More Bloggin' Please

I know, I know...I need to get off my butt and blog more.  My apologies.  To everyone who keeps saying "when are you gonna blog", "what gives, dude", or "hello...it's called a blog", I get it.  I will do better.  

Geez...

Hammer, don't hurt him...

Perhaps the greatest commercial of all time.

Stop It. Please.

Are some people getting paid for forwarding email?  

Enough of these emails.  Please.

THIS  IS WHAT SORRY LOOKS LIKE This  is what tired looks like This  is what bad spelling looks  like This  is what intimacy looks like This  is what courage looks like This  is what 'good grief!!' looks  like This  is what your tax dollars look  like This  is what 'I can wait' looks  like This  is what a blonde's car looks  like  This  is what cool looks like   This  is what a helping hand looks  like  This  is what cold looks like  This  is what an angel looks like    This  is what a bad mood looks like  It  doesn't matter how many people you send this to,  just remember if it made you smile, your friends  will smile  too!

Every now and then, a person does something on television that mystifies us.  Something so incredible or unbelievable that the appearance leaves us either speechless or scratching your head for answers.  

The only answer I want following television moment: 

How the hell did a Waco station hire Brian "Boom Goes the Dynamite" Collins?

Word of Advice

Dear Broken Down Family on Corner:

For greater results, schedule break downs on various intersections AND 

note where you have set up camp to avoid panhandling in the same area 

with the same sign.

Also, I hope the nice car I saw you driving at Wal-Mart is not the 

aforementioned broke down vehicle. At that point, it worked fine but 

you needed money for medicine.

Good luck.

threes

It always happens.  

No matter how much you dismiss it as 

an old wives' tale, or simply chalk it up as eerie coincidences, death comes in three's.  

This past weekend, we lost two entertainers - 

Bernie Mac died due to complications of pneumonia on Saturday; and then the great Isaac Hayes was found motionless on his floor near a treadmill.  He was pronounced dead shortly after at a local hospital.  

One, two... next?

This message is for both 

Todd Bridges and Gary Coleman: 

Don't drink and drive and sleep with one eye open.

RIP Bernie.  

RIP Isaac - 

you were one bad mutha....shut yo' mouth.

Classy

Nothing says classy like philosophy on the back of a tailgate.

This Week's Rant

Two things I've noticed and wish to discontinue each store visit:

(1) I often visit various stores during my work hours.  Either I am purchasing items to take to physician clinics or simply killing a little time while hiding from the outside elements which normally is the heat and West Texas dust storms.  Continuing my rant, often while in stores, why do fellow shoppers seek me out, asking where to find items?  Do I look like someone who works at these stores?  The "outfit" for Hasting's, for instance, is an apron and polo-type shirt with whatever pants yet each time I've run into Hasting's some person will stop and ask me where to find "Bruce Almighty" on the rental shelf.  This shouldn't be such a bother, or topic for a blog, but it happens ALL THE TIME.  But, the best part about this: When the person asking discovers I do not work at the store sometimes they will get pissed and roll their eyes at me.  Really?  Rolling your eyes because I am not the person who can tell you where the new American Idols CD is located.  Interesting.  

Next, 

(2) While checking out and I say, "Hey, this card does not scan.  Every time I am here, they must punch it in and one the managers has to complete the transaction", those words do not mean that I am lying, or do not know how to scan a credit card.  Therefore, you do not need to rip a piece of paper from your receipt machine, wrap it around my card and try for yourself over and over and over.  Why does this happen Sam's people?  Seriously.  OUR WAL-MART BUSINESS CARD NO LONGER SCANS.  Still, you choose to attempt to scan it every time.  Stop it.  Please.  The people waiting in line are sick of waiting; and I wish not to stay another 30 minutes in your store.  

There you have it.  My latest rants.

Do Not Attempt

While watching television last night, an advertisement for Subway came on the air.  In the commercial, marketing Subway's new five dollar sandwich deals, a woman eats a five dollar bill.  Underneath the woman are the words 'Dramatization - Do Not Attempt' appear.  What the f, people - do we really need this helpful suggestion?  "Hey - a friendly reminder: Money is for buying things, not eating [smile]."  Where have we come as a people that we need "reminders" that consuming money is a big no-no?  

Obviously, the Subway Corporation is protecting itself because we all know some jackass in America will pull a five dollar bill out of his shoe, pop it in his mouth like Tic Tac, and choke resulting in anything from throat pain to embarrassment to death.  The next thing you know we're reading about the "Subway Case" in the local paper, and how some jackass was awarded $25 million by a court of even more jackasses who themselves wrestle with the thoughts of eating cash money.  The rest of us with common sense will scratch our heads, thinking - "Why did this happen?"  Oh yeah because the words 'Do Not Attempt' were absent in that Subway advertisement during the summer of $5 gasoline.  Ridiculous.  

Remember long ago when a commercial would show a kid on a big wheel jumping dirt mounds? In other scenes, the kids would race each other and skid through the dirt causing clouds of dirt to fill the television screen and possibly blinding the child actors starring in the commercial.  Man, if only we knew what we know today.  I'd be rich, bitch!

NOTE: If you watch a commercial and need the 'Do Not Attempt' hint, you are a jackass.

Like Father, Like Daughter

This of course is Miss Harper.
 She is wearing the infamous Rick James dreads.
Someday, she will follow in my footsteps.
Someday.

Until then, I am still Rick James, bitch!

We Are People

The men's bathroom

What are you doing at the urinals?  Two requests: 

(1) If the urinal is not one of those modernized jobs with automatic flush, would you mind flipping the handle and, yes, flushing?  The urinal cake cannot do the job on its own.  It needs your support. 

(2) Just curious, but what's the deal with the, um, lose of hair which is often sprinkled about the urinal?  I hesitate assuming where the hair comes from, but again what's the deal?  I mean, maybe you are combing or running your fingers through your hair while standing there---and what's the deal with that?  Nonetheless, allow me to emphasize the importance of the first point: Again, flushing will keep my eyes from seeing this as I do not wish to see this.  Please save any trimming for your personal facilities. 

(3) Even if you did not touch anything in the bathroom, reconsider not washing your hands.  Keep this point in mind: You will eventually shake, or possibly, hold someone's hand.  Would you want to be the other person?  Again, you did not touch anything in the bathroom but you did touch something unless you possess greater skills than I. 

(4) Finally, the "thing" you left in the toilet, see point number one.  

In conclusion, treat the public facilities as inside your own home.  We are not animals, needing to leave our marks, and by golly we can reach the water faucet.  We are people.  We are people.  We are people. 

People can flush.

24-Hour Discount Hell

QUESTION: 

Why is it that everyone seen inside Wal-Mart either looks like they just got out of bed or recently escaped from prison?

ANSWER: 

Because there is no other place one can by a loaf of bread, hemorrhoid cream, duct tape, a Wiggles DVD and a shotgun.

If you had a trip to Africa or Saturn, one of the last places you'd go while preparing for the trip would be Wal-Mart.  

I hate Wal-Mart.  With every visit, I grow to hate it more.  In my normal day-to-day, Wal-Mart is never on my list of places to visit.  Never.  If time is of importance, however, due to its "convenience", I will go to Wally World.  Yesterday was such an occasion.

While working around the back yard, I realized the water hose purchased last summer refused to let go of the spray gun nozzle attached months and months ago.  First of all, why?  Why does this sort of drama happen to me every summer?  This wouldn't be a problem if (a) I wished to violently spray water every time the water was turned on (unfortunately, this makes filling doggy bowls nearly impossible); and (b) the water hose didn't leak water.  Again, why does this happen to me?  Any time this hose is used, the person pointing the spray nozzle gets as wet as the area the nozzle is pointed.  What happened to the days of attaching the hose to the faucet and living happily ever after?  Obviously those days are over.  So today I chose to run to Wal-Mart for a new water hose.  

The parking lot alone makes a person not want to go to Wal-Mart yet many of us dismiss our sixth sense.  Finding a parking spot without a shopping cart could be the theme of a new NBC game show.  No matter what time of day or night, locating a spot is nearly impossible.  Unless you park at the very top corner of the parking lot.  In that case, the walk to the store could take anywhere from 20 minutes to 4 days.  And really - parking there only means you will need to carry all the Wal-Mart purchases back to that area.  Besides, who knows what will happen to your vehicle?  Basically anything.  That's no man's land.  I had a friend who parked there one time.  When he got back to his car, a family of gypsies was living in the backseat.  Tough price to pay for wanting an ice cream sandwich and motor oil.  Also, the Wal-Mart parking lot is always the place where some disheveled individual approaches pleading for gas money because they have little gas and need to get Amarillo.  The same person often bothers me every Saturday night visit.  The same person.  Idiot.  My brother-in-law is convinced this scam will lead to a stabbing.  He believes these shady folk distract with the sad story, lure individuals to their cars, and then when not expecting it (but really when are you expecting it?) stab you.  I shake my head at the logic, but then again if asked to jot down a list of places I'd most likely be stabbed, the Wal-Mart parking lot would be either item two or three.  

Finally I parked.  Before heading into the store, however, I had to push a few carts AND grab one that had "rolled" into the car parked next to me.  That move may have been the most pivotal of the trip because I KNOW, I KNOW once the owner of the vehicle came out and saw the shopping cart resting against his door, the next move would have been pushing it free and into the closest target - my car.  Oh, yes, I know the mentality of some when leaving Wal-Mart.  Still, this "pivotal" move will not stop the person across from pushing their cart into my car.  But it is these little things one must hold onto when entering Wal-Mart.

Once inside Wal-Mart, you realize why you never want to come to Wal-Mart.  Who came up with the color scheme and decor?  Basing my knowledge through the eyes of movies like Face/Off,  entering Wal-Mart looks like entering the cafeteria of a prison.  The only thing missing are the prison guards perched above with shotguns in their hands.  Then, they try fooling you into believing things are not as dire as they seem by tricking you with a greeter person.  But you are not tricked.  Most of time the greeter is some old man who is wearing a boot on his right foot while sitting in a lawn chair, or some feeble being who cannot figure out the price mark gun for marking return items.  Rarely do these greeter people say hello.  They are either busy applying stickers to return merchandise (usually stolen from the parking lot), or navigating one of those automatic drive carts.  Which brings up another hassle - do these ever work?  I had knee surgery last year.  Every time I went to Wal-Mart---again, out of convenience; I had one leg---these automatic carts were never charged or working.  Never.  Well, maybe once.  What is the use having these if they do not work, or cannot be used.  Much like the "Self Checkout Lanes" which I will bitch about later.

This is a rare mid-day visit for me.  Normally, my visits are late at night when there is less craziness in the store.  After midnight, the only problems to deal with are steering through pallets of unopened, unstocked merchandise and waiting for the one cashier in Lane 38 to check you out before sunrise.  Not saying it is a better experience, but it is not as dreadful.  Today in lieu of the pallets, maneuvering fellow customers is the my pain.  People tend to lose themselves while shopping, completely forgetting they are blocking an entire aisle.  Amazing.  Note to Wal-Mart customers BTW - GET OFF THE DAMN CELL PHONE AND STOP BLOCKING THE CEREAL!  It is a madhouse.  People everywhere.  Is this really more convenient?

Fifteen minutes later, I have successfully picked up items from grocery, making my way past electronics into lawn and garden.  I skip the electronic/music section because I refuse to purchase music at Wal-Mart.  Why do they only sell the edited versions of CDs?  Considering how Wal-Mart wipes the mom and pop stores off the face of the world, how do they find the morality virtues to keep the children from hearing their favorite artists sing with the occasional four letter words in their songs?  Morals at Wal-Mart?  Isn't this the same place that will not allow employees to take off work even to see their children leave for Iraq?  (If you did not receive that email forward, you may be the only one.)  If your Wal-Mart is anything like mine, the lawn and garden department is on the opposite end of the grocery area, located in an area that looks like it was attached to the building after someone asked: "Hey, where can we put the rakes?"  Around this time of the year, this section is packed to the brim with lawn equipment, pesticides, furniture and plants.  The aisles are smaller.  So much that if someone is coming your direction it is best to back out or shrink yourself next to ant or roach poison to allow them by.  Finally, I find the water hose section.  For a novice, it would mean another hour deciding which water hose would better serve its purpose in his life; for me, been there done that.  Never will I buy that yellow piece of crap again.  Now, to the checkout lanes.

Strolling to the checkout lanes, the first you see are the express lanes.  No one ever seems to work at these lanes.  Waste of space.  Next to those are the ones I despise with all my heart: the so-called "Self Checkout Lanes".  Why, oh, why?  Here is my experience with the "Self Checkouts": 

I activate the "Self Checkout" system.  I scan my first item and place it into the bag.  I scan my second item and place it into the bag.  The computer indicates there are too many items inside the bag and to re-scan the previous item.  I re-scan item.  The system does not recognize the item.  I scan again.  Same thing happens, and the system tells me to wait for the next available cashier.  Ah, therein lies the rub.  If I wanted cashier assistance, I would have opted for the non-Self Checkout Lane.  Ah-ha!  The duration of the wait takes longer than if I had waited in the regular cashier lane.  Finally, help arrives.  Or is it help?  The "Self Checkout Lane" professional has no clue what happened.  He scans the item and gets the same message.  Five times.  Eventually he resolves the matter: Ignore the message and keep scanning.  By this time, I have killed twenty additional minutes in Wal-Mart.   Dear, Wal-Mart - Remove these "Self Checkout Lanes".  They suck.

I am done.  I am free.  This Wal-Mart adventure is a historical event.  I carry bags containing Smart Water, an all-steel pruner and Betty Crocker scalloped potatoes.  Only at Wal-Mart.

Shit, did that cart hit my car?  Wal-Mart, I hate you. 

Remember hearing sounds coming from your closet when you were little?

TOKYO (AFP) - A Japanese man puzzled by food mysteriously disappearing from his refrigerator got a shock when he found out a woman had been living in his home for months without permission, police said Friday. 

The 57-year-old man living alone -- or so he thought -- in the western city of Fukuoka installed a security camera and called the police when he saw images of someone walking around his home while he was out.

"We searched the house in the man's presence. We found the woman in the closet," said a local police spokesman.

The woman, named as 58-year-old Tatsuko Horikawa, was found in a flat storage space only just big enough for a person to squeeze into lying down.

She had sneaked a mattress and several plastic bottles into the cubby hole, police said, adding that the women had been arrested.

"She told police that she had nowhere to live," the spokesman said. "She seems to have lived there for about a year, but not all the time."

It is unclear how she managed to enter the home undetected. Police suspect she might have been closet-hopping, moving from house to house.

new patty hangout

Hulu.com
http://www.hulu.com/

Wow... Discovered this evening while surfing the web. Any site that lets you watch FREE movies, television shows and clips is well worth any cyber stroll down memory lane. For example, I present the classic below.

Thank you, Hulu!

2008 MTV Movie Awards Movie Spoof Contest- Finals

OK...Ryan's video has officially made it to the finals of the 2008 MTV Movie Awards Movie Spoof Contest.

Do your funny bone a favor - follow the link below and VOTE as many times as your internet connection allows to increase Ryan's chances of walking on stage and accepting one of those cool MTV Movie Popcorn Trophies.

Again, the clip is "Matthew McConaughey Is Into The Wild" - it's hysterical and well-deserving.

Check it out AND VOTE. 

Please. :)

http://www.mtv.com/ontv/movieawards/2008/spoofsvote.jhtml

Thanks,
patty boy

This holiday weekend...

Don't drink and drive.

Sighting

Tisha Campbell

Photo is blurry because I've seen her go off on Martin and Kid & Play.  Remember how she fronted Kid in House Party?  Ahhh hell nah.  She wasn't going off on me.

I chose not to be embarrassed at the Apple Store.  

MTV Movie Spoof Contest

For the 2008 MTV Movie Awards, MTV is putting on a movie spoof contest.  Contestants all over the world can upload their videos to selected partner sites for viewers to watch and vote.  The top vote receivers will attend the award show and win a video camera; while the winner actually walks away with an MTV Golden Popcorn Award.  

My friend Ryan in Cali who is graciously letting me sleep on his sofa this weekend has entered the contest.  So far their video is one of the most watched on Will Ferrell's site, Funnyordie.com.  Frank the Tank has even endorsed it by placing it on the front page until fellow contestants cried foul.  

Voting ends tomorrow.  

Watch their hilarious spoof and VOTE.  Seeing Ryan on MTV would be pretty cool.

Gracias!

http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/abb46ecb43

 

Where in the world is...

"Excuse me - I'm looking for the Walsh household..."

First time

My first trip to Vegas. My first slot machine. Goodbye dollar.

Lost?

While boarding a plane, I always size up fellow passengers wondering how we would make out pending a crash. Unfortunately, I see no Jacks, John Lockes or Kates in this bunch.  I don't even see a guy who can climb a tree or apply a bandage.  

Of course, the Hurleys are in abundance.

Shit....

The Early Bird Sits Around and Waits

Currently, I am sitting inside the famous Lubbock International Airport.  My flight departs in 30 minutes---well, now an hour due to delays according to an announcement moments ago.  Despite my "history" (code word: CPT), I am early.  Why am I early?  Well, my wife is of Caucasian decent.  Considering his is Lubbock, Texas, normally I take my time getting to the airport.  Again, this is Lubbock.  Whenever Cheryl delivers me, however, I often arrive before the plane leaves its overnight hanger.  In fact, I may have seen the plane leave Lubbock for Dallas before coming back to Lubbock.  

My wife is a funny little mouse.  Between the two of us, Harper should be right on time for any appointments.  

More from either Vegas or LA later. 

friends

Friends make the world go 'round.

:)

a patty tip #57

In need of an immediate pick me up? 

Play "Shimmer" by Fuel when driving.  This song is added to every random playlist I create.

For best results, listen from beginning.

May 2008 is MY Month!

Honored.  Speechless.  Touched.

My dear friend Lori has bestowed upon me a tremendous and special recognition:  Featured Friend of the Month on her blog.  Oh yes, bastards, May 2008 is Patrick C Month.  

http://leecy70.blogspot.com/2008/05/featured-friend-of-month-dobie-id-like.html

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your way too kind words and bringing back many wonderful memories.  Man, Sly Fox...good stuff, baby.  Really, how great are the 80's?  Throw in some INXS - totally rad.  Twenty years later still awesome.  RIP Michael Hutchence.  (sigh)  

Again, thank you, Lori, for being a great friend.  Not a friend; we are much, much more.  We are family.  Little did we know the Frog Brothers would be the start of something so special.  Yes, they may only be noodles, Michael, but it is so much more.  Thank you!

THANK YOU.    :)

Oops I did it again.

Although there was a hint of anticipation in the air, like a strange religious freak at the front door, I refused to let it in.  Foolishly last year, I allowed the bastard to steal precise time from my life, consuming an hour here,  and then another here and another.  Before knowing better, nearly half a day was devoured by this beast.  I vowed never to fall victim to the allure and appeal ever again.  

Following the first week, I remained strong.  It meant nothing to me.  Nothing.  I did not care.  Then, this past Tuesday night, half paying attention to my surfing skills, I fell into the trap: 

MTV's "A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila 2"   

Why, oh, why do I watch this crap?  

For the smart ones reading this who keep their televisions from displaying this horrid nonsense, "A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila" is a "reality" show (notice the quotations) on the MTV featuring internet star Tila Tequila in a modern day dating game.  To be quite honest, I have the internet, I have it for some time, but I cannot recall a time in my internet-having life when I stumbled across Miss Tequila on any webpage.  Her sudden rise to stardom baffles me.  Whether she has any talents or skills other than wearing hot pants or extremely short shorts plus a bikini top has yet to be determined.  Also, considering her internet stardom, I must deduce many people surf the web with very poor quality monitors.  Mega-pixel or not, I do not find her very attractive.  

Do not let me stop there as this modern day dating game has a twist: 

See, our friend Tila has a personal conflict: She cannot decide if she like boys, or if she like girls?  To solve that problem, MTV has thrown together a fine assortment of men and women for Tila to get to closely screen and get to know over a period of weeks, eliminating one would-be lover each week for our viewing pleasure.  By closely screening, Tila makes them participate in events such as eating bugs and grotesque foods, washing and then drying vehicles with their bodies, and, my favorite, enjoying one-on-one time with Tila inside a giant wine glass while she makes out with one person while the other watches---then in most cases Tila will make out with the second.  In simply terms, the show is a train wreck.  Yet, I watch every Tuesday night followed by the recap show with that week's disgraced, kicked to the curb, broken hearted loser.  

Again, I reiterate MTV and Tila stole part of my life last season as this begins the second attempt to unite Tila with her Prince/Princess Charming.  Obviously last year's decision didn't take with Tila.  His name was Bobby.  Despite his goofiness, he managed to squeak past a really butch lesbian chick.  Wait, was his name Bobby or was hers?  Oh well, it doesn't matter.  Deep inside I chose to believe it was love which caused Tila to hand her heart to this young man - but in all honesty he probably won because his competition looked too much like a man and giving the choice Tila opted for the real male since he actually had the working parts, if you know what I'm saying.  Months later, I read an article---yes, sadly, I've researched the aftermath of season one---that MTV never provided the winning lover with any of Tila's contact information.  Basically, his staged smooch at the reunion not only ended the season, but evidently shut the door on the relationship.  Poor dude.  Man, almost makes the whole thing seem like a televised scam, huh?  Yet, here I am this season watching again.  

Following the tension filled moments of its predecessor, this season is starting with a bang.  All the boys are idiots; and two of the girls were already thrown out because they made out behind Tila's back.  How dare they - Tila is in this for love!  She was pissed too.  It may have been the first time she strayed from her patented "Your shot of love has ended" to "Get the F out of my house" when dismissing suitors.  Still, there are plenty left to choose.  Tila is not lacking high quality individuals.  In fact, I am amazed how perfectly casted, er, I mean, compatible each individual is with Tila.  If I were her---and thank goodness such is not the case because she has a tough life minus love and romance---I'd want the same wonderful people competing for my affection.  Like all the binge drinkers and mentally unstable, those would be the ones I'd definitely dream about spending the rest of my life.  Poor Tila.  

Tuesday eve was episode two of this wild and crazy adventure.  I watched, and then watched the previews for next week.  In the back of my mind I entertained thoughts of setting the TiVo on season pass.  Dear me.  MTV was better when it actually showed music videos.  At least I could push myself away when Genesis "Land of Confusion" played.  Those dolls freaked me out more than Tila.   

These shoes are made for walking...

Tuesday during my routine visit to Best Buy for the week's recent releases, I spotted these high heels in the parking lot. Normally I do not play the part of a pervert by aiming my cell phone camera to capture images but this was different: Not because I was attracted or enjoyed her legs---so far from the case. This woman obviously strapped on those high heels for the first time that Tuesday morning.

Stolling from her car to the entrance door, she stumbled and buckled like Bambi the first time he and Thumper discovered the frozen pond. My ankle instantly began swelling with every agonizing step delivered towards the entry way. She was probably mid-40s and six foot. The balancing act however made her appear ten feet tall and age 12. I was astonished to say the least.

In conclusion, high heels are a wonderful addition to an outfit only if a balancing pole is not required.

I am uncertain what became of Miss High Heels following this photo. While exiting however I do recall an overhead announcement---"Clean up toppled display cases on aisle 9...10, 11,12."

Hmmm...I wonder if her name was 'Bambi'?

Christmas in April

Today is April 26th.  This is my good friend Jeff.  This is Jeff's Christmas tree.  This is Jeff taking down his Christmas tree on April 26th.

Congrats on your new house, Jeff.

Move Over Nyquil

Today I made another great discovery in modern medicine---Aleve Cold & Sinus.

Suffering from the joys of West Texas seasonal allergies, I may have found my new best friend for this upcoming summer. I took a tablet an hour ago. All the snot and pressure is completely gone.

Now...if medical researchers can combine both NyQuil and Aleve, there would be no pain and suffering in the world. Get with it scientist people!

Remember when Barbie was a big deal?

Last week, I watched a movie called "Lars and the Real Girl".  Great flick starring Ryan Gosling.  If you haven't seen or heard of it, check it.  Very interesting concept.  Basically, it is the story of a man who has a serious relationship with a RealDoll, treating "her" like an actual person and his companion.  Now, I'd forgotten about RealDolls over the years.  I'd initially heard about them through HBO's "Real Sex".  Reading that sentence, if you didn't know what a RealDoll was, well, you have a pretty good idea now; and you're seriously thinking about renting "Lars and the Real Girl" this weekend.  

Real Dolls are state-of-the-art life-size dolls with durable, poseable skeleton and silicon flesh designed to recreate the female form.  Clients have the dolls created to their personal specifications and desires.  Extremely creepy.  

But it gets creepier.  Check this out:

People never cease to amaze me.

Expired

This photo was taken Sunday, April 20, 2008.

More about this later.

Paid Service

Curbside peddlers and transients I do not fully trust.  

I wonder if money donated will be used for good, like a decent two dollar meal; or, if the money will go towards drugs, alcohol or even pornography.  For the latter reason, I no longer hand out money.  But I feel bad.  

The solution: When approached for money, I request the individual perform a five minute dance routine or magic trick.  Now, I am paying for a service.  

Any money earned is no longer a concern of mine and I've taught someone a very important lesson.

Shakin' Those Haters Off

I feel like I have the flu.

Yesterday some bug hit me around 3PM. My stomach knotted; I had
chills; and my body was drained. I put my head down on my desk. Two
hours later I was at home in bed. Exhausted.

I hate being sick. Especially in spring or summer. Especially when it
feels like the flu. Especially when it forces me to bed early.

NyQuil is greatness. I am convinced if taken in its earliest stages, I
am almost certain, NyQuil could probably halt the AIDs virus. Maybe
Magic Johnson took it. Any time I feel any symptoms of ill trouble, my
immediate reaction is to grab the NyQuil. Last night was no different.
Today the chills and aches have subsided. I'm just tired. Ughhh...

Thanks, NyQuil!

Tonight I plan to spend another evening in bed. I feel much better.
Plus nothing beats a NyQuil dream. Gives me something to blog about.
Speaking of, why did one of my friends Scott Lewis turn into Neil
Patrick Harris in last night's dreams?

sent from patrick's iPhone

Defrag.

Residing within my hard drive I have a folder I've cleverly named "Mail Junk". Its contents are photos and videos I have downloaded from various email forwards from family and friends. Keeping items in this folder helps to later locate and discard which I do every 4 months or so. Today however I cannot recall the last time I deleted the junk. Perhaps explaining my poor computer performance as of late. Sadly, cleaning never seems to help does it? Seems like once you litter your system with AOL, junk mail forwards and personal photos, the computer always moves a little slower than those first months you got it. Hmmm...maybe because this is a PC. Man, I sound a bit snobbish now that I own Macs which are superior machines by the way. But I digress...

Continuing, cleaning provides another chuckle or two while browsing over the photos and videos. Before ridding them off my hard drive, I will share some with you. Hopefully, I can explain each and make this into a delightful blog entry---but don't hold your breath; there are never any guarantees with my writing. Be warned: Some items may be explicit as guys do tend to forward items about boobies. We're guys. We can't help it. Boobies are fascinating.

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1. Anyone with an e-ddress and at least one friend has received a joke featuring a notorious young character known as Little Johnny. It is a bona fide fact that every 15 seconds someone receives a "Little Johnny" joke. Amazing. Truly amazing. Directly to the left is one, I believe, I received 184 different times over a period of two months. Generally, the jokes are not accompanied with a photo. Obviously this marks a special edition of some sorts. Perhaps the gazillion time it was forwarded that first morning . Whoever started the "Little Johnny" phenomenon is laughing his ass off to the bank these days (maybe he struck some type of deal with royalties or even the McDonalds). I wonder how he started? Was there really a Little Johnny? Was he perhaps the child's father or distant relative?

Here is my theory on these infamous Little Johnny stories:

Back in the 50's, a teacher talked her spouse into attending her annual Christmas party for work. We will call them Fred and Helen for the sake of the story. Reluctantly Fred agrees simply to avoid spending the holidays being bitched at for "not caring about someone's feelings" and "being a selfish son-of-a-bitch". During said Christmas party, Helen hits the sauce a little too hard with her teacher friends, including the sexy, full-figured music teacher who as the rumors had it knows her way around the men's locker room quite well. Unfortunately for Fred, the Christmas party turns into a post-party gathering at a nearby tavern where he finds himself in the company of several intoxicated teachers, including the music instructor, which is definite proof his dear Helen is three sheets to the wind because she had spent many nights complaining and spreading rumors about the buxom songstress.

One drink leads to another and poor Fred is bored out of his everloving mind. His only saving grace is entertaining himself with a list he has secretly penciled on a bar napkin; it consists of special "favors" he believes he deserves for sitting through this hellish evening. Occasionally Helen glances at him prompting the list immediately into hiding. Knowing his wife, the list is purely fantasy, but jotting it down certainly is entertaining. Sixty minutes later, he is exhausted from hearing the intoxicated rants regarding school board politics, text books and daily lesson plans. The only thing keeping him from sitting outside in the car blazing a pack of smokes is watching Little Miss Music's exposed nipple peakaboo out of her tight blouse every time she giggles.

Eventually, the conversation turns from school curriculum to more confidential matters: the student body. Oh brother, thought Fred, until the discussion spotlights one particular student, a troubled third grade boy named Johnny Tucker. Still second guessing his decision to wait in the car, Fred overhears the words 'fuck' and 'vagina' coming from Miss Exposed Nipple and springs to immediate attention as if he'd been poked with a branding iron. Better yet, Helen is hysterically laughing and sharing her own Little Johnny stories. Four letter words and body parts included as well. This is a side of Helen that Fred hasn't seen since their second year of dating---October 18, 1956 to be precise. She is a bit of a prude, even blushes at the word 'pee pee'. Fred listens to every word pouring from his wife's mouth. He is captivated. Helen's recollections are as colorful and brilliant as the others---and she isn't holding back on the explicit parts either.

Turns out this little Johnny kid uses these words and a collection of others with eased consistency as most would use 'dog' or 'cat'. Visits to the principal's office only inspire him. Basically, he does everything Fred wished Denace the Menace would do---pulling down his pants to expose himself, smacking woman on their asses, substituting letters on English homework to create profanity. This Johnny kid is priceless. If he were older, Fred imagines, they would be great pals and chase skirts around town while Helen attended her PTA meetings. The stories were brilliant. Suddenly this Christmas party has some flavor.

Hours later, Fred, Helen and music teacher are the lone leftovers from the company Christmas Party. Hammered and hysterically laughing, they order more drinks, tell more stories and before you know it Fred has pulled out his list. On his deathbed, Fred would later recall this night as the greatest of his life.

A few weeks later at the bar, ol' hubby Fred starts telling his buddies about this legendary kid in Helen's class. Eventually the entire bar is howling over these "Little Johnny" stories. Strangers are patting Fred's back and buying him beers. A skilled raconteur, he is the highlight of the bar. Draped by women, his pit of stories are as bottomless as the glasses of beer each story is rewarded. With his marriage on the rocks, he comes back every night with more anecdotes. Helen's no longer talking to him by April, so most of the stories are complete fabrications. He learns, the more vulgar the better. A year later, Helen has filed for divorce and no longer lives in the same city. Meanwhile the stories have spread from Joe's Bar Tavern in Philadelphia to Vernon's Liquor in Charlotte to the Horse Shoe Beer Factory in Oklahoma, eventually reaching the West Coast and every little tavern across America. Everyone knows a tale or two, no matter their age, religion, sex or financial status. Like rumors often do---fade over a period of time---the "Little Johnny" anecdotes lose their original names, origins and facts. However, one consistent remains: In each story the boy's name is always Little Johnny.

In the above forwarded image, Little Johnny---several generations removed---is easily recognized. That little Johnny, he's something.

2. Yeah right. Like she'd walk around in public like this. With all the media hounds constantly following her. Whatever. Hmmm... What if it is her? Can it be? Regardless, I wished I'd watched more episodes of "Friends".

3. You never know a person until you've walked a mile in his shoes---or in my case taught him how to wash his hands or prepare a meal. Having worked with MHMR programs, this one gives me a chuckle. Until I came to really know a mentally challenged person, I perceived them to be completely different than me or anyone I hung out with. I was ignorant. Like everyone else, we put our pants on the same---only it takes some a little longer. This picture and caption crack me up because there were times at work when I'd overhear an instructor and immediately roll my eyes thinking "What the fuck is she talking about"; and then I'd look at the group and sure enough at least one of them would make eye contact with me while thinking the same thing--What is this bish talking about?

4. Any explanation needed?

Damn I love Chappelle. Too bad Family Circus isn't really this funny.

5. Trick-or-treating is fun for all ages. But be careful of the tricks though.

I remember one Halloween night when my aunt Margie---the one who slept on my parents floor after seeing The Exorcist---bravely looked into a coffin on a neighbor's front lawn. She immediately ran squealing when something within squirted her between the eyes with water. Frankly, I thought she was lucky. The kid who lived there always picked his nose.

4. OK...I'm a guy. I have guy friends. Guys like boobies. Do women send these types of forwards but highlighting parts of the male anatomy? Interesting thought.

This particular forward is truly for the safety of male motorists across the world. Incidentally, I drove around for hours immediately after reading. Not a damn thing happened.

Lesson: Don't believe everything forwarded to you no matter how much you pray, think positive thoughts and drive around corner after corner, street after street, city after city...

5. I may not trash this one. Good stuff.

As much as men like boobies, we like peace too.

Hopefully, you enjoyed this journey through my hard drive.

Until the next cleaning.......

patty boy