This is related to and (probably) apropos of nothing on this site. But, writer Warren Ellis found this, and I'm sending it your way. Just because it was interesting, in a morbid kind of way.

You can read the whole article here, but the gist of the whole thing is that a kid went to the doctor complaining of stomach pains. When doctors operated on him, they found inside him what was once, inside the womb, his twin brother. Apparently the boy absorbed his brother during gestation, but the fetus (which would have been his conjoined twin) lived inside him. I say lived, but only in the parasitic sense.

We're getting closer and closer to Stephen King's the Dark Half becoming reality. Before you know it, there will be birds everywhere, and gravediggers disappearing from beneath our noses.

Also:

Would it kill Barry Bonds to run after he hits a homer? He's hit like 600 of the things, and 2 tonight. Act like you've done this before and don't show up the opposing pitcher.

And no, I don't excuse Sammy's hop either. I hate that just as much.

This post is not about wrestling. Much. Skip over the next couple of paragraphs if you don't care about wrestling.

I realize that I talk too much about professional wrestling around here. So I won't linger on the fact that tonight's NWA-TNA show was among the promotion's strongest. The Amazing Red/Kid Kash match was probably the best match of the night, with strong efforts put in during the opening 4-way tag match and the 4-way X-Division elimination match.

The ending blew, with Jeff Jarrett retaining the NWA World Title over Raven. The Jarretts have ridiculous stake within the company. Jeff seems to have a problem putting people over. In fact, after getting beaten down with his hands cuffed behind him, he still comes back to get the win. It's poor storytelling, in my view, to build himself up as a superman.

But I digress.

My issue this lovely spring evening is with those folks who do silly things. Silly, and irritating things.

People who buy front row seats to a wrestling match, probably one of the more important shows in Nashville's recent history. But people who can't be bothered to actually watch the show. People who decide to get up and leave in the middle of the main event.

Perhaps it's that I don't have the money to burn. But from the Sylvester the Cat shirt with the phrase "Don't make me angry" written on it one of the group wore, I'm not guessing these folks are doing their shopping at Sachs, either.

Also, my issue is with those silly and irritating folks who don't understand their task on the interstate entrance ramp is to match speeds with traffic already on the interstate, and then merge. But apparently, the custom in Fantasyland is to do the opposite, and merge before speeding up. I think of it as proof that the Lord (Aquaman) has it in for me when he traps me behind these folks when I'm coming home for wrestling.

My beer (Molson Canadian) has a label on the back that reads "I just want to be held."

Jeez. Everybody's demanding nowadays. That's all I need. A clingy beer.

The Cubs are playing the Giants on ESPN2 right now. Proof that maybe the Lord doesn't have it in so much for me after all.

Here's a way to solve the attendance problems at Major League Baseball games: $2 tickets. Upper deck. Instead of having 3000 people in the upper deck paying 8 bucks a ticket, you have 12000 paying 2 bucks a ticket.

Your box gate is the same. But you have 9000 more people paying $3 for a hot dog and $5 for a coke or a beer.

But I guess it's just not that easy.

They just broke into coverage to show highlights from the game being played in San Diego. There are like 19 people there.

Also, you could quit playing players 14 million dollars.

Larry Eustachy (sp?), the Iowa State coach told a girl at a frat party that he made a million dollars a year. That's three thousand a day to you and me, the great unwashed.

He matches what I make in a year on about the seventh day or so.

My point is: the average joe, tom, dick, harry and Diane West can't relate to a millionaire. Where's the fun in watching a guy who makes 4 million not leg out a ground ball, and paying through the nose to do it?

Two Hundred forty dollars worth of puddin!

Today just turned into absolutely the best damn day ever!!!

Porcupine, Porcupine, Porcupine Racetrack

Go here and find out which character from MTV's the State you are.

Call me Old-Fashioned, but Women Voters? What is this? Mars?

The State. Absolutely wonderful. Comedy Central should pick that shit up!

I'm Doug, and I'm outta he...I'm outta h...I'm outta heeere.

It's my sister April's birthday today. Now, math never was my best subject. She was born in 1981, which makes her, roughly.....45.

I tried calling her cel phone a little while ago, and got a pretentious message that says "Hey guys, this is April and it's finals week so I'm studying...Leave a message, and if I feel like it I'll call you back."

Now if that's not snooty, I don't know what it is.

Once, we had an outgoing message on the answering machine that said something along the lines of "We can't come to the phone or we don't want to talk to you." I recorded the message. My roommate and I sound eerily similar on the phone, and Bill's mom called, got the message, and got a little upset about it. Just a touch.

Computer problems abound. I had to uninstall and reinstall my America Online this morning. We'll see if, once I log out, if I'm able to log back on. I hate AOL, but hey, it's free right now so I won't gripe. Too much.

I don't think George Lopez is funny. It bugs me that he has a television show. It bugs me that he's constantly a guest on the Bob and Tom show. He's pretty plain, to be honest. His comedy, to me, is a lot like Joey Gladstone's from Full House.

I work at 1. I discussed this with Steven yesterday. It sucks to work late, because if you wake up at your normal time, all you do is walk around the house doing whatever chores need doing saying "I gotta go to work at 1."

Just ten minutes ago, I got the following phone call. The phone rang three times, and I answered.

Me: Hello?

Phone: Is this Tommy Acuff?

Me: Who's calling?

Phone: Is this Tommy Acuff?

Me: Ummm. Yeah.

Phone: Good. Listen carefully. Do not go to the McDonald's in Smyrna, Tennessee on a Sunday.

Me: A Sunday. Why?

Phone: Just don't. It causes worldwide strife.

Me: Who is this? You sound familiar

Phone: Just call me a friend.

Me: You sound like...me....

Phone: (Speaks in a really high pitched voice) No...uh....I said call me friend.

Me: Okay, friend, just stop talking like that. By the way, I just went into a McDonald's last Sunday. In Smyrna.

Phone: (after a long pause, a little panicky) What year is it?

Me: Goodbye.

Phone: Wait! Seriously! What year is it?

Me: 2003.

Phone: (Not necessarily to me)...I called too late. I screw it all up. Everything I touch turns to shit.

Then the line went dead.

My father says I write too much about wrestling. I say the opposite is true. That I don't write enough about wrestling. So there.

"A man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who cannot."
----Mark Twain

I put this quote up a while back. I liked the chord it struck in me, and it kind of inspired me to read just a little more than I was. But here lately, I haven't read anything. My sister picked up a couple of books at the bookstore she works at in Chattanooga. But they're sitting on the bookshelf, unread.

TV's too easy.

All too easy.

I had a moment of minor panic this morning. I took a bag of trash out to the dumpster, and didn't see my truck. It took me a second to remember that due to the ridiculous number of people living in this apartment complex that I had to park something like 25 spaces down.

Nothing earth shattering here. Not even bowel-shaking. Just bored.

My supper is sitting on my stomach tonight. Like lead. A big wad of bread. Like I said, sitting on my stomach, tonight.

Cordon Bleu. Sacre Bleu!

Maybe if I chewed my food.

I hate the White Sox announcers.

You can put that on the board. Yes.

I skipped work today to go run in the Country Music Marathon. Alas, I didn't win, though I did have my own personal best time: 3:13:19. This beats my best time in the Country Music Marathon. Three years ago, I ran a 4:00:04, and two years ago, a 3:29:39. Last year, I was lucky enough to run in the Boston Marathon, but while I stretched, I pulled my hamstring, and was only about to go a couple of miles before the pain was too much.

Now, when I say marathon, it's not an actual 26.2 miles. It's more like 26, because I don't like to pay little things like entry fees. They want me to pay to run? Screw that. Actually, it's kind of funny. I have a little number sheet that I tape to my unitard, and it says "Screw That!"

So, I jump in about a quarter of a mile in or so, after they've stopped watching the lines so closely. I get in the pack and just run.

Let me talk for a second about my running style. I call it "Guerilla Tactics," not only for the way I enter the race, but also for the psychological edge is gives me over the other runners. It's divided into five phases.

The first phase is called "Small Talk."

After I jump the rail, I make my way into the middle of the pack, keeping pace, which is at that point in the marathon a quick jog.

Usually, I'll start weeding out a few people. Run along side them for a little while. Make small talk. Ask if they want to run and grab a burger after the race. Ask if jamming marshmellows up my butt counts as "carbo-loading." Challenge them to races, and in general make a nuisance of myself.

That's phase one. It's called Small Talk.

Phase two begins at around the three mile mark. It's called "Police Chase."

At this point, a lot of the runners are starting to hit "the zone."

You have no idea how much "the zone" pisses me off. Because they aren't actually ignoring you just to ignore you. They're ignoring you because they're so intent on what it is they're doing and what they're trying to do, that they enter "the zone" and the rest of the world becomes a distant blur. I have absolutely no tolerance for that kind of arrogance.

As we hit the three mile mark, I announce that I'll take the point, and that "I'll see you losers later."

A lot of things happen at once. First, I hyperventilate. Then, I start screaming at the top of my lungs. Then, I'll break into a full sprint, and run madly to the front of the crowd, as if being chased, arms pinwheeling wildly, screaming the whole while.

Then comes phase 3. It's called "Taser."

In phase three, after I've run full bore for about two miles, I've jumped out to the lead of the marathon, passing all those Kenyans and Russians.

I hit roughly the 5 mile mark, where I stop on the side of the road, throw up and pass out due to exertion.

Then comes phase four. "Serious Runner."

Sometimes I manage to wipe off the vomit. Actually, that's a lie. Usually, I wake up after about fifteen minutes, and I re-join the race. This phase is the longest, as it goes from mile 5 to mile 25. During this phase, I cry.

I cry about a lot of things. The state of the world today. The shambles that is my social life. The price of petrol. But mostly I cry about the tremendous pain and exertion.

Quick Big Stupid Tommy Fact: I lose more water due to tears and mucus than I do actually sweating.

Then comes phase 5: "Robocop."

For the final mile or so, I imagine that I'm a robot, except that I was once a cop, and that I'm chasing the man (Clarence Boddicker) who killed me once. My murder led to my turning into the robot. And I'll catch him if only I keep running one more mile. And when I catch him, I'll arrest him. And regain a little bit of my humanity. Plus, I pretend that I have a gun that comes out of a holster on my hip.

I really need to work on phase 5. Perhaps I could hire Kurtwood Smith to be at the finish line for me. But so deep am I in my delusions that I'd probably do something really horrible and not just arrest him. However, as things stand now, I'm usually pretty despondant, because there's nobody there for me to arrest.

Thus I do not regain my humanity.

Usually, I'm carted to a local hospital for rehydration afterward. Usually the "doctors" give me "advice" like "don't run any more marathons" and "you're foolish."

Then, I eat like 8 bags of potato chips. And get ready for next year.

One day, I'll be Kenyan.

I once again bring to your attention my complete and utter lack of a patron. I need somebody to pay me money in order that I make art for them. In their honor.

Failing that, I would like to take those fellers in England up on their offer for paying me to be a hermit. Sure, there's no bathing and sorry living conditions. But daily showers and running water and non-drafty quarters have gotten me only so far, you see.

Adam's last day was today. In the past few months, Katie, Garrett, Matt, and now Adam have left. Who am I going to trade Yu-Gi-Oh Cards with now?

You know, when you do things like ban the Dixie Chicks off the radio and burn their CDs and say you'll also burn the Entertainment Weekly with them nekkid on the cover....

1.) It only draws more attention to the Dixie Chicks, which is bad because it only adds validity to the idea that when a celebrity says something it's important. I wish I was a celebrity, so that people would listen to me.

2.) It kind of makes you a fascist, with the burning of the media and all that jazz. We all have that right to say anything we want. You want to hurt the Dixie Chicks? Ignore them.

Is there any more perfect a comfort food than a McDonald's cheeseburger and fries?

Amazon.com lists August 26 as the release date for the third season of the Simpsons.

Why I have to wait four months is quite beyond me.

I thought this site was a little neat. It's called Where's George, and you track movement of dollar bills. I got a five as change at the grocery store this morning, and I looked at the site. Movement. It's neat. And stuff.

Just a few thoughts.

Why can't I be rich? You know, with lots of money?

What did I eat last night to give me all those weird dreams?

Won't somebody wash my dishes for me?

They stapled a dollar. To his head!!!!

By February 2003, there was an online petition with over 105,000 names on it, to save the show Family Guy.

I've argued with Jason about this quite extensively. Family Guy, which I'm watching right now on Cartoon Network, is just too many misses to be considered "funny." Stewie's pretty funny. And the joke "What do you think of happy hour---That Janice will be explaining another black eye" just caught me completely off guard. Not funny, but it did catch me off guard.

My back is a little sore. I haven't done anything weird to it. Except possibly that I slept in a weird position the night before last. Suspended by my elbows and ankles over a fish tank filled with bitey fish.

The Forum Topic is Funniest Movies. We'd appreciate your thoughts.

The following is a bit of a marker. It is the signpost of an epiphany.

See, when I found out the sordid "truth" about Santa Claus, it was a slow process. One of my cousins had told me, as had a kid at church, but I don't think I believed. And eventually, my folks (after letting me go one last year, I think) finally told me what was going down. So it was a slow process spread over a period of more than a year. Not that I was agonizing over the fact, but it was still something that wasn't laid upon me all at once.

Do you know what the following is?

Saturday Night's Main Event XXII: July 18, 1989
* World Champion Hulk Hogan over The Honky Tonk Man.
* Jimmy Snuka over Greg Valentine.
* Brutus Beefcake over Randy Savage via DQ.
* The Brain Busters over WWE Tag Team Champions Demolition to capture the titles.

I picked this off Steve's World of Wrestling, out of the Saturday Night's Main Event chronology. It lists the cards shown on the Saturday night show run by the WWF in the 1980s.

Saturday Night's Main Event came on at 11:30 eastern, right after the news. Every six weeks or so, it would replace Saturday Night Live on NBC. My folks would let me stay up late to watch wrestling, just so long as I wasn't cranky when we went to church Sunday morning.

And there was one summer night, down in the TV room in the basement, I was by myself, watching the aforementioned card. It was leading up to the Summerslam card, where Hulk Hogan and Brutus Beefcake would face off against Randy Savage and Zeus.

It went down like this: Hulk Hogan had just starred in No Holds Barred. The WWF storyline was that the actor playing Zeus (one Tiny Lister) had come into the WWF claiming that it was he, not Hogan, who was the star of the movie.

And Zeus screwed with Hogan.

And in the aforementioned card, Hogan had a World Title defense against the Honky Tonk Man. And Zeus blocked Hogan's entrance. He dared Hogan to move him out of the way. When the Hulkster tried, Zeus beat him down.

But Hogan still had a match with the Honky Tonk Man!

And Honky Tonk Man, thinking he had an easy trip to the World Title, pulled Hogan into the ring and continued the beat down. Honky Tonk Man was decked out like Elvis, complete with pompadour, guitar and jumpsuit. His finishing move was a swinging neckbreaker, which he called the "Shake, Rattle and Roll."

Well, Honky Tonk cinched in his finisher, and clobbered Hogan with it.

Then came the epiphany.

See, I'd been ignoring the argument that was going on amongst my peers at the time. About half the guys in my class said that pro wrestling was real. About half were saying that it was fake. I'd had most of the summer to think about it. Or not think about it, as the case was.

Well, back to the match. Honky Tonk had just knocked Hulkster out with his swinging neckbreaker.

As Honky Tonk Man went to cover Hogan for the 3 count, I said to myself about the Hulkster: "He's going to get up."

Here was Hulk Hogan's gimmick. He was All-American, with the prayers, the vitamins and all that. And he had a whole slew of Hulkamaniacs behind him. And no matter how badly he was beaten, if he had the Hulkamaniacs behind him, he could never lose.

It's kind of like Christianity, except the Hulkster doesn't do much for you in return.

Anywho....Hogan kicks out of the pin attempt, regains his energy through the power of all the Hulkamaniacs. With three punches, a big boot and a legdrop, Hogan pinned Honky Tonk Man.

And, thusly, my illusions were shattered.

July 18, 1989. The day that I stopped believing.

Some might say I've never quite recovered from that blow.

The Music issue of Oxford American was in my mailbox today! I jumped around like a lunatic. I sat down in the recliner, read the magazine. Now I can't find where I've put the CD, which is the best part.

Who needs enemies when I sabotage my life my own damn self?

Put in a couple more job applications today.

I watched Jeopardy, and in typical obsessive compulsive behavior, I kept score. The way I do this is by first making a grid that matches the grid on the television show. I label the categories correspondingly. Then, as the game progresses, I mark a check mark for each correct answer, an "X" for each incorrect answer, and a circle for no answers. If I'm right, I give myself the appropriate dollar amount. If I miss, I subtract. And if I give no answer, I neither subtract or add from my score.

I do nothing special for daily doubles, though I keep track of which contestant answers the question, and how much they win or lose off the question.

I measure myself by how the three contestants have done, with the daily double scores adjusted for the dollar value the question came in.

My personal scorecard is if I've answered 90% of the total scores of the three contestants, then it's been a good day.

Today, I had 29,000, and the three players had an adjusted score of around 25,100. So I did really good.

I leave it to you, the jury, to decide my prize.

If Alex Trebek is reading, do whatever you can to put my ass on contestant's row.

I've never really cared that much for Bobby Valentine, but I did appreciate his calling attention to umpire Joe Brinkman squeezing the strike zone on Twins pitcher Kyle Lohse last night. I've noticed Brinkman before. And that's bad if you actually notice the umpire. The umpire should be invisible. Except that I always noticed Eric Gregg. But that's because Eric Gregg took up most of the television screen. But I've noticed Brinkman for his inconsistency, especially when it pertains to established pitchers vs. younger pitchers.

I understand that you want to establish a strike zone. But typically, all you need to do is prove you can put the ball in the same place a couple or three times, and that should be enough.

I know this, of course, from all my Major League Umpiring experience. (Big Laughs here.)

I've never cared for Brinkman, though. He puts himself above the action sometimes.

The home plate umpire for the Pirates-Cubs game yesterday was likewise squeezing the strike zone, but I think mostly it was in response to Sammy Sosa's getting beaned early on.

Hey! Discussion Topic at the Forum.

Because it's my day off, and I have nothing better to do.

In the spirit of oneupsmanship, according to WordPerfect, prior to this posting, my blog was some 50,660 words, which works out to 222 pages.

My average word length is 4 letters.

My average sentence length is 11 words.

And my longest sentence in all this blog, is 102 words long.

I must have been feeling particularly Faulkneresque that day.

Dude, watching Sammy Sosa get plunked in the ear was just about the scariest thing I've seen on TV in a long time. And that's not because I'm a Cubs fan or because I'm a Sammy Sosa fan (which I'm not, necessarily).

It worried me that after he went down, Sammy first looked out at the mound, and then seemed to sink into something less than complete awareness.

I was reading at the time, and I happened to look up just in time to see the ball hit him in the earhole. I didn't see the typical camera angle from behind the pitcher. I wanted to see the replay, to see the ball leave the pitcher's hand. Not that I think it was intentional or anything like that. I don't want to give anybody that idea. But I would like to have seen the pitch.

Kind of makes me re-think (at least for a second) my whole stance completely backing the pitcher's right to back a hitter off the plate.

I still respect that right. But for God's sake be careful.

I need a patron. Does anybody know anybody out there who's willing to pay my way so that I might make art for them? I'm not much of a painter, but I'm willing to learn. I can write. I could be their biographer! Does anybody out there need me to write their biography? I'll ghostwrite, if need be. I can even make witty titles.

"Cey What?" by Ron Cey, with Tommy Acuff

or:

"George is On My Mind: A look back at my Seinfeld Years" by Jason Alexander, with Tommy Acuff

or perhaps:

"How Many Wrongs Make a Wright?" by Chely Wright, with Tommy Acuff

All this talent and still no book deal.

Things that I learned while buying food at Burger King:

1.) That we live in a fast food culture. The woman in front of me in the drive-thru line ordered a Whopper combo. As she did so, she ate french fries and a sandwich in a wrapper. She was eating fast food while ordering fast food. I imagine that she really wanted a whopper combo, she got hungry on the way to Burger King, and stopped at the Wendy's along the way.

2.) That those working the checkout window don't particularly like it when you mistake the washer that's been in your pocket all day for a quarter, and pay them with it. And when you explain that you're stupid, they don't seem to appreciate your apology.

3.) That when the girl says "the fries are really hot," she is probably not lying. I foolishly jam seven fries into my mouth and it burns me. Badly.

And here's a funny afterthought: As I wrote #3, I accidentally wrote "mind" instead of "mouth." Yep.
I think I have a new catch phrase.

Big Stupid Tommy: Jamming French Fries Into Your Mind.

Bill on Carb Solution's Barbecue Chips:

"They're like eating stale potato chips that turn into slugs inside your mouth."

"The band Great White has killed more Americans than the Iraqi Army."
----Comedian Dwight Slade

Either the FCC or their own attorneys have requested that Bob and Tom not repeat the previous statement on their radio show.

The other day, I was at K-Mart. I needed a new belt quickly. As I was walking toward the checkout, I passed a big display of Easter baskets. They pre-wrap all the easter baskets, and usually put toys or toy sets inside them. I glanced at them as I went past.

Inside one of them was a toy set labeled "Changeable Robots" with "Construction" also printed in big white letters.

Years ago, the Transformers put out a series of toys called "Constructicons." They were six construction type vehicles that would transform into robots. But also, these vehicles could merge into a gestalt robot called Devastator.

(You have to say Devastator with an old man's New York accent, like Kup, in Transformers the Movie)

Well, anyway, inside one of the easter baskets were these Changeable Robots. They're the same color scheme and transforming scheme as the old Transformers. They only thing different is the "Decepticon" logo, which are on none of the figures as such, although one of them has a symbol that has been altered slightly. Probably to dodge copyright issues.

Well, since the baskets were on clearance, I couldn't help myself. I bought a belt and an easter basket.

I got home and played with my "transformers" for a little while. They're pretty crappy, to be honest. That's to be expected. They all transform pretty easily from car to robot, although I messed up the dump truck pretty quickly. My normal inclination when something doesn't work is to push, pull or hit it harder. As such, the arm was pretty much messed up on the dumptruck.

It doesn't, however, merge into "Devastator" very well. Parts of it hook together fairly easily, but one of the legs doesn't hook very well to the torso. Nor does the torso attach to the chest easily. It took me some work.

Bill put it together much more satisfactorily than I did.

Yeah.

There are others, I'm sure more versed in the world of sumo wrestling.

I know that there are stables of wrestlers. Generally, I think, the stables are based on your school or training venue.

Within the stable, the wrestlers are part of a pecking order, with the most successful and experienced wrestlers sitting at the top of the order, and the least experienced neophytes find themselves at the bottom. Naturally.

The wrestlers that enter into the sport have to work their way up from the bottom of these stables. Generally, during training, they find themselves at the beckon call of the wrestlers higher up on the chain. A large part of what they do is cater to the grand champions, the Yokozuna, if you will.

Their duties include fixing meals and helping in the travel of these champions--carrying bags and whatnot. They help them dress and prepare for their matches, as well.

The neophytes are also subject to quite a bit of hazing. I say hazing, but it borders on abuse. I remember reading about Akebono, and he said that when he entered the ranks of the sumo, he was awoken many a night by having a knee dropped on his head.

Here's the worst part: They're also responsible for cleaning the giants. Cleaning in all the places that a 500 pound man is unable to clean by himself. Particularly after bowel movements.

I guess my point is this: my job may suck balls, but at least I'm not wiping the ass of a 500-pound man.

Going to work again. Not terribly enthusiastic about it. Is it a good thing that I think I'd rather go in for dental surgery than go in to my job?

Went to a Sounds game last night. They won. The Sounds are 12-1.

Meow.

Meow meow meow. Meow mew meow meow meow. Meow meow.

Mew?

Meow meow. Meow, meow meow meow meow meow meow. Meow. Meow meow?

Meow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Meow meow. Meow. Mew, meow.

Meow! Meow 10-152. Meow!!!!!

I wanted to talk for a second about my vacation.

I've been on vacation since last Thursday.

And I have to go back to work tomorrow.

I'm not entirely thrilled by the idea.

I've got applications and resumes in to nearly a dozen places here in town. Ranging from professional to joe job.

I'm not impressed with my job anymore. I'm even less impressed by me.

I've been thinking about what I want to do with myself. School's a continuing option.

I write. But nothing good. I sent off a couple of stories a week ago.

Something that's been popping into my head more and more lately is going into business for myself.

Work's never been a problem. Working for somebody. Especially when they treat me rather shoddily. That's the problem.

Just wanted to let you people know where I am.

Last night, Bill and I were running up to Nashville to watch the weekly NWA-TNA show. We stopped to get a hamburger along the way. As we went to find Fat Mo's, we passed a Captain D's. It's a great little seafood place, don't you know?

And I just saw this out of the corner of my eye.

A saw a cop, pumping a shotgun, and entering the Captain D's in a crouch.

It would have been in poor taste and generally unwise to have stopped and watched, so we went on up to get our burgers, and we came on back toward the Fairgrounds. And as we passed by the Captain D's, there was nothing going on.

It must have been my imagination.

As I write this, the Cubs are in sole possession of first place in the N.L. Central.

And there's still a chance for them to go 8-154.

Maximus has a farting problem. It's not a problem to him. He seems rather unconcerned with the whole phenomenon. His favorite thing to do tear ass around the house and then jump up to wear I'm sleeping or sitting, and get as close to me as possible. Then he'll turn loose with a little pooty.

Sometimes they smell. Most times not, at least not that I've noticed. Not that when he lets go I'm down in the vicinity trying to get a whiff. Or anything like that.

Maximus is a dog, by the way. That's important. I probably should have mentioned that a little earlier.

If I had a person that was running up and farting around me, I'd be back in my apartment in Murfreesboro.

The Cubs won yesterday and Sammy Sosa hit a home run. Will wonders never cease?

They still have a shot at going 7-155.

I understand the enthusiasm our troops over in Kuwait, Qatar and Iraq have for their job. Hell, I appreciate it.

But could they remember that they're representing all of us here in the U.S., and please refrain from barking when they're on camera?

My thumb hurts. It's from bowling. And also the fact that I'm a big wussy.

I went bowling this morning! Three games for $1.25 a game. My scores were (156, 102, 131).

156 is my best bowling score in a long time. It was a fluke, I think. It was helped by the fact that frames 3-6 were strikes.

The second score is really more typical. I think I had maybe three spares the whole game, and the rest sucked.

The third game I was pleased with, because usually my scores go down from the start. I was predicting something like an 80.

I was so happy that I pooped. Just a little.

Also, the ESPN film Season on the Brink is absolutely repugnant. I rented it at Ingle's, and it's the worst 3 dollars I've spent in a while. The disclaimer at the beginning should have warned me. Essentially, it says that footage and scenes were added without that director's consent, and he thereby disassociates himself from the picture.

I like my small town. But it bugs me that the only place I have a card to rent movies at here in Athens, anymore, when given a choice, will supply only full-screen DVDs. I asked about this, and the woman behind the counter didn't understand what I meant, even when I tried to explain the difference between full screen and widescreen.

I still haven't written about the experiences of this past Atlanta Comicon, beyond the culinary and gastric. I'll think a little more on the weekend.

Except that George Lowe, the voice of Cartoon Network's Space Ghost, was in attendance, and at one point, I heard him call a guy "chief." That's the word I call everybody. Bill says I should have called copyright infringement.

The family and I went to Chattamanooga tonight to watch beisbol. And it sure was good. The Lookouts moved into BellSouth Park a couple or three seasons ago. This was the first time I'd been into the park. They used to play at Engel Stadium, which was old and great, but not comfortable and with few amenities.

This has all the Bells and Whistles.

The Lookouts lost. The blew a lead in the ninth, when the Lookouts' pitcher seemed to decide that he was playing for the other team.

Also:

This past weekend, I ate chicken at lunch, and chili for supper. And then there was beer. And Oatmeal Cream Pies. Not at the same time. And also Arby's.

I took a dump this morning that was less a bowel movement and more a clarion call from Hell.

The canary threw up and died.

The best jokes/gags from tonight's episode of the Simpsons:

--Homer taunts Maggie by calling her Silent Bob.

--Marge says they found the missing puzzle piece underneath Maggie's eyelid.

--Cletus saying the paperbox he's dragging behind his truck is a perfect home for his new "spiderses"

Yeah.

I'll type more on my experiences with the Atlanta Comicon later. Today it's Big Tired and Surly Tommy.

Here are a few things I learned over the course of the weekend:

Shyam Nunley and Jason Davenport both snore. Bill Bacon has a whistle when he breathes. And you want to talk about an easily perturbed sonuvagun when he's trying to sleep, it's Steven West. Also, he farts too much. He really should get that checked.

Check out the stuff at Top Shelf. I want to give them some attention while I thinking about it.

Brian Stelfreeze is very, very cool.

No Del Taco. It's been an Atlanta tradition for four years running. But we searched at two different sites for Del Taco (they were paired with Mrs. Winners chicken). No Del Taco. We ate at Arby's. Which is fine, but I wanted Del Taco. I think we all did.

Yeah, this is Big Stupid Tommy. I can't come to the computer this weekend. If you need me, I'll be here. Just stick your head out the window and holler as loud as you can.

Robin Givens. She played Darlene on Head of the Class. 4 AM with no sleep has a way of robbing you of your ability to remember names and faces. Hell, from 3:40 to 3:51 this morning, I honestly believed that my own name was Apache Sam, and that I flew Honest Abe's Vengeance Sleigh to the Stars. And if you put me up in a lineup and asked me to pick myself out, I'd have gotten the answer right 3 out of 5 times.

You people really need to learn to drive on the interstate. You speed up when you're on the entrance ramp. Apparently, most drivers expect interstate traffic to slow down for them.

I had no less than one piss-my-pants moment on the way from Murfreesboro to Athens, TN.

If you get a moment, go check out Bill's David Flair Worship Page.

I wrote about one time I told him he didn't have talent, and he turned on me and called me a little piece of shit. Or something like that.

But I'm fickle, and in the space of 2 or 3 weeks, he's become one of my favorite NWA-TNA wrestlers. He's just become so gosh-darn entertaining. This last week, I even took a sign. It said "David Flair Mark." With arrows pointing at me. I think David liked it. Bill took a sign too. I think David liked it, too.

Bill's made the site up good.

It's 4 AM, and I'm having an insomnia moment.

I watched a hilarious episode of Scooby-Doo, guest starring Davey Jones! And they broke up the traditional Fred/Daphne and Velma/Shaggy/Scooby search teams. Instead it was Fred/Shaggy/Scooby and Velma/Daphne/Davey Jones. And that last group got chased by a chair. Did they draw the studio audience that laughed at all the jokes?

And I watched a touching and poignant episode of Head of the Class. It happens on Valentines Day.

Here now, I rank the original ten students of the I.H.P. under Charlie Moore's tutelage, in order of my favorite to my least favorite:

1. Maria
2. Simone
3. Jawarharlal
4. Dennis
5. Arvid
6. Sara
7. Alan
8. Eric
9. Janice
10. Darlene

The bottom four on the list really made me mad. Quite mad.

Alan's just one of those Hitler Youth Young Republicans. Eric's a dime-store punk who's not really a punk. He's supposed to be like a street guy from a bad home. But all he really does is wear sunglasses. Janice is simply obnoxious because she's 12 and smarter than everyone. Incidentally, in the final episode of Head of the Class, when they graduated, Janice came back (she was written out when it was no longer feasible to think she was 12), and she was a giant! She was taller than everybody.

And then there's Darlene. She's just an evil, vile person. Plus, the actress who played her once married Mike Tyson.

Do you know why I like Steve-O of Jackass fame?

Because any time he pulls one of his stunts, he seems so surprised and shocked (and even a little indignant) that he's gotten hurt.

On one of the cut scenes from the Jackass DVD, there's the full sequence where Steve-O decides to take out the ceiling fan in his house by jumping into it. And the first time (which is shown as a bumper in the released film), he jumps into the fan, breaks part of it, and falls to a heap through a table. And he seems so surprised about everything. In the cut scene, he jumps twice more, until finally the whole rig comes crashing down with him. And he brings it down through sheer force of will. He actually gets a little pissed off when his stunt doesn't work.

But it's all the same reaction. Whether he's getting a paper cut across his mouth or he's pole-vaulting into a sewage filled creek. He's so surprised by everything.

I'm a fan of inappropriate emotional responses. Shock and surprise qualify, I think.

Also: In the cut scenes, one of Bam Margera's friends is doused with mustard. Not funny, except that the friend (Rake) has some psychological revulsion to mustard. The guy (who reminds Bill and me of our friend Bill Ryan) goes absolutely ballistic.

It's great.

It is April 10, 2003. And Alas, I am still not a ninja.

The boat I spoke of, the one over in the debris pile, is halfway up the pile. Which means that they came across it/decided to put it on the trash pile, and just went on with what they're doing, and put more dirt and trees on top of it. The boat is wooden. I would like to see what would have happened if it were one of those fiberglass boats and they'd decided to set the pile on fire.

A query to anyone who knows:

Do they still make Pepsi One? I haven't been able to find it in my area for a few months now, and then I stop for gas this morning, and they're selling Pepsi One there. Are they still making it? Is it just not being distributed widely? Or am I drinking a bottle that is just left over from all those months ago?

Click here for a Big Stupid Tommy Psychological Exam.

They're tearing up a field across the street from my apartment complex. I suppose they're only going to put more apartments there.

There's a big pile of debris off to one corner. All the small trees that were in the field are there. Along with all the dirt and rocks that were scraped off the top by the earth movers yesterday.

And a boat.

There is a white and teal boat in the debris pile.

It's just something I noticed.

Last night, John Wasdin of the Nashville Sounds pitched a perfect game. I'd considered going to the game, actually. I don't have many baseball buddies out here in Murfreesboro, anymore. I didn't feel much like driving up by myself, so I just stayed in to watch the Syracuse/Kansas game.

Congrats to John, and to the Sounds. They're 5-0 right now. Here's hoping the Pirates actually do well this season so as not to have to call up all the Sounds, especially if the Sounds end up doing well, too.

Have you people forgotten the forum?

I know I had.

Here lately, the discussion in other circles of my life is that one group of people think I'm angry all the time. Another group thinks I'm just weird.

I say I'm Weird and Angry About it.

Or perhaps I'm Angry and Weird About it.

Rick Sutcliffe is a big stupid Goof and I think he needs to keep his opinions to his own self.

And now, from the Home Office in Wahoo, Nebraska:
Today's Top Ten List:

10. I.O.L. in my Apartment
9. The Mailman
8. Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, Vista Edition.
7. David Flair
6. Monkeys, Monkeys, Everywhere. Everywhere I See.
5. Purple Nurples
4. Darby Conley's Get Fuzzy
3. Castling
2. Richard Dawson saying "Let's Play the Feud!"
1. Day Time Baseball

We went to see Miyazake's Spirited Away at the movie theater this rainy afternoon. It was interesting, if a little long. I appreciate the imagination and dedication it took to create the world the story takes place in, but the storytelling itself left a bit to be desired. It wasn't made, necessarily, for an American audience, and that may have something to do with the pacing...i.e. not your typical three act structure. Plus, I'm sure there was something lost in the translation.

It isn't a kid's movie. And in America, animated movies have too long been pigeonholed as kids' movies. Afterward we talked about what a great superhero movie could be made for the big screen if it were animated. If you're doing live action, a decent special effects live action film about (say, the Avengers) would cost you an arm and a leg. The Incredible Hulk movie that's coming out this summer. I'm not kidding, it cost roughly 2.3 billion dollars.

But everything's pigeonholed and aimed at kids. Look at Batman: Mask of the Phantasm. It's a great Batman story, and my favorite big screen Batman story. But I didn't go see it in the theater. I waited until it was on video. Because I, like most of America, figured big screen (American) cartoon, that it would be for kids. And I wanted nothing to do with it.

So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to get several million dollars. I'm going to get the rights to somebody like Moon Knight or the newly resurrected T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents, and make a KICK ASS animated picture. And Then! Then I'll market it correctly. I figure if you do things right, you'll make decent money. Not blockbuster by any stretch of the imagination. But enough, I think, that would make it worthwhile to the studios to do it again.

Spirited Away wasn't marketed well at all. The theater was filled with toddlers whose parents saw "cartoon" and figured they could bring their kids. What they got was 2:15 that was a little more intense than was probably needed by a three-year-old.

Even the trailers before hand were for Rugrats movies and Disney flicks aimed at teenagers.

It's all wrong.

I'm going to tell you a secret.

I'm actually a superhero. It's true. I'm impervious to pain and cannot be harmed. I can run really fast. I can blow things up with my mind. I have a rapier-like wit that never fails me, especially when dealing with my opponents. I know how to talk to any and everybody. Also, I have really cool razor-sharp blades that pop out of my arms, just below the elbow. The blades aren't that functional, unless I want to pry open a door. I'm calm, cool and collected. I'm wise. I never say the wrong thing and I never lose my temper over little things. People respect me.

So the normal Tommy that you see is just a disguise. I'm trying to divert my enemies' attention. By acting the complete opposite of my alterego, nobody will ever attack my family or friends, just to get at me.

Tommy's the way he is in order to protect you.

So sleepy.

Here are the lessons from today:

1.) Dulcimers are cool. Julie took me to a dulcimer concert over in Cannon County, and I enjoyed it immensely. There was a 12-year-old who played first with a quartet and later with the headline act. She has a CD out. I can't imagine being that much on the ball at 26, let alone 12.

2.) Don't ever touch my book, leaning it forward so that you might see the cover while I'm trying to read the insides. Apparently, it makes me look angry and crazy. It's not like it's rude and inconsiderate, or anything. But considering the person who did this, it's exactly like that.

3.) Oh! It's not a surprise that I'm on the ball at work. Don't say that. It's insulting. I'm always on the ball. I always have my stuff done and my end of the bargain taken care of. I'm not the lazy one.

4.) Sammy hit homer #500. The Cubs lost. See? That's my thing. I've never seen the success that comes with Sammy Sosa hitting home runs. He hits them, the Cubs still lose. 10-9 tonight. It's still within their reach to go 2-160.

It's so hot in my apartment. It's like 80 degrees outside, and 103 degrees inside. Why does everything smell like baloney?

I'm saving up money for when I go to Atlanta Comic Con. So I'm eating peanut butter and bread. And lots of it.

Black Jelly Beans is Best.

That's my new slogan. I'm a marketing genius.

It's a product of our society, I think. Everybody wants to hit the big one. Everybody wants to get everything done in one fell swoop. Do one action, go home. Nobody wants to work for anything. What's more, nobody appreciates anybody who does the little things that actually get things done.

I like a good home run as much as anybody. It's a nice thing to see. My Dad and I went to a Braves/Pirates playoff game in 92. The Braves jacked up the Pirates something like 14-5. Ron Gant hit a grand slam that landed about five seats to our right. I remember how my heart jumped when I saw the ball coming our way. Craig Wilson hit three homers in one night a couple of seasons ago at a Sounds game, and I wanted him to hit number four as much as anybody in the park. So I'm not against the home run.

But it's been blown so out of proportion, I think. Nobody appreciates the fundamentals. That's in baseball, and in life. Nobody appreciates a team manufacturing a run. A walk? Screw that stuff. Stealing bases? What's them? Weiner Dog? How bout it?

I guess it's just a case of my having to over-utilize my mental filter. To me, the story is not that Sammy Sosa did not hit his 500th home run. To me the story is that the Cubs won, 6-3. When you look closely, you see that Sammy walked six times this series with the Mets, and he scored four (?) runs.

But that don't matter to nobody. Sammy didn't get his 500th home run.

Just so long as Sammy doesn't start pressing like he did at the end of last season, I think we'll be alright. Instead of getting on Sammy for not hitting the home run, why don't they applaud Corey and Moises for producing and manufacturing the runs they did this series?

But I think I'm probably fighting city hall on this one.

As for the Cubbies, it's still possible for them to go 2-160.

And isn't it feasible that Sammy, Rafael Palmiero, Fred McGriff and Ken Griffey, Jr. all hit their 500th this year? Palmiero's just 9 away, and McGriff around 22. Griffey would have to stay healthy, for once, and hit 32 or so. If I remember correctly. And I probably don't.

Cubs lost yesterday, 4-1. I was at NWA-TNA last night so I didn't get a chance to see the game. I looked at the box score. Corey Patterson struck out twice. And I didn't read a story as to why Matt Clement just went three innings...I guessed only that it was because he'd allowed four runs early on.

Still a chance to go 1-161.

"Why did you throw that coffee pot away?"

"What coffee pot?"

"That coffee pot that you just threw away."

"I didn't throw a coffee pot away."

"Yeah you did. You just took it out."

"No....that was a diaper genie."

"Diaper Genie?"

"Diaper Genie."

"What's a Diaper Genie?"

"Well, you put dirty diapers in it. It bags 'em up. You save them in the can at the bottom."

"Dirty diapers?"

"Yep."

"And you put the diapers through it?"

"Yeah. Dirty diapers."

"No wonder my coffee tastes so bad...."

I enjoyed this one quite a bit.

Subject: How to win a war

Bush and Osama decided to settle the war once
and for all. They sat down and decided to
settle the whole dispute with one dog fight.
They would have 5 years to breed the best
fighting dog in the world and whichever side's
dog won would be entitled to dominate the
world.

Osama found the biggest, meanest Doberman and
Rottweiler female dogs in the world and bred
them with the meanest Siberian wolves. They
selected only the biggest and strongest puppy
from the litter, and removed his siblings,
which gave him all the milk. After 5 years,
they came up with the biggest, meanest dog the
world had ever seen. Its cage needed steel bars
that were 5" thick and nobody could get near
it.

When the day came for the dog fight, Bush
showed up with a strange looking animal. It
was a 9 foot long Dachshund. Everyone felt
sorry for Bush because there was no way that
this dog could possibly last 10 seconds with the
Afghanistani dog. When the cages were opened
up, the Dachshund came out of it's cage, and
slowly waddled over towards Osama's dog.
Osama's dog snarled and leaped out of its cage
and charged the American Dachshund---but when it
got close enough to bite, the Dachshund opened
its mouth and consumed Osama's dog in one bite.
There was nothing left of his dog at all.

Osama came up to Bush, shaking his head in
disbelief, "We don't understand how this could
have happened. We had our best people working
for 5 years with the meanest Doberman
and Rottweiler female dogs in the world and the
biggest, meanest Siberian wolves."

"That's nothing!", said Bush. "We had Michael
Jackson's plastic surgeons working for 5 years
to make that alligator look like a weenie dog.

You know, there's still a chance for the Cubs to go 1-161 this year?

I'll say that it was nice the the Cubs, at least for a day, dispelled any notions I had about the possibility they'd not be able to put runs on the board. They won 15-2. Corey Patterson drove in 7 of those.

Hooray!