Somehow, I'm still not real sure how, I was miraculously able to get through the entirety of Wednesday withOUT talking like a pirate ("Talk Like a Pirate Day" bein' certainly one of the GOOFIEST observances in The Blogdom).
And frankly I'm not sure how I did it because my timbers damn near froze off yesterday.
I should ask you because I really need to know: If you have surgery for a hernia repair, does that mean the hernia you have is broken? And would they have to do surgery if you had a hernia that was working?
Just wondering.
I bought one of those shower radios and shaving mirrors. Sort of an all-in-one-thing. I am not entirely impressed with it. Here's why:
I don't generally like to look at myself in the mirror when I'm dry. Add water to that and it just compounds the fright.
I have learned one thing: all these shampoo ads are false advertising. I put Head and Shoulders on my head and I looked in the mirror. I don't foam up nearly the way they do on TV. Why is that?
Nose hair is a blight on mankind.
How is it that my luck has me taking a shower every day during the precise time when every radio station in town is into its 10 minute commercial block? Do they all call each other? Patterson's in the shower. Time to play commercials ....
Shower radios are bad because they encourage singing in the shower. People who sing only in showers should not be encouraged to do so.
Conway Twitty is perfect shower music. Other than that, I have not yet heard any songs played while I am taking a shower because I am too busy listening to shampoo commercials.
I don't trust shower mirrors. They don't fog up. That's unnatural. Anything unnatural like that I don't care for or trust.
Watching yourself trying to blow into a shower mirror to make it fog up is not a terribly flattering thing to see yourself do first thing in the morning.
If I ever catch myself in the shower mirror singing along with "Redneck Girl" or "Man I Feel Like a Woman" I may have to call 911 on myself. Not that they would come. How exactly do you explain that?
Midland police emergency?
Yes, I need help as soon as possible.
What seems to be the problem, sir?
Well, I have just witnessed myself singing in the shower in my new shower mirror and I am disturbed by what I have seen.
What were you singing, sir?
Uhhh ... "Stand By Your Man"?
I'm sorry sir, you don't need the police. You need help.
I'm not a big fan of shower mirrors-radios so far.
Good thing Pope John Paul II isn't suffering in America. Our judicial system and politicans would no doubt be working hard to kill him. Mercifully, of course.
And what's the surest sign it's the first day of Little League? Got a call a minute ago, 1 hour from gametime, and The Boy asks, "Is my cap in your car, I can't find it?" Only 25 games left!
Just once, why can't authorities find the body of a slovenly, weathered, beat-up, old child killer and find safe a full-of-life, all-smiles, pre-teen girl. Just once. Maybe we'd find out we loved it so much we'd make it a habit. And then we wouldn't have to worry about our children quite so much anymore.
... how brilliant is that?
As someone who was approaching his 40s a few years ago, there are times when it's a little difficult to understand some of the stories that come along.
Take the whole Fifty Cent thing. Fifty, known as "Fiddy" to those who know him and love him, apparently got a little p.o.'ed at The Game and kicked him out of the G-Unit.
Man, what was he thinkin'?
And then I heard a little of the reasoning behind the move: Fiddy got ticked because Dr. Dre was giving The Game more respect than Fiddy, so Fiddy gave The Game the boot and then one of Fiddy's posse was shot at a radio station while Fiddy was marketing his new CD "The Massacre" because someone in The Game's posse had been dissed.
See how clear it is when you get both sides?
Fiddy's "Massacre" CD was apparently so highly anticipated that it had to be released almost a week early. And I guess my only question at this point would be: Did his mama look at him when he was a baby and say, "He looks like a Fiddy. Let's name him Fiddy, honey."
I thought it a little ironic that this whole shooting at the radio station thing occurred the same week that Fiddy's new CD was to be released. Are these people now shooting each other as a means of marketing?
Imagine if Elton John would have shot Billy Joel the year "Piano Man" came out a few months before "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road." "Piano Man" might have actually been a bigger album that year and Billy may have turned out to be bigger than Sir Elton. And now, 30 years later, we might be trying to ignore Billy Joel everyday instead of Elton John who ... will not .. go away.
Killing people as a means of promoting an album. How much sense does THAT make? Then I thought, no, of course not, they're not doing that. No one's THAT stupid. And then I visited Fiddy's web site (www.fiftycent.com), and right there on the front is a picture of Fiddy pointing a smoking gun right at me! I felt like I was part o' the The Game's posse. (Are they still called posses or am I dating myself?)
And then on another part of Fiddy's web site is of course a picture of him surrounded by his women -- (His "Ho's," I believe he would blushingly call them ... and how proud THEIR mamas must be). And then on another part of the front page is a picture of another handgun with some surprisingly unspent shell casings. I mean what kinda REAL man would put un-shot bullets on his web site? Fiddy needs to be focusing on gettin' the job done ... Hey, Fiddy man, put some used bullets up there, that way, you get your message across better).
I didn't have the time, courage or stomach to look further into Fiddy's web site, but I'm sure it's loaded with useful information pertinent to civilization.
Al Sharpton was on the Today Show this morning. Al, or "The Blade" as he would be called if he was a brainless, hammerheaded "gangsta" rapper, is on a crusade to make it illegal to glorify violence through rap music. It will, of course, never in a million years work. But you have to admire the guy for trying to put a muzzle on some of the most boneheaded people to come along in years.
You go, Al.
If the state of New Mexico is supposed to be regulating the casino industry, it's not doing a very good job. Apparently, officials were on some sort of extended coffee break for the hour-and-a-half it took Karen and I to part with our Jeffersons at the Black-Gold Casino in Hobbs Saturday afternoon. We dropped our c-notes faster and with greater fury than Chris Rock drops f-bombs ... and I can tell you one thing: we will not be doing it again.
Karen and I are not gamers. The biggest gamble we ever took was getting married 21 years ago when everyone yelled, "No, no it'll never work! Stop now before it's too late!" If someone would've only said that last weekend, we'd have a few more bucks in our pocket today.
But as little as I go into casinos, even I know the slots pay better than 30 bucks on a total of $200 in 90 minutes. What kinda payoff rate is that? 15 percent? Not even a juiced-up baseball player can stay employed with that kind of batting average.
My brother, who's been in a few more gambling joints than I have in his lifetime, suggested to me the Black-Gold sounds like it's trying to pay for itself inside the first six months ... so if you have any plans to sashay across the state line and lay a bundle on the chance of triple 7s in hopes of raking in some extra folding money ... don't even go there.
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