Incense, Seeds And Saints. Why Am I Here?

I'm sitting here amongst two banana peels, burning incense and with my 'num lock' on. I never turn on my 'num lock'. I don't even know what a fucking 'num lock' is for Christ's sake, but mine is on. What did I do?! Shit! Saints win...what a night. God, ...can't believe the sun is up and it is only 9am.

[What are seeds doing in my ashtray?] Oooh, I'm sorry. I'm back now. I gotta tell ya a little secret. I can't "hang" like I used to. All night parties ain't for me any more. Let me correct myself. They are for me, but I just can't handle them like I used to be able to.

I don't even smoke anymore and I'm scrounging around a for partially smoked cig in the ashtray. I need nicotine! Actually a beer will do, but it's too early. I mean I just quit a couple of hours ago. Ugh!

I'm retiring from all night parties. It doesn't matter what excuse I use to have one. A Super Bowl, Mardi Gras, New Year's or some little putz named Murray's Bar Mitzvah – I've got to stop! Well, maybe not until after Fat Tuesday anyway.  Okay, July 4th...see what I mean? I'm diseased with party plague.

I'm going to check myself in to our local sexual addiction center. I hear Tiger's wife is here to pick him up and I need to have a talk with her. Think I'll invite her to stay for Fat Tuesday. Maybe she'll keep me occupied enough that I won't enjoy myself.

I wonder if she would know how those seeds got into my ashtray.

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The Times

I must be having fun because the time certainly has flown by since I last wrote my editorial comments for The Times. Here it is...another Sunday, and the first of a new month to boot.

I've thus far escaped the swine flu and seasonal flu. Although last week I cheated and got a free swine flu vaccine. I had absolutely zero side effects from it except for an occasional squeal and grunt. It was a pleasure to have been a part of such a vast government experiment. They don't call us guinea pigs for nuttin'!

The Times staff has come up with a real winner for this weeks friendly little shoutout. Most of my readers will be familiar with her. Above her great blog design she sits atop the kingdom that is The Screaming Me-Me. Apparently, she has sought out asylum in Mexico for some dude she shot in Reno.

Unfortunately, she cannot be here today to accept this esteemed award and symbol of blogging perfection...

How difficult can it possibly be to sneak, slip or cross the border under the cover of darkness into Mexico when you live in Arizona? Like...walk out your damned back door! Besides, why in hell would anyone voluntarily "sneek" to Mexico? Christ!

Anway, the snarky yet affable and sometimes even liked Me-Me King is The Times blogger of the week. You go girl! Seriously though...Mexico?!

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What's In Your Burger? It Ain't Saturday Jam...

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood [whistles]. Okay so maybe a little rainy, but who doesn't like a few inches of rain, huh? It's a lot better than a couple of feet of snow for sure, and besides, it's time for a little Saturday jam so forget about the rain, snow and how warm that bed was earlier.

Here's a first for me, and while I did not witness this, I was told by two people on different occasions that this occurred. Somehow, it doesn't surprise me. We all know that America's stores include a built in fast food eatery as part of their draw, but apparently they don't all have diaper changing stations.

Imagine you're in a booth minding your business trying to eat a burger, and a young mom decides it would be alright to toss her screaming pantie stain on the table next to yours between her fries, quarter pounder and empty ketchup packs in order to change it's diaper.

I don't know about you, but seeing and smelling a shitty diaper as I'm eating doesn't do much for my appetite. However, a person could save money by walking over to the mom's booth, grab the used diaper and scrape the goods into a bowl. Voila! Warm chili on a rainy day! Perfect!

Next time you shop at America's store and notice the fast food money trap inside, remember that the shit you think you are ordering may have just been scraped from a nearby table and waiting especially for you. It doesn't bother me though. You know why...?

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood [whistles].

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The Pocket Comb. Alternative To Columbine.

Recently a nearby school district expelled two students for violating the districts no tolerance "weapons" ban. One of these kids was a seventh grader and the other a tenth grader. The seventh grader's weapon-of-the-day was a comb! Not a pic! A plastic pocket comb.

Can you still buy combs!? Anyhow, a teacher (?) noted that some of the teeth were missing from the comb and the resulting piece of plastic could have been used to "gouge out eyeballs". My penis can gouge out eyeballs, but that never kept me out of school!

The tenth grader's transgression was much more serious. He decided he would wear, probably guided by misguided parents, a belt to school. Homicidal maniac! The offended teacher explained that the belt, which "resembled" a chain, could be used to beat or injure other students. Re: my penis.

First of all I'd like to personally slip that "chain" around the teacher's neck, and secondly, these kids probably aren't focused on beatings and certainly not focused on belts given the relative distance of their crotches to the ground.

I'd rather my kids learn stupid shit like oh, I don't know... how to fucking read?! Thank God I don't have kids in public schools. I would be in that classroom so fast and ready for battle. Brandishing my penis to poke out the eyes of the first asshole that got in my way.

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Morphine and Vitamin B-6. Breakfast Of Champions

I'll keep this short and sweet because I'm running late for a couple of "appointments" and a lunch date... It's my roommates fault. She apparently thought that keeping her morphine sulfate next to a couple of vitamins that I had laid out for myself was a good idea.

Not! At 6:30am my eyes are not working properly nor has my mind kicked into gear. I saw what looked like my vitamins and as usual I choked 'em down. Well, as it turns out, I managed to swallow one B-6, a little iron and 60mg morphine sulfate.

So, I'm late...I'm sleepy and my headache is quickly disappearing. The only thing I can think of that I need is a good Margarita to chase down my lunch with [yawning and smiling]. Ciao!

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Of Saints, Crawfish And Mardi Gras. It's The Perfect Storm!

Things are getting crazy here. The voodoo kings and queens already have their mojo on for the homeys, crawfish pots are firing up waiting for the mother load of hot and spicy crawfish and Mardi Gras season is here...all at once. Can I get an amen?! Can I get a witness?! Hallelujah! Finally, some sanity...! It's the perfect storm!

It's time to get to the party stores and stock up on cheap plastic beads and gaudy masks. Both necessities for great pics of girls flashing their boobs. Then over to the "day old" bread store for stale Moonpies. They are great to throw from parade floats. Zingggg! Beaned another one!

Down in my neck of the woods crawfish boils replace barbecues and cookouts this time of year. It's hot, spicy followed by cold beer. Oh 'dat hoodoo comin' on strong nah! Whooo-eeeee!

Time to forget the economy and Haiti (except for the good mojo and hoodoo the homey's need). Time to screw all of the joo joo going on for now because the perfect party storm has arrived, and I ain't missing this boat for shit! Peace!

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