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Wow, It's The End OF August Already.

It feels like yesterday was New Years, doesn't it? And what the fuck, why didn't someone tell me sod was so fucking heavy? Christ, the forklift set that pallet down into the back of my truck and I thought he front wheels were going to come off the ground. One minute tough truck, the next minute it was on its knees praying to sweet baby Jesus. Half ton pickup trucks are not meant to carry 1,800 lbs. I ended up offloading half of it (by hand) and making a second trip. Of course I had to unload and put down the entire first half (by hand), before heading back for the second half. Hence why today's update is so fucking late. My back hurts already, I've got bowling tonight...so I can't wait until tomorrow.

Now the bad news. I'm not good at sugarcoating stuff, so I'll just cut right to it. They're making The Mummy III with Brenden Fraiser. Yeah, seriously. Sorry.

Game Challenge. If I had gotten this update up this morning, it'd be Zack in the lead. Different guy... Zack not Zak. Anyway, whilest I was outsite breaking my balls over my front lawn, Daniel was inside breaking Zack's lucky balls by another 1,000 points. So if anyone beats 4,149 points... lemme know!

You can interact with people around the globe as you doodle live on The Drawball. And for a look back over the past year's work, go here. You'll see the South Koreans had a monopoly there for awhile.

More tomorrow. I gotta go find something to eat and soak my balls.

it's american sherman tank vs german panther mark v tank. the sherman wins, but not without some casualties on both sides

When There's No More Room In New Jersey...

A couple of cool links for my fellow Dawn of the Dead fans: The first is the better of the two, with an entire site devoted to going into as much detail about the mall as possible. The second I've posted before, and is more of less just some pictures from someone's guided tour. And the third is a twenty -nine page research paper that someone did on the movie. He didn't right justify the text, which drives me fucking nuts, but other than that the paper is okay. So tell me my young paduan, how does one go about getting one of these guided tours?

I think the perfect place to hold up on a modern day Zombiepacolypse, would be a Costco or Sam's Club. Think about it. They have no openings other than those huge ass roll down metal doors, so you could secure the place pretty quickly. I've yet to see one less than two stories tall, all solid brick making it fireproof from the outside. High rooftops provide vantage points for keeping an eye on things. Chock'full of all the food, water and medicine you can ask for. Most sell tools and simple machinery which could be used as weapons, or to furnish weapons. Televisions, DVD players, stereos and video games to pass the time -- at least until the power runs out. And even then you have generators and most of these places have their own gas pumps. Ample bedding and furniture to make things confortable. And when you're bored, you can always go up on the roof and drop shopping carts on zombies' heads. Yep, when the heads start to roll, you can look for me at your local Costco. Probably in hardware, aisle twelve.

How come motocross guys get all the hot chicks? Perhaps the little tiny tattoo on her left breast is a little whitge trashy, but other than that she's A-1 smokin.

Ba-Ta-La-Da-Da-Da-Da! That's the musical into to the next Game Challenge. Go ahead and sound it out, you'll like it. Ba-Ta-La-Da-Da-Da-Da! There, see? I tried to find something that fit with today's Zombie Theme (I watched DotD last night) but since zombie games never do well, forced myself to pick something else. The half action/half puzzle ball games always do well, so I went a searchin and after playing a few of them, decided upon Lucky Balls. Scoring points is nothing we haven't done before, collect like colored balls in groups of three or more. The twist is, instead of a large wide open playing field, the balls are on a spiral so it gets kind of fucked up. As they march further and further, the inner coils obscure your view to the outer coils. So when things start to go to hell, they go to hell fast and it's a bitch to get a grip on things again. So good luck.

Wow, that sucks about your Jeep, dude. I suppose everyone and their grandmother has brought up the fact that you might have set your emergency brake and avoided all that, but what fun would that be! Besides, witht he top and sides all open like that, how could you expect to survive a zombie attack? My advice would be to replace that Jeep with a retired military Hummer. This way you can hit some sweep jumps and not have to worry about the water so much.

let the armchair quarterbacking of the minneapolis bridge collapse begin

without us on the earth, what traces of mankind would linger? what would disappear?

We Call This One "Plan B".

So what I thought was going to be a 10 hour drive or so, turned out to be a 16 hour one. And that kind of steered me away from making such a long trip, given it was only going to be for four days. Round trip, I'd spend 32 of my 96 vacation hours sitting behind the wheel of a car... no thanks. So yesterday I went to Busch Gardens, saw animals, drank free beer (no shit), rode rollercoasters, and called it a day. I didn't want to go to stupid North Carolina anyway, probably sharks up there waiting for me. Now I'm all yours, ya handsome galoot.

Which brings us to Owen Wilson. Everyone is sitting and wondering why such a funny, goofy, well loved actor with such a promising future ahead of him, would want to kill himself. Or rather, everyone knows the reason but no one is willing to say it. So I'll say it. Two words. Kate. Hudson. I know. He can have virtually any girl in the free world, but it doesn't matter. Once you've had her, you wouldn't want to live without her either. And you know what? I konestly and truely feel bad for the poor fucker, too. But you know who sat there and just laughed his balls off this weekend? Chris Robinson, that's who.

But other guys have had done dumber things, too. Take a look at thie helicopter test pilot get bucked up into the churning rotor blades. I think the only thing that saved him was since he was so close to the axis of rotation there wasn't enough rotor speed to chop his ass in half.

Maybe Owen can warm up to Poor Miss South Carolina to nurse his wounds. Here's a map to help you follow her strange train of thought. Yes, I know she later corrected herself but let's be honest; you don't care and neither do I. We only care what she looks like in a bikini. End of story.

Hey listen. Who the fuck cared about Jessica Alba. I want to know is Jessica Biel is still clean. I mean please tell me God, she made that asshole wear a condom. But honestly... even if he didn't and she does... I'd still hit it. No, really.

And the grand poo-bah of Battleship is Dave with 18,650. New challenge tomorrow.

the top 100 worst porn movie titles, by brad yung

you walk on with your bad 80's self. yep, you do the walk of life. dire straits, 1986.

just in case you wanted a reason to start crying this morning. don't cut your wrists, though.

It's Break Time For Me.

But only for a couple of days, not long. My bro's and his family are down nearby so I'm going to get in a little face time. Things will be back to normal by the end of the week, I swear upon the pirate's code.

You want to know what seperates us from the animals? I'll tell you -- opposable thumbs, that's what. i'M SORRY, Normally I try not to post boobies here in the blog section of the update, but i couldn't pass that one up. SPeaking of such...is this girl not a dead ringer for Jessica Biel?

I could probably drone on for about eleven pages on why I would love to kick the shit out of Tom Brady, but I'll do my best to boil it down. For starters he's everything I'm not: sucessful, rich, good looking, and has a full head of hair. This allows him to do many things I can't such as bang Bridget Moynahan, whom I consider to be one of the most attractive women alive. Second and most importantly... that fucking snowbowl against the Raiders. Tuck rule, my ass. That was a fucking fumble if I've ever seen one. I will therefore raise my childen to hate his children.

pictorial on trainhopping hobos. my question is, if they can afford a camera and some tobasco sauce, why not just buy a bus ticket?

west virginia, mountain momma! anyone hungry for a nice squirrel melt? mmmmmm, squirrel melt. wait, what?

we've all seen goatse before. well these folks haven't and here are their initial reactions

Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.

current leader in battleship is kasey with 17,690

somehow i've got the sneaking suspicion that ms south carolina couldn't locate the united states on a world map either. thanks wade.

the world war ii submarine uss grunion has finally been found off the aleutian islands. pretty interesting story. thanks lurker.

while steve mcqueen is not, the real life history behind the great escape is alive and well. thanks sean.

dog instructions - halflife2 realism shattered - nicole ritchie in jail - streaker arrest

I Said The Yankees Suck. Don't Make Me Twll You Twice.

Ah, sports rivalries are still alive and well. A couple of days ago, I was sitting at the bar and some asshole comes in -- in to MY bar -- wearing a Yankees jersey. I already had a handful of beers in me, plus I'm a huge Red Sox fan so my ball-breaking gene went into overtime, let me tell you. I was happy to remind him that the Sox are right over the Bronx Bombers this season. And that Johnny Damon eats penis. I think of all the sports rivalries going on, the Sox-yankees struggle is probably the one that gets the most heated. Take Boston Rob, for example. Nobody talks smack about the Sox when he's around, or else he gives them a shot in the chops. So if you're going to talk smack about your rivals team, be smart: sign up here and do it online, not in person.

For some reason, I've taken a liking to Harry Potter. How about you?

Game challenge. I was taking a dump this morning and had an epiphany. Why not take my second favorite bathroom activity outside of the throne room? I mean everyone knows how to play it, right? So see if you can beat 14,190 points in Battleship. As for my favorite bathroom hobby, well I'll just keep that to myself. And I'll be honest, I had to double check my spelling of epiphany.

fun with real craigslist: looking for a roommate; featuring genuine craigslist people. no jooz.

old and busted: picture of your face every day for 6 years. new hotness: picture of your puppy every day for 6 months

anyone thinking about banging your own daughter might want to see how the neighborhood ladies deal with you in oak-town!

Well I Certainly Stirred Up Something Here.

I met this beautiful girl last night. She invited me back to her place and we had the greatest steamiest sex ever. Actually, it wasn't really the greatest sex ever, it was more like medium-great sex, and well, she didn't exactly invite me back to her place, I sort of followed her home to her apartment. To be factual, we didn't actually have sex per se, but we came very close. You see we were fondling each other pretty intensely...well, actually, I was fondling her, she wasn't fondling me...well, really, I wasn't actually fondling her, our bodies just got very close together. To be honest, I just sort of brushed into her. Accidentally. But it was great, really hot and sensual you know? Actually, to be specific, it wasn't really her that I brushed into, it was actually the back of the chair she was sitting in. Although, the chair was...on the other side of a wall you see...in another room sort of. And I was sort of leaning on the wall, but the chair was very close to the wall, very close. Of course, she was on the third floor and I was sort of...on the street...leaning against the building. But wow! What a night. What a night.

So the BURN YOUR EYES OUT link from Tuesday sure was a big hit. It was about half as popular as the optical illusions I sometimes post. Here's another one -- see if you can find the Golden Gate Bridge in this photo. I can't.

1. Jerome, quit being a pussybag. 2. Sorry, I don't do cats.

The foamseal serves two purposes. First, for strength. Indeed Randy, you are correct. High winds over a swelt roofline create lift much like they do with an airplane wing. Since we can surmise my entire house isn't going to lift up and fly away in one piece (Aunt Em! Aunt Em!), this means the roof (or at least part of it) can come off during a storm. Quick background info: the 'ribcage' of a houses roof is composed of those inverted V's called trusses. Down here in sunny Florida, the trusses are secured to the concrete walls of the house, by these little gadgets called hurricane clips. The plywood that actually forms the covering, is then nailed to the trusses. Nails are strong, but not that strong. 3'x4' sheet of plywood can withstand about 750 pounds of upwards force before letting go. That's 0.43 pounds per square inch. The foamseal is an adhesive that essentially glues the plywood to the trusses, vastly increasing their strength and thus reducing the chances of seperation. How much so? Spray that same 3'x4' section of roofing with foamseal and it can now withstand almost 3,000 pounds of pressure before cutting loose. That's an increase from 0.43 lb/sq ft to 1.74 lb/sq ft, which would be enough remain relatively unharmed three miles from a 100 kiloton nuclear blast. So it's a pretty big difference. (The one megaton blast hurts, though.)

Anyway, the second purpose of the foamseal is for leak protection. Take a look-see at this nearly completed roof. Looks purty, don't it. Well, in order to get those sheets of plywood lined up so nicely, builders use plywood clips to join together adjascent sheets. Said plywood clips are very small -- about 1/16th of an inch thick, but they still create tiny gaps between the edges of each sheet. A 1/16th inch leak doesn't sound like much, and by themselves they're not -- until you start adding them up. My roof is about 3,500 square feet. A sheet of plywood is 32 square feet. Hence my roof is composed of no less than 109 sheets of plywood, and each of those sheets has a tiny 1/16th gap on each side. That yields a total of almost 7 square feet of uncovered roof area. Now that's worst case scanario presuming I were to lose all the roof shingles and tar paper beneath. More likely would be to lose just a section of shingles and tar paper. So how about a leak over a bedroom allowing a good healthy mold to grow, eh? Or maybe a nice steady drip down into your new entertainment center! Nice, eh? I'd be living in a tent for weeks. Anyway, the foamseal fills up those tiny gaps and renders yor roof more waterproof.

Here's a short sales video they put out. It's pretty cheesy because -- hey it's a sales video -- but it might give some visual references. Truth be told, I just like it because it looks like semen on my ceiling.

Oh, and Daizan won the Ball Revamped 5 with 7 minutes flat. New challenge tomorrow.

Oh, oh, oh, and Quackers is weak but surviving. She (yep, she) might even be released back into my pond when the time comes!

this is laura! laura has trust issues. so we're going to have a relationship tonight, based upon mutual trust. reach through the fear, laura.

for the love of all that is good and holy, i think god wants you to wear a fucking condom every once in awhile

oh yeah, that's hot baby. moan my ip address. moan it like you own it! dirty little nerd whore.

Half Is Better Than Nothing...

WARNING. THESE WILL STILL BURN YOUR RYES OUT BUT NOWHERE NEAR AS BAD AS YESTERDAY

wow, who knew leonardo divinci died on my birthday way back in 1519?

six fitness myths you thought true torn apart

An Ounce Of Prevention...

So the foam seal guys were here for about seven hours yesterday, spraying that shit all over the place. The real life application isn't quite as neat as the video, but that's to be expected considering my attic is full of insulation and air conditining ducts, not wide open like a new construction. But I do have to give them big ups and say they didn't miss a thing. Every inch of every joint has been covered in white foam, kind of like your sister at that soccer party. Disturbing image, eh? So with the hurricane shutters on the doors and windows, and the roof sealed up nicely, I think I'm finally ready for the next storm.

So if I could just borrow your phone for a minute... I'm finally getting around to upgrading my phone and am torn between two models. One the LG VX9900 and the other the LG VX9400. I like the design of the 9400 better, but like the 2.0 camera on the 9900 better. So, if anyone out there has either of these two phones, please snap a few 640x480 pictures and send them to me so I can see if there's any real difference.

God dammit. I forgot to call and check on Quackers yesterday. As I can only call between 3-5pm to check on patient status, I'm afraid you'll have to come back tomorrow to find out if Quackers made it.

Oh, oh, oh. Before I forget, I've been meaning to ask for some help finding a website that I lost the bookmark to when my computer went tits up. It was a page that had six maps of the eastern coast of the United States; one for each month of hurricane season. Each map showed wide swatches representing the predicted paths of hurricanes formed in that given month. Individual storms were not detailed, it was a average path of several storms, shown similar to what you'd see here. Example - and this is by no means accurate, I'm just trying to give you an idea. June hurricanes tended to stay out in the Atlantic and ended up binge swept northward away from land. July hurricanes made it into the Gulf of Mexico only to be pushed downwards towards the Yucatan Peninsula. August storms ventured into the Gulf, but made their way more northwards and into Texas. September hurricanes pressed into the Gulf, and were then turned northeasternly towards the Florida Panhandle. Etc, etc. Anyway, I was all but chained to that site during last year's storm season. It was a nice reference, and after 1,284,665,039 Google searches, I can't find it again.

Edward Norton's dog in, Canine History X. Ha!

WARNING. DON'T CLICK ME OR I'LL BURN YOUR EYES OUT

okay is it me or the 'how to' thing getting a little out of hand. how to be a ninja?

because if you're going to learn how to throw a punch, learn from the best - a drunken irishman

Looks Like Somebody Has A Case Of The Mondays.

Well fuck me, another weekend has come to a close. Time to pick yourself up, shake off that titanic hangover from all the beer you drank, and get back to the daily grind. There are several perks to being self employed, but there are two that stick out in my mind. One, whenever a contractor throws a date out to perform some work, you can always answer, "yeah that's perfect." No checking with the boss, no checking of your PTI balance. Just go man, go. And the second is, there's no boring ass training classes I have to attend. That was one of the things I hated most in my former life; corporate training. You wasted eight hours of your day to learn fifteen minutes worth of usable material. What a waste. I could spend that time playing games, thank you very much.

And speaking of games, let us revisit Ball Revamped 5. Daizan thought he was the HMFIC when he scored a 8:05. But I'll close this game challenge tomorrow unless someone beats Tufrabza's 7:17. Play it, or the dog gets it.

If you can take nine minutes out from cleaning your room, here's a great video compilation of celebrities talking very, very naughty. My personal favorite is Cameron Diaz saying, "I sawllowed your come, four times. That means something!" but when Sarah Michelle Gellhar says, "you can put it anywhere", that's not bad either. Surpsingly, the Reese Witherspoon part creeped me out. (Never thought I'd say that)

you gonna do something or are you just gonna stand there and bleed?

so when a chick asks what you do for a living, it may not be just to get into your wallet

how good are your visual tracking abilities? now keep your eye on the ball. actually two balls.

Monday's Update Will Be A Little Late.

I got some peeople coming to foam seal my roof tomorrow morning, so I have to spend a few hours getting things ready.

In the meantime, ALLAH AL AKBAR!

Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.

ladies would you like to come have a seat on my torpedo? tucker torpedo, that is

having trouble picking out what movie to see? don't worry, criticker is here to help you!

a nice photo gallery of a motorcycle ride to the vietnam veterans memorial wall - sent in by an unnamed reader

watch this puma helicopter crash including the one smart guy getting the fuck off that french piece of shit before it hits the ground

if you plan on being sent to jail anytime soon, be prepared to toss this man's salad. don't know what tossing salad is? don't worry, there's ojt

Say Goodbye To Peepers.

Howard first came to my back yard begging for food, late this past year. As ducks go he was enormous, and I first dubbed him 'Duckzilla'. I had never seen a Muskovy duck before, so when he first came swimming up I thought he was some kind of battle-droid duck. I could tell he wasn't a goose, mind you. I can't describe it, but there are subtle differences in the body shape beween the two and I knew this beast was a duck. A big ass duck, to be precise. And being almost as big as me, he had nothing to fear. The first time he came to visit, he had no problem walking right up and taking bread from my hand. When I tried to pet him, he bit me with his flat duck-beak, which pinched a bit but didn't really hurt. As soon as I stopped, he went back to munching bread without a care inthe world. Howard began to make his rounds each evening as the sun was setting. And if I wasn't out there with bread in hand waiting for him, he's have no problem walking right up tot he pool cage and having a look in. Even Ike didn't know what to think of this enormous fowl. Yes, he was a special duck. I soon named him Howard, as in Howard the Duck.

And being the macho duck that he is, it came to no surprise when a few months ago, Howard starting bring a duck-bitch with him. Yeah, Howard the Duck became Howard The Pimp. The female Muscovy was not quite as brave as Howard; she'd come right up to me as long as Howard was there but wouldn't take anything from my hand. But still as wild ducks go, she was pretty cool. Howard's girlfriend began to accompany him on his nightly dinner runs and she soon became as familiar a beak as he was. About a week ago, the girlfriend made an appearance sans Howard. In his place were eight fuzzy little yellow and grey ducklings! She of course remembered where her bread was buttered and had no problem coming up to me for some chow. I never even got close to seeing if she'd feed by hand, since the little ducks couldn't make their way up the rocks too well and she was reluctant to leave them. I tossed breadcrumbs their way, and all was right with the world.

Two days ago, Mom Duck made a return run, only this time, her following numbers had dropped from eight to five. Yeah, there's a lot of turtles in that pond behind my house. Anyway, the babies had better mobility now and she allowed them to venture up with her for nightly begging run. The ducklings even got into it, although I had to break the bread up extra small. I gave them enough to quiet their peep'ing, but not enough so as they could become dependent upon humans for food.

Yesterday morning, I found Mom Duck on the edge of the pond; apparently she had camped there all night which I found strange since that wasn't her nest. When she saw me, she stood up and began to walk over. Below her were a few wiggling shapes, but not as many as I expected. One duckling up and about right off the bat. The second just sat there, moving his head around with a palsy-like trembling. And that was it. Two. I went back inside, got a little bread and came back out. Mom eats. Up-And-Around Duck eats. Palsy duck just stays there. I slowly approach Palsy duck. Mom faces me and opens her mouth as if to say, "I'm watchin you bitch," but lets me go. Palsy duck is not doing well. He's trembling. He's cold. He's weak. Palsy Duck is not going to make it without some intervention. I look around on the rocks and see another baby duck-like form. Very sprawled out. Very still. I pick him up expecting dead duck, but instead he opens his little eyes at me.

Now I'm all about letting the mother do her thing and letting nature take its course. But you know, I'm an old softie. And they're baby ducks. And some hungry turtles were already swarming at the water's edge. I actually had to stand up and chase one away as he was coming in for a Duck McMuffin. So okay, Palsy Duck and Limp Duck come inside with me. Mom duck watches with intent curiosity, but since she's kind of used to seeing her clutch's numbers dwindle doesn't raise too much of a fuss.

I get em inside and into a makeshift nest. Put something warm in there with em, cover em up and give em 20 minutes to come around. Much to my surprise, Limp duck came around first. "Peep! Peep! Peep!" says he. Many times. I bust out warm milk and bread and a eyedropper. He eats a little bit, but not much. Mostly just drank the liquid. But that's okay. His name isn't Limp Duck anymore, it's Peepers. Palsy duck has stopped shaking, but won't eat or drink. I decide to let them continue to warm up (hey I was trying to get the website update out at the time).

After a few hours, things are looking somewhat better. Peepers came around and kept peeping. Was having a big challenge with his balance, and kept cocking his neck all the way back and laying the top of his head on his back. Weird. But other than that, seemed somewhat better. Kept peeping. So I carried him back outside and set him down right next to Mom Duck, who was waiting patiently outside. He waddled towards her and I stepped back. There was no miraculous Hallmark moment where they threw their wings around each other and cried, but seemed okay. I went back inside to trend with Former-Palsy Duck.

Once he was flying solo, Former-Palsy Duck really came around. With a little coaxing He started eating milk-soaked bread. And then before you knew it, he was peeping too. But since I already had one Peepers, I named him Quackers instead. I feed Quackers and then content with a full belly, he drifts off to sleep. I decide to go back out and check on Peepers. I find mom duck with Up-And-Around Duck in tow. But no Peepers. "Peepers?" "Peepers?" - but no Peepers. I walked up and down my yard. I checked down by the rocks. I checked up near the bushes. No Peepers. It wasn't until my second runthat I spotted his little grey and yellow fuzz in the little trench that serves as the edging of the lawn. Peepers wasn't moving very much. So I scooped him back up and back into the house we go to rejoin his sibling. Peepers and Quackers, together again.

Well, I won't make this long and drawn out, but Peepers only made it a few hours more. Back in the pseudo-nest he cuddled back in and althought he came back around somewhat, did more weird head-back things until he fell over. Every time I'd right him, he's sit still for a few minutes and then kick and squirm himself over sideways. One time I went to right him, and he didn't move. Literally there one minute, and gone the next. But Peepers passed gently, inside where he was nice and warm and not sprawled out on some cold rocks and ready to be devoured by turtles. I buried Peepers under some plants by the pond where I found him. So long Peepers, we hardly knew ye.

Quackers on the other hand, is doing swimmingly. Eating good. Peeping loud. Doing bird crap all over my towel. he even trying to crawl outside of the nest a couple of times. I probably would have either reunited him with Mom Duck or if that failed, raised him myself. But in the end I decided I didn't have the supplies that I'd need and so it would be best if I brought him to CROW for some professional care. You see I noticed one of his eyes was a little swollen and he was slow to open it sometimes. That plus a tiny bit clear discharge from his little nostrils made me guess he has some illness setting in, hence why he was so weak that the morning. I'll give a call on Monday and see how he's doing.

I wonder if it's bird flu? If there's no update this weekend, it's because I'm dead.

don't cry for peepers. here is a real, live love drama that is almost painful to listen to. for the whole of yorkshire!

lookit them big ol rims! lookin that fancy car! quite possibly the biggest rims on an atv ever. complete with homemade soundtrack.

I'm All Shook Up, Uh Huh Huh.

Elvis Aron Presley was born on January 8, 1935 in a small house in Tupelo, Mississippi. He eventually captured the hearts and souls of millions worldwide through his music and personality. August 16 is the anniversary of his death in 1977, and thousands of fans will journey to Memphis (one less than expected!), Tennessee to view his Graceland home and participate in planned events. Many will go on to visit his birthplace in Tupelo, about 90 miles away.

One of the things I vividly remember from my childhood, is a plaster bust of Elvis sitting on the upstairs landing. Yeah, we were tacky enough to have Elvis' head, but not tacky enough to have a velvet Elvis ont he wall. Anyway, I can't count the number of times I ran down the stairs and hit my knee on that fucking thing.

While I love his music, I never got into the Elvis movies. But what I do love are what I call the Elvis-Tribute-Movies. My all time favorite of course is Bubba Ho-Tep because it has not only Elvis but Bruce Campbell playing Elvis. And following at a close second is 3000 Miles to Graceland, because a bunch of Elvises (Elvi?) and they all have guns. Neither movie even came remotely close to winning an Academy award. Ho-Tep is a B-rated flick and Graceland kind of lawn darted in the theatres. But I likes em none the less. A lot of people will try to point out True Romance, where Val Kilmer made a quick appearance as Elvis, but it was so short you can't say the movie was an Elvis Tribute in my book.

Ah well. I've got my Elvis '56 tunes playing all day, and I'll have a peanut butter and banana sandwich for you. TCB baby, TCB.

So long Elvis, we hardly knew ye.

Oh, and Sean is in the lead with 11:25. Unless you can do it faster.

repost: the reincarnation of the big ass peanut butter and jelly bacon sandwich that elvis loved. you know, until he died of a massive coronary

i know elvis. do you know elvis? prove it in this elvis trivia game

and for my next vehicle? one of the black suburbans that serve as presidential escorts. minigun batteries not included

Ah, Don't Worry. I Don't Censor A Damned Thing.

It's a game challenge, yeahhhhhh! Wow, it's been awhile since we had one of these, eh? For some reason I kind of forgot abouu them, but Zak and Jim brought me out of my daze. We had Ball Revamped 3. We had Ball Revamped 4. So what's the logical extension? You bet your rosey red American ass... it's Ball Revamped 5:Synergy, the latest in the series. As always, let's see how you measure up. Scores for completed games trump those for incomplete ones, and remember to incorporate "EHOWA" into your screen name for high scores!

Pretty much ending his beer drinking career, here's footage of an Israeli soldier being shot in the hand by (presumably) a Palestinian counter-sniper. Yep, that guy is in deep shit now. Do any of my Hebrew speaking pals out there care to offer a little translation to what's being said. You know, other than, "Ow my fucking hand." There are subtitled, but they look German to me, so I can't read them.

Thank you Richard, and I hope you're suing whoever it was that forced you to attend a Rush concert.

Old and busted: fat bulldog riding a skateboard. The new hotness: Extreme Pete who rides the skateboard down stairs, into skids, and even hits the halfpipe! He probably is, the coolest dog ever. Besides Ike, of course.

everyone enjoyed michelle and her tongue tricks so much, here's her and six other girls for you to enjoy

is this a sign i'm drinking too much? mans runs from cops. full speed. right into a parked ambulance. knocked. out. cold.

army specialist jeans cruz - the soldier who captured saddam is sick, but left to rot by the VA - photo of specialist cruz with saddam

There Must Be Some Link Between Ugliness And Dumb.

The shy but friendly type. The gentleman's type. The shocked to be bald type. The ice cream swirl type type. The licky to have a wife type. Who knew there were so many styles of combovers? The sexy school photo type gives me the shivers. On the flip side of ugly, if this doesn't make you rub your man tackle until it's raw, nothing will. Kate Beckinsale. In a Catholic schoolgirl's outfit. And she's holding hands with another girl Be right back, I have to get a box of gauze and a roll of masking tape to staunch the bleeding.

Steve from theeast coast of Florida sent in these photos of the Endeavour launch. [small] [big].

Hmmm, somehow I can see that kid coming up a little short in the game of life. Personally I though the Bourne Ultimatim came up a little short, but that's just me. Or you can hear what another guy thinks of Matt Damon's cop-car-crashing, jaw-breaking, rooftop-jumping film, the last installment of the Bourne trilogy.

Is it me, or does this girl look like Jessica Simpson?

the 2004 election results, by average state iq. not to ruin anything but i sure am glad i was in massachusetts at the time, otherwise i'd be dumblier

oh no, it's zit-zilla! who knew so many people would gather around a guy popping a huge gooey greeen neck zit?

Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before.

We've all seen this video of the guy sat down in a police interview room, only to pull a gun and blow his brains out. Here's a similar video that reinforces why le'policia search everyone they come into close contact with. I'm not sure if the protective vest the cop is wearing is stabproof, but the undoubtedly cop's lightening reflexes save his bacon. Because that was a big fucking knife.

"Living in Alaska provides plenty of opportunities for new experiences: Hiking through old-growth rainforests; viewing grizzlies in the wild; walking across ancient rivers of glacial ice. But it is only on rare occasion - even for Alaskans - that one gets the chance to behead a beached whale. When I was invited along on this gruesome expedition it was like winning the wildlife lottery from hell." [read more of this article...]

Wow, there's only one way to treat a girl that hot. Of course it would probably take a pretty big pair of balls to get up the nerve and pop that question.

Great prank. At first I thought what a dumbass, but on second thought how many people would notice if the front end of their car was lifted an inch? And dude, I don't care how fast your car is, this is not a good way to pick up chicks.

so you watch csi and think you're a big time crime investigator, eh? well test yourself

happy birthday to jeep. happy birthday to jeep. happy birthday to jee-eeep! happy birthday to jeep!

Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.

child beater part ii - this time with 2x4 goodness. just as difficult to watch as the first one.

i'm sorry did you say something? i was too busy making my own bacon. mmmmmmm, bacon.

Just Like How Sam Couldn't Sell His Bar.

The other day as my truck crossed 200,000 miles on the odometer, a thought occured to me. I don't think people give their vehicles enough respect. Now before you scoff, hear me out. I'm very, very sentimental about my truck. In fact, I've been accused of anthropomorphism more than once. I will not speak ill of my truck when I'm near it, lest it hear me. When I decided to move to Florida it wasn't, "Should I bring my truck?" it was, "How am I going to get my truck down there?" The thought of not bringin it simply never entered my mind. A long time girlfriend once confessed she believed I loved my truck more than her. Was she right? Well, the truck is still around and she isn't.

In fact, my trusty steed has outlasted eight serious girlfriends and another handful of flings. I have laughed in this truck, I have cried in this truck. I have thrown temper tantrums in this truck. There are at least four large McDonalds soft drinks in the driver's side floorpan. I have driven through blizzards where the snowdrifts swept across three lanes of highway. I have passed countless salt trucks. I have pulled a small army of cars from snowbanks. It has sat for days on end, shoehorned into airport parking spaces, patiently awaiting my return. It has sheltered me from temperatures as high as 108 degrees, and as low as -12. I have bathed it in mud. I haven twice driven it with my foot in a cast. Once while on vacation and sitting in the cab of my truck, I actually used a cellphone and laptop to update this very website. Throughout it's lifespan, four different dogs can claim the cab of my truck among their familiar stomping grounds; two of them even getting carsick a little more often than I'd have liked. It has brought me on vacations, beer runs, and coffee runs. My truck and I have shared morning commutes to three different jobs. We sat together in traffic and watched two Life-Flights come in. It has carried me across state lines to see my family and then carried me back again. The tailgate has served as both lounge chair and lunchtable on many occasions. It has transported Christmas presents, pizzas, appliances, spare beds, bicycles, mulch, and moving boxes. It has pulled a boat, a jet-ski, a dirtbikes. And scooters. It has carried me to the hospital. It has carried my mother to the hospital. And it carried me to my mother's funeral.

My truck still has the original engine (change your oil, boys and girls!) and the original transmission, both without needing to be rebuilt. It has gone through two fuel pumps, one rear differential, three sets of tires (soon four), eight sets of brakes, three batteries, two sets of speakers, one wheel speed sensor, two water pumps, and three headlights. The ABS light came on a few months ago, and the control module was diagnosed as going bad; but the light went back out and it seems to be working fine now. Three times AAA had to come unlock it's doors after I locked my keys inside, once while it was running. I can tell you where every dent, ding, and scratch has come from. See this ding? Jennifer Scott, done at the parking lot of the 1510 dorms of Hanscom AFB. She opened the passenger side door without holding onto it, the wind caught it and it slammed into the side view mirror of a red Chevy Beretta. I had the truck two months. I made her give me $500 to pay for the insurance deductible, and then went out and bought a brush guard with the money instead. That brush guard rusted off in 2004. This dent? I jack-knifed my ATV trailer a little too far and the corner of it dug into the right rear quarter panel. My brother was with me. This scrape along the left side of the hood? Parking lot gate at Reservoir Place in Waltham, MA. Tried to sneak in after realizing I forgot my badge at home. That crushed skid plate? High centered on a pile of gravel. I almost drove it off a six foot drop into someone's basement-to-be at a construction zone, but managed to stop in time thanks to the four wheel ABS. One time on I-93 north of Boston, some kid pulling a wheelie on his motorcycle veered into my lane almost dumped it right in front of me. I never touched the brakes, willing to let natural selection rule the day.

And yet it has accomplished all of these things without ever a complaint. In all of those miles -- the equivalent to over eight trips around the globe -- I've only been pulled over in this truck once. It was on Route 111 going through Nashua, New Hampshire. Later, I beat the ticket in court. Despite many opportunities to do so, it has never, ever, not once left me stranded on the side of the road. Not once. Even when the fuel pump died in the middle of the NYS Thruway, it still managed to limp along at 10mph and carry me the five miles to a rest area. The only time I was out somewhere and it ever wouldn't start, I was sitting in the parking lot of Bikini Joes. So despite the pending failure of it's second fuel pump, this truck still managed to get me to the bar for lunch before calling it quits. All I had to do was go back inside and enjoy another beer while I waited for a tow truck. If that's not loyalty my friends, then I don't know what is.

I ordered my truck October 31st, 1994 and it was delivered on December 13th of that year. It is fast approaching it's thirteenth birthday. It needs some pretty significant rust repair; a final goodbye kiss from the northeasern winters. And the cruise control has stopped working. But other than that, it's in pretty goddamn great shape for it's age. There will be a certain amount of beatiful agony shelling out over half the value of the truck for bodywork; well bluebook value anyway. But I don't care. To me, it's fucking priceless. It is the one friend that has never let me down; the one love I can never be unfaithful to.

I just thought you should know that.

i love my truck almost as much as george bush hates zombies

there have never been any cats in my truck. let alone 130+ cats in my truck

there is no smoking allowed in my truck. this chart explains why. i guess weed seems to be ok, though.

my truck scored 4 out of 5 stars in front end crashes. unlike this chinese made amulet which pretty much disintegrates on impact

And This Would Be Happy Nagasaki Day?

Serious, people that live in Kokura must be some cloud loving sons of bitches, eh?

Hey Flaherty, I know your sister was always lacking in self confidence, but I don't think her new husband is treating her right. You should let me give her a call.

This home video just leaked onto the internet: watch this guy beat his two little boys It's very tough to sit through.

Oh yeah, I meant to tell you. They found Chris Farley. He was reincarnated as a three year old.

And if anyone is curious how Megan Fox got her start, it was on an episode of Two and Half Men. She wore a bikini and had five lines of dialog. John Cryer looked like he was going to take a little off the top there for a minute.

Personally, I think Bonds is disgrace, his record should not stand, and everyone in the stadium should have sat there dead quiet when he hit his 756 steroid ball. But I still like him more than I do Johnny Damon.

educational video which teaches fair use and copyright laws using disney characters

pictures from afghanistan 1973 - see, it's always looked like a shithole

So What's This Signify, Mr Freud?

Don't we all wish we could sometimes control our dreams a little more? Have ones we enjoyed make a repeat performance. Send those tearjerkers away so they're never seen again. Maybe extend one by a few minutes.

I had a really fucked up dream this morning. But as bizarre and macabre as it was, I rather enjoyed it. How could I not, I was fighting zombies. But not just any zombie; childen zombies. From what I can remember -- things get a little fuzzier as time marches on -- the vast majority of them were around 5-8 years old. They had vacant eyes and bloodstained teeth just like any other zombie, they were just smaller. And of course clumsier because they were just kids. But being so small, it did give you the feeling of invincibility when I could throw a few of them at a time with the swingle sweep of my arm. Kind of like how a girl with tiny hands can make your dick look huge. But anyway, here I was with a handful of other adults -- none of whom I recognized or played any major role in the dream, other than just being there and fighting zombies the same as me.

And one small quirk I'd like to mention is, I had my gun with me. But it wouldn't shoot. I would rack the slide and send a round into the chamber, point it at a zombie kid's forehead, and squeeze the trigger. And squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze. And the trigger would slowly go all the way back to where it pressed up against the frame and wouldn't go anymore. And you could sense that the firing pin was 99.999% released, and you just needed to squeeze the trigger a little more to make it fire... but it wouldn't budge. I'd rack the slide again, sending the unexpended round somersaulting through the air, and load a new round only to experience the same thing. I guess it was like the firearms version of the running in mud dream, I dunno.

So after battling these little stumbling fuckers for a few minutes, I come across this zombie baby (baby zombie?). It's only a few moinths old, so it looks harmless at first. But sure enough, vacant eyes and gnashing teeth dictate otherwise. It pretty much looked like the zombie baby from the Dawn of the Dead remake, only not all blue and veiny. So as I pick this zombie baby up and hold him facing me (at arms length, I'm not stupid ya know) I suddenly realize all the other zombie kids are dispatched and this is the last one. The adults I've been fighting alongside of form a loose circle around me, waiting to see what I'm going to do. I know I have to dispatch this last remaining zombie, but hesitate for a second as to how. After all, my gun isn't working. Then it hits me. The greatest idea ever. I can act with complete impunity because hey; it's a zombie baby! I giggle just thinking about it.

And with everyone gathered around me I say, "Hey watch this... Shaken Baby Syndrome!" and proceed to shake the little fucker to death. Seriously.

So tell me, Dr Freud. What's that mean?

hot girls doing beer bongs

erniescab - fatasspower - generallee - whatcanbrowndoforyou

the price is wrong bitch. also the girls name is "gay". that's gold, jerry. gold.

every siskel and ebert movie review ever. they didn't have kind things to say about army of darkness

those of you watching my pohonecam archive yesterday evening watched my truck roll over to 200,000 miles!

Don't Be A Littrle Girle Man.

Attention fat chicks: Don't come into my neighborhood, as I have given orders for you to be arrested on sight.

Another optical illusion, only this time it's a video instead of a picture. If you watch closely, you might see a plant. I've watched it three times and I still don't see it.

Boy I haven't seen an Elmo refence since... well, since Britney was hot. And that's been a long ass time.

how much would you tip on a $50 dinner bill? Bruce Willis? $30

Karma.

I don't know what evil deed I did last week but I must have done something. Here's how my life has been over the past four days, in regards to vehicles.

Thursday afternoon. My 1990 Cadillac Brougham (henceforth referred to as The Nimitz) -- is a car I bought last year for $2,800. This enormous monster is seventeen years old and has 175k miles on it, but runs as smooth as the day it rolled off the factory floor. That's probably because one of the previous owners worked for Cadillac and had the entire car restored by GM back in 2000. So despite it's age it's like driving around your fucking living room, presuming your living room weighs 5,000 pounds and has enough bling to roll with the best of 'em. Anyway. A quick visual check doesn't reveal the source of the oil drips, so I take it to my mechanic. Word comes back Friday evening... both of the valve cover gaskets are leaking, and the oil pan gasket should be replaced as well. The latter will require actually lifting up the motor, so it's not a quick job. He tightens everything up a real good and tops off the oil, so I can squeak another couple of months out of it before the gaskets will have to be replaced. Estimated cost after parts and labor: $400-450. Eh, not great news, but not too bad.

Saturday evening. I get a frantic phonecall from my niece, who just moved down to Orlando. She's crying and it takes a few minutes for me to get any sense out of her. She's broken down on the side of the road "somewhere" on the Florida Turnpike. She's babbling something about a temperature light coming on and the engine stalling. I get her calmed down, make sure she pulled off the road somewhere safe and coordinate a tow truck via AAA -- which by the way, if anyone out there doesn't have AAA you're a fucking moron. After a longer wait that I would have liked, the tow truck shows up and brings her the 82 miles back to Orlando free of charge, again thanks to AAA. The next morning the garage calls her with the reason why the car overheated: cracked radiator. Since I have a penis, I talk to the mechanic about her options. He has a replacement radiator onsite and can have the job done in two hours. Since she needs the car for work, time is an important factor. But my inner Jew shines through so I tell him to stand by and while I make a few phonecalls to junk yards up in their neck of the woods. After four attempts, no luck finding a used one. So I call him back and give the go ahead to replace the radiator. Being as she just moved, does she have the money? Of course not. Who does? Me. No big deal. I'm gently reminded of the time my older brother forking over some cash after I rear ended somebody and so... $400 later the niece now is up and running again. This is money I could have put towards my gasket job, but eh that's what uncles are for, right?

So now it's Sunday. Back to the Nimitz. I come out of a store and find the entire car filled with a grey smoke. Huh. I open the car door fully expecting to smell burning car and have flames lick up at my face. But instead the instant I open the car door -- the very fucking instant -- the smoke gently disappears. I smell nothing. I open the hood, again expecting fire. Nothing. Go back to the inside of the car and look around. There are thin graceful whisps of what looks like a grey smoke filtering out from the floor vents. It's coming out at pretty steady stream, and given the car is turned off, the smoke must be under pressure or something. It disappears as soon as it hits fresh air. I know what it is, but don't want to believe it. Sure enough, a half an hour later the air conditioning is no longer blowing cold. All the freon is gone. Living without air conditioning down here in Florida during the summer months is simply not an option.

And so this morning, it'll be making a second trip back to said mechanic. I will hence forth throw myself on the sword and have all the needed work done: The gaskets replaced, the air conditioning fixed and recharged, and fuck it while I'm there, the power antenna replaced since it's went to lunch about two months ago and never came back. I'm going to guestimate the repairs somewhere in the neighborhood of $1,000 which will exhaust my emergency funds. But the car has been virtually problem free for the last 10 months, so I can't complain . Now some of you will point out the repair cost is more than a third of value of the Nimitz, and you'd be right. But quite simply put, I love this car. And you can't put a price on love, can you? Besides, in todays car market, what's $1,000? Two, maybe three months car payment on a newer vehicle?

Huh. Maybe some of their karma will rub off on me, becayse I'm just trying to figure out what I did last week to deserve all this good fortune! Besides, the Trey the Jew sent me $20 so I'm off to a good start. By any wild shot -- is anyone near Richmond, Kentucky? if so, please give me a shout. Oh, and happy Hiroshima Day. Big fire! Big fire!

Oh, and Polish women suck at driving too - parts 1 and 2.

useful tool -- the invoice machine is a free web 2.0 application that let's you create free and beautiful pdf invoices in a snap

you might think you can spot a fake prada from a mile away, but what about a counterfeir kooba?

Insert Your Favorite Weekend Joke Here.

why you should always tie your plane down before a strong wind storm makes its way through the area

the 50 greatest commercials from the 80's. mmmmm, hot side hot and the cold side cold...

allpackedtogo - idrivelikea - nosignsthiscorner - santasgrotto

I'm Sorry, Is It Too Soon?

Wow, Martin Sheen really doesn't like GWB, does he. I guess who does nowadays.

Hey on a personal note for just a second. My hat's off to Eric from Ebaumsworld, who just sold his website for $15+ MILLION FUCKING DOLLARS. That's $15 million now, and an additional $5 million every year for the next three years. Yep, that guy falls into a bucket of shit and comes out smelling like a rose. So the rest of you, back to your cubicles!

Speaking of people with a buttload of money, let's say you're a billionaire hotel heiress. You crash your car drunk. Your license is suspended. You crash your car drunk again. You're sent to jail. Do you lay low and read the Bible or stamp license plates or some shit? Nope. You make a 28 minute lesbian sex tape, that's what.

Ever wondered what it was like to actually hear a bone snap? Well wonder no more. To quote, "fuck me!" I'm not sure if it was the same guy who did this gem, but the cameraman was standing too far away for the snap of his tailbone in that one.

Oh shut the fuck up. So I said Jews were cheap. Yippee fucking doo-dah. All Jews are cheap. All Jews have big noses. All Asians can't drive. All blacks steal. All Mexicans are lazy. All black men have big dicks. All white men are pedophiles. All black women have big asses. All white women secretly want to fuck black men. All white people are serial killers. All Poles are stupid. All Irish are drunks. All Puerto Ricans carry knives. All British have bad teeth. All Arabs are terrorists. All French are cowards. No seriously, all French are cowards. All Germans hate Jews. All Japanese carry cameras. All Asians are good at math. All Chinese eat dogs. All Russians drink vodka. All British women are ugly. All Israeli women are hot. No seriously, all Israeli women are hot. All Greek men are gay. All Indian people smell like curry. All South Africans are racists. And yes, my friend, Jews are cheap. Want to prove me wrong? Send me $20 and I'll reconsider.

i'm not a big 'green person' but it is interesting to watch the numbers as they change. that damn heart disease will getcha

have another coke, fatass. eight ways that soda fizzles your health

I'm Taking The Hands On Approach.

Wow, check out the pictures of this Bradley Fighting Vehicle after if was hit with an Explosive Formed Projectile. Zoom in on the third picture and look at the damage that was done. Amazing everyone survived without major injuries. Things could have been a lot worse.

An old saying someone taught me a long time ago: Liquor before beer, never fear. Beer before liquor, never sicker. Trust me, it works.

Here are some photos of the bridge collapse in Minneapolis yesterday. What kills me is, the adjascent bridge is packed with pedestrians looking to get a better view. Now I'm a little confused but, but wouldn't you be a little leary of Minnesota bridges for awhile.

Normally I try to hide the submitter's last name but seriously, how can I pass up on Cuntington?

Well, I'm off to grab some lunch. Maybe some nice fruit. Or maybe I'll just watch Kevin Smith put a shit talker in his place at Comic-Con. See ya.

george washington survives all this and still managed to kick some british ass. have you even gotten off your couch today?

Live To Ride, Ride To Live.

Ahhh, my sweet little bitches. The scooters, Shawn, not you. That's right, these sweet babies were made in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Retail for about $109.95. They've got a walnut stock, cobalt blue steel, and a hair trigger. Errr, wait. Actually these sweet babies were made in China, if I'm not mistaken. A few months ago I got the wild hair up my ass to pick up a little scooter to go tooling around the neighborhood in. In Florida, anything under 50cc and you don't need a motorcycle endorsement on your license. And you can drop some serious cake on one of these things, which is something I didn't want to do. And like a wink from the Powers That Be, I was driving down the road one day and came across this little purple scooter for sale on the side of the road. The sign read $350. I stopped and talked with the guy and offered $300, and he accepted. Later that day when I came back to pick it up, his neighbor's wife came out and said, "Hey we have one for sale, too." I didn't give her much thought at first, but after getting the first scooter home and realizing how much fun it was, realized if I could pick up a second one for a co-pilot, they might ball all the more fun. So I went back to the neighbor's house the very next day, met the husband and took a look at the second scooter. It was the exact same model (Sundiro Mantis!) only blue instead of purple. I guess the story is, the scooters used to be owned by a husband and wife, who five years ago sold them to these two neighboring 50 year old kids, who used them primarily to fuck around and race each other on beer runs. After five years, Neighbor-A just grew kind of tired of his, and sold it to me. After that happened, Neighbor-B's wife started getting on his ass to get rid of his. You see they're both 2-stroke engines, which if you've ever owned one know they can be kind of stinky, leak a little bit of oil, etc.

Anyway, Neighbor-B's asking price is $370. I figure it was just a little more friendly competition between neighbors. If Neighbor-A sold his for $300, then Neighbor-B has to sell his for at least $320, just so he can break Neighbor-A's balls. And I'm cool with that. So figuring you always ask high so you have some wiggle room, this guy would do the same and accept $325 for his. I get a scooter for short money, he gets bragging rights for "out negotiating" Neighbor-A. Everyone wins, right? Wrong. The conversation went something like this...

Now like everyone else, I can run up a $25 bar tab in three drinks. And this guy has two Corvettes sitting in his garage and a 35' charter boat on a dock in the back of his house. I can afford to pay the $350 asking price, and he can afford to just give the fucking thing to me for nothing. So clearly it's not a matter of money. Now it's pride. Now it's a battle of skill and wits between gladiators. Now it's war. This is the kind of guy who bogarts his car into the line at the tollbooth. And I'm having none of that shit. So I tell the guy I have to think about it, and we part company.

I don't mind telling you, I couldn't sleep that night. I was furious! My picking up two rideable scooters for $650 would still be a great deal, but that wasn't the point! How fucking dare he try and get an extra $25 out of me. ME! I simply wanted the scooter for $325, and that was that. And I got news for this asshole, I didn't spend the last five years of my life working for a Jewish company and not learn something. I learned how to be a cheap fuck and how to play dirty. So the next day, I didn't call him. Drove past his street, looked down and saw the scooter sitting outside with the 'For Sale' tag reading $370. Still nothing from me. I let him marinate in his own juices for awhile. Then on the third day, I called him. But not his cell number, as he asked, but his home number. After the greeting is played, the caller was prompted to press 1 for Neighbor-B's voicemail box, or 2 for Neighbor-B's-Wife's voicemail box. And that's when I took it to the next level. That's when I "accidently" pressed 2 by mistake. "Uh yeah, Neighbor-B, this is Ernie. I'm the guy who stopped in a couple days ago about the scooter. I know you mentioned your wife was anxious to get it out of the garage, so I was just hoping you might have reconsidered the offer of $325? Please give me a call back at...". That's right, I played dirty. I set his wife loose on him. And then I waited.

At 5:30 that evening my phone rang. I looked at the called-id and after seeing it was Neighbor-B, answered with feigned surprise. After the standard pleasantries an awkward silence fell into across the line. I waited. I would not speak first. And my lips curled into a delicious smile as the sound of his broken voice crackled in my ear. "Why don't you swing by this afternoon and pick up the scooter." Ha! I was victorious and he was a broken man. "Why thank you, Neighbor-B, I'll just do that." And so I did. While I was there, his eyes rarely gazed up from the floor except to take my $325 and write out the bill of sale. But before riding away in my new scooter, I made sure to wave goodbye to his wife, who stood in the garage doorway overseeing the entire transaction right to completion. "Thank you, Neighbor-B," I gleamed as I sped off in a trail of blue smoke. Thank you for your soul.

While riding home I tried to imagine imagine the hell that man had to endure after his wife voice listened to my voice mail. "YOU'RE GOING TO NOT SELL THAT THING OVER A MEASLY $25? THE HELL YOU'RE NOT! YOU CALL HIM BACK RIGHT NOW! GET THAT SCOOTER OUT OF HERE! SELL THAT DAMNED THING! WHY CAN'T YOU BE MORE LIKE MY FATHER! I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO MY MOTHER AND MARRIED JOE FROM HIGH SCHOOL! HE OWNS A CONSTRUCTION COMPANY NOW! YOU NEVER BUY ME FLOWERS! BLAH-BLAH-BLAH!"

Anyway, the following week I stripped off the plastic body pieces and after $50 in spray paint to cover up the gay, have what amounts to two brand new scooters. One red and one blue. They came out real nice; even had the footpegs sprayed with Line-X. I was going to paint flames on them, but decided against it. I know they're not the most macho of rides -- I'm used to riding something that goes a little faster -- but they're a metric assload of fun. They do about 35mph which is perfect for shooting up for an a drink or ten, grabbing dinner at a couple local restaurants, or the obligatory beer run. And at 95 miles per gallon, who can complain? The only thing wrong with them is there's a crack in one of the plastic gas tanks that I still need to fix when I find the time. That and during one of my recent midnight runs, the red one lost the removable door flap that hides the oil and gas tanks. This is what the door looks like, in case anyone wants to earn some brownie points. I've searched ebay high and low, but no luck. So I'be been on perpetual lookout for about two weeks now. If anyone finds one, I'll give you big hugs and kisses!

So let that be a lesson to you boys and girls. You can't out Jew a Jew. Or as the next best thing, you can't out Jew a Jew's former employee. We fight dirty. Lechaim!

there's going to be an awful lot of cheap houses on the market very soon!

old and busted: snaked on a plane. the new hotness: goats on a boat