#winterstorm

Why I love winter...

It's sort of amusing that the Weather Channel has been running a spot called Why I Love Winter. I typically mumble obscenities in response to it. I tend to get really feisty when it comes to my double-barreled hatred for winter. Lock and load, baby.

I stood by in a state of disbelief as a former co-worker would always say "Isn't it just beautiful!" when the first signs of snow began to emerge from the clouds and piss upon my parade. My wiseass response was usually something along the lines of "It would be much more picturesque if it was on fire." Fiery snow would be pretty beautiful especially if it fell in the night.

When it comes to the subject of snow removal, I still love the idea of dousing the shit in gasoline and lighting a match. While it is a rather pricey endeavor, it would be quite a sight. Add a voice-over to make the snow screaming out in pain and that's video magic. Pure gold, but let's not go where the huskies go and thus avoiding the yellow snow. Charred pavement where the snow used to be is where it's at and to my knowledge, two turntables and a microphone are not really necessary.

Getting back to the original idea of why I love winter. I don't love winter. I think it sucks ass. I will never get enough of iced over windshields, frozen locks, dead batteries, treacherous roadways, wind chills that make a member of the clergy let rip with a outburst worthy of a sailor with Tourette's, and standing in a hellacious line for foodstuffs and supplies with the kind of people that only Kentucky could spawn. People who appear to be straining to max out at 40 watts in a 100 watt world. Since I'm asshole to elbow with them in line, I'm not even sure that my glow is hitting the 40 watt level. I'm just a quick flicker and fade as I stand there in a slow-burn rage. I stood there thinking about how much fun it would be to kick the old guy at the pharmacy in the back of the legs as he went on and on with chatter that was completely un-necessary at best. Of course, he would then be forced to kick my ass and it's bad for morale to have your ass beaten by geriatrics. Thankfully for all involved that it didn't involve fisticuffs. After having my ears abused, my mind numbed and a handful of time shaved off of my lifespan, I was finally able to sashay out into the rain/sleet/freezing rain or whatever the hell it was falling at the time.

If the forecast pans out, we're in line to get a wonderful little stew of snow, sleet, freezing rain, ice storms and any other form of precipitation that Mother Nature can douche out of her nether regions. Okay, so being able to share that mental image is one reason why I love winter. Another is being able to use a phrase like "Meteorological Douchebaggery." Aside from these two factors and the lack of bugs, I am hard-pressed to find much of anything that I like about winter. 'tis the season that dons the gay apparel of assless leather pants with matching biker's cap, listens to show tunes (when not playing the entire Toby Keith catalog with great gusto) and totes a riding crop.

It's cold as a brass monkey and a fellow could lose his bearings out there. Not to mention that the witch has her high beams on.

Giddy up!

Daddy.

peace and harmony.

Peas sell...but who's buying?

...But I Know Crazy

Seen here, a young Mr. Bloggerific Himself preparing for future battles over...packaging that sucks!! Hiiiiiii-YA!!

Take that...Dell...with your extra little packing tape on the foam surrounding a laptop!! SO not needed and...annoying!!

My New Bathroom in the New Building

Jerry's not Here, But here is the YPS!! Telethon

The Adicts - Walk On Live 2008

Plucky Duck In Boat Gogo Dodo In Bathtub

Back in the day in the day when Mr. Bloggerific Himself worked for the McDonald’s Corporation he was in the office and talking on the phone with his supervisor. As you may know, Bloggy is easily distracted.

While his supervisor was speaking, Bloggy was pacing back and forth in the long, but very narrow office. Along one wall was the filing cabinet and computer, and along the other wall (which was supposed to be kept clear) were several stacks of boxes. Bloggy barely paid them any attention as he paced, but at one point he looked down and noticed that all the boxes where upside down, and he couldn’t read the print. He knew, of course, inside were Happy Meal Toys, but he couldn’t tell which. Something was different about these boxes. Oh, the cheap cardboard was the came. The crappy stamped on print was the same, but this time, there was more text. Quite a bit more text in fact and so, intrigued, Bloggy bent over and began to read.

Not surprisingly, he could not understand what he read. He leaned in for a closer examination. He was still on the phone, but he re-read the text on the box and became thoroughly confused. So confused in fact, he forgot he was on the phone and began to read aloud, interrupting his now upset supervisor.

For clarity’s sake, he read slowly and for the third time, “Plucky. Duck. In Boat. Go-go. Do-do. In Bathtub?” Bloggy demanded, “What the hell IS that?!?!?”

His trying to bust through the confusion, “What’s what?! Are you even listening to me?!!?!?!” But he wasn’t, and he didn’t hear that either.

Again, he read, this time giving it a more casual read, “Plucky duck. Ah, ok. It’s a plucky little ducky, oh, and he’s in hims wittle boat!! Go-go Do-do. Oh! It’s a little birdy what wifs likes to get hims wittle freak on…heh, and he’s all nekkid in hims bafftub!” Immediately, Bloggy sat the phone down, grabbed his pocket knife and tore into the box to examine.

Some twenty years after this experience with packaging that sucks, Bloggy still has Plucky Duck in Boat. (He never managed to obtain a Go-go Do-do in Bathtub, but clearly remembers his special name.)

Ron Asheton, 1948 - 2009

This year is off to a rather shitty start with the death of Ron Asheton of the Stooges. At least, there was time for some new music, some shows, and credit where credit is due before he died.

the power of advertising.

Thanks, Phil.

Philip Parris Lynott

August 20, 1949 - January 4, 1986