Party? No, Poetry

I'm almost sober enough to talk about last Friday. Let me see there was Gin and...ugh...Nope, not quite yet. Until next time, enjoy this poem, cut and pasted from this week's emails.

Do you see something I don't?
The shift key is important sometimes, and
Motion sickness causes vomiting.

We will have a man test on a bagging machine
I doubt that we'll survive,
but I'm willing to try it if you are.

Wouldn't that piss him off?

The Doctor of Love

I suggested last week that I was extremely unqualified to give out relationship advice, so any I advice I give would be ridiculous. Despite this warning, I still got a response. Here goes, the KOTWF is about to ruin someone’s life.

N. wrote:

“Well, you asked for it!

“I was married for 12 years to the world's most bitter man. Then I reconnected with a man I had gone to high school with. I fell in love hard and deep, with a passion I had never experienced. We had an affair that lasted a year, and I left my marriage. However, it was soon clear that although he was willing to spend long afternoons having sex, he was not interested in me as ''relationship material''. In fact he was actively pursuing other women. Several other women. I became suspicious and started, well not quite stalking him, but critically evaluating the information he was giving me. I befriended his ex-girlfriend and found out the truth. There was a R. that he had not bothered to disclose. Ouch. So I had to deal with my marriage over, house sold, big-time lawyers fees, and he's going rock-climbing with R. There is no justice. I'm sort of dating a new guy. He's kind and safe and stable, which is all good after the tumultuous year I've had. But the passion isn't there. I know Affair-Guy is no good for me, and that it's over, but I wish I could feel that way again for someone who loved me back.

“Am I just using New Guy while I wait for a new Passion Pet? Or will he grow on me? What is your wisdom?”

First of all, N., you couldn’t have been married to the world’s most bitter man, because that is my barber. And it couldn’t have been the world’s second most bitter man, because that is my ex-boss. And it couldn’t have been the world’s third most bitter man, because that is my best friend. No, right from the start I am sure that you are exaggerating just a tiny bit. So, you were married to the world’s fourth most bitter man, and he drove you into the arms of a womanizing rock climber you knew from high-school, (so far this is textbook stuff), who was happy to spend long afternoons having sex. Let’s just linger on that for a moment. Yes, picturing you, picturing the afternoon. Picturing the sex. Nope, can’t blame him.

Anyway, he turns out to be a prick, but you loved him, and now you have moved on, but you don’t feel the excitement anymore. Well, N., I’ve passed a plethora of periods of time pondering your predicament, while plying myself with perfectly poured potions prescribed by my podiatrist/pal who performs procedures while punch-drunk, and I’m prepared to pontificate on the problem (What the hell?).

Obviously, New Guy is boring, so what you need to do is spice things up. If you don’t feel passion for him, then pretend that he is someone else like Pierce Brosnan or Queen Victoria. It might even help to get him to wear a mask (might I suggest JFK or James Dean rather than someone scary like Lon Chaney or Calista Flockhart). Now, tie him up, drizzle him with some sort of sauce (I suggest Hershey’s syrup, Scotch, or Ram’s Blood), then ride him all night long. After about eight hours of this, either you will have a new-found respect for him because of his amazing stamina, or he’ll be dead from exhaustion. Either way, problem solved. But don’t feel bad for him, he died happy. If this doesn’t work, then you can always go for suggestion number two. Get several girlfriends together, go out drinking, have a big underwear-clad tickle fight, try on some new lingerie, then show up at my house. This works every-time.

Okay, here’s the real advice. If you read this site for the humor (if you can call it that) then I suggest you stop reading here. There’s a lot to be said for passion. That butterflies in the stomach, blood rushing to you face, heart skipping a beat feeling that comes with budding romance. There is nothing better than new love or old Scotch. The problem with this, though, is that new love is actually a drug. I read an article on this recently, in which they explained that new love releases a drug in your brain that creates a sort of euphoria. This wears off after about 6 months on average, sometimes more, sometimes less. My personal theory is that when a relationship starts out with passion (as an affair would) then becomes rocky very quickly, it creates a sort of “I’m not sure if it’s on or off, I don’t know what’s happening” situation in which you find yourself fighting to keep the relationship going. Fighting for a relationship lengthens the giddy getting to know you period, and makes the drug stay in your system longer. It’s exciting, it feels good, but it is NOT HEALTHY. The important thing to remember is that the passion fades to some degree in every relationship. What you are left with when this happens is comfort, understanding, someone you can talk to, enjoy time with, and love. And, hopefully, a few moments of passion thrown in here and there.

What you need to decide is whether or not New Guy provides the things that you want out of a relationship and a life partner, and if you can love him. Then, you need to decide if you can be happy with that. I don’t blame you for wanting passion, and no one says you need to settle down so soon after your divorce, you just need to decide what you want.

Trust me on this, passion alone is highly over-rated. When it fades, and you are left sitting across the table from a stranger, you are that much worse off. What you need is to find the right balance, like I have with the Blondage, of someone that can sit at a polite dinner with your great-aunt Edna as quickly as they can trip you into bed. It’s not passion we need, nor is it comfort, nor is it stability. With love and trust, you can make the other three happen.

And if things don’t work out for you, come on over. I have a thirteen inch tongue and can breath through my ears.

Oops, I forgot

Two weeks ago, I promised to do a sort of montage/freeverse/random phrase thing every Friday by using cut and paste and Emails I had received the previous week. One week ago, I did it again. Last week, I didn't even bother to post on Friday because I was too excited about the drunkfest I was going to have that night (more on this later). Anyway, here is last week's poem:

Yo homeslice! What's up T-doggie?

Is this carbon steel?
It’s not a bottle of wine or anything,
I’m excited about coming. 5 pumps max.

Are you two-timing me with my best friend?
Wouldn't you rather be surprised?
Could be.

Could be trouble but I think we'll make it through!
I need the sleaziest "boy, that guy is a dog" pick up lines,
He's my ticket into the hole-fest, you would need some sort of age verification.

People are gonna think you made this shit up yourself

I don't get it.

I tried to update my sidebar today, and when I looked at my site's template, it was an old version. So then I looked at the actual page, and it was the most recent version of the page. I guess what I'm trying to say is:

"What the fuck?"

Anyway, until I can get this mess sorted out, go check out this page: Dog Door of Death. It's what I was trying to add to my sidebar. Bastards.

And, yes, I am deliberately putting off giving out horrible advice. It'll be here soon. Let me fix the goddamn sidebar first.

And They're Off!

Results are pouring in! And, by "pouring," I mean trickling. And by "Results," I mean result. That's right, the KOTWF has received ONE (1) request for advice. Not bad for a website that no one knows or cares about.

And boy, is it a doozy. I'm gonna need to think about this over a couple (dozen) Bombay Sapphire martinis and the long weekend. Look forward to my expert (read comic) advice next week. Until then, you'll just have to put up with the same old shit from me. And by, "same old shit," I mean posts about booze, work, sex, and web quizes.

The diet's working. I'm half the man I used to be.

Which John Shaft Are You?

I just took the "Which Shaft are You?" quiz. I didn't really care how it came out, because I already new I was one bad mother--shut your mouth--just talking about KOTWF.


You are John Shaft from - Shaft in Africa (1973)
You've come a long way from the Shaft that
audiences met in 1971. Of all the Shafts,
you're probably the goofiest of the bunch.
You've got a sick sense of humor that combines
with your sense of cool and your unflagging
thirst for justice to create a supersoldier of
the kind needed to end slavery. You're bigger
than life - but don't get too full of yourself.
You may be in touch with your roots, but you're
dangerously close to forgetting where you came
from.


Which John Shaft are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

The Doctor is IN

I’m not sure when I became a relationship Guru. As far as I can tell, I’ve only had a handful of relationships, and most of them went very badly. But, then again, I suppose that qualifies me as an expert on women. Anyone that has figured out how to piss off every woman he comes into contact with must, by now, know everything you should avoid doing if you want the relationship to last.

You find the same phenomena with River-Boat Captains. I have a friend that wanted to hire a captain to run his vessel up the Mississippi from New Orleans to the Great Lakes. He interviewed several potential candidates, and at the end of each interview asked “Has anything bad ever happened to you while aboard ship?” to which the first several candidates said “No, Sir.” and were dismissed. Finally, a little old man came in for the interview. “Has anything bad ever happened to you while aboard ship?” “Every time.” said the old man. “You’re hired,” said my friend. He figured that anyone who said they never had a problem was lying, but anyone who had a problem every time he went out and was still alive to tell about it must be able to handle himself in an emergency.

How the fuck did I start talking about that?

So, a brief history of the KOTWF’s relationships.

First, there was High School (I won’t go into middle school or elementary school, because the relationships I had then mostly consisted of asking a girl to be my girlfriend, then avoiding her). In High School, I actually found a few girls willing to date me, but after going out a couple times, they usually developed terminal cancer and died (I suspect they changed their names and moved, because how could EVERY GIRL I date die of cancer exactly 3 weeks into the relationship). By the end of High School, I was known as the “Black Widower.”

My attempts to change my luck were thwarted when I was not accepted by that All-Girls School, and I had to settle for a regular college. Just before school started, however, I met a girl who was perfect for me. What made her perfect? She lived 1,000 miles away. That’s right, for the next four years, I would have the ultimate relationship in which I only saw my girlfriend when I wanted to, and when we were both in a good mood. The rest of the time I was FREE!!!! Anyway, college came and went, and suddenly she expected me to move in with her! I said “Why ruin a good thing” and found myself back in the meat market.

That’s when I started dating “the bane of my existence.” She was the “friend” I had known for years, but had never had feelings for. Then, suddenly I’m single, she’s single, we’re bored, and nine months later (quit thinking like that, you dirty-dirty-birdie, that’s not what happened. Sheesh!) She begins the 6 month long break-up process. SIX MONTHS! (The fact that I put up with a 6 month long break up should prove that I am NOT qualified to give relationship advice, but I digress). So how did I, mature, relationship-savvy man-among-men handle this? I drank a lot of gin and watched porn. And I would, to put it into medical terms, “Throw my P in anything that moved.” Some of my adventures during this rather craggy period of my life involved 1) A sort of woman/beast thing and massive quantities of alcohol. 2) A sort of beast/woman thing and massive quantities of alcohol. And 3) an old sweat sock, a weed eater, a live chicken, and massive quantities of alcohol.

Finally, I slowed down My Wicked Wicked Ways (Good book, read it now) and started to become a normal human again. I didn’t drool anymore. I didn’t drag my knuckles when I walked. And I was ready to move on with my life. It is at this point that The Blondage arrived and took off her clothes in my uncle’s pool. The gods were tempting me, and I was all over it like Ron Jeremy on white trash. The last year has been the happiest of my life (Except for that year in Saigon. And the time I spent in Cuba. And those three months I was helping Jenna Jameson learn her lines). Thank you, Blondage, for being as patient as you have been. I love you.

As I was saying, all of my friends now come to me with relationship advice. Like I’m supposed to be Mr. Suave. Like I’m supposed to have all the answers. Like I’m supposed to understand women. And here’s the funny thing: even though I could get myself dumped by a sasquatch in heat, and even though I have been told on numerous occasions that the best thing about having sex with me is that it doesn’t take long, I don’t think I’ve ever steered one of them wrong.

Email me with your relationship questions, and I’ll post your advice to this site. Don’t worry, I’ll assign you an assumed name. Like if your name is Tom, I might call you Thom. Or if it’s TJ, I’ll call you JT. Or if it’s Layla I’ll call you in the middle of the night and breath heavy. You know. I don’t promise that the advice will be good, in fact, I don’t promise anything. If following my advice results in a break-up, your hair being set on fire, or genital mutilation, I will not be held accountable.

Step closer, Ladies, the KOTWF is here to help.

Explanation

I've had several people ask me why I call myself the KOTWF, or King Of The Wild Frontier. For the first time on network tele--er--the internet, the origin of my title:

I've always been a dork.

That's it. Go home.

I'm SO Proud of Myself

I was helping a friend write a roast for a mutual friend's going away party. The mutual friend (we'll call him MF) is a bit, well, rotund. One of the lines that I came up with for the speech was "Last time I roasted something that looked like MF, I invited 100 friends and stuck an apple in its mouth."

I'm so fucking funny.

My Life is Complete!

Skot is back from his honeymoon in Belgium. He's been cavorting for two weeks, and is still a little drunk from the flight, so his writing is about on par with the normal. I think they served Pwim on the plane.

Welcome back Skot, now people have something entertaining to read, and can start ignoring my boring-ass-shit again.

X-MEN

I just took the X-Men personality test. Here is my result:


You are Wolverine!

A loner by nature, you feel uncomfortable when
around those you don't know and even those you
do. You are awkward when it comes to
relationships, but fiercely loyal to those you
love.


Which X-Men character are you most like?
brought to you by Quizilla

Okay, fine. So I cheated to make it come out that way. It's my fucking birthday, I can do whatever I want.

What do you mean unethical? Fuck you!

Alright. You win. Here's the real result.


You are Beast!

You are brilliant and extremely clever. You can
handle almost any problem swiftly and
efficiently. You are devoted to philosophy and
are always up for a good discussion.
Sometimes, though, your anger gets the best of
you and you upset those whom you care about.


Which X-Men character are you most like?
brought to you by Quizilla

Hope you're happy. Dick.

Crush

I keep getting emails from someonelikesyou.com. Apparently, about a year ago someone admitted to this website that they have a crush on me, and I'm a bad guesser (okay, I haven't even tried to guess, but that's the same thing). Well, anyway, someonelikesyou.com got tired of my extreme lack of interest, and promised to tell me who liked me if I signed up for a bunch of clubs and gave them my credit card number.

I almost fell for it, then I said "Wait, what if I go through all this rigamarole to find out who likes me, and it's not Daryl Hannah. Won't I be disappointed?" So I decided that I would rather go on living the dream that Daryl needs me more than air, but doesn't know how to express her feelings, so she revealed them through a web-site for socially inept dorks.

I think that's much better than going through with it and finding out that my secret admirer is really the 65 year old fat man in the next cubicle.

Whoa is me.

Besides, I already gave my credit card to that blind organ grinder with the baby monkey.

Monday Blues

My "Monday Morning Routine(tm)" has been totally shattered. The Blondage and I started a new diet this morning, so when I rolled out of bed, I didn't smell sizzling bacon and frying eggs, and I didn't hear the musical "Pop" of a champagne cork. Nope. Just an energy bar and a cold shower.

Then I got to work. Wouldn't you know it, we're out of Baileys. Completely. And don't even bother asking if there was Drambuie or Amaretto. So then my sexetary informs me that she's pregnant and has the clap, so that's out, too. Now it's gonna be all "Penacillon and Paternity Testing" just like last month. Disheartened, I step into my office and close the door, then realize that someone has replaced my recliner with an ACTUAL OFFICE CHAIR. I mean, COME ON! I don't want to sound like a whiny bitch or anything, but without my recliner, how am I supposed to put up my feet and relax. There's all this paper-stuff on my desk, so that's out.

This diet thing ruined my whole day. I guess that's why diets usually start "tomorrow." I'm not too concerned, though. I've got an idea that will make lunch a snap:

Slim-Fast is good with a vodka floater.

They've got me pegged


You will drink too much gin. Not the worst way to
die, but you won't remember too much of your
life. Hey, at least you made some people laugh!


What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?
brought to you by Quizilla

Learning through play

I don't know about you, but after reading this article, I think I'll brush up on Gamma World.

Look!

Okay, it's new link Friday. Check this out. Not only is it funny shit, but Cory is one of my best friends, and if I don't say this he'll kick my ass.

Poetry

I liked the result so well earlier, that I decided something. Every friday from now on, I will take the emails that I have received during the last week, use cut and paste only, and construct a poem. I give you this week's attempt at aestheticism.

When they were out of my favorite gin,
ALL atomic motion stops and the proctologist fainted.

Make the biggest mistake ever,
You need more tail (we don’t want anything slipping out).
Maybe if I was well hung.

You are disgusting! You might be next.
I love the Temporary Insanity.

They look like big hairy rats!
I’ll take the time to know that they are great.
While high students lick the flagpole.

Just tell me who the heck you are!

I am lazy.

Soapbox

I was over at one of my favorite blogs today, and I found out that the author of the blog gets to go on NPR to discuss blogging. There were several comments, the last of which was this one:

"I'm sorry, why was this blog picked to represent Seattle weblogs to the local NPR audience? As if blogs need more 'naval-gazing' added to their rep? Oh, but it's so hard-hitting, this blog! It mentions all the things that the tv news never tells you, yes! Like how good X2 is! Wow, we'll sure beat Bush in 2004 with this kind of info!

Out of Seattle, for a blog which gives you something useful and literary, nothing beats American Samizdat.

Perhaps we can have a new blog category . . . let's see, there's warbloggers, there's the diarists, and oh yes--now there's the fluffbloggers."

Needless to say, this pissed me off. People who take themselves too seriously, well, they'll die of a heart-attack soon and not be anyone's problem. Well, maybe I was hasty, but this was my response.

"I get enough depressing shit from MSN and work. I, for one, would rather read Matt's blog than, well, just about anything else on the web.

If you want useful and literary, read the classics or the Kama Sutra. If you want pleasurable, fun reading with unique insights at times, and belly laughs at others, or if you just want to escape for a few minutes from the stress of the work day, then read this blog. That's what I want out of blogging, and that's what I get.

I don't expect to change the world through my blog, and I don't think that Matt does either (if I'm out of line let me know). I just want to give someone an opportunity to smile when they may not have yet today. I hope that my blog does that for someone. Matt's does it for me."

Funny tomorrow. I swear.

True Love

I saw an old flame today, and immediately fell back in love.

Sorry the post is short, but I really must get back to that mirror.

This is Just Typical

Normally, I dress like a piece of shit. No, don't try to make me feel better, it's true. It's not that I don't like to look nice, it's just that, well, to get nice clothes to fit a deformed figure like mine, it takes a team of professional tailors at several hundred dollars an hour. Even then the suits I end up with don't quite fit right. One sleave will be too long, one will be too short, they won't tie together right behind my back. You know.

The point is that when I do dress nicely, it is for special occasions. Today I have to go to Pittsburgh to pick up a consultant for work, and I was told to "Try and look like you know how to use a washing machine." So, today I am dressed in my best powder blue tuxedo complete with wide collars and lacey shirt. The admiring looks I get as I stroll through the office are almost worth the $68.95 I paid for this thing a few years back, and I just know that the Blondage is going to want to tear it off me when I get home from Pittsburgh tonight. But, as always happens, today was a day for a coffee incident.

Coffee at work is always two things: weak and cold. So today, when I took my first life-giving gulp of the caffeinated nectar, the boiling espresso that hit my lips caused a chain reaction, the final step of which was 6 ounces of black java soaking into the blue-tipped frills of my best tuxedo shirt, running down the front of my pants, and soaking one of my yellow dress-socks. This wouldn't have been so bad, except that the resultant burn caused me to shriek like someone had just pulled one of my pigtails, stolen my Barbie (tm) and stepped on my saddleshoes. When the safety manager came running, incident report, first aid kit, and digital camera in hand, I knew I was done for. I guess I'll change at lunch. My only other suit was borrowed from Don Johnson and never returned, so at least I'll still look good.

I got third degree burns from my disco inferno.

Poetry

For your reading pleasure, I have constructed the following poem using only cut, paste, and emails I have received in the last week.
Enjoy.

Oh my God, I have the worst hangover ever!

Ground beef, lettuce, tomato, onions, pickles, ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, and Krispy Kreme,
once again you have foiled my attempts to fuck with you the way god intended.

Based on the strength of my logs,
a neutron decides to go into the car repair business.

I could kill you with wasabi,
only without the annoying cake or deserts, just a lot of booze.

Am I going to have to kill you to try and ease my boredom here at home?

Do you still want the naked pics?
So many times she gets pity instead of logic.

Second-Rate

No matter how hard I try, no matter what I do, no matter how many times I tell myself that I am the best and everyone else sucks, I am still amazed, time and again, by Matthew Baldwin's ability to be so damn much more funny and clever than I am.

Desperation

It looks to me like, following the recent shuttle disaster, NASA is desperate to do anything to get today's youth interested in becoming astronauts instead of firemen, policemen, or garbage collectors.

Thanks to Cory for sending the following email.

"I was visiting the Deep Impact website and thought you might find this interesting...

Send Your Name to a Comet!

NASA's Deep Impact mission will dig deep beneath the surface of a comet for a first-ever look at dust and ice from the early formation of the solar system. And your name can be part of the Deep Impact! From now until January of 2004, you can enter your name to be recorded on a disc and attached to the side of the copper projectile - the impactor spacecraft. Your name on the impactor will cause a spectacular crater on Comet Tempel 1 up to the length of a football stadium and several stories deep.

In July of 2005, the Deep Impact encounter will be an event that everyone can take part in by watching images from the impactor's sister spacecraft as they are sent down to Earth in near real time. If you want to know that your name went to a comet and became part of one of the most exciting events in the history of space exploration, then sign up now on Send Your Name to a Comet and tell all your friends so they can sign up too. We'll even provide you with an email announcement so you can contact your friends and relatives about this campaign.

Deep Impact is a NASA Discovery Mission, eighth in a series of low-cost, highly focused space science investigations.

For more information about the campaign, please visit http://deepimpact.jpl.nasa.gov/sendyourname/index.html.

For more information about the Deep Impact mission, please visit http://deepimpact.jpl.nasa.gov."

This never happens to me!

I've been RANDOMLY selected to receive a $1.00 membership to MEGAMOVIEPORN.COM!!!! I can't believe my luck! I'm going to send them my credit card number right away! PORN!!!!!!!

Friday

Now that's what I'm talking about...



Come on five o'clock!!!

As Promised...

I told you I'd find stupid shit on the 'net. A sample of what you'll find at SPAM Limericks follows. WHAT IS THE WORLD COMING TO?!?

When I visit the bright city lights
I stuff SPAM down the front of my tights
In the hope that this codpiece
Will get me the odd piece
To help me through long lonely nights.
--Barrie Collins

"No matter," said Aunt Mary Jo,
"If you've nothing attractive to show.
Put some SPAM 'neath your vest
And you'll look your cute best
And haul in the mugs with the dough.
--Mike O'Connor (K.M.O'Connor)

While you're waiting...

Zip over to Ryan's site and see what he has to offer.

You'll like it.

Really.

I feel terrible...really

I finally have evidence that there are actual, real people reading this blog besides the Blondage, and what do I do? I have a terrible week at work and neglect you, the little people. Tell you what; I'll make it up to you. I promise that, if not tomorrow, then this weekend I will post a review of a book I just read, or of a movie I watched. Or maybe I'll discuss interesting geo-political ramifications of current events. I know, I'll explain in great detail my simple plan for solving world hunger, ending war, and making sex-toys more affordable.

Who am I kidding? Tune in tomorrow for stories about how much I can drink and links to stupid shit I've found on the web.

Sin City

And I always thought that if I were a city, I'd be Spit-In-The-Bucket, Tennessee. I guess you can never even really know yourself.


Congratulations, you're Las Vegas, Sin City.
What US city are you? Take the quiz by Girlwithagun.

This just in!

FDA warns that new "Viagra Chewables" formula may be a "tough nut to crack."

Viagra Chewables users say that, while the new form is "easy to ingest," spouses find the effects "hard to swallow."

Told you I couldn't be funny.

Sorry

I'm sorry, but I just find it incredibly difficult to be funny when there are people like Jack Chick and Reverend Mark Creechout there.

I haven't read that much self-righteous, bull-headed, wrong-thinking, childishly-written pig-swill since Dr. Falwell went all homo-phobic about children's telvision programming.

People should need a license to breed.

Jeez!

And I thought my week sucked.

Big News

The KOTWF has an actual, honest-to-God, real-live, literate, smartass reader! Really! Clark actually posted a comment on my "I'm Obnoxious!!! Kick My Ass!!!" post from yesterday. And he got me thinking. Maybe, just maybe, someone ACTUALLY reads this shit. I'm famous. I'm gonna be a billionaire. And when I am, I'll remember you, the little people, that made it possible. So here's the deal. From now on, if you read this site, click the "comment" button and leave me a message. I don't care what you say. Let's make it a kind of a game. Then you can all go over to Clark's site, because, well, he's the first person to EVER comment on my site, and leave him a comment, too.

Do it everyday or you will be tied up with pianowire and whipped repeatedly with long strips of angel-hair pasta.

Communication Problems

I'm 2 or 3 years older than a lot of my friends. I know that doesn't sound like a lot, but it is. Allow me to explain why.

The world moves so quickly these days. Think about it. The stone age started around 8000 BC. The Bronze age didn't start until 3500 BC. The Iron age wasn't until 1500 BC and has lasted through to today (unless you want to argue that we are in the silicon age or the plastic age or some shit like that at which point you can write your own damn opinions in the comments). Today, however, we don't have to wait thousands of years for the next new development to take hold. The steam engine was perfected by James Watt in the mid 1700's, and it took less than 150 years for the gasoline powered automobile to come about. And less than 100 years later that was perfected in the Aston Martin V-12 Vanquish which James Bond drove in his latest film.

But I digress. One hundred years ago, the changes that we world underwent during two years was not enough to even be noticed. Now everything is broken into 30 second blocks. Which brings us (or me, if no one else is still reading) to the point. And that is that I was old enough to experience stuff that my friends have never heard of. When I was in high school, no one got laid. Ever. Two years later, The Blondage knows people who were giving sexual favors for milk-money in the seventh grade.

Some more examples:
I mention Fraggle Rock and am greeted with blank stares. Duran Duran...who? And you should see what happens when I mention that I actually saw E.T. in the theater (the first time around). I made an off color joke the other day, and a girl said "You're bad" I said "I'm nationwide!" then immediately wanted to crawl down the storm sewer and hide. The Blondage calls it the "Two Year Generational Gap." We consider it to be the largest obstacle in our budding romance. If anyone knows a cure for people who don't remember the eighties, let me know.

Now you know, and knowing is half the battle.

I'm obnoxious!!! Kick my ass!!!

So I was over at Clark Hornbell's blog and he told a story about a loud mouthed SOB backing down when the guy he was mouthing off to got in his face. It reminded me of a similar experience I once had...

So I'm sitting in a local bar, sharing a pitcher (read 11 pitchers) of Killians with my friends and watching a game (read watching commercials in between boring sports stuff) when suddenly this tool walks up to my table and says, menacingly, "Hey."

Now, I know a lot of people in town, and I'm pretty bad with names and faces, so I say, politely, "What's up?" and go back to pouring my beer.

He says, even more menacingly, "I said, 'Hey.'"

I say, slightly irritated, "And I said, 'What's up,' so what's up?"

"You looking at my girl?"

Keep in mind, gentle reader, that I have singlehandedly drunk several (pitchers of) Killians at this point, and am scared that I didn't notice a good looking girl in the bar, so I respond with "I dunno, which one is she?" at which point I hear a sharp intake of breath from all three of my friends who suddenly realized that I'm in just crazy enough of a mood to egg on total strangers or even try to have my cake AND eat it, too. Meanwhile, this guy is standing there not being sure what to do next.

Finally, he finds his voice and says "She's the good looking blonde over there." and points to a girl sitting just beneath the television that I was watching.

"Oh," I say, "I'm watching T.V."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked.

"Dude," I say, "Your girlfriend is sitting underneath the television that I am watching. I am watching the game, not her."

"You just keep your fucking eyes up." he says.

"I will." I say.

"You hear me motherfucker, I said up" he says again, pissing me off to no end.

"I will," I say, "why would I want to look at an ugly bitch like that?" stupidstupidstupidstupid.

"You'll pay for that" he says as he walks away. That's right, away. While he was trying to gather up reinforcements to deal with my imposing 100 pound frame, I was alerting the bartender that there might be a little bloodshed, but that it was not my fault. The bartender responded by approaching my assailant and speaking hurriedly while he made ridiculous gestures obviously to indicate that the last guy I fought in his bar had been brutally stabbed to death with a particularly sharp piece of mango fruit. The bartender then walks back by my table, where I am peacefully watching the game again, and says "Have fun, dude." "Shit" I say.

The tool walks back over to me, and says, "Hey man, you know earlier, when I came over talkin' shit. Well, like, I didn't realize who you were and stuff, and, like, I was way out of line. Sorry man. We cool?"

"Yeah," I say, "We cool. And I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have said that about your girlfriend. She actually has really nice tits."

He paused a moment, then said "Thanks, man." before walking backwards all the way to the door of the bar.

I felt really tough until I was walking home and that gang of one-legged grandmothers with osteoporisis kicked my ass and took my wallet.

I'm going to Hell!!! Yeah!!!

Here are my test results from the "Dante's Inferno Test:"

In the third circle, you find yourself amidst eternal rain, maledict, cold, and heavy. The gluttons are punished here, lying in the filthy mixture of shadows and of putrid water. Because you consumed in excess, you meet your fate beneath the cold, dirty rain, amidst the other souls that there lay unhappily in the stinking mud. Cerebus, a canine monster cruel and uncouth with his three heads and red eyes, dwells in this level. He growls and tears at the damned with his teeth and claws.

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Third Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Very High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Moderate
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Moderate
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Moderate
Level 7 (Violent)	Moderate
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Low

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test