like some kind of fucked up balloons. This was especially important because the Christmas Parade is coming up and that would snag the attention of the natives without fail. Nothing says "Happy Holidays" like a set of helium-inflated sheep lungs while wandering the mean streets of Owensboro, Kentucky.

As it turns out, she ended up finding another place that had the complete set, including the larynx, and could have it shipped to her home. This reduced my participation to simply having an amusing (?) story to share with the fine patrons of YPS!!. I am sort of relieved that I don't have to explain to the UPS delivery person why I have a sheep's respiratory system mailed to me with Halloween delivery. That has got some kind of whacked out jail time written all over it.

"When the going gets tough, the weird turn pro" --Hunter S. Thompson

On the Menu...Beef, Bird and Boobs

Here at YPS!!...

Damn, we're smooth.

Even more holiday greetings...

HAPPY MOLE DAY from the gents at YPS!! and the one and only Lemmy Kilmister.



Cue the music, maestro...

In the event that folks think I am talking shit...

I proudly give you (dramatic pause)...

LUVLAVA.

monday blues...explosion

Put this in your pipe and smoke it.


Afro


Dang


Talk About The Blues


Sweet & Sour

I Can See Your Dinner!!

.

Quote of the Day

<-------Staff meeting notes for October 15, 2008


"They say that there are no stupid questions. I have found that there are indeed stupid questions. Stupid people usually ask the stupid questions and spending time trying to provide answers to the student questions from stupid people makes me stupid by association."














Finally! A holiday that I can wrap my mind around...HAPPY NATIONAL GROUCH'S DAY!!

Holiday Greetings!

Happy Columbus Day (observed) and Canadian Thanksgiving Day from YPS!!

On this special day, I'd like to personally thank Canada for giving the world Ruyter Suys. It sort of offsets also giving us Paul Schaffer, Loverboy, Bachman-Turner Overdrive, and Nickelback.



Then again, we gave them Toby Keith, so we should probably be kind to our Canadian brothers and sisters.

Cell Scenes, Another Bla Bla Bla w/Vid

Apparently, my car, it's like, gross. Nowhere near as perty as the painting in the men's restroom of the Famous Bistro in downtown O'boro. And taking photos of paintings in restrooms? Nowhere near as classy as a foil fowl and a foil bear, full of take-home goodies. (The foil fowl was full of a veggie grinder, and the foil bear --made at the customer's request-- was full of a ...well, I'll let Bone Machine fess up to what he ordered.) [Please note: the foil fowl is wearing a couple of additions. Those additions were made by myself in an effort to spruce the goose.]

WARNING: The attached 15 second clip was created PRIOR to consuming caffeine and/or Red Hots and/or Laffy Taffy and/or Double Stuff OREO cookies. Poster cannot guarantee sense will be made of said video. It was created with evil intent, but did not reach its full potential. Video should have contained a resident of downtown performing circus acts on his grandmother's Hoveround wheelchair. But, what with the timing of the traffic light, and the videographer's failed attempt at stealth, the following is what was recorded for posterity and is presented without editing. (as will be painfully obvious)(No, Dom DeLuise was not with us in the car.)

Bloggy's State of the Economy Post

When I was a kid (shush!) my folks had some customers in the exotic land of Hawaii. I guess pretty much anywhere on the planet, people look to Hawaii as paradise and, in that respect anyway, us Kentuckians are no different. I haven’t searched through the YPS!! archives, but it seems as though I may have posted about this fine couple in the past.

Anyway, the story goes that one day at the family bidness, a lady calls up desperately looking for a certain product from a certain company. You see, it was THE perfect gift (forjavascript:void(0)
Save as Draft her husband, I think) and she was unable to locate this object. She was keenly interested and had even contacted the manufacturer of this limited run item…who no longer offered the item. That company gave the woman a list of possible resellers that might have it. Eventually she got to Mom and Dad on the list and phoned up Mom. Item found, item sold, item shipped, customer happy and what ensued was a beautiful business and friendly relationship. Not just deals were made, but friendships were made, calls were made, letters were sent, cards were sent…exotic flowers were sent (get that Sqrrrrrlie Joe Bob? EXOTIC flowers even!!) and when Christmastime came, presents were sent.

Over the years, a framed gift arrived for me. It wasn’t the only wonderful gift I received, but it’s the only direct gift I got that was framed. (later I would end up borrowing a copy of ecologically oriented autographed prints from Dad and hanging them on the wall for several years. Get that HTGT? ECOLOGICALLY oriented and autographed even!!)

Anyway, I just thought this might be a *fun* time to post this image. It’s been on Bloggy Jr.’s wall for a while now.

The timing seems interesting to me. We have Baron Von GEORGE gunning for someone with a parachute. Maybe a golden one? Snoopy? Nah.

Thank you, Chuck Schultz, and thanks to the kind and generous folks that sent this along, 2-3 decades ago.

Comatose, but walking still.

Brokeback Mountain and its sequel. We haven't seen this many gay cowboys since the Village People held auditions.









After feeling like I had my thumb on the pulse of a dying wrist, I mentioned that I would be picking up lunch from Subway before returning to do whatever it is that I do in the workplace.


"Eat fresh!" was the reply.


"No. Like I said, I'll be eating at Subway."


I fired up the vehicular device and aimed it in the general direction of a fuel depot that also serves an adequate hamburger (when available), as well as the dainty-sized boxes of Red Hots and candy Heads--Grape, Cherry, and Lemon. They also provide a reasonably-priced bottle of root beer, excluding the time the cashier made a register faux pas and tried to charge me $6.99 American for a single bottle of Diet A&W Root Beer. It was a legitimate mistake and as much as I love the shit, I'll be tarred and feathered before I am dropping that kind of coin on a solitary bottle of the good stuff.


No sooner than I walked into Subway (Eat fresh, my ass), I was greeted with "It's the guy with the jewelry!" Yes, ma'am. It is me. Many folks go for diamonds, gold, and shiny shit. Not me. I go for skulls and the Motorhead logo. Rather than dress for success, I dress to distress. It's just what I do. On a prior visit to this very Subway, I was pulled into a lengthy conversation about my rather unique jewelry with this lady and being that I spend entirely too much time in a semi-comatose state in the workplace and am perpetually underslept, the weird is always ready to pounce like Cato in the old Pink Panther movies.


In this particular case, I really can't remember what was said, but I do know that I was in a particularly ripe combination of tired, depressed, pissed off, and generally pissy with the world, except the Subway lady that was about to use her artistry to make my sandwich. I wasn't so much as fearful of what she would do to my sandwich, but she was wielding a knife. It wouldn't be so bad if she'd hit a major artery and I could drop some kind of fucked up last words ("Viva le France" or maybe bust out a spirited chorus of Motorhead's "Killed By Death" and get the middle finger lifted before rigor mortis set in), but I didn't want to limp away from the experience. Apparently whatever was sad amused her and a gambling man would bet that it wasn't the usual banter that goes on in this kind of sandwich emporium.


I have this tendency to throw out oddball things when someone asks me how I am doing. Of course, most folks throw out the question and simply want a response of "Fine" so they can go back to their business. In my mind, I have never been merely fine a day in my life. Either it's flying above or below the fine radar.


Just last week, it was the day when the Gideons invade the campus and pass out their Bibles. When I was much younger, I worked a few buildings over and had a tendency to wander aimlessly. Each and every time I exited the building, the Gideon on duty offered me a Bible. Being something of a wiseass, I took it. By the end of the day, I had accumulated around 12 Bibles. I figured that a 6'4"-ish dude with long-ass (at the time), fucked up curly hair wearing some obnoxious rock and roll shirt would be fairly memorable, but I guess they just figured that I needed the Good Word and then some. After all, I was the rat bastard who accidentally wore a White Zombie "I went to Hell and all I got was this lousy t-shirt" t-shirt and stood outside of a Baptist Student Union meeting while waiting for the TV studio to be opened. Whoops. My bad.


Knowing my track record with the Gideons, I figured that I would play it cool and not give them a rough way to go since karma has been beating my ass like a rented mule lately and I need to get in good with the Man upstairs and quick. In other words, I need to get my shit together.




Seeing me arriving at the workplace, the Gideon on duty said "How are you today?"




I said what instantly came to mind--"I'm tired and I want to go home." I mean, hell, I didn't want to lie to the Gideon on duty. I was just telling like it is as they say.


He laughed and it threw him off of his game to the point where he didn't even offer a complimentary Bible to me or maybe he knew that my past escapades have me stocked up well past the expiration date in the Mayan calendar (Did the Mayans use Dilbert and shit like that in their calendars? This is the kind of thing that I need to know.) Knowing that it was about 8:15am and that I would be staggering out twelve hours later, I wasn't doing a damn bit of laughing. I was trying to retain the remaining traces of dignity and not cry in front of a Gideon or have a full-blown Tourette's Syndrome outburst. I managed to get into the building before getting wild.


I'd be lying if I remember any of the hi jinx once I entered the building. Since I have been doing 10-12 hour days since the semester's starting gun was fired back in August (not to mention missing cool shit like Motorhead, Henry Rollins, Jason & The Scorchers...), my days, weeks, and months feel like the glob of shit that one would pull out of a burning box of Crayola crayons. Fancy colors like Thistle and Maize become a funky-ass, dull shade of brown.



And in closing, I'd like to leave you on an inspirational note, because that's what I do.

Remember, folks. It's better to be pissed off than pissed on...unless you're into that kind of kinky shit. In that case, I guess the choice is yours.








Piss on, Ponce de Leon!







(An actual sign on the wall at the Jimmy John's Gourmee Sammich Shop in Evansville, IN)

More Cell Scenes From Owensboro, Bla Bla Bla

I know, I can tell, you're all pleased as punch. Try to contain yourselves, people.

'ried bologna on bun

Admittedly, I have eaten some nasty ass shit from vending machines, truck stops, Taco Bell (those Volcano Tacos are far beyond nasty), and yet even I have my limits.

Fried bologna on bun from a vending machine?

No, thank you.