Why I Quit Drinking

You get that odd look when you order plain cranberry juice at a bar? Let’s set the record straight. I never have had a drinking “problem” – every time I bent my elbow, my mouth opened. Still does. The muscles must be joined somehow through years of repetition. I could consume plenty of volume, but never at times to interfere with work or most social relationships. Then I went into the city (SF) one Saturday afternoon.

My psych tells me to stick to the portion of the story that we have “worked through, come to understand, and feel we know now” in the several years since. “Don’t speculate,” he warns, “that’s like sticking your hand into brackish water. You never know what lurks beneath the surface.” I hear, “let me do the speculation – afterall, I get paid to do such things.”

Here is what we know so far. I woke up 4 days later outside the eastern Russian town of Kyzyl. Mongolia was barely 20 miles south. I could smell yak. Some chick named Olga was lying next to me adoring her new wedding ring. We were under – literally – some kinda fur blanket. (That’s probable where the yak smell came from.) Olga farted a lot (maybe that was the yak smell). Fourteen empty vodka bottles lay around the room. After the door burst open and I was hauled off (naked) to jail, it took forty-two days before the State Department got off their ass and I flew home. In the seven years since, I have had neither a drink nor an erection.

Coincident with the above, I stopped eating meat. I haven’t a clue why. Psych-o calls that “brackish water,” too. Then he mumbles something about green lollipops with circular handles. Maybe we’ll “work through” that someday. I feel like having a tangerine now. Bye.

Russian Monkeys

I wrote a few months ago that Russia would invite itself into Palestine with troops. They are one step closer with taking a public stand for the creation of an independent state. How can Russia push for an independent state if it doesn’t also make available the funding that is being withdrawn by the US and Europe? Iran will be very willing to contribute money, too.

Russia and Iran need to be there with Palestine. The Bible has never been proven wrong in even the slightest bit – and has been proven correct time and again. On this issue of assembling the armies on Israel’s doorstep, take the time to read Ezekiel Chapters 38, 39 and then research it on your own. Plenty of folks have written about it – sort the chaff from the wheat yourself. Important stuff.

On a topic a little lighter than the end of the world …

Wow. Just “wow.” Remember the original Tarzan movies? The monkey? Cheeta is still alive! Turned 74 last Sunday. It doesn’t end there! Cheeta is an artist and sells his work for $125 a pop. Seems he’s got a refuge for primates that he funds. I need to raise some cash – I want an original Cheeta. Gives new meaning to the phrase, “even a monkey can do this.” I’ll get a lot of personal mileage out of a piece of art made by a monkey. I can already feel the angst it will engender among those close to me. Get a nice frame, maybe a spot light. I wonder if I have room to put up those ropes they use to keep people at a respectable distance? I’ll make a sign, “No flash photography, please.” A small picture of Cheeta with a short bio next to it. I’m on it.

Unions carry a big stick and hit pregnant women with it

First, there was the tree behind which you stood; then a hole in the ground surrounded by a small building within which you sat; next came the throne (sometimes literally); and finally, the height of sophistication via the urinal!

The problem? Your average 975-foot tall office building consumes 1.6 million gallons of water a year flushing away urine! What’s a building owner to do? Why, rely upon the old-fashioned trap design for a waterless urinal!

Unless, of course, you’re a loser union that needs to stay in yesterday’s technology to earn a living. Oh well, just look at how well the unions have helped to co-manage the American automobile industry and it isn’t a wonder that we’ll be pissing into water cans come 2025.

Speaking of mismanagement and old technology, this nuke plant lost its keys! Keys? I thought they used retina scans or breathalyzers or something beyond picking with a bobby pin and paper clip. Must be security brought to you by the union label!

So what to do when the day on the job site is done? Go to a baby shower, drink some beers, bring a gun and a big stick, watch your ex-girlfriend feed your 5 year-old son some alcohol, and pick a fight with her new boyfriend! Oh wait! Whack the pregnant chick, too!

Buy, buy, buy the union label!
Give them even more of your wages!
Why keep any the money you earn?
Keep corporate America in cages!

Angry lesbians play dodgeball with puppies

There is just no substitute for anger in Anger Management class. This 32 year-old chick is sitting minding her own business in AM class when – out of the blue – this guy walks up and asks to sit next to her!

Without batting one of those pretty eyelashes, our heroine says, "I'm going to put a cap in you and send you to heaven." Can you blame her? Other seats were available and, even if none were, he could have sat on the floor. But, no! Mr. That’s-my-seat has to sit next to her!

But let’s not jump to conclusions. Let’s deconstruct what she said. Google define:cap helpfully instructs us that a cap is, “a tight-fitting headdress,” (you look cold, son, may I give you a bonnet?), “something serving as a cover or protection,” (you are being exposed to this caustic environment, my friend, let me at least shield your eyes from these glaring lights), or “crownwork: dental appliance consisting of an artificial crown for a tooth,” (you seemed to have dropped something – oh, it’s a gold tooth!). This latter comment would explain why the cap was going “in” him and also the “Heaven” assignation (an exposed tooth is rather uncomfortable).

Despite her helpful comments, did he respond in kind? No. So she said it again - "I'm going to put a cap in you and send you to heaven." And again. And again.

Did Mr. I-have-to-sit-here-or-nowhere-and-shut-up-and-leave-me-alone sit somewhere else? No. What did he do? He started to CRY! A 26 year-old man started to cry because he couldn’t have the seat next to out heroine and refused on-the-spot dental reconstructive surgery. Loser. I hope the exposed tooth gets infected, he develops Jaw Rot, has to sip his food through a straw, and eventually dies in agony.

Our heroine gets upset and should have! Bad enough you have to go to anger management class, but this loser joins in? Give me a break. She proceeds to exit the room and (doesn’t it always happen?) somebody moved a display case to be in her way. You can’t just move those things by yourself – they’re heavy! Whack! Whack! Whack! Our heroine punches the big bad display case out of her way.

As if that isn’t aggravating enough, the stupid police have to get involved! Just can’t leave well enough alone, can they? They should be out there arresting real criminals, but no, they have to harass and intimidate our heroine. Unbelievable. They shouldn’t be surprised, then, that restraints were necessary at the county jail.

In case you want to send her a letter of support, here is her contact information – Teresa Prenderville, 2956 Brown Street, Portage, IN 46368-3940. Please consider donating to her dental hygienist tuition fund.

Go, Terry! And good luck with your new career!

You lesbian? No puppy for you! I try to keep up with the latest trends in macho-sado-gay-hetero-animal-blowupdoll-carmuffler-heylittleboywantapieceofcandy sex tricks. It’s a hobby of mine. But the lesbian-puppy thing somehow escaped my probing eye. I understand a reluctance to sell puppies to members of certain canis-focused cuisine cultures. Even a southern redneck with that certain twinkle in his eye as he said, “I like that one,” could engender a hesitation in ringing up the sale. But lesbians? Does the breed matter? The gender? I must do more research.

I wonder if they got the age wrong in the anger-management article above? This behavior reads suspiciously close to the audacity of our May-I-sit-here-screw-you-and-your-dental-career friend above.

Seems a youth pastor (likely cover story for an AM loser) wanted his youth group to pay dodgeball. Only the unspoken rule was just that – unspoken. One 16 year-old contestant innocently tossed the ball towards Mr. I’m-an-AM-reject-you-can’t-hit-me and does, in fact, fail to hit him. In a friendly gesture to achieve the object of the game – to wit, to hit the other players with the ball – our 16 year-old hero gently tossed the ball a second time. Somehow or another, Mr. Loser’s face came in contact with the air-borne orb. Glasses became dislodged from face.

Fresh from his appearance in Portage, Indiana, and now playing a youth pastor in Excelsior Springs, Missouri, our demon-possessed friend loses it. Rushing toward the 16 year-old child, he pushed him to the ground and then thwarted an attempt to get up by kicking him in the balls. Our child suffered, “whiplash and post-concussion syndrome and had blood in his urine.”

The likely scene of the crime can be viewed here.

Hey, David M. Boudreaux, youth pastor now on administrative leave, I’m not so sure that your brother, the lead pastor, meant you to take it literally when they wrote of the youth ministry, “Crescent Lake’s youth ministries are contemporary, relevant, and high impact.” You, our serial anger-management failure, are the very face of a loser – this puds for you!

Send your letters of support to: Crescent Lake Christian Center, 1250 St. Louis Avenue, Excelsior Springs, MO 64024-2937.