Here, It Begins

Here is the Final Tournament Bracket:

1. Pauly Shore Movies
16. Jealousy

8. Randy "Macho Man" Savage
9. "You Don't Know Shit from Shinola"

4. Mr. Show with Bob and David
13. A half-eaten bag of movie popcorn

5. Horses. Lots of Horses
12. Henry Winkler. You know. The Fonz?

6. Kansas (the state)
11. A packet full of turnip seeds

3. Piers Anthony's Bio of a Space Tyrant Series
14. The ghost that lives in my parents' basement

7. Southern Methodist University (SMU)
10. A joke Jerry Seinfeld wrote on a cocktail napkin

2. Kansas (the band)
15. All the salmon you can eat!

The opening round begins Thursday at the John Goodman Memorial House of Pancakes. And remember: this is a friendly competition. No wagering on the grounds of competition.

Drive-In Movie Theatres

A couple of brief thoughts on Drive-In Movie Theatres? I think I read that there are three operating in Tennessee these days. Well, the Midway Drive-In (located Mid-Way between Athens and Etowah, TN) was hopping busy last night. Maybe it's that it was $6 carload night, but they had 250, 300 cars in there, easy. I saw a lot of cars from out of county, too. I saw two Knox, one Blount and one plate from Georgia. I wonder if those folks are coming in from that far just to go to a Drive-In?

If they are, I smell a business opportunity.

I rather enjoyed myself.

We saw Finding Nemo, which is quite good, which is normal fare from Pixar. I was rather pleased with the seagulls. In a world where everything is anthro-po-morphized into thinking and feeling, it's nice to see the rats of the sea being relegated to asking or saying "mine" all the time.

Also showing was Bruce Almighty, which I'll admit I wasn't expecting much of. But it was a nice surprise. Big props go out to TV's Steve Carell, who pretty much stole the show as anchorman Evan Baxter. I will complain that Morgan Freeman (classy guy) is once again typecast as God.

Big Stupid Tommy: Scofflaw

Well, we went camping yesterday. Up to the Chilhowee site near Benton. But judging from the number of folks who had beaten us to the punch, I'm guessing that many of my tens of loyal readers had decided to camp, too.

We (the intrepid band of Steven, Jason, Julie and myself, along a group comprised of Steven's mom, his sister Diane and their friend Elizabeth, who had just come up for the day) found a spot at the Lake McKamy Overflow camping area. Basically, it's a big field where you can go set up tents.

But it's actually closer to the lake than the normal place we camp. So it's all good, I guess.

And we camp. As only we can. Mostly we fart, torment each other and stare absently into space.

Well, come nightfall, Diane, Ms. West and Elizabeth head for the house. The rest of us dine on wieners and potato salad and potato chips. Properly fed, we build a respectable campfire and break out the "beer."

And all the while, we watch a group settle in around us. I say that, as we'd taken the corner space of the overflow area, and they take up two spaces to the left to us and two of the three to our right. I later came to suspect this group was a reunion of friends who'd attended Duke University. Regardless of their education, I also believe these Blue Devils were a group related to the conspiracy to keep Big Stupid Tommy (and friends) from having a good time by being generally loud and obnoxious.

Actually, they weren't that bad. Mostly they just seemed like a lot of Type A personalities who don't know exactly how A.) to have a good time or B.) communicate without being loud and talking over the other person. We were able to have our conversations (look at Jason's cartoonishly large feet; Steven's a butthole; Tommy's just stupid, Why does Julie hang out with us?) in spite of things without too much interruption. Except when a member of the aforementioned group wanders into our site thinking that it's her site. She's wondering where her wine is.

We told her to try the veal.

She didn't get it.

I should mention our beer. We brought two (2) six packs.

Just two.

And a couple were gone by the time we got down to the "sit around the fire" stage of the night. So splitting them among the four of us, none of us could have had that much to drink. Especially spread out over a two hour time span.

Well, not too long after the fun drunk from next door asked where her wine was (and not too long after the same tripped and fell over a folding chair at her site), we decided to see how quiet the lake was around midnight.

It was quiet. There was an odd light off the woods nowhere near where there should have been a lantern. Probably it was somebody camping on the bike trail since all the sites were full. But it was, momentarily, the object of a little bit of conjecture.

Well, we wander back to the campsite, fully ready to drift off to dreamland. When who should show up but your friendly neighborhood park ranger?

And there was looking in the coolers and there was talk about no drinking on the premises and there were questions about who'd been drinking what. I don't really know what was said because I jumped ridiculously quickly when asked for my ID. Halfway between the 100 foot walk from truck to campsite, I realized what a doof I was being. That I should have yelled "Screw You All!" and driven off really quickly.

That's not true. I'd probably have run into a tree.

But then I'd have gotten out and ran! Because once you opt for the life of crime, there's no going back. None!

Well. We got a brief lecture about how we're not bad people, but each of us ended up with a $50 dollar citation (Do-Better-Letter). Any beer at any of the campsites had to be dumped out.

I saw them pouring beer on the ground.

"Nooooo!" I cried. "You're wasting it! You're wasting beer!"

That didn't happen.

Neither did it happen that I asked the ranger if it was alright that we wanted to drink Margueritas for breakfast. I decided that I wanted to go to sleep, and being a smartass would only deprive me further of sleep.

Which would have begun a vicious cycle, as the more sleep deprived I get, the more bold and smart-assy I get.

In the end, I don't think I was bothering anybody. We weren't being loud (like the Duke people). Generally, we were going out of our way not to bother anybody. But rules is rules, I guess.

But based on that $50, this was the most expensive camping trip I've been on, to date.

I blame myself. Also, I blame Steven, because he actually paid for the beer. And Diane, for leaving early, and for saying that it is alright to drink there.

Yeah. Really not liking this blogger interface.

Going camping this weekend. I'm scared of the skeeters.

If Strom Thurmond can't live forever, I guess I'd better start getting my affairs in order, too.

I mean, he was so vibrant and alive.

His name is Jindrak the Defiler, and he's here to babysit your children.

Here is a short list of movies that I will never see, if I have a choice in the matter:

Dude, Where's My Car?
The Hot Chick
The Animal
Deuce Bigelow: Male Gigolo
Biker Boyz

This is just the beginning. There will be others, as I think of them.

Hollywood has to do better. I've just about got a screenplay. Soon, it will be time to make it.

Suspensions were handed down concerning the Cubs/Reds brawl a week or so back.

I'm a Cubs fan, so I'll just laugh at the fact that Reds' hurler Paul Wilson got the 5 day suspension. You're a pitcher and you challenge the opposing pitcher, and get your rear end handed to you in the process. And you get the bigger suspension than the guy who whupped your ass.

Poetic justice?

Just don't stand on the plate when you want to bunt, Paul.

And while I'm on the baseball subject? I don't think home-field advantage for the World Series being at stake will at all raise the level of intensity you see in the All-Star Game. And I feel insulted that Fox and Major League Baseball keep telling me that it will.

Personally, I think the travesty this year is that the Tigers will get an All Star at all. They won't win 40 games this year!

Bubba fights the good fight.

And I don't care what you stand for...somebody as nasty and mean-spirited as Michael Savage should be considered the bad guy.

Stupid blogger. Moving me over to the new interface. The couple of hours that my access to the site was supposed to be down was actually no less than 11. And possibly more.

It broke my streak. I think I've posted every day since February, and in my eight months, I've only missed a couple or three days total.

Still. I've never had to change servers or change a mass of people over to a new interface. I'm so ignorant.

It's nice to see Kerry Wood get a little run support. For a change.

For your approval: The Neo-Whig Manifesto.

I don't agree with every plank on the platform, but on the strength of numbers nine and ten, I'd gladly run for Rutherford County Fifth District Assistant Property Tax Assessor under the Neo-Whig Party banner.

I will take a moment to comment on the Stephen King/Thomas Pynchon statement. I'll agree that high culture is better than popular culture, on the whole, and that in the long term of things, Pynchon will probably be read in school books a hundred years from now when Stephen King will be nothing but dust.

However, cheering for globalization (Starbucks, Coca-Cola, Barnes & Noble, etc.), while sneering at Stephen King (and I'm assuming other popular writers like John Grisham and Patricia Cornwell) is contradictory because King and the others are only doing in the literary world what Coca Cola and Starbucks have done on the retail environment. They have their names out there where they're recognizable, and therefore become more easily accessible to the general public.

What we all need to remember is this: Just because they're everywhere doesn't necessarily they're better, guys. That works for brand names and for fiction writers. Hostess Fried Pies, as an example, are good. But if you've ever partaken of a Tasty Cake/Kake brand fried pie, you know what I'm talking about here. And I agree that just because John Grisham is the pop culture representative for Southern Fiction, and as such is everywhere, that doesn't necessarily make him better than Joe Lansdale.

But, let me also take a moment to take issue with is how it's become the cool thing to bash Mr. King of late.

Stephen King's name is everywhere, from the big cardboard cutout displays you find in Waldenbooks to the checkout line at your local grocery.

That ubiquity, I think, is the genesis of the anti-King sentiment.

One reason is sour grapes, I think. A lot of folks who consider themselves literary enthusiasts are elitist. And the mantra of the elitist lies somewhere along the lines of: "If a bunch of folks like it, then it's gotta be dumbed down enough for those bunch of folks to like it." It's easy to sneer at something that's sold at checkout lines, too. I saw a copy of Dreamcatcher on the line at Food Lion the other night, right above the rack where the Weekly World News headline blared: "Saddam in Love with Osama."

I'm guessing that the same level of reader expected to buy The Star and Weekly World News is equitable, in the minds of many, to the person who buys Dreamcatcher at the Food Lion checkout line.

I don't know what fraction of this group (I'm a perhaps unfairly calling elitist) also writes, and is a little jealous of King's exposure and monetary success. That's another factor, I'm fairly certain.

Also, there's a guy. Sometimes it's a girl. But for conversation, I'll say guy. I don't know if everybody knows the guy, but a lot of you who read a lot know this guy: He's the guy who's read King's The Stand 14 times and can count the multiples of times he's read a lot of King's books. And he has the audacity to talk about his "love affair with the written word."

I have met this guy.

Hell, I've read The Stand 3 times in 14 years. I may be that guy.

But the guy reads nothing else. A lot of writers have cult followings. Anne Rice, Brian Lumley, Anne McCaffrey, Tom Clancy, and the aforementioned Grisham and Cornwell to name a few. I knew a girl who had read everything Anne Rice had written. In addition to those books assigned in school classes, those were the only books she had ever read.

And that's sad.

She was robbing herself of so many other great things going on with the whole literature thingamajig.

This probably goes back to that whole John Stamos entry I had a few days ago. But too much of a good thing can be a bad thing, especially if you're only doing that one good thing and nothing else. I like apples. But if I ate nothing but apples, it would end up harming me in the long run.

I don't want to poop on the anti-King argument, altogether, however. I really feel like the 90's were an abyss when it came to King's work. He wrote a lot of crap in the 90's. Among the turds: Gerald's Game, Delores Claiborne and the twinpack of Desperation and The Regulators. Sadly, I count Dreamcatcher among the turds, as well.

But his book deals kept getting larger and larger. I'd assume because his sales were getting likewise larger and larger.

Something just hit me: I wonder how many people were (and are) buying his books and just letting them sit there. Buying them because they are ubiquitous and they feel like they aren't part of the crowd if they don't have them.

A few, I'd say.

A last anti-King point. He rambles, sometimes. He likes to immerse himself in the sound of his own voice sometimes, meandering around a scene, never really describing it, and doing so at the expense of character and event. A lot of the time even I will find myself wishing he'd just get to the frigging point.

I like Stephen King. I'll read his stuff. Generally, I'll like his characters. I especially like the Dark Tower series, though I'm a little peeved at this six/seven year wait between books. Makes the Harry Potter wait seem a commercial break.

I think he's underrated as an oral storyteller, though. Try listening to a Stephen King book. He's got a good ear for conversation and he's developed a decent voice letting a story unfold by itself. I think his best books are his truly fantastical works like the Dark Tower books. The Shining and The Stand are, in my mind, two of his best.

I've taken so long to mention Pynchon in my little rambling diatribe because I've only read a couple of Pynchon's books. V and most of Gravity's Rainbow. The latter went missing from my locker at work one day last fall, after a sweep by the loss prevention guy. Nobody took credit for removing my book, which I assume was removed before the LP guy got there, so that it wouldn't be thought that I'd stolen it. The receipt from the book store was being used as the book mark. I'm still a little stung by that. I've never gotten back to finishing it.

I enjoy Pynchon. I think he's one of the gifted writers of our time. His imagery is what impressed me so much in V.

And I get the point that some probably would call hypocritical on my part, though I don't think it is. V is largely an argument against mediocrity. In the eyes of many, Stephen King is a mediocre writer.

Is Thomas Pynchon a better writer? Yeah. I'd say so. I don't know that he's a better storyteller, though. And I think that's the speed bump. Storytelling's a vastly underrated artform nowadays. It's too easy, I guess. Though if you've ever tried writing a lengthy story down, you can see how frustrating it can be. And if there was anything lacking in V, it's that is seemed to lack a good flow. I'm not talking about plot. I'm talking about a reasonable progression from point A to point B, and how Pynchon's book lacked it. Kept it from being a great book, and instad just making it a good book.

Anyway. Stop crapping on Stephen. He's not hurting you any. Just ignore the person who reads only Stephen King, and we'll be alright. That person bugs me just as much, and if I with what little patience I have can ignore him, so can you.

(Lastly, credit goes to Tainted Bill for pointing me toward the manifesto).

Spike Jones, Jr., is fighting the good fight against Mr. Spike Lee. Jones, whose father penned such comedic ditties as "Don't Hit your Grandmother with the Shovel" and "Yes, we have no Bananas" states in the suit (filed by the lawyers for TNN) that Spike Lee has no more right to the sole artistic use of the name Spike than he, Spike Jones Jr., does.`

You know the funny thing about all this?

I have no doubt TNN will win out in the end, and be allowed to call itself Spike TV.

But I'm not going to watch it anymore than I already do.

I just don't like Spike Lee. That's all.

Just a couple of things I wanted to mention.

First, when did the green light stop being the signal for GO? I have no doubt that your problems associated with whatever piece of paper is life altering and/or shattering. But dammit! I'm on my way to Cracker Barrel!!!!!!

And when did all this slow turning start? I understand if you have a narrow driveway and all that jazz. I can respect the need for a careful entry, otherwise you'll tear up all the toys in the yard, and perhaps the children. I'm not going to lose my temper over something that minor, unless I'm on my way to Cracker Barrel.

But when you're on a major highway going 55 miles and hour. You have to get gas, and the entrance into the gas station is big enough to fit a Mack Truck through...literally. So why do you slow down to 1 mile and hour and ease your car up into the gas station? I can respect not wanting to jostle anything inside, but it was a cartoon the way this person slowed down. And it's not like it was spiteful. I don't think. I wasn't on her bumper or anything. That's what was so irritating. I was a good seven or eight car lengths back and had to slam on the brakes.

Yeah.

I'm not very funny.

I've never been quarantined. But the more I look around, the more I think it might not be a bad idea.
----George Carlin

Not very sure about why I found this so fascinating:

Prime Number Pooping Bear

I will be struck down by a meteor!



How will you die? Take the Exotic Cause of Death Test

How's this for a testimonial?

This is the closest I've been to a religious experience this week.

Just trolling around the Rocky Top Brigade, I stumbled upon Missives Anonymous, and I enjoyed the time that I spent there. So far, of those I've read, this is the site that is most like mine in tone among the RTB.

And it at this site that I found a couple of good places to visit, for those scofflaws and layabouts amongst you:

First is The Shrine to Don Knotts. I was most impressed by the inclusion of a digitized copy Don's comedy album An Evening with Me. Go to the site. Download the album (which is long since out of print...but you're probably violating some law, you scoundrel). Listen to Knotts sounds. Immerse yourself in The Man, The Myth, the Legend.....Knotts.

Second is an old story, and I remember hearing about this once upon a time. But the story of Patrick Combs bears repeating.

You know those faux checks companies will send in the junk mail? "You've just won..." or "You are owed..." and the like? Well, Mr. Combs, on a lark, cashed one of these checks at his bank. To the tune of $95,000.

And what followed was the stuff dreams are made of. Well...not really, but it set in motion a chain of events I'd have had a hard time believing.

Read his full story here.

Also, I'd like to pass on a note of support to Busy Mom. Her mother's fallen quite ill. In the face of that, she's passed along a couple of humorous items. I really enjoyed this one, concerning the rear end.

So, we (my friends Jillian, Joe and my new friend Ameet) went to eat at the Tortilla Factory down in Chattanooga last night. There's a girl making tortillas using a tortilla making machine. The astute observation was made that never has a person looked so unhappy to be making tortillas.

Personally, I wanted Oompah-Loompahs. Maybe a Latin variation of the Oompah Loompah. But definitely I would have liked something from the Oompah Loompah family. Singing pedantic songs. But I guess then you'd have to jack up the prices. What does Purina Oompah Loompah Chow go for nowadays?

I ate something called a Pizza-Dilla. I think it becomes a pizzadilla when you add tomato sauce to a quesadilla. At any rate, it didn't taste like pizza. But it were good. With the chicken and mushrooms. And the really hot sauce.

And the group is undecided as to whether Jill knocked over her glass of water when we went to leave.

Also: the server gets $20 from the manager if she finds a fake ID.

When I asked if I made 30 fake ID's and we split the money, she seemed a little annoyed.

"I work alone."

I was driving on the interstate tonight, struggling to stay alert.

When on the radio, Manny Dix requested "Love Me Tender" for Sharon Peters on the Oldies' station.

It made me laugh pretty good.

Joe and Jill are of the opinion that I'm easily amused.

I concur.

I'd thought we'd had this all down and that it wasn't going to be a problem.

But folks, if you ignore John Stamos, he'll just go away. I honestly believe that. And maybe he'll take those stupid commercials for 10-10-987 with him. Honestly. He's in love with 10-10-987. If he could, he would cheat on Rebecca Romijn with 10-10-987. And make little human/long-distances-savings-plan hybrid babies. And then he'd be in the news all the time, because he's the former celebrity with all the freak human/phone plan hybrid babies. And he'll be on the cover of all the tabloids at the checkout line and a constant guest on Larry King and he'll take over the center square on Hollywood Squares.

That's why you have to ignore him. To protect the center square.

And let me make a grammatical note, referencing John's statement in one commercial (while he pets his dog) that "sometimes, too much of a great thing, can be a great thing."

See, here, "too" is being used as an adverbial expressing an excess amount. Excess, of course, meaning more than is needed. And what we're talking about here is phone service. First, I'm not sure one can have too much phone service, or long distance savings. Definitely so much that it's a bad thing. Second, Stamos is just making bad conversation using bad grammar. "Too Much of a Good Thing" means that you have an excess amount, too much. By definition, having more than you or anyone can use, is a bad thing. It's a given. There's no way too much (an excess gone to waste) can be a great thing, as John posits.

Now John should stop saying that before I come in there.

Remember: Ignore John "Uncle Jesse" Stamos.

Have mercy.

I'm going against the List and not ignoring Spike Lee.

A New York Appellate Court upheld Spike Lee's injunction against Viacom to stop them from changing the name of TNN to Spike TV.

I'm going to show my ignorance here.

If there's anybody out there reading this who can explain to me why Spike Lee has a legal leg to stand on here, could you please e-mail me? I'm serious. Please explain why this whole suit is this anything more than a desperate attempt by an increasingly unimportant director to get his name back in the limelight.

And let me just say this about the Cubs/Reds brawl yesterday....

I think Michael Wilbon said it best: It's nice to see the Cubs not backing down from anybody.

I think that would suit Kyle Farnsworth just fine. Dude's crazy. And he can throw hard. Like 100 miles an hour, dude. Don't tick him off.

He will kill you with the baseball.

I just like the picture from that ESPN.com story, that has Reds pitcher Paul Wilson down on the ground, with Farnsworth on top of him, getting ready to pummel him. I set that one as my Windows wallpaper. Made me feel good.

You know, I'm thinking in baseball we go back to the old days where batters don't stand on top of the plate. I think you buzz a couple up under their chin, and then they'll stand back on their feet so that they're able to get out of the way. Then we wouldn't have so many beanballs.

It's all about respecting the pitcher. Guys like Roger Clemens and Pedro Martinez and even Kerry Wood have been made into bad guys because they'll buzz something up around somebody's chin every now and then. That's just making the batter respect you. Keep him off balance. He can't look out and away if he's expecting it up under his chin.

This was the Reds pitcher for God's Sake! If the pitchers from the other team aren't respecting you enough not to stand over the plate they deserve to get plunked.

Here is a link to the pictures I talked about, of NWA-TNA's first anniversary show. Bill's got a few good pictures of Sting's American PPV return.

Pic #7, a pic of me and Jerry Lynn. When we took the picture, I couldn't find the coordination to make my own hand signal like Jerry does.

Pic #8 is Bill, with David Young. I wish I was versed in Photoshop. I'd love to put motion lines on David's hand there, to make it look like David's punching Bill in the mush.

And here's a bunch of pictures of Shark Boy wearing Hulk Hands. He's my hero.

Next on the docket:

Wes Craven's They is definitely a movie. I can't give you much more than that. It's not necessarily a good movie. It's not really a bad movie, though it's leaning more towards that option. I'm thinking it was once going to be called Night Terrors, or something like that. Because the characters say "Night Terrors" just about 50 times over the course of the movie.

"Didn't you used to have Night Terrors?"

"I'm having Night Terrorrs again."

"Doctor, can you help me with my Night Terrors?"

"I can't come into work. I had really bad Night Terrors last night."

"If you had to choose between Pizza and Night Terrors, which would you choose?"

"I'll take Night Terrors to block, Tom"

"Aw, hell! Raul let the Night Terrors into the basement again."

"Well here's your problem: Your fuel pump's clogged with Night Terrors."

"Night Terrors destroy the Mets at Shea...film at 11."

"Star Trek XI: Deanna Troi's Night Terrors."

My personal Night Terror? Al Roker rubbing on my booty.

They suffers from a couple of the problems a lot of horror movies have. They fall into the trap where, just to make something work, a character does something that most people would not do.

There's the girl who goes searching for rats in the air conditioning shaft. Now you or I would more than likely, if we saw a rat, call the exterminator. But this girl decides to light her lighter and goes crawling hip deep into the 2'x2' duct.

But another way characters veer from traditional thought bothers me more and more as I think about it. Without revealing too much about the movie, the people are being chased by monsters from another dimension. Those little monsters marked them as children. And the mark is returning to those people now that they've entered adulthood.

The mark is an oozing, bloody, painful sore.

Now, I don't know about you. But if I have a dime-sized oozing, bloody, painful sore that lasts for more than, say, an hour? I'm going to a doctor. I discussed this with Alex last night. If they'd gone to a doctor, we as viewers would have been deprived of the wonderful scene where Laura Regan pulls the four inch long splinter out of her forehead.

I give They a 5 on a scale of 1 to 14, 9 being the highest and 11 being the lowest. Enjoy!

Just something I'd like to say about the state of the world today, (or, This Things I Believe):

Okay, Jose "Friggin'" Hernandez is not the answer to the Chicago Cubs' question at third base. Unless that question is: How can we make our offense even streakier? Or: How can we get more table clearers and divest ourselves of another table setter?

I'm a little disappointed. I wanted Florida's Mike Lowell...even though he'd have been another base clearer.

Still, Jose Hernandez is better than Lenny Harris. As a Cubs fan, I'm tired of watching Lenny Harris struggle so much, whether it's in the field where he's looked lost at third, or it's at the plate where he's looked overmatched by everybody he's faced all season. Is he hitting .200 yet? I wish I were being funny by blowing his average out of proportion, but I'm not. He's been below the Mendoza Line.

Well, Jose's a former Cub. I'll take him, I guess. I wonder if they could find a way to work a decent leadoff hitter up into the lineup.

Mike, our Man About Murfreesboro, had this to say about Hillary Clinton's new book:

I hope it sells two million copies just so Tucker Carlson can choke on his penny loafers.

Amen, brother.

Both Warren Ellis and Tainted Bill pointed this news story out to me.

A kid had beetles inside him, that flew out when he went to urinate.

I'm going to have screaming banshee nightmares for the rest of my life.

Bill and I hit the NWA-TNA's first anniversary show last night. It was a good solid show on all fronts. The crowd was really hot. All the performers seemed to be really up for the show.

They debuted their new set, which isn't all that different from their old set, except for the couple of plasma screen TVs on the stage with graphics. (Bill's guess is that one goes to Jerry Jarrett and the other goes to Jeff Jarrett between shows).

New Jack cut what I think is the best promo the year-old company's ever seen, warning Mike Sanders that his beating "won't take long." He even got help from his buddy Shark Boy, who came to ringside wearing a pair of those big foam Hulk Hands they've got out in toy stores to coincide with the movie.

Sting made his return to the American ring, and showed little ring rust in his tag match.

Go to TNA-Thoughts to read results, if you're interested.

The icing on the cake was the little meet and greet they had with the wrestlers after the show. Mike Tenay called out all the talent. They circulated amongst the crowd, letting people get autographs and pictures and stuff. When Bill posts his pictures, I'll link to the pictures he took of him with David Young and yours, truly, with Jerry Lynn.

We had a good little conversation with David Young. He's the Messiah of the Spinebuster, don't you know? We said that we were fans, and hoped he'd go far. He said he'd been working injured, after jamming his knee. He was doing a moonsault, changed course in mid-air to land on his feet. When he landed, that's when the knee went out. It had swollen to the size of a melon the next day. But he kept working, and he was feeling mostly better. As an aside, he really does have the best spinebuster to come around since "Double A" Arn Anderson threw chumps around.

It's a bad position. He hadn't said anything to TNA management. If you can't wrestle, you lose your place, I guess. David's been doing this a while, and he's moving up the ladder.

Granted, I'm not encumbered by employment as we speak. But I'm just glad that if I were employed, that if I did a moonsault in whatever capacity, and I hurt myself doing it, I'd be able to tell my employer, and get treatment.

Ain't America Great?

We also told Jerry Lynn what a great match that triple ladder match last summer was. He seemed only mildly uncomfortable.

Bill also terrorized both Alexis Laree and the Goddess Athena. He's just like that.

Airlines are flagging guys named David Nelson as possible terrorist threats.

While we're at it, let's flag Ricky Nelson, too. He's the one with the airplane danger track record.

A note to any new readers that have popped over from South Knox Bubba:

Hello. Allow myself to introduce....

My name is Tommy. This site was founded on the basis that I am the Biggest Stupidest Tommy on all the Internet, and it was a shame that I didn't have an outlet for my thoughts and/or opinions. I've been blogging for right around eight months. With all that practice....sad, ain't it?

Here's my bio. It's quite informative. I learned a lot.

Here's my e-mail. I learned how to read.

Here's my forum. Though it's mostly runover with cobwebs.

Also, I should not be held accountable for anything I've written here, no matter what the "law" says. I'm really rather dumb and have a singular talent for sticking my foot in my mouth whenever I try to give a real opinion. Occasionally, that will happen here. But mostly I come here to act silly. So as such take nothing I say seriously, and we'll all get along fine.

I hope you enjoy it.

Just wanted to drop a quick note, saying that I've now been linked up to the Rocky Top Brigade. It's a collection of other blogs and websites. The people who run them all hail or once hailed or somehow otherwise concern themselves with Tennessee. I've looked at many of the sites on the link list over the list, and a myriad of political philosophies are represented.

I've come to read Say Uncle's and South Knox Bubba's sites regularly. And I want to thank SKBubba for setting me up.

A couple of sites affiliated with the Brigade that I also recommend: Mike Reed's from Murfreesboro, so I read his site.

And I think Busy Mom is quite the fine writer. I enjoy her site very much.

It should be noted that all of these people are much smarter than I am.

Also, to my seven or eight regular readers...we may be getting a few guests around here. Pick up your dirty socks and would somebody stop by my apartment and do the dishes?

Boy, they oughta change the name of this state to HumidiTennessee.

I won't say that it's humid outside, but you don't breathe the air so much as drink it.

Also, the truck has some of that Riceville Air Conditioning. It's 2-55. That's right, two windows down going fifty-five miles an hour.

And for the record? Not once did I ever complain about the winter weather. You're obviously confusing me with my alter ego, Big Winter-Hatin' Tommy. Big Summer-Hatin' Tommy doesn't care much for the humidity, what with his ability to sweat constantly.

I came over to East Tennessee the other day. I live in Murfreesboro, and my folks live in Athens. Because I didn't feel like rasslin' with the traffic around Manchester associated with Bonnaroo, I took a little bit of a longer way around, and rode over on I-40.

Now when you're coming down 24, and hit Monteagle, you used to lose radio stations for a fifteen or twenty mile stretch. Nowadays, both KZ 106 and US 101 out of Chattanooga have transmitters powerful enough to reach over the mountain, and the same is true of WTN 99.7 and 102 THE BUZZ out of Nashville. So you're pretty cool if you want to listen to one on one side of the mountain, and when you hit the summit you can change over to the other.

Well, the problem I had on the plateau was that I lost all radio stations for a little while. I tried for Nashville stations. I tried for Knoxville stations. Nada. I listened to my Back to the Future soundtrack, but I was patient enough to listen to about three of the songs.

Meanwhile, I'm just kind of letting my mind wander. I don't ride across 40 too often, and I was astounded by all the Hardee's.

Not that I should have been. I think it's in Tennessee's constitution that you can't be incorporated as a Town in this state unless you have either a Waffle House or a Hardee's in your town, somewhere.

And for no reason other than utter boredom, I got to thinking about all the Hardee's in Tennessee that I've eaten in. Because, to me, nothing reminds me more of my home state than Hardee's.

I realize that previous statement was like saying "nothing reminds me more of Georgia than trees" or "nothing reminds me more of Maryland than cars," but if Kentucky can be linked to that bluegrass stuff or Florida with sunshine, then I can say Tennessee reminds me of Hardee's.

So I made a mental exercise driving of trying to think of all the Hardee's I've ever eaten at.

Sad, but true.

Though I should say there's very little like the epiphany of remembering that Hey! Madisonville has a Hardee's!!!!

Actually, I try not to eat in Hardee's very much. On the average, they're probably the most poorly kept line of restaurants. The color scheme has always been weird (even though the outsides are now that shiny red and yellow, the insides are still that weird drab brown and orange).

Let me say, though, that the Hardee's near the courthouse in Athens has always been well-kept. It's the place where the old men in town go to tell their lies. And it's where Dad and I got biscuits yesterday.

On the whole, for a drive-thru steak biscuit, (the operative word being drive-thru), there's not much a better place you can go (assuming you can not think about who's preparing your food and that you don't care much about your cardiovascular health), than Hardee's.

My roommate Bill's big complaint is that they haven't been able to find their focus for a long time now. Whether it's been their advertising or their menu fair. Well, recently they've changed again. But they've taken on a strange focus, one that's very much in line with Bill's thinking. Their recent market campaign holds that "Yeah, we know we've been scatterbrained and, honestly, rather a crappy place to eat....but we know that, and now we're trying better."

I like the commercial with the two old guys who talk about how they used to go to Hardee's and get one of those tiny hamburgers and cup of coffee, and they'd sit there and talk and talk and talk. And now they hate Hardee's, what with their fancy schmancy big Angus Hamburgers what with their tomatoes.

And re-touching on a point I made earlier, about the downtown Athens Hardee's where the old men go to tell their lies....even with the changed menu and stuff, it was perhaps the busiest Hardee's I've ever seen in my life. Every seat was full. Everybody with their biscuits and coffee.

Does anybody remember the Moose cups? I didn't and still don't understand the relationships, except that Hardee's sold these big 44 oz. cups with a Moose on them doing various summer time activities. You ordered a large coke and you got this Moose bucket. I remember them because we only had about a thousand of them running around the house.

And am I wrong? Didn't Hardee's do the Smurf glasses around here?

Maybe Athens is just a Hardee's kind of town. It's a town of about 14,000 and we have three Hardee's. Doing the math, that's one Hardee's for every 4,600 people.

And in McMinn County, there are FIVE! Etowah and Calhoun each has one of its own. We're around 40,000 in population for the county....one Hardee's for every 8,000 people.

I wonder if we have the highest Hardee's per capita ratio in the state.

Now, for your enjoyment, here is a list of all the Hardee's in Tennessee I can recall eating in or from (drive-thru):

Athens (all 3...4 if you count the one where Temptations was).
Calhoun
Cleveland (two, that I can recall)
Crossville, near Fairfield Glade
Dayton
Decatur
Etowah
Jellico
Madisonville
Maryville
Murfreesboro (three of the four or five in town)
Ooltewah
Pigeon Forge
Sweetwater
Smyrna

And there's one more somewhere between Knoxville and the Sevierville exit. I want to say Strawberry Plains, but I'm not for sure.

Let me say that there are a couple out of state

In closing, I'll relate a small event in my life, but won't include on the list, because I didn't eat there. There's a Hardee's on Nolensville Road in Nashville where I stopped at to pee one afternoon, but decided not to eat or drink anything. Not because I wasn't hungry or thirsty. But because I couldn't see anybody at all behind the counter. Nobody in the kitchen or anything. No customers either. Nobody.

It was, for a moment, my own private Hardee's.

Well. I stick to an eating plan for a little while, and then fall off it. I get mad at myself, but it doesn't do any good.

So, to lose weight, tomorrow I'll be cutting off my right leg. I think that'll make me lose roughly 50 pounds.

No.

We had an eventful day here at my folks' house. I think we all had a few concerns which we aired out. We all need to live a little healthier. And that's all there is to it. I don't have anything else "witty" or even "insightful" to add tonight. I just don't to be "Big" Stupid Tommy anymore. Mom, Dad and I are all going to make changes. Consistency is the key, I think.

I'm not married. I don't have a mother-in-law. But I liked this joke nonetheless:

A guy goes on vacation to the Holy Land with his
wife and mother-in-law.

The mother-in-law dies.

They go to an undertaker who explains that they
can ship the body home but that it'll cost over $5000,
whereas they can bury her in the Holy Land for only
$150.

The guy says, "We'll ship her home."

The undertaker asks, "Are you sure? That's an
awfully big expense and we can do a very nice burial
here."

The guy says, "Look, 2000 years ago they buried a
guy here and three days later he rose from the dead.
I just can't take that chance."

I'll play along with this whole Friday Five thing.

1. What's one thing you've always wanted to do, but never have?

I'd love to road trip to all thirty Major League Baseball stadiums and see games at each. Also, pee standing up.

2. When someone asks your opinion about a new haircut/outfit/etc, are you always honest?

Yeah. Which is why I'm hardly ever asked, I think.

3. Have you ever found out something about a friend and then wished you hadn't? What happened?

Beyond somebody discussing their bowel movements, I can't think of a specific instance.

4. If you could live in any fictional world (from a book/movie/game/etc.) which would it be and why?

I'm kinda partial to the universe portrayed in DC Comics. Sure, you have the sun burning out or an alien invasion every couple of months--and it's gotta throw your whole religious belief structure into disarray what with these demigods flying around hurling buildings at each other. But yeah. I'd like to have a Justice League of America to look up to. And a Batman to keep me in line.

5. What's one talent/skill you don't have but always wanted?

Outside of that superhero flying/invulnerability thing?

I'd like to be able to tell a joke. Writing it down on the page is one thing. But to be able to tell a joke, from beginning to end, without forgetting a part, telling parts out of order or completely blowing the timing? That would be sweet!

From Warren Ellis' blog:

In the What's the World Coming To? File:

I don't think this will help her appeal. After the State took her kids away, this lady took vengeance upon the woman whom the attacker thought had originally complained. Yep. The attacking lady cut the other's hands off with a machete.

Remember Big Stupid Tommy rule 903: It doesn't make you crazy to carry the machete with you at all times...it makes you crazy to pray to the machete.

Though I'm willing to make an exception here.

Well, I got up a little early this morning. I checked with my bank to make sure my former employer's last paycheck made it into the bank without hassles, and it's only about $260 short of where I figured it would be. Which means I was screwed out of either the overtime I worked my second to last week I was there, or my vacation time. More than likely, somebody just screwed up. But there was one person there who figured it was his job to make sure I wasn't trying to screw the company, and in the process it's a very real possibility I was the one getting screwed.

Let's go find out, shall we?

Okey Dokey. Just watched About Schmidt. Good movie. Good job by Jack Nicholson and the rest of the cast.

But for the love of God, can we please get a warning label for that Kathy Bates nude scene?

From the infinitely quotable Julie Pittenger, whose grasp of the theological is astounding:

You know, it's supposed to rain today and tomorrow. It rained last year at Bonnaroo, too. Obviously, God is trying to tell these people to stay out of Tennessee and quit getting in our way. Why won't they listen to Him???

Let me talk briefly about Bonnaroo, this music festival that they're having down in Manchester, TN.

I guess their money's as good as anyone, but do we really want 80,000 dirty hippie-wannabes around here, clogging our interstates and stealing things from our Wal-Marts and gas stations?

Alright, I've got a job interview this morning. Would it be wise to mention my newfound affinity for facial tattoos?

What if I got hired, no facial tattoo?

But when I showed up, many, many ridiculous and scary facial tattoos.

Actually, here's the series of facial tattoos that I plan on getting:

1. On my left cheek, a tattoo of Bugs Bunny, with a word balloon that says "Duck Season."

2. On my right cheek, a tattoo of Daffy Duck, with word balloon that say s"Rabbit Season."

3. And On my fore head, a tattoo of Elmer Fudd looking befuddled.

Won't that be great? I think it'll open up great things for me.

Doesn't it do your heart good to see the Yankees get no-hit?

The Astros whupped their asses.

This post contains one lie.

I list Trey Parker and Matt Stone among my heroes. If only for the town of South Park singing "Love is a Battlefield" as a show of solidarity against the Indians. That's comic gold, my friend. And if you say different, I'll fight you.

Did I mention that if I were in a bad mood when I watched The Italian Job, I'd have called it nothing more than a 2 hour commercial for the Mini Cooper?

Somebody at Comedy Central is spying on me. If ever there were a show created especially for me, it's the reality show "I'm with Busey."

Actually, that's not true. I kind of felt the same way when Anna Nicole Smith's show came on E!, but I got really disgusted when they showed her in a less than dignified manner.

Also, I should say that it's possible that the first statement was a lie. And hence, there could very well be many lies within this post. Or there could be none.

But since the philosophical ramifications are so daunting, I won't bring any of that up.

Does ESPN have some kind of agreement with that Golden Palace.com online gambling group? Conventional Wisdom has been to not show it when an idiot runs on the field or the court of a major sporting event.

But a couple of times now in the past couple of weeks, somebody's come streaking (nekkid) out on the court or field of a professional sporting event (I think it was a soccer game and then again this past weekend at the French Open). And ESPN featured it prominently, even going to slow motion.

I'm just wondering. If that's the way it is, then I find ESPN culpable for this seeming upswing of idiots running onto the field in major sporting events. If you give them the celebrity they crave, it only encourages them. Fix it, or I'll take it over, and run it the right way.

To be honest, SportCenter hasn't been that good since it was Keith Olbermann and Dan Patrick every Monday morning. Stuart Scott and Kenny Mayne have made the list, by the way.

Officially. If you ignore Stuart Scott and Kenny Mayne, they'll go away. I honestly believe that.

Okay, so the Cubs beat the Orioles 4-0. It makes me happy that they've won five of their last seven.

But I never ever lose sight of the fact that they could still end up 35-127.

Just a thought on a trailer shown before The Italian Job.

I think I've now seen Charlie's Angels 2. I think every shot in the movie was show to me, sped up, and not necessarily in the order that it's shown in the actual film. But I think the 100 minutes or so were crammed into the minute or minute and a half that was the trailer. This seizure of a trailer gave me a nosebleed. But Demi Moore is attractive for the first time in a few years, it might be worth the time.

Also, it was the loudest trailer ever. I'm deaf, now.

Also, I bought a bag of M & M's before the movie. The sound in The Italian Job is odd. It's a quiet movie. In scenes where there should be back ground noise, there isn't. There's very little music, either, except to bridge scenes. So when there are people on screen and nobody's talking, it's very, very quiet. (It occurs to me now that perhaps I suffered hearing damage during the Charlie's Angels Trailer)

But during one of these very quiet moments, I decide to turn my bag of M & M's open side down. So there's a clatter of peanut and chocolate goodness clattering all over the tile floor of the theater. This got me beaten up by a little old lady.

Just finished my Fox I.Q. test, which coincides with the show going on as I write.

I was pleased with my score.

I got an 81.

That's a B, right? It's a low B, but it's definitely a B.

So I get college credit.

Awww, yeah.

I think the media tie-ins would be beneficial:

There were two Catholic boys, Timothy Murphy and Secola Antonio, whose lives paralleled each other in amazing ways.

In the same year Timothy was born in Ireland, Secola was born in Italy.

Faithfully they attended parochial school from kindergarten through senior year in high school.

They took their vows to enter the priesthood early in college and, upon graduation became priests.

Their careers had come to amaze the world, but it was generally acknowledged that Secola was just a cut above Timothy in all respects.

Their rise through the ranks of bishop, archbishop and finally cardinal was meteoric to say the least, and the Catholic world knew that when the present Pope died, it would either be one of the two who would become the next pope.

In time the pope did die, and the College of Cardinals went to work.

In less time than anyone had expected, white smoke rose from the chimney and the world waited to see whom they had chosen.

The world, Catholic, Protestant and secular were surprised to learn that Timothy Murphy had been elected pope!

Secola Antonio was beyond surprise. He was devastated, because even with all of Timothy's gifts, Secola knew he was the better qualified.

With gall that shocked the Cardinals, Secola asked for a private session with them in which he candidly asked, "Why Timothy?"

After a long silence, an old cardinal took pity on the bewildered man and rose to reply. "We knew you were the better of the two, but we just could not bear the thought of the leader of the Roman Catholic Church being called "Pope Secola."

I've decided that at this moment, I'm going to be like every other blogger and use this point as my bully pulpit from which to deliver my message of disgust and general malaise toward the current American Econo-Religious Structure:

From Bloomberg, on Wal-Mart's annual meetings:

In response to customer pressure, Wal-Mart did say it will obscure the covers of several women's magazines because they often feature sexually explicate material. Plastic shields will be placed over Glamour, Marie Claire, Cosmopolitan and Redbook magazines beginning next month.

Wal-Mart last month stopped sales of three men's magazines, Maxim, Stuff and FHM, after customers and Christian groups voiced concern about their content.

I would be a bad person if I did not first credit Bill with finding this particular article.

You know, if I'm Wal-Mart, the most powerful retail outlet since Jeebus, I think I'd sell whatever the freak I'd feel like. But, of course, this is the same entity who has the clout to sell edited versions of any album they deem objectionable. I really think Wal-Mart should stick to selling cheap groceries and household goods and used cars and leave my eternal soul alone.

Isn't it bad enough that I'm addicted to Sam's Choice Beverages? Sam Walton reaches his cold hand from beyond the grave to grab me by the nuts.

Also:

Should I be comforted that the religious right is there to protect me from Redbook?

Boy if I'd known it was such a good read I'd enjoy standing in line at the grocery store a lot more.

Here is my plan: I will eat nothing but eggs for the next four weeks.

And then I will win.

I'm gonna win!!!!!!

NWA-TNA.com has its preview for Wednesday's show up nearly four days before the show. Could it be they aren't booking by the seat of their pants?

What intrigues me is the statement that in the final match of the quarterfinals of the "Hard 10" tournament, Sandman will be facing a former WCW Hardcore Champ. This could bode well for us there in the TNA Asylum. Shane Douglas was rumored to have been in attendance a few weeks ago, but didn't make his debut because of a bicep injury. Shane was a former WCW Hardcore Champion.

So was Terry Funk. I wouldn't mind seeing Terry again.

But I'm afraid it'll end up being somebody like Norman Smiley or even Meng, as Bill fearfully suggests on his TNA site.

A couple of really funny things for your approval:

The first is the 2-disc set an evening with Kevin Smith. If only for the story on the second disc on the injuries incurred the first time he was intimate with his wife. His stories shooting a documentary with Prince were equally as entertaining. Laughed until I cried.

Also, I have to recommend the director's commentary on Cannibal: the Musical. The DVD out of Troma, Trey Parker, Matt Stone and company, instead of commenting of the subtleties of making the movie, decide to drink throughout the screening. And by the end of the commentary, it's degenerated into hurling epithets and farting on each other.

I found it much more entertaining and educational than George Lucas' and Rick McCallum's commentary on Star Wars: episode I, actually.

"What are you doing?" asks the man behind the counter.

"What do you think I'm doing?" asks Bill in return.

"I don't know what you're doing...why do you have your pants off?"

"Because it's hot in here."

The clerk can't seem to decide whether to come out from behind the counter or stay back there. He waffles back and forth between the two options until Bill bends over to pick up his pants, not to put them back on but to fold them across his right arm. It is then that the clerk opts for the counter, and the phone.

"It's not that hot in here," the clerk says, picking up the handset. "Put your pants on, or I'm calling the cops."

"The cops?"

"The police. Put your damn pants on."

Another customer wanders into the Mr. Buzz Convenience Store. She is a younger lady: a redhead. She is probably a student at the small college a couple of blocks away. She freezes, as she has just heard the clerk order Bill (our hero) to put his damn pants on. She looks uncertainly left, at Bill, who has put one leg up onto a display of Pepsi 12-packs, then right, at the clerk, who now seems torn between his duty to the customer and his need for the customers to keep their pants on.

The clerk's eyes dart from the new customer, to Bill, and back to the customer.

"Can I...um. Can I help you?" he asks, keeping an eye on Bill, who seems to be studying the ceiling now.

"No, I'm fine," Bill says.

"I wasn't talking to you!" he says, a vein popping out on his forehead. He looks, wide-eyed, at the girl.

She doesn't move from the doorway. "A pack of Marlboro lights?" She asks. She is a little thrown by the situation. She has decided Bill is the center of attention, as well.

The clerk reaches up without looking and pulls down the pack of cigarettes.

"$3.20," he says.

Bill--to her the man with no pants--has left his post at the Pepsi 12-packs. He is wandering toward the back of the store, towards the beer coolers. He absently lays his folded pants on top of the shelf containing horrendously overpriced housewares.

"Hey! Come back here!"

"I'm not going anywhere, chief," says Bill over his shoulder. When he reaches the coolers, he opens up the refrigerator door. Cooler air wafts out toward him in icy clouds.

The girl lays four dollars on the counter.

"Hey!" the clerk yells. "Hey! What are you doing back there?"

"I told you it's hot in here," Bill says, his tone edging toward irritation. "I've explained it all to you."

"Get out of my cooler!"

"Get out of your what?" Bill has his head wedged between the shelf holding 6-packs of Bud and the shelf holding 6-packs of Bud Lite.

"I said 'Get out of the cooler!'"

"I'm not in the cooler," Bill replies, as if that were patently obvious. "Only my head."

"I'm sorry," the girl says, brushing her red hair out of her eyes, "can I have my cigarettes?"

"Sorry," the clerk says. He pushes the pack across the counter.

"Keep the change," she says, rolling her eyes at the whole crazy situation.

"I'm calling the cops!" The bell on the door clangs as the redhead leaves.

"Calling who?"

"The police. You're acting crazy!"

"What am I doing?"

"Get out of my cooler, put your pants on and get out of my store!" He's yelling now.

Bill considers the request. He closes the cooler door, but makes no move to leave.

"Are you leaving?"

"I haven't gotten what I came for." Bill looks disgusted with the whole situation.

The clerk sighs. "What did you come for?"

"The pleasant atmosphere."

The End.

The events in this story are fictional, and any resemblance of characters or events to actual people or events is purely coincidental, Bill.

Just a quick note, as Hee Seop Choi seems to be unconscious on the field here in the fourth inning of the Cubs/Yankees game, it looks like Kerry Wood's head or maybe his shoulder pops Choi on his chin. That's how it looks to me, anyway. Just the way he fell, it looked to me like he was out cold as he was falling. He fell like a ton of bricks.

They've just pulled an ambulance out on the field. This is baseball. They're not supposed to cart people off the field in ambulances in baseball.

Here's hoping Big Choi's alright.

Just watching the first little bit of the Cubs/Yankees game, and Kerry Wood has some pretty nasty looking stuff, so far.

Why is it that when Kerry has nasty stuff, it's a good thing, and when I have nasty stuff, people yell ridiculous things. "Take a bath!" or "Put that roadkill back on the highway!"

This little bit of contrived humor is brought to you by Vega-Bite Shoestring French Fried Potatoes (Papas a la Francesa Delgadas): When you want a lot of French Fries but you don't want to spend a lot of money on taste, Vega-Bite is the Answer! They're muy crujientes! And they're easily digestible. Won't Clog Toilets! Remember! If you have six dimes, you can own all for your own 20 oz. of French Fried Edible Food!

Vega-Bite: We're Edible!

Just in review, the following people you are to ignore, and they'll just go away:

Rob Schneider (12/5)
Ariana Huffington (2/6)
Michael Jackson (2/16)
Vin Diesel (3/29)
Spike Lee (6/4)

And I kind of think I missed one or two looking back over my archives. But these people you really should ignore. And they'll go away. I honest believe that.

Had me some bad dreams last night. Richard Ashcroft had gained his expanded powers, under the revised Patriot Act, and he was using his Pizza Tanks and his Beetle Smashers to come after me. Because I hadn't prayed to the Lord that morning and because sang the National Anthem slightly off key.

I don't care if we do think somebody's a terrorist. Holding somebody indefinitely without sufficiently explained cause is not what America is about. Ashcroft and his ilk are less concerned with protecting America than they are protecting their stuff. It's all well and good to make laws making yourself the moral yardstick, but personally it worries me. I may be on the Moral Metric System, and while it's just as good a system (and easier to use), I might not meet all the right measurements.

I've gotta do more reading about all this. But I'd hate to be Ashcroft. I have my paranoid moments (usually in the mornings, from 8:45 to 9), but this guy takes the cake.

Some other things I think (or This Things I Know):

I think that if the Pirates and Red Sox are going to turn back the clock to 1903, I think they should also use baseball gloves from the 1903 era, when they're playing. Imagine trying to catch a 95 mph fastball with a mitt with barely a quarter inch of padding.

Also: No batting helmets.

And I laughed pretty hard at the joke Chick McGee on the Bob and Tom show about if they also returned to the former racial standards, as well.

I think Sammy Sosa's guilty. I think he used the corked bat on purpose. I think he was trying to get his stroke back after approximately 3 weeks off. He'd struck out something like 7 out of 11 times, and he just wanted to make contact with the ball. Watching the Cubbies play the Rays yesterday, he was still behind the pitcher's fastball most of the time.

I'm also wondering how much his beaning at the hands of Salomon Torres back around Easter is still on his mind.

Yeah.

I miss the Arsenio Hall show.

He did things without the desk.

And he didn't like it when Jake "the Snake" Roberts left his python Damian on the guest couch.

And the Dog Pound? I really miss the Dog Pound. And he'd name the people in the Dog Pound. Tonight, the people in the Dog Pound are People Who are Mad when Church's Chicken is Closed on Christmas Day.

You know the first time I ever heard of Billy Ray Cyrus, it was on the Arsenio Hall show? He sang Achy Break Heart. I just don't think you'd understand.

And the show he did the night of the riots in Los Angeles. And the audience was empty.

Arsenio's was a decent show, as late night talk shows go. Arsenio was Bill Clinton playing the saxophone and Magic Johnson. And now occasionally Arsenio will do stuff for Jay Leno? It's just sad. Because if Arsenio was Bill Clinton playing the saxophone and Magic Johnson, then Jay Leno is white bread and the EZ Listening rock station they play at your workplace.

David Letterman does my AOL welcome noise.

I'm drunk with power.

Last night's NWA-TNA show was boring. The following performers do very little for me right now: Jeff Jarrett, Glen Gilbertti, D-Lo Brown, Mike Sanders, Erik Watts and Sonny Siaki. Familiarity may breed contempt, as these guys have been on the show every week for the past few weeks. Erik Watts has the advantage of having wrestled only shlubs for the past few weeks, so he's only been in the ring a little, and has been limited to interview segments otherwise. And last night Sanders didn't do much. But on the whole, I'm just tired of seeing the other guys. And last night's show featured them prominently, including Jarrett and Gilbertti in the main event. As such, last night's show just didn't do a whole lot for me.

However, there were a couple of ladies behind us who just were so dedicated to having a bad time that they did nothing to improve their own viewing situation, instead opting to yell at the guys in front of her view to "sit down" all night. Also, they would bitch at each other about how inconsiderate people are.

Well, if you haven't heard, there's a movie called "The Brown Bunny" written, directed, produced, edited and starring Vincent Gallo, which was shown at this year's Cannes Film Festival. There, it was roundly met with derision. One review I read described "The Brown Bunny" as an odd, badly paced road movie. Apparently, Gallo stars as a professional motorcyclist driving cross country to a race. Apparently, not much happens over the course of a couple of hours, but the movie ends with an extremely explicit oral sex scene with co-star Chloe Sevigny.

One particular critic of the film is the Chicago Sun-Times' Roger Ebert, who panned the film early on as one of the worst movies ever shown at Cannes.

Gallo himself apologized for the movie at the Cannes Festival.

But since, Gallo has apparently engaged in a war of words with Mr. Ebert. Whether this is to defend the movie or simply save face, I don't really know. But Gallo has called Ebert a "Fat Pig" and said that Ebert had "the physique of a slave-trader."

Ebert responded today. You can read the full text of Ebert's reply, from today's Chicago Sun-Times, here. It contains possibly one of the best zingers of all time:

"During a scene where Gallo shares a bicycle with a young woman, I became so nostalgic for "Butch Cassidy" that I softly sang "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head." I stopped after six words when my wife jabbed me in the ribs. I was overheard by a writer for Hollywood Reporter, who included it in his coverage about how badly the film was received, and that is another reason Gallo has put the heebie-jeebie on my colon and prostate. I am not too worried. I had a colonoscopy once, and they let me watch it on TV. It was more entertaining than "The Brown Bunny."

Folks, if you ignore Spike Lee, he'll go away. I honestly believe that.

Before you start ignoring him, read this.

Ain't Spike silly?

But for my own purposes, I'm going to find his argument cogent and intelligent.

Tomorrow, in U.S. Federal Court, I intend to file copyright infringement and wrongful use of likeness suits against both The Who for their "rock opera" and fashion designer Tommy Hilfiger, for both their line of Tommy brand clothing and that cologne that gives you the "Tommy smell."

That smell is all mine, and I work hard on it.

Alright. The book I read today was called Andersonville Journey by Edward F. Roberts. It's concerned mostly with the figures involved with the tragedy that was the Andersonville prison back during that there War of the Northern Aggression. And I won't make any jokes about the violent states' right advocate in me saying them Unionists had it coming....

It's just as crushing and sickening to see the pictures that came out of the Andersonville prison as anything you see coming out of the Holocaust. Not to compare the two, necessarily. It's two different animals, when you get to it. The horror that was Andersonville was due largely to incompetence on the part of Confederate planners.

The book itself is rather spotty. Its narrative doesn't flow well. It will mention people as key figures in the story, but not explain exactly their roll or origins until later. And often these explanations come in the form of an aside. It's a little annoying too, the way certain people's life stories are given when they had very little actually to do with Andersonville or its subsequent trials.

On the whole, I give the book a C. Informative. Readable. But Roberts has an agenda, it seems, to clear the names of as many people as is humanly possible. Man, the dude has a real problem with Lincoln's Secretary of War Edwin Stanton.

So what if the guy had an unhealthy preoccupation with death, bordering on lunacy? You know, like where he'd dress his wife up and undress her like a doll. Or had his daughter exhumed just to have her in the house? Or kept the remains of Mary Surratt or the aforementioned Henry Wirz around the office. Just for kicks.

Like none of us has any problems.

But as coincidence would have it, the folks are coming back from Florida, and they'd mentioned possibly stopping at Andersonville. Mom says I've been there on one of the enrichment summer trips my elementary school would take. But honestly, how much is an 8-year-old kid supposed to remember about what is now a cemetary?

What they should have been doing is frightening us with stories of Edwin Stanton.

All those opportunities for enrichment and learning passed by me mostly, because I was more looking forward to swimming at the pool at the hotel. Also, riding on the bus. I liked riding the bus.

What the hell is this crap where Sammy Sosa gets caught with a corked bat? Is it not enough that he's roided up like the Incredible Frickin' Hulk?

This hurts. It hurts because every time I start coming back around to the "Respect Sammy" camp, something happens. Doesn't this put a big old blemish on his eventual Hall of Fame entry?

But more, this hurts because the last 3 guys who've been caught corking bats got 8 and 10 game suspensions. And Sammy's been out most of May, and here lately the Cubs haven't been able to buy a run.

Alright. Let's do that Bobby Hill and Juan Cruz for Mike Lowell trade NOW! He only got 6 RBI tonight!!!!!!!!!

I'll even throw in my roommate and a banana box full of football cards.

VH1 had a program about the top 25 or 30 rock star cameos in television.

I've never seen the episode where Boy George appeared on the A-Team. It's a good thing. Lordy was B.A. happy to have Boy George there. I'd never have pegged B.A. as a Culture Club fan. He always seemed to me to be more of an old-time R&B fan. Maybe even a really strong funk George Clinton fan. But any 80's rock (with the exception of Hall and Oates) would be beneath B.A. Baracus.

But in that episode, apparently, B.A. was all protective of Boy George. At the club appearance, B.A. was in the booth with Hannibal and Murdoch, and he was dancing and grooving to "Karma Chameleon."

I imagine now, as the A-Team drives around in B.A.'s badass van, that he'd pop in any number of 80's supergroups. Duran Duran. Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Wham! And knowing that 80's bubblegum grew out of the supersweet 70's, you just know that every now and then, B.A. would pop the ABBA casette into the player.

And Faceman would groan, and Murdoch (the Fool) would say something imminently foolish. Col. Hannibal Smith wouldn't say anything. He'd roll his eyes but remember his time in the War, and know that he'd lived through the worst Hell on Earth. He could survive ABBA.

And on a completely different note.

Apparently as a wee lad, I was such a fan of ABBA that our first dog I named Abbadog.

Well, that's enough for this morning. Gotta go to Abbawork. I'll go take an Abbashower and put on the Abbaclothes. I'll drive my Abbatruck. My Abbamanager will probably question me about something. Have a good Abbaday.

Well, here we sit on Interleague Play Eve. Did you get me a present? If you've been good, Allan "Bud" Selig will creep up through your shower drain, slink into your bedroom, fart in your face and say that it's roses.

Yeah. This is the baseball post. Interesting to few, believed by none. Send me money.

I don't know. Aside from the fact that the Cubs' pathetic offense could use some good old Tampa Bay Devil Rays pitching, the whole Cubs/Rays series does very little for me. To be honest, the Cubs/Yankees series doesn't do a whole lot, either. I'll get to see the Saturday game with Clemens and Kerry Wood on Saturday, and I'll admit that the prospect of that does a little something for me. But on the whole, I'm pretty bored with the next couple of weeks on the Cubs schedule.

I'll be quick, and say I'm not a fan of interleague play. I'd rather see more games against division rivals instead of Cubs/Rays and Cubs/Orioles. For every Cubs/Yankees or Giants/Twins series that you get, you've got three Tigers/Rockies or Mets/Rangers.

Let alone that whole deal where it skews the strength of schedules in competing Wild Card teams. I guess I shouldn't complain. In theory, a series of games for the Cubs against teams like the Rays and Orioles helps them against somebody like Montreal, who will play their games against the A.L. West megabitch powerhouses like Oakland and Seattle.

But I digress.

Hey remember that part where I said Bud Selig (everybody's favorite car salesman) farts in your face? He also opens your food and drools into it. He skulks about the house, picking his nose and wiping it on things. He runs your silverware up his naked buttcrack. He shakes dandruff into your salt shaker.

Merry Interleague Play Eve.

Just some sad news from Raw. "Classy" Freddy Blassie passed away earlier today. He's not been on TV regularly in more than a dozen years. But still. This is one pencil-necked geek who's gonna miss Freddy.

Only three days left at my current job. Today, tomorrow and Wednesday. I've got an interview later this week. But there's nothing definite. Normally, this would worry the stuffing out of me. But I've come to despise my job so much of late, that I prefer being unemployed to working there. That's right, folks. It's become that bad a work environment.

One person caused this.

That's right.

Spider-Man. What with his mask-wearing vigilantism. Who does he think he is, taking the law into his own hands? He's a menace, is what he is. I honestly believe that he's the direct cause of the "crimes" he fights to prevents. And these monsters that have descended upon us? No Spider-Man? No Monsters. It's a direct correlation. Until Spider-Man showed up, we didn't have a frigging Doctor Octopus! Hell, No! No Green Goblin. Definitely no Venom. These are killers, and I believe they've been lured to the big city by this costumed vigilante. Maybe it's not intentional. I put it to you this way: If you accidentally run a baby over on the highway, it's still your fault. You should have just not put on a mask and driven the car to run over the baby! Spider-Man? No driving for him and no vigilante crime-fighting!

Okay, so I finally did get to sleep. But when I did, there were these messed up dreams. The one where I ruin the shooting a movie starring Rob Schneider and Adam Sandler by comparing the two to a roll of toilet paper and an oven mitt. (I don't understand, either).

Or the really scary one where I'm in a hospital in Nashville, and terrorists who've captured bombers are bombing Nashville. Except all the planes look like the ones you fly in Command and Conquer. And I'm running to get out of the building, and somebody I think of as Darth Vader starts chasing me. The way to get from the building to where I'm parked is passed by traversing a ropes course, and there are Ewoks on the ropes course and the bombs almost got me, and then I woke up.

Yeah. It's like 12:45. No sleeping. Some friends from work were going out after work tonight. I'm saving my money, and I was extremely tired. But if I'd known I was going to be this awake, I'd have said "Screw It" and gone. But then, I am trying to become an ogre. So far, so good.

At first, I didn't laugh at this one. And then I did:



A man went to the doctor and said," Doctor, I've got a problem, but if you're going to treat it, first you've got to promise not to laugh."

"Of course I won't laugh," the doctor said. " I'm a professional. In over twenty years I've never laughed at a patient."

"Okay then," the man said, and proceeded to drop his trousers, revealing the tiniest penis the doctor has ever seen. Unable to control himself, the doctor fell laughing to the floor. Then minutes later he was able to struggle to his feet and regain his composure.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I don't know what came over me. On my honor as a doctor and a gentleman, I promise it won't happen again. Now what seems to be the problem?"

The man cried, " It's swollen !"

Courtesy of Warren Ellis, here's something to put on Big Stupid Tommy's Christmas list.

I'm thinking I'd put this one up on Lake McKamy. And I'd live on it. And start little wars.

Folks, we may be looking at an insomnia kind of night. In spite of my earlier commentary that I was "tireder than shit," here I am wide awake. What is going on?

Here's a statement for you to take slightly out of context: I ate a big Wal-Mart sandwich today.