Having a hell of a day so far, how about you? I’ve got a new book coming out on Saturday, October 1st, my publicists and I have been working on it hot and heavy, for about six months. We’re getting down to the wire and seem to be stepping on as many land mines as we miss. Today I was told by the only local bookstore in the area, wait the only one that isn’t a collage bookstore, that they don’t carry local authors. Explain to me why you want to be a local author when the local bookstores won’t carry you, even though the books are placed in the store, on consignment? The large bookstores, proved they wanted to squeeze local writers and bookstores out of business a couple years ago, now the local stores are giving up on local authors too, so much for sticking together. The large bookstores have gotten so far away from what their customers want, they are dropping like flies. So I’ll answer all the e-mails I’ll get asking where the book is available locally and tell them we don’t have a bookstore here. I’ll be sure to point them toward Amazon, you can bet, I make more on an e book anyway. Still I really like to be able to send people to a real, honest to goodness, store to buy one. The book, newspapers and the written word, in general is diminished every day and I’m doing my part to keep them going. It’s a shame that others in this industry don’t have enough sense to band together and try to fight the large ravenous publishing houses. We’ll continue to read the only things they see fit to publish, things like, Sarah does Dallas or Obama is the antichrist, give me a break.
Add to this, I made a little video to send to my family and close friends on Facebook. I didn’t want to plaster it all over everyone’s wall and was sending it as a private message. I was pretty much writing a little personal note and sending it individually, which is a lot of work. Facebook sent me a message stating I was engaging in repetitive behavior and could no longer place videos on facebook. Furthermore, if I insisted on trying too, I would be removed from facebook permanently. What the hell, why do I have 2000 friends if I’m annoying? Isn’t that why I’ve collected all my friends, family and fans in the same place, so we can keep up with each other? So in the end, we’ll have our freedom of speech, but it will do no good as money will eventually decide what we can and cannot say in America or will at least decide what is relevant.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
The Odyssey of Idiocy in America
Okay so my column proves, on a regular basis, that I only have a few brain cells. Still they occasionally dance together and produce something interesting. Sometimes I wish I did not possess those brain cells as those of us who have them continue to pay the price for those who do not.
I have a little job and on that job safety is a major concern. I’ve lived to be fifty years old, not a small feat in this day and time. Somehow I just don’t think I’m going to nick my finger on this late date and die from it. Still at work we must wear gloves and safety glasses regardless of what we are doing. Why, because people are just too stupid to wear them when they need to. Good workers are fired on a regular basis for not wearing them as the ones too stupid to do the job are kept, because they are cattle. We continue to pay the price daily for the dumbing down of America. In our day, if you were dumb, we moved you out of the way and went on without you. Now they put you in management. Okay I guess things haven’t changed that much. I’ve seen way too much over the years, including a twenty-three hundred pound torpedo falling on a friend in the Navy. It was hard to tell where the hard hat and safety glasses ended and where his head began, sorry.
Recently in Virginia a man passing under a red light noticed a camera flash. He looked down and realized he was running slightly over the speed limit. He decided the wisest course of action was to circle the block and make another pass at, the speed limit. After this pass and another flash he decided a third pass was required at a slower speed. Three passes, three flashes, he went on his merry or possible stupid way. Three weeks later he received three tickets for driving with no seat belt. At this point I would have been too embarrassed to say a word. I believe I would have paid all three and tried to forget just how stupid I was. I might have had to go to counseling, as it might have been the first indication, I ever had of my impending death from stupidity. After all people go to jail and literally die from stupidity every day. I don’t think stupidity actually kills anyone, it needs a little help.
I know that cigarettes might eventually do me in, but I keep smoking. If it happens, well, I will die from stupidity, slowly. Others need a little more help, after all stupidity has many levels. Mixing drinking with many activities increases your chances of stupiding yourself to death. Drinking and driving, a popular American past time is a bad idea, drinking and cleaning your gun is another.
“What is that lodged in the barrel there?” Yeah get you some of that.
If your friend has to help you from your chair to get on a four wheeler and you must reprimand him for spilling your beer, you need safety glasses, gloves and your mother had one too many sons. Your parents should have stopped and saved America the trouble in the first place.
Okay so I been to court a couple times and both times the judge listened to the facts quietly. The next words from his mouth were.
“I’m going to make an example out of you Mr. Taylor.” Not words you want to hear in a courtroom, you’ll need to trust me on this one. Why does this happen to me? I am too smart to get into trouble and the judge knows it. We the people who have just enough brain cells to get by are held to a higher standard and it kind of sucks. Sometimes I need to be a little more stupid than I am. If I’m going to be stupid, I want to be too stupid to know I’m stupid, hey it works well for so many in our Country, I could embrace it. There really needs to be a new test for driver’s license, one that definitively determines if you are smart enough to drive. Just because you answer the question about driving while eating, texting on the phone, reading the paper or putting on your make up, correctly, doesn’t mean you know it’s stupid.
So back to our friend, he went to court to prove to as many people as possible how stupid he was. The judge threw out two of the three tickets after laughing at this idiot for an undetermined amount of time. If it had been me, he would have made me pay five tickets instead of three and probably would have given me a little vacation in the county jail.
I have a little job and on that job safety is a major concern. I’ve lived to be fifty years old, not a small feat in this day and time. Somehow I just don’t think I’m going to nick my finger on this late date and die from it. Still at work we must wear gloves and safety glasses regardless of what we are doing. Why, because people are just too stupid to wear them when they need to. Good workers are fired on a regular basis for not wearing them as the ones too stupid to do the job are kept, because they are cattle. We continue to pay the price daily for the dumbing down of America. In our day, if you were dumb, we moved you out of the way and went on without you. Now they put you in management. Okay I guess things haven’t changed that much. I’ve seen way too much over the years, including a twenty-three hundred pound torpedo falling on a friend in the Navy. It was hard to tell where the hard hat and safety glasses ended and where his head began, sorry.
Recently in Virginia a man passing under a red light noticed a camera flash. He looked down and realized he was running slightly over the speed limit. He decided the wisest course of action was to circle the block and make another pass at, the speed limit. After this pass and another flash he decided a third pass was required at a slower speed. Three passes, three flashes, he went on his merry or possible stupid way. Three weeks later he received three tickets for driving with no seat belt. At this point I would have been too embarrassed to say a word. I believe I would have paid all three and tried to forget just how stupid I was. I might have had to go to counseling, as it might have been the first indication, I ever had of my impending death from stupidity. After all people go to jail and literally die from stupidity every day. I don’t think stupidity actually kills anyone, it needs a little help.
I know that cigarettes might eventually do me in, but I keep smoking. If it happens, well, I will die from stupidity, slowly. Others need a little more help, after all stupidity has many levels. Mixing drinking with many activities increases your chances of stupiding yourself to death. Drinking and driving, a popular American past time is a bad idea, drinking and cleaning your gun is another.
“What is that lodged in the barrel there?” Yeah get you some of that.
If your friend has to help you from your chair to get on a four wheeler and you must reprimand him for spilling your beer, you need safety glasses, gloves and your mother had one too many sons. Your parents should have stopped and saved America the trouble in the first place.
Okay so I been to court a couple times and both times the judge listened to the facts quietly. The next words from his mouth were.
“I’m going to make an example out of you Mr. Taylor.” Not words you want to hear in a courtroom, you’ll need to trust me on this one. Why does this happen to me? I am too smart to get into trouble and the judge knows it. We the people who have just enough brain cells to get by are held to a higher standard and it kind of sucks. Sometimes I need to be a little more stupid than I am. If I’m going to be stupid, I want to be too stupid to know I’m stupid, hey it works well for so many in our Country, I could embrace it. There really needs to be a new test for driver’s license, one that definitively determines if you are smart enough to drive. Just because you answer the question about driving while eating, texting on the phone, reading the paper or putting on your make up, correctly, doesn’t mean you know it’s stupid.
So back to our friend, he went to court to prove to as many people as possible how stupid he was. The judge threw out two of the three tickets after laughing at this idiot for an undetermined amount of time. If it had been me, he would have made me pay five tickets instead of three and probably would have given me a little vacation in the county jail.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Sometimes toy Feel like a Nutt, Sometimes you don't.
I could stay at home and watch the game, but would rather watch it with other enthusiasts. My wife cleans the house during the game, not that she isn’t a fan she’s just a passive one. This week we watched the game at the Tate Student Center, It’s about as exciting as you get when Georgia’s away
I heard Saturday the game between Georgia and Ole Miss was a game of coaches, a career ending game for one. I don’t know Houston Nutt and I’m sure he’s a great guy. I doubt he tortures cats, runs over dogs, on purpose or steals Geritol shooters from old women. Still if it’s Mark or he, Nutt will be teaching Pee Wee football next week. I don’t know about Ole Miss, but we have a coach, leave it at that.
Now for the fun, this was a great game from a fans perspective. We thoroughly enjoyed watching the Murray and Crowell show. Not to take anything away from the rest of the team, how bout that defense? Don’t let this little stuff get to you Blair, we know you got it and will use it, when we need it. “He’s still our guy,” Richt said and he is.
Early in the game, it was apparent someone forgot to tell Nutt, you can’t pull a flea flicker on a Dawg, we have spray for that. Still they ended up doing it later in the game, who expected to see a quadruple, double reverse, switchback play where half the team touched the ball before someone figured out where the goalpost was. Then they tried to beat up Murray on the side lines, it’s a good thing they didn’t go for our cheerleaders, it would have been embarrassing to get your rear kicked by a cheerleader, after all they could do it without getting thrown from the game. Don’t be hittin our QB out of bounds boys, see what it got you?
Something I found to be interesting, Ole Miss changed their mascot from an old southern Colonel, to a bear to be politically correct, most of the players and fans refuse to give up all those years of tradition and hang on stubbornly. The unofficial song of the team, a slightly altered version of Elvis’s American trilogy was also outlawed by the administration, where are these guys from? Why take team mascots so seriously? Maybe next year they’ll be called SEC-1-MS-BR-549.
What’s going on in Oxford, nuttin honey? I’m afraid Ole Nutt is gonna miss Ole Miss. Saturday was a montage of flea flickers, onside kicks, nose pickers and high school trickers, which were of little help. Don’t get me wrong, they pulled every trick from every bag they could find, Nutt and the team, have heart and do pretty well for a high school team who got lost on the way to the game. Next week is another opportunity to open a can of whoop @&&, on a Mississippi team. It’ll be the Bulldog and Bulldawg show, staring Coach Richt, his staff, the team and we must never forget the cheerleaders. Goooooooo Dawgs.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
I could eat a smoke, but I can't smoke a chicken. (column)
Some might find what I’m about to say, alarming, but many will understand. When I was a child we owned many businesses, one, a gas station closed when I was thirteen. Included in the left over stock, from that closure, were five cases of assorted cigarettes. Be clear here, five cases not cartons. I’d imagine they amounted to 150 cartons, 1500 packs or 30,000 cigarettes. We moved to Savannah Ga. where they were placed on a shelf in our garage and forgotten, by all but me.
I met the right or wrong person around that time and developed my interest in smoking. I opened my first pack the beginning of that summer and started smoking his brand. Once those were gone I went on to similar brands, then to the menthols and then the ones without filters, the eventual outcome, I smoked them all.
I was under emotional stress, all the time, so I think that had some affect on how I smoked then and how I continued to smoke, all my life. I’ve always been a compulsive smoker, smoking at least two packs a day from the start. I could smoke a whole pack during a football game; I remember the first time I appeared on Television I had to be there at 5:30 AM and smoked a whole pack of cigarettes before arriving at the station, I was sick as a dog. The way I smoked ensured those five cases didn’t make it past the summer. They were gone and I was a full time smoker by fourteen.
There has never been a day in the last thirty-eight years that I haven’t smoked; in fact I fully expected the first day I’d not smoke, to be the day after I died.
“Tobacco offers us a life of slavery, a host of chronic, debilitating illnesses and ultimately death. And think about it: We pay big bucks for those "benefits." Sad, but true.” About.com
Three thousand new, young, smokers start in America each day, over eighty thousand worldwide. Ten million cigarettes are sold worldwide every minute, the article, The dangers we face from tobacco use, by Terry Martin, goes on to say. Further, it’s a shock to see that over 5 trillion cigs are produced and sold every year. So while I’m not alone, I’d much rather die as part of some other demographic, maybe killed with an exclusive group of people feeding the poor somewhere. Maybe die saving a child from a fire or accident. Either way you have to tell God a story, but look at the vast difference in the story you have to tell him.
I start waking up at around three AM every morning and the first thing I want is a smoke. I go back to sleep, but for at least an hour I dream of that first cigarette. This, my first full week without one, that part has been worse. I dream of the smoke, then wake up to get depressed. I fall back asleep several times, repeating the process over and over again before getting up. It’s enough to make you start smoking. While eating I barely chew my food, I’m trying to get to the part where I light up the smoke, then it hits me, I’ll never light up another and I feel a little tinge of depression, this happens repeatedly throughout every meal. Every smoker who finds out you’re trying to quit will offer one, free of charge even though they might not have, just a month earlier, misery loves company is an old saying rooted in truth.
Nothing replaces cigarettes and a non-smoker cannot understand that. I love my wife and she has been my glue, but she will never understand the torture involved with quitting. There are many products designed to help kick the habit, they are little help. Several drugs are available, in my life I’ve found that any drug or drink increases the desire to smoke; these drugs just make you sick when you do. Gum, electric cigs, staples, hypnosis and patches, all help, but no matter what, you just can’t smoke them. I repeat nothing is a cigarette. No drug, no food and dare I say it, not even sex can quench the deep seated desire for just one more cigarette.
Find something that helps, find someone who helps, understand that you’ll never be allowed that one more smoke you desire, and start today. If you fail try again, it’ll be worth it when you try to explain how you died. As to all the non-smokers out there, understand that during the last week I could have eaten a pack of cigarettes, but no matter what, I can’t roll up a chicken, a lobster, a big fat piece of chocolate cake or a kiss and smoke it.
A Hopped up Chainsaw
What the hell happened to the growling, muscle flexing cars of the past? I guess they had to go, given the fact we’re about to use up all the remaining dinosaur crap, on the planet. I remember pumping gas at our family’s station as a child. One after the other they paraded past our pumps, not purring like kittens, but roaring like lions. Nothing compares to the shake of an antenna caused by a cam the size of a radio tower. If you understand that statement, you’re as old as I am.
I remember when gas cost almost nothing, now it cost more than the average mortgage payment, by the time the month is over. Remember when water cost less that gas? Remember when the average guy could repair them? Now it takes a college degree to be a shade tree mechanic. Running moonshine will never occur again as gas costs more than the shine; it kind of takes the profit out of it. Put Goober or Gomer on a 2010 Honda and see what kind of mess you get into.
I guess it tells my age, but I’m not that damn fond of the way music had gone. I’m less fond of what happened to the automobile. Now you have all these kids running around in little cars that sound like Bumble Bees. I don’t care how much you spend on tires, wheels and stereos, they still look and sound like sewing machines on steroids. Used to be the stereos were the most expensive part of a young person’s car, now I think it’s those damn annoying mufflers. I used to laugh when I heard one of them coming, was the buzz from the muffler or the thump from the stereo the most annoying thing about them? I laughed the first time I saw one stuck on a speed bump. I don’t laugh anymore; those annoying occupants will one day be running our country. You think people complain about the Presidents car now, wait until he’s riding in a tittie pink, Hyundai.
I remember when the definition of dork meant a kid who couldn’t afford a bad ass car to fix up and put mags on a station wagon or four door. I remember when a girl wouldn’t be caught dead in a truck. I remember racing when the car you were driving grabbed the other car and wrestled it to the ground, now they play chess, while wearing bow ties, as they cover the quarter mile. Bob Dylan said, “The times they are a changing.” He really is a prophet.
I love to go to car shows, but they give me the blues, sometimes. One thing is for certain, in my lifetime I don’t expect to see any Hondas, Toyotas, Nissans or those little low rider trucks, participating in or winning trophies at them. I’ll take the rolling thunder of an old Mopar, over the buzz of a damn hopped up chainsaw, anytime!
I remember when gas cost almost nothing, now it cost more than the average mortgage payment, by the time the month is over. Remember when water cost less that gas? Remember when the average guy could repair them? Now it takes a college degree to be a shade tree mechanic. Running moonshine will never occur again as gas costs more than the shine; it kind of takes the profit out of it. Put Goober or Gomer on a 2010 Honda and see what kind of mess you get into.
I guess it tells my age, but I’m not that damn fond of the way music had gone. I’m less fond of what happened to the automobile. Now you have all these kids running around in little cars that sound like Bumble Bees. I don’t care how much you spend on tires, wheels and stereos, they still look and sound like sewing machines on steroids. Used to be the stereos were the most expensive part of a young person’s car, now I think it’s those damn annoying mufflers. I used to laugh when I heard one of them coming, was the buzz from the muffler or the thump from the stereo the most annoying thing about them? I laughed the first time I saw one stuck on a speed bump. I don’t laugh anymore; those annoying occupants will one day be running our country. You think people complain about the Presidents car now, wait until he’s riding in a tittie pink, Hyundai.
I remember when the definition of dork meant a kid who couldn’t afford a bad ass car to fix up and put mags on a station wagon or four door. I remember when a girl wouldn’t be caught dead in a truck. I remember racing when the car you were driving grabbed the other car and wrestled it to the ground, now they play chess, while wearing bow ties, as they cover the quarter mile. Bob Dylan said, “The times they are a changing.” He really is a prophet.
I love to go to car shows, but they give me the blues, sometimes. One thing is for certain, in my lifetime I don’t expect to see any Hondas, Toyotas, Nissans or those little low rider trucks, participating in or winning trophies at them. I’ll take the rolling thunder of an old Mopar, over the buzz of a damn hopped up chainsaw, anytime!
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Chicken Poopie
Not another bunch of chickens, please. What is it about Carolinians and chickens? Did they misunderstand the question, what will your mascot be? Did they think they were being asked about dinner, it’s a good thing they didn’t say chitterlings, well actually chitterlings might have been better. How about Coastal Carolina Corn Dodgers?
Chanticleer is a famous cock from British literature, named for a French word, meaning sing clear. I don’t get it. Actually they took their name to emulate their parent college, you guessed it, The University of South Carolina, Gamecocks. Although they broke with the Gamegators in the early nineties, they can’t afford to change the names on the score boards or the five university trucks they own.
Did anyone decide to attend Coastal Carolina to be a Chanticleer? I think not, maybe they went to major in macramé or to be on the debate team. Okay maybe it was the debate team that came up with the name. Wait, maybe it was a literature class, it’s a good thing they weren’t studying Jonathan Swift or they might have been call the Lilliputians, hummm, that’s better too. Football was probably created there, simply because some parent, who really wanted a boy, made them start the program. Imagine being their first coach. He had to tour the campus and figure out who might make good football players, his choices, a bunch of basket weavin, pottery makin, debatin, macramé and dance majors. I imagine he rolled his eyes when he found out what their name would be and was probably looking for a job from that moment on. He might have quit on the spot, but their synchronized swim team already had a coach and the last team he coached, the Mississippi Mud cats had already replaced him with Al Gore.
Things are looking up for Coastal, I heard they were looking to hire a new coach and have several good prospects. Rosie O’Donnell, Charlie Sheen, Lady Gaga and Paris Hilton have all applied and are actually fighting for the job. So they’ll need to do a reality show, Who’ll Coach Coastal, to make the decision. All of them need only be their annoying selves to be in the running, if it comes down to a fist fight for it, it’ll be between Charlie and Rosie and my money’s on Rosie.
Holy moly, they’re 2-0 and we’re 0-2, the world is upside down, but it’s been upside down before. Last week we spent the entire game beating up on some chickens that ended up making chicken salad out of chicken poopie, this week we’re going to make chicken poopie out of chicken salad. Those little white spots in chicken poopie, are after all, still chicken poopie. I’ll be at Loco’s with some new friends again this week, but hopefully with different results. This week, we and the Dawgs will be having BBQ chicken in the early afternoon. Gooooooo Dawgs and coach we’re still behind you.
Chanticleer is a famous cock from British literature, named for a French word, meaning sing clear. I don’t get it. Actually they took their name to emulate their parent college, you guessed it, The University of South Carolina, Gamecocks. Although they broke with the Gamegators in the early nineties, they can’t afford to change the names on the score boards or the five university trucks they own.
Did anyone decide to attend Coastal Carolina to be a Chanticleer? I think not, maybe they went to major in macramé or to be on the debate team. Okay maybe it was the debate team that came up with the name. Wait, maybe it was a literature class, it’s a good thing they weren’t studying Jonathan Swift or they might have been call the Lilliputians, hummm, that’s better too. Football was probably created there, simply because some parent, who really wanted a boy, made them start the program. Imagine being their first coach. He had to tour the campus and figure out who might make good football players, his choices, a bunch of basket weavin, pottery makin, debatin, macramé and dance majors. I imagine he rolled his eyes when he found out what their name would be and was probably looking for a job from that moment on. He might have quit on the spot, but their synchronized swim team already had a coach and the last team he coached, the Mississippi Mud cats had already replaced him with Al Gore.
Things are looking up for Coastal, I heard they were looking to hire a new coach and have several good prospects. Rosie O’Donnell, Charlie Sheen, Lady Gaga and Paris Hilton have all applied and are actually fighting for the job. So they’ll need to do a reality show, Who’ll Coach Coastal, to make the decision. All of them need only be their annoying selves to be in the running, if it comes down to a fist fight for it, it’ll be between Charlie and Rosie and my money’s on Rosie.
Holy moly, they’re 2-0 and we’re 0-2, the world is upside down, but it’s been upside down before. Last week we spent the entire game beating up on some chickens that ended up making chicken salad out of chicken poopie, this week we’re going to make chicken poopie out of chicken salad. Those little white spots in chicken poopie, are after all, still chicken poopie. I’ll be at Loco’s with some new friends again this week, but hopefully with different results. This week, we and the Dawgs will be having BBQ chicken in the early afternoon. Gooooooo Dawgs and coach we’re still behind you.
Gamegators
For some it might be hard to talk about Gamecocks, after they beat us, hey they just barely beat us and besides I’m just the guy to do it.
First off, are they big chickens or little gators? I knew they were working on something weird when I lived up there, now Dr. Spurrierstein is on staff and he was the missing piece of the puzzle. A chicken with a gator tail, what will Mickey D’s do with that, the Mc nugbutt perhaps?
Old Lou reminded me of Super Chicken, holy cow, now that I think about it he looked like him too. Bok, bok, bok, becock, it’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s super chicken. Stevie, he’s got to be Foghorn Leghorn,
“I say boy, I say, this is football boy, pick up that big brown egg and run that-a-way and keep that tail out of trouble.”
I looked up Gamecock on the internet; wiki says they’re known for their looks and plumage not their fighting abilities. So, rooster male chicken, hen female chicken, gamecock drag queen chicken, I kind of knew that already. Wait, that’s it, they’re gators in drag.
“I say boy, how many times do I have to tell you, the black stuff goes under your eyes, not on your lips.”
“Sorry coach, can you say something to that guy in the red shirt, I broke a nail on that last play?”
“Just take this big egg and give it to somebody, please?”
“Glad to coach, it’s all sweaty and nasty, ewwwwe”
Huddle breaks, “Hey wait just a minute, who laid this egg, which one of you is really a hen?
Who actually sat down at the table and suggested the chicken as a college mascot? Who actually said, that sounds like a good idea? Look out, there’s a big chicken behind you, it don’t really instill fear in me. As a child we would just reach down, grab one and wring its neck. Not too much fight to em at all. Throw a little scratch feed out on the field and they’ll look like they’re doing something. Cut their heads off and they’ll graduate with honors. I heard the players go to school on the buddy system, each is assigned a nerd, specially recruited for this purpose, if he don’t pass, they don’t play, it works and ensures that at least forty people graduate each year. I think Lou came up with that plan, it was about football, but ended up increasing graduates by 20%.
Maybe one day South Carolina will have its day, but in my lifetime it’s just been a coach career killer. I hated to see it send Lou to the broadcast booth, but I’ll be kind of glad when it sends Steve to a hot dog cart in Florida. After Saturday’s game it’s soothing to know his eventual destination. Take the best coaches in football and bring them to Columbia, to disrupt the S.E.C., It’s what they do, I heard Ross Perot was eyeing the job for the next election cycle.
First off, are they big chickens or little gators? I knew they were working on something weird when I lived up there, now Dr. Spurrierstein is on staff and he was the missing piece of the puzzle. A chicken with a gator tail, what will Mickey D’s do with that, the Mc nugbutt perhaps?
Old Lou reminded me of Super Chicken, holy cow, now that I think about it he looked like him too. Bok, bok, bok, becock, it’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s super chicken. Stevie, he’s got to be Foghorn Leghorn,
“I say boy, I say, this is football boy, pick up that big brown egg and run that-a-way and keep that tail out of trouble.”
I looked up Gamecock on the internet; wiki says they’re known for their looks and plumage not their fighting abilities. So, rooster male chicken, hen female chicken, gamecock drag queen chicken, I kind of knew that already. Wait, that’s it, they’re gators in drag.
“I say boy, how many times do I have to tell you, the black stuff goes under your eyes, not on your lips.”
“Sorry coach, can you say something to that guy in the red shirt, I broke a nail on that last play?”
“Just take this big egg and give it to somebody, please?”
“Glad to coach, it’s all sweaty and nasty, ewwwwe”
Huddle breaks, “Hey wait just a minute, who laid this egg, which one of you is really a hen?
Who actually sat down at the table and suggested the chicken as a college mascot? Who actually said, that sounds like a good idea? Look out, there’s a big chicken behind you, it don’t really instill fear in me. As a child we would just reach down, grab one and wring its neck. Not too much fight to em at all. Throw a little scratch feed out on the field and they’ll look like they’re doing something. Cut their heads off and they’ll graduate with honors. I heard the players go to school on the buddy system, each is assigned a nerd, specially recruited for this purpose, if he don’t pass, they don’t play, it works and ensures that at least forty people graduate each year. I think Lou came up with that plan, it was about football, but ended up increasing graduates by 20%.
Maybe one day South Carolina will have its day, but in my lifetime it’s just been a coach career killer. I hated to see it send Lou to the broadcast booth, but I’ll be kind of glad when it sends Steve to a hot dog cart in Florida. After Saturday’s game it’s soothing to know his eventual destination. Take the best coaches in football and bring them to Columbia, to disrupt the S.E.C., It’s what they do, I heard Ross Perot was eyeing the job for the next election cycle.
Bulldawgs and french Fries
Okay I’m no sports writer, so I’ll leave the sports columns to others. However, I’ve decided that this year I’ll write a column about every team Georgia plays. I’ll call them names, talk about their girlfriends, wives, cheerleaders, mascots and if their mothers don’t move fast enough, I might talk about them too.
I love me some Georgia football and i believe this will be a good season. Let me warn you, never fall asleep during the third quarter. When I woke up the whole world had changed. I guess Boise State showed up to play ball and they played most of it during the third quarter while I was sleeping, peacefully. Maybe it’s my fault, if I just hadn’t fell asleep, it might have ended differently.
It has been hinted at, that we as a whole, climbed from the water to pond slime and then climbed onto the land from that same pond slime. I’m not too sure I buy it, but am inclined to believe it of Idahoans. In 1972 as they were still struggling to stand erect, they discovered the potato. It has since become their state seal, state flower and state bird. The Native American Spud roams the prairie and is part of the states very existence. Realizing they had little else to get excited about, the Idahoans embraced the spud and then someone convinced them they were made of gold. Idaho gold potatoes, holy cow, it’s unbelievable.
It wasn’t long before they invented all kinds of activities centered on the potato, such as potato bowling. The state tried to replace the golf ball with a potato, but they couldn’t find an Idahoan famous enough to promote the idea. Potato Frisbee tried to catch on, but the number of deaths from getting hit in the head with a seven pound potato, was just too high. Since the dawn of humanity, well since 1972 in Idaho, women have been running around in fields tossing potatoes while wearing combat boots and burlap sacks. See I told you I’d get around to their mothers. At some point it was discovered that if you put a helmet on a man, they’d be tough enough to play as well. So with the help of the women, Idaho football was born. It just wasn’t too far a jump from spudball to football. The helmets weren’t really to stop permanent brain damage, after getting whacked in the head with a huge potato, as much as to keep blood, slobber and sweat from getting on them. After all, after the game they were supper.
Don’t take this the wrong way, I’m not saying bad things about Boise State, but what exactly are they teaching up there? I heard the Quarterback is majoring in finance and no one has the heart to tell him the potato has nothing to do with futures. Pork bellies are a commodity, but the potato is just a French fry. Idaho might be the only place to recruit cheerleaders from any state, but their own. I didn’t see them, but I heard the squad was a group older, Russian women, dressed in potato sacks and doing that dance, the one where you cross your arms in front of you and jump from one leg to another. I heard half the team tried to defect last night and the other half applied for political asylum. Do they make wedding rings out of potatoes in Idaho?
You might think this is sour grapes or spilt milk, but I’ve got bad news. This column was pretty much written before the game and was going to be this way regardless of its outcome. I’m really just horsing around, I know Boise State is a fine institution, for a pre-school and that if you look hard enough you’ll find a woman in Idaho who doesn’t strongly resemble or is related to, Mr. Potato head. It’s not my fault that the Bronco’s came to Atlanta to play the Dawgs, I didn’t invite them and so they’ll just have to put up with my funning on them. To sum it up, the Broncos are dust kickin, potato farmin, spud chuckin, dismally less talented than their mothers, football players.
Now for the important question I continue to ask myself. What does it take to become an announcer for Georgia? I can make fun of any team any time. I can wipe the sweat from the brow of any announcer during a tough game. I’ll do it, give me a shot, I can be used to annoy the other team and I’d be good at it. Just keep those cheerleaders away from me or give me hazardous duty pay.
I love me some Georgia football and i believe this will be a good season. Let me warn you, never fall asleep during the third quarter. When I woke up the whole world had changed. I guess Boise State showed up to play ball and they played most of it during the third quarter while I was sleeping, peacefully. Maybe it’s my fault, if I just hadn’t fell asleep, it might have ended differently.
It has been hinted at, that we as a whole, climbed from the water to pond slime and then climbed onto the land from that same pond slime. I’m not too sure I buy it, but am inclined to believe it of Idahoans. In 1972 as they were still struggling to stand erect, they discovered the potato. It has since become their state seal, state flower and state bird. The Native American Spud roams the prairie and is part of the states very existence. Realizing they had little else to get excited about, the Idahoans embraced the spud and then someone convinced them they were made of gold. Idaho gold potatoes, holy cow, it’s unbelievable.
It wasn’t long before they invented all kinds of activities centered on the potato, such as potato bowling. The state tried to replace the golf ball with a potato, but they couldn’t find an Idahoan famous enough to promote the idea. Potato Frisbee tried to catch on, but the number of deaths from getting hit in the head with a seven pound potato, was just too high. Since the dawn of humanity, well since 1972 in Idaho, women have been running around in fields tossing potatoes while wearing combat boots and burlap sacks. See I told you I’d get around to their mothers. At some point it was discovered that if you put a helmet on a man, they’d be tough enough to play as well. So with the help of the women, Idaho football was born. It just wasn’t too far a jump from spudball to football. The helmets weren’t really to stop permanent brain damage, after getting whacked in the head with a huge potato, as much as to keep blood, slobber and sweat from getting on them. After all, after the game they were supper.
Don’t take this the wrong way, I’m not saying bad things about Boise State, but what exactly are they teaching up there? I heard the Quarterback is majoring in finance and no one has the heart to tell him the potato has nothing to do with futures. Pork bellies are a commodity, but the potato is just a French fry. Idaho might be the only place to recruit cheerleaders from any state, but their own. I didn’t see them, but I heard the squad was a group older, Russian women, dressed in potato sacks and doing that dance, the one where you cross your arms in front of you and jump from one leg to another. I heard half the team tried to defect last night and the other half applied for political asylum. Do they make wedding rings out of potatoes in Idaho?
You might think this is sour grapes or spilt milk, but I’ve got bad news. This column was pretty much written before the game and was going to be this way regardless of its outcome. I’m really just horsing around, I know Boise State is a fine institution, for a pre-school and that if you look hard enough you’ll find a woman in Idaho who doesn’t strongly resemble or is related to, Mr. Potato head. It’s not my fault that the Bronco’s came to Atlanta to play the Dawgs, I didn’t invite them and so they’ll just have to put up with my funning on them. To sum it up, the Broncos are dust kickin, potato farmin, spud chuckin, dismally less talented than their mothers, football players.
Now for the important question I continue to ask myself. What does it take to become an announcer for Georgia? I can make fun of any team any time. I can wipe the sweat from the brow of any announcer during a tough game. I’ll do it, give me a shot, I can be used to annoy the other team and I’d be good at it. Just keep those cheerleaders away from me or give me hazardous duty pay.
You can't smoke a chicken
Some might find this, alarming, many will understand. When I was young we owned a gas station, it closed when I was thirteen. Included in the left over stock, were five cases of cigarettes. Be clear, five cases. What amounted to 150 cartons, 1500 packs or 30,000 cigarettes were placed in our garage.
I met the right or wrong person and opened my first pack the beginning of that summer, starting with his brand. Once those were gone I smoked similar brands, then menthols and the ones without filters.
I was under emotional stress, I think that had some effect on how I started and continued to smoke. Always a compulsive smoker, I smoking at least two packs a day. I could smoke a whole pack during a football game; the first time I appeared on Television I had to be there at 5:30 AM and smoked a pack before arriving, I was sick. The way I smoked, those cases didn’t make it past the summer and I was full time by fourteen.
There has been no day in thirty-eight years I haven’t smoked; I expected the first day, I’d not smoke, to be the day after I died.
“Tobacco offers us a life of slavery, a host of chronic, debilitating illnesses and ultimately death. And think about it: We pay big bucks for those benefits, sad but true.” www.about.com
Three thousand, smokers start in America each day, over eighty thousand worldwide. Ten million cigarettes are sold worldwide every minute, the article, The dangers we face from
tobacco use, by Terry Martin, says. Further, over five trillion cigarettes are produced and sold each year.
I wake up at three AM, the first thing I want is a smoke. I go back to sleep, but for at least an hour I dream of them. This, my first full week without one, it’s been worse. I dream of one and then I wake up depressed. Falling back asleep, I repeat this process over and over, it’s enough to make you start smoking. While eating I barely chew my food, trying to get to where I light up my smoke, then it hits me, I’ll never light up another and I feel a little tinge of depression, this happens repeatedly. Every smoker who finds out you’re quitting will offer one, misery loves company, is an old saying rooted in truth.
Nothing replaces cigarettes and a non-smoker cannot understand. There are many products designed to help. Several drugs are available, in my life I’ve found that any drug or drink increases your desire to smoke; these drugs simply make you sick when you do. Gum, electric cigs, staples, hypnosis and patches, all help, but, you just can’t smoke them. No drug, no food and dare I say, not even sex can quench the desire for just one more.
Find something that helps, find someone who helps, understand that you’ll never be allowed one more and start today. If you fail try again, it’s worth it. To all the non-smokers, during the last week I could have eaten a pack of cigarettes, but no matter what, I can’t roll up a chicken, a lobster, a big fat piece of chocolate cake or a kiss and smoke it.
I met the right or wrong person and opened my first pack the beginning of that summer, starting with his brand. Once those were gone I smoked similar brands, then menthols and the ones without filters.
I was under emotional stress, I think that had some effect on how I started and continued to smoke. Always a compulsive smoker, I smoking at least two packs a day. I could smoke a whole pack during a football game; the first time I appeared on Television I had to be there at 5:30 AM and smoked a pack before arriving, I was sick. The way I smoked, those cases didn’t make it past the summer and I was full time by fourteen.
There has been no day in thirty-eight years I haven’t smoked; I expected the first day, I’d not smoke, to be the day after I died.
“Tobacco offers us a life of slavery, a host of chronic, debilitating illnesses and ultimately death. And think about it: We pay big bucks for those benefits, sad but true.” www.about.com
Three thousand, smokers start in America each day, over eighty thousand worldwide. Ten million cigarettes are sold worldwide every minute, the article, The dangers we face from
tobacco use, by Terry Martin, says. Further, over five trillion cigarettes are produced and sold each year.
I wake up at three AM, the first thing I want is a smoke. I go back to sleep, but for at least an hour I dream of them. This, my first full week without one, it’s been worse. I dream of one and then I wake up depressed. Falling back asleep, I repeat this process over and over, it’s enough to make you start smoking. While eating I barely chew my food, trying to get to where I light up my smoke, then it hits me, I’ll never light up another and I feel a little tinge of depression, this happens repeatedly. Every smoker who finds out you’re quitting will offer one, misery loves company, is an old saying rooted in truth.
Nothing replaces cigarettes and a non-smoker cannot understand. There are many products designed to help. Several drugs are available, in my life I’ve found that any drug or drink increases your desire to smoke; these drugs simply make you sick when you do. Gum, electric cigs, staples, hypnosis and patches, all help, but, you just can’t smoke them. No drug, no food and dare I say, not even sex can quench the desire for just one more.
Find something that helps, find someone who helps, understand that you’ll never be allowed one more and start today. If you fail try again, it’s worth it. To all the non-smokers, during the last week I could have eaten a pack of cigarettes, but no matter what, I can’t roll up a chicken, a lobster, a big fat piece of chocolate cake or a kiss and smoke it.
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