Sneezing and peeing at the same time.

I didn't think you could sneeze and pee at the same time.  I have no idea why I thought that.  I guess I never tried or the opportunity never presented itself, until this morning.  As it turns out, you can sneeze and pee at the same time and I don't recommend it.  It's more than the body can handle first thing in the morning.  Here's what happened.

The morning alarm goes off.  As per usual, I hit the snooze button.  As soon as I hit the snooze button, I realize I have to pee.  I'm not ready for that yet as I am still lying in bed trying for another solid 5 minutes of sleep.  (Like that will make a difference.)  Well, guess what?  You can't get 5 solid minutes of sleep when you have to pee, so I get my grumpy ass up and walk into the bathroom.

I step up and assume the position.  Now standing in front of the throne, my mind can't make the plumbing work.  It's preoccupied with trying to figure out why the toilet paper thingy is located as close to the toilet as it is.  I stand there and tell my mind and penis, "Everything is going to be okay.  We are awake.  We are out of bed now and we can safely take a whiz."  Still nothing.

I scratch my head with my other hand, cuss about the dumb position I find myself in and then all of a sudden it happens!  Happy days are here again!  In the matter of a few seconds, we (my penis, my mind and me) are producing a good steady stream.  My bladder relaxes and now all systems are go. 

Since things appear to be going in the right direction, I begin to contemplate the days events.  As I am putting the day into its proper perspective, I feel as if I may sneeze.  This is the precise moment that I figured it would be impossible to pee and sneeze at the same time.  I figured a good sneeze would momentarily shut down the plumbing and then it would get back to operation right after the sneeze. 
Well, that isn't what happens.

As the sneeze builds up pressure, the bladder does try to adjust its pressure in an attempt to work as a counter balance.  The most primal part of the brain says "Yeah, keep going.  This is your most brilliant idea yet."  The newest part of your brain says, "You might die...  You don't know... Nobody has ever tried this shit before and if things go awry, don't worry.  I'll take care of you."  It's calming and nerve wracking at the same time.

You're body convulses and you bend slightly at the waist.  Then it happens.  You hear what sounds like the muzzle blast of a 12 gauge and you immediately pass out from the pain.  As you start to come too, you wonder why your chin hurts and you wonder what it is that is dripping on your foot.  Your hearing comes back next, which is most unfortunate because now you hear yourself moaning while lying on the cold bathroom floor.  Your vision begins to come back and confirms that you are indeed lying in the fetal position on the bathroom floor, hand still on what's left of your penis.  You sense of feel starts to come back but you can't tell if its your penis you have a hold of or a stump, but you hope for the best.

You then realize that the stuff that is dripping on your feet is urine soaked toilet paper.  You want to call for help, but you don't want anyone to find you in this most compromised position, so you have a good cry for a few minutes.

You remove your hand from your genital area and muster the strength to take a look at it, hoping to high hell there is no blood.  There isn't and for a moment, you're relieved.  Then you fully realize that you are still in excruciating pain.  It feels as if someone jammed a red hot, straightened out metal coat hanger up your pee hole.  You don't want to believe that.  Nobody wants to believe that but then you start to think that you have have prolapsed your urethra.  I don't know if that is even possible, but at this point it sure as shit feels that way.  Now a sense of embarrassment sets in.  You think, "I am going to have to go to the emergency room with my wang in one and and my prolapsed urethra in the other and have to explain this horrible shit to the entire emergency room staff while they laugh at me. 

Now you roll over on your back.  It seems as if the smoke has cleared and that the dust is settling and you start to relive the incident in an attempt to figure out why your chin hurts.  You finally take a look at your penis and realize that its okay.  Well, its not okay... its still a stupid looking penis, but everything appears to be intact and where you remember it being.  You notice that your urethra is not on the floor like an uncoiled ball of yarn and you give big thanks to that.  (I'm not a religious man, but I gave thanks to the powers above for not making me have to carry the insides of my urinary tract in a grocery bag, into the emergency room.

You think about your chin again.  It really hurts.  You allow yourself a few more minutes sitting naked on the bathroom floor trying to put the whole thing together.  You know, for future reference.  You gain your footing and again assume the position and relive the entire event, step for step, dumb emotion by dumb emotion.  You determine that a profound amount of torque was produced from the pressure build up when the plumbing trying to shut down, the sneeze released the torque in a flash which caused your knees to buckle, which in turn caused your chin to hit the toilet rim. 

In the explosion, you've managed to piss on the toilet tank, the wall behind it, the wall next to it which held the toilet paper roll that ended up dripping on your foot.  You also realized that you somehow managed to piss on the ceiling and the mirror behind you.

You stagger out of the bathroom.  You make your way to the kitchen and start some coffee.  your always faithful pooch comes up along side you, looks you dead in the eye and does his best to offer you an apology for the rough start to your day.  You reach down to pet him and find out that he is mysteriously wet too, and that grosses you out, so you puke in the sink because you think of the word "moist".  You send the dog outside because you can't even look at him now, and make your way back to the scene of the crime for another good cry.

You begin to clean the crime scene.  You're glad that nobody in the world will ever know about this, unless you write about it in your blog.  Then you think about your loved ones on the other side.  What would they have been doing.  Both of your grandpas are laughing so hard, they are crying.  Both of your grandmas are crying.  You dad calls you a fucking idiot.  Your mom....  She is trying to figure out exactly what in the hell happened that allowed you to piss on the mirror that was directly behind you. 

You crawl into the shower, one hand rubbing your chin, the other holding your genitals and then it hits you.  You never thought of peeing and sneezing at the same time because that shit is not ever supposed to happen! 

Like every other dumb ass thing you've ever done to yourself, you remain thankful that you survived.  You finish your shower, get dressed and head to work grateful that the first stop is not the emergency room.

On the ride in, you do all you can to convince yourself that it could have been worse.  You could have had to poop first thing.  (Note to self:  It is not a good idea to see what will happen if you sneeze and poop at the same time.  EVER!)

My Very First Product Review:

Hi everybody.  I've got to tell ya!  I'm pretty excited, folks.  Someone wrote into the main office and asked me to do a product review!  I've never done this before so I am thrilled to be able to give you the straight dope on this product.

Before I actually get to the review, I'd like to take a second and say thanks to all of the people who write in and ask me questions about products that might seem to be out of my realm of expertise.  I am honored that you value my body of work, my world travel and my honest opinion about things.  it really makes an old boy feel good.  Thank you again for writing in and keep these requests coming!

Now, on to the product review.  Give me a second.  It seems as if I misplaced the all of the guys information.  It's on an index card and I just had it.  I set it down right here.  Oh, wait.  Here it is.  This is a question from Skjot Amundson from Bemidji, Minnesota.  Skjot says, "I'll be moving into a college dorm next year and I'd like to know what you think of the George Foreman Grille?"

Well Skjot, I'll be happy to get to that question in just a minute.  Before I do, I'd like to review another product and maybe it will help you, your family and friends out a bit as well.  The product I am speaking about is the fucking alphabet!  People are taking way too much liberty with the thing and it appears as if your parents are no exception.  I am assuming that your name is pronounced "Scott".  Am I right?  If I am, then why didn't your parents spell it that way?

I went as far as to use the Googler and look this ridiculous shit up.  You know what the Googler said?  It said that "Skjot" was a rare Norwegian spelling of the more traditional "Scott" and was given to royalty and Viking Warriors.  That leads me to this, Skjot....I feel dirty even saying your name right now....  Are you a Viking Warrior, Skjot?  If you are, you'd better be about 6'5'' tall, weight about 300 lbs, have long hair and a beard so unkempt that it looks like a pack of animals lives in the son of a bitch.  You'd better be walking around with a sword, a shield and a fucking club made from the heart wood of an ancient oak tree or some shit, and you'd better know how to pillage!

If you don't look like this and look more like a hipster wearing skinny jeans with the legs rolled up and wearing a flannel shirt, I hope some redneck comes up and takes his style back and drags your ass to the DMV to change your name on your drivers license.  Instead of Skjot or the more traditional "Scott", you need to change your name to Biff or Tad or Chaz or something else ridiculous.  Frankly, this shit is nothing short of fraud... you're not a Viking!

I'm so God damned mad now that I can't remember the stupid question you asked.  Where is that index card with the question on it?  Oh, I threw it in the trash, SKJOT!  Skjot?  Are you shitting me?  Skjot.  Okay, it says here that you are going to college and that you want to know if the George Foreman Grille is a good product.

Well, here we go.  Yeah, its probably a great product for cooking a burger, chicken breast or something like that.  Maybe even a grilled cheese, you know.  But a fucking Viking cooked shit with fire or ate the shit raw!  These were semi primitive battle whores that were talking about, not some dip shit millennial who could fuck up a bowl of Shredded Wheat!

Leave that product alone, you dumb ass.  I'm afraid you'll go to a frigging frat party, get loaded on cheap beer and come back to the dorm and try to do your hair with the fucking thing.  Look!  It's got moving parts and gets real hot.  It's above your pay scale.  Get yourself some crayons and a safe space, you dip shit!  Leave cooking and anything else food related, to anyone else other than yourself.

Well folks, that's it for now from the "product review" portion of this head ache.  I need to find a good glass of whiskey and a camp fire after answering that question.  Keep 'em coming in though.  I want all of you to be fully informed, even if you spell your name incorrectly.

Until next time....

"Can we have a real discussion about gun control?"

Can we have a real conversation about gun control?  Maybe, maybe not.  I am hopeful that we can sit down and have this necessary conversation, but I have my concerns about the word "real".  It is impossible to sit down and have a real conversation if we won't stay on topic or stick to facts.  The facts are all that matters when it comes to a conversation.  There are a lot of studies out there by people who mean well.  Some of them are incomplete and do not take all variables into account.  Others are an apples to oranges comparison and comparisons like that are an injustice to the very situation we face today.  It isn't fair to compare us to other countries.

This is an American problem. Undeniably, it is happening more here than other countries. Other countries are dealing with their own problems and that is another topic. There are potentially dozens of reasons for these massacres happening here.  It's a complex issue.  This has to be a work in progress and we have to be willing to set political affiliation aside and stick to the facts.  This is a highly emotional subject.  Nobody I know ever wants to hear of another one of these massacres but truthfully, we all know there is another one in our near future.  "Is this what life is like in America now?"  Yes.  Yes it is and its time for us to understand that.

It's time for us to understand that the world is a rough place.  It's time to realize that America can be a rough place.  Never in a million years did I ever believe there could be a 9/11.  Not once did I ever think there could be a Timothy McVeigh and a giant ass truck bomb.  I had no idea that there were people out there like this recent asshole that shot up the Florida classroom, like the asshole who shot up the gay night club, the the asshole who shot up the concert venue in Las Vegas.  Never.  It never crossed my mind that there are people out there among us that were that ill, that broken, so capable of doing such a thing.  This is our reality and we need to own it.

"So just throw in the gloves, eh?"  No.  That's not what I am saying.  It's time to accept this in order to address this.  There is no sure fire method to identify who is likely to go on the next rampage, and we have to accept that too.  And maybe that is part of the problem.  Acceptance, being able to accept the fact that we will have another massacre on our hands is critical.  Preparing for this event is even more critical, and in doing so, we need to pay attention to all of the data that has been collected regarding each of these events.

I don't buy into this as being a gun problem.  Above I mentioned 'apples to oranges' comparisons.  Here, every once in a while, some maniac goes on a shooting spree.  It's absolutely the worse thing I can think of at this time.  Other countries have their own problems.  For instance, Syria.  I recently heard a story about a particular town in Syria that the Taliban or ISIS had total control over.  As they were being run out of town after imprisoning, torturing and killing the majority of the towns people, they set land mines everywhere.  They booby trapped homes.  They booby trapped churches, mosques and other gathering places.  They set land mines in the fields, in the walk ways, in the roads and sidewalks and every week they are losing 36 people on average.  Other countries in the region are experiencing the same things.

This is their horror.  This is what they have to deal with every day.  I am not comparing them to us.  I don't have the chance to choose one life or the other.  Neither do they.  This is their reality and they live it every day.  It's horrible and I can't imagine what their lives are like.

If these folks were to have an advantage over us is, it might be in the fact that they have identified  their adversary.  What we have in common with them is, our adversaries look just like us.  They reside next door or across the street.  We talk to them.  We work with them.  How do we deal with that?

So much of what is being said these days regarding these massacres is emotionally based.  How couldn't it be?  What I think we need to start paying attention to is what we can agree on.  None of us wants another one of these things to happen.  None of us.  If we focused on that, perhaps we could make some ground with this discussion.  I saw a recent poll that said 67% of legal gun owners are willing to make some concessions in the name of safety.  I think its important to remember that these concessions have not been clearly defined as well as it is unknown what or if these concessions would have any impact.

I was having a discussion with a friend of mine who is pro 2nd Amendment said, "I would give away all my guns if it would stop these massacres."  I disagreed only on the fact that me and my guns are not the problem here.  Me giving up my guns and my 2nd Amendment protections will not stop these shooting sprees.  The won't... and more than anything, I think my friend said this as a feel good statement.  It just doesn't make sense to me.  Taking away, my guns or your guns will not stop this.  The problem is far more complex than that and we need to quit looking at the quick fix for such a delicate matter.

We're better than that.  We're smarter than that.  If we could set all emotions aside, put the facts on the table, stick to the topic, we might be able to make some ground here.  The problem with facts is, they don't always work in your favor.  It's hard, almost impossible to accept the facts.  It's also hard to know that we will face another one of these massacres on day.

I have heard a lot of reasonable requests from concerned people regarding the safety of our children.  "Metal Detectors" "Armed Guards" are two of the most reasonable that I have heard.  If our children are our future and our most precious commodity, we are we not protecting them as such?  Our airports, sporting arenas, banks and other places are filled with metal detectors and armed security.  Do you mean to tell me that we care more about that shit than we do our kids?  No excuses...  Lets address this.  Don't tell me there's no money for it.  Were spending money all over the place!  We can find the money for this.  I think most of us civilians would gladly donate to the cause. We can do this!

With that out of the way, I'd like to tell anyone reading this a little about me and where I am coming from.  I am going to keep the next couple of paragraphs all about me.... a brief autobiography, if you will.  My name is Brice Dudley.  I was born into a house of guns.  In fact, my first birthday present was a Winchester Model 12 12 gauge.  My dad was a gunsmith and a competitive shooter.  At any given time, there was a project or two on the bench and my reality was, there are guns everywhere.  I was taught to respect firearms.  I was taught at an early age that guns are not a mystery and if I ever wanted to handle a gun or know anything about a gun, all I had to do was ask a question.  I was taught that guns are not toys.  I was taught that we don't point anything that is not a finger at anyone, at any time.

I grew up learning how to properly handle guns.  I learned how guns operated and I learned what guns where capable of by going shooting.  I learned that once you pull the trigger, you can never get that bullet back.  Whatever happens after you pull the trigger for, you are responsible.  I learned that you never point a gun at anything you don't intend on destroying.

As I began to hunt, I learned the value of life.  My family hunted for food.  The first time I shot a quail, I was lost somewhere between feeling sorry and being proud.  Sorry for the taking of a life, but proud to know that I could be capable of providing a food source for my family.  My dad looked at me and asked, "Are you okay?"  I remember nodding yes but being a little too choked up to talk about it.  Dad said, "Hunting is a hell of a thing, and its not for everybody.  There are a few things for you to know about this particular circumstance.  You followed every safety rule in the book.  You knew what you were shooting at and what was beyond it.  We are going to take this quail home and we are going to cook it up for dinner and the next few days.  There is value in being able to do this and this is a skill that will forever be with you.  I'm proud of you.  Not because you killed a quail. I am proud of you for properly handling the gun, having paid attention to everything I ever told you about guns, and mostly for giving hunting a try."

I just kind of stood there holding my 410 in one hand and the quail in the other.  My dad said, "We are going to honor this bird in a couple of ways.  First of all, we are going to eat this bird and any others we happen to get today.  Secondly, we are only going to take what we can eat.  We will also do what we can to protect the habitat this bird lives in.  We are out walking around in these draws in order to not destroy the habitat.  We will always follow these rules.  These are the rules my dad learned from his dad, I learned from him and now you learned from me.  If you want, one day you will have the opportunity to teach this to your kids."

Later in life, I had the opportunity to introduce my boys into the sport.  Neither was too interested in the killing aspect of hunting, but neither ended up having a problem cycling ammunition through any of the guns I owned while out shooting targets.   Recently, my step mother gave me a few of my dad's old shotguns.  As I looked at them and handled each one of them, they took me back to that day.  I learned more about life that day than I have any other time in my life.  I learned about honor, respect and being responsible.  I wasn't taught that stuff in a classroom.  It happened with my dad, out in the Arizona desert around Chloride.  Nobody but us, the jack rabbits, the rattle snakes and the quail.

From that 1 day, my love for the sports of hunting and shooting became part of who I am.  Since then, my love for the sports have grown into a field of work that I had no clue would ever exist.  I am a part time shooting coach/shooting instructor, and being able to introduce people like the little kid I once was to the sport is so rewarding.  If I had one love besides my family and friends, I would be somewhere between being in the outdoors and teaching someone who has never handled a gun, how to shoot responsibly.

I urge everyone in this country to give the shooting sports an opportunity.  Hire a professional and train with them often.  Learn first hand about guns, gun safety and the responsibility that goes along with that.  It's money well spent and an education that will last you a life time.

Thanks for reading folks.  I really do appreciate it.

The "Ling Ling" Incident:

Technology all but killed one of my favorite past times.  Crank calls were a big part of my childhood and I even made crank calls as an adult.  Everyone was a potential victim, including my mom who I kept getting with the same stupid "kidnapped kid' scenario that I made up.  Now, caller ID and everything else we have on our phones pretty much identifies who is on the other end putting a stop to my reign of terror.

So I told you that in order to tell you this.  I had a stalker for a little while.  Things got pretty weird and I had to change all of my contact information and everything.  The stalker was persistent enough that I somehow figured they took control of my damned phone, so I traded my phone in and got a new number.

I transferred over all of my contact information and apps and then went about calling my friends in order to give them my new contact information.  As I rolled through my contact list, I finally came upon my good friend who owns a parking lot striping and parking lost sweeping business.  So, I gave him a call.

He didn't pick up the call.  That wasn't a mystery.  Tim is a busy guy and has about 100 things going at once.  But for some reason, as soon as my call went to voice mail, I knew I could probably get away with a crank call.  After all, he'd never seen or heard of this phone number.

Ring.... Ring.... Ring... click... "We are unavailable to take your call at this time.  Please leave your name and a message and we will call you back", the message said.  I chime in.  "Herro, this is Ling Ling from Ocean City Chinese Bistro.  I need parking rot painted.  I need handicapped parking and stlipes.  Don't call me back.  I am too busy.  Come by Friday or Saturday and give me estimate."  And then I hung up.  I figured the sound of my voice and my stupid ass, stereotypical white dude trying to act like a Chinese person would give it away.

A couple of days goes by.  I forgot all about the crank call.  I was just sitting there and my phone rang.  It was my buddy Tim.  I picked up the phone and tried to say hello, but before I could get a word out, he said "You're an asshole!"  I laughed but didn't know what he was talking about.  He said, "Yeah, I get this call from a Chinese guy named Ling Ling and he wanted me to come to the Ocean City Bistro and give him an estimate to paint their fucking parking lot.  I show up with one of my daughters to help me measure the place and this Chinese guy comes out and starts yelling at me.  I got him calmed down enough to listen to what I was telling him.  I told him, Ling Ling called and wanted an estimate from me to paint stripes in the parking lot.  I am here to give the estimate.  The guy looked me dead in the eye and said, "Ling Ling?  Who in the fuck is Ling Ling?  There is no god damned Ling Ling here."  Now I started laughing....

Tim continued, "Go ahead.  Laugh it up.  I'm standing there scrolling through my voice mail and I play him the message!  Now the guy is really pissed and told me to get the fuck off of his property."  Now I am laughing out of control.  Tim says, "I listened to the voicemail one more time in the truck trying to figure out who in the fuck this could have been and then Jessica said, "That's Brice".  So, was this you?"  I admitted it as soon as I could catch my breath.  Never in a million years did I think he would buy that piece of shit fake accent.

I think Tim and I are still friends.  He's still not allowed at Ocean City Bistro and I bet you $100 bucks he never, ever takes another call from Ling Ling seriously.

Grammar

So, I had the day off but had to come to town to drop something off at work.  I proceeded to do so and decided that I wanted a fresh cup of coffee for the ride home.  I left work and headed directly towards my usual morning coffee stop.  As I went through a school zone, I noticed I had someone tailgating me.  I didn't think too much of it and just went about my business.

As I pulled into my coffee stop, the young kid who was tailgating me decided it was wise to approach me about the situation.

Kid:  How come you were going so slow back there?

Me:  Because it was a 20 mile per hour school zone.

Kid:  That don't matter.

Me.  Doesn't... That doesn't matter.

Kid:  Huh?

Me:  You said, "That don't matter." That makes no sense.  You should have said, "That doesn't matter?"

Kid:  What fucking difference does that make?

Me:  It makes a big difference if you want to be taken seriously.

Kid:  Yeah, well, why don't you speed up?

Me:  Because that is a school zone.  The speed limit is posted at 20 mph so I will go 20 miles per hour.

Kid:  Are you fucking serious right now?

Me:  I'm pretty serious all of the time.  Do you want me to take you seriously?

Kid:  You'd better take me seriously!  I'll kick your old ass!

Me:  I would take you seriously if you used proper grammar, pulled your fucking pants up, wore a belt to keep them up and had the nuts to look me in the eye while I am talking to you.  You can't do any of that shit including kick my ass.  If I want any more shit out of you, I'll squeeze your head and finish the abortion the doctor gave up on the day you were born.

Maybe the kid was anti-abortion or he perceived this as a "Come to Jesus" meeting.  I don't know, but something convinced him that things were not going to go the way he thought they were.  At this point, he decided to disengage.

We both walked into the store.  The young man ended up in line in front of me.  As he stepped up to the clerk, the clerk asked, "How are you today?".  The kid answered, "I am late for school."

 It was at that very moment that I realized I had just stumbled upon my life's calling.  "Brice Dudley-Life Coach"  Open for business, any time.

The Intercom:

When I graduated high school, I was unsure of where I was going and what I was going to do.  Kind of like now, but I knew that I needed a better job.  So like any good minion, I went off in search of a better job that would allow me to make more money and pay more taxes.

I found one such job working in a warehouse.  I liked everything about the job.  Even the hiring process was a hoot.  I walked in, asked for an application and was instead waltzed into one of the bosses offices for an interview.

The man behind the desk was dressed business casual and said, "We're looking for an FNG who can do anything."  Then he asked, "Are you in?"  I looked at the man.  "I don't know what an FNG is sir, but I am trainable, reliable and ready to go to work as soon as I get hired."  He said, "You don't know what an FNG is?"  I shook my head and said "No."

He stood up, held his hand out and said, "Then you'll be perfect for the job.  We start off at $6.00 an hour, the hours are from 8-5 with a paid lunch hour, weekends off and holiday pay.  Can I count on you?"  I stood up, shook his hand and said, "I'm your guy."  I had no clue what I was getting into.

He asked, "Can you start Monday?"  I replied, "I'll start now if you need me to."  "Nope" he said, "Monday is great.  Get here about 30 minutes early for paperwork and I'll show you what you are going to be doing."  I thanked him and rushed back to mom's house to give her the good news.

Mom was pretty excited.  $6.00 an hour was pretty good cabbage back in those days.  She asked "What are you going to be doing there?"  I said, "I'm not sure but I got hired into the FNG department."

Monday rolls around and I show up for work 30 minutes early like I was asked too.  I filled out some paperwork and the boss came and grabbed me and showed me around and introduced me as the "FNG".  Here I was thinking FNG was a department but as it turned out, it was a position.  I took me about another 10 minutes of walking around and being introduced to people that FNG stood for "Fucking New Guy".

Anyhow, the boss turns me over to this other guy.  He shakes my hand and asked me if I knew the alphabet.  Then he takes me to this storage facility that was nothing but shelves and miscellaneous boxes.  "Your first job is to take all of this stuff off of the shelves, clean the shelves and then alphabetize these boxes according to the business name or last name on the shipping label."  I said, "I'm on it" and got to work.

It took me an hour to get everything out of the room.  As I was cleaning the shelves, I noticed what appeared to be an intercom.  It was a little box with a toggle switch and a speaker.  I decided that I would leave space to get to the intercom, just in case anyone needed to get to it.

There I was, alphabetizing all of these boxes and trying to make sense of it all.  Every time I looked at the intercom device, I wondered how often the intercom was used.  Just about then, my boss walked in to check on me.  I asked him "Is there an intercom system here?"  "No" he said and then asked "Why?".  I said, "I don't know.  In case someone is looking for someone or something like that."  He shook his head and said, "No, we don't have anything like that.  Everyone seems to know where everyone else is.  If we need you or you need us, someone will come get you."  I felt that was a reasonable response and just went back to work.

The next day I was working in the shipping and receiving department.  I had a load of boxes on a cart that had to be taken to where I was working the previous day.  I dragged the cart down there and began to work the new packages into the system and pulling other boxes that needed to be re-shipped.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see that intercom device.  I walked over to it, pressed the toggle switch and the music that was playing throughout the warehouse stopped.  I panicked, said "shit" which was promptly broadcast throughout the building.  Yep, it was indeed an intercom.

I heard some laughter.  I heard some folks asking what the "S-bomb" was all about, and I somehow knew that I would be developing a relationship with my new found friend, the intercom.  The relationship started off slowly, just like most relationships do.  If I was in that part of the warehouse undetected, I would flip the switch and say something like "Good Morning too all of the folks in shipping and receiving."

This morphed into be disguising my voice and saying random things like, "Ethel Harris, blue line please... Ethel Harris, blue line."  Now, I got to thinking I was pretty funny.  #1.  I didn't know an Ethel Harris, but was pretty sure there wasn't a blue line or an Ethel Harris in the building.  #2.  Nobody knew where this stuff was coming from.

Pretty soon, I was saying something 2-3 times a day.  Random shit like, "Price check on register 4" or "Bob to the paint department please... Bob, paint department."  I couldn't believe that I was the only person that knew about this, so I kept it up.

It got to the point that I would spend my lunch hour near the intercom if I had no other business in that area of the warehouse.  I would broadcast things like radio station tag lines.  "92.3 KOMP" and "Clean up on isle 2.  Randy, bring a mop and a bucket."  The funny thing here was, there was a guy named Randy and he went off in a panic.  He walked up to the main office and asked if they were looking for him.

The secretary said, "No, were not looking for you."  Randy said, "Someone came on the intercom and said that there was a clean up on isle 2 or something, asked for me specifically and said to bring a mop."  The secretary said, "We don't have an intercom, we don't have an isle 2 and we don't have any kind of a clean up situation that would require you personally or a mop.  Go back to work."

It was then and only then that I knew I was in love with the intercom.  I couldn't spend enough time around her.  As I mentioned, I was spending my lunch hour with her when I could.  I even altered how I came into the building because of her.  I'd stop in and say something like "Red shirt, line 1' and then giggle my ass off when I heard people say, 'What in the fuck is a red shirt and where are the phones in this joint."

This shit went on for about a year and each time I did something, I thought it was funnier than the previous time.  Still, nobody was on to me and my work relationship with the intercom.  Everybody was talking about the intercom system, but nobody really knew it existed.  At some point, I had gone too far and shortly after some random broadcast, the bosses swept through the building as asked us all to attend an employee meeting during lunch.

Nobody had a clue as to what the meeting was about, but rumors where swirling around.  "They are going to fire us all and shut down" was one rumor.  "We've been bought out by another company and things are going to change' was another popular rumor.

Come lunch time, we all gathered in the front part of the warehouse, just outside of the offices.  The big boss, the guy who hired me thanked everyone for dropping what they were doing and taking the time to come listen to what needed to be said.  "Okay" he stated.  "Apparently there is an intercom device in this building that I didn't know anything about.  Someone keeps using the intercom device to page people to the front office, announce radio station call lines and make random bullshit statements.  I want everyone to know, I will find out who this person is.  I will also find out where the microphone is and I will have it dismantled."

He looked around the room at each of us with a stern look upon his face.  "If anyone wants to fess up now, go ahead.  If you would be more comfortable talking about this in private, please come see me in my office.  Nobody is going to be fired over this but I am sick and tired of wayward employees showing up to the office for a clean up on isle 2 or a price check on register 4.  Initially, I thought you people were all going nuts.  We can't hear this intercom in the offices and I thought you people were out of your minds.  Then I thought it was kind of funny and I'll admit that I do like a good joke.  But, enough is enough with the god damned intercom.  Someone please step forward.  Thank you for your time, and now get back to what you were doing."

I look around the room as people are disbursing and try to mimic the same expressions they had on their faces.  The boss seemed pretty serious.  If I didn't go confess, I would at least have to break up with the intercom.  I wasn't sure if I could do it.  So as I walked back to the department I was working in, another kid said, "Who is doing this?"  I said that I didn't know but was going to talk to the boss about it.

I turned around and walked up to the front of the building.  The boss was outside of the office, smoking a cigarette just outside the front door.  I walked up and said, "Hey, do you have a minute?"  He said, "For you FNG, I have all the time in the world.  What's up?"  He seemed calm, cool and collected... or maybe he was plotting something.. I didn't know.  I said, "I think I know something about the intercom situation."

He shook his head in disbelief.  "You're shitting me?' he said.  "No, I'm not sir.  I know something about the situation" I stated very matter of fact.  "I gave that talk and within 5 minutes we are going to put an end to this bullshit" he asked.  "Yes sir, I think we are.  Would you follow me to the back of the warehouse" I asked.  He slapped me between the shoulder blades and said, "Lead the way, young man" and off we went.

No talking at this point.  Just walking.  And everyone we encountered, looked at me like I was a dead man walking.  I pointed to a hallway on my left and we went around the corner.  I opened the door to the storage room and pointed to the intercom device.  "There it is" I said.  "How did you find it" he asked, then asked "When did you find it?"

"I found it on my first day here within an hour of being here.  The first task I took on was to straighten out this room and there it sat.  I asked one of the other bosses about an intercom and he said we didn't have one.  Curiosity got the better of me so I pressed the button one day.  The music quit, I said shit and it broadcast throughout the building."  He looked at me and then looked at the intercom.  He looked at me again and then at the intercom.

"This little thing goes throughout the building" he asks.  I said, "Yeah, I guess so."  He then asked, "Was it fun" as he cracked a big smile.  "Yeah, pretty much.  I apologize."  He shook my hand and thanked me for my honesty and helping him get to the bottom of the problem as fast as I did.  Then he said, "Can you do it again?"  I was kind of shocked.  The meeting seemed to be a pretty big deal and now he is asking me to do it again.  He nodded and pushed me towards the thing and said, ''Ask Bob Hartwell to do something... go ahead... do it!''  I pressed the button and in my big fake radio announcer voice said, "Bob Hartwell to automotive please, Bob Hartwell to automotive."

The boss cracked up.  "How do you come up with this shit?  It's hilarious!  Automotive???"  He busted up laughing for at least 2 minutes.  It was "knee slapping" laughter.  He thought this shit was the funniest stuff he had ever heard of.  Tears were rolling down his cheek.

He gained his composure and said, "Come with me.  We gotta go find Bob.  Do you think he is looking for the automotive department?" and he started laughing again.  He has his hand on my shoulder and just kept laughing.  We looked for Bob but couldn't find him, so we march into the office.  This dude was still laughing.

The boss points me to his office and we walk through the door.  I figured I was still going to get fired.  "You are a funny fucking guy!  Can we keep this shit a secret, just between you and me.  I want to do it too."  I smiled and said, "Yes sir.  Whatever you want to do.  I am good with any of it."  He said, "Tell nobody.  This needs to remain top secret.  Help me come up with a reason for me to be back there so I can do it."  I said, "You're the boss, sir.  You do whatever you want to do."  He thanked me, then threw me out of his office. 

"Get back to work.  Just you and me, right?  Nobody else knows." I nodded my head and opened the door to walk out.  Just as I tried to thank him for his time and being so lenient he said, "Do me a favor.  Go to the intercom and page Bob Hartwell again.  Tell him to come to the office.  This is going to be great." The boss followed me out of the office and took a seat in the reception area in order to hear the call.  About 2 minutes later, I said  "Bob Hartwell, to the office please... Bob, to the office."

I don't know if Bob ever made it to the office.  I do know that the boss used the intercom a couple of times himself and seemed to get a kick out of it.  For me, the fun of this prank was over.  It was kind of like your girlfriend in Jackson Hole.  You never really lose your girlfriend in Jackson Hole, you just lose your turn.  I'm sure the boss loved her as much as I did.

Laws & Wars:

I'd like to take a minute and thank our benevolent government for looking after us so well.  Out of all of the other bullshit happening in the world, I heard a comment on the "War on Drugs".  Everyone knows the war on drugs is for our protection right?  I mean, is that right?  I mean, it's what they want us to believe, right?

I found this interesting.  I thought the "War on Drugs" started during the Reagan era.  It actually began a few administrations before Reagan.  In fact, nearly every administration put their dukes up against one thing or another.  Prohibition... that worked so fucking good that liquor has been legal again for the last 80 years or so.

Before that though, you used to be able to get your opium from the old Sears and Roebucks catalog.  Congress decided to levy taxes on opium and morphine around 1890.  In 1909, one of our elected saints rallied the troops and they signed the Opium Exclusion Act.  It banned anyone from possessing, using or importing the stuff, but you could still use it if it were prescribed by a doctor.  (Are ya feeling better about things yet?)

In 1914, there was another act to further regulate and tax opiates.  The called it the Harrison Act and it decided all of these rules would now cover cocaine too.  And honestly, thank God they did! Imagine what would have happened if they wouldn't have stepped in, threw a tantrum and told us how the cow ate the cabbage!  Hell, we'd all be dead... or not, because most of us didn't use drugs then or now.

I mentioned prohibition.  In 1919, once again, our protectors stepped in to rid the plains of all evil and decided that alcohol, its manufacturing, its transportation, its sale and possession were all very much bad and we were too stupid to "just say no".  Maybe they were tired of the old west, good times, people trying to live a little.  I don't know, but that went on until the 30's and liquor has been a "gateway" drug ever since.  But, our protectors tax the shit out of it (in order to make some good money) these days and highly monitor the production, transportation and consumption (in order to make some more good money).  It's all good because Uncle Sam says so.  Helluva guy, ol' Unc!

Right after alcohol became "good" again, they got rid of weed.  Anything that looked like it, smelled like it or even sounded like it got shit canned in 1937 when the Marihuana Act (yeah, I spelled it right, according to them).  It didn't really criminalize the use or possession but there were some big ass fines if you got caught with it.  You see, you could have it, but they are going to fine you.  It was another great way for them to make some cash.  (Feeling better yet?  Yeah, me neither but hold on.)

Your boy Dick Nixon officially declared a war on drugs in 1971 or so when he said that drug abuse was "public enemy number 1".  (Seems like he left the government out of that assumption.)  Yeah, there was a Gallop poll in the late 60's that said 48% of Americans thought drugs were bad, uh-kay.
Dick came up with the DEA shortly afterwards and they were going to tackle drug importation!  Hip Hip Hooray!!!  Yeah, they had about 1500 agents and about a $75 million dollar budget which was some serious dough in those days.  Now there are over 5000 agents with a budget well over $2 billion dollars and they are flat handling business.... or not.

Well, I mean not.  The war still exists, our government has even given bad guys guns to shoot at the "good guys" on this side of the battle, people getting killed all over hell and back and heroin overdoses are at an all time high.  Yeah, they make some big ass busts keeping millions of dollars of that shit off the road but that is part of the plan for the cartels, see.  They send a certain percentage over just to get busted, because when the DEA pops a boner over there, they aren't watching whats happening over here.  It's kind of like that dumb little ball and the 3 cup trick that amuses kids so much or like the smoke and mirror bullshit they throw out for our consumption.  It's pretty cool.  (And by that I mean totally ineffective.)

Anyhow, around this time there was something else cooking.  Some guy who worked for Nixon said in a 1994 interview that the Nixon administration had 2 enemies.  "The anti-war left and black folks."  The guys name was Ehrlichman and he suggested in this interview that the "War on Drugs" had ulterior motives.  (I know.  I couldn't believe it either until I re-read my smoke and mirror comment above.)  But the thought was, if they heavily criminalized weed and herion, they could disrupt the hippies and the Black community.

1973 through 1977, things lightened up a little bit.  I think it was 11 states relaxed on some of the drug laws.  Jimmy Carter got elected on this premise and the Senate Judiciary Committee decided to decriminalize up to an ounce of weed.  Jimmy Carter?  Yup, his peanut growing ass was good with folks having a bit of weed.  Jimmy knew all you could ruin while you're high on weed was pizza and a few handfuls of peanuts and he had the market cornered on half of that shit.

Then your other boy Reagan stepped in, and with his wife, they gave CPR to nearly everything that Nixon worked so hard on to fuck up and "Just say no" became a thing.  Reagan, the DEA and who knows who else started incarcerating non-violent offenders by the hundreds.  (I'll have to research this, but isn't that about the time private for profit prisons started to become a thing?  Gotta make that money, dawg!)

This is also when "crack" became a thing.  That shit fucked up more families than Planned Parenthood.  Everybody was going to jail then.  Street violence shot up, literally, as this was the time that drive by shootings became an every day thing.  Man, people (especially black folks) were getting busted for "suspicion" of drug use and sale... no proof or anything, just a sneaky suspicion.  Doesn't that give you a Chris Matthews tickle down your leg?  Ah, me neither.

Anyhow, recently they have taken a different stance.  Probably because the government got implicated with the Fast and Furious thing.  Who knows.  The fight goes on though, and thank goodness.  I just can't imagine where we'd be if we didn't have the government telling us that drugs were bad.  Well, mom and dad told me that when I was a little kid, and they might have been right on that.  I suppose I tested that theory.  Unlike President Clinton, I did inhale and that might explain why I can't find my fucking car keys when they are in my hand...

I don't inhale anymore.  Not because the government says so.  Nope.  I've decided that I can't afford to get any dumber, so no more bong hits for Bubba.  That's a decision I made for me.  I don't care if you smoke up.  I don't think its wise but who am I to talk about wisdom with all of the other dumb shit I've done in my life.

Look.  I don't light buildings on fire.  Some folks do, but its not for me.  I don't drive my car into crowds of people, but some folks do.  I don't punch midgets... often... but I'm probably not the only person who does that.  I don't steal things.  I don't rob houses.  I don't mug little old ladies.  I don't do car jackings... well, I did that once.  It was prom.  My date actually did it and it cost me $30 extra bucks to have the tuxedo dry cleaned, but that's different.

So, I said all of that nonsense in order to get to this.  I also don't shoot guns into crowds of people.  Only .000009% of our population does that.  Why the number is that high I'll never guess, but if we are going to be real and have a discussion about this, we need to agree that it is one of the worst, most horrible, unthinkable acts that one could ever commit and that it doesn't happen very often.  That doesn't make it any better.  It's never okay when someone innocent loses their life at the hands of a maniac.

That brings me to this.  How do we legislate morality?  How do we teach someone the value of a human life?  How do we teach someone the worth of their own life?  We can tell people not to hurt or kill anyone until we can't talk, but it is not going to stop.  "So you mean we have to live with this?"  Yes, that's what I mean.  Life is ugly sometimes.  We have to understand that there are people out there who just don't give a shit and be thankful that it is not more prevalent.

On a lighter note, I'm still available for kids parties, weddings and religious revivals if anyone is interested.  Call my agent.

Love,
Bricey