I found a blog courtesy of Larry Wachs and www.regularguys.com called Trash Dog. I don't know who the guy is and I've only read one entry, but I like some of his ideas.

Now, I obviously am not in favor of all of these things, but they should make for interesting debate around the old beer table over the weekend.

His blog states:

IF I WERE KING:

YOU COULD NOT VOTE in STATE or FEDERAL ELECTIONS IF YOU COULD NOT IDENTIFY:

the President
the Vice-President
the Speaker of the House
your Congressional House Representative
your Senators
the Secretary of State

Reason: You are obviously too stupid to vote!


B.) YOU COULD NOT, have Children if you are earning MINIMUM WAGE.

Reason: You can't afford them, don't expect somebody else to pay for them!


C.) IF YOU ARE ON WELFARE:

1.) You Could NOT buy a Lottery Ticket.

Reason: You are pissing away OTHER PEOPLE'S MONEY!


2.) You Could NOT buy anything but cheap cuts of meat, (neckbones, ox-tails, pigs feet, etc.) with your FOODSTAMPS.

Reason: Why should you eat Steak when the people you are getting your money from are eating Rahman Noodles.


3.) You Could NOT Buy cigarettes or Alchohol.

Reason: IF you smoke your are an IDIOT, if your buying booze, use that money to feed your sorry ass instead of using MY money!


4.) Every Child you download while being on Welfare would immediately be put up for adoption, no parental rights, no contact period!

Reason: Why the hell are you having kids when you won't even support your own sorry ass!


5.) When you swiped your EBT card or turned in FOODSTAMPS at the grocery store, a giant red beacon at the register would start flashing and a loud alarm would sound off to let every tax payer in the store know that another sorry-ass is buying food with THEIR money!

Reason: Maybe if you were humiliated every time you spent someone else's money, you might get off your sorry ass and get a job!

D.) IF YOU WANTED GUN CONTROL

You would have to put a sign up on your front door stating that there are and never will be guns allowed on this property.

Reason: Criminals would LOVE you, and they just might stay away from me and my family!


On a note that will not have me accused of being a racist or a facist, Lauren got to go fishing for the second time in her life last night after I got home from work. Uncle Todd and cousin Jack were going and invited us, and that's a pretty nice gesture coming from an angler as serious as young Jack.

At 8 years old he doesn't want to corn or bread fish with bobbers under the dock. He wants to baitcast and look for lunkers. He was very patient with Lauren (as he often is) and she had a great time.

Lauren only stopped catching fish when she was tired of fishing or watching me chase crickets that fell out of the bait box. In about 15 minutes of actual fishing, she caught six fish (two perch and four brim) and had a GREAT time doing it.

She also tried to lure ducks with crackers, found that a chain makes a wonderful noise when banged on a dock piling, that when you jump on those steel plates that link one section of the dock to another, it makes a great noise too, and that fish stink.

She ate about half a pound of boiled peanuts, and only stopped because I put them away.

My favorite uncomfortable moment of the evening however, occured when Lauren was standing with Uncle Todd and I was asking Jack what he was fishing for and where was he looking?

Jack replied that "This spot right here used to be my honey hole."

Ummm...what? Did I just hear an 8 year old utter the phrase "honey hole?"

Uncle Todd got a big laugh when I told him that.

Next stop: weekend butt and brisket cooking along with a little racing at Talladega.

Cheers everybody!

My nephew Parnell (not his real name, but the name his daddy wanted to give him) was struggling in ninth grade algebra. I don't know who to blame for this. Of course, he is to blame. But so is the school system that works to meet artificially set standards.

For example (and strictly hypothetically) here is how it works. A class of 30 kids takes a test, and the average score is a 70. Instead of working on why or what the kids don't get, the kids all get 20 points added to their tests. So, if student A had a 59, he now has a 79. Good for him and his grade, but bad for his mathematical future.

You see, no curve, bonus points or anything else can make up for the fact that a kid doesn't understand what he's doing. And if he doesn't understand what he's doing in 9th grade algebra but is moved along without the skillset, he's handicapped for the rest of his mathematical life. Geometry and Trig and Algebra II all assume that you know most of algebra. If you don't, you're screwed.

Anyway, I started tutoring Parnell this semester. At first, it was a struggle. It was hours of "I get this" and "I've done this" and "why do I have to do this again?"

Eventually, he stopped asking why and started doing math. He has slowly but surely increased his grade thru quizzes and tests. This weekend, he hit the books. Hard. I gave him a lot of work to do Friday night and Saturday night, and his parents were surprised to find him still doing work after midnight Saturday night!! I told him Sunday night that I wanted him to do so well that he would be accused of cheating, and I meant it.

His biggest jump came yesterday, when I was informed that he got a 90 on his test on Chapter 11. This chapter is regarded by the teachers as the toughest to teach and the toughest to learn. All that and Parnell brought home a 90.

I could not be more proud. Math is not easy. Algebra is not easy. High school and being 15 is not easy. But my young Parnell made a decision to succeed and to work to get it done, and he made it happen. He now has only one or two chapters left and a final. I have high but realistic goals, as do his parents.

I will keep you posted...

Warning: For those deeply ensconced in the Catholic Church, you may not enjoy this blog. I warn you so you can come back for the next offensive edition, where I bust on fat kids, asthmatics and local televangelists.

So there's a new pope. After having the same pope for a generation, the Cardinals got together and voted for their new leader and the leader of the Catholic world.

And they picked a 78 year old dude.

Anyone remember the guy that was Pope BEFORE JP the deuce? No? That's because JP2's predecessor was elected at age 66 on August 26th, 1978 and died just 33 days later. Not exactly time to get a lot done.

I was hoping "The Church" was going to elect a more foreward thinking next Pope with the energy to tackle The Church's biggest problem: a pattern of child abuse and pedophilia among its priests.

But alas, they named a guy whose over-under on the dead pool can't be very big, and he's certainly got the deck stacked against him with the moderate Catholics.

Oh well. I hope he does some good and lives a long and fruitful popeness until the next guy comes along.

While this whole Pope voting thing was going on, several of us at work were discussing how it works, especially as it relates to the naming of the Pope. There were two schools of thought:

a) There was a list like there is of hurricanes, so the next four or five Pope monnikers were already chosen, or

b) The new Pope gets to pick his own name.

Answer B won out and turned out to be true. My question is, why couldn't you modernize a bit and instead of naming yourself after a Pope from 80 plus years ago, try picking a name like Pope Dee-Oh-Double Gee the One or something?

Oh, while searching for a little info on this blog, I stumbled across the historical list of all the past Popes, and it was pretty cool. The new Pope is 265th Pope. He took his name from the guy that was Pope when he was born back around the turn of the century or so.

I especially like that there were popes named Linus and Cletus. Those are cool Pope names that people can get in touch with and appreciate. There was a Telesphorus, which sounds a lot like "tell us for us," which is kind of what I feel like "The Church" does anyway.

I'm running out of Papal steam here. I'm hoping this guy lives long enough to get our global news cycle back on the right track. NO ONE should be staring so long at a European apartment window. Unless of course it's after the Neverland Ranch trials, and Michael's fled and we're all waiting for his ass to jump.

I must announce that my tutoring of young Nicholas has started yielding results. The last quiz on the exceptionally difficult material at the end of section 11.4 of his text resulted in an 85 on the quiz. Now, it's not perfect, but since the rest of the class ate it on this one, I feel pretty good. Plus, I can see that light flickering ever so slightly hinting that he may finally be grasping the evil demon, Algebra.

More to come. I have to order some Chinese food. Just so you know, I'll be having the sweet and sour chicken, an egg roll, and a bowl of egg drop soup, complete with the deep fried crunchy things I pour on it.

Later, I will be dehydrated, bloated, hungry and finally tired.

Wish me luck...

The little excitement we had Friday relating to my blog was apparently quite the ruse. It seems that my brother in law (allegedly) was involved with another party or parties in crafting the fake blog comment at the end of the March 21st entry.

It was all good for a laugh, and they knew I'd react the way I did, so that's fine too. The joke's on me.

I just hope I don't forget how to do and teach algebra in the next seven weeks. I'd hate for my nephew to have to repeat ninth grade because his dad and his dad's buddies couldn't come clean on a little harmless prank.

I await your reply with open arms and a quickly leaking math knowledge tank...

What a weekend. As I have mentioned before, this past ten days encompass my favorite ten days in sports. You get the NCAA final four, opening day, Bristol, Martinsville and The Masters. Can it get any better than that?

The NCAA finals were as close a game as we've had in years, Roy Williams finally won a national championship and got the nay sayers off his back, Kevin Harvick ended his 54 race winless streak by sweeping the events at Bristol, Bobby Labonte became the 12th driver to win in all three of NASCAR's top divisions when he won the Martinsville truck race, Jeff Gordon came back from three laps down to win at Martinsville (but not before he blatantly took out Kurt Busch in the process), and Tiger Woods overcame a six shot deficit after 36 holes, including a run where he birdied seven holes in a row in his third round to take a three shot lead going into Sunday's final round, and eventually his winning a fourth green jacket with a win in sudden death. Tiger shot his two best rounds and the overall two best rounds of the tourney in rounds two and three where he shot 66-65, and stormed back into the tournament in the process.

You can watch The Masters your whole life and you may never see one like this again. There have only been five other playoffs in Masters history, but how we get to extra holes will probably never be matched. Coming to the 16th hole, Tiger led by one, DiMarco was about 8 feet away and Tiger was over the green to the left, similar to Davis Love III in 1999 where Love hit the ball about 20 feet left of the cup and 30 feet past it, hoping the ball would come back (which it did) and get close. It fell in instead.

Woods had a much worse lie than Love III had, but he managed to get it out and up the hill, and then it trickled back down and as Nike Chairman Phil Knight experienced the marketing version of a wet dream, Tiger's Nike Logo hung on the lip for well over a second or two before rolling into the cup, giving him the two shot lead he needed to get to sudden death.

Woods then birdied 18 in sudden death from about 15 feet to win his fourth green jacket to tie Arnold Palmer. And folks thought his best golf was behind him. Shows what "they" know...

Anyway, back to my story.

Saturday, Uncle Todd asked if we all wanted to go to the lake with the Z's and a bunch of kids, and we said "Sure." Lauren loves the lake and the boat, so we were all very excited. Lauren was so excited in fact that she wore her life vest for about two and a half hours during the day leading up to our departure. I wish I had taken some pictures.

Anywho, we left a little before six with Molly and I knowing full well that this group wouldn't return until well after Stinky's bedtime. I figured it was Saturday, so what's the big deal?

We headed out and got started, with Lauren moving back and forth and to and fro, looking for every different view of everything she could see from the boat. Uncle Todd even let her actually steer for a little while, and she loved that.

checking out the sites

driving the boat

We got to Up the Creek (a restaurant on Lake Lanier) and the kids (Jack, Nick, and Nick's friends R-dizzle and Miskyle) decided to do some fishing with some crickets.

That didn't go too well as Jack dumped all of the crickets out on to the dock. Most were re-captured, but some did flee only to be eaten by ducks and fish. Too bad, fellas.

Lauren caught on and desperately wanted to try fishing. Young Jack kindly baited her hook and gave up his rig to my urchin. She dropped a line in, waited about ten seconds, and then it was "FISH ON!!"

I let her reel it in (left hand over the top of the reel trying to do it a millimeter at a time and taking forever in the process), but we finally got it to the dock.

Lauren's first fish

She was beside herself with glee, as you can tell in the following shots:

glee part one

glee part two

glee part three


Seeing this, the older boys got serious for a few minutes until Nick finally caught this whopper:

Nick's big 'un


Here was where UnkTodd was wandering toward the shore and gave us the "Hey!! It's a turtle!!" shout.

We all came running to the massive shape in the water, only to discover it was a trash can lid. Lauren, however, interprited that as "trash can turtle," and now she can't stop talking about the BEEEEEEEG trash can turtle she saw.

Here are two of my very patient sister in law teaching Lauren how to fish:

sweet picture

sweet number two

So we got seated around 8:15, had a great meal and good company to boot. My meal highlight was Nick's friend Miskyle pulling 30 bucks out of his duct tape wallet and then ordering the filet mignon AND the baby back ribs. Nice job, playa.

We got back on the boat and headed for home abou 9:30, well past Lauren's bedtime. She was asleep on my lap before we got out of sight of the dock, and didn't flinch all the way to the marina. She didn't move when we got her out of the boat, out of her life vest, into the carseat, or even into her pj's. When I was putting her in bed she said "why you not read to me Daddy?" to which I replied "because you're asleep, honey."

She replied "okay," and slept until 9am the next day.

But this is where the fish story gets good. After breakfast and our usual "what was your favorite part of yesterday" game, Lauren said "fishing."

Then we asked, "How big was your fish?"

She replied (with hands spread wide) "This BEEEEEG!!"

And how big was Nick's fish?

With thumb and index fingert pressed tighly, she simply replied "small."

Needless to say, there were laughs for the rest of Sunday after that one.

UnkTodd decided that fish tales must be in your genes, because no one taught a near 3-year-old to lie about her fish and diss someone else's.

Can't wait to hit the water again. Thanks T-clan.

So yesterday, I decided to write a blog about what I like, what I think is funny, etc. I got home, and the wife gave me a hug and said that she enjoyed it very much. That's really all I need sometimes.

but last night, she made me remember why I rant here. Remember now, I'm not mad. I'm just relaying the story.

Here's a little background info. My urchin who will be three years old in two weeks has a little 20 watt light on her dresser that is on all the time. Period. If we decided to move and chose a house on the surface of the sun, she'd still ask as I was putting her down for bed "daddy...you leave my light on?"

Of course I will, shoogy pie. Just like yesterday and the 1,000 plus days before it.

We tried the nightlight. We tried two nightlights. We tried leaving it on but with a timer attached to have it go out at anywhere from 11pm to 3am. No matter when it went off, she would either immediately or shortly thereafter wake up, realize it was dark, freak the fuck out and have a grade A, monkey sobbing crying jag.

So we relented. I figured that quite frankly I didn't care if she had to leave a light on until college. It didn't matter to me or her mother, so we opted for that and it's been smooth sailing ever since.

Except when there's bad weather during the night resulting in a power outage or if the bulb blows. Night time power outages are rare, but that fucking bulb ALWAYS goes at night. And that results in (you guessed it) hysteria so pronounced that we've had to bring her into our room for a while to get her calmed down.

Anyway, last night, we saw on the old channel 213 (better than the weather channel because the forecast runs about every two minutes instead of every ten) that there was a rough storm coming from the east that had apparently decimated every mobile home in its path thru Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama, so we were bracing for the worst. Well, we were bracing for something. It's gonna take a hell of a lot more than a 40 mph wind to take our house down, but with all of the rain lately, wind becomes the biggest enemy of the huge pine trees around our house and the wife and I always worry a little about one coming down, so she (and as a result we) sleep pretty lightly on stormy nights.

Well, last night at 2:04, the power came back on. I don't know when it went out, but I assume it was a quick little off/on, and when I looked at my alarm clock (with battery backup) it was 2:04am. Fine.

The wife (apparently) wakes in a panic, WHACKS me on the fucking arm and says "the power just went out and she's gonna freak!!"

I awoke startled (as anyone would had they been assaulted out of a deep sleep), flipped on the tv, and the baby camera hooked thru our tv (don't ask) showed the light on and our urchin fast asleep.

"Everything's fine" I said. And rolled over to get back to sleep, noticing the numbers 604 on the cable box.

My betrothed, apparently re-startled, grabbed me again and said "Babe, it's 6:04 and you're late."

ME: "No," I assured her, "it's 2:04 and I'm only late for sleep or kicking your ass if you keep waking me up."

Her: "But the cable box says 604."

ME: "Baby, that's the channel I left it on. Go to sleep"

Her: "Oh. Sorry about that."

ME: "No problem. I love you."

Then I close my eyes and drift off, only to then get (I can't quote this or spell it) giggling.

ME: "What is it?"

Her: "That was just funny. The whole freak out, wake you up, tell you your late, etc."

ME: "Okay. Goodnight."

Her: Laughter now nearing quiet hysterics. She's literally now got a case of the giggles, but worse, and they won't go away.

I begin swearing, but in a loving tone. She apologizes more, laughs some more, apologizes, again, laughs again, etc."

And now, just minutes ago, she called me at work, and she was STILL laughing about it. I swear, women are the goofiest things.

I was talking to some folks that read my blog quite regularly, and they asked me "why are you so crabby?" and "why is your blog always so complainy?"

Okay. Those weren't their exact words, but that's the gist of it.

My answser: because I don't often write about what makes me happy. I write about what makes me angry or sad or pissed or whatever. I don't know if the thought of writing about what makes me happy never occurred to me, or if I'm so selfish that I'm willing to share the shitty stuff, but not the good stuff.

Anyway, I've given that some thought for the last day or so, and I've decided that I am going to write a blog about what makes me happy, what makes me laugh, and other good stuff. Of course, some of the stuff that makes me laugh isn't necessarily good and happy stuff. Like when I laugh driving by some asshole who has just been pulled over, and I laugh at them. That's not nice, but it's something that makes me feel good.

(I'm not trying to analyze myself here, so you shouldn't either. If you're reading this, you already know that I'm twisted and not right, so let's just move along, okay?)

The first thing that comes to mind that makes me laugh is that I work for the world's largest condom manufacturer, so whenever anyone gets together for beers and idle chatter, talk often turns to my company and our various products.

Let me just say that, for all the joking that goes on about lubes and stuff, no one ever refuses the stuff back to me when I get it for them, and no one ever gives it back after they've tried it.

The fact that in the same week, my friend helped save a neighbor's house from burning down AND (under the influence of painkillers) told my sister-in-law while talking to her on the phone that he'd just farted.

My nephew's buddy MM had some really cool hair that made me happy. I can't explain it. It just did. I will not discuss how, now that he's cut it off, that I am sad and wishing for it to grow back again.

The fact that my in-laws continue to leave out five pound bags of chocolate in places their dumbass golden retriever can get to it makes me laugh. I do NOT, however, find his chocolate shits in my yard funny.

I can be brought to tears my my friend (the farter's) wife and her laugh. I would literally commit an entire day to just trying to make her laugh just so I could hear it.

My friend Andy Cooley (I only mention him because he owns Cooley's Pizza in Grayson, GA and Suwanee, GA and it's the best pie anywhere and he might get a customer from this) tells a couple of jokes that make me laugh every time. And my brother in law and I make him tell them every time we have a few beers and it's late. Here's the first one:

Three legionnaires were walking through the desert under a baking sun. They were fully equipped with enough water for days, and food a plenty. On the shimmering horizon mirages came and went. Visions of swimming pools, stalls full of ice-cream, sorbets, freshly-whipped smoothies of every conceivable flavor. But the legionnaires did not crack, and they kept marching solidly onward.

Suddenly one of them froze, "Psssst" said he.

His companions halted, and strained their eyes to where the first legionnaire was pointing.

"Le voila", said he, "Regardez, mes amis,isn't that a bacon tree on the horizon?"And sure enough; there it stood, proud and defiant in the middle of the desert, an oasis with a true bacon tree.

Slowly they crept forward towards the mysterious object so far off. Inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter, until they were within a stones throw of the bacon tree. Even nearer they crept, and suddenly, a shot rang out, dropping one of the legionnaires in his tracks.The other two returned fire, and gave first aid to their woundedcompanion.

As they bandaged him, and poured water over his face, they could hear his faint voice, "That was no bacon tree," he gasped, "That was a ham bush."

Shit. I'm laughing reading that, and it's not even the same way Andy tells it.

Here's another one:

Two young guys werer sitting in their exclusive hunt club. They saw a very old gentlemen sitting across the room under some enormous trophy kills from all over the world mounted on the wall. They approached him and asked if he'd ever been on safari in Africa.

The old man said "oh yes. Many years ago, I went on a safari to Africa."

"Oh really?" said the young men. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yes," replies the old man, "it was wonderful. We went lion hunting. I remember at one point we were walking along the veldt area, I had my gun at the ready and then we came upon this huge outcropping of rocks. I looked up, and on top of the rocks I saw this huge lion ready to pounce. I went AAAGH! Well, I tell you, I just shit my pants!"

The young men said , "Well, yes, that's quite understandable. We probably would have done the exact same thing under those circumstances."

"No, no, no," says the first man."You don't understand. Not then! I did it just now when I went AAAGH!!"

I know. It's pathetic. But they make me laugh.

Here's one more. It's a little dirty, but I like it:

A lady fell off a ladder at her home and went into a mild coma. At the hospital, the doctor pulls her husband aside and says "Now listen...you didn't hear this from me, but I have heard in the past that women can recover faster from this type of injury with stimulation...such as oral sex."

The husband says "OK...let's give it a try."

The doctor and nurse leave the room and go out into the hall. After about 10 minutes, the alarms on the equipment in the patient's room suddenly go off. The doctor and nurse rush back into the room and ask "What the hell happened to her?"

Buckling his belt, the husband said "I think she gagged."

Now, what's not funny about that?

I laugh when my nearly 3 year-old daughter tries to say truck. I also laugh that my sister-in-law LOVES to ask her "what does uncle Todd drive?" or "what does uncle Adam drive?", just so my daughter will say "A white fuck" and "a big red fuck."

This also works when Lauren sees squash, as she thinks they're big peanuts, so she says "I love big peanuts in my mouth," only it comes out "I wuv big penis in my mouf." Okay. That part's like 51% funny and 49% heart attack.

The fact that, even though they've lost the first two games of the year to the Yankees in true Red Sox fashion, they are STILL the 2004 World Series Champs and they did it by making the Yanks the first team EVER to lose a 3-0 series lead in professional sports. EVER!!

I am terribly amused that Rob and Amber of Survivor fame are kicking ass at the amazing race and are literally two episodes away from winning ANOTHER million dollars from CBS. I don't think it'll happen, as bad luck will strike in the form of car failure or plane delays or some such thing, but it's still funny. And I like the fact that, despite everyone hating them, they are always nice and supportive of one another.

I love that it stays light until 8pm now. We are only weeks away from Friday evening boat rides, and that pleases my daughter (and therefore me) immensely.

I love the idea of starting a small business on the side just to see if I can do it.

I love that my daughter says I don't sing the Berenstein Bears correctly, and she wants Molly to teach me to sing it correctly. If any of you know my wife's singing voice, you know how absurd that is.

I love that my daughter LOVES her Dale Jr. shirt. It doesn't matter to me which driver it was (as long as it wasn't the 24). I just like that she wanted a shirt like mine, I found one and got it for her, and now she loves it. That's a good feeling.

I love fantasy racing games. I love watching races with friends. I still love cooking on all of my Big Green Eggs. I love a perfectly cooked 2 inch thick ribeye. I love chicken pot pie (when my wife makes it). I love tutoring my nephew in algebra. I love living close to my in-laws and the rest of my family.

I love that one of my moms is finally retiring after teaching school since they used coal and the backs of shovels, and that the other one is back in our lives and enjoying her grand-daughter.

And I love my wife and daughter more than you can possibly imagine.

There. How's THAT for a blogthat should make you want to vomit?