"Here's to your health...."

We're kind of a fickle lot when it comes to our health.  There are so many people who are doing so many things and each swears that what they are doing is the best.  The vitamin and supplement industry is a $37 billion dollar a year cash cow, and that heifer gets a little bigger every year.

 We seem to want that quick fix.  We want that magic pill or powder that is going to just melt the weight off of our carcasses.  No doubt that has a big something to do with the $37 billion dollar pig.  Everyone involved in this quagmire of "health" claims their product or program is the best.  Each outfit has testimonial after testimonial praising the product and the changes "it" made in their life.

What's funny to me is, these people who are representing a product or a specific program often forget to bring up the fact that they also made some pretty significant lifestyle changes.  These people also began to watch their diet and exercise.  Diet and exercise alone is the key to losing weight.  The more weight you lose, the better you feel.

Recently I bought into the old school method of "getting fit".  Actually, I am working out in order to get in shape to work out.  This might take a while, however.  About 9 years ago, I managed to lose 60 lbs. by going old school.  I hit the gym every day, lifted weights, did up to an hour or so on the bike or treadmill and ate rabbit food for about 5 months.  It sucked but it worked.

I've been doing a bunch of research on diets and what our diets should consist of.  More and more people are pushing more vegetables and less meat, so I gave that some thought.  I thought about starting a vegan diet.  No I fucking didn't... who am I fooling?  I've got teeth that are made to devour meat.  I was raised on meat and potatoes.  I'm not giving up meat.  Along with the vegan approach, I thought about the vegetarian approach.  With that, I couldn't bring myself to the reality that no matter how hard I tried, and no matter how many times I said it, I could not make bacon a vegetable.  I can't. I did mange to lose myself in thought for a minute when I thought of bacon flavored sunflower seeds. (If that shit ain't real, someone pick it up.  That is a winner all day and I only want in for 5%.)

I sat there and pondered.  "I've done Atkins and I quit losing weight.  I've done intermittent fasting and I quit losing weight.  I thought of vegan diets and vegetarian diets and laughed my ass silly."  What was I going to do?

Gluten Free, Bitches!!!

I started my gluten free diet 7.5 hours ago and can already feel the benefits!  I'm not shitting, either!  I got up this morning and had about 12 ounces of gluten free water.  After that, I made myself the obligatory cup of coffee but this time I used 'gluten free" water and "gluten free" coffee and it was delicious!  I kept thinking to myself, "this is a life changing event".  Who knows how much weight I will lose and how much better I will feel.  As it turns out, I would feel that good about things for about the duration of my commute.

I stopped into a place (which will remain nameless) for a quick breakfast.  I ordered the "gluten free" pancake breakfast and stepped away from the counter.  I watched the cook prepare this bit of wonderment that I was just dying to get into my gluten free mouth.  I was shaking with anticipation or my blood sugar dropped.  I'm not for sure which.

The girl behind the counter called the guys name standing next to me.  I watched him grab his gluten free breakfast and admired and appreciated the look on his face.  Like me, he was doing the right thing and he knew it.  Good on you, sir... whoever you were.

A couple more people were called to the counter before I was, each with that special look.  I'll call it a glow for this story.  These people walked by and had immediately transformed into little rays of sunshine and I couldn't wait for mine.

Finally, it happened.  My name was called.  The lady handed me a gluten free styro-foam container filled with gluten free goodness.  I walked to the Jeep and I realized just holding the box of "gluten free' sustenance made me feel better.  I sat down and unwrapped the gluten free plastic fork and then opened the gluten free styro-foam container.  This was excitement like I have never known!   My stomach growled in anticipation....

The first bite triggers my gag reflex and I subsequently puked all over the interior of the Jeep.  You see, "gluten free" pancakes is lettuce.  Fucking lettuce, and not even the good kind!  I walked back into the place for an explanation.  Apparently when something is certified organic and gluten free, you can't use chemical fertilizers, so you have to look around for manure.  And then, you have to find a cow that was on a gluten free diet or some shit... the girl began to sound like Charlie Brown's teacher.  It's not what I was hearing.  It was how she was talking.  "Well, in order to waa waaaawa waa, waaaaa wawa wa wa waaawa wa."  She was probably anemic or let down because she had the shitty pancakes too.

I couldn't help but think about it all.  Turns out that I do live a pretty gluten free lifestyle.  I think my pants are gluten free.  I'm pretty sure my Jeep is gluten free.  The dogs are probably not gluten free and I don't give a shit about the cat.  Screw you, cat.  I know I have at least one gluten free shotgun, rifle and pistol that I love feeding gluten free ammo through.  I eat gluten free beef.  Breathe gluten free air.  I just now got a case of the gluten free hick-ups.  I used to play gluten free baseball.    I managed to marry a girl who was NOTgluten free, but she does eat low carb from time to time.  I'm keeping her.

When it comes right down to it, the only thing that sucks about being gluten free is... well.... being gluten free.

 

How I grew up.....

If you were raised the way I was, you were raised around guns.  Guns were part of our families history.  Family traditions like an annual deer hunt or opening day of dove season were something that we all looked forward to.  We often shared these experiences with other families who had the same interests.  Guns were part of who we are and what we do and I've always been proud of that.

My dad was a competitive shooter, recreational shooter, hunter, gun collector as well as a gun smith.  At any given time you walked into my dad's shop, there would be a shotgun or rifle in the vise being worked on.  You probably see 2 loading presses set up, bags of buck shot, wads and empty shells.  Even with this ever presence of guns, guns were no big deal to me.

Being raised around guns, you have a better understanding of what guns are, what they can do and how they operate.  You are taught gun handling skills from the very beginning.  You were drilled on gun handling rules.  You were drilled on your responsibilities and obligations when you had a gun in your hand.  Everything around guns was about safety first.  All of this was what you discussed every single time you were going to have a gun in your hand.  You had to know these rules and be able to exhibit safe gun handling skills.

Every one of my buddies that I have been hunting with received the same education.  They listened to the same speeches, went over the same drills, and had to exhibit the same safety standards.  There are no exemptions.  And if you ever found yourself in the presence of someone who wasn't being safe with a gun, you left the area immediately.  Following these rules are the reason we are all still here today!  It's not a mystery.  It isn't by chance.  It's safety, every single time you are around guns.

Between me and everyone I have ever hunted with or shot with, there would have to be tens of thousands of opportunities for the potential of something going wrong.  There were tens of thousands of times triggers were pulled, shots rang out and not 1 individual was hurt or killed.  There were tens of thousands of safe gun transports to and from the field or the shooting range.  There were thousands of times a buddy got a new gun and let you check it out and in the end, nobody ever got hurt.  This is a testament to safe gun handling being taught from generation to generation and it is the responsible thing to do.  This was how I was raised.

If you were raised the way I was, you were raised to be respectful of everyone and every thing.  You were taught to take responsibility for the things you did.  You were taught manners.  You were taught to brush your teeth.  You were taught to clean up after yourself.  You were taught to give a good handshake and look a person in the eye.  You were taught everything almost everyone else was ever taught plus you were taught to live around guns.  It's no big deal.  It's how we live.

Life is about having fun....

I've had this particular phone number for 5-6 years now.  Ever since getting this number, I've been getting calls for some dude named Jeremiah.  Sometimes it's a friend of his trying to get in contact and other times its regarding personal business.  Every time this happens, I politely tell them that this is my number and that they will no longer be able to contact Jeremiah using this number.  I got another call for Jeremiah today and I decided to handle it differently.


The phone rings and I answer it on the blue tooth:
(Me) Hello?
(caller) Jeremiah?
(Me) Yeah, who is this?
(caller)  This is Darrell Webster and I am an agent with ****** Collection Agency.  How are you today?
(Me)  I'm great Donald!  Thank you so much for calling.  I've been meaning to get in touch.
(caller)  It's Darrell, Jeremiah, and I would be glad to help you out clear up this debt.
(Me)  I really appreciate that, David.
(caller) It's Darrell....
(Me)  That's right. I'm sorry about that.  Talking about my debt makes me nervous.  Do things like that make you nervous, Dietrich?
(caller)  (Sigh.....) No they don't make me nervous.  I do all I can to stay current on my bills.  Anyways, you have an outstanding balance of $692.49 and I'd like to know how you would like to clear that up today?
(Me)  $692, eh?  That's not outstanding, it's horrible.  If you don't mind me asking, what do you find outstanding about that?
(caller)  What?
(Me)  You said I have an outstanding balance.  Outstanding means good and then you tell me it's $700 bucks or something.  That's a lot of cabbage.  I don't have $700 dollars.
(caller)  Outstanding... a debt... Forget it.... You apparently had some x-rays done in July of 2014 by a medical imaging company and you never paid the bill.  We re now trying to collect these funds.
(Me) Oh, Oh!  The other outstanding. I gotcha.  I kind of wish it was the 'outstanding' I thought it was.
(caller)  Right.  Well, any matter, you do have this debt and we need to discuss your options for paying this debt off .  This type of debt can and will affect your credit rating.  I'd like to help you get out from under this debt.. So, do you have a credit card we can put this on?
(Me)  Wait a second.  You told me you were going to help me get out from under debt and now you're asking me to accrue some debt by using my nearly maxed out credit card.  I think that is a horrible idea and frankly, I'm offended by that suggestion!  Completely irresponsible!
(caller)  What about your bank account, sir?  Do you have a debit card?  Do you want to set up a payment plan?  How much can you put down towards this debt and what can you afford to pay per month in order to get rid of the debt?
(Me)  Okay.  I understand, Dante.  Sorry.  I'm driving, drinking coffee and talking to you.  A lot on my plate this morning.  So, here is the problem.  I can't afford to put any money down, nor can I afford a monthly payment.  If I could, I would have paid the son-of-a-bitch off when I got the bill.  Doesn't that make sense to you?
(Caller)  (I can tell from the tone of his sigh that he has had about enough of me.)  Jeremiah!  You're running out of options real fast and you are wearing on my patience.
(Me) Wearing on your patience?  You called me and started begging for money... Sheesh!
(Caller)  Jeremiah!  Do you still work for the concrete company in Lincoln county?
(Me)  I'm not sure I can give you that information, and please don't ask for my social security number.  This phone call sounds like a crank call.
(Caller)  I've got your social number here.  It was gathered in the information you gave back in 2014 when you went and got those x-rays, remember?
(Me)  I didn't have any x-rays on 2014, Donny.
(caller) God damn it!  You did and you accounted for it earlier in our conversation!  You went to the hospital and needed x-rays.  You never payed that portion of the bill and I need you to pay up or I will garnish your wages.  Does this sound like a crank call now?
(Me) Lord no.  It sounds like you are getting upset with me and all I want to do is make this right.  Now, what did we discuss as options?
(caller)  At this point in time, we are going to be in contact with the Lincoln County Sheriff's Office and gather all of the information we need on you.  We are going to have your wages garnished and we are going to put a lien on your vehicles.  I tried to cooperate with you Mr. Allen, but you'd have nothing of it.
(Me)  Mr. Allen?  Whose that, your boss?
(caller) No, god damn it!  Its you!  You're Jeremiah Allen!
(Me)  No I'm not.
(caller) (This guy is livid!!!!)  You are Jeremiah god damned Allen and you owe Oasis Collection Agency $692.49 and we will just have to go about it the hard way!!!
(Me)  Drummond?  My name is Brice, man.  I have no idea why you are calling me Jeremiah and making these horrible accusations and threats, but I am sorry if I've offended you.
(caller)  Wait a minute.  You answered to the name Jeremiah  5 or 6 times during our conversation.  I called you Jeremiah Allen and you answered.
(Me) (I cut him off before he could speak.)  Well, yeah.  I called you Donny, Dante and some other shit and you answered to that.  I thought we were playing a joke on each other?
(Caller)  You mother fucker.... (click.  phone goes silent)

This whole thing only took a couple of minutes.  Man was I pleased with the way it all turned out.  I knew this would set the tone for the rest of the day.  It did, beautifully.

"Hello, my name is Stanley...."

Do you ever got those phone calls from a guy in India or Pakistan who tells you there is something wrong with your computer and he is the guy that can fix it?  We get them all of the time at our ranch and the wife and I have taken it upon ourselves to make these calls as entertaining as possible, at least for us.  It's like a competition and you only win if you can get the only guy in Pakistan  to tell you to "Go fuck yourself".  It's pretty rewarding.  You should give it a shot!

Yesterday afternoon, "Stanley" called me and told me that he was from Windows and they "detected a problem with my home computer's Window operating system."  I politely said, "Stanley, I don't have a home computer but I do have a small computer in my shoe.  Could it be that system?"  He confirms this possibility by saying, 'Yes, if it has Windows installed."  I thanked "Stanley" for calling and told him "This problem sounds urgent. Let me take my shoe off and we will get to the problem at once."

I pause for a second and tell him that I had my shoe off and the computer was in front of me.  He says, "I need your to turn your computer on...."  and I stop him in his tracks.  "I'll have to go get a pair of pliers, a wooden spoon and some talcum powder."  This throws him off track.  "No, no, no.  You don't need pliers.  What do you need pliers for?"  I said, "Didn't you ask me to wash my computer?" 

I thought I lost him at this point but he said, "Wash your computer?  No, no, no.  We are going to fix your computer."  I said, "Ah ha!  So when we fix my computer will my car's air conditioning work again?''  Silence....  I said, "Stanley?  Are you there?"  Still no answer but I could hear other jack asses in the background on the phone with other jack asses, so I held out hope.

Stanley comes back with, "Have you started your computer yet?"  I said, "It won't start up.  The air conditioning is broken in my car."  Silence again.  Then in a bit of a perturbed voice he said, "What does air conditioning have to do with your computer?"  Knowing that I was close to losing this guy I said, "Well, if I am going to fix this computer, I have to do it in an air conditioned phone booth while I am washing my cat.  Do you ever wash you're cat, Stanley?" 

He's livid.  "I need you to start you're computer, right now!"  I calmly said, "Stanley, all you had to do was ask.  There's no need to be angry.  I am still trying to figure out why you asked me to bake a plum pie?"  Consequently, Stanley loses his shit at this point.

"God damn it!  I am trying to fix your computer and you talk about spoons, washing a cat and baking a pie!  Do you want your god damned computer fixed or not?"  I apologize and say, "Yes Stanley, I want my computer fixed.  Do you know Soupy Sales, and what do I need to do first?"  Unfortunately, he didn't address the "Soupy Sales" question which I thought was hysterical.  In a slightly more calm voice he says, "Is your computer turned on" to which I replied "No, its not even plugged in."  Again, calmly he says, "Plug the computer in and press the power button.  It may take a minute for the computer to start."  I say, "Okay, it's plugged in and it appears to be starting.  The little thing is going in circles on the monitor." 

I can still hear the back ground noise and it sounds like he is talking to someone else with his hand over the mouth piece he was talking into.  "Ma'am" I say and start to laugh.  No answer.  "Excuse me ma'am.  I need your full attention at this time."  He comes back and asks if the computer was running.  I told him it was almost ready and said, "So your name is Stanley?"  Before he could answer I added, "My neighbor is named Stan.  I think he is from New Mexico or Texas or some shit.  That seems like a pretty normal name for a guy from Texas, but I've got the feeling that you are not from the U.S."  This guy loses his shit this time, for real!

"God damn you!  How fucking stupid are you?  I ask you to start your computer and you cannot do that.  You talk about everything but computer.  You think I have time for this bullshit?"  He's pissed and he's not done cussing me out yet but I get him to stop for a second by saying, "Stanley, Stanley, Stanley."  He screams, "What?"  I remain silent for about 10 seconds just to add a little more drama to the over heated situation.  "Stanley" I ask in a very calm voice.  "If you can help me with my computer problem, I would like to help you complete a do it yourself home improvement project or adopt a new pet."  All he said was, "God!  Fuck!" and hung up on me.

I can't wait for my next call.  I'll be interested in hearing how dear old Stanley is doing and perhaps make a new friend.

"Urgency"

If I can, I'd like to take a minute and talk about urgency.  Urgency is another one of those words that gets misused.  The meaning of the word is somewhat convoluted these days.  For instance, the other day my son texted me and said "Urgent, get back to me when you can."  As soon as I get the text I am thinking, "what in the hell went wrong now?".  The kid has been out of the house and in a college dorm across the state and has managed to break his glasses and his arm in the first 2 days, so his text did seem somewhat "urgent".

So I text him back right when I got the message.  "What's wrong now?"  Honestly, with this kid I don't know what to expect.  I think I know him pretty well, but he isn't off to an effortless start in Laramie.  He writes back, "Can I use the debit card to order food?"  That's urgent?  The kid has the school meal plan, his momma sent him to school with half a dozen gift cards and he wants to know if you can use the debit card for food and is calling that urgent?

I hope to high hell this college education thing works out and he at least learns the meaning of urgent.  It'll probably be a bit of a rip for the amount of money we are spending but he has to come away with at least that.

Anyhow, on to something that is a little "urgent".  I pull into my coffee stop to grab a cup of mud and realize that I have to make a pit stop.  I walk into the bathroom and step up to the urinal to take care of business and all of a sudden, the bathroom door nearly explodes behind me!

In shuffles this guy, half stooped over, holding his guts and he says, "God, please don't let me shit my pants now."  That's urgent!  Urgency made this guy pray out loud about not shitting his pants and he did that in the face of a complete stranger!  Well, me being me, I laughed my ass off.  However, the context of what he said got me thinking.  Perhaps over thinking....

"God" in the expression used means he was urgently requesting that the holiest of holy start paying attention right this second.  "....please don't let me shit my pants now" means he somehow determined that there is a better time to shit his pants!  (And a bit selfish if you ask me.)

I'm not so sure I understand that.  The urgency I understand, but the message could be a little confusing if God were working on something like world hunger.  Old Bob shitting his pants after a bad breakfast burrito is pretty inconsequential.

And really, if you just have to shit your pants, why not do it in a place where there is a modicum of anonymity, a place to clean up plus a handy receptacle for disposing of ones soiled knickers?

If you ask me, Old Bob got the whole thing wrong.  Everything sounded synched, linked and ready to stink.  Shit your britches, Bob.  maybe you find it a bit nostalgic.  Who knows, but you probably ought to leave God out of your shitty pants.

Not your average Dr. Seuss

"Good morning" I said, and they replied "How are you?"
I said "My car isn't running right and that has me blue."

They then said, "I'm sorry about that.  There's no need for panic."
I said, "Thank goodness for that because I need a mechanic."

They promised they had all the tools, they had all the skills
and were more than happy to relieve me of my ills.

I told them "That makes me happy" and I urged them to take a look.
But I had no idea that I was dealing with a crook!

They called to inform me that things looked quite bad.
They quoted me a price and made me feel sad.

They said "the price of the parts, seems to be the culprit''
as he said with a grin from his all mighty pulpit.

I said, "Dear sir, that price seems quite high.''
But I was talking on the phone so I couldn't look him in the eye.

He told me with assuredness that his quote was correct.
I told him that I was going to shop around, he said "why not? what the heck".

So I did shop around for a different mechanic to use
and I found one whose price quote made me bemused!

I told this new guy about where I almost went
then I asked him how he could be cheaper by 66%?

"Don't go to him.  That guy is a quack!"
I said "Please fix my car and you know I'll be back".

I called the other guy and said "You're quote is real funny. 
I just got another quote and it will save me some money."

On the other end of the line there was immediate silence.
It was as if he knew me and expected some violence.

I said, "You tried to take advantage of me and I think you're a jerk.
I found a new mechanic and I'll give him all my work."

The dumb S.O.B said, "That's all right.  I don't care"
to which I replied, "Im coming for my keys and you ought not be there."

I said, "I hope a pissed off 3rd grader stabs you in the neck with a lead pencil
and leaves you lying on the ground like a chalk outline dead body stencil."

Before he hung up I said "I bid you adieu"
I followed that up with "Ill never need anything from the likes of you."

Now I am happy, so elated with my new found friend.
So I said "screw you mother fucker" and this is the end......

What's the matter with this country?

I doubt that I have the proper certification to answer this query, but I do have rights that allow me to say what I want.  With those rights come responsibility and accountability.  There are a couple of down sides to being able to say what you want to when you want to.  One is, the shit you say ought to be free of libel and slander otherwise someone else will use a right and sue the shit out of you.  The other is, you might be issued as ass whoopin.  With that said, please don't sue me and I ain't afraid of your ass whoopin.

Moving forward, I guess the answer to the question depends on whom the question is asked.  For me, its pretty simple.  In my life time, I don't know if the country has ever been more divided than it is today.  We've gone on to label everything and every one.  The issues are either liberal or conservative and you are either a "libtard" or a "tea-bagger".  And, as long as we are all preoccupied with bullshit, we don't have the time to address the other issues.  The following are my opinions on what is wrong with this county.

The election process is a joke.  It's antiquated and its full of corruption just like everything else having anything else to do with politics.  There is too much money involved and politicians are easily bought and sold in seedy back room deals.  Take a good look at how many millionaires there are in politics right now.  Get a gander at their net worth if they've been around for a while and tell me these people aren't selling out. 

So there's that level of dishonesty and then there's this one.  Lying.  Lying is part of every day politics.  Harry Reid has come out and said that he lies all of the time and that fucking guy has been re-elected dozens of times!  Now that we've entered another election cycle we have to be prepared for more lies, but were not.  We don't do anything with them  We certainly don't hold liars accountable.  Nope.  We elect them.

The Democrats are going to lie about the Republicans.  The Republicans are going to lie about the Democrats and in order to get the nomination of your respective party, you've got to make shit up about the people vying for the same position you are.  What makes matters worse is, once you get your parties nomination, you have to choose a running mate. Quite often it is out of the group of no good for nothing sons-a-bitches you bellyached about for the 16 months leading up to the election!

Here's the breakdown of this entire situation:
1.  A known liar gets nominated from his respective party.
2.  This liar picks another liar out of a pool of liars as a running mate.
3.  The election process is over when the electoral college says it is and the popular means jack shit.
4.  The President takes office and you either like him or hate him but it has nothing to do with what
     fucking matters.  It has everything to do with is party affiliation.
5.  Presidential lies (or should we call them "short comings") end up being exposed.
6.  If you're from that particular party, you kind of ignore them as if nothing happened.
7.  If your from the opposing party you are up in arms over the lies and misrepresentation!  You're
     livid!  You'd rather have your lying shit bag of a human in office!
8.  If the President is from your party, you blame all of the nation's problems on the last President
     who by the way was also a liar.



As Americans, we pretend to be fed up with the process but we continue to do the same old shit time and time again.  We keep electing liars and expect the truth.  We elect dishonorable people and expect honor or integrity.  It's laughable.  How can you be fed up with a process that you continue to put up with?

Seriously.  Haven't you gotten rid of "friends" who consistently lie to you?  I have.  I've gotten rid of employees who've 'misrepresented' the truth so why would I not hold people who are supposed to represent me to those very same standards?  As a nation, we don't.  We don't care enough about being told the truth by the people who represent us, I guess.

I'm trying to work this out in my head.  Why would I be part of the problem by contributing to the problem and then complain about the problem?  It seems counter productive to me.  (Its like having your kitchen on fire and you are throwing bacon grease on it expecting it to go out.)

I don't think I can participate in the shit show any longer.  It's stop voting or vote like the sheep.

"...and I approve this message."

Well folks.  Here we are again.  What an exciting time to be an American, eh?  We've just begun another election cycle.  Nor, for more than a year, we have the opportunity to listen to a bevy of bloviating windbags lie their asses off in an attempt to get elected to the highest office in the land.  If you don't see it that way, you've not been paying attention for the last couple of decades.

I guess that is the beauty of it all.  You don't have to pay attention in order to vote!  Screw that!  You've got a ton of friends who are in the know!  They listen to MSNBC and Fox and they are quick to spread the bullshit nice and thick for you.  This removes any personal responsibility other than getting your fat ass down to the polls.  Now, all you have to do is vote for the person you hate the least.  That's right.  You're going to take the time to go vote for someone you don't like in an attempt to keep someone else you don't like out of office. I can't tell you how many times I've heard an ignorant, I mean educated voter say, "I'm not voting for this guy.  I'm voting against the other guy."  Does nobody else see the dysfunctionality with this brand of "logic"?

There are a lot of ways to look at politics and politicians.  There are a couple of analogies I like to use.  The first analogy involves chicken shit.  Two piles of chicken shit to be precise with a little bit of a chicken shit dribble in the middle.  Each pile of course represents one of the major political parties and the chicken shit dribble in the middle is 3rd party candidates.

When you enter an election cycle, you shove your pile of chicken shit into the center of a paper plate, right next to the other pile of chicken shit.  One on the left and one on the right.  As the shit settles and dries out a little bit, a white speck begins to develop atop the chicken shit piles.  That is the candidate that the rest of the pile sends forward to represent "the people".

 Are you feeling a little better about the whole idea now?  If not, maybe this will help.  Chicken shit if anything is a mild annoyance.  Its one of those things you've heard described as "you'll know it when you see it".  Most people don't have to deal with chicken shit, but those that do or those that have studied it see it for what it is. 

Chicken shit is a commodity.  It can be bought and sold, just like a politician.  Chicken shit is a commodity when its packaged properly, its sold as fertilizer.  You can go out and buy tons of chicken shit, throw it into your fields and plow it under.  Now who wouldn't want to do that with about 500 of your favorite politicians or chicken shits, eh?  Anyways, these chicken shit specks atop each respective chicken shit pile tells you all kinds of wonderful shit they are going to do and then tell you how useless and evil the other pile of chicken shit is.  Even though they are both chicken shit, either pile thinks its better than  the other pile and they will say and do things in order to prove it.  We as the consumer lap the chicken shit up! 

We choose a pile of chicken shit and we vote for it because we've decided we don't like the other chicken shit.  Maybe it won't go as well into our gardens. I don't know.  Anyhow, as time passes, we realize that the chicken shit said a lot of things that just aren't true.  The chicken shit said it was going to do a lot of things but it doesn't happen.  The chicken shit is a liar! Most of us don't care, though. We keep voting for our favorite brand of chicken shit.

We are loyal to our brands of chicken shit, and we have to be.  The system is set up that way!  If you like anything the other chicken shit says or does, you're a traitor and no longer ride for the brand.  The system can't have that.  We have to hate the other brand of chicken shit.  it doesn't do anything right and our friends tell us that all of the time.  Facebook is full of information relevant to this issue. 

I didn't forget the chicken shit dribble in the middle.  This chicken shit is really of no consequence.  At first, the chicken shit dribble causes a disturbance and draws a little attention to itself.  We being the consumers start to take a look at this alternative brand of chicken shit.  We soon find out that it is a little bit of chicken shit pile "A" and a little bit of chicken shit pile "B"!  This is the "Donny and Marie" of chicken shits.  Its a little bit country and a little bit of rock and roll.  This is the escape defectors from either chicken shit brand above has been waiting for!  It ends up being kind of sad however.

As time goes by, the chicken shit dribble loses some of its flavor, so to speak.  Some of the people who were holding on tight have now decided that the chicken shit dribble has no chance of being elected, so they go back the brand of shit they are most familiar with.  Others, the "die hards" will hold on for all they're worth. They'll vote for the alternative shit dribble in defiance, just as long as they don't give a vote to either of the other chicken shits.  And... they're proud of this.  They are proud that they voted for chicken shit, just like everyone else.

(CUE THE NATIONAL ANTHEM)



Ladies and Gentlemen,

This great country of ours was forged and shaped by some very great people.  These people were strong men and women who wanted freedom and were willing to fight for it.  These people were often armed with nothing but a good work ethic, honor and integrity and that all went to hell when we started ripping off the Native Americans.

As Americans, we tried to do right by other people but that really just meant fucking them over a little more.  But we were a proud people and we asked others to join so we could put the screws to them, just the same.  We could have left everyone alone and let them live the lives they wanted to live as they saw fit, but we had to label them as chicken shit.  (Tee hee hee, that rhymed.)

I'd like you to think of America as a giant dinner party we've all been invited to.  We've been promised a truly extravagant dinner and that no expense was too great for us.  As you are seated, it becomes abundantly clear that this is not a free extravagant dinner.  It is a shitty luncheon that you'd never come to if you knew that they only thing on the menu was chicken shit cooked 2 different ways. 

As a consolation they tell you that your chicken shit will be served on either a red or blue keepsake plate.  On one of the plates, the chicken shit is whipped into what appears to be a nice dessert by a chef who has been known to lie a lot.  You're told to put that fact aside and enjoy the free dessert and everybody gets some.  The other plate is prepared by a chef who comes off as about as stable as the San Andreas fault.  Basically nothing this guy says is true, but people seem to like this plate because the guy will say whatever he wants, whenever he wants, regardless of any shred of truth.

Americans!  I urge you to push away from this table.  You deserve more than chicken shit, but you keep ordering it.  I want you to see the errs of your ways and I want you to quit ordering the chicken shit!  I want you to hold out for a fucking steak.  Make them get beef on the fucking menu!

My name is Brice Dudley and I approve this message.

Help wanted:

On the way home yesterday, I saw something that I believe I need a little help with.  That being the case, I am reaching out to you.  I spent all night thinking about this, now its early in the morning and I need to get it out of my head.

I saw a bumper sticker yesterday that read, "Harley Davidson.  If you have to ask, you wouldn't understand."  Is the author of this statement trying to redo the way we do everything?  All of my life, when I didn't understand something, I asked questions.  Now, some pretentious, yuppie, weekend warrior asshole who trailers his bike everywhere he goes is going to try to change that, in the name of Harley Davidson, of course.

This is the type of asshole that I wish would invest in a "do it yourself" home explosives kit and just remove himself from the gene pool.  We're going to change the way we've been doing things for at least the last several hundred years because this functional illiterate doesn't have the vocabulary or the ability to explain why he has a Harley?



(By the way, this is also the type of asshole that demands that you "look out for bikers" and he rides like this....)

When I was growing up, I knew some bikers.  Real fucking bikers!  These guys main mode of transportation was their bike and they rode Harley's because they were reliable.  If not reliable, predictable and if and when something went wrong, they could fix it. 

I'm not talking about those guys.  They are authentic.  I'm talking about the kind of asshole that drags a $5000 dollar trailer that he bought used for $20,000, carrying a Harley that he bought brand new for $19,000 and put another $8000 dollars worth of shit on it that nobody else in the free market world would ever get caught putting on a motorcycle and dragging the whole dog and pony show behind an RV that costs in the neighborhood of $750,000.  That's the type of asshole I'm talking about.  Fix his bike?  This asshole can't fix a cheese omelette let alone a god damned motorcycle!  This guy, he wants to be different, just like 4 million other yuppies who are just like him, dress like him and don't shave for 3 days before dragging his shit show circus down the road to the next rally. 

To that guy with that bumper sticker, I hope you catch fire, asshole.  I'd rather masturbate with a barbed wire oven mitt than even know your name.  Take that fucking bumper sticker off your truck until you can explain why you have a Harley.  You don't deserve one.  You know, I didn't think you assholes could stick out any worse in a crowd, then I catch some of you wearing designer jeans with your brand new sleeveless denim Harley shirt.  Jesus Christ!  Stop already!  You don't look more like a biker.  You look more like a douche bag with some sparkly shit on it.  Just go away.  Start your own type of biker rally at a fucking day spa or something.  You and your rough and tumble crowd can get together and have a mani-pedi and talk about your investments.

For some reason, that rant reminded me of the "Baby on board" sign that soccer moms used to put in the back window of their mini-van.  I always wanted to say, "Baby on board?  Is that todays lunch special?"  I never got around to it.  Maybe while I am out shopping for that barbed wire oven mitt I'll get the chance.

Mother's Day!

It's been 6 months since my mother passed away.  I think about her and miss her every day.  I was going to sit here and write all of the prescribed things one would say about their mother on this special day, but my mother knows how I feel about her and our relationship.  What I thought I'd do is share a story from my childhood that represents what our relationship was made of.

I was maybe 9 or 10 and was starting to develop a rather colorful vocabulary.  Swearing wasn't an all day/every day type of thing, but it had gotten to the point where I would occasionally let something fly and simply not notice it.

Anyhow, it was a Saturday morning and I managed to watch my favorite cartoons and it was about time to locate some friends and get the weekend started.  I took my cereal bowl to the sink, rinsed it out and was going to put it in the dishwasher.  As I made the pivot towards the dishwasher, I hit my shin on the dishwasher door.  That caused me to drop the cereal bowl, and that caused me to drop the "F Bomb".

Right when that happened I heard my mom say "What did you just say?"  Now, she wasn't asking this question because she didn't hear me.  She was asking for clarification and I was just smart enough to know that.  I replied, "I said #@$%, mom."  I just stood there.  I wasn't quite sure what was going to happen.  In the past, things like being sent to my room or being asked to write a 200 word essay on the subject were potential punishments.  On the harshest end of the punishment realm was being grounded for the weekend and being forced to read children's books.  (The logic behind the children's books was, I wasn't old enough to use that kind of language so that meant I was too small to use the language.... and in order to use proper language, it was necessary for me to gain an "age appropriate" vocabulary.) 

Mom stood up and headed down the hall which was the total opposite direction of where I was standing.  This of course added to the suspense.  The pace in which mother headed down the hall showed intent. "What was going to happen?".  The "Wheel of Misfortune" is spinning in my head and I am hoping it lands on nothing more severe than a writing assignment.  There was always potential for what I referred to has the "combo platter".  It was the most rare of all punishment and was a combination of any or all of the above. 

As mom came into view, I could tell from the look on her face that this was going to be special.  She had something in her hand, but I couldn't quite make it out.  As she got close, she reached out and grabbed me by the back of the neck and took me to the kitchen sink... where this whole thing began.  She turned on the sink water and handed me a bar of Zest soap.  (My dumb ass thinks mom wants me to wash my hands.)  I started to wash my hands and when I worked up a good lather mom said, "Wash your mouth out with soap!" 

As some of you know, I was a bit of a hard learner. At first I looked at her like, "Are you serious?".  She was, and I didn't have to ask.  The look on her face screamed, "DO NOT MAKE ME DO THIS FOR YOU!"  I should trusted my instinct but for a second I thought I could sell it by washing my face paying particular attention to the area around my mouth.  No dice... Mom wasn't having any of that bullshit.

Mom grabbed the bar of soap and held it close to my mouth.  I kind of inched forward, opened my mouth, stuck my tongue out and made this lame licking attempt.  The attempt was enough for me.  Zest tasted like shit and now I knew that.  Mom said, "Take a bite!"   No way was this not going to happen.  My previous attempts to sell the situation were lame.  My pleas fell on deaf ears.  "Take a bite!  Do it now!" 

I opened my mouth and took a good sized chunk off of one of the corners.  As I chewed on the piece of soap trying not to swallow any, mom asked, "What do you think of that?"  I don't know what is wrong with me.  I smiled, nodded and said "MMMM-MMMM!  That is good!"

You know what's not good?  The subsequent ass kicking I took for being a smart ass! Now, I ate some soap, got my ass tore up, and got grounded.  The dreaded "shitty weekend tri-fecta"!  The weekend as I knew it was over but I'd live to tell the tale.

I learned a lot of things that weekend but the 2 most important thing were, "Zest tastes awful" and "don't be a smart ass when there is a pending ass whoopin!". 

In all seriousness, I feel like I am selling my mother short by saying that she was my everything, but she was.  I didn't know this for about 24 years, but everything I ever saw in my mother was going to be the criteria in which I measured all other women that came into my life.  I'll be forever grateful for that, mom.  I will also be forever grateful for my loving wife who managed to meet that criteria.  I don't know where I'd be without you, Honey.  Happy Mother's Day.

I'd also like to wish a Happy Mother's Day to both of my grandmas.  Never were there ever two sweeter ladies on the planet.  I can't believe I was lucky enough to have them both in my life.  Happy Mothers Day to my mother in law, Katherine Davis.  She and I had a special relationship that I'll never forget.  Happy Mothers Day to my Step Mother, Hagan Dudley for filling the gaps during some difficult times.  Happy Mothers Day to Teri Sharkey, Trudy Fleming and Bev Shaw for being surrogate mothers at different times of my life.  Even though I was just some kid from around the neighborhood or ball field, you always made me feel welcome.  I'd like to wish my little sister Tara Sodin a Happy Mothers Day.  I'm proud of the person you became despite me efforts to make you stick around so I could pick on you.

There are far too many important women keep that up, so I'll close with this.  Anybody that reads this and is fortunate enough to still have their mothers with them, make sure your momma knows how much you love her.  Really come to terms with the kind of relationship you share and honor it every day, not just this day.

Peace....

I've got a problem...

I've got a problem.  Well, I have a lot of problems.  When I notice a problem, I tend to write about it.  Somehow, some way, writing about my problems helps me sort them out and make better sense of it all.  I have 2 problems I'd like to try to sort out today and perhaps you will lend me the time to do that.

First problem:  Floss picks....

Yeah, I said floss picks.  I don't really have a problem with floss picks, per se.  In fact, I find them very useful in order to maintain some kind of oral hygiene.  Anything from a pesky popcorn kernel to a piece of beef jerky tends to find itself jammed between my teeth and there is no better way to rid oneself of this problem than with a floss pick. 

In general, when I think of all of the potential floss pick users, I envision people who are concerned with their appearance.  I think of tidy individuals, perhaps with fresh breath and whiter than normal teeth.  I think this type of person appreciates the floss pick because of its convenience and simplicity.  You know, the back breaking process of opening a container of floss, pulling out the required amount of floss to properly do the job, wrapping the floss around a couple of fingers then actually having to do the flossing procedure is just often too much.  So this handy, convenient, efficient product makes everything about said product/procedure such a pleasure.....

So, why in the fuck is it that I find used floss picks just lying around wherever I go?  People care enough about their personal hygiene enough that they will bust out this device, dig around in their nasty ass mouth, probe around their jacked up gums and fish around between their nasty ass mouth, then throw the god damned thing on the ground!  Look around, you'll find 'em.

Here's the kicker.  In all of my research on the subject, used floss picks are normally found within 7.65 feet of a proper trash receptacle.  The majority of used floss picks are found on the ground in parking lots.  I've found them dexterously resting upon window sills, shopping cart handles and even salt and pepper shakers in some cafes.

The once fastidious individual I had imagined has turned into this puss oozing, canker sore having, jacked up grill sporting troll who has nothing better to do than litter....  If you are a floss pick user and you just leave them lying around after use, you're an asshole.

Second problem:  Walking around in public, digging around in your crotch....

Guys are mostly responsible for this activity, but every once in a while you'll cross an extra special female individual whom you bust knuckles deep in their innermost outers.  What in the world has gone wrong in your day that would make you feel that this activity is socially acceptable?  I don't think I've ever heard anyone say, "I really enjoy watching someone scratch their nuts." 

Folks, this is a matter of cleanliness.  A little soap and water goes a long way down south, if you catch my drift.  If you're walking around with itchy nuts, it's time for a hot shower.  If your lady bits are irritable, perhaps a soak in the tub is essential at this point.

How can you not care enough about your naughty bits to not take proper care of them?

I was in the bar business for nearly 20 years and I've been witness to a lot of shit, most of which I wished I had never seen.  I can tell you this with the highest degree of certainty.  I have never seen an individual (male or female) walk around in a bar, trying to entice someone of the opposite sex, start to scratch and itch their private parts and then pick up someone from the other sex....  It doesn't happen, people. 

Witnessing this on more than one occasion led me to the creation of one of my favorite bar games.  It's called, "Crabs or Worse".  The game is played by catching some uncouth individual partaking in his/her favorite past time and then you get to decide if it is "Crabs or Worse".

Honestly people, take a damned shower.  If soap and water can't cure it, I think they make an ointment or something.  if you can't scrape together the money/time/whatever, go to the damned corner and scratch...  what in the hell is the matter with you?  Oh, and pick up your nasty ass floss picks while you're at it.

"This water is amazing"

If you've ever read any of the blather that I tend to compose, you'll remember that I get a lot of my topics from standing in line at the convenience store.  As well, you may remember that I have a thing with the word "amazing". 

Anyhow, I am standing in line behind what appears to be 2 young professional women that appeared to be thoroughly kempt.  Both were wearing business attire, a modicum of make-up and they had their hair pulled back tight.  Because they were standing right in front of me, I couldn't help but over hear their conversation. 

"What kind of water is that?" one asks the other.  "Oh, its amazing!" the first woman exclaimed.  (Do you remember watching cartoons on Saturday morning?  Do you remember the anvil falling from the sky and hitting Wile E. Coyote on the head and turning him into an accordion?  Remember the noise it made?  That's how I felt and that is the noise I heard.)  The crooked vein in my left temporal region had to have popped out, because that is the side of my head that began hurting almost instantaneously.

"Amazing water!"  Those two words are now looping through my mind.  I can't hear anything else.  "Amazing water!  Amazing water!  Amazing water!"  All I could think of now was, "why, I need to get a look see at this magical elixir!" 

I look at the bottle.  It looks pretty much like every other bottle of water that I've ever seen. Do you know what would have been amazing?  If there were no bottle and somehow the water remained drinkable but yet in the shape of a bottle.  And what if there were tiny unicorns, rainbows and miniature magic gnomes that grant every wish you can think of while gazing into their 4 leaf clover shaped eyes?  And, when you take this bottle-non-bottle of amazement up to the counter, the clerk actually pays you 1000 times what the product's list price is!  That would be amazing but I'm not seeing anything even resembling that shit.

As we moved one step closer, I took another look at this water.  It was still doing nothing.  I thought to myself, "This is a lack luster performance for something so amazing....".  I don't know why my mind raced to my high school biology class and the day that I learned that urine is 95% water.  Of course in my mental mind, I had to ask myself this question...  "If urine is 95% water, is piss 95% amazing?''  It would have to be.  Wouldn't it?

Then I start to imagine that each of these women are secretly carrying tiny bottles of amazing piss to shower themselves with.  Not only that, but with piss being so amazing, they both probably had these amazing piss fountains on their desk.  At the bottom of this piss fountain is a piss pool and that is where the mystical, magical miniature piss mermaids manufacture piss pixie dust that the piss pixies flutter about and cast the piss pixie dust upon those who are fortunate enough to believe!  Now, everyone is piss blessed!  What a truly joyous occasion!

And after a hard days work and numerous piss party celebrations, they rush home to further celebrate the magical concoction!  They tell their families, their friends and anyone else who will listen.  And those who listen hear these marvelous stories  while their faces are filled with wonderment! 

And these women's children all have a British accent (for some dumb ass reason) and they cry out with joy, "Mother!  Tell us... tell us more of this precious liquid commodity!"  Their mothers break into grand piss tales!  One mother speaks of how one drop if piss stopped the largest meteor on record from slamming into earth and ending life as we know it and the other spun a web of how 1 quart of piss saved 200 villages in Africa from drought and disease!  All of the children thought and believed, "What a blessing this piss is."

The children rushed to their bedrooms to adorn themselves in their finest piss pajamas and prepare their extra-pissy sleeping quarters in order to invite the Piss Fairy.  They know that the Piss Fairy will beguile them while in their piss dreams!  "People everywhere must know of this piss!'' one child cries. 

"That will be $3.29, sir........."  At this point I felt myself coming back into the real world.  "$3.29 sir!" the clerk said again with more emphasis.  It was my turn to pay up and I was standing there in my own "piss heaven".  I scrambled to find my wallet.  I think I had a piss smile on my face.  Again, I amused myself. 

Neither water nor piss can be classified as amazing.  Sorry, and yes I am the authority on the subject.

Clean underwear?

If any of you were raised like I was, it was mandatory to wear a clean pair of underwear if you were going somewhere.  As a kid growing up, and a boy kid at that, underwear was optional equipment and clean was foreign.  I mean, if the ass of a pair of underwear wasn't completely blown out, they were good for another few weeks.

My mom used to ask, "Now did you put on a clean pair of underwear?".  I always said "yeah" because I was a busy man.  I had bikes to ride, forts to build and ants to burn with a magnifying glass.  "Clean underwear?''  I thought she was really joking until she gave me a lecture regarding all of the bad things that "could happen".  And in most of those cases, clean underwear wasn't going to remain clean anyhow, because she was scaring the shit out of me!  And when it comes right down to it, let's say one of these scenarios does happen and you consequently do shit your knickers.....  You're going to screw up your britches too!  Who shits their pants in a public setting, ditches their underwear, and puts back on shitty pants expecting to get away with it?  Your damned britches better smell like the Busch Botanical Gardens, otherwise you're a dead ringer for "Mr. Poopy Pants".  Clean underwear just isn't going to hide that.

In regards to this potential dilemma, I did what I could to make momma happy.  My grandfather once told me, "If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."  I figured he'd been around long enough to test a few theories, so I held that one close to the chest. 

Years later as an adult, I grew into the habit of putting on clean underwear.  I just appreciate them. And its not only clean underwear that I appreciate these days.  Quality underwear is something to truly behold!  Quality underwear can be any brand, but it has to offer a few things.  It's got to be comfortable and it has to offer the right support.  If it's lacking either of those two critical components, you will probably save them anyhow if you're a normal man.  You'll probably wear all of the good underwear before you get around to doing laundry, so you either "go commando" or you wear a pair of drawers that is of lesser quality.

I didn't appreciate the "support" aspect of quality underwear until recently.  As I started to grow older, it became obvious that perhaps my skin didn't have the same elasticity, or just maybe gravity had a better pull than it used too.  Nonetheless it is essential to keep the "team" in the same dugout.  You can't have the bat and balls in different ball parks is all I'm saying.  If you don't, well, you aren't going to be playing ball.

I fully realized this not so long ago.  I had to run some errands, so I hopped in the shower.  After a nice shower, I went to find some quality underwear in my underwear drawer.  (Quality underwear should have a special spot, and it should be nowhere near lesser quality drawers.)  I threw the drawer open and nothing.... No quality underwear, so I went with "option B".  There they were, sitting in the corner like a 3rd grader being punished for smarting off in class.  They've got no pride.  There is no happiness sitting the corner were all of the quality ones can sit and make fun of them.  I figured at this point I had no choice.  I grabbed them and honestly I don't think either of us felt good about the decision, but it had to happen.

Once on, I had to question their ability to keep the "team" together but like I said, it had to be done.  I put on a quality shirt, quality socks, quality jeans, and quality boots and out the door I went.  I make it all the way in to town and put the tough decision behind me.  I was running around town, in and out of the Jeep constantly, taking care of business.  I finished all of my errands and decided to reward myself with a nice hot cup of coffee, so I proceeded into the coffee joint and picked up a cup.  As I headed out to the Jeep, I didn't realize that I somehow let one of the balls outside of the dugout.  As I plopped myself down in the drivers seat, it became abundantly clear to me that I somehow put a guillotine in my front pocket and attempted to cut a guy from the team unannounced.  Bad managerial decision....

I didn't think I was capable of a noise like that.  I also didn't know I could move that quick or experience pain like that without dying, really.  I flopped around for a quick hot second, threw my coffee all over the interior of my Jeep and somehow came to my senses outside, doubled over checking my chances of being able to put the team back together.  I knew I had to talk to that new free agent.

Fortunately, the stray ball didn't leave the field entirely and I would be able to carry on although rather gingerly.  I maneuvered myself back into the drivers seat using extreme caution not wanting a repeat performance.  One of those is good for a life time. 

This was one of those experiences that if you survive intact, you have to tell someone.  For some reason I felt compelled to tell you.  There is a moral to the story.  If you want to keep the bat and balls all together, its worthy to purchase a quality bag.  Buy quality underwear, y'all.  One bad decision can ruin a good team.  Play ball!