Friday, August 22, 2008

Oh shit oh dear



Okie Joe's working at the lumberyard, pushing a tree through the buzz saw, and accidentally shears off all ten of his fingers. He goes to the emergency room. The doctor says, "Yuck! Well, give me the fingers, and I'll see what I can do."
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."

Well, duh!

Q: Why do women rub their eyes when they get out of bed in the morning?
A: Because they don't have balls to scratch.

Pet loads

Somebody came up to me once and asked me what my "pet"loads were. I told him "A 22 Long Rifle will do for small dogs and cats, maybe a 357 for the larger dogs 40 pounds and up. For horses and cows, use a 41 or larger, and for the exotic pets like Lions and Tigers and Bears Oh My! go with nothing less than a 12 gauge loaded with 00 Buck." That ended that conversation real quick.

It's a KOOL doobie

The Warfield, San Francisco - 1985
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.

Zebrass? Jackbra? How 'bout just plain cute?

My long lost son

Yeah, whatever, man.

The 3 most valuable brand names on earth are:-Malboro, Coca-Cola and Budweiser - in that order.
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

Dead Show bathroom tales

Written in 1986-87
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.

Gotta love them Texans

Barack Obama, the lead Presidential Democratic Party candidate, is for banning all guns in America. He is considered by those who have dealt with him as a bit more than just a little self-righteous. At a recent rural elementary school assembly in East Texas, he asked the audience for total quiet. Then, in the silence, he started to slowly clap his hands once every few seconds, holding the audience in total silence. Then he said into the microphone, 'Children, every time I clap my hands together, a child in America dies from gun violence.' Then, little Richard Earl, with a proud East Texas Drawl, pierced the quiet and said: ''Well, dumb-ass, stop clapping."

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Mexican Jews

Two Jewish men, "Sid" and "Al," were sitting in a Mexican restaurant. Sid asked Al, "Are there any people of our faith born and raised in Mexico?" Al replied, "I don't know, let's ask our waiter."
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."

Daily rant

I started watching a couple of tattoo shows a couple years back and noticed a couple of the things right out the gate. More than a couple really, but I ain't got all night so I'll just bitch about the main ones.
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?

Can I keep it, Mommy?

It doesn't pay to show off, now does it?

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Why Arabs Throw Rocks

Wanna talk about a White Boy.....

A few years back I was entertaining the boys at work one evening at lunchtime by spinning doughnuts in the parking lot of the plant when the fire extinguisher in the floorboard discharged. All the guys saw was my truck enveloped in a white cloud and they all just naturally assumed that I blew my engine, and of course, that was absolutely hilarious. I climbed out with that white shit in my ears, eyes, clothes, hair, mouth, everywhere. The really bad part was that this happened in July or August and that truck had no air conditioning, which meant I drove everywhere with the windows down. Everytime I went somewhere over the next few weeks, I arrived looking like I had been rolled in flour.

That's how I roll

Daily Rant

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

For Martha

Kinda reminds me of Grandma

There were these twin sisters just turning one hundred years old in St. Luke's Nursing Home and the editor ofthe Cambridge rag, "The Cambridge Distorter" told a photographer to get over there and take the pictures of these 100 year old twin ladies. One of the twins was hard of hearing and the other could hear quite well. The photographer asked them to sit on the sofa and the deaf one said to her twin, "WHAT DID HE SAY?"
"He said WE GOTTA SIT OVER THERE ON THE SOFA!" said the other.
"Now get a little closer together" said the cameraman.
"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.
With a big grin the deaf twin shouted out - "OH MY GOD - BOTH OF US?"

Hold on now, I'm getting dizzy

What's blonde, brunette, blonde, brunette, blonde?
A naked blonde chick doing cartwheels.

Ahhh, the single life!

I noticed the other day that I'm sinking back into bachelor life faster than I thought. Or maybe I should say bachelor lifestyle instead.
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.

41 magnum load

20 grains of H110 under a 220 grain soft point will get you about 1300 fps according Speer's Reloading Manual #10, published in 1979.
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.

Now what am I going to do for the rest of the day?

Summer, 1988
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

Gotta Love The Irish

Flynn staggered home very late after another evening with his drinking buddy, Paddy. He took off his shoes to avoid waking his wife, Mary. He tiptoed as quietly as he could toward the stairs leading to their upstairs bedroom, but misjudged the bottom step. As he caught himself by grabbing the banister, his body swung around and he landed heavily on his rump. A whiskey bottle in each back pocket broke and made the landing especially painful.
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…’s all those Band-Aids stuck on the hall mirror.'

Daily Rant

I think this is going to be a regular feature.

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.

Format? I don' need no stinking format!

Okay, I'm just going to post shit as it comes to me. There may be several posts a day depending on if I can afford gas money to get me out of the house and away from the computer. If it's something that happened in the past I'll TRY to reference the time and place. It may get a little confusing. Good Luck.

Here goes........

This is the first time I ever posted a blog (never figured that anything that happened to me was anybody else's business) so I'm not quite sure what I'm doing. Things will change as I go along until I get it fine tuned.
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.