A Merry Messy Christmas!

They say you can have too much of a good thing. I personally never understood that. I say “Everything in Excess! Moderation is for Monks!” How can there be such a thing as too much scotch? What about garlic? Who could ever honestly say that you can have too much garlic?

I guess the girl I took to senior prom could…and Lestat…but besides them….

Anyway, this holiday taught me the true definition of “too much of a good thing.” Families are good, right? Well I have four.

Four fucking families.

Actually more like six, but I only saw four of them this Christmas.

Here they are, in no particular order:

Red’s Parents and Siblings
My mother, stepfather, and siblings
My father, stepmother, aunts and uncles
Me, Red, and the cats

Here it is, the “KOTWF, Red, & Company Schedule For Manic Holiday Madness!”

Dec. 23rd : Faux Christmas Eve
7:00am Arrive at work, ready to fly through the day and have everything done so that I can be out of there and at my dad’s house by 4:00
12:00pm Realize that I’m completely fucked and will probably have to work late
4:30pm Raise the bar in the “Who Can String Together The Best Series Of Curse Words Contest” we have going at the office by using the phrases “Rat Piss Cancer Fuck,” “Grey-Turded,” and “Scat-Porn Watching” in the same sentence. Throw something and storm out of the office with a shout of “You can all burn in hell. Have a Merry Fucking Christmas!”
5:15pm Arrive at Dad’s an hour and fifteen minutes late, and three shots behind. Catch up in 5 minutes using flaming shots of 151.
5:20pm Borrow stepmother’s makeup pencil to draw singed eyebrows back on. Make mental note to blow out shots from now on.
5:45pm Finish applying burn cream, return to bar
8:00pm Stumble to table, gorge self on goose, sirloin, oyster stuffing, and scotch-cream. Drink a little more.
9:30pm Sit down to a calm family game of Trivial Pursuit.
11:00pm Stand up, shout obscenities, kick Trivial Pursuit board across room and go back into the bar to finish my Christmas Eve Vigil.

Dec. 24th : Real Christmas Eve; Faux Christmas Day

7:00am Open one eye, sit up, smack head into invisible, rum-induced wall of pain. Lurch towards coffee maker.
8:00am Finally realize where I am.
8:15am Red, Dad, Stepmom, Siblings all come into kitchen. They don’t look much better than me.
8:30am Open first bottle of champagne. Day is looking up.
8:45am Begin opening presents. Got a great power-tool set. Become excited about tools then realize that this proves I am getting old.
12:00pm Leave dad’s and go home.
12:30pm Arrive at home. Realize that I still have hours of wrapping to do. Open a bottle of champagne.
3:00pm Go to hospital to visit Grandmother who has pneumonia. Realize that being sick has not stopped her from being able to talk non-stop.
4:20pm Arrive at Mom’s house late for her annual Christmas Eve Party. Realize with horror that the party is dry.
5:00pm Remember the half bottle of rum in my trunk. Run out to my car giggling like Michael Jackson in a candy store.
8:00pm Off to Red’s parents. THEY HAVE RUM TOO!!!!
10:00pm Home again! Now I can start really drinking.
12:30am Red and I go to sleep.
1:00am Wake up to make sure that Santa has filled Red’s Stocking. Damn is it heavy!
2:00am Wake up again to make sure that the heavy stocking has not fallen from the mantle.
3:00am Ditto
4:00am Ditto
5:00am This is getting old. Decide to start a pot of coffee and open a bottle of Champagne, which brings us to:

Dec 25th : Christmas Day
5:30am Open another bottle of champagne
6:00am Start drinking coffee with rum, to save champagne for Red.
6:15am Start cooking eggs and bacon.
6:30am Wake Red up. Get bitched at for half an hour because I have the balls to wake her at 6:30 on Christmas morning. Hear her use the phrase “Jesus Fucking Christ” which strikes me as incredibly funny on this day in particular.
7:00am Finish breakfast. Open Stockings. Santa Brought Red, that’s right, another bottle of champagne!
8:00am Arrive at mom’s. Begin opening presents.
12:30pm Arrive at dad’s for presents with extended family.
2:30pm Arrive home. That champagne Santa brought is probably cold by now.
2:35pm Yup. It’s cold. It’s pretty damn good too.
4:00pm Arrive at Red’s parents for Christmas dinner and more presents.
5:00pm If I smoke all of these cigars that I got, I will immediately die of lung cancer. The only consolation is that I won’t have to wait for my liver to go first.
5:30pm Open huge poster of the Rat Pack. This makes me very happy for some reason.
6:00pm Eat still more stuff.
10:00pm Finally arrive home. Collapse in fetal position on living room floor. Refuse to be touched by anything citing “Yuletide Over-Stimulation” as my reason.
10:30pm Begin crying when I realize that I have to be at work at 7:00am the next day.

God Bless us, Everyone!

That's Not So Bad

Well, so far she has only found a problem with everything I've ever done. And I thought this audit would suck.

At least she brought lube...

Did I Mention That I'm Fucked?

Red's been out-of-commission with a particularly nasty case of the flu, so I've had plenty of time for introspection. While she lay on the couch moaning, drinking nasty-red-menthol-smelling-ass-tasting-heart-stopping-ball-crushing-flu-medicine-shit and watching 17 back-to-back episodes of Law and Order: The Early Years, I was staring at the wall in my office, railing silently against fate, fortune, and Pat Sajak, downloading every episode I could find of SNL Celebrity Jeopardy, and refusing to work. And here's why:

I don't know where to start!

I have a two day audit next week of EVERYTHING I have done for the last year. This auditor is going to dig through files, interview employees, read reports, wash behind my ears, and give me a really thorough prostate exam, without a reacharound. And this has me a little stressed out. You see, it's not like I haven't been doing my job for the last year, because I have. It's just that when it comes down to it, and you know someone has 16 hours to dig into every little detail, you just know they are going to find the "T" you didn't dot, the "Eyes" you didn't cross, and your secret stash of Forbidden Farm Girl Sex Acts (take that Google!).

So, now I'm scrambling around, trying to fit another year's worth of work into five days. How do I do it? Chex Mix, Ramen, Gin, Espresso, and a constant loop of that obnoxious song "He's Going the Distance" by Cake.

With any luck, I'll have a total breakdown and be committed before Monday.

The Service Sucks, But the Floor Show is Great!

“I know John Bobbit!”

This was how she introduced herself to me, as she stumbled from her place at the bar, lurching unsteadily toward my inner thigh.

“What?” I said.

“You know! John Bobbit. The Dick-Cut-Off-Guy.”

“Yes,” I said, “I know who John Wayne Bobbit is.”

“I don’t just know who he is, I know him!” she replied as her hand came to rest just a few inches from my wedding tackle. I glanced at Red, to make sure that she was not becoming angered at this woman’s unwarranted advances.

Red had her own problems. The hand that wasn’t digging its nails into my leg was massaging Red’s chest. Suddenly this was a more interesting conversation than I thought.

“How do you know John Bobbit?” I asked.

“They don’t believe me!” she shouted towards a couple of people sitting at the bar. Ah yes, the wonderful logic of tequila shots was working its magic on her already fragile brain. “I’m from West Palm Beach. Do you believe me?”

“Of course I do. How did you meet him?”

“After his wife or girlfriend or whatever did the choppity-chop on his Johnson, he got that prosthetic, or extender or whatever.”

“I thought he just had it stitched back on, I didn’t think it was prosthetic.”

“What the fuck do you know?” she snapped, “Anyway, he had his dingus stapled back on and then the first place he ever showed off his frankencock was at a strip club that my friend owns in West Palm Beach. I don’t know what’s so special about it though. He can’t even get hard now! Did I tell you I’m from West Palm Beach?”

“No.” I said solemnly.

Red couldn’t take it anymore and began laughing so hard that she couldn’t breath. She actually began to squeak as she struggled for air, and her face began to turn purple. That’s when the drunk began yelling, “Help! Help! She can’t breath! She’s having a heart attack. Somebody come do CPR! Somebody call 911. I’ll give her boyfriend mouth-to-mouth!”

This didn’t help Red. She began squeaking and laughing so hard that she fell out of her chair. That’s when people starting thinking that maybe she really did need CPR. The fact that I was laughing at her only made me look like a callous asshole (which I am) and it took quite a bit of reassuring through my guffaws to stop the bartender from calling an ambulance.

I finally managed pry her hand off of my thigh, and she lumbered off toward the bar to fetch another cocktail. On the way, she coughed so hard that she almost fell over, and righted herself only by grabbing the arm of a passing man and pulling herself up. In the process, she knocked him from his feet. She also spun around and landed back in Red’s lap, where she proceeded to use both hands and Red’s chest to bring herself back to full-upright. This started another laughing fit that nearly ended with the paramedics.

She talked about John Wayne Bobbit for about ten more minutes, but didn’t say anything new. Finally, she put her cigarette out in my martini, pulled the Christmas tree in the lobby over on herself, and left the building.

God I love my town.

Where Do I Come Up With This Shit?

Some guys at work were talking about a new Riding Mower that someone bought. As I walked by, I heard one guy say, "He Paid $8,000 for that thing." Another guy said, "Shit! How big is it? Does it have a bunch of attachments and extras and stuff?"

That's when I walked by and said, "If it doesn't make you a fucking cup of coffee and jerk you off, it ain't worth $8,000."

So Where've I Been Lately?

From the local Argus:

Local Man Sentenced in Bizarre Trial

Ohio: Trent Elliott, otherwise known as the "Flanders Pigeon Murderer," "KOTWF," and "Oh God Here He Comes," was found guilty today on charges of public lewdness, attempted suicide by scotch consumption, wantonly performing "Johnny B. Goode" and "Zuit Suit Riot" at shady karaoke bars, and endangering countless innocent marriages through his astounding good looks and charm.

Counsel for Mr. Elliott responded to the trial results: "Well, we fought the good fight, and we tried to get a fair trial for the KOTWF. Things probably would have gone better if we could have restrained him from bringing his hip-flask to the trial. And I don't think his constant winking at the Judge's wife helped. In the end, though, justice won out. I mean, let's face it, the little S.O.B. is guilty as sin!"

We managed to speak with Mr. Elliott for a few moments before the sentencing, and he had this to say: "I gotsa lotsa reasons t'be *$^#*ing &*^$ed off! Who th' %$&# do those #$%holes think I am? It wasn'nt 'tempted sewerside, I kin drink ten times asmuch scotch. Hand me tha' bawdle!"

The sentence that Mr. Elliott now faces is 50 lashes from a supermodel's tongue. When asked for comment on Mr. Elliott's sentence, Warden Claudia Schiffer said this: "Us girls are really excited about being able to bring someone like that to justice. We'll give him exactly what he deserves. In fact, I've already promised to extend his sentence for good behavior."

Ms. Schiffer went on to explain that the sentence would also be extended for naughty behavior, or "if the rumors are true."

Mr. Elliott has received a work release, and will be serving his sentence for two hours per night, over the next 50 nights.

Where Did That Come From?

Last night, I dreamed that I was on another planet, and I was learning about the alien race that lived there. I learned about their society, their way of life, and their physical and mental capabilities. All of this was run of the mill alien stuff.

Then I started to study their religion.

They were polytheistic, with a different god for everything. They had gods of the harvest, gods of war, gods of fertility, etc. All of these were no different than you'd expect to read in any book of Roman, Greek, or Norse Myths. But they had an "All Father" god. This was the god of gods, and he lived with god of the sun, inside the star that this planet orbited. If they behaved and lived their lives morally, then when they died, the All Father would let them "come on down" to paradise.

The All Father God, living inside their sun, was Rod Roddy.

I'm Still Not Funny

I was in Chicago's Midway Airport this week, on my way home from Saint Louis, and as I was walking through the terminal, I saw something that I just had to mention to my traveling companion.

"Look!" I said, "A nun! In an airport! Do you know what that makes her?"

He didn't even laugh....

Anyway, I saw some cool shit in Saint Louis (believe me, this is a feat. There is NOTHING in Saint Louis), which I will tell you about later.

Love to the kids,
KOTWF

Victorious!

Red and I just got back from a costume party. She and I won the "Most Original" category. Neither of us had a costume that was very original on it's own, but together we were great.

You see, Red went as the tiger, and I was Roy...

Poetry

This morning, I actually had to scrape the ice off of my car windows. In honor of the coming onslaught of winter, I'm posting a poem I wrote for Red last December, a few weeks before she moved in with me.

Snow Dream

I wake up in the morning,
To a blanched landscape of crystalline shards,
To a dreamscape of frozen wonder.
The trees bear their burden, groaning with the added weight,
As I slog through the waste to my inhumed car.

I wait for the ice to turn to water and run down my windshield,
And wish that she were here.
She’d be beautiful right now,
Her blue eyes flashing from beneath her toboggan,
Bits of water in a world of ice.
Her hair would dance across her shoulders as she ducked and dodged,
A slushball held tight in her mittened hand while she sought her target.
SMACK!
Cold water runs down my collar as I turn to stare at her.
She screams and we tumble head over heels into a snow bank
Where we land, arm in arm, lip to lip
And somehow,
We aren’t cold.

After an eternity that seems like minutes,
The cold has finally permeated our nest enough to freeze our toes.
“Let’s go home,” I say.
Inside, the smells of hot cocoa and woodsmoke fill the air,
Points of light glow off our coniferous houseguest,
And Bing fills our ears with a song about the first snowfall of the winter.
We strip our shoes and socks and sit before the fire,
Content to just hold hands and sip.

I can see out the windows of my car.
I slip into gear and begin the long, treacherous, snowy journey to work.

M I A

Sorry I've been a little out of touch lately. I've been having a few minor problems.

You see, it all started with my spleen. I've been drinking a lot lately, and I was beginning to feel bad for my liver. Trooper that he is, he never complained once, but nonetheless I felt like maybe it was time for some of those worthless vestigial organs to take up the slack. Because I had my appendix removed in a freak yachting accident a few years back, and because Red still hasn't convinced me that my brain is vestigial, it fell to my spleen.

A few shots of Bombay Sapphire later, my spleen started to be a real dick. He hadn't been exposed to ethanol before, and, quite frankly, he's a sloppy drunk. One minute, he's got delusions of grandeur about how important he is now that he processes the liquor, the next minute he's vomiting bile everywhere and ruining my shoes.

So I had him removed. "Goodbye Mr. Spleen! You lazy, good-for-nothing freeloader!"

Then it dawned on me! I hate dieting, but I need to lose about 10 pounds. I figured, "Hey! I could probably lose ten pounds of organ meat and not even miss it!" This was the best idea I'd ever had. I spent the next 3 days lying in a hospital bed having portions of my organs removed so I could get back down to my fighting weight. It wasn't until the infection set in that I realized something: organs aren't just dead weight. Do you have any idea what your spleen does? It filters out foreign organisms that infect your blood, removes your old or damaged platelets and red blood cells, stores extra blood and releases it as needed, and forms some types of white blood cells. And that's just your spleen! I mean, imagine how much some other organ like your heart or your stomach or your green squiggly thing does!

There was only one thing for it. I had to call up all those nice people that were using my organs and get them back. That wasn't too tough though, because the doctor said that my organs were in such a sad shape that they just threw them in the dumpster out back anyway.

Anyway, I've spent the last few days working double-overtime to try and cover my hospital bill, and sucking up to all my organs and apologizing for being so mean to them.

Now each of them gets a turn as the liver once a month.

And that's why I haven't been posting lately.

Wedding Day

Saturday was a turning point in my life. I woke up, threw down a few cocktails, and put on a tux. I then stood in front of many friends and family members as a beautiful woman dressed all in white walked down the aisle towards me. I stood there silently, sweating, as she said her vows. I smiled at her, then my friend said his vows and we all went to the reception.

The groom’s younger brother, Bill, was the Best Man, but I was assigned to give the Best Man’s Speech, so when the DJ announced, “And now our Best Man, KOTWF, would like to give a toast” I felt like I had to say something to make Bill feel better. The speech went like this:

Thank you, Jeff, although, just like at that nudist wedding I attended last week, I’m an inch away from being best man.

I’d like to start by making a brief announcement: I just saved 15% on car insurance!

When I was asked to give this speech tonight, I was honored. You see, I’ve known John for 24 years. I was there in fourth grade when he kissed his first girlfriend. I was there a few weeks later when she broke up with him using that classic line: “You look like a big red apple.” I was there the night he left for Army Boot Camp (My body was there anyway. My mind was at the bottom of a bottle of scotch). And I was there the night that John and Trisha met. In fact, I had been friends with Trisha for a number of years at that point as well, and I introduced the two, so, in a since, I’m the reason you are all here tonight.

In all those years, I’ve taken care of John. Even when we were babies, I had to show him which part of his mother was serving the drinks. I’ve given him countless hours of advice (which he hasn’t followed). And I can’t even count how many times I’ve bailed him out of—never mind.

The point is this: I am glad that John found Trisha, because I think that Trisha is the only person in the world who is beautiful enough, smart enough, and understanding enough to replace me. At this time, I’d like to officially retire from my position as John’s babysitter, and hand the title over to his beautiful, soon to be overworked, bride.

Trisha: Through the years, John has placed me in many awkward positions, but each one has been an exciting experience, and each one has helped strengthen our friendship. In the future, may you and John find yourselves in many enjoyable positions.

John: What can I say? I love you like the brother I never had (Shut-up, Tanner, you were adopted!). May your new life bring you happiness and joy. From now on, I promise that whenever I’m out, I’ll have a hooker for you.

Ladies and Gentlemen: To John and Trisha, and the amazing future that awaits them! (Drinks entire glass, heads straight to bar to refill it)

I think it went pretty well…

My Dog Is Dead!

You know that scene in The Man Who Knew Too Little where Bill Murray is trying to figure out how actors can make themselves cry on cue? And he says “What do you do? Do you poke yourself in the eye like this? Or do you think something really sad like ‘My dog is dead!’?” Then he proceeds to poke himself in the eye repeatedly and scream “My dog is dead!” over and over and over again until he finally stops and says, “Nope, nothing.”

You know that scene?

Well it’s kind of like that, but not as funny.

My dog, Acacia, had to be put to sleep Tuesday evening.

She was a Chow-Shepherd mix, which made her an extremely loyal, very protective, surprisingly gentle, overly stubborn, quite pretty, fuzzy German Shepherd with a black-spotted tongue.

She left hair everywhere, scared away the paper-boy, ate entire plates of steak off the counter when you weren’t looking, and woke you up at 5:00am to go out and pee. She was arthritic, had started to lose control of her bladder, and was horribly loud whenever anyone came to the door.

And these were her good qualities.*

Fucking dog.

She will be missed.

*Actually, she was one of the best pets. Ever. She would protect my baby brother from anyone and anything. She would follow you loyally wherever you went and wait patiently outside until you came out, no matter how long it took. She would let you rest your head on her and use her as a pillow. She never complained about anything. She was smart enough that she could understand and respond to human speech. And she was more a part of the family than my sister, who still doesn’t know she was adopted from a Vietnamese crack-whore that used to do this great act where she got DP’ed by two live donkeys. We love and miss you, Acacia.

Don’t You Hate That

You know, when you have a great dream in which you see something, or experience something, or go somewhere, and you think, “Damn that’s cool!” Then, when you wake up in the middle of the night you realize that whatever you dreamed about doesn’t exist, but it is so cool that you think, “Hey! If I build it, then it will exist and it would be so cool that I know it would succeed and make mad cash!”

And so you lie awake from 2:30 to 5:00 on the living room floor (that’s where you passed out last night) thinking through the whole thing, how it will work, how to build it, how to market it, etc. Finally, you get to sleep and tell yourself that you will put some more finishing touches on it in the morning, maybe draw a schematic of it, write up a projected earnings statement, and start your business plan.

6:45 rolls around, and you crawl through the painful mist in your head and begin to get ready for work. As the aspirin and the hair-of-the-dog take effect, you have a sudden, startling realization: You wasted two and a half hours of sleep last night. That was the stupidest fucking idea in the world.

What do you mean that never happens to you?

Hell Week

A haiku about my week:

Customer Complaints
For five days now without pause
Dirty Martini

A Bona-Fide Film Review!

My friend John came over to visit Red and I the other night. He walked into the apartment, sidled up to the bar, and quickly poured himself a tall scotch, which he downed. As he poured another, he said, “Help yourself. You’re going to need a drink.”

I found this odd, as it is my bar, but John is not one to question when he is visibly shaken, so I simply muttered, “Thanks,” and filled my glass. “What’s up?” I asked, dreading the answer like a 16 year old virgin dreads prom-night.

“This,” he said as he slid a DVD across the bar.

I glanced down, fearful that I was, once again, about to be exposed to homosexual otter porn. I was pleasantly surprised, however, when the cover of the DVD did not reveal photographs of colossal and hirsute members, but was flat black with a title written in white letters.

Rejected

I put it in, pressed play, and the following words flashed across my screen:

In the spring of 1999, the Family Learning Channel commissioned animator Don Hertzfeldt to produce promotional segments for their network. The cartoons were completed in five weeks. The Family Learning Channel rejected all of them upon review, and they were never aired...

Then I found myself face to face with a cute little guy, unblinkingly holding a spoon twice his size and standing in front of a very small bowl of something. Just as I started to think, "Poor guy, his spoon is too big!” he announced to the world at large, “My spoon is too big!”

I took a drink of scotch.

After a giant banana walked on-screen and, just to make sure I knew, said “I am a banana!” I finished my glass and had to pause the film in order to get a refill.

Just to recap, we’re now 30 seconds into the film and I am halfway to getting sauced simply through drinking as a means of escape and self-preservation. I imagine that the urge to drink generated by this cartoon is strong enough that, if I had been unlucky enough to be holding a bottle of liquid Drain-o when the film started, I would not be with you here today.

I don’t want to ruin the cartoon for you, gentle reader, so I will stop telling you anything more about the, for lack of a better word, plot and simply give you the statistics that I calculated upon the films completion:

Running time: Less than 10 minutes
Number of laughs: 97
Number of wide-eyed stares where I had no idea how to react: 4,230,911
Volume of scotch consumed while viewing: 32 oz.
Number of times I laughed so hard that scotch came out my nose: 1 (once is enough)
Number of times I have repeated lines from the film since I saw it Monday night: 208
Number of times Red has said “Quit saying that” after I’ve repeated a line: 207
Number of times I have looked at her like she had maggots crawling out of her eyeballs and said the line again: 1 (once is enough on this one, too)
Number of times I have watched the film since the original viewing: 4
Number of times I have pleasured myself while watching the film: 0
What you should do RIGHT NOW: Go buy it, rent it, borrow it, steal it, anything you have to in order to watch it. NOW!

I am a consumer whore.

You Know That Feeling?

The one where you feel like you have no control over anything? Yeah, that one. I'm like that all the time. Yet another day at work where I don't get anything I need to do done, and instead I spend my entire day trying to fix other people's fuck-ups.

At least I had a couple of minutes to have lunch with Oarah, who just started a blog. Check it out. It's bloggy.

Now, gentle reader, let's get back on subject. I--oh Jesus! What now. Don't do that. Put that down. Shit. Back to work.

Isaiah 57:21

Update: Finally got around to it. Added both Oarah and Keith to my sidebar. Enjoy.

So Where Have I Been?

Truth be told, gentle reader, I have spent the last week on a faith journey. I have traveled the inner recesses of my soul in an attempt to discover the TRUTH. I stand before you today a changed man. No longer am I an infamous (note the dripping sarcasm on that word), agnostic internet personality, I am now a man of God.

These websites will help you understand my new dogma:

I believe that alien abductions can be prevented by oscillating fans, crow bars, and salt.

I believe that Jesus Christ has tried to return to us, riding in a UFO, and the government has covered it up to avoid the destruction of capitalism.

I believe that invisible CIA agents are the #1 cause of car accidents

I believe the lesbian mafia is bent on taking over the government.

I believe that the moon is populated by hundreds of Friedrich Nietzsches.

I believe I am a god with amnesia who is currently suffering a migraine because according to the ancient religion of the Mayans I am shifting from 2 stranded DNA to 12 stranded DNA.

I believe that mankind's selfishness is killing off the last living dinosaurs: Amazing Prehistoric Dogs! (They're practically invisible!)

I believe exorcisms can be performed with nothing but a "no demon allowed" graphic.

I believe that if I help this guy he'll give me a free ring that will make me immortal.

I believe children are the future.

I believe that many of the people on the internet belong here...

I've Been A Bad Boy

But the warden says he'll let me have a whole hour of internet access tomorrow! See you then.

Oldie But Goody

In honor of Talk Like A Pirate Day, I give you the best pirate joke, ever:

I was sitting in a bar last night, drinking my Captain Morgan on the rocks, when an old man walked in. Well, walked is a bad description. He more like hobbled in. He sat down and I began to look him over.

His hobble was caused by the fact that his right leg was in fact made out of a wooden peg. He ordered a drink and had to clasp it in his left hand, because his right had been replaced with a steel hook, and he looked around the room with his one eye, the other having been covered with a black patch bearing a skull and cross bones.

I had to ask, "Excuse me, sir. Sorry to bother you, but, well, are you a pirate?"

"Aye!" he responded, "That I be."

"You mean 'Yes I am'," I said, "Nevermind. If you don't mind my asking, how did you lose your leg?"

"Well, lad," he snarled, "I was on me ship, the Saucy Sue when I was tossed inta Davie Jones's Locker by a wave. A'fore I could even make it back aboard, this great beast come out of the deep and had me leg fer dinner. Aye!"

"Wow," I said, "And how did you lose your hand?"

"Aah," he replied, "I was so angry at losin' me leg, that I spent a year searchin' fer the beast what done it. I got 'im, too. But when me crew pulled him aboard ship, he freed himself and with one snap of his mighty jaws he had me hand ta foller me leg. Aye."

"Jeez! One last question. What happened to your eye?"

"You see lad," he smiled, "I was in the crows nest watchin' the horizon, when a great seagull flew by and took a shite. I got a great heap o' seagull shite right in me eye."

"And the seagull shit blinded you?" I asked incredulously.

"Well," he said sheepishly as he looked around the bar, "it was me first day with the hook."

I'm Still Really Broken Up

I still can't believe he's really gone*. His music has touched so many for so long, that, when he passed away, I wasn't sure what I was going to do.

Then I found it.

The Wesley Willis Song Generator (Scroll to the bottom). Now his powerful music and lyrics can live on even though he's dead. Here's a little song he wrote posthumously for me.

KOTWF
by Wesley Willis

KOTWF is excellent.
You can really jam harder like a magicist.
I like KOTWF a lot.
KOTWF is excellent.

KOTWF!!!
KOTWF!!!
KOTWF!!!
KOTWF!!!

You really whoop the horse's ass.
You are a kick-ass star.
KOTWF is excellent.
You are the kick-ass king.

KOTWF!!!
KOTWF!!!
KOTWF!!!
KOTWF!!!

KOTWF really whoops a camel's ass.
KOTWF really whoops a camel's ass.
You can really rock your ass off.
You really whoop the horse's ass.

Rock over London,
Rock on Chicago.

Carquest - you're welcome.

*Yes, I am also sad that Johnny Cash died, but that's not nearly as funny.

Mourning

Can't believe the news today. I could close my eyes and make it go away.

Johnny Cash, Dead at 71.

John Ritter, Dead at 54.

They will be missed.

Would it be in bad taste to play "Ring of Fire" at the memorial service?

Math Sux

I spent all day today tracking down 1 (one) little mathematically glitch in an Excel spreadsheet. Well actually, it was one (1) little mathematically glitch in 4 (four) Excel spreadsheets. And each spreadsheet contains approximately (carry the two(2)) 8000 (eight-thousand) individual pieces of information for a whopping total of 32,000 (thirty-two-thousand) pieces of data that had to be compared and contrasted across four (4) worksheets to try and find one (I) little error.

Nine (IX) hours later, I have honed in on the issue, but I still have not actually discovered the glitch itself. The prospect of spending tomorrow in much the same vein as today leads me to ask the eternal question:

"Who's going to miss 368 tons (seven-hundred-thirty-six-thousand pounds) of material anyway?"

My Boss

I share an office with my boss.

My boss is a 64 year old man whose mind climbed on a bus back in 1967 and only occasionally sends postcards with witty phrases on them like "The Weather is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful" and "Having a Great Time in Amsterdam. Signed, Your Brain on Drugs."

My boss thinks that I am the best thing since sliced bread, but also thinks that sliced bread was invented last Thursday.

My boss is slightly senile, but thinks he is the wittiest person this side of the Mason-Dixon line.

My boss feels that it is his duty to impart all of his knowledge to me before he retires next year.

My boss is soft-spoken and mumbles, but still imparts his knowledge to me in the form of a rambling story whenever the mood strikes him regardless of how busy I seem to be. In fact, I have been working my ass off nonstop for 8 hours now, and he has been flapping his ancient jowls nonstop for just as long. The worst part is that his stories are at least partially audience participation so I have to lend half an ear to him the whole time that he talks so that I know what he is saying.

My boss has caused me to get approximately 1/4 of the work done today that I should have.

My boss has me hotter than a freshly fucked fox in a forest fire right now.

My boss is still talking while I type this.

My boss won't shut up.

An Email Conversation With a Concerned Elitist

From: A Friend
To: KOTWF
Sent: Monday, September 08, 2003 3:47 PM
Subject: Fucking Coworkers

People are just a bunch of freaks. I swear 80% of the population should be shipped out of this country.

Starting with the idiots I work with.

From: KOTWF
To: A Friend
Sent: Monday, September 08, 2003 3:56 PM
Subject: Re: Fucking Coworkers

I couldn't agree with you more.

You know, it used to be that stupidity was a capital crime, and the sentence was self-imposed. Stupid people just died. It was the way of things.

Along comes modern society with its ludicrous ideas like "helping the weak and stupid," and "Everyone has a right to breed like fucking rabbits whether they can afford to or not" and "High infant mortality rates are bad," and the next thing you know humans are getting progressively stupidyer and dummmer.

Eye thinc dumm peepel shood be shaught.

Pea Impersonators Revealed
From the Spit-In-The-Bucket, Tennessee Post

The world of axioms was dealt a near fatal blow Monday when Jebediah Smith, a local farmer, began harvesting his crop.

“I thought something was awful funny when I noticed that there pea plant was being pulled all the way down to the dirt. I picked the pod and had to get my boy Jeremiah and my girl Jemima to come help me lift it into the wagon. I cut it open and found this!” Smith said as he gestured proudly toward a cantaloupe sitting on the trailer behind his John Deere.

Further investigation revealed that in addition to the melon, the pod also contained a caper, a cashew, three very little pigs, and only one lonesome snow pea. This reporter has no choice but to conclude that, whatever the world may bring, things in a pod will never be the same, or similar, again.

When asked to comment on the sweeping changes that his bizarre find is going to have on the world of trite phrases, Smith had this to say, “It don’t bother me. I avoid cliches like the plague.”

But the real question in this, as in all of life's experiences, is, has Smith learned anything from his strange experience? “Yeah! Next year, I’m planting corn.”

Finally Got Off My Ass

You may notice a couple new links over on the sidebar. Something Awful and Nature's Milk. These are both sites that I have been enjoying regularly for some time now, but I've been too lazy to make the change to my template.

Punctuality ain't my strong suit.

What Am I Supposed to Fantasize About Now?

When asked if her clean Mouseketeers image had been changed by the kiss Spears told CNN, “I think I’m still clean living. I mean I don’t go home and have orgies or anything like that.”

Thanks for the link, Frank.

By the way, the picture accompanying the article is a GREAT stillshot.

Call an Exorcist!

It was my friend John's bachelor party this weekend. We did typical bachelor party stuff, you know, steak, beer, whiskey, naked girls pressing their gyrating hips in your general direction as you try to keep your eyes, mouth, and cocktail out of crab-jumping-range. In any event, we finally found ourselves sobering up at a 24 hour greasy spoon called the Mountaineer Family Restaurant. While we were enjoying our burnt eggs and cold coffee, a thickly accented and somewhat twangy voice called out, "I just ate a whole pack of Rolaids, you think I'm gonna be okay?"

We, of course, ignored the voice. Certainly the strange, slightly hypochondriacal question was not be directed at us. Again, "Hey! I said I just ate a whole pack of Rolaids, you think I'm gonna be okay?" We turn slowly and see, at the next table, a HUGE blonde, quite intoxicated, staring right at us with a quizzical look on her face. "Uhm," says my friend, "I think you'll probably be fine."

"You sure," she says, "I ate a whole roll, like, twelve or somethin'."

"Yes, you may be a little dehydrated, though. I'd drink plenty of water. Maybe even some Gatorade."

"Are you a doctor?" She asked.

"No!" I suddenly chirp up, "But he did stay in a Holiday Inn Express last night!" I'm always eager to use that joke. Everyone started laughing but her.

"Oh," She says, "So where are you from?"

"Oh, I'm from in town." my friend says.

She turned to me suddenly, "Why the fuck did you lie to me, you asshole?"

"I didn't lie. It was a joke."

"Well I didn't think is was very fucking funny, lying to me like that. You see that guy over there?" she asked, "He was making fun of me when I first walked in. He said that he would whip out his dick and show it to me, but that he couldn't take me home because his car said "fat hos don't go" so I said to him that I didn't think that I was fat but even if I was, baby fat is where it's at. And he couldn't handle a night with me. One night with Mama would kill him. He'd wake up in the morning and say, 'what the hell happened last night' and I'd say 'you were with Mama, bitch!' That's what I'd say." Then, as if nothing worse could happen, she turned to the "bitch" in question and said, while gesturing at us, "hey, asshole, you can say all you want now, my friends are here and they'll kick your fucking ass out in the parking lot, so you just talk all you want, my body guards will take care of you!"

"Fuck" I said. "We're all going to die."

Then, she says, "Well, I gotta go home to my boyfriend. God I hate that son of a bitch. We've been together eight years, he's the father of my children, and if we were married I'd have to divorce him cause I hate him."

"But you still live with him," I said.

"Yeah," she said, "Gotta have somebody to watch the kids while I'm out drinking. Well, I gotta get home to my kids."

"It's probably almost their bedtime, isn't it?" I asked, dripping sarcasm.

"What time is it?"

"4:00 am"

"Yeah, it's almost their bedtime."

"How old are they?"

"One's Six months and one's two years old."

"Give them a kiss goodnight for me," I said.

Yes, she really did talk like that. And yes, I love my town.

Dirty Limerick Time!!!

A County Cork Barmaid, it’s true,
Was fond of selling her brew,
But along with the ale,
She sold her wee tail,
And was known as the County Cork Screw.

Pierre is a horny young guy,
For he stands but two feet high,
With lust he’s berserk,
‘Cause when he walks to work,
He looks up as women walk by.

In the Style of Rudyard Kipling:

Young Mowgli came in from the heat,
“Baloo, what does that tiger eat?”
“Antelope and Caribou,
What’s it matter to you?”
“I’m horny and hoped he ate meat.”

Bilingual:

The maids said, “We hoped you enjoyed us,
When you deigned that you should exploit us.”
I Said, “When was this?”
They said, with a kiss,
“Five minutes ago, In Coitus.”

In the Style of Edgar Allen Poe:

‘Twas many and many a year ago,
That a maiden lived, and she could blow,
She went down on a cock,
As hard as a rock,
But, hey, rigor mortis, you know?

Let’s hear yours! The official KOTWF limerick competition has begun.

Idea for a New Porn Movie

I came up with a great title for a porn movie today: The Sorcerer's Appendage.

But, when I google searched it to find out if it was indeed original, I came across something even more disturbing:

Harriet Hotter and the Sorcerer's Bone

I Can't Make This Shit Up

I went to lunch with Arlos today. We were sitting having the same conversation that we always have (Work, Paintball, Red, Internet Porn) when what to my wondering eye's should appear but this young lady, drinking a beer. (Don't Click Link If At Work!!!!)

If I'm involved, she's going to need a wide-angle webcam.

Mourning

This is truly a sad day. Wesley Willis has died. I personally have been listening to "I Whooped Batman's Ass" all morning. I think you all should do the same.

Tattoos

While I was in New Orleans, I bumped into Harry Anderson at his magic shop in the Quarter. I ended up talking to him for about a half hour. One thing I noticed was that he had a tattoo of Jack the Pumpkin King from Nightmare Before Christmas on his left forearm. The following conversation ensued:

Me: This is a neat place.
Harry: Thank you.
Me: Wow, that's a great portrait of you and Harvey.
Harry: Thanks. I like it. I had it done right after the film came out in 1996.
Me: So, Harry, do you like Nightmare Before Christmas?
Harry: No.

Dead Silence for about twenty seconds.

Harry: I lost a bet with my Godson.
Me: That's a Hell of a bet.
Harry: You're telling me.

Survival of the Drunkest

Well, I'm at work and it's Monday morning. I take it that this means I made it back from The Big Easy alive and well.

Alive anyway.

Right now I'm catching up my work and overcoming my hangover while I think back on my recent Crescent City bender and try to remember what the hell I did and why I now have a reverse mohawk and a tattoo on my forehead that says "Doug."

I promise to tell you all the stories as soon as I get the chance. To get you in the mood, while I go clean the vomit off my shoes, I'd like you to all memorize this list of New Orleans nicknames.

Big Easy, Crescent City, Mardi Gras City, America's Most Interesting City, The City That Care Forgot, Parade City USA, City of the Southern Pride, Super Bowl City, City of Saints and Sinners, Sportsman Paradise, The Spice of Life City, Southern Comfort, City of Mystery, City of the Chefs, America's European Masterpiece, Home of Dixieland Jazz, Gator Town, City of Festivals, America's Favorite City, Saint City, New Orleans: Open all Night, NOLA, Sin City, Queen City of the South, Cradle of Jazz, Birthplace of Jazz.

There will be a test.

Guilt

I just couldn't skip town and leave you all high and dry, so I decided to come up with an activity!

Fishfucker needs your help. Go read this post to figure out what the issue is, then write your letters.

See you all next week. Until then, I'll be drunk on love (provided, of course, that love is a new brand of whisky).

This Just In!!!

Apparently, I'm not posting this week.

I'll post next week to let my tens of readers know how much fun I had without them in New Orleans.

A Sordid Affair

Last Thursday night, I came home to a stranger. Sitting at the kitchen table, drinking my gin, was the most beautiful redhead I've ever seen. She was about 5'5", with curves in places where most girls don't even have places. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't really get past the lowcut dress and my good luck. "Hello," I said.

"Hello," she responded, then stood up and melted into me. We stumbled to the bedroom and experienced the most impassioned 2 1/2 minutes of our lives. Afterwards, I thanked her and then said "You'd best leave. The Blondage will be home any minute, and I don't know what she'd do if she found you here."

She sat bolt upright in the bed and said, "What?"

"My girlfriend will be home any minute, and she is not very understanding of this sort of thing. She can kill a man at 10 paces with one lash of her tongue! She makes toast by breathing fire on it! Last time I fooled around on her, the other woman accidentally tragically cut off her own head while brushing her hair! You do not want to be here when she gets home."

"Who the fuck do you think I am?" she said. And that's when I realized why she looked so familiar.

"The Blondage" is now "Red," and I'm in trouble for cheating with my own girlfriend. Life is not fair.

Tragedy Has Struck!!

I learned today that Penthouse Magazine has filed for chapter 11 bankruptcy. They have promised to continue publishing this magnficent mag during their restructuring, but I'd like to do a little something to help them along. That being said, I am holding a contest* to see who can come up with the best advertising slogan to help Penthouse get back on their back, so to speak. Here's my contribution:

"Come one, come all!"

Show me what you've got.

*The kind of contest where, if you win, you get a pat on the back or something.

Complaint Department

Dear Sir,

I visited your so-called “club” last evening, and, after much deliberation, I wish to register a complaint. I have several issues which I feel must be addressed immediately, as if they are not corrected, I can assure you that I will never patronize your establishment again. Rest assured that I am a level-headed, average bloke, and that my views are likely to be shared by the vast majority of your potential customers. I urge you to take these considerations to heart, if only for the sake of your own survival as a business.

First, I would like to say that, as a “club,” you fall down repeatedly. Never in my life have I paid such an exorbitant cover charge and then been disallowed to dance. Every time I even attempted to step foot on the dance floor, the doorman would approach and instruct me, in no uncertain terms, to sit down. Indeed, even my attempts at dancing while not on the floor were effectively nipped in the bud. I finally had no choice but to sit quietly and imagine myself dancing the electric slide out on the floor while I watched the other dancers.

Second, the word “dancers” is semantically incorrect primarily because it was rare for there to be more than one dancer on the floor at a time, and the only dancing they did involved shaking slightly and rolling around on the floor. And they were always women. Now, I am not suggesting that I mind, because I am completely secure in my heterosexuality, and I had no desire to see any men “getting down” on the floor, but I still can’t help but feel that this is decidedly unfair.

Third, I don’t know that you can call it a dance floor because it was only a few feet wide, it was filled with poles, and it was decidedly not a floor. It was much more like a counter. In fact, as the “dancers” went by, I actually had to pick up my drink and move it so they could “dance.”

Fourth, your dress code is a little bit lax. Most dancers started out barely dressed, and I blush to comment on what they were wearing by the time they were finished dancing. I’m sure that having them attired as they were on the same surface where I rested my drinks was breaking some sort of health code.

Fifth, the shoes that many of the people on the dance floor wore were extremely dangerous. Some of them had heels as long as 8 inches. I feel that this posed a serious tripping hazard.

Sixth, all of the people on the dance floor seemed to think that by dancing in front of me, they were entitled to a portion of my unemployment money. Well, I’ll tell you that unless you improve the attitudes of your clientele, then I can spend my hard-earned unemployment elsewhere.

Finally, I think that your advertising is extremely misleading. I’ll have you know that I find nothing even remotely exotic about sitting at a counter/dance floor watching other people have fun and dance while I drink a $5.00 warm beer.

Disappointedly yours,
KOTWF

Public Service Part II

Once again risking life and limb to help you, the little people, The KOTWF has borrowed the following list of aphrodisiac foods from GourmetSleuth.com. I ask that you use this information only for good, never for evil.

Aniseed
A very popular aphrodisiac with many culinary uses. It has been used as an aphrodisiac since the Greeks and the Romans, who believed aniseed had special powers. Sucking on the seeds is said to increases your desire.

Asparagus
Given it's phallic shape, asparagus is frequently enjoyed as an aphrodisiac food. Feed your lover boiled or steamed spears for a sensuous experience. The Vegetarian Society suggests "eating asparagus for three days for the most powerful affect".

Almond
A symbol of fertility throughout the ages. The aroma is thought to induce passion in a female. Try serving Marzipan (almond paste) in the shapes of fruits for a special after-dinner treat.

Arugula
Arugula or "rocket" seed has been documented as an aphrodisiac since the first century A.D. This ingredient was added to grated orchid bulbs and parsnips and also combined with pine nuts and pistachios. Arugula greens are frequently used in salads and pasta.

Avocado
The Aztecs called the avocado tree "Ahuacuatl which translated means "testicle tree". The ancients thought the fruit hanging in pairs on the tree resembled the male's testicles. This is a delicious fruit with a sensuous texture. Serve in slices with a small amount of Balsamic vinegar and freshly ground pepper.

Bananas
The banana flower has a marvelous phallic shape and is partially responsible for popularity of the banana as an aphrodisiac food. An Islamic myth tells the tale that after Adam and Eve succumbed to the "Apple" they started covering their "nudity" with banana leaves rather than fig. From a more practical standpoint bananas are rich in potassium and B vitamins, necessities for sex hormone production.

Basil (sweet basil)
Is said to stimulate the sex drive and boost fertility. It is also said to produce a general sense of well being for body and mind.

Chocolate
The Aztecs referred to chocolate "nourishment of the Gods". Chocolate contains chemicals thought to effect neurotransmitters in the brain and a related substance to caffeine called theobromine. Chocolate contains more antioxidant (cancer preventing enzymes) than does red wine. The secret for passion is to combine the two. Try a glass of Cabernet with a bit of dark chocolate for a sensuous treat or let us temp you with our recipe for Chocolate Espresso Pots de creme.

Carrots
Another good reason to eat carrots--believed to be a stimulant to the male. The phallus shaped carrot has been associated with stimulation since ancient times and was used by early Middle Eastern royalty to aid seduction. High vitamins and beta-carotene. Perhaps a justification for a piece of carrot cake?

Coffee
Caffeine is a well-know stimulant but remember, too much and it becomes a depressant. Serve small amounts of rich dark coffee in special little demitasse cups. Coffee stimulates both the body and the mind so partake of a little in preparation for an "all-nighter".

Coriander (Cilantro seed)
The book of The Arabian nights tells a tale of a merchant who had been childless for 40 years and but was cured by a concoction that included coriander. That book is over 1000 years old so the history of coriander as an aphrodisiac dates back far into history. Cilantro was also know to be used as an "appetite" stimulant.

Figs
An open fig is thought to emulate the female sex organs and traditionally thought of as sexual stimulant. A man breaking open a fig and eating it in front of his lover is a powerful erotic act. Serve fresh Black Mission figs in a cool bowl of water as it is done in Italy and be sure to eat with your fingers!

Garlic
The 'heat' in garlic is said to stir sexual desires. Make sure you and your partner share it together. Garlic has been used for centuries to cure everything from the common cold to heart ailments. This is a good time for moderation. Enjoy a pasta with a lightly garlicky sauce and it and lead up to something spicy in the bedroom later.

Ginger
Ginger root raw, cooked or crystallized is a stimulant to the circulatory system. Perhaps a stir-fry with freshly grated ginger can stir something spicy up in the bedroom later.

Honey
Many medicines in Egyptian times were based on honey including cures for sterility and impotence. Medieval seducers plied their partners with Mead, a fermented drink made from honey. Lovers on their "Honeymoon" drank mead and it was thought to s "sweeten" the marriage.

Liquorice (licorice)
The Chinese have used licorice for medicinal purposes since ancient times. The essence of the Glycyrrhiza glabra (licorice) plan, glycrrhizin, is 50 time sweeter than sugar. Chewing on bits of licorice root is said to enhance love and lust. It is particularly stimulating to woman.

Mustard
Believed to stimulate the sexual glands and increase desire. Prepare a tenderloin roast (filet mignon) for two with a mustard and peppercorn sauce.

Nutmeg
Nutmeg was highly prized by Chinese women as an aphrodisiac. In quantity nutmeg can produce a hallucinogenic effect. A light sprinkling of the spice in a warm pumpkin soup can help spice up your evening.

Oysters
Oysters were documented as a aphrodisiac food by the Romans in the second century A.D as mentioned in a satire by Juvenal. He described the wanton ways of women after ingesting wine and eating "giant oysters". An additional hypotheses is that the oyster resembles the "female" genitals. In reality oysters are a very nutritious and high in protein.

Pine Nuts
Zinc is a key mineral necessary to maintain male potency and pine nuts are rich in zinc. Pine nuts have been used to stimulate the libido as far back as Medieval times. Serve pine nut cookies with a dark espresso for a stimulating dessert.

Pineapple
Rich in vitamin C and and is used in the homeopathic treatment for impotence. Add a spear to a sweet Rum drink for a tasty prelude to an evening of passion.

Raspberries and Strawberries
Perfect foods for hand feeding your lover. "Both invite love and are described in erotic literature as fruit nipples" Both are high in vitamin C and make a sweet light dessert.

Truffles
The Greeks and the Romans considered the rare Truffle to be an aphrodisiac. The musky scent is said to stimulate and sensitize the skin to touch.

Vanilla
The scent and flavor of vanilla is believed to increase lust. According to the Australian Orchid Society, "Old Totonac lore has it that Xanat, the young daughter of the Mexican fertility goddess, loved a Totonac youth. Unable to marry him due to her divine nature, she transformed herself into a plant that would provide pleasure and happiness." Fill tall Champagne glasses to the rim and add a vanilla bean for a heady, bubbly treat.

Wine
A glass or two of wine can greatly enhance a romantic interlude. Wine relaxes and helps to stimulate our senses. Drinking wine can be an erotic experience. Let your eyes feast on the color of the liquid. Caress the glass, savor the taste on your lips. Do remember that excessive alcohol will make you too drowsy for the after-dinner romance. A moderate amount of wine has been said to "arouse erections" but much more than that amount with have the reverse affect.

Public Service

As you may or may not know, the KOTWF is taken. But have no fear, I haven't let my mad skills with the ladies fall into disrepair. Quite the opposite, in fact. I follow a strict daily regiment of exercising my flirtation and romance muscles. And, out of pure charity and goodwill, and court ordered community service, I have decided to offer my help to the less fortunate out there in internet-land. The following text is the tried and true "KOTWF Seduction Letter Template." Simply insert the necessary information where indicated and remember to use protection.

Dear (HER NAME HERE),

I've thought you were beautiful from the moment I met you. I know that that is not what you expected to hear. No love at first sight or instant attraction. No ridiculous romantic garbage of any sort. I just thought you were beautiful.

But then we (SOMETHING YOU DID TOGETHER) together. And I got to know you a little bit better. And realized I was attracted to you. And, yes, I wanted you.

The night after (SOMETHING YOU DID TOGETHER), when you said (ANY BULLSHIT SHE SAID THAT YOU REMEMBER), I wanted more than anything to (ANYTHING INVOLVING THE TWO OF YOU EXCEPT THE PHRASE "THROW MY P IN YOUR BUTT"). I wanted to, but I was afraid of being hurt. Little did I know how much it would hurt not to.

Then (SOMETHING THAT HAPPENED THAT MADE YOU NOT SEE EACH OTHER, EVEN FOR A FEW MINUTES), and I missed you terribly. We had known each other for (AMOUNT OF TIME YOU'VE KNOWN HER, DELETE THIS LINE IF IT IS IN MINUTES), but it was only then that I was learning who you really were, and I was realizing just how much I liked everything I learned. And since then, I have thought about you often, I have dreamed about you steadily, and, I admit it, I have fantasized about you from time to time.

I don't know that it would work out between us, (PLEASE TELL ME YOU CAN REMEMBER HE NAME LONG ENOUGH TO STICK IT HERE), but I can't see any reason good enough to keep us from finding out.

Maybe I'm crazy, but I think that you and I could (WHATEVER YOU WANT TO DO WITH HER. THE PHRASE "BUMP UGLIES" MIGHT NOT WIN BROWNIE POINTS) together. And if God (REPLACE GOD WITH SATAN, OR ODIN, OR JIMMY CARTER AS RELIGIOUS BELIEFS REQUIRE) made anything better than that, he kept it for himself.

With Hope and Understanding,
(WHATEVER YOU TOLD HER YOUR NAME WAS)

Use this gift wisely, my children. Go forth and multiply.

How To Not Pick Up Chicks

I was out with my friend Bill, and he was amazed at my ability to talk to any girl in the club. After he had pestered me enough about my skills with the ladies, I finally decided to let him in on the secret.

"Well," I said, "I use a little wordplay to figure out if they are going to be receptive. I walk up to a girl and say 'Can I tickle your ass with a feather?' If she laughs, I'm in. If she says 'What?' then I say 'I said particularly nasty weather.'"

"Wow!" says Bill, who is by this time quite inebriated, "Can I try it?"

"Sure."

Bill approaches the hottest girl in the club and says, "Can I stick a feather up your ass?"

"What did you just say?"

"It's gonna fucking rain."

Fan Mail!

The KOTWF receives a fan letter from a reader who shall remain nameless, unless, of course, she doesn't want to. Or something.

----- Original Message -----
From: One of Your 3 Readers
To: KOTWF
Sent: Thursday, July 31, 2003 12:46 PM
Subject: A Dios Mio!

Dear Sir,

Your website is wonderful, wicked and scary in ways I dare not express. Please continue to "keep on, keepin' on" for the sake of readers such as myself.

All the best, etc. etc.

-T
"Putting the ass in classy."

----- Original Message -----
From: KOTWF
To: T
Sent: Friday, August 1, 2003 3:39 PM
Subject: Re: A Dios Mio!

My Dear T,*

Upon receiving your e-mail, I was lost in a sea of emotion.

First, allow me to say that your all-but-too kind sentiments are greatly appreciated. Knowing that I have brought amusement and delight to your life will take away some of the constant pain I feel from the parasites, and, when it finally happens that I shuffle off this mortal coil, I will pass easily, because I will live on through the joy that I have brought you.

Second, I wanted to say gobbledygook. I don't know why, I just like that word.

Third, receiving this e-mail, this...fan mail...has actually made me think about putting down the gun and coming out with my hands up. Not only have you given me a new lease on life, but you have saved the lives of dozens of hostages.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, "Thanks."

Yours,
KOTWF

* This e-mail may not actually contain a word of truth.**

**Except for the "Thanks" part. Really, thanks.

Only a Fool Breaks the Kotwf

Funky Cory had a link to this great site. It's an advertising slogan generator. Now I'm not going to get anything done today...

My Kotwf to Yours.

Repeat After Me

My car horn is not a whip. My car horn is not a paddle. Honking it obnoxiously does not punish people who do things that I don't like.

In fact, it usually makes them wish that they had done something worse.

Family Pride

I attended my brother's first ever movie premier this weekend. And let me tell you what, it was great. Before you start saying things like "KOTWF, if your family is in with Hollywood, can you get me a gig," or "Take me now, I need to be filled with your celebrity manhood" I'd just like to mention that he was an extra, but that's not the point. The point is, I sat in a movie theatre, watching a mainstream movie, and there, larger than life, was my brother for a good five, maybe ten seconds.

And he got paid to be there.

Just so you all can share the experience, I'll tell you what to look for. Go see Seabiscuit (Which, by the way, was a fucking great film if you don't mind getting a little sap on you) starring The Dude and Spiderman. During the big horse-race at Pimlico, where they let the "common-folk" into the infield of the track, watch for a tall guy in a BRIGHT RED FLANNEL JACKET. He wore it on purpose to make sure you could see him. Trust me, he stands out. Anyway, that's my brother: Currently poor and playing 132nd fiddle to Tobey Maguire, but soon to be rich and famous.

But seeing him on the big screen reminded me of a few of my other "brushes with fame" so I thought I'd share them with you:

My dad's secretary's sister is married to Tom Urich who is the brother of Robert Urich and father of Justin Urich. I have had dinner with Tom numerous times. When Robert passed away last year, I sent a card to his family.

Years ago, Dick Sargent came to my little town for a benefit he was hosting. While he was here, he was befriended by my father, and he came back regularly to visit. One year, we had a big pool party when he was in town and everyone had their picture taken with him. Two days later, he came out of the closet on national television, and everyone ripped up their pictures. I live in Appalachia.

In Chicago O'Hare airport, I sat down in a bar right next to Fred Rogers. I turned to him and said, "Excuse me, neighbor, would you be my friend?" Fred looked me square in the eye and said "Fuck off, asshole."

A couple of years ago, Shirley King came to town to do a concert. After the concert, we slipped her a note that said "You and your band are cordially invited brunch at our home tomorrow morning. We understand that someone of your celebrity must be leary of accepting invitations from strangers, so we suggest that, if you are interested, you check our credibility with anyone whom you trust." and our phone number. Shirley asked the desk clerk at her hotel if she should party with us, the clerk responded that if she got an invitation from us, that she should accept because our house is the place to be. She ended up drinking all our booze and borrowing our van. At the end of the visit, she said "I just gots to tell dad to give ya'll a call if'n he's ever round these parts." That's all we wanted. Incidentally, that link is to a restaurant in Cleveland, Ohio that is great. Go there.

One time, I got yelled at by Christy Brinkley for running through her lawn. That was kinda cool.

I saw David Hasselhoff in a leather shop in Venice, Italy. No else had recognized him. I said to my brother, "Hey, look! That's David Hasselhoff! You know, Germans love him." Apparently, so do Venetians, because as soon as I said that, they all started saying "David Hasselhoff" and rushing up to see him/shake hands with him/take pictures of him and he had to hurry out of the store because the crowd wouldn't leave him alone. I felt bad for a minute, then remembered that it was just David Hasselhoff.

Now, about my celebrity manhood...

I Mourn Your Passing*

Mankind has suffered a great loss. Last night, Bob Hope passed away at the tender young age of 100. I'm sure that we can all remember a "Bob Hope Moment" where he touched our lives in a very real, very permanent way. I'd like to take this opportunity to share a few of my favourites:

The Scene in Some Like it Hot where he says all those funny lines. God I'll miss him.

The way he cracked me up in his role as Ice Cream Vendor in The Muppet Movie.

His role as Buzz Fielding in The Big Broadcast of 1938 which neither I nor anyone I know has ever seen.

Oh God! You Devil! where he played both roles.

His terrific rendition of White Christmas in a movie with a similar title.

Him almost making it over the barbed wire in The Great Escape.

And of course, his famous line "I'll be back!"

You will be sorely missed, Bob. I'll never be able to watch Ghostbusters again without weeping.

*This post is actually really fucking lame. Just warning you.

Other People Get the Laughs!

I was relating my Holiday Inn Express story to my uncle, and he proceeded to tell me a story about being in the elevator of an Embassy Suites one time. Apparently, the elevator was extremely crowded, so much so that you couldn't help but touch the person next to you. About half-way up, he turned another passenger and said "I lowered my cholesterol today!"

I understand that they are still laughing.

Comments!

And the Lord said, "Let the HTML for the comments not cause the user's browser to freeze up and explode." And so the KOTWF went forth from Galilee in search of a new comment server. And he found a new comment server. And it was good.

There is balm in Gilead.

Doesn't Anybody Get Pop Culture References?

A few years ago, I worked for a company, which shall remain nameless, that manufactured replacement windows. One of our bigest customers was a certain nationwide chain of home improvement stores. My job, unfortunately, was to go into two of these stores per day to restock the shelves, clean and repair displays, place special orders, order additional windows to fill the shelves, replace documentation, and rearrange shelves to make windows easier to reach/purchase. Needless to say, it sucked.

On one particular day, I was unhappily restocking some 36" x 52", double-paned, low E with argon windows, when a woman approached and asked me where she could find a particular size of furnace filter. I set down my window and said "Follow me," then walked her halfway across the store to where the furnace filters were kept and helped her find the correct size.

At this point, she noticed that I was not wearing the traditional uniform of this store's employees. She suddenly felt very silly for asking for my help and said "My goodness! You do work here don't you?" To which I replied, "No. But I did stay in a Holiday Inn Express last night."

She looked at me like I was a sea cucumber singing an Aria.

While I'm At It

While I was adding The Strawsburg to my sidebar, I decided I would add Pretty Paranoia and Hastily Paraphrased as well. They are both fun sites, and will help to get you through the workday.

Also, Fishy!

Here we go again

Well, Faithful Reader, it looks like another busy week of marauding with the horde. I'll update as often as I can (hopefully daily, as the Scottish/Conglerian crew of the HMS MacMacMac has been instructed to install an internet connection before they pick me up again). If I am killed while at large in the cosmos, then you can amuse yourselves with this link:

The Strawsburg

The Strawsburg and I have been friends for, like, ever. In fact, it was with The Strawsburg that I discovered the interesting fact that weekends actually start on Wednesday at 10:00pm and last until Sunday. It was also with The Strawsburg that I realized just how difficult it is to talk after consuming 1.75 litres of Gin at one sitting. Ah good times.

Anyway, read his blog, laugh, cry, just don't blame me.

It's Been Awhile

I apologize for my delinquency. I have simply not had the time to update this site as much as I would like, or indeed, as much as I had promised myself I would. I could feed you all some lame excuse about trouble at home, or being swamped at work, or an ingrown hair on my big toe, but I feel like you deserve more than that. I feel like you, my adoring public, deserve the truth.

Picture this: it is Monday evening, approximately 6:30, and I have just finished off my second bottle of Talisker. I am relaxing on my Italian leather sofa wearing my gold watch, the Blondage is beside me in her silk dress, and we're watching some bitches in the living room getting it on. Suddenly, I hear La Vie En Rose arpeggios coming from the driftwood castle nextdoor, and I decide I'm sick and tired of the guy next door quietly making noise. Up to the window I flew like Jumping Jack Flash, Threw open the shutters and ripped up the sash. "You there, boy!" I shouted to a passing urchin, "What day is it?" "Why sir, It's Christmas day!" came the cheerful reply. I was so elated that the spirits hadn't let me miss it, that I didn't hear my stereo begin to play the theme song to Close Encounters nor did I notice the menacing craft slowly descending on my slightly inebriated form. Before you could say "Another Round, Please!" I found myself breaking down into the very atoms that make up my body, and then reassembling inside the alien vessel. A wild-eyed, red-headed/red-bearded man with a Kilt and a Claymore stood behind a control panel mumbling something about "revolution...war...large bowl of porridge...drown middlesex in a sea of blood...FRRRREEDOM!!!" Then he stared at me.

Several minutes later, two more Highlanders came in and both shouted "FRRREEDOM!!!" and looked at me intently. Seconds ticked by. "FRRREEDOM!!!" they said again. "Freedom?" I asked. "Aye! FRRREEDOM!!!" They replied. "'Tis a Braw Bricht Moon-Licht Nicht Tonicht?" They inquired. "Ya're Richt Cha Can!" I said back forcefully. Then they said something that sounded like a chicken being fed through a food processor, so I just stood there. After a moment, one of the Highlanders pointed to a set of stairs and said "Ya'll tak tha high road, aye'll tak tha low road." I was beginning to understand their language. They spoke in old Scottish cliches and quotes. I replied "And I'll be in Scotland Afore Ye!" and they bellowed "FRRREEDOM!!!" then walked through the lower door. I climbed the stairs, and walked down the hallway to the bridge of the ship.

As I walked past busts of Mary Queen of Scots, Robert Burns, and that most famous of all Scots, Ouijock Poopon McPlop, the man who cleans out the public toilets in Aberdeen, I tried to understand what was happening. My best guess is that these strange creatures lived on a planet where they had been receiving television transmissions from Earth, kind of like the Movie Galaxy Quest, but funny. Unfortunately, through a strange twist of fate, they only ever received BBC2. I hated to think of the television programming hell that these poor creatures had had to endure on a daily basis.

After years of only BBC2, they had grown to hate the English and all things having to do with them. The next natural step, of course, would be to identify with the Scots. The sad part is that everthing they knew about the Scottish culture they had gleaned from BBC2. They thought all Scots were read-headed, drunken, bloodthirsty homocidal maniacs with no more ability to enunciate than a lisping stutterer in a peanut butter eating contest. This had kept them happy for a number of years, but eventually they had begun to want more out of life. In an attempt to learn all they could of the Scottish culture, they decided to kidnap an Earthling that showed all the signs they thought necessary to be an expert on Scotland. And that is why, when my Scotch-to-bodymass ratio approached 1:1, they locked onto me and beamed me up.

I entered the bridge, and was greeted with "FRRREEDOM!!!" by the crew. "Freedom." I replied and they all smiled and went back to work drinking whisky and head-butting each other. The captain, eager to test my knowledge of all things Scottish, approached and said "Lad, ye tink ye're a beg man, aye? Tink ye're tuff enuff to tak the captain, aye? Aye'll gie ye a Glaswegian Handshake!" Not waiting to see what would happen next, I shouted "Fuckye!" and smashed my forehead into his, sending him flying across the cabin to land on top of a man carrying a telephone pole. I then sat in is chair and started my carefully crafted speech: "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace Bled! Scots wham Bruce Has often led! Welcome to your gory bed, or to victory!"

Wild cheers filled the vessel as I finished my speech and approached a beautiful young alien/scottish girl. "Fair for yer honest, soncy face..." I said as she melted into me. Then I felt it. Goddamn kilts!

Well, needless to say, I had to kill him in order to ensure that the story never got out. Then, I gave the crew a round of Glaswegian Handshakes to make sure they knew who was in command. Satisfied that I held the ship, I began giving orders, and we, the noble Scottish/Conglerian Crew of the HMS MacMacMac, began our week long crusade of violence, rape, pillage, bloodshed, and Scotch consumption. They finally dropped me back off at home, with the promise to come back next month to continue their education.

Maybe I'll teach them some great Scottish songs like "My Love is a Prick (On a Red Red Rose)," "Let's give KOTWF another dram of Scotch," or "Tub Thumping."

Oh Glorious Day!!!

I am the #1 Google search result for "Make Yourself Vomit" "How To!" Those crazy bolemic kids with their crazy internet searches.

Boy! I hope it wasn't an emergency....

Ryan Does It, Why Can't I?

Ryan has started posting key search words that led people to his site on google, yahoo, AOL, etc. It's funny shit, so I thought I'd try it, too.

People found my site today by searching for the following key words:

"Girls Going Wild" (I was number 181 on the list, so this guy has a lot of time on his hands)
"Google Acid Spunk" (I was actually on the first page for this one)
"American Gladiator Porn" (This is the best. I was on page 37 of 60. This guy needs a hobby.)

Yesterday, I got 5 hits because people searching for various nationalities (like "French" or "Russian") and the words "Hairy Armpits."

People scare me.

Because It Makes Me Happy...

The complete lyrics to "Step Right Up" by Tom Waits. This sounds perfect. I need to buy one. Whatever it is.

Step right up, step right up, step right up,
Everyone's a winner, bargains galore
That's right, you too can be the proud owner
Of the quality goes in before the name goes on
One-tenth of a dollar, one-tenth of a dollar, we got service after sales
You need perfume? we got perfume, how 'bout an engagement ring?
Something for the little lady, something for the little lady,
Something for the little lady, hmm
Three for a dollar
We got a year-end clearance, we got a white sale
And a smoke-damaged furniture, you can drive it away today
Act now, act now, and receive as our gift, our gift to you
They come in all colors, one size fits all
No muss, no fuss, no spills, you're tired of kitchen drudgery
Everything must go, going out of business, going out of business
Going out of business sale
Fifty percent off original retail price, skip the middle man
Don't settle for less
How do we do it? how do we do it? volume, volume, turn up the volume
Now you've heard it advertised, don't hesitate
Don't be caught with your drawers down,
Don't be caught with your drawers down
You can step right up, step right up

That's right, it filets, it chops, it dices, slices,
Never stops, lasts a lifetime, mows your lawn
And it mows your lawn and it picks up the kids from school
It gets rid of unwanted facial hair, it gets rid of embarrassing age spots,
It delivers a pizza, and it lengthens, and it strengthens
And it finds that slipper that's been at large
under the chaise lounge for several weeks
And it plays a mean Rhythm Master,
It makes excuses for unwanted lipstick on your collar
And it's only a dollar, step right up, it's only a dollar, step right up

'Cause it forges your signature
If not completely satisfied, mail back unused portion of product
For complete refund of price of purchase
Step right up
Please allow thirty days for delivery, don't be fooled by cheap imitations
You can live in it, live in it, laugh in it, love in it
Swim in it, sleep in it,
Live in it, swim in it, laugh in it, love in it
Removes embarrassing stains from contour sheets, that's right
And it entertains visiting relatives, it turns a sandwich into a banquet
Tired of being the life of the party?
Change your shorts, change your life, change your life
Change into a nine-year-old Hindu boy, get rid of your wife,
And it walks your dog, and it doubles on sax
Doubles on sax, you can jump back Jack, see you later alligator
See you later alligator
And it steals your car
It gets rid of your gambling debts, it quits smoking
It's a friend, and it's a companion,
And it's the only product you will ever need
Follow these easy assembly instructions it never needs ironing
Well it takes weights off hips, bust, thighs, chin, midriff,
Gives you dandruff, and it finds you a job, it is a job
And it strips the phone company free take ten for five exchange,
And it gives you denture breath
And you know it's a friend, and it's a companion
And it gets rid of your traveler's checks
It's new, it's improved, it's old-fashioned
Well it takes care of business, never needs winding,
Never needs winding, never needs winding
Gets rid of blackheads, the heartbreak of psoriasis,
Christ, you don't know the meaning of heartbreak, buddy,
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon
'Cause it's effective, it's defective, it creates household odors,
It disinfects, it sanitizes for your protection
It gives you an erection, it wins the election
Why put up with painful corns any longer?
It's a redeemable coupon, no obligation, no salesman will visit your home
We got a jackpot, jackpot, jackpot, prizes, prizes, prizes, all work guaranteed
How do we do it, how do we do it, how do we do it, how do we do it
We need your business, we're going out of business
We'll give you the business
Get on the business end of our going-out-of-business sale
Receive our free brochure, free brochure
Read the easy-to-follow assembly instructions, batteries not included
Send before midnight tomorrow, terms available,
Step right up, step right up, step right up
You got it buddy: the large print giveth, and the small print taketh away
Step right up, you can step right up, you can step right up
C'mon step right up
(Get away from me kid, you bother me...)
Step right up, step right up, step right up, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon
Step right up, you can step right up, c'mon and step right up,
C'mon and step right up

The Bondage Blondage

One year ago today, I decided it was time to settle down. I stood in the darkest corner of the Town House Bar, drinking a pitcher of Killian's Irish Red and gazing lustily at the miles of exposed flesh undulating before my lecherous eyes. When I found my target, I swooped in like an avenging demon and began buying her drinks.

As soon as she had passed out, I took her back to my evil lair where I chained her in the deepest rat-infested dungeon I have. There, I fed her on a diet of rancid meat and stale bread and I gave her a glass of water every second Sunday. Once her will was broken, I began my campaign of twice daily injections of heroin until she had built up an unshakeable addiction.

She is now dependent on the heroin that I supply, and is too weak from malnutrition to run even if she wanted to. It's time to celebrate our new life together. It's time for the chains to come off!

Happy anniversary, Blondage!

Scary Stuff

I don't know about you, but this doesn't exactly give me warm fuzzies!

And if that interests you/terrifies the living shit out of you then you should read this book.

E-Mail Poetry

I actually received a request for this over the weekend, and who am I to refuse my public anything. So here it is, back by popular demand, poetry made entirely by cutting and pasting e-mails I’ve received recently:

Insects can be a real summer buzz kill,
but I want my visits to have Quality as measured in Metric Litres of Scotch

Is there gonna be drinking? I could use some Sophomore head.
Damn skippy!

I was so drunk, hungry, and tired that I thought I saw a bear.
But it was just two fallen angels seeking Peter---$50.00.

I know the feeling.

The laws of the land are set down and known as the "Fah King Rules"
Disciplinary action will be taken for not following the “Fah King Rules.”

Of course!

Randomest Thought So Far Today

If mad scientists were to strap me down and perform sinister experiments on me that resulted in me not liking cars, guns, and James Bond, and instead made me like the show Rent and be capable of matching my pants to my shirt, then they blowtorched my horn-dog, womanizing libido and made me want to do things like stay awake after sex or not kiss on the first date, and they finished it up by giving me the ability to dance to anything other than The Macarana, I guess what I'm trying to say is if I somehow became homosexual (not that there is anything wrong with that because I have quite a few gay friends who are absolutely wonderful people and I love them dearly just not like that, nudge nudge, because it's not for me but they can do whatever they want because it's their life) then would I have to change the name of my Blog to "The Queen of the Wilde* Frontier?**

*This link is in case you don't get the pun. Moron.

** This exceptionally long sentence brought to you by The US Space & Rocket Center: "Space Camp: 101 Ways To Make Yourself Vomit!" in conjunction with Knox Gelatin: "We Were Making Jigglers Before Jigglers Were Cool!"

More Fun At Work

After my post yesterday, I've been thinking about the One-Armed-Bandit alot, and how much fun it is having a friend who is missing a limb, but is good-natured about it. The One-Armed-Bandit (his name is Dave) told me this story once, and I've always liked it:

A few years ago, Dave was working with a new bank in trying to close some refinancing for the company. It was about a six-month long process, and Dave was in constant communication with the loan officer the whole time. They spoke on the phone daily, Dave met him personally at least once a month, and there were constant faxes and e-mails flying back and forth between our office and theirs. Well, the time finally came to close the loan. Dave went to the bank for the closing, and the loan officer came out to meet him. When he saw Dave he stuck out his hand to shake*. Dave used his left hand and shook hands with the loan officer who jumped back in surprise and said, "Jesus, Dave, what happened to your arm?"

Without missing a beat, Dave yelled back, "Oh, Fuck! Where'd it go?"

So, I was having a rough morning this morning, and someone asked me for some help. I responded, "Can I do it later? Right now I'm busier than Dave hanging wallpaper."

I've never seen eyes quite so wide.

* One of my pet peeves is people who, when they meet a person whose right arm is incapacitated, shake with the left. This is not proper etiquette, and calls attention to the disability or injury. You still shake with the right hand, they will compensate for it by going over or under your hand with their left and shaking that way. Read your fucking Emily Post people!

How to Handle Bar Brawlers

I went out for a drink with the One-Armed-Bandit last night*. He comes by his nickname honestly. Anyway, while I'm standing there, enjoying my Gin and Tonic, minding my own business, checking out girls, this steroid-popping gorilla comes over and starts hassling me. Apparently, I had inadvertantly offended him somehow. Maybe I was talking loudly about his "slut," or selling the videotapes of me and his mom, or maybe I accidently shot him in the leg when I wasn't looking. I don't know, because I was drinking, and, well, didn't care to actually listen to anything he said.

Finally, he bellowed, "Did you hear what I said, motherfucker?" To which I said, "What? Right, um, you can take this up with my body guard, I'm not really interested." and gestured towards the One-Armed-Bandit. To this, the man said, "You're joking, right?" and I replied, "Don't let appearances fool you, he could take you with one hand tied behind his back."

The overgrown orangutang was so appalled that he just walked away shaking his head.

*This sentence is true, although the rest of the story took place over a year ago. I'm just now getting around to telling it, but, hey, I'm backlogged and shit. You just sit in your fucking tower.

Why?

I very rarely walk up to acquaintances and say things like, "Do you realize just how fat you are? I mean, do they strip search you on the way out of Big Bear to make sure that you aren't smuggling boxes of Hostess Cupcakes under your gargantuan fat rolls?"

And I also never say, "Holy shit, man, you're as ugly as the love child of Strom Thurmond's Skeleton and Meatloaf! You look like a monkey that someone put in some K-Mart clothes and strategically shaved!"

So why is it that people feel justified in saying, "Dude! Do you know that you're already going white? I mean, your hair will be completely white by the time you're thirty!"?

Yes, I fucking know.

A Bad Combination

This + This - This + This + This = This.

Fan Mail

From: Holly
To: KOTWF
Sent: Wednesday, June 25, 2003 2:55 PM
Subject: question

So, are you really the king of the wild frontier?


From: KOTWF
To: Holly
Sent: Wednesday, June 25, 2003 3:48 PM
Subject: question

Holly,

Well, it's not that wild, but it is in Ohio, so there's alot of places named "Frontier" like the "Frontier Shopping Center" and "Frontier Chevrolet" and "Frontier School" and stuff like that.

And I guess I'm not technically the king, seeing as how the coronation isn't until next week. So now I suppose I'm like a Kick-Ass-Duke or a Leader-Soon-To-Be-Known-As-King. Yeah, I guess you could call me the "Kick Ass Duke of Small Town Ohio."

Thanks for your interest,
KADOSTO