Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Twofer Wenzday: Lacey Chabert Must Have Pissed Off Hollywood

Mind fart yesterday.  Spent the morning editing pictures for a friend and totally fukkin' forgot it was Twosday.  Shirkin' my primary job duty, I failed you.  And for that, I am deeply sorry.  But I blame both sides.  Bigly!

Back to bidness this morning with Lacey Chabert, tho.  This one is ponderous to me and I can't make tits or ass out of it.  Lacey is a Grade A Prime Smoke!!  She has a JLH look about her, including her byoobs.  The former Party of Five and Mean Girls star, she was on the cover of Maxim back in 2007 and again in 2013.  Let's just say you don't get on the cover of Maxim if you are rockin' the Kathy Griffin ugly stick.  But here's the puzzle... besides Party of Five (ended when she was 18) and Mean Girls (when she was 22), Lacey can barely get an on-screen job.  She does fukkin' voice roles for cartoons like Hey Arnold, Wild Thornberrys and Family Guy.  I have no idea who in Hollywood she pissed off, but it's gotta be someone pretty powerful.  It's not like she has a face for radio.

But at least you can get your fill of Lacey here, in a medium that totally respects her for her wikkid hawtness!!!!   Nom nom nom.

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

They Can't Win Every Season, So Why Not Root For Them To Lose This Year??

Just look at this asshole!
Yes, it is true.  I have willfully and woefully neglected my responsibilities in providing you with the greatest fukkin' sports coverage this side of the Hudson town line.  But the fecal downpour that has been flooding the Sawx locker room this season DEMANDS my attention.  It is hard to believe that the departure of one beloved Dominican slugger has allowed this year's edition of the Red Sox turn into the big bag of curdled moose shit that it has.

Effective today, I am just as happy rooting for the fukkin' Yankees or the fukkin' Bloo Jaize to take the Sox behind the wood shed and bloody their sensitive little asses with a thorny switch!  Fuk these little assholes.. and YES Dusty, this includes you, you little pussbag!  You are an embarassment to muddy chickens everywhere!

It was one thing to single out David Little Game Price as the bitch that he is.  But when he calls out Eckersley on the team plane for having the nerve to say "Yuck" about an Eduardo Rodriguez rehab start and then gets a fukkin' ovation from the rest of these bitches, it's time to turn my anger at the whole gawdam lot of them.  They all believe Price was "standing up for his teammate" and "willing to take the heat" except that is bullshit.  Price was peacocking.  For his precious little lemmings.  This is a guy who sits at 5-3 on the season and couldn't sniff a playoff win if it crawled up his nose and bit him on his brain.  But that is who you want for a leader?  Good for you.

This shitageddon really started to unravel when Pedroia separated himself from his team during the whole Manny Machado fiasco.  That only proved there is no fukkin' leader on this team.  No... I take that back.  It started to unravel the moment the Sox announced that the empty headed manager would return for another season after getting swept in the first round last October.

Since the All Star break and the Eckersley confrontation, they have been swinging bats like whisky dicks at closing time.  I could give a sack of soggy balls that they are in first place.  They will not be in first place soon enough.  And if they have chosen to look to Price as their leader, then they deserve the same fate that always lands on that sphincter suckin' chokecake...  a big fat Mama Cass when the pressure turns up.

Let's go Mariners!!

Monday, July 10, 2017

Officer Underwood - Always Stay Humble and Kind

When those dreams you're dreamin' come to you
When the work you put in is realized
Let yourself feel the pride but
Always stay humble and kind.

- lyrics by Lori McKenna, sung by Tim McGraw

I wanted to be a truck driver.  A big rig, cab over Pete with the reefer on kinda truck driver!  When I was 10, I got a CB radio and a beach towel with trucker terminology printed all over it - smokey, seat cover, bear in the air, 10-10 on the side Good Buddy.  Listened to Red Sovine, Dave Dudley and CW McCall.  Oh I was into it.  Then Star Wars came out and I think I wanted to be a pilot.  And then maybe an artist.  By college, I was gonna be a chemical engineer before I was gonna be an electrical engineer.  By the time I graduated, I had it figured out.  Or did I?  Maybe I wanna be a writer.  Or a photographer.  Oh dammmmmmm.  I'm so confused!!!

Most people I know have weaved a similar disjointed web of "what I wanna be when I grow up."  My son is not most people.  When Chris was in middle school, he wanted to be a police officer.  That has never changed.  Oh sure, he had a few months when he expected to play football at Michigan and get drafted by the Patriots.  But for as long as he could imagine a future, he wanted to be a police officer.

He entered college as a Criminal Justice major and left college 4 years later with a Criminal Justice degree.  Even before he graduated, he was taking police exams in towns around southern New Hampshire.  He learned very quickly that this is a very rigorous and competitive process.  Often times, a hundred candidates would test for one job.  So despite consistently having the highest scores in the written exams and physical agility tests, rejection became the norm.  Finding a letter in the mailbox from a police department became a downer.  Sometimes it was a who you know kind of decision.  Some times it was just that others interviewed better.

Most would have given up after the first 5 or 6 rejection letters.  But in no way was Chris letting go of his dream.  He would just keep trying.  This is who he is.  He is the guy who played freshman basketball in high school, but was cut from the team as a sophomore.  So he just tried out again as a junior and got cut.  And then he tried out again senior year.  Why would he keep trying when the odds were against him?  Because, as he would say, the odds were worse if he didn't try out at all.  So that's what he did.  He never made the varsity basketball team, but he didn't have to.  He just had to try. This is also the same kid who played football since he was seven years old.  The helmet bobbled around on his tiny head.  He was never really a star player, although he did have one Pop Warner season with 13 touchdowns as a wing back.  But he kept playing.  In high school, he hit the weight room.  He got faster and stronger.  He played varsity as a junior and started as a senior.  He added pounds of muscle and became a physical beast and won the football team's Iron Man contest his senior year.  He was gonna play football in college no matter what.  He tried to walk on at Westfield State his sophomore year.  He basically harassed the head coach with phone calls and emails until he got a meeting.  He was invited to work out, but there was no room on the team that fall for him.  Coach said to come back for spring workouts and we will see what we can do for next year.  So he stayed with it.  He impressed during spring workouts with his speed and strength.  Played some semi-pro football in the summer and returned to school his junior year where he made the team as a defensive back.  He didn't see much of the field.  But he was on the team.  Because that's what he said he would do.  When I say that rejection makes this guy stronger, that's an understatement.

Tonight, his perseverance once again has paid off.  Chris swore under oath, in front of plenty of family and friends, to serve and protect the community and is at last a full time police officer.  I was proud and honored to be asked to present him with his first badge.  Not only has this been his dream for a long time, but this is the job that makes perfect sense for who he is.  He has the perfect temperament in stressful situations and will be a very good cop.  In just over a year as a security officer at Lowell General Hospital, he has become a highly respected and important part of the emergency department because of how he assists with volatile situations and how he interacts with patients and staff.  They say he will be missed.

At the beginning, I quoted Tim McGraw's Humble and Kind because I truly believe that song defines my son.  There's another line in there that says,
"Don't expect a free ride from no one. Don't hold a grudge or a chip and here's why. Bitterness keeps you from flying, so always stay humble and kind." 
He could have been bitter toward the high school basketball coach, the college football coach or the entire application process of becoming a police officer.  Instead, he flew!!

Thursday, June 29, 2017

Minnesota Man Distraught After Facebook Test Tells Him He Is Sister Christian!

A Minnesota man found out this week that he spent the last 35 years living a lie, and he is not sure what he should do about it.  After taking a test on Facebook, "Which 80's Power Ballad Are You?", Ben Swigginballs from Bigelow Falls learned that he was Sister Christian and the news is not sitting well with the 41 year-old bolt-maker and father of three.

We reached out to Swigginballs for comment and found him in his driveway sitting on the hood of his appliance yellow AMC Pacer wearing a Warrant concert tshirt.  "Yes, I'm disappointed.  I lived my whole life thinking I was Love Bites by Def Leppard," said Swigginballs, the dejection visible in his weary eyes, bloodshot from lack of sleep.  "My wife is not talking to me; says she can't trust me anymore.  And my oldest son Rocky asked me if I was really his father."

This is not the first time Facebook has screwed over Swigginballs and he may be contemplating legal action.  "Just last year," he went on, "I typed 'AMEN' in the comment box under a picture of Jesus and guess what happened.  NOTHING!  That's what.  The picture said He would bless me.  He never fukkin' blessed me.  As a matter of fact, I took a line drive to the nuts later that night during a beer league softball game."

According to Swigginballs, he never received his free iPad for liking a picture of Steve Jobs in 2012 nor did he come into money after sharing a post about August having 5 Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays.  "Moneybags my ass!  That happens like every 6 years... not once every 863 years!!"

Swigginballs has vowed not to fall for any more Facebook shenanigans in the future.  "Now they have me adding and multiplying fukkin' cheeseburgers and fries.  And yesterday, I found four horses with three legs, but someone told me there were five.  I'm like what he fuk!!  But I did get 20 out of 20 correct in their Happy Days quiz.  And they said nobody could get even 5 right."


Do YOU suffer from Facebook Gullibility Disorder?  Do you like, share and tag with reckless abandon in the hopes of getting rich or bringing on world peace?  If you do, then read on. 


~You do not have a Disney doppelganger.  NOBODY DOES.~

~Taking a test DOES NOT make you a Dawson's Creek character, ~
(not even if it says you are Pacey Witter).

~Marty McFly did not travel to the future on this date~
(unless it's Oct 21, 2015)

~Jeesus it doesn't fukkin' matter what word you see first.~

~And it does not fukkin' matter how many triangles you see!~

~Liking a picture of a kid with cancer will not raise money.~

~Facebook will not be charging you to use it.~
(the Idiot Tax is still illegal)

~Microwaving your iPhone WILL NOT CHARGE IT~


Wednesday, June 28, 2017

John McEnroe Had Better Never Apologize!

Uptight snowflakes and sphincter sucking sissies are all up in jazz arms this week demanding that John McEnroe apologize to poor Serena Williams.  Why, you ask?  Well, during an interview on NPR this week, the big mean white haired old man called Serena the "greatest female player ever, no question."  Can you believe it???   This chauvinistic crab actually said that.  The NPR interviewer followed up by asking why he qualified the statement with the term "female."   HUH?  He called Serena a female???  Holy fuckmetotears!  The noive!

Here's the actual conversation in case you missed it:
GARCIA-NAVARRO: We're talking about male players, but there [are] of course wonderful female players. Let's talk about Serena Williams.   
MCENROE: Best female player ever — no question. 
GARCIA-NAVARRO: Some wouldn't qualify it; some would say she's the best player in the world. Why qualify it? 
MCENROE: Oh! Uh, she's not, you mean, the best player in the world, period? 
GARCIA-NAVARRO: Yeah, the best tennis player in the world. You know, why say female player?
MCENROE: Well, because if she was in, if she played the men's circuit, she'd be, like, 700 in the world. 
GARCIA-NAVARRO: You think so? 
MCENROE: Yeah. That doesn't mean I don't think Serena is an incredible player. I do, but the reality of what would happen would be I think something that perhaps it'd be a little higher, perhaps it'd be a little lower. And on a given day, Serena could beat some players. I believe because she's so incredibly strong mentally that she could overcome some situations where players would choke 'cause she's been in it so many times, so many situations at Wimbledon, the US Open, etc. But if she had to just play the circuit — the men's circuit — that would be an entirely different story.

So, what the Legion of Easily Offended are whining about is that McEnroe arbitrarily claimed that 699 men are better tennis players than Serena.  Seems like a big number.  BUT, in 1998, Serena lost to the 203rd ranked male player in the world in straight sets, 6-1, 6-2.

Then there was this quote from Serena herself in 2013 when on David Letterman:
“Actually it’s funny, because Andy Murray, he’s been joking about myself and him playing a match. I’m like, ‘Andy, seriously, are you kidding me?’ For me, mens’ tennis and womens’ tennis are completely, almost, two separate sports. If I were to play Andy Murray, I would lose 6-0, 6-0 in five to six minutes, maybe 10 minutes. No, it’s true. It’s a completely different sport. The men are a lot faster and they serve harder, they hit harder, it’s just a different game. I love to play women’s tennis. I only want to play girls, because I don’t want to be embarrassed. I would not do the tour, I would not do Billie Jean [King] any disservice. So Andy, stop it. I’m not going to let you kill me.”
But now Serena wants McEnroe to leave her out of his comments that are "not factually based" and to leave her alone while she's trying to have a baby.  Shut the fuk up!!  I do love that Good Morning America had McEnroe on yesterday morning after his comments and asked him if he would apologize for his comments.  He said, "Um, no."  

And why should he.  He was asked specifically about female players by that NPR asshole.  So when he includes the qualifier in his response, she then calls him on it?  Four years ago, Serena said the same friggin' thing.  So he exaggerated by using the hyperbole "700" - but the message is identical.  It's a different fukkin game!  There is a reason the men play best of 5 sets and women play best of 3.  I don't know the reason... but there is one.  I do know that the x chromosome and the y chromosome are different fukkin' chromosomes.  YOU KNOW THEY ARE!  EVERYONE KNOWS THEY ARE!  So cut the fukkin' shit.

John McEnroe said NOTHING wrong.   Neither did Serena in 2013.

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Father's Day: I Come From A Long, Squiggly, Awesome Line of Love

I've been a son for 50 something years, a stepson for 36 and a father for 24.  So I consider myself a virtual virtuoso in fatherology, wikkid experienced in the ways of got yer nose, pull my finger and hold my beer.

Yes, Father's Day is a Hallmark Holiday and we do not need some artificial date to appreciate our Dads.  But you have to admit, it helps. 

For whatever reason whatever your higher being has, I have been flooded with lessons and reminders of what it means to be a FATHER this week.  From Jimmy's birthday beer with Grampy to sharing stories about my stepdad Peder with my stepcousin Bigfoot at Laconia to looking at pictures of Kim's dad Butch on our wedding day to crying tears of joy with Kim after getting great news from Chris, this has been a father kind of week!!

But best of all, on Wednesday, I am flying down to Pittsburgh to visit with my Dad and then drive him and Laurette back to New England for Katie's wedding.  I am so looking forward to spending 4 straight days with the man who has handed down to me a long line of love that has defined me and that continues to define my two kids.  Oh sure, our line of love is not very straight... it has a few bends and branches, a break here and there... but it is long!!  Yes, dads teach us how to make armpit farts, how to make ketchup smiley faces on boloney and how to drive a stick.  But my Dad also taught me the importance of family and what it means to love those people closest to me.  And from that, I truly believe all good things come.  

Today, Jessica, my "baby" girl, turns 23.  Chris will be 25 in December.  They say that watching your children succeed in life does a parent proud.  That my friends is an understatement.  In August of 2012, both Chris and Jess moved away to school.  Just like that, our house was big and empty.  We were not sure how they would adjust, if they would adjust or what the future would hold.  Let's just say, they adjusted perfectly well.... so well that they did not really come home at all those first few months.  In a way, it was heartbreaking!  Don't they miss us?  Do they hate it at home?  Why do they like being at school better than being at home.  Did we do something wrong?  Were we bad parents? But the reality was this:  We were doing it right!  As a parent, from the moment your children are born, your job is to prepare them to NOT NEED YOU.  I don't mean that in an emotional sense... we ALWAYS need our parents.  But we were readying them for life on their own.  And it was working. 

There really are no words that can describe that feeling you get when you see your children grab hold of their own paths in life and just run with it!  In the past two weeks alone, both of my kids have taken HUGE steps toward their career and life goals.  Jess was promoted to being a lead therapist and accepted into grad school.  Chris just keeps inching toward becoming a police officer.  And it just moves me to tears when, through their own hard work and determination, they actually grab the stars for which they are reaching!!

This is what being a Dad is all about... And I'll see you Wednesday Dad!!

Always look back to see from where you've come!

Also, a very Happy Father's Day in heaven to these two men!!

Peder... thank you for everything you did for all of us. 
BTW, I still cannot teach Chris how to tie a friggin' tie.  Don't know how you did it.

Butch... Thank you for giving me her hand 25 years ago!

I cannot listen to this song without choking up... despite our scattered family tree, the sentiment describes EXACTLY how I was raised, from my grandparents on down!!

Sunday, June 4, 2017

It's Not About Winning The Game, It Never Is

Celena Massey celebrates the game she loves
Two out in the seventh, down 8-1, this meaningless home run had more meaning than anything else you will see in the College Softball World Series.  This one home run from a senior, her reaction and the reaction of her teammates and coaches and the tears of pride from her parents remind us that it really is not about winning the game.  It never is.
Before yesterday, Celena Massey had just 4 at-bats her senior season (13 ABs the past two seasons combined) with the Aggies, but she kept coming to the games.  A senior catcher, she has been the backup for her whole career, but she kept going to practice.   She had not hit a home run since her sophomore year.  Yesterday in Oklahoma City, her coach, Jo Evans, realized that with one out in the bottom of the seventh and down seven runs, the Aggies season was going to end with the next out.  The careers of her two barely used seniors would also end.  So she sent senior Reagan Boenker (13 at-bats this season) up to pinch hit for the final at-bat of her career.  She grounded out to the shortstop.  And just like that, Reagan's career was over.  Down to her final out, Coach Evans sent Celena to bat and, in an 8-2 loss, Massey gave us the best moment of the entire CSWS.

You see, they play the games to win.  But they play the sport because they love it.  And when everyone in that park celebrated Massey's home run like it had just won the game, they were really celebrating what it means to play a game you love, and to play it until you cannot play it anymore.  Thank you Celena Massey for reminding me what is important in sports.  And congratulations!!!

Celena autographs the home run ball for her biggest fan, her dad, Buck Massey.
They don't look like a team that lost by 6.

Sunday, May 28, 2017

For 14 Teams, the NBA Playoffs Are Like Going to a Strip Club

The Stanley Cup Diving Nationals get underway tomorrow night, and I, for one, will be watching with eyes wide open, rootin' wikkid hahd for the Predahdahs.  While card carrying members of the Thornton Melon Hall of Fame Sindy Crosby and PussKunt Subban go vagina to vagina for the top prize in the NHL, know this much:  the Stanley Cup final is going to be must see television, and much more exciting than watching Steph Curry, Kevin Durant and LeBitchBitch play angry face.

You can play along,
but you ain't winning.
My problem with the NBA is this:  The 82 game season and the 3 rounds of blowout hoops was a complete waste of fukkin' time.  Oh, it gave the ridiculously optimistic Celtics nation a little strip club boner for a few weeks.  You know what I'm talking about - when you get up close and personal with a glittered nekkid chick and she smiles at you like you have a chance.  And shit, she might even give you a Game 3 lap dance that gives you even more hope.   But reality is that from the time you walked into the place, you were NEVER taking her home.  But thanks for your money and congratulations on that first round pick.  You still lost.

28 NBA teams opened their season like they were walking into a strip club.  They were gonna have their moments, but they knew they weren't going home with the girl.  We all knew since the end of last season (and since the end of the season before that and the season before that) which two teams would be in the finals.  The NBA regular season is a gawdam joke.  It has become a money grab for owners and a nuisance for the super stars.  Ain't nobody got time for that.  Hell, BronBron said as much when he told everyone he could care less about regular season games.  Can you ever imagine Michael, Magic or Larry sitting out a few games a year to be rested for the playoffs?  No... because back then, they at least believed that you play EVERY game to win EVERY game.

For more evidence that the NBA is star driven, take a look at the Warriors.  Head coach Steve Kerr has not even been on the bench since April because of a back injury.  It is unlikely he will even coach in the finals.  But this is the NBA.  Who needs coaches when the superstars run the teams?  Do you know the name of the Cavaliers coach?  Betcha don't.  Cuz it does not matter.  Bron is in charge.

Look for a minute at the contrast between the NHL and the NBA (and I'm not talking about the color balance either).  The NBA Western Conference finals was a four game sweep by the Warriors over the supposed second best team in the conference, with an average margin of victory of 16 points.  YAWN.  The NBA Eastern Conference finals went only 5 games with an average margin of victory of 20 points.   SNORE.   In the game 5 clincher, the Cavs led by as many as 39 in the fourth quarter.  Meanwhile, on the same night, in the NHL Eastern Conference finals, the Pens and Sens were in a game 7 and needed double overtime to determine who would advance.

So, if you like your sports to have a predetermined champion, then go right ahead and rub one out watching the NBA and listening to Curry and James post game pressers about themselves.  Me.. I'll be watching a real sport that keeps me on the edge of my seat from opening night of the season THROUGH the entire playoffs.  And I'll be complaining about that little puss Crosby ad nauseum.  So Pens fans might wanna block me.

Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Harvard Blacks Had Their Own Commencement - Because Personal Responsibility Is Not The Road To Success??

In case you missed it yesterday, Harvard University celebrated a first; odd for the oldest university in the country to have any more firsts left.  It's actually difficult to believe this bastion of uppity liberal holier than thou muthafukkas that has been around for 381 years wasn't all done having "firsts."  The school that was established just 16 years after the Pilgrims tied their rickety old sailboat to a rock in Plimoth, Massachusetts had their very first Black Commencement yesterday.  Yep, you heard it right.  A separatist movement is afoot.

The easy play here would be to point out that had Harvard allowed their white students to have a White Commencement, Al Sharpton and Barry O'Bama would be rattling cages and Rachel Madow would be having a fukkin' conniption the likes of which we haven't seen since November 8th.  But playing that card that does not take much critical thought.  So fuk that.

Nope, I'd rather call out the little separatists who spewed horseshit during the ceremony.  The battle cry of yesterday's blacks only commencement in Hahvahd Yahd was all about black lives matter and the reckless taking of young black lives by big mean police officers.  Duwain Pinder, who is obviously wikkid smaht because he got into Harvard, spoke to the graduates... "despite continued police killings of black men, we have survived.  Just look at us."  SURVIVED??  Are you shitting me Duwain??   Must have been tough to survive a four year scholarship to the most prestigious university in the country.  I cannot believe you made it out of Harvard Square alive!!  Pinder has no gawdam idea what survival is about.  He got into Harvard.  He will have a successful career because he worked for it, and he deserves it.  But this smart prick has no more idea about survival than his douchebag white classmates.  This is why he failed to mention the reckless taking of young black lives by other young black men.  While Pinder goes on to earn a six figure salary, countless black men will not survive.  They will be cut down in their prime, mostly by other black men.   But hey Duwain... YOU survived.

But Pinder also wanted his classmates to be careful not to believe the myth that their success was due to their hard work.  He warned that black Harvard graduates can be wielded as political symbols by those who would argue that their success shows racism doesn’t exist. “They will try to craft our stories as examples of the benefits of personal responsibility, as proof that the American dream exists for all, instead of just a select few,” he said. “But we know better.” (1)

They know better?  What do they know better?  Are they saying that they are getting their Harvard degree because of something OTHER than taking the reins of their lives and working for what they want?  Hate to tell ya, fuckface... but your stories ARE examples of taking personal responsibility, busting your ass and reaching the American dream.  You apparently do NOT know better.  How the hell did you get accepted into Harvard in the first place?


Friday, May 12, 2017

Flannel Goes Well With Rifles (So Do Yoga Pants)

Because sometimes on a Friday, you need to put the scope on your bolt action .22 and go shoot stuff.

OR... if your flannel shirt is in the wash and you can always throw on some yoga pants for an afternoon of prone shooting.

Sunday, May 7, 2017

The Truth About Pre-Existing Conditions Under the GOP Bill

Coming to a Unicef collection box near you, the fly dotted faces of the uninsured and the sad, vacant stares of those with pre-existing conditions who are going to be cornholed by the GOP healthcare plan.  If you were to have read or watched any news on Thursday, or even worse, read Ohio Senator Sherrod Brown's Twatter page, you'd believe that people with heartburn, acne and gout are going to be left to perish on the doorsteps of doctors' offices around the country.  Democrats call the proposed healthcare bill (THAT HAS NOT YET PASSED THE SENATE, BTW) a death warrant for sick women and children.  I guess sick men are all set.  They showed their true colors after the House vote was final when they sang and waved, "Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye." to the other side of the aisle.  Seriously... are these the leaders of our country or the student section at a fukin' high school basketball game?

The top alarmist of them all, Senator Brown, took to Twitter hours after the House vote and gave us his alphabetical list of "pre-existing conditions" that would cause people to pay more money under the new plan.  The list was exhaustive and I seriously doubt Brown even has basic knowledge about half of these conditions.

Example:  Brown put autism on his list.  I would love someone to challenge this dumbass and ask him how exactly is autism treated medically.  In the interest of making the list extra long, he also repeats conditions with different names - i.e. epilepsy and seizures, heartburn and acid reflux.  And what the fuk does he mean by "disabilities?"

Here is his list; the list that the Left is clinging to so as to raise panic in the streets over the new bill.  My snide commentary in red!

AIDS/HIV, acid reflux, acne, ADD, addiction, Alzheimer's/dementia, anemia, aneurysm, angioplasty, anorexia, anxiety, arrhythmia, arthritis, asthma, atrial fibrillation, autism (is not a medical condition, you moron!), bariatric surgery, basal cell carcinoma, bipolar disorder, blood clot, breast cancer, bulimia, bypass surgery, celiac disease, cerebral aneurysm, cerebral embolism (how is the sudden blockage of an artery a pre-existing condition?), cerebral palsy, cerebral thrombosis, cervical cancer, colon cancer, colon polyps, congestive heart failure, COPD, Crohn's disease, cystic fibrosis, DMD, depression, diabetes, disabilities (what the fuk is this???), Down syndrome (again, not a medical diagnosis), eating disorder (bulimia, anorexia?  didn't he already list them), enlarged prostate, epilepsy (see "seizures" later), glaucoma, gout, heart disease, heart murmur, heartburn (ain't covered now, asshole - buy some Tums), hemophilia, hepatitis C, herpes, high cholesterol, hypertension, hysterectomy, kidney disease, kidney stones, kidney transplant (is this different than "organ transplant" - see below), leukemia, lung cancer, lupus, lymphoma, mental health issues (you mean like bipolar, anxiety, depression, OCD, panic disorder, schizophrenia, seasonal affecitve, all of which you already listed?), migraines, MS, muscular dystrophy, narcolepsy, nasal polyps, obesity (???), OCD, organ transplant, osteoporosis, pacemaker, panic disorder, paralysis, paraplegia, Parkinson's disease, pregnancy, restless leg syndrome, schizophrenia, seasonal affective disorder, seizures, sickle cell disease, skin cancer, sleep apnea, sleep disorders, stent, stroke, thyroid issues, tooth disease, tuberculosis, ulcers.

So do you want to know what's REALLY in the bill regarding pre-existing conditions?  Are you interested at all in the layers of protection for people with pre-existing conditions?  Or would you rather just watch Saturday Night Live and listen to Nancy "We Have To Pass It Before We Read It" Pelosi?

1)  The first layer of protection is the Guaranteed Issue - insurers are REQUIRED to sell plans to all eligible applicants, regardless of pre-existing condition.  The 1996 Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act addresses that in its creditable coverage section.  So, NO, the new law will not allow people to be denied coverage, regardless of health status.

2)  Yes, the new bill would allow insurers to charge higher premiums for people with pre-existing conditions, something that was prohibited through Obamacare.  But states will have to seek an optional "community rating" waiver of that AHCA regulation in order for insurers in that state to charge higher premiums. Those states would need to satisfy certain criteria, including development of a reinsurance program and explain how the waiver would improve that state's health insurance market.  So, if you have a pre-existing condition and live in a state that has not obtained the waiver, you CANNOT be charged more than other people for a new plan when you seek to purchase one.  So take it up with your state, if need be.

3)  Also, if you are insured now and remain continuously insured, you CANNOT be dropped from your plan due to a pre-existing condition.  AND you CANNOT be charged more after developing one.  If you have been covered and want to switch plans, either with a new job or annual enrollment, carriers MUST sell you the plan of your choice at the same price as everyone else, REGARDLESS of your health status.  By the way, this does not matter if you live in a waiver or non-waiver state.

4)  The final layer of protection is for those who are uninsured now AND have a pre-existing condition AND live in a waiver state.  Yep, you can be charged more for your coverage in this instance ONLY.  BUT, the state is required to give you access to their "high risk pool" fund to help you pay for your higher premiums.  At this point, there is $130 billion dollars earmarked for high risk pool funds.

The number of people who fall into this final category of high risk pool protection represents a sliver of the overall population.  When Obamacare was implemented in 2010, it included a 3 year bridge plan that allowed the previously un-insurable with pre-existing conditions to get coverage.  At it's peak, 115,000 people were able to get coverage who previously could not.  Those people needed the help and they got the help.  I am not denying that.  But... given those statistics, it highlights the small percentage of our population.  AND as long as those 115,000 continued with their coverage, they will not be affected by the new bill.

I'm sure this law is not perfect and needs some tweaking.  Afterall, it was written by a bunch of lifer hacks who don't know their ass from their elbow.  BUT....  you should at least know ALL of the facts before you start a GoFundMe page for your acne medication.

Friday, April 21, 2017

I Would Like You To Meet Someone

Many of you know what I do for work.  Behind the philosophical renaissance, political enlightenment and wikkid fahkin' smartassery that is this blog, I actually have a grownup job (and it's not selling flannel shirts).  But what I do between 8 and 4 Monday through Friday is so much more than a job.  I have been blessed with opportunities to meet men and women of varying abilities, personalities, strengths and weaknesses.  I have been able to spend years knowing people and watching them navigate life in ways that you and I could never comprehend.  Successes that may seem simple to you and me are celebrated daily.  Successes like learning to put your change back in your pocket after buying a soda or reaching out and touching a button that makes a device say "I need the bathroom, please."  Challenges are met head on.  Sometimes, the challenges win.  But many times, those challenges get kicked in the ass by perseverance and the will to just do it.  However, because the foundation of what we do for pay is based on human relationships, the heartaches are as inevitable as the joys.  Ethics tell us that we are not supposed to let emotions affect our work.  But our supervisors and directors do not expect that.  They know that .  

It’s been a rough run lately at the office.  We have had to say goodbye to too many people, some expected and some not expected at all.  In my career, far too many times, I have seen people with developmental disabilities pass away with little to no family having been in their lives.  Wakes and funerals are attended by a few paid staff and forced friends who are only friends by circumstance, told by professionals to live together, work together, bowl together and dance together.  Far too many times, when they are gone, little to nothing is said about their lives on this earth and the impact they had on others.   

I want that to be different.

I would like you to meet Chris.

Sadly, Chris passed away yesterday morning after a year-long, stubborn battle with various medical issues.  He would have turned 59 in May.  Chris refused to let Alzheimer's, end stage heart and lung disease, pneumonia or 14 days intubation back in 2015 decide his time to go.  No, Chris would decide.  He decided this yesterday morning.  His hospice nurse had called for an ambulance to transport him from his group home to a hospice home in Danvers as it was apparent he was nearing the end.  Before the ambulance would get there, however, Chris bid his friends and staff farewell.  He saw his brother and his cousin Wednesday.  He was not going to die in some strange home in Danvers.  He was going to die in his own home, where he has lived happily the past 12 years.    

Chris had warm eyes, an infectious smile, lots of neckties and Down Syndrome.   Those who knew him were most certainly touched by his gregariousness, his spirited facial expressions and his genuine charm and demeanor!  I actually knew Chris well before I started working at DDS with him.  He was an altar boy at St. Michael Church in Lowell where I was a parishioner growing up.  But I really got to know Chris in 1989 at Camp Fatima where he was a camper and comedian and I was a young volunteer counselor trying to figure out if this was the kind of work I wanted to do.  How I will always remember Chris is from the talent show that year.  He decided his talent was telling jokes.  So he got up there in front of a few hundred campers and counselors and in only the way he knew how, microphone in hand, he proceeded to tell joke after joke.  Of course, most of us had no idea what he was saying.  Couldn’t make out a single word.  But we all knew when the joke was over and he expected a laugh because he would raise his arms in triumph.  So we would oblige with hearty laughter. 

I met up with Chris once again in 1999 when I started working at the Lowell office and became his Service Coordinator.  He was living with his mother Betty, who was in her mid-80s and a helluva feisty woman who kept a bottle of Hennessy under her kitchen sink to keep her young and hearty.  At 86 years old, she was still making the trip into Boston with Chris to see his cardiologist.  The doctor was apparently quite the handsome man as Betty would always paint on the lipstick and wear her finest shawl for those appointments.  But in 2004, Betty could no longer care for Chris.  It was in December when we had to help Chris move away from his mother and into a group home.  While the separation was heartbreaking, it was inevitable.   Betty died a few years later at the ripe old age of 92 (the Hennessy worked).  By then, Chris was settled and happy in his home.  His brother and his cousin became more involved in his life.   We can all take heart in that today, he is back together with Betty, and he is telling her the same jokes.

Chris was one of the first people served by Goodwill back when it was on First Street, long before it moved to Middlesex Street and even longer before it became American Training.  He was one of the first participants in RARA.  He was a consistent presence in his Centralville neighborhood off West Sixth Street and at Camp Fatima's Exceptional Citizen's Week every August.  People who knew him loved knowing him.  It was his joy being around people, it was the way he expressed friendship, it was his handshakes to every churchgoer after mass and it was how he would wave you off and tell you to “get outta here.”  There is so much to remember fondly.  Especially his jokes.  

Chris was one of many in 1989 that helped that young volunteer counselor chose his life's path.  And for that, I thank him!!

Rest easy, buddy!  See you again someday!

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Easter Weekend... I have a few questions

All around the globe, Christians are celebrating the resurrection of their lord Jesus Christ this weekend.  They celebrate his last loaf of bread, his final breath and his mysterious yet predictable fulfillment of his promise to rise from his own death and save us from our sins.

So of course, I have questions.

What does INRI mean?  (I don't really want to know)

At what point did a giant bunny with painted eggs become part of the story?

If he rose on the third day, shouldn't it be Easter Monday?

What's so good about Good Friday?

Why are the Greeks a week later than the rest of the Christians??

Who were those two miserable bastards crucified alongside Christ, and what did they do?

Thursday, March 30, 2017

In Italy, They're Calling In a Cramp Day

If you listen to The Hillman Morning Show on WAAF, then you've heard this story.  If not, let me edumahcate you, because, as usual, I am in the gawdam know!!!  In Italy, the lower house of Parliament is considering a draft law that will mandate employers to give women three paid days off per month when their heavy Aunt Flo comes to visit.  (Shitting you not... read here)

I'm callin' bullshit.  Or as they say over there, CAZZATE!!  I am not sure what kind of periods they have in the Boot Country, but paralyzing menstrual cramps??  If I have to go to work battling the fukkin' Pabst Brown River after a night of hot wings and draft beers, then these bella donnes need to buck up and get their belly aches to work.  Don't tell me I'm a dude and therefore have no idea how painful a period can be.  I get it... it feels like you're giving birth to a herd of angry unicorns.  While I do not know how bad the pain of a period is, what I also know is that American women are making it to work every gawdam day, even if they have to double pad it and pop Midols like Skittles.  They go to work.  Italian women are looking for 7 weeks of paid vacation to hug a hot water bottle.

But imagine the uproar if this became a thing in the US.  First, we'd have to reconcile the paradox of women fighting for equality with women wanting to be treated differently because they are women.  At first blush, you might say this would be a step in the right direction for women's rights.  But is it really?  Would this not hurt a woman's employment opportunities?  Imagine ACME Incorporated for a minute, whose employees get 4 weeks paid vacation, 10 sick days and 5 personal days (7 weeks paid time off).  They are choosing between two EQUALLY qualified candidates... a 30 year old man and a 30 year old woman with identical experience and education.  Except one candidate would get 14 weeks paid time off while the other would get 7 weeks.  Who should they hire?  Discrimination?  Yep.  Defensible?  Honestly, kinda!  It's a business first.  And if you owned a company dependent upon your employees' production, wouldn't you want someone who would work 45 weeks a year instead of 38 weeks a year?

But a more interesting/entertaining argument would come from the liberal left...  because, as you know, such a law would certainly discriminate against those who identify as women but swing a schwanz under their skirts.  Would they get the benefit of the law?  Or no?  If not, why not?

But hey... at least LeBron and Sidney Crosby will be able to stay home when they are on their period!

Monday, March 20, 2017

David Allan Coe - Seeing Him Gave Me Chills!

My recent trip to the Blue Hair State was rife with close encounters of the culty kind!  Early in the trip, we cruised around downtown Clearwater, Florida, which has been completely fukkin' taken over by brainwashed lemmings in white shirts, blue pants and matching vests called Scientologists.  You could not swing a Tom Cruise breakdown without hitting one of these fukkers, hanging around multi-million dollar buildings doing their church thing, whatever the fuk that is.

But later in the week, I crossed paths with greatness, a cult hero in his own right.  And it felt good to be completely consumed into the worship! This experience is the reason I am pecking away at the keyboard today.  David Allan Coe is a legend.  The kind of legend of whom the majority of people in this country have never heard, or about whom they could give a shit.  The kind of legend that when you talk about him with a 55 year old guy who lives in the same part of Florida as DAC, that guy says, "I've never heard of him."   Half of you who read this today (maybe more than half) are probably waiting on the next few paragraphs to find out who the fuk is David Allan Coe. But first, a sampling of this weekend's show...

Seeing Coe on stage at the Iron Horse Saloon in Ormond Beach this weekend was chilling for a couple of reasons.  It was chilling because I have been listening to this fukker for a long time, but have never seen him live.  My buddy Tommy and I were walking along the rode toward the Iron Horse and I heard through the oak trees a voice that I thought sounded an awful lot like Coe.  Could it be?  I squeezed my way through the crowd of tattooed, bearded, life-worn brethren, straight past the bar.  I needed to see if I heard right.  Sure as a Sunday morning shit, there he was 20 yards from me sittin' on a stool softly strumming his Gibson Flying V as he told story after story.  With his obnoxious looking wig and grizzled, throaty baritone sound, the man commanded a crowd of loyalists, bikers staring at cowboys who were laughing at the hippies - literally straight out of his song, Long Haired Redneck.

It was also chilling because the 77 year old outlaw who used to ride his huge Harley onto the stage and curse at his fans, this day needed to be assisted off his stool and helped off stage by two guys, the seemingly permanent reminder of a near fatal car wreck four years ago to the day in Ocala, FL, when he ran a red light and was broadsided by a semi-truck.  It hit me kinda hard to watch this outlaw tough guy need so much help to take so much as one step.

The damage to Coe's Suburban in 2013.  How did he live?
So who the hell is David Allan Coe, you ask?
  • You might know his hits You Don't Have To Call Me Darling or Mona Lisa's Eyes.  Then again, you might not.  
  • You might know The Ride, his haunting tribute to Hank Williams.  Then again, you might not.  
  • You might know that he wrote Tanya Tucker's #1 hit Would You Lay With Me (In A Field of Stone).  Then again, you might not.  
  • You definitely know his most successful song, Take This Job and Shove It, but you probably thought Johnny Paycheck wrote it.   
Coe's been an outlaw since he was a 9 year old runt growing up in Akron, Ohio.  Coe spent 20 of his first 30 years in reform schools and other correctional facilities for crimes ranging from armed robbery to auto theft.  In 1967, after he was released from a three year stint at the Ohio State Penitentiary, he moved to Nashville to embark on a music career.  He lived out of a hearse that he parked in front of the Ryman Auditorium.  But his tattoos, outlandish performances, his criminal past and his go fuck yourself attitude did not conform to Nashville's uppity standards. He never would break into the mainstream, but his outlaw style quickly formed a cult following of country fans who were about tired of the Grand Ol' Opry's elitism.  He penned songs for Willie Nelson, George Jones and Tammy Wynette.  But he could never get his own records played on country radio...  the first two lines of Long Haired Redneck tells you all you need to know:  "Country DJs all think I'm an outlaw, and they'd never come to see me in this dive."

Coe could not give two shits about what Nashville thought of him.  He refused to change.  This only endeared him even more to his fans and strengthened his outlaw image.  In the 70's, DAC recorded a couple of underground albums that were explicitly confrontational, sexual and racist in nature.  He became embroiled in a feud with Jimmy Buffett after Buffett accused him of plagiarism with Divers Do It Deeper.  So he wrote the insulting Jimmy Buffett with lyrics like:

Now Jimmy's moved to Malibu with all those other stars 
He's not down at in Duval Street hangin' out in bars 
All them God damned tourist, got to be a bore. 
Jimmy Buffet doesn't live here any more

He also went off on Anita Bryant for her opposition to LGBT rights with Fuck Aneta Briant (misspelling intended to avoid lawsuits).  Google it, you'll like it.  No guesswork in Coe's meanings, that's for sure.  His career has had a few setbacks.  He has battled (and lost to) the IRS.  He toured with Grand Funk Railroad and Kid Rock.  He partnered with Dimebag Darrell of Pantera in the country metal collaboration Rebel Meets Rebel.  And through it all, he has played the Iron Horse Saloon every year, holding court over his most loyal of followers.

To truly understand what David Allan Coe represents, go to one of his shows.  The guy's stage sound totally sucks.  Trained musicians and singers would recoil at how he carries a note.  And yet, his following is undeniable!  Take note of the faces in the crowd and appreciate the stories those hardened wrinkles have to say.  Because he is not about the music - rather his music is his method of message.  He is 100% about the non-conformist way of life.  The Go Fuck Yourself I Ain't Changing For Anyone lifestyle.  The I Don't Give A Shit What You Think Of Me lifestyle.

And this weekend, I was up close and personal to a man who is the penultimate representation of what it means to stay true to yourself.  We all have scars and stories and imperfections.  We can choose to hide them or embrace them for making us whole.  David Allan Coe embraces them.  You may not ever even care to listen to him.  But he doesn't give a fukkin' shit!

Monday, February 6, 2017

Soopah Bowl Recap: Roger That!

I was one of them.  And I wasn't alone.  Facebook, Twitter and Instagram were going full tilt with haters posting hilarious memes and fans posting gloom and doom.  But my wife...  at 28-3, she was saying to all of us Dougie Downers in the room, "We got this.  Lot of game left."  She was fukkin' crazy is all I knew.  I don't care how great TMFB is... climbing back while keeping the best offense in the NFL off the scoreboard was simply not possible.  OR WAS IT????

I didn't need this game to know that Tom Brady was/is the greatest quarterback to have EVER played the game.  Even with that, a 25 point gap was just too high to close.  OR WAS IT??

Psst... IT WASN'T!!

Two years ago, we thought we saw the greatest Super Bowl in NFL history.  We thought we saw the greatest 4th quarter by a quarterback.  We thought we saw the greatest play.  I keep Butler's interception as the greatest play ever in the Super Bowl.  But Brady made sure SB51 became the greatest Super Bowl in history.  He looked off in the first half, making bad decisions and missing his guys.  I was wondering if all of the emotion with his mother and with the "revenge tour" has finally gotten to him.  IT DIDN'T!

Atlanta was doing what the Giants did... pressure Tommy with 4 guys and cover man on the outside and it was working.  This alleged "weak" defense looked pretty fukkin' stout!  Could Dan Quinn be outcoaching The Hood?  In all, Brady was sacked 5 times.  Some fat dude named Grady Jarrett was gonna win the MVP if Atlanta held on to win.

But you saw what happened.  Brady stayed calm.  He kept everyone else calm.  And then he just went all TMFB on their asses.  When it was all over, Brady went 43 for 62 for 466 yards.  The Pats ran 88 offensive plays to Atlanta's 41!  No, Quinn did not outcoach The Hood.  Ya know how I know...  because as easy a time as Atlanta had running the football and as big a lead as they had, they only had 18 carries all game.  They only had 104 yards rushing and that includes Freeman's 37 yard gallop on their first snap of the game.  The Pats scored 31 unanswered points.

During the AFC Championship, it was Chris Hogan setting records.  Last night, it was James White.  THIS is what makes him the GOAT.  He doesn't care who the fuk gets the ball... as long as the right guy gets the ball.  Anyone predict James White would have 114 yards receiving, three touchdowns and a 2 point conversion?  I didn't.  He takes what you give him and he spits you out.

And THAT my friends leaves no doubt!  For anyone!  The Ginger Hammer got booed relentlessly.  Mrs. Brady made it down to the field for a big ol' kiss from her son.  Thanks for coming.  Parade is tomorrow!

Sunday, February 5, 2017

MessFest 2017: And I Will Bring You Beer

You shall cross the frozen ice pond,
but you shall not die of thirst
You shall try to find your warm friends
Though you do not know the way
You shall call a fukkin' taxi and to the Spoke you go.
You shall see the cleavage of God and drink!

Be not a dick
We'll go before you today
You follow us, and
She will give you beer!

We did it again... our annual traipse through the tulips of gluttony and sloth, aka MessFest, aka Cronin Weekend, aka Pond Hockey Classic ended without tragedy, unless you count the deer who lost a foot race to a hungry predator on the ice under the moon.  Some say it was a coyote, others say it was a bobcat.  I say it was the Killer Rabbit from the Holy Grail.  When the sun rose over the frozen tundra of Lake Winna Piss In My Sockies, there was nothin' left of Bambi except bones and fur!   LOOK AT THE BONES!!

I will once again change the names to protect the guilty because some of us muthafukkas have reps to protect.  There was me, Podunk.  I rode up with my brother Big Balls Buddah.  When we got there, Tiny was in the kitchen', in full Jackin' Coke swaydom, broilin' ribs and singing Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard.  A hundred beers deep, there was also Jimmy Weedbalm, Halfsack, Frogger, Tits McDoo, Cap'n Billy and Pot Pipe Pete, our token Democrat - he had the weekend off from marching.  A little later, Boner, Stoner, PJay and Dinkus arrived.  And soon after, Pauly Wingnut and Rapid Roy rounded off the Magnificent 14!!  Wait... that's 15.

I don't know where to begin...

Before me and Buddah even got there, we stopped by the Broken Spoke.  There, we met Bobby O'Neil, a Santa Claus lookin' muthafukka originally from Summahville, who proudly told us of his time in Okinawa as a Marine before coming home to open up two porno stores, one in Summahville and one in Mahlburo.  He apparently made enough money sellin' videos and dildos to buy 12 acres in Meredith and move up here some 20 years ago to farm chickens and work for the town.  Bobby's signature expression, by the way... Fuck me to tears!

This was the 15th annual Sloppy Bowl (as years go by, this muthafukka has had many names).  Literally a collection of mostly Irish pricks from Christian Hill in Lowell, although we often throw in a smatterin' of French and Portuguese because someone has to bring the big dicks.  Friday night, the bunch of us drank enough beer to leave Milwaukee dry for months.  Weedbalm had just come back from a trip to Vail, Colorado and pulled out his THC Lip Balm.  "Put a bunch on your lips and rub some on your temples," he says while stuffin' his gullet with a double stacked Ring Ding.  And by 3 am, Wingnut, Cap'n, Halfsack, Dinkus and me were wanderin' around the frozen lake looking at the stars like they were talkin' to us.  Serenaded to sleep by a cacophony of snores, day 1 was in the books.

Saturday is Mug Day!  After a breakfast of Twinkies and icewater while Caddyshack was on, we were off to The Mug for some lunch and bubble hockey.  However, this year a few of us also decided to spontaneously rewrite a few church songs because that's what we do..  Come follow me, and I will bring you beer!  So after harassing our wikkid sassy bartender Ashley for a couple of hours, it was off to watch some pond hockey... the Labatt Blue Pond Hockey Classic is 26 rinks in which you get to see teams like Shut Yer 5 Holes play against Tuukka Dump!


They sell beer.  There is live music.  And a shitload of people.  Three carloads left The Mug for Meredith Bay, but one car drove right the fuk by it.  Ya see, while the rest of the idiots chose to walk around freezin' their Irish asses off, me and Buddah went straight to the cozy stools at the Broken Spoke where we hung out with another sassified bartender, this one named Alicia.  Within 30 minutes, with Buddah controlling the jukebox and making friends with every fukkin' person in the place including the owners, Tiny was calling for us to come pick him up because he was fukkin' freezin.  He said the other guys did not want to leave because they had such a good parking spot.  Of course, we said no thanks.  But Tiny being the smart one called a cab and joined us in the happiness of shelter and booze with his little friend, Cleo Taurus.

Then it was Wingnut's turn to start calling looking for a ride out of pond hockey hell.  So being the good friends that we are, we said no and proceeded to send him pictures to rub it in that we were having much more fun than him.  We made a sign to Pauly that read "Fuck pond hockey!  It's much warmer here."  And then we got Alicia, Sweet Melissa and a bunch of other people to hold the sign so we could text Pauly pictures.

 CLOCKWISE:  Alicia, Dawn, Sweet Melissa and 
Random Guy in argyle sweater

Our jukebox buddies (Photobomb courtesy of Buddah)

We even ran into Matt Light and Joe Andruzzi
From the Spoke, we had to make a stop at The Looney Bin so some guys could buy sweatshirts.  It was there were we met Angie, who was wearing some kind of pelt on her head and told us all about her beaver that went to below her knees.  That's a mighty long beaver you have there, Angie!  Alas, we had to leave Angie and her long beaver behind for it was back to the house for the night... it was gonna be beers around the fire for the Magnificent 14 Tallywacker Choir's performance of The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.  But not before a little round of Pizza Parlor Football.  Sorry Stoner.  But Wingnut did have perfect form.

So... we all survived, even the twin bunk beds.  Titsy McDoo did not fall down the stairs even once and we filled four garbage bags of beer cans.  Not bad for 48 hours.  Until next year.

Ribs....  perfect

Like I said.. I have a rep to protect

That was one hungry killer rabbit!!

Friday, February 3, 2017

Annual Pre-Soopah Bowl Dudes Weekend... Let the MessFest begin!

Gettin' my game face on for 48 hours of buddies and beers up at Captain Billy's house at the lake.  Crockpot Chili and Devil Dogs for dinner chasin' Budweiser appetizers cuz that's how a bunch of middle aged beer bellied New Englandahs roll!  Might watch some pond hockey.  Might overtake the music machine at The Looney Bin.  Might play another round of How Much Does Chisolm Weigh.  Might put Talladega Nights on a loop and play 45s until dawn.  One thing is a certainty... you won't wanna go in there!!!!

But before the weekend gets away from us, I want to put you in the right mood for the Super Bowl.  Punxatawney Phil saw his fukkin' shadow yesterday, which means 6 more weeks of Lizzie The Douche Warren yelling about The Donald.  So what better way to forget about the shit in the news and get your sportsgasm on than body paint!  GO PATS!!

Don't worry... I did not forget about you ladies or you Falcons fans.  Here's your body paint.