Friday, August 22, 2008
Okie Joe says, "I haven't got the fingers."
The doctor says, "What do you mean, you haven't got the fingers? It's 2008. We've got microsurgery and all kinds of incredible techniques. I could have put them back on and made you like new. Why didn't you bring the fingers?"
Okie Joe says, "Well shit, Doc, I couldn't pick 'em up."
Me and Dave were at the Warfield watching The Jerry Garcia Band. Sitting next to us was this trio, a sweetie and two guys, probably in their mid-twenties. These folks were obviously not your basic full time Deadheads. The girl looked like a weekend hippie with her bedsheet wrapped around her and flowers in her hair, but the two guys were definitely out of their element. I mean they were wearing slacks, white shirts, and loafers. They were obviously only there in an attempt to rub pee-pees with the girl. Dave had the aisle seat, then me, with these three on the other side of me. Dave whips out this green bud bomb and passes it down. I hit it and pass it to this Yup sitting on the other side of me out of politeness. After 4 or 5 hits, the guy next to me leans over and says, "I don't know where your friend got that menthol joint, but it sure is good."
Well, you silly little stoned shit.
Humans are the only primates that don’t have pigment in the palms of their hands.
The sentence “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.” uses every letter in the alphabet.
The only 15 letter word that can be spelled without repeating a letter is uncopyrightable.
No word in the English dictionary rhymes with month, orange, silver and purple.
A duck’s quack doesn’t echo, and no-one knows why.
Months that begin on a Sunday will always have a “Friday the 13th.”
The longest one-syllable word in the English language is screeched.
Apples, not caffeine, are more efficient at waking you up in the morning.
A pack-a-day smoker will on average lose 2 teeth, every 10 years.
When you sneeze, all bodily functions stop…even your heart.
Your feet are bigger in the afternoon than the rest of the day.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
One the many quirks about me is a bashful bladder. I can't piss in front of an audience to save my life. Now, to the average Joe Citizen, this ain't much of a big deal. To the Deadhead, this can be a serious problem. When I'm jamming with the band, the last thing I want to do is go take a piss, so I wait until the break and then make a mad dash to one of the two tiny bathrooms that the coliseum has so thoughtfully provided for 10,000 people. The other 9,999 people have the same idea at about the same time. The urinals are really nothing but a room long trough, and there's a line 20 deep. Oh yeah, if you got to take a dump you might as well forget about it, seeing as how there's only two stalls and besides that, do you really want to sit where several hundred tripping hippies have tried to piss? So, I wait for half an eternity before I finally belly up to the pisser and whip out my fireman and....strain and strain and strain. Not a fucking drop! AAARRRGGGHHH! I strain so hard I almost shit my pants, but it just ain't no use, Motherfucker! I swear, I might as well just cut my dick off. I can't piss when I need to the most, and I damned sure hadn't been getting no pussy lately. Motherfucker ain't no use to me at all, just something extra to wash, and then to make matters worse, a few times there's been women in there! Shit, talk about putting me under the gun! The women's bathroom is even worse than the men's, so these chicks don't mind sitting in hippie piss to avoid the long wait in their toilet. Well, think about it. Babes don't piss nearlyas fast as men do. Give me 15 seconds in a bathroom with no line (or audience), and I'm done. It'll take a sweetie a good 2 or 3 minutes, on account of they have to drop their drawers, squat, wipe or drip-dry, then reverse the process. That takes time. And a lot of chicks like to wash their hands every time they pee (babes don't piss, they pee), so add another what, half minute or so? So you can see why there's such along wait at the ladies tinkletorium. As a guy walks into the toilet, he's already whipping out his dick. By the time he gets to the pisser, he's about half done. He finishes up, gives himself a quick shake or two, buttons up and moves out smartly. He might wash his hands if he was to accidentally piss on them, or if somebody is watching him. These fucking hippies turn these potty breaks into some sort of social occasion. I mean, they really manage to have a good time while standing in other people's bodily waste. I've seen long-lost friends reunited, I've seen long lost lovers (no women involved) reunited, I've seen I don't know how many dope deals done, group hugs, rides across the country solicited, rides across the country offered, all in the fucking bathroom. Only a hippie can have that good a time in the bathroom. Here they are, laughing and joking and having a high time, and I'm standing there in agony with my dick in my hand, getting madder and madder by the second. It almost makes me want to go chop down a fucking pine tree or shoot an owl or pour motor oil on some birds, anything, just one thing to fuck up a hippie's day.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
When the waiter came by, Al asked him, "Are there any Mexican Jews?" and the waiter said, "I don't know Senor, I'll ask the cooks." He returned from the kitchen in a few minutes and said "No sir, no Mexican Jews."
Al wasn't really satisfied with that and asked, "Are you absolutely sure?" The waiter, realizing he was dealing with "Gringos" gave the expected answer, "I will check again, Senor!" and went back into the kitchen.
While the waiter was away, Sid said, "I find it hard to believe that there are no Jews in Mexico. Our people are scattered everywhere."
The waiter returned and said, "Senor, the head cook said there is no Mexican Jews." "Are you certain?" Al asked once again, "I can't believe there are no Mexican Jews!"
"Senor, I ask EVERYONE," replied the exasperated waiter. "All we have is orange Jews, prune Jews, tomato Jews and grape Jews."
The very first thing I noticed is that everybody that walked in had a fucking tale to tell or a reason to get this tattoo. "Well, this is in memory of my Dad/Husband/Wife/Parakeet" (insert one) or something along those lines. Why is it that you never heard anybody say "Because that would look fucking cool right there" or "I got a blank spot I need filled in so I don't walk lopsided" or something along those lines.
While I do a have couple of tattoos to commemorate something, most of them came along because I happened to want a tattoo or happened to be there when the artist was and needed a few bucks. And yes, I have gotten a tattoo because I thought something would look cool right there. And yes, I've gotten blank spots filled in. Which reminds me.......
Another thing is this: Why don't you EVER hear the price or see the motherfucker getting paid? Hell, I'll tell you why - Kat Von D's minimum price is $750 (no shit) and any shop worth anything will charge you $100 just to get started. Yeah, you can blow a weeks salary in just a couple sittings.
Okay, I know I said just a couple of things but I gotta throw this one in. Why is it that everybody's gotta be hugging on the artist when the tattoo is done? Hey, if I tried hugging on Nick, he'd beat my ass. I mean, some things just aren't appropriate, you know?
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
This is the one thing that really pisses me off. Why in the hell do people that pass out handbills insist on sliding them into the dog guard where they're going to fall? I mean, any idiot can see what's going to happen. I've even tried leaving one in there so they can see it but it doesn't even slow 'em down.
I know this sounds like light shit but it's a pain in the ass to get the handbills out. I tried sliding them up from the inside using a shop vac, I've tried extra long forceps, I've tried a stick with glue on it. Nothing works. The only way to get them out is tiny piece by tiny piece through the grating in the guard. It's either that or ruin the screen by reaching down there with my arm and that would only work if they're standing on end like the one in the picture.
Monday, August 18, 2008
"He said WE GOTTA SIT OVER THERE ON THE SOFA!" said the other.
"Now get a little closer together" said the cameraman.
Again, "WHAT DID HE SAY?"
"HE SAYS SQUEEZE TOGETHER A LITTLE" -So they wiggled up close to each other.
"Just hold on for a bit longer, I've got to focus a little" said the photographer.
"WHAT DID HE SAY?"
"HE SAYS HE'S GONNA FOCUS!"
With a big grin the deaf twin shouted out - "OH MY GOD - BOTH OF US?"
I came in from work the other day and threw on a pound of hamburger meat to make tacos. I cooked the meat down, grabbed a strainer, threw a cup of dry food in Punkin's bowl, drained the hamburger over his dog dish, put the meat and a can of hot tomato sauce back in the skillet and put it back on the stove. I laid out a sheet of foil on the counter and after simmering the meat and sauce down I dumped it on the foil, washed the skillet and then used it to fry up some tortillas. Spooning the meat from the foil directly onto the tortilla and stepping over to the sink I ate my dinner with only one skillet and a fork to wash when I was done. When I was done eating I wrapped the rest of the meat up in the foil it was sitting on and threw it into the refrigerator where it'll sit until green shit starts to grow on the package.
Personally I think that 1300 fps is a bit on the high side - I'd put it closer to 1250 fps but it's still the best load I've tried. It's consistent, pressures are down to a safe level, muzzle flash is miminal and the powder burn-off is nearly complete making for an efficient load.
I had gotten a call from my connection to meet up at his house. I wasn’t sure what was going on but if he needed to see me about something, well, Roy was the connection. So I went.
As I came into town I saw Royboy’s truck alongside the curb with a cop behind him and Royboy looking none to happy about the situation. Luckily for Roy I was an enterprising young man and knew exactly what to do.
I motored on past, gave Roy a high sign and went another 2 blocks down to the phone booth in front of the saddlery where I pulled in. After looking a couple blocks further down the road towards Lopez’s Bar to make sure all was clear I called 911 and told the dispatcher that I was driving past Lopez’s and saw a man entering with a drawn gun. She asked my name and address so I said “Jeff Segmiller, 3327 Topeka” and hung up the phone just in time to watch the cop that had Royboy jacked up run back to his car and burn out leaving my Bud sitting there thanking his lucky stars.
Now for something that happened with no prior planning I was amazed at all that happened because of me making a simple phone call. Royboy didn’t get searched and busted with the half pound of weed he had in the car, my worst enemy Jeff Segmiller got arrested for making a false report, no less than a half dozen people in Lopez’s got rousted for warrants (one for child molesting!) and I got a free ounce of dope out of the deal. All before noon.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Managing not to yell, Flynn sprung up, pulled down his pants, and looked in the hall mirror to see that his butt cheeks were cut and bleeding. He managed to quietly find a full box of Band-Aids and began putting a Band-Aid as best he could on each place he saw blood.
He then hid the now almost empty Band-Aid box and shuffled and stumbled his way to bed.
In the morning, Flynn woke up with searing pain in both his head and butt and Mary staring at him from across the room.
She said, ‘You were drunk again last night weren’t you?’
Flynn said, ‘Why you say such a mean thing?’
‘Well,’ Mary said, ‘it could be the open front door, it could be the broken glass at the bottom of the stairs, it could be the drops of blood trailing through the house, it could be your bloodshot eyes, but mostly…..it’s all those Band-Aids stuck on the hall mirror.'
Personally I think there are way too many laws here in the US but the one thing I think there should be a law against is siren sounds on the radio unless of course it's part of an ass kicking song. But as far as commercials and crap like that goes...... Hey, I've been clean for quite a few years and even today if I'm driving down the road and I hear a fucking siren I STILL automatically go into panic mode. I don't stop to think that it might be on the radio, I think I'm getting jammed and I best try some damage control. Foot off the gas pedal, check the speed. Do a quick glance to the passenger seat to check for anything that shouldn't be out and any firearms hit the driver's floorboard and kicked under the seat. Arms go down below window level where tattoos don't show. All of this while trying to look like I'm not doing any of it. Then and only then do I try to determine the source.
That's why it pisses me off to hear a siren on the radio. I'm an old fuck and I don't need any more panic stops than is necessary.
What's really bad is that there's one commercial that the rock station here plays all the time. I mean, I hear the thing twice a day and I still fall for it.
I'm not sure what changed my mind about posting one of these. Boredom, I imagine. Me and my ex have been split for 8 months now and I still haven't got another full time sweetie and not sure if I ever will. I'm enjoying single life. But the fact of the matter is I've got so much fucking time on my hands I'm about ready to scream.
What are you going to run into here? I don't know, re-read the first paragraph again.
I'm probably going to post some of my day to day thoughts which have a tendancy to be a little off the wall. And I'll put some shit in here from my past. But I'm not going to "nice" it up any. I'm going to post it in my thoughts and language.
In short, nothing special, just a peek into the life of an ex dope fiend, gun nut, white trash knucledragger.