Thoughts from the Ass End of the Night

Thoughts from the Ass End of the Night

Sitting here trying to figure out if work calling and waking me a few minutes ago was a joke. I went off on a tear about all the hand-holding that I'm having to do, and pissed a few people at the place off. This was one such phone call, and it came at the suggestion of my boss. Maybe it's funny. I'm not the best judge of these things, here lately. It's times like these that I try to keep a low profile...I'm taking shit WAY the fuck too seriously, and finding myself way too pissed about things.

Tired of wandering around pissed at people, pissed at things. That's not me. Yet, it has been for a year or so, now.

Change of scenery needed?

Maybe I could move to a trailer, draw me some food stamps.

I am 16% White Trash.

I, my friend, have class. I am so not white trash. . I am more than likely Democrat, and my place is neat, and there is a good chance I may never drink wine from a box.

Take the
White Trash Test
@ FualiDotCom

Hmmm. Maybe that's my problem.

I dunno.

It was an idea.

A Novel Idea

A Novel Idea

A friend of mine put a bug in my ear at work...we got to talking about National Novel Writing Month, and how it sucks to try writing a novel in November if you're A.) a student (her situation) or B.) working in a grocery store during the busiest grocery month of the year (situation mine).

She and some of her friends are trying in August. I think I'm going to play along, as well.

You long-suffering readers will remember a couple of abortive attempts...one that actually turned out well in the long run...my first completed draft of a novel.

Well...I'm going to put the whole shebang up online for August. I'm taking vacation days later in the month, and life should be getting a touch easier for a little bit at work, for a while (I have no reason to think this, but I'm going to be positive. This way, it's much more spectacular when I go ballistic.)

Going to give this a try. It's been a rough summer. Not the absolute shit that 2007 was, but it's been a rough one. And a rough few days, too.

Need to get my ass back in gear. Bullshitting people about liking to write, when I've written very little substantial lately.

So, gonna start up again, the first of August.

Don't know what I'm writing about.

Don't care, really.

Just know that this is something I gotta do.

Not getting younger.

Prettier, maybe.

I am a helluva dude. So, I got that going for me. Which is nice.

Might not be a whole lot of posting otherwise.

But, it's not like there's been a whole hell of a lot of posting, as it is.

Stay tuned, hulkamaniacs....

Stupid France...

Stupid France...

Yeah...these stories about maximum work hours in other parts of the world tend to pop up the same weeks I'm pulling 65 at work. I tend to think there's some power out there trying to piss me off.

It's working.

Salaried? Retail?

Yeah. That's why we call this thing Big Stupid Tommy.

That, and Big Good Natured Doormat Tommy doesn't roll off the tongue.

The Phone Game....

The Phone Game....

It was unannounced, but between last night and this morning, we had another fun round of "Where's My Phone?": The Game that is frustrating on entirely different levels than "Where Are My Keys?" because there is a growing part of my makeup that doesn't want anything more to do with my phone.

Yes, folks, the mayhem comes from the internal conflict.

And indeed, the "Screw the Phone" side of me took an early lead, opting to go to bed.

This morning, the "I need the Phone" side of me took over...

I know a lot of you were playing an office pool...if you had "In the Crack of my Truck Seat", you're a winner!!!!

I'd pull some manner of Harvey Dent reference out of my pants, but I'm afraid I'd knock my phone off my belt in the process, and begin the game anew.

That Tommy sure is a bastard, sometimes.

A brief commentary on blogging

A brief commentary on blogging

Seen this commercial?



It makes me smile every time I see it.

Usually because I am easily distracted, especially when somebody does something a little off kilter--something like eating a candy bar instead of answering my question. I would tend to question the taste of a gentleman who mixes Twix Bars and beer. Even shitty beer.

Don't get me wrong. I like Twix Bars. But I can't eat them anymore.

No shit. Chocolate gives me nightmares.

Anyway, that whole off-kilter thing, where a person eats a candy bar instead of answering my question? It is distracting. And it makes me happy to see it happen to another person, letting me know that this is a trait common to bloggers, and not just Tommy.

It's good. Because I was starting to take it personally. It happens rather a lot, really.

Perhaps I should find new friends, and not spend nearly so much of my time hanging around Sloth from the Goonies.

It's a thought.

We don't sell these here...

We don't sell these here...



Via the Failblog.

Whoop-dee-doo Tarantula Town....

Whoop-dee-doo Tarantula Town...

We had a line of heavy thundershowers move through the area yesterday. That might have been the seed for the dream I had last night. I remember just these couple of images:

The first is me driving my truck off into a new creek...the road has washed away, and I round a curve going up Sweetfield Valley Road (for the locals...), and drive right into the newly formed stream.

I get out, and pick my truck up and set it back onto the road, hopeful that water hasn't gotten into the engine, and strangely awed that my truck wasn't nearly as heavy as I thought it was.

---

The other image, continuing with the water theme, was the sight of the ocean whipping up onto the streets of the town...like only I've seen during Hurricane videos on teevee, and thinking that it had to be a helluva storm to reach 500 miles inland like that....

----

Don't know what's up with the water imagery, except that when I woke up, I really, really had to pee....

Dark Knight...

Dark Knight...

Howdy. There are a handful of people who've been reading this blog for a while now--some of you are creeping right on up there toward six years with me on this meandering, silly trip I'm on. And in this time, you've known me to say a few silly things, like how that episode of Andy Griffith where Barney buys the car is the highest human artistic achievement, ever. Those are silly, bullshit things that I say from time to time because it makes me giggle like a German schoolgirl.

I'd like to take a step back from that semi, hemi-persona that I've wrapped around myself like a crescent roll to create the oversized Pig-in-a-Blanket that is Big Stupid Tommy.

I'm stepping back to say this as Tommy Acuff, man about town: I was endlessly impressed with The Dark Knight.

I'm a Joker-geek. Favorite character in comics...edging up into favorite character in all of literature.

Yet here's the thing.

In the 60, nearly 70 years he's been around, and despite the litany of creators who've worked on his character in myriad stories through the years, in media ranging from the comic page to the big screen?

Nobody has gotten him right. Not exactly. No writer. No artist. No director. No actor.

Nobody.

It's gonna take a bit to let me get some distance from this afternoon's viewing.

But Chris Nolan and Heath Ledger may have gotten the Joker exactly as I've seen him in my head for 25 years now....

I loved the movie.

I'll try to think more on it. Perhaps put something up that takes a little thought and skill to put together...for a change.

Damn, what an awesome flick.

Awe. Some...

It was everything I could do not to go screaming and yelling, running around the theater when the credits rolled.

Damn, that's how you make a movie, right there...

Saturday

Saturday

It is noon on Saturday. Why ain't you taken me to see The Dark Knight Yet?

That movie's been out for 36 hours now.

This transgression will not go unnoticed, when your review comes up.

Just sayin'.

Watchmen...

Watchmen...

The trailer for Watchmen is up.

Kinda dubious of this one...think it might be hard to mash into 2 or three hours of movie. Add to that, I'd never have thought it possible, but I'm almost on comic book movie overload.

Almost.

Still...trailer's interesting.

Quotable

Quotable...

Stealing this one from Gmail:

"I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody."

---Bill Cosby.

No wonder I woke up saying Fahvergnuhgen

No wonder I woke up saying Fahvergnuhgen

Chattanooga's getting a Volkswagen plant:

Volkswagen AG will build an automobile assembly plant in Chattanooga, officials said today.

Europe’s biggest automaker said it will put a nearly $1 billion investment in Chattanooga’s Enterprise South Industrial Park.

The plant is expected to create 2,000 jobs. It is expected to open in 2011.

Yeah. The jobs are great for the area--as much as anybody, I don't want to have to turn cousins in for the prison bounty, yelling that "they got this'cheer depression on--I got to do for me an' mine!" So, jobs for the economy? Fahvergnuhgen.

There is one caveat. I do not want talking cars in the area.



That car is creepy. Also, it is more charming than I am.

The former I can deal with. You should see my family.

The latter? That's rough.

Sure, I reckon you could say "be more charming."

But I think it's simply more pragmatic to outlaw talking, sentient automobiles.

Unless, of course, they come from Cybertron.

As it is, the overwhelming majority of volkswagens do not come from Cybertron. They come Germany, and here soon, Chattanooga. Not Cybertron.

No sentient cars. It's a slippery slope. First, you make talking, thinking cars. Next, this happens:



So. No.

No talking cars.

Unless you want Lion singing the Transformers theme at Riverbend next year....

Earworm

Earworm

If I know what I'm doing (and heaven knows, I don't), this one will be in your head for a little while.

Greater Good...

Greater Good...

Nothing much to say this morning, except that I LOVE the All Star Game, but I really hate the All Star Break.

Anyway...I started watching The Incredibles yesterday. Didn't get to this part, which is my favorite.

Today's Funny

Today's Funny

Compliments of Sheila...this one hit me just right, especially since I'm wandering amongst the upended bodies of my own sacred cows, here lately.....

Two Items this Sunday Afternoon....

Two Items this Sunday Afternoon....

Hello, and good day.

Just wanted to give you fine feathered folks a couple of little notes that I like to call "Heads up, you assholes!"

1. A friend and I wandered to the Community Market down in Delano, where those fine Mennonite people put out fresh produce, preserves and baked goods for the people to buy....

I bought some Tomato Bread, which I haven't had in YEARS.

I say without fear of contradiction, that this Tomato Bread may be the best thing every put forth on this planet, second possibly only to an unassisted triple play. Most definitely, it is the finest product ever put forth in the category "Baked Goods, Confections and Television Sitcoms."

Seriously, this stuff would be great with with some garlic butter and a nice Veal Parmesan....

2. I am watching Dario Argento's "Phenomena" this morning, and I have one bone to pick. They've killed the Chimpanzee's owner. The movie is not done, but I really feel that the concept of "Chimpanzee Vengeance" will not be adequately addressed.

Like I said, the flick is not done. But I am not optimistic.

However, I will one day front a rock band called "Chimpanzee Vengeance."

And we will have several dozen copies of our hit song downloaded on the interwebs.

Edit: I was wrong. There is indeed Chimpanzee Vengeance. And it is strong, and final.

Sunday Morning ReRun

Sunday Morning ReRun

I wrote this lie a couple years ago, and I still like it:

During last night's All-Star Game, the Buck n' McCarver Show decided to fall over themselves to praise Ichiro Suzuki--his speed, his situational hitting, and most of all his amazing hand-eye coordination.

It made me a little angry, and not just in that normal, every day way that Tim McCarver makes me angry.

See, these guys haven't seen anything when it comes to Ichiro's hand-eye coordination.

Back in the day, I was spending some time in Japan. Japan has many things I enjoy: lots of bright, shining lights; a culture that values being quiet while on public transportation; and the neverending ability to make me the tallest person in the room. I spent several years in Japan.

During my time there, I befriended a young street urchin by the name Ichiro Suzuki. I met him when he was trying to boost tires off my crime-fighting van. After a brief scuffle that resulted in a couple of broken thumbs (mine) and an arrest for headbutting a young Ichiro nearly to death, Ichiro and I became fast friends.

Ichiro visited me in Japanese Jail every day. Brought me American Fast Food and gave me reason to get through each day. Honestly, if you've never been in Japanese Jail, I don't recommend it. The temptation to punch through the paper walls is too difficult to overcome. I always seemed to forget that there were several tiny men with taser sticks waiting on the other side of the walls, waiting to electrocute the Gaijin Headbutt Machine (their nickname for me) into unconsciousness. I think it was a badge of honor for them.

Well, in April of 1993, I was released from Japanese Jail. It was kinda like that scene when Red gets to leave Shawshank Prison, except I was screaming "Don't Electrocute Me Anymore!" as I sprinted from the prison.

Who was waiting for me, but Ichiro?

Ichiro explained that he was impressed at my ability to headbutt him into oblivion despite his wearing samurai armor. He owed me what I came to understand was something like a Wookiee Life Debt.

I was impressed by his dedication to me through my stint in Japanese Jail, and by his ability to turn into a tornado by uttering the words "Koze Neyo Ne Haiku."

He taught me the ins and outs of the Japanese Culture.

And I introduced him to the magic that is the game of baseball. It was a great feeling to pass along all that I knew about that magical game. I finally knew how it felt to be a father, and to have a son surpass me in my ability and greatness. It didn't lessen the impact of that moment at all to have it come roughly 20 minutes after I'd first said the words "This is how you play baseball."

Reports that I also uttered the phrase "you play your stupid fucking game, then" and stormed off into the Nagasaki night are false.

Anyway. Hand-Eye coordination.

There was one afternoon, when I went to congratulate my friend Ichiro on his acceptance to Japanese Baseball and Samurai University, and we went out for a night on the town in Osaka. We hit every bar in town, and well, you know the saying: You don't buy sake, you just rent it.

We found a Wendy's for me to use the can. And let me say this about Japanese Toilets: I prefer America. Seriously. I still don't understand all the hoses and switches. Let's find an importer/exporter to send a few porcelain toilets to the Far East, and civilize that country. I've probably pissed in more corners in Japan than any country north of the equator.

Anyway, after ridding myself of excess sake, I decided that while I was in Wendy's, I might as well have a Frosty. Well, after much shouting and screaming at the counter, I came to a realization: I wasn't getting a Frosty. To this day, I don't know if it was because I was so drunk, or becuase the Frosty machine was broken, or they were just out of the wonderful ice cream treat. Mostly because I don't speak that mess they call a language.

A young Japanese girl explained it to me. An older Japanese man, her manager, I supposed, explained it to me, and Sumo legend Akebono came out and explained it to me. Which ever way you turned it, I finally decided that I wasn't getting a Frosty.

Dammit.

Well, Ichiro was there, the whole time. Just over my right shoulder. He always stayed just behind my right shoulder, ready to spring into action. Which sounds cool, but it makes the following situations uncomfortable:

1. Reaching over my right shoulder to buckle my seat belt--I was constantly elbowing Ichiro in the eye
2. Making time with a lady friend. Having a Japanese Sidekick (even if it is Ichiro) in the room, tends to throw most ladies off their game.
3. The aforementioned bathroom thing. You try taking a whiz with the World's Greatest Baseball Player standing right over your shoulder. Also, it's hard to impress ladies when they see your sidekick following you into the bathroom stall. There were several attempts to keep this from happening, but they usually ended with Ichiro smacking me with his katana.

But this time, at Wendy's, having Ichiro over my right shoulder came in handy. Like I said, no Frosty for your pal BSTommy. Well, there was a small amount of change on the counter. 3 coins. If you've read this far (God Bless You), you'll remember that three folks were at the counter, shouting in their gibberish Japanese language that I would got no Frosty.

It is only in retrospect that I realize that Akebono was speaking English...he was from Hawaii...I think the topknot and 4XL kimono threw me off.

However...all were yelling, and finally Ichiro sprang into action.

Lightning quick, he lashed out with a stunning heel kick against the counter. The three coins on the counter (worth roughly 42,000 yen) leapt into the air. Ichiro spun in the air, and flicked each coin in succession with his middle finger, and sent it hurtling through space into the foreheads of the two Wendy's employees and the sumo legend, knocking them out.

It was right around then that I decided to leave Japan. It was something having to do with that event, and the fact that I could be sure of finding Frosties in America; and also the fact that the Japanese "authorities" were making me leave, saying that my game of "Juggernaut," where I'd run through numerous paper walls, was causing havoc for the Japanese economy.

So. Tim McCarver can say all that he wants to about Ichiro's Hand-Eye coordination. He wasn't there at that Wendy's, that night in Osaka. Although, if he was, I'm sure he'd mention it about as much as he mentions the fact that he caught Bob Gibson.

The Last Couple of Days....

The Last Couple of Days....

I'm just going to call bullshit on the last couple of days. There were screwups. A couple mine. That's the hard part...eating your balls over your own fuckup.

Today's a new day. Saturday, or so I'm led to believe.

Today, if it messes with me too much, I will give up the ghost, and become a supervillain. Full time.

I need an archenemy. My last one lost interest. Never tell your archenemy that you care. It throws a wedge into the relationship that confuses them.

But, that's a story from another time and place....Russia, in the 19th century, I do believe.

Y'all have a good one. Gonna try to keep the world straight today....

Briefly...Before I hit the Hay...

Briefly...Before I hit the Hay...

When I was quite a bit younger, somewhere in the four to five-year-old range...I was sure that Count Chocula lived in the main bathroom of our house. Now, this isn't an attempt at making some kind of shit joke, where I go in and make a new batch of Count Chocula twice a day, especially after enjoying a hot beverage in the morning...

I was sure that Count Chocula, the vampire deemed benevolent enough to grace the box of the breakfast cereal, was a.) hiding a very real, very nasty malevolence behind his sweet, cocoa facade, and b.) used the main bathroom of the house I grew up in as a lair of sorts...at the very least, as a cranny to perch himself while he waited for a young Tommy to pass by.

If I was not vigilant in my passings to and fro past the bathroom, I'm fairly sure I'd have been snatched up and taken to who knows where. I'd imagine it'd be whatever awful place that pointy headed, Nosferatu knockoff came from. To do what? Dunno. Perhaps do the bidding of that demon, wiping where pointy fingers should not wipe....or perhaps be little more than a breakfast character's breakfast.

There is a circle of life going on there, don't get me wrong. I think I recognized that even at the tender age of five...I eat the breakfast character's cereal, the breakfast character eats me. I didn't think it mattered much that Mom didn't let us by sugar-y cereals (except for Apple Jacks...which I don't understand the logic behind, but again, neither here nor there). And I honestly don't think I'd eaten a spoonful of Count Chocula cereal to that day, nor have I since.

Now Boo-Berry? Don't get me started on that...possibly the best cereal ever devised....

But I digress.

I've established that I though Count Chocula lived in the toilet, and that I would scurry past that bathroom at any passing. Avoiding it as much as possible. There was a second commode I could do my business in, and being a kid, I avoided baths as a matter of course. I think it's Kid Law.

Anyway, I've spent the last week house-sitting for my folks, taking care of their animals while Mom and Dad wandered to the Coast for a respite from their workaday worlds.

They have a gray cat. Very nice cat, very pretty cat.

Who scurries past doors much the same way I imagine I did, back in the day. Doesn't matter who's letting her in or out, or which door. She scurries past, like she's afraid I'm going to snatch her up and take her down to Tommy Cereal Hell.

If there were a Tommy Cereal Hell, I think it would be nothing but Banana Nut Crunch, and possibly grits. Are grits a cereal? I tend to think so. I think my Southern By Grace of God card might get revoked if I said aloud these words: "Grits are for other people. Not me. I care what the food I put in my mouth feels and tastes like."

Anyway. Gonna sign off, and turn in for the night. No point to this post. There were words in my head, and I had to get them out. I don't think it really mattered what the words said, or even what order they came out. Just had to get them out before they stampeded out of my nose, ears, or some other unmentionable orifice, like my asshole.

Weekend Minutiae

Weekend Minutiae

What up, yo?

A few notes from the ether....

I saw a coyote on my way to work this morning. Two coyotes, actually. I was on the interstate. They were at the edge of the woods, on the right hand side of the road. My first, split-second reaction, when I saw them out of the corner of my eye was "deer." Took my foot off the gas. A deer will rearrange your fender and your day's itinerary pretty efficiently. I looked as I drove past. Thinking first "dogs," then "Coyotes."

Nasty creatures. May have been ten years, may have been more, since I first heard about them being this way. Seen them a couple of times. Heard them a little more, out near my folks' place. Never seen them that close to the civilized world, though.

Not much else to say, except that it was something different to see...

----

Wandered out to see Wanted the other night. Kinda wanted to do a post grading out the summer flicks that I've seen. I put this one in the fair to middlin' category, where I enjoyed it, though I don't know that I'll ever need to see it again. I needed an explosion or two, and it had it.

I will say there were a couple offputting things about the flick. In the interest of fairness, I say There Might Be Spoilers here:

First: I don't know that Morgan Freeman should every say the word "Motherfucker." It bugs me. "Fuck," maybe. Depends on the character. I think he says "Fuck" as Red, a few times in Shawshank Redemption. But as a badass, he doesn't work when he pulls out "motherfucker."

But Morgan's maybe carrying a little too much gravitas...I couldn't buy it when his character tells the others to "shoot the motherfucker."

Second: It's a guild of assassins a millennium old. Shrouded in secrecy, and all that jazz. I love that this secret society has its own stationary that they use when creating dossiers on their targets.

-----

There's an offchance I'll be heading to New York in September. To visit, and such. Never been to the City itself.

It's all tentative--my travel plans in 2008, which at various times have included trips to California, Philly, Boston and Orlando (not on the same trips, mind you) have all fallen apart due to various circumstances (work being something of a suspect in most of those instances). Some may happen yet...who knows.

But...my sister got ahold of Yankees tickets for a weekend in September. Lord knows there's no love in my heart for the Yankees.

But there's a part of me that would be very disappointed not having seen Yankee Stadium.

Plans are up in the air, but I'm looking forward to it, right now.

---

Saw the Asylum Street Spankers down in Chattanooga the other night. If you ever get the chance, I recommend it. No show is ever the same. Lots of music that's just hard to classify. Lot of fun, though.

Plus, they did manage to break out The Beer Song, much to the delight of the crowd.

---

At the show, which was a free concert in downtown, I got caught in a stare, as I wandered around the show-site. I had gone up to take a look at the stage, which was set up for the Spankers. I was admiring the strings and the percussion sections. Marvelling at the saw, which would come into play later in the night.

I turned to regard the crowd, and a lady was standing nearby. She was wearing a tank top, which enabled any viewer to see an intricately put together tattoo of a dragon, which stretched down her left arm, its tail "wrapping" around her arm down to the wrist. The head of the dragon finished just below her ear. One arm of the dragon went along her back, and held a handful of spears. The left hand of the dragon when along the front of her torso...its hand was obscured by her tank top, leaving to Tommy's overactive imagination what its hand held there.

I hadn't meant to stare. And really, I can't say that I was looking for much more than forty-five or fifty seconds.

The lady saw me staring though. She waved. I waved back, smiling at having been gawking.

----

C.C. Sabathia to the Brewers? The Brewers are a chickenshit team of little pussywhipped mouth-breathers with Pete Rose haircuts and a tendency to slobber. And it would hurt me to my soul if they were to pick up Sabathia, and actually have more than one formidable pitcher when we play them the 1800 times we play them in a season.

I hate Bud Selig.

I don't know if that has anything to do with anything, anymore. I just like saying that.

----

While I'm thinking about it...Fuck Tim Russert.

Maybe it's a little late, and I don't hold any particular ill will toward the man.

But if you were to sit down and analyze cultural impact...I gotta be frank, and tell you that Tim Russert will ultimately rate a 3, maybe a 4 on the Cultural-Impact-O-Meter. I mean, if you asked me to name a Figure in the News Media, I'd name Tim Russert maybe in the top 30, right after Willard Scott but just before Miles "I like the Space Program" O'Brien.

But George Carlin? For comedians?

Numero Uno. Maybe Pryor comes first. But not much before.

Now, I'm not going to tell you that George was the end-all be-all. But in terms of cultural impact? HeeYoooge.

So, why the Fuck am I seeing Tim Russert on magazine covers three weeks after he died?

Mean while George Carlin gets maybe three inches of text in your paper, and is never mentioned again.

Unless somebody should say one of the dreaded seven dirty words.

Maybe it's just the way society views comedians.

But...that don't make it right. Tell me one phrase Tim Russert entered into the Forever Lexicon...

Copy Editing Fool

Copy Editing Fool

One of the things I dig about keeping a blog is that I can put whatever I want up, whenever I want, and not have to worry about another editorial voice muddying whatever I put up.

The strength of my content is evident by the sevens of readers that come by here on a weekly basis.

However, there is something to be said for somebody simply checking my spelling and grammar....

Honestly...I don't even know how you type "Foddy Dew" when you mean to type "Foggy Dew," but by damn I did it.

The Fourth

The Fourth...

Happy Fourth guys. I work retail, so I'm just calling it Friday.

Naw, that's not true. Actually, my company's sponsoring a concert series down in Chattanooga, and tonight's my store's night to work our rep booth. I requested the Fourth because the Asylum Street Spankers are playing, and at least I'll enjoy the show, since I gotta stand out in the 90 degree heat.

Anyway, I hope you all have a happy fourth. Go do whatever it is people do when they don't work retail....

America!!!!

America!!!!

This is mesmerizing.

Meme....

Meme....

Saw this one over at Steve Silver's....

1. Take out your iPod (or Zune, I guess...really, who buys a Zune?)
2. Press shuffle songs.
3. Answer the following: a) How many songs before you come to one that would absolutely disqualify you from being President? b) What is that song?
4. Leave your answers.

I had to think about this one for a little while. I wasn't going to write anything in relation to it...Steve's answers made me smile, but I didn't much think I had anything to add to the conversation.

But out of curiosity, and little more, I picked up my MP3 player, set it at random, and flipped through the first few songs, not thinking I had anything offensive or even particularly out-of-the-ordinary to talk about.

Unless bad taste would disqualify me from the Presidency....I mean honestly, why would a grownass man have five different songs from the Transformers: the Movie soundtrack?

As my first answer, I'll say #11: The Theme to Transformers as performed by Lion. This is a song that says "Tommy...you are an overgrown child. You shouldn't be allowed to play with sharp things or firearms, let alone the button that would drive civilization headlong into Nuclear Winter...."

After that, #13: "Nothing's Gonna Stand In Our Way" by Spectre General, from the same soundtrack. I'm not running for office, so I don't need to explain myself to you fuckers. But I don't really have a leg to stand on, except that when I get out to hike a little, this one helps me keep my concentration. That said, I can't see myself brokering a peace deal with this one on my resume.

Still, nothing particularly offensive....

#16: "Joe Bean" by Johnny Cash. This one might lose me my support on the left. Sometimes, the death penalty isn't just necessary...it's also hilarious.

#21: "Foggy Dew" by the Chieftains with Sinead O'Connor....does that whole Pope picture thing still hold water with voters in this country?

#24: "Tie My Pecker to My Leg" by Mojo Nixon. I think this one would have to be my campaign's theme song. Can't you see me celebrating with my constituents, confetti and balloons falling from the ceiling, after having given my victory speech, with this Great American Classic blaring over the loudspeakers....

Bledsoe Blog

Bledsoe Blog

Hi.

A couple weeks back, my buddy Alex e-mailed me to say that he'd started a blog.

Alex, who's as smart as three of me (but not nearly so devilishly handsome), is a swell guy, and a helluva writer. He recently published his first novel, which I recommend very highly.....

I also recommend his blog...From Down in Lucky Town...which is in its first days, but is already producing really cool content...makes me wish I had a blog of my very own...

Oh...wait.

I apologize for my tardiness (re-tardiness?) in posting a link. But I strongly urge you to check his stuff out....