What Else Would I Be Thinking?

Yesterday, I was sitting with some friends, and one noticed that I was being rather quiet (not typical me). My mind had wandered from the conversation, and I was simply thinking to myself. I was asked, "what're you thinking about?"

The answer is simple.

Monkeys.

If I Could Be King....of Music.

I apologize for the time since the last post. I recently bought the 5th season of 24 on dvd. They should put a Surgeon General's warning on those things, 'cuz they's addictive. I also spent the last two days the the land of the Orange and White for Christmas.

As I was driving back this evening (listening to the radio, since I forgot my cd's), I came to the realization. As I passed Clay's Ferry (that one's for you Deener), I decided that rules need to be established for the world of music to keep the suckiness from continuing.

1. Fergie, I'm gonna have to issue a cease and desist immediately. Take the money you got with this last album and buy some talent. I can't understand how you have a career. At least most crappy female "artists" are at least attractive. I'll admit your body is smokin', but you have the face of a Gorgon. I dare not look your way, for fear of turning to stone.
2. Gwen Stefani, I will allow you to continue performing with a couple stipulations. You may only peform with No Doubt, and only songs preceding "Hey Baby, Hey Baby, Hey". This may seem harsh, buy you've been given a chance to experiment with your sound, and we can all see that was a mistake. If given the choice of listening to your latest album or gouging my own brain with a screwdriver, the only decision to make is phillips of flathead.
3. Jay-Z, you've retired at the top of your game and returned. You are officially the Michael Jordan of the music biz. But, unlike MJ, you are not allowed to retire again. In fact, I'm gonna need you to put out at least one album a year for the rest of your life. Once you die, I'm gonna need you to Tupac it.
4. Ludacris, you are the only hip hop artist that consistently puts out good music (I discount Jay-Z because of the retirement). Keep up the good work, man.
5. Contemporary Country Musicians, having listened to songs by many of you, I feel ill. Your music is neither country, nor western. I hereby assign you all to watch CMT's Dirty Dozen: Country Music's Top 12 Outlaws, after which, I am requiring you to listen to an album by each of them. Toby Keith and Gretchen Wilson, you are exempt from this assignment.
6. Commonwealth of Kentucky, there is a stretch of I-75 between Lexington and Knoxville where I was in neither market. No big deal except the only thing on the radio was country (see above rule to understand why this is a problem), or talk radio. I am hereby going to require you to provide a station that plays only Skynyrd, Pearl Jam, and AC/DC on a loop. That should get me through that stretch.
7. People in the car next to me, I know Elton John is gay. That does not, however, mean that if I am singing along to a classic Elton song, that I am gay. Screw you for judging. In fact, I'm adding Elton John to the list that will be played in rule 6. Unless, of course, the song is "Candle in the Wind", that song is gay.
8. Last, but not least, Fergie, I know I've already addressed you, but damn you suck. Your "London Bridge" is of no concern to me, I have no idea what "keeping the boys on rock, rock" means, and (while I appreciate your concern for breast cancer awareness) I do not want to hear about your "Lady lumps". Your "music" is the equivalent of shoving horse feces into my ear canals.

I'll be watching you all.

I Just Want To Be Soothed.

I've been dealing with a small cold as of late. Nothing bad, just congestion in the mornings and a few uncontrolable coughing fits. Unfortunately, the congestion led to today's adventure.

Because I could barely breathe through my nose, I slept most of the evening with my mouth open. This lead to my lips being extremely dry and chapped this morning... Still reading? Let's continue. So now it feels like tiny demons are clawing into my lips. So I figured while I was out I'd stop at the grocery store to find some sort of treatment. Luckily, Meijer has an entire "Lip Therapy" section. Who knew? I was going to just buy some chap stick, but I thought that might just be preventative. If only I'd had it last night. But plenty of other options. The problem then became the names. Blistex....hmmm, I don't have a blister. Herpecin....not even touching that one. Then my eyes fell on Carmex, seems innocent enough. I read the back for uses, and while cold sores and blister were listed, soothing dry and chapped lips is as well. I have dry and chapped lips, and I want them soothed. Perfect.

So I grab the Carmex, and go get a can of Kool-Aid mix (that's right, I'm a child). It wasn't until I was looking for a check-out lane that something caught my eye. Somehow, I'd missed in large lettering on the actual container "FOR COLD SORES". That's right, all caps as well. Just wanting to get out of there, I figured I'd find the shortest line and get it over with quick. Aisle 8, just two people together, not too many objects in their cart, Perfect!

Unbenounced to me, this couple apparently hadn't been shopping any time within the last 30 years. They apparently didn't understand what the big conveyor belt leading to the register was for, because they opted to hand each item individually to the cashier. They, also, apparently just see items they desire and throw them in the buggy. I can only assume this, because they felt the need to check the price of each item before handing it to the cashier. Meanwhile I'm standing there feeling the judging eyes of everyone who is accumulating behind me, as they gaze at the now stationary conveyor belt which is where my "don't kiss stripper" balm is lying. Finally they finish, pay and move forward. The cashier scans my Carmex and Kool-Aid, however when I move to swipe my card, guess who has yet to move entirely from the aisle and is blocking the card swipe machine. That's right, Mr. and Mrs. 1934. I politely say "excuse me", and Mrs. 1934 glances over her shoulder, rolls her eyes, and reluctantly takes all of the two steps it took to not impede the completion of my transaction.

I step out of the store. Ahhh, freedom. Better get in the truck, before judging eyes get out here. I get in the truck and open the balm to finally soothe my cracked and painful lips. Dammit! Now I remember why I didn't put chapstick on in the first place. It feels like I've just gone to McDonalds and asked the cook to rub a freshly fried burger patty on my lips. Seriously, now all I can think about is how greasy my lips feel. Ladies, I don't know if this is what lipstick feels like, but if it is, don't feel you have to where lipstick to impress me anymore. It would explain why you all blot so much.

There is an upside to the entire thing. I've learned that rasberry lemonade flavored Kool-Aid rocks. Silver lining.

At Least She's Not Knocked Up!

I spent the past weekend in Tennessee with the family. It was good to go home. However, my father was a little more affectionate than normal. Usually, he's not a big hugger, nor does he express his feelings that often. I learned from the best. But this weekend, he was different. Perhaps it's having all the kids back in the house, but as my older sister an niece were about to leave, he wanted a group hug. This was a bit unnerving, since the last time he wanted a group hug was 20 years ago, and it was to announce that mom was pregnant.

In this holiday season and time of thanksgiving, I have realized that I am extremely grateful that my parents locked their bedroom door on Friday nights (it wasn't until I was an adult that I realized what was going on in there). They saved me years of potential therapy bills.

Well, Mom is NOT pregnant, and I look forward to the next group hug in 2026.

Digest of Ohio Motor Vehicle Laws.

Yesterday, I went to get my Ohio license plates, and get an Ohio driver's license (previously I lived on the Kentucky side of the river.) While there was some red tape with the tags, I was pleasantly surprised by how easily it went (Kentucky was a pain). But the experience was not entirely hassle-free. When I moved to Kentucky from Tennessee, the only thing I had to do was show a valid TN driver's license and they took my picture and gave me lovely new Kentucky license. Here on the Ohio side, you have to show a valid license, then take a written test. Seriously Ohio, do you really think your drivers' skills are that much more superior to other states? Have you seen your drivers' skills?

So I'm flipping through the handbook, just making sure I'm clear on the vastly different driving laws and rules of Ohio. I noticed there is not a single mention of the proper way to merge. Having lived here for three and a half years, this actually comes as no surprise.

So since it's not covered in your driver's handbook, I am providing a merging pop quiz. This is really just for Ohioans, but anyone can participate.

Question 1: When entering a roadway via on-ramp should you?
a. Accelerate to the speed of the traffic you are joining and safely merge when adequate room is available.
b. Use your turn signal to indicate your intention. Merge when adequate room is available.
c. Stop at the end of the ramp. Wait until 27 car lengths are available, merge comfortably.

Question 2: When another driver is trying to merge from an on-ramp, you should?
a. Try to change lanes, allowing ample space for a merger.
b. Decellerate so that the other driver is able to merge.
c. Travel at the same speed as the merging driver, forcing them to the shoulder, because you shouldn't have to be bothered.

Question 3: A driver in another lane is signalling that he/she needs to change to your lane, you should?
a. Slow down and allow them into your lane.
b. Accelerate to get out of their way, so that they can merge into your lane.
c. Travel at the same speed, forcing them to miss their exit or turn, after all it is your lane.

If you answered C to every question, you are suited to drive in Cincinnati. If you answered anything other than C, you should probably live anywhere else.

Ol' McDonald Had a Farm....for Dinner.

Those of you who read regularly (all both of you), know my disdain for the KFC Famous Bowl. It's just a step shy of a trough. However, this doesn't mean I don't have a weakness for food combos that might not be the healthiest. I feel I should share some of the more recent impending heart attacks, simply because I think they're funny.

1. The Colossal - This simple and delicious sandwich was devised by my friend Mike D and I. Making one is easy. Go to Wendy's. Order a spicy chicken sandwich. Also, order a junior bacon cheeseburger. Remove chicken from it's bun, put it in with JBC. You have a Colossal. The beauty of this bad boy is it's cheap, but more importantly, you get three animals at once. Too bad Wendy's doesn't have a fish sandich.

2. The Kitchen Sink - This is actually a menu item, but it is devilishly brilliant. I had one at a place called Ted's Wildlife Grille (the chain is owned by Ted Turner) in Columbus, OH. This burger consists of a Bison burger, bacon, ham, mushrooms, onions, cheese, and, as if that wasn't enough to stop a elephant's heart, one fried egg. Awesome. Still just three different animals, technically, but you do get two pigs. Plus the egg is sunnyside-up, so it drips down the sides. The shot of pure adrenaline used to restart my heart afterward was rather invigorating.

3. My Barnyard Chili - All you Cincinnati natives will cringe, because my chili doesn't have chocolate in it. That's right, I make actual chili. It consists of three types of beans, three types of onions, two types of chili powder, and as many different animals as I can get in there. To date, the most I have gotten in is five (steak, chicken, bacon, turkey, lamb). It's like putting an entire farm in the pot. What's that Charlotte? No, Wilbur and the others won't be back.

I expect some of you are probably disgusted. Those of you thinking, "that don't sound half bad," you'll be invited to join me next time I make chili. It'll be 6 months from now. I've gotta let my heart heal.

That's What Happens When You Leave Cotton Candy Out...

It's been a while since my last post. Sorry, quite a bit going on lately. However, I will conclude my London memoirs with my return home.

Upon opening my apartment door, I was greeted by a floor full of balloons.



Having been travelling nearly 20 hours trying to return to my home sweet home,my mind was not fully functioning. I forgot that my birthday had passed and perhaps this was my friends' way of welcoming me back. I, instead, went directly upstairs, and called the exterminator. This was our conversation:

Exterminator: What seems to be the problem.
Me: I have clowns.
E: You have what?
Me: Clowns! I haven't actually seen one, yet. But their droppings are everywhere.

....and scene.

Just 8 Minutes Left. Don't Lower the Knife, Yet.

Walking the streets of London, you occasionally see signs similar to this one. Police cameras are not a new concept to me. I wasn't surprised to see the signs. I was however intrigued by how they depict cameras. I know London is rich in tradition and sticking to their old ways, but perhaps their technology should be upgraded past the 1890's. In this fast paced world I would imagine it's hard to get the criminals to stand still for 10 minutes for the picture to take.

Don't Aim So High.

I mentioned in the previous post the phrase "mind the gap". While in London I probably heard this phrase appoximately 7563 times....on Monday. For those of you unaware, it is repeated over the PA in the tube (subway). A very pleasant British robot lady repeats it at every stop to remind us to watch our steps as we get on and off of the train. It's lovely.

What is not lovely is public restrooms in London. Not that they are dirty (usually just the opposite), and it's not necessarily the case in all of them, but there is a problem when utilizing the trough. Being a big sports fan, and having gone to many UT games, I am used to the idea of the trough. For those of you unfamiliar, rather than having several urinals, some establiments catering to larger crowds employ a large trough that you have to just go up to and pee. No privacy. I'm not sure but my guess is that trough technology is somewhat new to the UK. I come to this conclusion, simply because every time I was at one, I got peed on. Not directly, but I couldn't help but feel tiny little tinkle droplets hit the side of my arm whenever there was someone next to me. This would then lead me to have to scrub my arms down like an ER doctor when I washed my hands.

My solution?

Men of the UK. We understand the need for troughs in certain establishments. We Americans are happy to stand side by side with you and make water. Just a few suggestions, though. First, aim lower. Try to have your stream hit the point where the side and the bottom meet. Second, lower the pressure. I understand you want to hurry, so as not to miss part of the game. But you guys have to relax. You all have some violent streams. Stop forcing it and just allow it to come out naturally. I'm afraid you're going to hurt yourselves. My final solution, perhaps a PA annoucment. Much like when I get on the elevator and hear "mind the doors", or when I'm on the tube and hear "mind the gap", perhaps we could get the same lady with the pleasant voice to remind us to "mind your splatter."

You Talk Funny.

I just returned from jolly ol' England. I had a great time and would like to thank Deener, Kate, and all of Deener's new friends for making it a great time.

That said...the Brits talk funny. They got all these sayings for everyday things that are completely different from how we say them in the States.

Here are some examples:
Fag means "cigarette"
Flat means "apartment"
Lift means "elevator"
Elevator means "to kill a prostitute"
Washing up liquid means "dish washing detergent"
Dish washing detergent means "to kill a prostitute"
Toilet means "the whole rest room"
Restroom means "a place to rest after killing a prostitute"
Crisps means "Chips"
Chips means "french fries"
French fries means "to kill a French prostitute"
Mind the Gap means "watch your step"
Watch your step means "look at that prostitute, she needs a good killing"

So what have I learned? The English love their sayings. They also love dead prositutes. Who knew?

Plenty of other posts will come of the trip, but I just spent all day travelling and just want to use the restroom (American version) and go to bed.

Once in a Blue Moon.

Tomorrow I leave for England. I asked my friend Deener if they're was anything from the states that she missed and wanted me to bring. She asked if I could smuggle a couple of Blue Moons (that's my girl, only askin' for a brew.) However, I'm not going to do it. Reason #1: I don't have room in my suitcase. #2: Baggage handlers tend to just throw your luggage around (they should be called baggage throwers). I wouldn't want a bottle or two to break, covering my clothes with beer. Besides, my clothes will probably all smell of beer by the time we leave.

Sorry Deener, you'll just have to settle for some animal crackers.

British Throw Down

The journey across the pond will soon be upon us...well, um, upon me, not so much you. Unless "you" are Katie, (which is possible seeing as very few people even read this crap)and then also upon you, as well.

Anywho, back to my point. The trip is near and in trying to understand that which is British, I stumbled upon this vid of 2 English guys really throwin' down. Warning, this can get pretty graphic.

Damn Yankees

I'm sure you've all heard by now. New York Yankees' pitcher Cory Lidle crashed a plane into an apartment high rise in New York. Upon hearing the news, President Bush has called for the invasion of Yankee Stadium. Anyone found harboring or aiding Yankee players will be seen as the enemy.

Pip Pip

In just a little over a week I will be travelling to England with my friend Kate to visit our other friend Deener. I recently learned that they don't have peanut butter. How do you trust a nation without peanut butter.

Here are some other facts that I just learned about England that don't sit well with me:
1. They've never heard of orthodontia.
2. They do not use the word "the".
3. 3 men in downtown London go from home to home at night and steal little pieces of your soul.
4. No indoor plumbing.
5. Every single one of them has a tattoo of Alan Alda (TV's Hawkeye Pierce).
6. They call sausage "bangers", and they call pork chops "sperm dumpsters".
7. The Beatles actually aren't British. They were a band from New Jersey that the country of England hired to pretend they were British, so that England would seem cool.
8. If you can't swim, they push you into a pool. After you've drowned, they eat your heart.
9. You're not allowed to laugh between 3pm and 6:57pm.
10. They smell like cabbage and feet.

Screeeeech!

I'm a week late on this one (My friend Kate already mentioned it). But TV's Screech, otherwise known as Dustin Diamond (not related to the Beastie Boys' Mike Diamond), is in a sex tape. His manager is trying to find a distributor, given the name "Saved by the Smell." I'm not even offended by Screech screwing. I'm offended by the name. There are plenty of good porn titles that could have been used. Here's my list:

"Shaved by the Bell"

"Saved by the Tail"

"Saved by the Balls"

"Shaved by the Balls"

"I'm No Johnny Dakota"

"I'm So Excited!!!"

"Dustin Off My Diamonds"

Those are just the ones I've come up with......What are yours'?

You Say Pajama....

My friend is about to move into a new apartment. As a "house warming" he is talking about having a pajama party. Now, I like a theme party, but I dislike pajama parties. Don't get me wrong, I like a girl in her PJ's. But, when that occurs it's not a "Pajama party", it's a "Readjust Myself All Friggin' Night Long Party".

I just hope he has several throw pillows.

The Harmful Power of Little Dude.

Little dude is back...with a vengeance. Yes, he can dance, but he can also lay the smack down. Don't anger him. (Also don't crouch slightly so that he can climb up your tie) I'm on your side, Little Dude.

Seriously, I friggin' love midgets.

The Healing Power of Little Dude.

Sometimes I have a day that's not so good. I get a little down. I get a little out. But now I have a cure for the down-n-outs. I can simply watch this and I'm back to good. God I love midgets.

Who Rocks the Potty, That Rocks the Body?

The other night I was sound asleep. Actually, not only was I asleep, but I was having a great dream. I don't remember all of the details, but I do know it involved Gary Larson's The Far Side. Suddenly, I was ripped from my slumber by rumbles and grumbles in my tumbles. I left the warm confines of my bed to go make dirt. I was disappointed to find that I simply had a case of the devil's wind (that's right, for those of you who didn't know, the name of this blog is quite simply a fart joke. I stand by it.) Anyway, dispite my dissatifaction with the situation, I did find myself remembering the classic restroom poetry:

Here I sit, Broken Hearted. Came to sh**, but only farted.

Brilliant.
Here are some other classics.

Those who write on bathroom walls, Roll their sh** in tiny balls. Those who read these words of wit, eat those tiny balls of sh**.

In days of old, when knights were bold, and condoms weren't invented. They rapped their c**ks with dirty socks, and babies were prevented.

Here's plenty more.

Games I Like To Play. Pt. 2

So I took a week off from the blog. After Tennessee fell to Florida, I needed some time to wallow in depression. But I'm back, and I have another game to tell you about. I call it "2word".

Here's how to play. Much like my first game, this one takes place when found in a one sided conversation. Only one rule. Every time the person finishes a sentence simply say the last two words of that sentence.

What's that? You would like an example. Sure.

Jabber Jaws: So I was at the store the other day.
Me: other day
JJ: I was going to get some milk.
Me: some milk.
JJ: And guess who I ran into.
Me: Ran Into? (ever so often say the two words as a question)
JJ: Roger...who I went to high school with!
Me: School With!

and so on....It seems dumb, but it is a fun way to add excitement to and otherwise dull situation. Take it, play it, enjoy it.

True English

My friend Deener moved to London for grad. school. I'll miss her, but I'm more worried that those dirty Brits will try to change her. Sure they seem charming, what with their goofy talk and all. But there are some things we should all be aware of, so that we aren't duped by those Shepard's Pie eatin' bastards.....

*Sweet Iced Tea is better than Hot Earl Grey

*Burger and Fries beats Fish and Chips every time

*English Muffin Vs. Our Muffins..




















*America is the home of Michael Jordan, Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle, Jim Brown, Peyton Manning, Tiger Woods, Larry Bird, Muhammad Ali and hundreds of other top athletes (too many to name). England is the home of David Beckham and a couple of figure skaters.

*The British think that all Americans are rebel cowboys. They do not however realize that we don't consider that an insult.

*America gave the world Lynyrd Skynyrd. England gave the world the Spice Girls.

*Hooker that Charlie Sheen went to...


Hooker that Hugh Grant went to....
So there we have it. Sure England may be a nice place to visit. But I think we can all agree that the USA is clearly better.

Deener, I hope you're reading.

KFC: The Next Generation.

The KFC Famous Bowls have been going strong for a few months now (you should've known this, seeing as they are "famous"). Potatoes, chicken, corn, gravy, and cheese made convenient and portable by placing them all in the same vessel. No more excessive use of your fork by having to pick each item up seperately. Perhaps if they put it in a blender, I wouldn't have to waste valuable energy chewing.

All this said, I have a sneak preview of KFC's newest menu item.
And I'll let you in on their new slogan: "Why waste bowls? Saddle up to the trough, Fatty!"

I think this will be a huge success.

Ummm.....Yeah.

I would post something about the OSU/UT game on Saturday, but I'm really busy eating all of this crow.

I'm Not Alone.

Ronnie James Dio is cheering for the Longhorns....



...so is KISS...


...Mr. Vernon...


...P-Funk...


...cartoon John Lennon...


Dr. Strange is a fan....



...and who can argue with Spiderman?

What Can I Say? Texas Rocks!!!!

Don't get me wrong, Tennessee is my team. I am in no way saying any football team has my favor over them. But tonight the biggest game is OSU v. Texas. I'm rootin' for the 'Horns. For several reasons.

#1. I hate Ohio State. Almost as much as I hate Michigan. It's close. When they play each other I hope for some way that they can both lose. I've been searching the rule books to see if that's possible....no luck yet.

#2. Texas is a southern state. I gotsta stay true to the South.

#3. Texas' colors are orange and white. Maybe not the God given shade of orange of Tennessee, but orange just the same.

#4. Texas is a UT. Not THE UT (Tennessee), but it's not that big a stretch for me to shout, "LET'S GO UT!!!!"

#5.
TEXAS ROCKS!! How can you not support a team that utilizes the rock hand??? I do this all the time, and not in support of Texas. But if I get to hold up the rock, and cheer for a team at the same time, I'm in.

Games's I Like to Play. Pt. 1

I like a good conversation. I, however, do not like one sided conversations. Don't get me wrong, I'm willing to listen....to a certain point. After you've gone into minute 5 of your diatribe, I realize I'm not getting a word in edgewise. That's when I like to play a game that I like to call "Yeah, Uh Huh, Okay."

Here are the rules:

Upon finding yourself in a one-sided conversation, you then begin to respond by rotating the phrases "Yeah", "Uh Huh", and "Okay".

Your score is determined by how many times you get through the three responses.

After 5 rounds, you are allowed to add "Really?".

Take it, play it, love it.

I got a score of 7 this evening, without the person talking ever knowing.

The Haunting.

My neighbor in the apartment below me is trying to convince me that the house we live in is haunted. I don't really believe such things but....

My doorbell was going off on a regular basis. When going to my door, there was nobody to be found. I unplugged it and thought nothing of it. Until today.... not having electricity to the doorbell, as I showered today, the smoke alarm went off. I checked the entire house (my apartment, neighbor's apartment, and basement). No fire, no smoke.

Now I'm worried that I may have a ghost.

I don't tend to worry about my lodging decisions. Hell, my last apartment was across the street from the projects, and I'd hear thugs and wannabe gangbangers playing basketball and shouting for no reason into the weeee hours of the morning.

It didn't really bother me that the thugs might've had guns....but the ghost doesn't need a ladder to get into my apartment.

Olive Oyl Would Be So Disapppointed.

This was the bowl of "Jambalaya" that I recently received at Popeye's. I was promised by the menu that there were succulent pieces of chicken and sausage in this dish. I ask you, show me one piece of anything other than rice.

This was the sign in the corner.



It should read....

"Everything at Popeye's has BIG FLAVOR
(Jambalaya not included)"

The only flavor I got was RICE...it was not very big.

Kicking (and Screaming)......pt. 2

I realized how big of a nicotine whore I really am. I'm only on smoke free day five, but I just got home from a local watering hole. Now, pride will not allow me to ask my smoking friends for a cig. However, apparently upon going to the restroom and finding myself alone, I am not above checking the pack on the floor to see if there might be one in there......I hang my head in shame.

p.s....even if there had been a cigarette in there, I would not have smoked a cig off of the bathroom floor......perhaps

Kicking (and Screaming) the Habit.

I recently gave up smoking. I've decided to go cold turkey. Don't applaud just yet, it's only been 4 days. In recent years, I've really only wanted to smoke while drinking. So I've decided that while drinking, I would chew on toothpicks instead. It's helped except for one thing.

I don't know how long it would have taken to get cancer or emphysema (if I would have gotten them at all). But I do know it only took 37 minutes for me to get a splinter in my tongue.

The blessing is that the experience has inspired me to start my own buisness. The anger and crankiness from giving up the smokes, has given me the motivation to go into murder for hire. Is there someone you want dead? Be it for money, revenge, sheer hatred, or any other reason, I will gladly send that person to meet their maker (for a nominal fee). This will be a good move for me....It's about time murder stopped being just a hobby.

I Wanna Break Somthing!!

A friend of mine came over this evening to drink beer and destroy buildings. Seeing as we are both mere mortals, we decided to do the latter virtually. Luckily I own the classic "RAMPAGE".
I can remember many a summer day down at the ol' arcade plunking quarter after quarter into this game. Now I can play endlessly on my PlayStation.
Curious to see how it ended (a feat neither of us had accomplished), we set forth on our quest to reach the end.
After 110 rounds, going from city to city, it DOESN'T end. It just randomly takes you to cities you've already destroyed......DAMMIT!!! It took us 2 hours to get to this point, and we get no closure.

We probably should've just gotten drunk and started punching buildings.

So That's Where Reporters Come From.....

Last night I shot Labor Day fireworks in Cincinnati. Just before going live at 11 o'clock, as I was setting up my camera, the following coversation occurred.

Random Guy: Can I be on TV?

Me: Not this time.

RG: Please. My girlfriend and I want to report. How do we get to do that.

Me: I don't know. Send a resume to the station.

RG: But we want to be reporters tonight. Can't you just point the camera at us and let us talk?

Me: I'm afraid they won't let me do that...................anymore


Brief History Lesson #1: Prior to 1998, all tv news personalities got there start in television as drunk people at events that just asked a photographer to point a camera at them. Now you know.