Well, Puddyhead rescinded his permission to show the pic of him asleep with the dog. I rather fancied it myself, but I was forced to pull it.
Now he's massaging the dog's gimp leg. Working out a knot, he says. Christ, will this depravity never end?
P.S. I own all rights to this tale, dammit.
I took Puddyhead to Winder, Georgia, over the Thanksgiving weekend to move my shit out of that hellhole. I have never told this story.
Guy stayed drunk the whole time, and passed out, and so: the job fell upon me. Puddy was so fucked up I had to waterboard him. Twice. Guantanamo'd his ass, and he still wouldn't respond.
I tiled a kichen floor, but then the booze fell upon me. I pulled a toilet up, and tiled most of the bathroom, but then the liquor hit me again. Couldn't finish the job.
But here's the funny part: I sent Puddyhead down the street to fill my tires on my Craftsman lawn tractor. Three flat tires. Told him I did it all the time. He came back at 8 AM with a twelve pack of Busch and a six pack of powdered donuts and a police escort. They were a little concerned about the alcohol consumption. By the way, he toiled around the gas station for thirty minutes trying to find the air pump. It was in front, not the back. I had lied to him. He held a black man hostage for thirty minutes. Poor bastard just wanted to pump up and go to work.
I sure am glad to be rid of Winder. Other than having my Thanksgiving dinner at the Waffle House, and wearing the paper hat, I have no use for that shithole town.
I get the whole "tactical" thing. You paint something black, and pretend it's only available to the fearsome few, and all of a sudden every cop within a hundred miles wants it. Witness the Tactical Tomohawk:
Fuck this. The tommy hawk was a great weapon, deployed by our bested aboriginal brethren, meant to crush skulls. I have no problem with that. I do have a problem with every beat street cop pretending to be some kind of "tactical" ninja, just three seconds away from fragging your noggin with a "tactical" weapon. Like a tomohawk.
Every cop wants to be SWAT. They all want an M-16 to shoot crack-smoking niggers. Every tool in their belt, up to and including their flashlight, is black. Tactical. Now they want tommy hawks. Saps just don't get it done, apparently.
Having said this, I've already ordered my tomohawk. It's just too fucking cool.
Today is Gay Icon Day.
Feel free to share your favorite icons in the comments.
We can disagree on what the turmoils in the Middle East will ultimately bring, but that Subaru commercial with the hockey mom and her precious triplets? The blasphemy ain't The Pogues music. It's that The Pogues cashed the check.
I suppose I should be gleeful that my porings over the writings of Alighieri over the last few fevered nights confirm that I am merely in the third circle of The Inferno: Gluttony. Whew. For a moment I sensed I was all the way down to eigth circle: Fraud! Spare me Jesus from that. What the fuck was Dante thinking? Fraud is the eighth circle? Hell, that was his stock in trade. The entire Divine Comedy was an eccliasiastical fraud. But. But! The gluttony ain't mine, but my roomie's. It truly sucks to see a friend of 40 years destroy themself. Bitter harvest, that. He'll not make the long run, and another friend will be gone. The small blessing? He is giving me the gift of perspective. Sobered me right the fuck up. Well, here's to Dante, that fucking rent-seeking, papal-dispensation-beggaring whore. I will always have my Boccachio. Although I apparently will never be able to finger out an HTML paragraph break on a smartphone.
I believe the Egyptians will savage their past. They are Arabs, and do not respect their past. I think we should preemintively take the nation over, and protehct the antiquities we all share as homo sapiens. Speaking for myself, I have 3 guns.