Oh Good Lord!!!......

Do I even want to TRY to begin to read this all of this bullshit? LOL


all I have to say is:

WAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSUUUUUUUUPPPPPPP????

The Lone Blogger

The Lone Blogger, blogged on a Tuesday,
He felt he had more pointless things to say,
The Lone Blogger, blogged to himself too,
But the Lone Blogger wanted a party of two,
Or a party of three or a party of four,
The Lone Blogger blogged, "I'm happier the more".

Blogging, and reading blogs, and blogging again,
The Lone blogger blogged until about 4:10.
"Blog you non-blogging blastards! Blog! Blog!"
But others had lives, and jobs, and the Lone Blogger, blogged in the fog.
(Wait, it's 4 pm, in Texas, and outside it's clear),
You may want to test the Lone Blogger for beer.

The Lone Blogger knew he had things to do,
But decided he'd screw around on his day off, (decided that around 2)
(I know, I have already rhymed something with two,
And I did it again, what the f*ck you gonna do?!)
The Lone Blogger, he had a life indeed,
A project or two, he was in need,
He did have a job, he did have cash,
But something brought him here, to sit on his as-, as, ash.
Something Stragnge, something obscene,
maybe not in a gross way, but more unseen,
An unknown force, and it keeps him blogging,
Just like times, things keep him talking!

So the blogger tied his blog up, rounded up words,
Said I got crap to do, this all day blogging's absurd,
I can do it, tie this blog up,
Rope the talkative bastard and post it up,
To live life, be fulfilled I don't have to rhyme,
Just waste a few minutes of your unplanned time.

So blog on bloggers, blog till you bleed,
(That was extreme, not that much of a need),
Just blog when you have time, blog when you want,
Don't let this poetry blog bring you up front.
In fact, deny this blog. Don't blog at all.
Go outside, go to the mall.
Go throw a frisbee, go watch the birds.
I'm leaving write now, I'm sick of reading my own words.

What's That Site?

Be sure to check out the site every once in a while!

http://www.bhcreativemediadesign.com

(Don't you hate it when people plug sites on blogs - how selfish?)

Check it out!

Conservative Blogs?

Not the Boondock Saints, but it has the same language

The Boondocks is on the Cartoon Network. This ain't your normal Duck Tales or Animaniacs either. This is raw! Have any of yall seen this! It's on right now, Sunday at 10 pm CST.

The episode we were watching was about a father, Tom, who was afraid all of his life of going to jail and getting anally rapped. Again, this is a cartoon, on the Cartoon Network. Adult Swim I think it is. Member back in our days we thought Animaniacs and the Simpsons were edgy. These are nothing compared to the rawness, adult content, language, and style of reality that cartooons like The Boondocks, Family Guy and Futurama bring about. Even Futurama is nothing compared to The Boondocks. Damn! I'm not offended by it, and it won't become my next weekly or nightly television catch. I'm just suprised and thought a cartoon like this is worth commentary. Anyone member that cartoon Aeon Flux? It had some half nude chick on it running around like Laura Croft. It was real off the wall. Why do I want to remember something about her eating bugs or something?

These cartoons are a trip. Love to hear commentary on this. Watch em or if you've seen them, post a comment.

A Professional Wha?!

This past Wednesday, Brad had the opportunity to check out my crappy drawings (mind you, it had been around 5 yrs or so since I laid hands on a charcoal pencil). And I don't know if it's the what-the-hell look Brad had on his face, or the fact he stated, "What are you going to do for the rest of your life? Draw shoes?!" But I found my creativity flowing better than it had before, as I gallantly proclaimed, yes, yes, yes! I shall be the ultimate shoe artist of our time. I mean, after all... it's the best I could do without an ITT education!!!

You Need A License to Have Kids

I'm not sure what it is exactly, but this picture offends me. Maybe it is because I don't know this person, I mean...I'm a smoker myself...but this is just wrong. It should be funny, right? I'm not laughing. These people could be good people just messn' around, but something inside me doesn't like what I see. I have a stepdaughter now and would never think of this joking around. Maybe I'm just a tight ass and need to loosen up, but its things like this I had to endure in my childhood, and it wasn't funny then or now. It adds strenghth to my conviction that, yeah, maybe you should have to register for a license before you have kids...that would never work or happen, but we have to register and license everything else in our lives...what would be the big deal? More government regulation, I suppose...but whatever.
Toke away baby Jane! Hope you don't get asthma!

One Forty Seven

1 am at night, I finished my work to out for a smoke.
I pondered my hard work, hoping this all isn't some joke.
Still though, I felt accomplished and more complete in a way.
By putting in my effort to this job, my effortlessness slipped away.
A sense of good, a sense of awake, a refreshing look on my face.
I sat in mid-serenity on the patio and surveyed around the place.
The trees, (I'll send a pic as soon as I can), stand out the in reds.
The burnt orange leaves, brown stems and branches, somehow dead.
Dead in a different way, dead in a sleeping winter, on this unusual day.
From thirty something degrees to seventy eight.
I smoked my next smoke, and felt awake.

The next smoke took my back inside my mind, to the lower thoughts.
When will I get that higher paying job and break out of this box?
When will I meet her, and who will she be?
How long will I chase her, will she love me?
What's up with this gut, what's up with this working out?
I made that plan and now I'm lazy and falling out?
When will my check come from the IRS refund?
What if I go into overdraft tomorrow again?
Will I succeed, will I be loved, will I eat good?
I feel today exactly as I should.

ThirtySomething from a Male POV

Ms Kitty. How true, how true. Right down to the bugs dripping down the wiper blades.

I await the next 36 days in a way that seems like my final days. Funny you bring this topic up.

Tonight I was working on - staring at - little dots on the screen, making them look like the logo at 800%, 1600% and 3200% zooms. Detail's essential in this field. All of this logo work is for one small logo of three in which I have to do before I move on to the next fun job, another website. As in fun, I mean, visible results, easy to access and bringing in more work. But for the last weeks I have read "Advancing your Career" self-help books. Just as you're experiencing step-motherhood at a late age, I am defining my last hopeful path in the job field before I go accept that mind-numbing data entry position - if I can get that job. And I am thinking about stuff...

Here I am trying to make myself comfortable and happy, doing one of the things I love, being creative. When's the last time I did the others? When's the last time I played golf? When's the last time I went to the beach? Played basketball? Dated? Loved? Lusted? Had SEX? (I mean all of it! - Not just dry heaving). I fear that 30 will hit and I'll be doing the exact same thing I've done most of this year, sitting here in front of this cancerous monitor, dotting. - All for HOPES that these 5-7 freelance projects will get me in the field.

Other thought have been running. Guys think about their physical features, too. While wrinkles and gray hair may display wisdom and experience, guts display age. I know, I've heard it many times. You're skinny! Trust me folks - it's there. The walking helped some, but moving in here has hurt as I've gourged my final months of TwentySomething. My dad has it, my brother has it, and my uncle Harold has it, displays it and wrote the rules on it - the infamous Haines' gut. I've sat in AA meetings, looking around the room. The older men have them. They sit down and it balls up, like when you make those balloon animals. When you twist, there's a bulge that pops out. "Who f-cking cares about a gut? It's sexy."

I care. I hate it. But it only bothers me because I fear it'll somehow keep me from some dream girl. Hey, if she's that shallow, screw her. Oh, how I wish! ;) So, looks, self-help, fear. All of it. I referred to all this in the blog "Salt Lick Wagons and Their Journey". I have no choice, but to choose to live for 29 until 30. Then I will live for thirty. Fear, anxiety and small pains are my roommates, but the hold less and less storage in my head, and they sure as hell don't pay the rent. I pay the rent.

Self-help. Get it while you can. While you still remember. While you still care. While you still have energy. Killjoy will be by your side and so will I. We'll slide our toetags up this year and wait for Killjoy to adjust his next year! Which brings me to my final observation, Killjoy - you have about 401 days and tag - you're it. I have 36. Ms Kitty KC has about 129 days. All of us have today.... and tomorrow .... not so much Friday, .... somewhat Saturday, ... definetly Sunday. Sunday rocks!

Peppermint Self Help

When you start reading books like 'The Stepmom's Guide to Simplifying Your Life' you stop on page 71 and realize that maybe, just maybe, you are reaching a critical life moment. Checking out any self help book, for that matter, leads to the inevitable 'how did I get to be here' questions we all face in these so called life crisis 'moments'. For some it is really no big deal, for others it is an achievment. For me, approaching my thirtith birthday has stopped me dead in my tracks and I fear I'm about to get run over.

Oh sure, on the surface age is relavent and it really doesn't bother me. Thirty's the new twenty and cake is always fun. But there's that ever looming, deep down voice laughing its ass off at me in my head. There's that one more new wrinkle throwing its age out upon my face, as if to say, 'look at me, you can't put enough wrinkle cream on me, I'm here to stay, just to show your age!'

Only because my birthday nears do I begin to notice the wrinkles and cellulite and gravity that have suddenly appeared. They have been there all along, slowly accumulating over the last decade. And I know it! Denial is a surviving mechanism, at least that's what they (the self-help books) tell me. Wrinkle, deny. Cellulite, deny. Gravity, deny. Birthday, open the door for acknowledgement babe. It's a knockn' and about to come in!

The irony of when your about to hit the end of your third decade, at least for me, is that your appearance is second on the list. By now, you have become comfortable in your body...you have had time to adjust. Physics wrecking havoc upon the human body is slow and sometimes invisible. But the intangible invisibilities of the psyche that you recoginize because of a catalyst, like, oh, I don't know, your'e thirty dirty birthdy, hit home. O.K., my english professors would not have allowed a sentence like that in any of my self-loathing papers, but this is free style creative writing, and they can bite me with my run-on sentences, bad grammar, and spelling errors.

I will be thirty, and damnit, I will write how I want, say what I want, be depresed if I want to, worry about where my life is headed, regret the things I never did, act beneath my age, complain about my birthday to be, mull over my mistakes, and whine about getting old. I have earned that rite, right...whatever. Even if I don't feel so bad about turning thirty.

So bring it on mo fo's, and let the buses wheels turn round n' round. I don't care if 30 squashes me like a bug on a windsheild. I'll let my guts drip down your wiper blades just to piss you off! Go home, hose me off, and read your self help books. By the way, my favorite birthday cake is peppermint.

http://www.picktnproducts.org/food/recipe/recipes_novdec2002.html

http://www.turningthirty.org/

The Lost Blogs - #2

Alrighty folks, get ready for a real self pity sob story that'll make you say "Check the Pizza". (Damn, check the Pizza - that's what we should of called this blog) OK, I'm stuck on that so let me tell you this in a Cliff Notes version real quick, and not the dramatic saga intended for this story. Walked a lot because I was out of gas and broke. How long? About 8 miles ... get it? Good one retard. Scrounged up enough cash for a pack of smokes, but had to go cheaper than Doral's. Bought these for $2.15. They suck. If youget a new email about linking to a new blog, don't be suprised. Check the Pizza.

The Lost Blogs - #1

Welcome Everybody!! I wanted to start this blog to help keep in touch with everyone. Obviously, we are all getting older and in the points in our lives where we move away from each other for various reaons such as job opportunities and career advancement, families - to be closer to them or further from them ... Whatever keeps you sane, and other reasons. Like let's say - legal issues! But none of us have those, ... anymore! About the pic. In this other blog, it seems like all the good blogs have pictures attached to them. And the messages are good, too. But seriously, when's the last time I looked at something for the message, and not the pictures. OK, peeps. Here's the deal. Captain blog has a few rules - or as we say in "the program" - suggestions. 1. No Dirty Pics: unless they are in anyway related to a proposal of some kind. 2. When you type out your message - copy it - paste it into Word or something - SPELL CHECK it, correct it, and paste it back. Yeah, right. Type whatever you want. 3. No serious cursing - unless referring to an ex-wife, ex-husband, ex-girlfriend, ex-boyfriend, family member, stranger, acquaintance, or breathing soul. But absolutely never when referring to a dog, cat, parrot or iguana . . got that. 4. If you are a normal - not sick - person, you will not have read this far. In that case, you may not want to post anything until you get sick. It is a requirement. Otherwise, welcome home. Enjoy, Love Yall, and Miss Yall.

My Happy Place

Now that I'm out of pop-up hell and into pop-up purgatory....I will have posts coming soon. Until then, I will sit on the front porch and go to my happy place.

This is BH11702

Stick around for another home video of Timmy's dance recital

OK, it is official.

THE ONE THING that will run guest off quicker than pulling down your pants is ... are you ready ... home videos.

Inconsiderate, selfish a-holes, who think what they shot at home on that boring Sunday afternoon, or at that family reunion, or at Timmy's dance recital - (We always wondered about Timmy) - (he speaks with a lisp) - or anything else in VHS mini tape of non pornographic content, will in fact run away guests!

Sad to say, there is only one way to find that out. Do it.

I put in the phonecall to God skit for my friends tonight. Not as funny to them as it was to us. Yes, sure, they had a few chuckles at our ingenious improv. That was followed with stretches and yawns.
"Boy look what time it is."
"Gotta go, or ... or something."
"Is that my wife calling?" - "You're not married!" - "Oh, well, maybe I should be?"
or the best one,
"Man, home videos, are you f*ckin kidding me? That's just bad etiquette man."

(Silence as your guests stampede down the stairs. Imagine, a good night, brought down so with no consideration!)

"Ok, ... I"LL CALL Y'ALL!"

"No, that's okay!"
"My cell phone is broke"
"Sure, whatever man!"

Quietly,... timidly,...regretfully,....
"well, ok, then"

So I walked back inside.

"OK, Joel, well it's just us."

"Shit man! We could have had such a great get-together! We could of been contenders! You blew it!"

"No, no, man, .... I think they liked it? They were just tired, going to ... bed ... at 5 pm ... oh, man, I blew it"
"You're sad. I'm going to bed"

Quietly,... timidly,...regretfully,....
"well, ok, then"

So I locked the door. Turned down the A.C. Walked in my room, grabbed my fleece blanket. Opened the fridge, grabbed me a Coke. Laid it all out in my living room. Turned off the lights, lit a candle, and hit play on the home videos.

As I rocked myself back in forth in comfort, I quietly chuckled at the old times.

"Those were good times old B, those were good times." A single teardrop rolls down the cheek of a chum with no friends. All to the fault of his own. Doomed for loneliness, he was slightly comforted in watching his past on tape. Rekindling the days.

"O-o-oh, my darling, I hunger for your kiss, alone, only y-o-u-u-U!
I-i-i-i-h ne -E -E -E -D your love,
I-i-i-ih, need your love, ...."

But what would he do when all his tapes ran out? When he had no present to replace the past? What would he do?

Fade out.


Now if that ain't the best check the pizza dramatic saga story, I don't know what is!!

Keep Coming BAck!

KillJoy Strikes Back

Killjoy 101 rhetoric

Example:

Kill-joy victim 1:
"Hey, let's go to the park and fly kites and eat ice cream and feed the ducks! Wouldn't that be real fun?"
Kill-joy:
"Uh yah, I really don't feel like doing that...ever."

http://www.webster-dictionary.net/definition/Kill-joy

Where in the world is Jay, Suzy and the Queen Briatch?

Hey Guys! Comment!

I know you got the time!

You can Do it!

You can do it all night long!

KILLJOY 101

The rules for being a killjoy are simple.
#1 Do it with a smile on your face.
#2 It's the small things you do or don't do.
#3 It's not ok to say yes.
#4 Don't try. There is no try. Only do or do not.
#5 If someone really wants to do something and you don't; well, don't.
#6 Your thoughts come first, second, and last.
#7 If your other half wants to go shopping, be bored and a tight ass with the money.
#9 It's not about control, it's just about you.
#10 Think, you don't have to be a killjoy 24/7 pick you time and just do it.

Igloos are fun too

I have decided that I do not like driving in snow. This morning I had to go to work and was making good time. I had already sluffed off the five inches of snow on my car, let the engine warm up, and defrosted the windows. (this was after I put on five layers of clothing) And off I go to a good day at work. Yeah right!

For fifteen minutes I tried to back out of my parking space and was goin' no where. Forward, backward, forward again.

(Above: Jess building igloo)

I could not get over this giant chuck of ice behind the tires. So I sat and thought, what do I do? I had'nt the slightest idea on how to get out of that parking space, so I just sat there on that big slab of ice. I was just about to give up and call my boss and cry. Skipping work wouldn't be so bad. I'll just stay home and build an Igloo.

Just then, the neighbor came out, saw me in distress,

and says, "Hey, you're sitting on solid ice!" Well, no shit Sherlock!

He had to push my car as I was reving it in reverse to get me outa there.

I don't know if I will ever get used to winter and ice and snow.

Just think of me when you sons of bitches are wearing shorts, swimming at the cool pool,and basking in the warmth of the miday sun. Humm. Ice sucks!

Gary and his balls

Hope you enjoy this and the rest. Sent to you by email. A man can be real Scary when he has crystal balls.

More scary for men then women.

Give's a whole new meaning to...

"Aw, come on now, you're breaking my balls!"

Ouch.

Knock Knock

Ok here we go. You think that we will be passed over for bigger and better jobs because we don't have the knowledge or training? Well, kids these days do have an advantage that we didn't. BUT, here is their down fall. They (punk kids) don't have any fucking respect for anyone but themselves. They think they are are entiltled to everything with earning it. No kid today are not going to step over us for bigger and better things. There is a pecking order in life and age is the key. I know it sounds petty but it's the fucking truth. I get sick of these kids thinking that they are better than me because they quite their jobs because it so called interfears with school , and get money for drinking from mommy and daddy. How does that prove anything? Jess you know what I'm talking about. I hate punk little bastards.

Scary Gary and Dave

If anyone feels like taking the liberty to superimpose a crystal ball into Scary Gary's stuck in the 80's bad metal rocker hand, that would be totally awsome dyudes!

Toy from Sarah

Salt LICK Wagons and their Journey

Ms Kitty,

You're wagon and my wagon have stuff in common. One big block of salty bitterness. All of us do. Facing it, we are in the lost generation. Too old to be cool and tech savvy as Mr. Killjoy put it so well. Too young to be accepted as respected individuals in the workplace among our managers, supervisors, bosses and seniors.

My Salt Block has different flavors on different days. (Hang with me now, this is gonna get deep). Some days, my bitterness is more towards a taste of ambition, competition, and professsional jealousy. High School students are being educated in programs we didn't have then - or didn't exist. Hell, even junior high kids. Right Bri? We're a step behind and a step ahead. Our seniors who can't keep up, well they're retiring soon. But who's taking those jobs. Logic says by age and respect in many cultures and common knowledge of the circle of life, we should advance on into senior positions as our young ambitious students get to stock, shelf, work overnights, bad hours, and put up with our shit for the next 5 to 10. I don't know if that case is true or not. But as Jay and I often dicuss, the opportunities are there for them. More of them. What they do with those is up to them. Still, scary isn't it.

Not to scare you on the age thing though, at least were younger. I say live for today. Live for 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, and 34. The lost generation is possibly us. But the baby boomers and hippies are facing bigger challenges. Too young to retire. Too old to compete in a technology driven worforce. (Those high paying, fast advancement positions at least.) 45 to 55. That scares me to retire that early. So, I choose to live for 29 ... until the 30th of March.

Other days, my Salt Block tastes of lustful, lonely bitterness. Nothing I can do about that though until I find a girlfrend, except dream a little dream and play with my wanker at night. Quietly though, I have a roommmate now. Sick Bastard!

I think I may be dummer than a computer

Wow, somtimes I just can't work these things out. Do you ever get the feeling that you don't know anything and the times have passed you by? Example, anyone have a PS2, Xbox, or a computer that is less than a year old? I sure as hell don't I'm still on PS1 tech, or lower. I'm what you may call OLD SCHOOL. So, as far as I can tell I always will be. Anyway's, Later y'all.

The Salt Lick Wagon

Now that I've checked the pizza,
(which has burned to a crisp by now because I was messn' around on this blog),
I'll explain why I need a little red wagon.

I visited the UMKC campus today and took their little tour, with their little pamphlets, and with their little students full of knowledge and with their little fountains. The anxiety I am now facing upon returning to school in my ripe old age, ehem, has returned full force. They can all bite me!

Yes, I am bitter. And yes, I need a big block of salt. And yes, I need a little wagon to roll around my big block of salt on campus. Mr. Killjoy informed me today that if I pulled around a giant block of salt everywhere my little feet went in a little red wagon, people would think it was a salt lick and call me a cow.
So now I'm the bitter cow on campus?!

He could'nt let me have it for one second.
I named him, I named him Mr.Killjoy for a reason people. I still want my wagon.

The Story Behind Check The Pizza

Once Upon A Time;

There lived a girl, another girl, a guy and another guy who was just "visiting".

It was a dark and stormy night - umm, no it was actually 68% with a Gulf Low over the atmosphere and a Pacific front pushing those nasty little clouds off to the north or - ANYWAY!!

Jenae was in the kitchen, and she was MAD! And a little depressed. Her roommates weren't going to let her slide away with not paying rent again this month. They're evil.

Brian and Jess were in the "Bedroom" and Brad was in "Bedroom 2" - all three marked by the apparent blue ... donuts? Anyway.

Jess was mad. Brad was mad. Brian was happy as always, but he was acting really really mad!. ... Nope, he was happy. Jenae was in the kitchen. She was on the Pity Pot - which is actaully in Bathroom 1 and Bathroom 2, but she really was in the kitchen. Trust me, the math works out, despite the failed metaphors or analogies.

We were still "getting along". We were cooking a Totino's Pizza ... maybe 2? Aah yes, Pepperoni and ... sausage I recall. Something was said. Jenae was getting the silent treatment. Actaully, no one knew what to say. People had all these pent up emotions inside. "How could she?" Jess Thought. "What Have we gotten ourselves into here? " Brad Pondered. "What are we taking about here?" Brian Wondered. Boy, KC must have looked like serenity compared to this house of ole drama.

"Well, I guess you all hate me!" Jenae hollered back. and a pause. Now to this very day, the extent and reason for that pause is unknown; argumentative even. But I swore it was just about 3 seconds. Was that 3 seconds in thought? Or was it the 3 SECOND ZONE. That 3 second zone was something of an epathany. Whether it was lost for 3 seconds in route from Jenae to Jessica, Brian and Brad or it was thinking time - reactions time perhaps. It was a silence.

It was the silence. The silence that set up one of the most memorable, original lines to be uttered in times of displeasure, frustration, bewilderment. Out from the bellows of the other room, from the Princess herself, came ...

"CHECK THE PIZZA!"

Yes, "Check the pizza!". Three words that would envelope so much meaning. Have such an impact. To remain a standard blockade from self-pity and self-centeredness. "Check the Pizza!" In other words, "Hey. Quit you're bitching, because you know were pissed! Let it cool sister! We ain't going to feel sorry for you no mo'. So, simply said, go back to the activity at hand and check the m*ther f*ckin Pizza." The End.

That is of course, all in the eyes on one out of the four witnesses that evening. Maybe Brian and or Jessica have something else in mind. A better story. One with monsters and giant tampons! Or just a different version of this story. What'ya say Jess, Brian? That sound about right to you?

Dine In or Carry Out?

Hello Hello is this thing on? Can anyone hear me? Hello,... Brad, I think this blog is broken. I can't hear anything. You might want to check the Flux Capasitor.


Jay

Check The Pizza!

Here it is folks, what started it all. "Check the Pizza". Much better name for this blog. If you are still on Running Fast Slowly, you ran too slow. Catch up.

So What's up with Check The Pizza?

How Many People Know the Story?

How Many People are tired of hearing Brian, Jess and Brad tell the Story?

Welcome to the new Blog. Post your comments. If you don't know how - you're ass better call somebody!