Strange places I've woke up

Here's a short list of strange places I've woken up after a hard night's drinking.

1) In a Goodwill box

2) In the trunk of a car

3) Under a pool table

4) A Ladies restroom in the Capitol building

5) France (I started in Germany)

6) A cornfield

7) At the top of a 200 foot antennae tower

8) Work

9) My neighbor's bathtub

10) A cattle pen at a slaughterhouse

Did you notice that I never mentioned jail? Strangely enough, that's the one place I've never woken up in after drinking.

'Cause that's how I roll........

An odd lullabye

The air must be especially clear tonight - I can hear the trains all the way down by 9th Street, the rumbling and their whistles as the cars pick up speed on the way to who knows where.

I honestly can't remember ever not having lived within earshot of a train track. It never has bothered me to live near them either. I love the sound. It can be both the most lonesome and the most comforting sound in the world, at the same time. Many nights it's the last sound that I'm conscience of before I go to sleep.

Can't take my damned family anywhere

Hate to drink and run but...........

I was 86'd from the White Elephant in the mid-eighties, although I don't remember what for exactly. It must have have been good though, because I wandered in there about 5 years later to meet a friend and the bartender/owner took one look at me and then he picked up the phone and dialed 911.

Hey, don't come down on me, dumbass!

Winter, 1989
As I was washing my hands in the bathroom at work l looked in the mirror and saw a gray hair in my beard. Back then, I had so few gray hairs on my face I could still pluck them out without it turning into an all day job, so that's just what I did. As soon as I did it, I saw that Lester Lester the Child Molester had wandered in. "Hey Lester, do you know what this is?" I asked, handing him the hair.
"Nope, I can't say that I do" he grins, studying it up close.
"That, my friend, is my very first gray pubic hair."
"AAAAGGGGHHHH! You rotten bastard!" he yells as he throws the hair down and starts wiping his hands on his leg, trying to get the cooties off. "You're fucking sick, man. You rotten fucking bastard." He walked out of the bathroom pissing and moaning and still wiping his hands off on his coveralls.
Now, I gotta ask you. If we were in a bathroom and I tried to hand you a short curly hair, would you take it?

Stay off my side of the sidewalk

Summer, 1986
The first time we ever went to a 49er gun show was a trip. We were provisioned with a killer grade of cadillac green bud and several hundred dollars, so we set off for the big city. I had never driven to Sacramento before, much less Cal-Expo, and I was a tad intimidated. I mean they had freeways with 4 lanes in each direction, man! Dave, being from L.A. and a veteran of a BeeGees concert, wasn't impressed at all. I fell back on my tactic of getting stoned when I got to feeling uptight. Bad, bad mistake. The higher I got, the more lost I got. The more lost I got, the madder Dave got. The madder Dave got, the more uptight I got. The more uptight I got , the higher I got. You get the picture? By the time we got to the gun show, I bet I saw the State Capitol from 50 different angles, smoked a quarter ounce or so of bud, and got called nasty names at least a dozen times.

Daily rant

As long as I'm down on helping people move at the moment, let's just keep on rolling with it.

I cannot stand to help people move. Straight up fact. Another straight up fact is that if you don't help folks move they won't help you when it's your turn so I'll do it if asked, but I'll bitch and moan the whole time. If you want to bitch and moan when you come help ME move, that's cool. I understand.
I don't think I would mind helping if people already had the stuff boxed up and ready to load when I get there but that never happens. Shit, there's still dirty dishes in the sink and clothes in the washer half the time. Hey, you're only using me for my truck and my back, so let's have it ready so I can load this stuff up and get on down the road.
And speaking of trucks, why in the fuck is it that when you own a pickup folks you hardly know have no problem at all coming up and asking for your help to move? I had a bumper sticker once that read "Yes, this is my truck. No, I won't help you move."

About that moving thing......

A few weeks ago I had called Dad to see if he wanted to go up and do a little trout fishing and some shooting up in the Sierras this weekend. He called Thursday and left a message so when I called him back I was expecting to hear a time to meet up for the lip jerking/stump busting day. Instead I was told that he was helping my little brother move and what day this weekend was I going to help?
Well, hell. Not only do I not get to do 2 of my most favorite things but somehow I got screwed into doing one of my most hated.

Aw fuck

There's 3 things in this world I absolutely hate to do.
#1 - Go to court
#2 - Go to the Department of Motor Vehicles and
#3 - Help somebody move

I have to go do #3. I was trapped. More about this outrage later.

No competition

Recently I was asked to shoot in a charity match.
At first I said, “Naaahhh! I already shoot 4 or 5 times a week.”
Then they said to me, “Come on, it’s for handicapped and blind kids.”
Then I thought……Shit, I could win this.

Oh shit oh dear

Casper

Fumblefingers

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.

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."

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?