A discussion with my colon regarding a 4 pound steak dinner.

Note: I've named my colon "Bob the Bolus" for reasons that are ridiculous and would take far too long to explain. Ed.



(Driving across the Texas panhandle heading into Amarillo for the night. Bob senses our rough location)



Bob: Excuse me, but are we heading into Amarillo?"
Me: "Um, yes...

Bob: Because why?
Me: Because I'm tired and hungry

Bob: And where praytell are you planning on eating?
Me: I thought maybe a little local steakhouse I know about

Bob: THE BIG TEXAN STEAK HOUE?????
Me: Um, yeah, is that ok?

Bob: HELL NO IT'S NOT OK!!
Me: Please? i promise i'll be carefull,

Bob: Yeah right, that's what you said last time
Me: Well, i got caught up in the moment

Bob: Moment hell, you had every intention of ordering that monster
Me: Ok, ok, I am very sorry, promise

Bob: Too late for that apology shit, I was in colon ICU for a week
Me: Yes, trust me, I remember every single cramp.

Bob: Well let me tell you something pendejo, you order that 4 pound steak this time and those cramps will be the least of your worries. I'll make you suffer like you won't believe. I'm talking a week before your first trip to the throne, I swear.
Me: But some of the other guys are doing it, why can't I?

Bob: BECAUSE I SAID SO, THAT'S WHY.
Me: You always say that.

Bob: I have to because you are too stupid to make your own responsible decisions.
Me: Ok, can I assume that you are gonna order for me?

Bob: You damn straight I am.
(A few minutes later after being seated)

Waitress: Good evening, how are you tonite?
Me: Just fine, thank you.

Waitress: What you are having tonite?
Me: Um, my colon Bob will be ordering for me

Waitress: Well hi there Bob, you having a good evening?
Bob:Now that me and numbnuts got it straight, yes I am.

Waitress: Well, what can I get for you, sweetie
Bob: "We'll take the 6 ounce sirlon please

Waitress: Good choice, baked potatoe or brocolli?
Bob: Brocolli, raw please

Waitress: Soup or salad?
Bob: Salad, no dressing

Waitress: And to drink?
Bob:Water, please.

Waitress: Honey, I'ts not my call, but you just ordered a meal that sounds about as fun as a rectal exam.

Bob:Good thing it's not your call.
Waitress: Ok big boy, comin' right out

(Waitress wanders off)

Me: Thanks a lot, asshole
Bob: Glad you finally understand the human digestive layout

Me: Ok, ok, so anway, what do think about Chicago's draft picks?
Bob: Bunch of crap
Me: Yeah, gotta agree with you on that...
(Bob and I continue on a nice discussion about the football draft)

My Favorite World Records

As a kid, I was fascinated with world records. I had a Guiness book and read it ragged. I really wanted to have my own record so I started looking at some possibilities. Swallowing 30 swords at once, nope. Pulling a train with my teeth, no way. Sitting in a tree for 3 days. Maybe! I made all these plans and such but then forgot about it for a couple of years. I regained interest and checked the current record to make sure it was the same. nope, FIFTY SIX DAYS. So much for that brilliant plan. Most world records are so extreme that there is virtually zero chance of any normal human ever breaking one.

For example: Eating chicken - 27 two pound "pullets" at one sitting.
Who can eat 27 chickens?

Fastest working a Rubik's cube: THIRTEEN SECONDS. Yes, I saw the guy do it on TV. But worse, a guy worked it with his feet in about 30 seconds.

Cheese: 2 pounds in a minute or two (can't remember exactly). Sounds easy? HAH! you try it. after a half pound you won't be able to get another bite down.

Raw oysters: about 450. I saw the attempt on tv. A very large (fat) man was on a boat where the oysters were and they had a table full ready for his attempt. He went to wailing on them and somewhere around 450, he turned around and hurled. Can you imagine the mess on the floor after someone hurls 450 raw oysters? I'm glad i was not a deckhand on that boat.

A great bar bet is to bet someone that they can't eat more than 5 saltine crackers in a minute or less. They will guffaw and laugh at you while they slap that 20 on the counter. The first and second go down fast. But the third starts really getting thick because there is zero spit left in your mouth. The fourth becomes a goo ball that cannot be swallowed. Most people never get to the fifth. Grab that 20, order a beer for the loser and 5 for yourself.

They had a jalapeno eating contest in my hometown a long time ago, and although it did not break any world records, it was still fun to watch. the winner was a guy they called "the rabbit" because he nibbled his down in little bites. He ate over a hundred in a row. the other contestants all headed for the bathroom at some point and never made it back to knock the rabbit down.

Check this out cuz, there is a guy that ate A WHOLE CAR. No, not in one piece, you dumbass, he had it ground up into fine powder. Windows, seats, engine, shocks, rubber hoses, butts in the ashtray, the whole shootin' match. He put a few spoonfuls in his meals every day until it was all gone. They say he started out eating a bicycle before the car as practice.

Hamburgers: 77 at one sitting.

Smallest waist: 12 inches. No Kidding. Even these pathetic size 0 girls straggling around nowdays can't match that.

Fattest person. Over a thousand pounds. They buried him in a piano case. No kidding.

Deep Knee Bends in a Hot Air Balloon: What a stupid record. But anyway, I know the pilot that took him up. I am a balloon pilot and went to an event at this guys place one time. Anyway, Brian took up the guy and a witness/counter and the guy did over three thousand (3,000) deep knee bends.

Tallest person: Robert Wadlow at 8'10". The sad part about this is that Robert died in his 20s because a doctor incorrectly fitted a leg brace and it caused some sort of infection that killed him. If I could get my hands on that doctor I'd wrap him in barbed wire and throw him out in the desert to bake. And maybe tie him to an ant bed. One of those huge antbeds like 6 feet tall. Or better yet, handcuff him to a chair with a very large vase (like 4 feet tall) in front of him. Then drop the handcuff key down the vase and wander out. After a few minutes he will inch his chair forward and start trying to kick the vase over to get the key. Well, when that vase falls over cracks open, A THOUSAND SCORPIONS WILL COME OUT. They'll all climb up on him and one two three, out!

Hobo Opinons

Homeless people ("Hobos") fascinate me. I've researched this phenomenon, but the information I found really does not address my questions, so i have no choice but to make up my own facts.

It seems there are three categories of hobos: 1) mentally or physically disabled, 2)people who have had some serious situation and need help getting back on their feet, and 3) lazy-con artists.
Most of the hobos I have seen are either on road intersections with cardboard signs or hanging out in front of convenience stores drinking beer out of paper sacks. I'm willing to bet that the distribution is as follows:
Disabled - 5%
real problem - 5%
lazy people - 90%


Here's a few amusing (albeit disgusting) examples I've come across that disturb me

Con #1
A man approached me in a parking lot and said that he and his wife had come to town from San Antonio to look for work and they needed a few bucks for lunch. He looked sincere so I gave him a couple of dollars and went to my car. I then saw him back out of his parking space in a nice 2007 pickup truck with all the options, probably with a $35,000 rig. I bet he had a big engine, triple cup holders, leather steering wheel, heated massage seats, and those chrome naked girl mudflaps.

Con #2
I walked up to a convenience store and a shaggy looking guy asked for a dollar to get something to eat. I gave him a buck, got my stuff in the store and as i was leaving I saw him inside buying two "big boy" beers. On a later date, I saw the same guy digging through a trash can looking for food. I think he wound up with McNuggets (with honey mustard sauce), a half eaten wing rom "Red Cap Chicken), and a tepid cup of diet coke.

Con #3
My friend Jodi was at a red light and a cardboard sign guy approached him with the standard "Anything helps" sign. I bet there is a secret store where these guys buy these signs at. Jodi gave him a buck; the guy reached in his pocket and pulled out a large roll of bills. He folded back the 20s, then the 10s, then the 5s, and put Jodi's dollar with the 1s.

Con #4
I walked out of a corner store and saw a guy walk off the curb in the street and almost get hit by a car. I ran over and yelled at him to back up. He was totally blind. His eyes were a mess. He told me that he came in from Tennessee and was trying to get to a special shelter north of town that helped handicapped folks like himself. He needed to get to 11th street to catch a bus to this place and asked me for some money to get a ride up there. I told him there was a bus station a block away that would take him there. He said the buses don't stop there. I offered to take him on my scooter all the way to 11th street so he climbed on the back and off we went. This is a half hour ride so I thought I was being a pretty darned nice guy. Thirty seconds later he asked if I had 20 dollars to help him out. I told him I had no money (the truth). "You can let me off right here". I stopped and he got off.

Con #5
I saw a trashy looking cardboard sign guy: "hungry, need money to eat". A car pulled up and handed out a bag of food to the guy. He refused it and walked to the next car asking for money.

Bottom line: The vast majority of "homeless" people choose that lifestyle. They prey on soft hearted people to feed their booze and smoke habits while they eat out of trash cans.
They have no interest in working to stay alive. They know they can con people. This is bad because it hurts the people that actually need the help. The worst part about all this is that they are dirty and a total fashion disaster. Their shirts never match their pants, they rarely have a belt on, and they typically wear socks that are lighter than their pants. Gives me the shivers.

Here's the "phillip plan" that hobos could use if they really wanted to back on their feet.
1. Beg on a corner until you get 20 dollars.
2. Go to walmart and buy a razor, bar of soap, pair of scissors, a gallon of water, and a new collared shirt.
3. find some place to wash off with soap and water, shave, and cut your hair short.
4. Beg on a corner for another 20 dollars.
5. Go to salvation army and get pants, shoes and belt, and maybe a "dance moves" VHS tape.
6. Beg for another 20 dollars.
7. go to grocery and buy 20 dollars worth of peanut butter, bread, and other items that will keep you alive for a week.
8. Put on your nice clothes and go door to door asking if you can do any work for 5 dollars.
9. Repeat until you have earned the trust of a business owner and they hire you.


LESLIE The Homeless CrossDresser


There is a famous homeless guys in Austin named "Leslie". Leslie is a 60 year old crossdresser with shaggy hair and shaved legs. He always has a bra and fake boobs on (a D cup at least), and most of the time a miniskirt. He works at a hippy coffee shop bussing tables. Last year, some enterprising person designed a "Leslie mix and match clothing Refrigerator magnet set". It came with various clothing magnets that you could dress up Leslie with. He promised Leslie 25% of the cheddar. He sold TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS WORTH. They were the hit gift last Christma. Leslie took his five large and bought a big shed at Home depot and put it in some lady's backyard that liked him. He then bought a used big screen TV and a stack of VHS movies. Pretty cool use of that money, huh?

Cool iPhone rant I found on the internet

Here you go folks,

If you own one of these (iPhone), you may as well just wear a big sign around your neck that says,

"I AM TOO WEALTHY FOR MY OWN GOOD. PLEASE ROB ME."

Some people look at these things and seem to think if they just have this phone their whole lives will improve. They'll be satisfied and complete. But it's just a phone, people. Sure it's a phone that gets the internet but it doesn't even support Java or Flash and guess what? If you can afford this phone, you probably also have a laptop that can not only get the internet, but get Java and Flash applications and pages too!

It's a phone. And it is JUST a phone. It is not a new baby, a home or your grandmother Bessie resurrected from the dead. Get over yourself.

My friend Skinny got one of these and he says it RULES. Skinny is smart and does not put up with any bullshit whatsoever.

LLoyd has one but he is mostly interested in the fun stuff, like this "bubbles" application that just shows bubbles floating around and you can move them with your finger on the touchscreen.
He also showed me that bad-boy app that allows you to put the iphone next to your radio; it listens to the song playing for a few seconds, figures out what song it is, then shows you the song info and album art on the phone. We tried it out with that 80's Howard Jones song that goes "Oh Oh oh... oh oh oh ooooohhhhh". It worked perfect. Of course Lloyd is about 80 and was not enthused about this choice for the test.
Of course the real reason Apple developed this app was because of course it lets your purchase the song from iTunes ....

Mensa, a platter of bullshit

When I was a kid I used to hang out at my dad’s office after school. He was a clinical psychologist so he had all sorts of cool stuff laying around to play with. I remember seeing these tests laying around with pictures of squares and triangles and numbers and such; an “IQ” test. He worked with Special Ed folks and regularly had to assess their intelligence level.

A few years ago I thought about those tests and wondered how somebody that does not speak English and has never been to school would be tested. My extreme example was a 11 year old girl living with her grandfather on a farm high in the mountains of Lapland. This girl has never seen or talked to anyone except her grandfather. She’s never seen a book, pictures of shapes, language, machinery, social awareness, nothing. She also has an IQ well in above genius.
How would you test such a person? I thought if I could sit down with a dozen typical Mensa questions that I might be able to figure out a way to test her.
Well, I wrote MENSA, which is this obnoxious organization that consists of insecure people who are in the top 2 percentile of the country in IQ. I asked for a handful of example test questions, and also posed the Lapland girl example.

Dear Phil,
Mensa tests are private and so no, I am not going to send you any example questions.
And regarding your “Lapland girl” example, we have special tests for these situations, and no, I am not going to send you any examples of that test either. If you are interested in being tested for Mensa, please send in the fee and schedule a test.
Regards,
Mr. (soon to be “asshole”) Mensa.

Wow, is this guy friendly or what? I can just envision him sitting there with a smirk on his face puffing a pipe while writing me. I’d pay big money to witness her eat him alive.

My response:
Mr. Mensa,
I was not aware that you are fluent with both the Lapland culture and Sami (Lapland language)? If I pay the fee, can I take this test?
Rude boy never replied.

My friend Rick is a farmboy from Nebraska who went to a one-room schoolhouse and grew up chasing clouds for fun. He’s also one of the smartest and humble people I know. He went to a Mensa meeting because out friend Bobby goes and says they have free beer. Rick took the test and missed being accepted by one question. He later found out that guessing was legal. He left many answers blank because he was not certain of the answer. Clearly he is well into Mensa territory. I asked his opinion of the folks at the meeting. “Well, they are pretty impressed with themselves, that’s for sure. I thought they were kind of boring and loud, but the beer helped smooth out the meeting.
I asked him if he was going to take the test again. “nah, me and Bobby can drink cheap beer lots of places were we don’t have to put up with those people.

The sad part about all of this is that many Mensa members are good people but in my opinion, they are so insecure that they need this nonsense to feel like they can be better than regular people. Maybe I should storm a meeting, point a bazooka at rude boy’s head and yell “Run for your lives while there’s still time!!!!”.
I find the most enjoyable people to be around are those humble folks who quietly listen in group conversations, ask questions, and never talk about themselves. This is the finest example of a secure person.

The baffling habits of suburban house buyers

First, it's a "house" not a "home". The word "home" is used by real estate agents to make a house sound better than it is, something that will bond your family if you buy it.

I'll be dissing suburbanites pretty heavy here, mainly because they deserve it.
A large percentage of the housing disaster (foreclosure and such) is owned by suburbia. There's a good reason for this:
suburbanites don't have any money.

let's explore the lifestyle of suburbanites to find out why.

Many suburb parents put their kids on Ritlin because they have Attention Deficit Disorder, which was called "hyperactivity" when I was a kid. Back then, my mom just made me run around the block a couple of times and that usually calmed me down just fine. At school we had two recesses and a long lunch time, and we ran around and played like wild banshees for the entire recess. When we got back to class we were too tired to be hyper. Nowdays the kids just sit around during recess and text their friends or listen to iPods; no wonder they are restless.
And what is wrong with kids learning the art of patience.

Suburban housing is fascinating. Massive houses with tiny little yards. Suburbanites want as much square footage as possible and they are willing to use as much of their lot as they are allowed by city code. Because our society is centered around automobiles, the focus of the front of the house is the driveway and garage. When you drive down the street, you see a row of garages. In older neighborhoods central to the city, houses had front porches and were sized so that the lot had plenty of space. These houses were typically around 1200 feet and large families learned how to live together in this small space. In stark contrast, suburbanites will not buy anything less than 3,000 feet even though they only have 2 brats. What's funny is that these small central houses sell for 3 times what the burb houses go for.

"Two Trees"
Most burb track houses come with two (2) trees in the front yard. I say "tree", but really it is a "stick". They are about 6 feet tall and have a one inch trunk. These can be purchased for around 20 dollars each. The developers put them there only because they have too.
Half of them wind up dying and burbanites never plant anymore.

Another great thing in the burbs are "lawyer foyers". These ridiculous 2 story entries with round tops and massive (and cheap) chandeliers hanging over the $4,000 front door.
A new thing nowadays is the absolute necessity of granite counter tops. they cost a fortune, maybe $60 per foot, but they are now a "must have".

Burb houses are all about show. The front is huge and elegant. the back of the house is usually shitty siding and a crappy sloping roof down to a single story. The back yard is garbage surrounded by a "privacy" fence, essentially a 6 foot tall cedar fence that turns ugly gray within a year or two and then rots in a few years more. This fence is to keep their Ritlin addicts from associating with the neighbors. It is kind of like a prison; God forbid that you might have to actually talk to your neighbor.

And speaking of show, have you ever paid attention to the "Model home" at the front of the subdivision? It looks 10 times better than the track houses that you will be buying. Why?
They don't have a driveway.
Yep, where the driveway normally is, they have rich green manicured grass and two thousand dollars worth of landscaping. So you walk up to the model home and think how incredible your new "home" will be. Your subconscious will not let you see the lack of driveway because that would interfere with you spending 50% of your income on the new "house O' granite tops".
In my opinion this is false advertising to the extreme. Somebody needs to take these people to court. What the model "home" SHOULD show is reality; what your house will really look like.
Concrete driveway, garage door, and a backyard surrounded by the ratty ass fence, a trench of dirt around the perimeter (due to your bored dog running in circles), and a plethora of bright plastic kids toys strewn about.

Another thing about burb houses are their complicated roofs. Old neighborhood central house usually have a simple gable with maybe one extension. Burb houses have ZERO gables because they cost ten dollars more than hip roofs. Hip roofs are ugly but the burbanites could care less; remember, all they care about is granite counter tops, 5 bedrooms, and a plasma.
The "North Dallas Special" is a well known bullshit house with extraordinarily complex roof lines to make it look like a mansion.

Soccer Moms
One of the most ridiculed of all burbanites. Many years ago they all drove minivans, but after years of brutal insults, they all traded up to SUVs, which are the same as minivans except they cost twice as much. Here's an interesting description of a soccer mom:

I became a Soccer Mother.

Soccer Mother. The job spec isn’t great. You have to juggle schedules at a moment’s notice, drive forever, withstand the elements. You have to muzzle up, despite judgment calls that would throw Solomon for a loop. You learn to step over the wreckage at home that builds from chores left undone. And friends start writing instead of phoning because you’re hardly home.

Sooooo, you completely wreck your house and your family because why? So your little kids can play a game. The word "wreckage" is pretty powerful. Decades ago, kids went out and played in the neighborhood with their friends. They got twice the exercise and mommy could stay home in the evenings and keep the wreckage from occuring. When the kids came in, they were exhausted and happy. There was no need for SUVs. most families had a single car, some simple sedan.

The Story of Riki OH!, My band, Getting Shot At, and Oriental Toothbrush Fighting

Ridiculous title for a post, wouldn't you agree? I started out wanting to do a post about Randall's brother Ricky, "The Story of Ricky", which reminded me of one of the most ridiculous, disgusting asian gore/kung fu movies every produced, but I thought of so many interesting stories about the band we were in, I decided to just talk about the band.

Robert, Ben, me, and Ricky played together back in the early 80s and Ricky was the lead singer. Both our lead guitarist Ben and Ricky refused to do a gig unless a ice chest full of Heineken was on stage. They would drink one between every song, which resulted in two hammered people by the start of the 3rd set. Ricky also lit a smoke and would stick it between two guitar strings up on the head of the guitar and let it smolder during the song. But his most fascinating characteristic was that he could not remember the words to any of the songs, which amazes me since he was the lead singer. So we had a music stand on stage with a book of all the songs with the words. I've seen hundreds of bands and never witnessed a singer having to have cheat sheets. One night the book fell off the stand at the beginning of "Mountain of Love", a cheesy Johnny Rivers 50's song which has six verses. Ricky could only remember the first verse so he sang it six times. People paid to see this "entertainment".

Early on, Ricky decided to hire his psychotic friend "Dave" to be our manager. Dave works in a funeral home and takes naps in a coffin. At some point before I met him he was in jail for who knows what, and I guess he got a little irritable, because he set his bed on fire. It must have been a small cell because he wound up with burns all over his upper body and arms. Now if I would have been a normal responsible adult back then, I would have said "Rocky, I am not sure about having Dave involved in our band. He seems a bit irresponsible and could use some therapy". Instead all I said was "cool".

Anyway, he had this stupid idea of a graffiti campaign for our band, so one night Ricky and I grabbed a gallon of black paint and a roller and hit the town. Now, to take on a stunt such as defacing private property, you need plenty of booze. We had no money or beer, so I jacked a bottle of banana liquor from my dad's cabinet. This folks, is true desperation.

Wandering aimlessly through town, we saw a billboard that looked like the perfect candidate. Up I climbed, 30 feet in the air up on the platform of the billboard, the big ones you see on the side of the interstate. I grabbed the paint roller and proceeed to paint our band name, "The Kingpins" in huge 6 foot tall letters. Once finished I climbed back down and got in the car. Ricky looked at me and said "you asshole, LOOK!". I had painted "Kinpins", leaving out the G.

By the way, Ricky was married once when he was about 18. I went to their house one day and opened the refrigerator to see if they had anything to drink. There were precisely two items; A bottle of champagne and a rotted tomato.

For one gig, Dave had this brilliant idea that we should play "Can't Buy Me Love" by the Beatles and throw money out in the crowd. Let me quickly say that after paying roadies and a sound man, we made almost nothing on gigs. Well, we started the song and Dave threw roughly one hundred single dollar bills out into the crowd. There went our revenue for the night. To this day, I have no idea what that was supposed to accomplish.

Once we booked a gig in New Orleans in an area known as "Fat City" which for a brief period was a hot spot for dancing and drinking and such. We rented a big Semi, loaded up all our gear, and "Big Richard" drove us there. We setup and went on stage at 10pm. There were exactly TWO patrons in the place; A young couple that were clearly on date number 5 at most. We started our set and they did not even look up. For the remainder of the evening we played to these two people as not a single other living soul walked in. Total pay for the night; $4.00. Yes, four dollars. After paying Big Richard and the semi rental I think we went in the hole about $80.

I know you are chomping at the bit to find out about the "Getting Shot at" part of this blog.

Our normal practice location was the living room of the house that Robert and I lived in. One night during a typical session Dave and our roadie George were all drunk and goofing off while were trying to practice. George had a haircut that resembled a helmet and thus his haircuts became known as a "helmet fitting". He also was the champion of popping "wheelies" in this wheelchair that was laying around the house (to this day I have no idea where it came from).

So these two idiots were in the middle of the living room doing kung fu moves while swinging their weapons, toothbrushes, at each other, hence the name "Oriental Toothbrush Fighting". They knocked a mic stand over and popped the one nerve that Robert had left. He threw his bass down, grabbed them both, and threw them out the door while kicking them both in the butt at the same time. Robert is a rather docile person, but i think the toothbrushes did him in. We went back to practicing, and at this point I need to step back and tell you the layout of the room. I sat up against the front door with my drums, back to the door. the rest of the band was strewn around the room opposite from me.

So we are banging away and all of the sudden "BOOM BOOM!". I was leaning back against the door and it shook and glass flew out all over me. Dave and George had gone to George's house, grabbed his 12 gauge shotgun and decided to teach us a lesson. I'm not sure they realized that if the shot had been a foot lower, I'd have had a nice hole in the back of my head. I think that's called "murder" in a court of law.

Well, they denied it of course and I don't recall much of what happened down the road from there.

Ok, a few Ricky stories.

He was into magic and gags for a while and had this quarter with a nail attached to the bottom. He'd nail it down on the floor and "watch the suckers bite"

While working at a car dealership if he had a customer that he had close to a deal, he'd put a pen in the middle of the table and slightly lift his side, causing the pen to roll toward the customer. They'd grab it before it rolled off the table. "One step closer to signing !" he'd brag.