Non sequiturs

I'm so back biatch!

2006-10-22T15:14:00.000-07:00

Oh my goodness. I just got a post card from puggsy and muggsy. They are headed back to Clinton. They found their tails and will be here soon! Stay tuned for updates. Oh, and respond to this so I know why is still checking.
I am so back and better than ever. Better than life! Better than HD television -- and that's damn good!
mr. johns

If no one replies, is it a better idea to get a myspace account? I hope not.

Just bitchin

2006-06-22T15:38:00.000-07:00

So, I don't know if it is worth it to write this, but then again, what the hell:

So, they tell us a college degree improves our chances at landing a decent job with a median income of $40,000 or so. I must have the wrong degree.
I am once more searching for a decent job, something worthwhile and intriguing ... I must carry the stank of a dead man or something because no matter what I do, I never can get a response from anywhere I send a resume -- even when I do a follow-up call.
Just damn ridiculous, I say, damn ridiculous!

I feel much better now.

I'm Dead if She Sees This

2006-05-11T13:44:00.000-07:00

So, I have a new favorite past time. I like driving around picking up the saddest, yet most interesting people I can find. I feed them a can of black beans, a cheap South African beer, and then drive them around sharply curved, narrow, crumbling back roads until they become crossed-eyed and are about to puke. I then shake their hand, thank them for their company and promptly kick them out of my speeding vehicle.
Here is a pic from my most recent victim. Attractive, no?

Look, Greg does have a face! And a cat

2006-05-02T18:25:00.000-07:00

And here we have Sierra, the googly-eyed, life-challenged, penguin kitty -- well, actually cat now. She used to be small enought to place in the palm of your hand. Alas, she discovered food and everything changed. Here Sierra goes for a road trip, thinking of all the times past as she views the road already traveled. Intently pondering from the looks of it.

So now that my pictures seem to load and I found I can use my laptop (round of applause for Berea College) at work, I can become more creative with posting and possibly actually post once more ... we shall see.

Justin, I'm working on calling you back man -- took a road trip to Boston recently so give me a few more days...
Jonas, got your post card -- as you can imagine me saying, the odds of me getting to Canada (after all, its so damn far away and across what I have heard are the "greatest great lakes of the world" and let's face it, I'm far from an avid swimmer) are about as good as the odds of me actually doing what I want to do in life -- some things never change my friend. I say that with a smile though -- for this hour.
Audrey and Aaron, if you haven't given up on me -- well, who am I kidding. But I'll offer you pictures (not nearly as pleasant as those on your page) of my small town life and the one or two individuals in it if you come back. Here's a pouty face to show I am sincere:
Yes, I did say small town. So small, in fact, I live in a car and still pay rent. They don't have apartments here, just cars.

From the dead he doth rise

2006-05-01T09:48:00.000-07:00

Well, my goodness. I have been wrestling with this beast of a site for a bit -- first with my forgetting my password (not sure what happened there) and now with not being able to post photos. At any rate, perhaps things are looking up since I now enjoy the full functions of the posting page -- my work computer is too archaic to allow proper use of this site. And thus, I have color fonts and all sorts of choices now.
Stay tuned for some pics and updates and other random happenings. And I suppose I'm talking to the slim few who still frequent this page...

For Justin -- a white trash poem

2006-03-16T17:10:00.001-08:00

Mullets and wife-beaters,
cut-offs and white socks.
these are the things that make
a white-trash bash rock.

So snap open a PBR,
and tilt that bitch back.
Chug it down quick and
to your white trash hoe give a smack.

Then shout out a yee-ha!
belch while rubbing your gut.
Slide back up the stairs
past the red-lipstick trailer-park slut.

This is the life
as we drink another PBR
Down a few more and
we'll do a beer run in your car --
the t-bird that is...

Rock stars don't live
with this much glits and glammer.
People staring at us
as we slur our southern grammer.

Man aint nothing better
than a white-trash-bash party --
and we dont what that shit unless it says
P.B.R.;
we don't care if it is Bacardi.

a slight ode to the handful of crazies
encountered on a random
saturday night
somewhere
in asheville.

The Unlucky Uckie duck

2006-03-01T14:20:00.000-08:00

There was this duck. Now, he wasn't an ugly duck, but nor was he attractive. And he couldn't quack. Hard to believe, but he just couldn't quack.
You see, when he was but a duckling, this duck found a cracker. He ate it. Unfortunately, ducks are not supposed to eat crackers; they can't seem to chew them.
Well, it's not hard to imagine then, when the cracker, a buttery Nebisco waffer cracker, lodged in his throat. He didn't choke because of the holes in the cracker -- they allowed air in and out. His fellow ducklings tried jumping on his neck to crush the cracker, but all in vein.
They tried dunking him under water -- for like 15 minutes -- to soggify the cracker, but to no avail.
They even took him up in a helicopter almost 20,000 feet, clipped his wings and shoved him out. (Later, it was determined the helicopter stunt was not in an attempt to dislodge the cracker, but in fact, to satisfy a curious urge of all the ducklings to see if a duck bounced when thrown out of a helicopter -- that the duck was struck by a way-ward gigantic model airplane, dual propellers nonetheless, was completely by chance.)
It was truly a tragic life, for not only was he flightless, but quackless and he walked with a warped waddle from the impact of falling 20,000 feet, colliding with a model plane, and then continuing to fall until landing first on the top side of a street light, grazing powerlines, and then coming to rest beak-first in a pile of goose poop (of all the poop in all the world, the worst poop for a duck to step in or get on its beak is goose poop -- it's another story, but geese and ducks don't get along, dating back to ancient Babalonian times and having something to do with the Tower of Babel).
So, how bad has your day really been? At least your face didn't end up in your arch nemesis' excrement...{or perhaps it did, in which case i'm sincerely sorry and the wipes are on isle 5}

Where the HELL did they go?

2006-01-31T15:55:00.000-08:00

So, it is apparent that Aaron and Audrey's blog has disappeared.
Did/does anyone else k-now about this? Is this part of their communist plan to renounce the good 'ole US of A and take up waiving a red cape around while wearing a wannabe mickey mouse club hat? Hmm. I am intrigued.
Or, perhaps, they, like some of us, have lost the enthusiam for the blog as well as the utility for it. Just a guess by looking at all of our blog sites. How stereotypical we young Americans are -- what with our finding interest in something until we simply lose interest and then move on to the next thing; with our never committing, never sticking with it long enough to ever say we contributed; with our eating and smoking and dancing and drinking and all those other sinful things we young Americans do to pass our better years away; with our deeming these so-called "blogs" useless when they no longer fit our fancy ... just a guess. That's all. It's just a guess.

I'm going to go learn to be a doctor for the poor now, soon enough loosing interest because the federal government won't pay me nearly as much as I want to get paid -- what? Work for an AVERAGE wage? That's for poor people. Let them toil and sweat and die struggling -- paying for my house and car and yacht and three mistresses on the side that my wife and seven children k-now nothing about because they are all too consumed with purchasing expensive yet useless crap they will sooner lose interest in than remember.

I'm not bitter. I'm just asking what happened to the "double As'" blog site. That's all.

Gone Fishing

2006-01-24T15:40:00.000-08:00

There's a great song titled "Gone fishing" by Louis Armstrong and Dean Martin. Friends, that's where I've been. I k-now I have neglected your minds, but hey, I was lazy. Look for random absurdisms in the near future -- I'm feeling peppy!

What makes me happy????

2006-01-04T15:33:00.000-08:00

My friends, the following may startle you for the truth is often startling (or so it has been said):

I have resolved that I am a slacker -- particulary with my profession. While the other reporter takes the time to piece her stories together, to go out and find interesting stories, to slowly write those said stories, I do the opposite. Initiative to seek out a story idea is limited, I write my stories the first time through and make only minor changes, and I really don't care -- most of the time -- whether or not my stories are "good." In truth, I write what I have to write simply to inform those who either care enough or have nothing better to do than read the paper.
While I don't mind going to work (I have nothing else to do), I certainly don't go out of my way while at work to get my job done.
This lackluster drive does not fare well with productivity. My ideal day consists of meetings where I only have to listen and write down notes, return to the office and write a story or two or three.
So, my question to myself is whether or not I will ever find the "ideal job" that would drive me to be creative in my work.
I hope so, or we can all count on an overweight, wife-beater wearing, bald and sad middle-aged man.
Thus my rambling ends.

Happy happy Joy joy

2005-12-30T12:47:00.000-08:00

So the holidays have come and are soon to go with life returning to our individual norms. It would almost be depressing if not for alcohol. At least there's always that. At least there's always that.

Roll the Credits Please

2005-12-15T16:30:00.000-08:00

Is it normal that at such a tender young age we reminisce about previous years already? I can only imagine what the age of 65 brings for us all. Our stories will be so worn out and re-told they will be of mythic-proportions. Mythic.

Dancing naked in the rain OR Hey, shut the f-up! nobody's perfect

2005-12-02T12:49:00.000-08:00

So, here we have it, a finished product produced socially. Commies we are.
I did my best to leave in all words, but did modify very, very few. I also was going to mix up the replies, but I think this way works. I have mechanically changed the entries, but hopefully for the better. Here we go.

I've lost and I've lived,
I've loved and I've learned.
There are friends that I've gained
and bridges I've burned.
I learned to walk by falling,
was blind and saw a light.
I've known the darkness -- the fear --
of a starless, moonless night.
But I have cut these heavy chains,
undone the ties that bound.
No longer in the darkness,
I am free to look around.
A life of regrets
is not one that I lead;
for each path I have chosen
finds me closer to me.

I had not the intention of writing it in sequence, but hey, it worked out -- I think. Another version I scribbled down was similar, but mixed up Booger's and Justin's verses. My computer is screwy and so I don't get all the posting features. I wanted Justin's verse to be offset, for emphasis, but my browser does not allow such functions. Just imagine the last four lines indented five spaces.

Well, we are morose [sic] creatures who apparently screw up and get lost as we grow -- according to the poem.
Or, Booger might be rubbing off on us all ... damn those gays! :)

A working title

2005-11-25T15:00:00.000-08:00

All right, so I know two postings in one day is rough, but I felt compelled...

Let's try something. I am going to write the first four lines of a piece down below. Everyone who wants to participate, must write four lines and keep within the context of the work. At the end of next week, I will compile the poem in its entirety and post the finished product.
Here goes ...

I've lost and I've lived,
and I've loved and I've learned.
There are friends that I've gained
and bridges I've burned.

Driving to Pick Up the Newspapers at 4 in the Morning

2005-11-25T13:10:00.000-08:00

With the deep-bone-cold
and the sun nestled within the cleavage of blackened mountains,
red streaks flitter and dart ahead on the horizon,
fire-flies racing along thin lines,
darting haphazardly in all directions,
criss-crossing one another --
but never connecting.
Colors are creeping in with dark's recession,
but everything is its own,
alone in the morning hour.

Farewell to the Jameson Inn and all the bumps in the night

2005-11-19T03:39:00.000-08:00

In my last night at the hotel, I look upon my time here and cry -- I lost so much sleep.
I will not miss this place and will clutch my weekends more tightly than ever before. Paying homage to my year of incarceration here, the following is a twilight reflection on one of my many loves in life, now lost:

I'M NOT AN ALCOHOLIC, I JUST LIKE MY ALCOHOL

It's been so long
since I have seen,
the bottom of a cheap beer
or the bottom of a Jim Beam.

Once upon a time,
I could outdrink a fish
and run naked with the best.

But I'm glad those times are gone,
my kidneys think it's swell.
Hard to believe having so much fun
can rain down so much hell.

At what point,
hanging with friends,
did the bubbles supersede the company?

Sure, I wrote on some guy's face,
and stole a bunch of stuff.
Yes, I drank and drove
and ran drunk in the buff.

Glory days to be sure,
but the then is not the now.
So the bottle has been buried,
left for some other soul to disavow.

The Greek's Golden Rules

2005-11-17T12:28:00.000-08:00

Following the theme of all things random:

Tomorrow, Friday the 18 of November, is to be my last night at the hotel as a night auditor. While I won't miss the hours or the job, I had some interesting occurrences while working there. For example, every Saturday morning an old man, Demitrius, would come by the hotel. He gave us food he found on his morning walk-about. Demitrius, a native from Greece, holds several degrees and was once a prominent person in the sciences. Now he is old and loves to talk about money and rules.
The following are his two "Greek Golden Rules:"
1. Be careful where you put two things, your signiture and your penis.
2. Money makes the world go round.

Demitrius was never shy when speaking and often was kind enough to include the morning breakfast-eaters or those who were coming to the front desk for early checkout. I will miss the man and his lack of vicissitude in daily life.

Of dubious character

2005-11-11T23:51:00.000-08:00

To all of us who have ever checked in to a hotel for dubious purposes and thought we got away unscathed or unjudged -- we were wrong. Almost one year later and let me tell you, no matter how nice one appears, or professional, the front desk knows as soon as you ask for a room.
Almost like when your parents pressed you about taking so long in the shower ... it's just known.

The author formerly known as me

2005-11-11T12:59:00.000-08:00

Aha! I figured out a way around my archaic computer at work failing to let me access my own blog. "Revenge!"
It is ludicrous -- no confusion with the rapper -- the way I have to do it, but I have prevailed and will shortly be continuing my rants. Stay tuned, unless you are Jonas, who quietly deleted me from his link list.
That just plain out hurt, like catching a hair in your tighty-whiteys.

The end

2005-11-06T02:01:00.000-08:00

For all those looking for a moose and a bear, look no more; Pudgy and Muggsy are gone and never to return. Who knows what will take their place. I don't.