Monday, May 31, 2004


I was the last one on the plane. They were already closing the fuselage door and had announced boarding for the next flight as I ran up. I embarked and found my seat as the plane taxied toward the runway.

After stowing my briefcase, I looked around the craft. It was a typical commuter flight: half-full, people spread around to even out the weight. I was sitting across the aisle from an older woman and her pet dog.

At first, I didn’t realize it was a dog. She had it under the seat in front of her, confined to one of those little pet carriers that looks like a suitcase or an oversized purse. I realized it was a dog when it started yipping.

And it yipped a lot.

And every time it yipped, the lady would kick the case. Or hit the top of it. Or shake it.

And every time she did this, it made the little bundle of hair, teeth, and bows yip all the louder.

So she would kick the case.

So it would yip.

So she would kick the case.

So it would yip.

My amazement at discovering the location of Yorkshire Terriers’ volume control soon gave way to mild irritation, then distress, then an urgent plea that the stewardess bring me “just one more triple gin and tonic.”

She did.

About halfway through the flight, the dog got tired of being kicked. It quit yipping, and she quit kicking. In fact, it got so tired of being kicked, that it lay down on its back, with its tongue sticking out. It didn’t move the whole rest of the flight. It didn’t move when the plane landed. It didn’t move when she picked up the case and set it on her lap preparatory to disembarking. When it crossed her mind that maybe she had kicked her dog to death, the look on her face was priceless. I wake up laughing, remembering her face.

And how much she jumped when the dog woke up, that too was classic.

I just hope she learned her lesson.

Thursday, May 27, 2004

Spring Cleaning

The time has come to get my ass in gear. I'll never be a world famous internet personality if I don't do several things:

1. Post more regularly.
2. Restart my campaign of oral sex in exchange for links on other sites.
3. Fill my text with buzz words like HOT LESBIAN SEX, BRITNEY SPEARS, FREE PICS, PORN, and AUTOEROTICASPHYXIATION that are sure to get me hits on Google.
4. Get people who can actually write to start doing my posts.
5. Marry into the Gates family.
6. Comment on other blogs more.

As you can see, I have my work cut out for me. The first matter of business is to start cutting some of the dead weight off of the links bar. Blogs that haven't updated for several months are being cut. Over the next few days, I will be auditioning some other sites to fill those sad and atrophied shoes. If you'd like to place your site on my casting couch, send me a link.

See you 'round. I'll be here.

Thursday, May 20, 2004

Go KOTWF! It's Your Birthday!

No, really. It is my birthday.

I'm not posting today because I feel dilapidated and geriatric. I'll tell you all about my trip to Paducah tomorrow.

If my old bones live until morning.

Sunday, May 16, 2004

I Just Heard A New One

Why does Michael Jackson like Twenty-Eight Year Olds?

Because there are twenty of them.

Friday, May 14, 2004


So I’ve decided something: Harry Potter is a pussy.

The reason I say this is that his big arch-nemesis, Voldemort, is a total pussy. But Voldemort almost wins every time.

I’d like to see Harry Potter versus Saruman. The little bastard would be a blood spot in seconds.

Friday, May 07, 2004


The light glistens, amicably, off of the water. I look at it through the pink hues of my fourth rumrunner, then get bored with light and start looking at bikinis again. The faint, salty smell of sea air mixes with the aromas coming from my Romeo Y Julieta cigar and takes me back to easier days when I didn’t bare the weight of the world on my narrow shoulders. A seagull calls in the distance, and everything is so perfect that I don’t even want to shoot it.

Red flops down next to me, dripping sand and surf. She smells more like fish than usual, but I assume it’s just the ocean, and, for once, I allow her to get closer than the restraining order dictates. Her kisses mix with the seawater on her lips, and I realize that a little salt would go well with my drink. While we kiss, I discretely rub her sopping hair around my glass-rim.

Tonight, we’ll eat lobster and drink glass after glass of absinthe. Then we’ll stumble out to a moonlit beach where we will dance, barefoot, on a stretch of sand that is fairly free of jelly-fish. We’ll make love as the tide comes in, and fall asleep under the stars. Tomorrow, we’ll awaken to the stares of families on vacation and gain a new knowledge of public indecency laws. Holding manacled hand in manacled hand, we’ll endure our arrest and subsequent incarceration with a wormwood induced headache, and sand up our asses.

At least that’s the way it should be.

Fucking Ohio rain.

Wednesday, May 05, 2004

What the Hell Happened to Me?

When I moved back here from Chicago, I lived alone, in a one-room cabin, in the woods, next to a fish pond that was home to bass, bluegills, geese, and ducks, without air conditioning, TV, internet, or telephone. I would lie awake at night, listening to the cicadas in the trees, the packs of wolves being slaughtered by nomadic tribes of Neanderthal, and the banjo tunes of the hill people. Often I would sit on my porch, martini in hand, and do nothing but…well…and do nothing.

Now that has all changed.

Now I live with my beautiful fiancee, two cats, an aquarium full of fishes ( most of which I can’t identify, and only one of which is named. He’s a bottom feeder, named after a former business associate ), a phone line with caller ID, call waiting and automatic redial, a cable internet which randomly throws scat-porn onto my screen, and a babble-box that sits in the corner loudly broadcasting 500 channels to distract me while it eats my everlasting soul, much like the parrot that says cute things while pecking at Prometheus’ liver.

Here’s the problem. I like TEE-VEE as much as the next guy, but why on Earth do I need five hundred channels if all that is going to do is give me 450 extra channels with nothing on? I was perfectly happy being irritated that I had 50 channels of absolute crap.

For your reading pleasure, here is a listing of the type of fecal detritus my tele spews out daily:

Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle
My God! The only thing that made this movie worth watching was the thought that, with how bad this film is, maybe they won’t make another.

Law & Order
Don’t get me wrong. I like Law & Order. I think it is well-written, well-directed, well-edited, and well-acted. It is also on at least 97 channels at any given time.

Law & Order: Criminal intent
Another 23 channels.

Law & Order: SVU
Yes! All the excitement and macabre humor of the other two PLUS violent rape! This takes up another 30 channels to bring the Law & Order franchise up to an even 150 channels, 24/7.

Oh yeah, speaking of 24/7, Twenty-Four
Just how much shit can happen to the leader of the Lost Boys in one day?

Lost Boys
This movie did a great job of reminding me why the eighties are over (I mean, besides the relentless onslaught of time). Great closing line though, where you think that Grandpa is flipping out because he comes home to find a vampire in his house, and he says “One thing I never could stomach about living in Santa Carla: All the God-Damn vampires.” Oh, eighties flicks, you are sooooo clever!

Friends: 2 Hour Season Finale
Wow! It’s actually ending. I mean, I’m sad because this will mean that there is now even less stuff on Tee-Vee, but, well, two fucking hours? How can they make this last two hours? Ross, you’d better follow Rachel to Paris! Chandler, you and Monica better move to the ‘burbs where you will hang with a young Tom Hanks and raise that Hill-Jack Ohio baby! Joey, you’d better say “how you doin’?” and fuck someone! Phoebe, you’d better be dumb! There, shows over! Leave your keys in the ashtray on the way to your two hour special with Matt Lauer and Katie Couric. Matt The White, go freshen up. You have to be ready to eat sandwiches and use women in new and exciting ways next season in your new show.

I guess that’s a bit overly mean. I suppose that I’m really just upset about the whole situation. Now that Friends is ending, I’ll never get to see that monstrous, 2 hour, Friends: SVU crossover I’ve been dreaming of.

Later, guys, I’m gonna go see what’s on TV.