Things are Good, Part X

1) Did everyone enjoy the countless hours of Mardi Gras revelry the news networks beamed for you to peep at? Was great, right? “Hey hey, New Orleans is BACK!!” I guess it’s supposed to assuage our guilt over how INCREDIBLY AWFUL our government treated Hurricane Katrina. “Oh great, yeah, no problem, Mardi Gras already back, what’s the big deal?” The people who might not have enjoyed the footage would be, of course, the very people who, you know, had to flee New Orleans after their homes and lives were destroyed. I’m sure that those people were sitting in their government trailers in Houston watching the tv (if they had one) and thinking “Oh, great, the rich people are back and they’re okay!! They’re whooping it up, having a great time! Yes!!!!!!!!!!”

2) I mean, seriously. This would be akin to us spending 4 years with an adminstration that is intent on us being completely raped at the gas lines and drugstores, lying to us about a war, having tax cuts that help only the ultra-rich, and generally having any future for ourselves or our children/grandchildren tossed into the toilet (all while, of course, driving other countries to hate our guts) and then standing up after 4 years and cheering wildly while we elect the same administration right back into office, THRILLED that the rich are about to get even richer and the “regular folks” are even more screwed than ever. “YES!!! Halliburton is REALLY gonna clean up now!! If only I could afford my pills so I could live long enough to see them actually come take my house!! Go get ‘em guys!!” I mean, that doesn’t happen right? That’s TOO crazy, right?

3) I’m glad to see that the US Supreme Court is finally getting to the bottom of the whole Anna Nicole Smith thingee. Hey, why they’re at it I hope they crack the cases of “Are Tyra’s Titties Real?” and “Does Tera Patrick REALLY Enjoy On-Screen Anal?” Newbies John Roberts and Sam Alito must be thrilled. “This is incredible! More hot wings, please!”

4) For all you people who think Paddy Mac is so cute and adorable, I’d be careful…apparently he’s putting together a list of people he hates. Let’s hope you’re not on that list, people.

5) The other day I walked by a magazine stand and there was a Penthouse with Jenna Jameson on the cover with the headline “Jenna…as You’ve NEVER Seen Her Before!!” I’m like, what does that mean? Jenna fully dressed in a library reading to children? Jenna in a nice pantsuit watching the game? OHHH, wait, it’s Jenna getting drilled by 2 dudes with her face in a doggy dish. Hmm. Sorry, but yes, we have seen this before.

6) When is someone from ‘American Idol’ finally gonna do what I’ve been screaming at those ‘Apprentice’ losers to do for years? I’ve always said that if I was on the ‘Apprentice’, let’s face of it, the odds of you actually winning are fairly slim. BUT when you get fired, instead of genuflecting “Thank you King Trump, thank you!” and slinking off, I’ve always thought you should fucking flip out, cause a scene. “WHAT? YOU’RE firing me? FUCK THAT, I’M firing YOU, motherfucker!!!” and try to flip that table over. Cause you KNOW that there’s a million hotshots around the world that HATE Trump and when they see the clip of you telling T-rump to go fuck himself, they’ll hire you for $200,000/year just to hang out, smoke cigars and tell everyone how you told Trump to go fuck himself. Genius, right? Same with Idol. Instead of thanking Simon after he tells you you’re the worst singer in the world, flip the fuck out on him. You’d be instantly famous and could really cash in, instead of having to compete with 20,000 other people and actually having to be, you know, talented. We’re still having that William Hung guy fucking pop up for chrissake, he’s still ca$hing in. Camon people, think!!

7) I am currently preparing another website devoted to my incredibly elaborate, almost unbearable-for-those-who-loved-me 14-hour funeral service. Included will be my list of song choices (“The Cuts”) and some skits I will have prepared (“The Skits”)acting out various scenes from my life. I do feel bad for my buddy Op, upon whom I have placed the most chores on that darkest of days (no, I’m not calling it a fucking “celebration” – anyone there “celebrating” instead of being physically overcome with grief over my passing will be dealt with by Op. I’m putting it in black and white right here: not now, nor will I ever proclaim that I want people having a good time at my funeral. Therefore the first fuckwad that says “Hey, Xmastime would want us to have fun” gets a boot heel to the throat. This I promise.), including jobs like making sure all my past lovers are seated together so that they can try to out-grieve each other and scoring the “What Xmastime Meant to Me” essays. So be on the lookout for this site in the near future. Also, I’m putting this down in black & white too: not now, nor will I ever proclaim that I want my wife to get remarried. If she starts throwing out that garbage “Oh Xmastime would want me to move on and be happy” SHE’S LYING!! DON’T BELIEVE HER!!! I’m looking to assign someone the job of making sure she visits the cemetery at least once a week and hurls herself on my grave wailing uncontrollably for an hour or so. Let me know who’s up for that one.

8) As he lay there taking it, Reggie wondered if all this was really worth the dinner date at Pizza Hut.

Mrs. Xmastime, Here I Am!!!

My boy Dave picked this book up off the street the other day and gave it to me as a joke, but then yesterday I found myself reading it (yes, I still have huge, amazing bordering-on-the-absurdly large testicles.) The book tells the tales of a lady in Manhattan who goes on different dates for about a year, every Friday night. She's on a quest for love and spends each Friday night out with a different suitor who takes her to dinner, drinks, dancing etc. Then it dawns on me - why aren't I doing this??!!?!? Go on a date every Friday night with a different lady until I find Mrs. Xmastime!! So I quickly thought of a few ground rules:

1) Be dressed. Don't be showing up in your sweats "Hi, just wanted to meet you!" This is a ROMANTIC date. I'm not looking for any new friends. I'm not looking to play foosball over a coupla pints. Something sexy, even: show a lil skin, definitely some leg. And of course I’ll offer you the same courtesy.

2) Yes, I will probably sleep with you. Unless of course you're ugly, in which case I would have already pretended not to see you at our preordained meeting place anyways. Though by "ugly", I pretty much only mean "a man, or Tonya Harding.”

3) No vegetarians please. I’m sure you’re a wonderful person and the cows thank you, but I’m a meat guy. Meat for breakfast, meat for lunch, meat for dinner, meat during the game after dinner, meat while brushing my teeth to go to bed, meat in bed while I’m counting lamb chops, and meat after I’ve left your body limp after a trip to majestic heights of orgasm you don’t even know to dream about. After that, I’m thinking taquitos.

4) If you promise to not talk about old boyfriends I promise not to talk about how my first “ménage a moi” session was to Catherine Bach on a balmy October day after school.

So send an email to ilovexmastime@yahoo.com if you think you’ve got what it takes to be Mrs. Xmastime! Tell me who you are, what you’re like, and, most importantly, how much you think you could learn to like me. After each date I will post how it went. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t expect you to pay much more than $150-$200 for the date. It’s not about the money, dawg! We’re searching for love!!!

Xmastime Album Series Part 1

Welcome to the first in our new series of “Paddy Mac and Theodore Discuss Albums.” This week’s album is “Float Away with the Friday Night Gods”, by Marah. Released in 2002, the album created a sort of firestorm amongst its most hardened of fans coming on the heels of its critically acclaimed sophomore record “Kids in Philly,”; many fans feeling that the “huge arena rock” sound of the record was too much of a stretch from the urban-Stonesy feel of “Kids in Philly.” This was also their first recording done outside of their home base above an auto shop in South Philly, as David and Serge Bielanko joined forces with Owen Morris (Oasis, Blur etc) in Wales. Also a factor was the appearance of Bruce Springsteen on the title track, to whom the band had been constantly compared to and some felt a bit TOO much of an influence. So we sat down with Paddy Mac and Theodore and got their thoughts on the record.

THE PANEL
Paddy Mac

16 weeks old. 11 pounds. Likes baby food, watching college football with “The Wilson Boys”, and shitting himself.

Theodore

Age unknown. 1 pound. Likes George W. Bush, corporate welfare, and, for reasons unknown, Kirk “The Barber” Henderson. Presumably cause they’re the same height.


XMASTIME: Guys, thanks a lot for meeting. As you know, we’re discussing Marah’s third album, “Float Away with the Friday Night Gods.” Your first thoughts, please.
PADDY MAC: I love this record. It’s what a rock n roll album should be: loud, rocking and loud. The perfect follow up to “Kids in Philly.”
THEODORE: First of all, I’d like to say Ann Coulter, I’m disappointed in you and your trashing President Bush this week about the Dubai ports deal. I was into you, thought about us starting something together, but now you’ve fucked it up and I want you to know I am NOT interested anymore. Do not call, do not write, do not try and talk to me if you happen to be in Xmastime’s room and I’m on the couch. You will receive a frosty, frosty stare from my dead, plastic eyes.
XMASTIME: Umm..that’s great Theodore, but you didn’t answer the question.
THEODORE: What was the question?
XMASTIME: Your thoughts on “Float Away” by Marah
THEODORE: My “thoughts”? Well, I “think” it sucks. It’s loud, too fast and, let’s not forget, was done BEFORE The Barber joined the band. I can barely be bothered to listen to it for this lame-ass discussion.
PADDY MAC: You’re insane. Look at all the great songs: “Float Away”, “Soul”, “Leaving”, they’re all classics.
THEODORE: Isn’t this the one with that fucking pinko commie Springsteen?
PADDY MAC: Hey, I love Bruce!
THEODORE: That’s great - looky here, America’s newest pussy liberal. 4 months old, "Brokeback Baby." Christ.
XMASTIME: Let’s focus on the record, fellas. What do you consider your favorite cuts? Paddy Mac?
PADDY MAC: Definitly “Leaving”, which I’d put in my Marah Top 3.
XMASTIME: I love that one too. How bout you Theodore?
THEODORE: Ah, lessee...(looking over song titles) no. no. no. this one sounds gay. No. No. No. Gay. No. This one should be called “My Brother and I Will Be Homeless If We Keep Putting Out This Crap.”
PADDY MAC: Nice. Why don’t we just call them names and insult their mother?
THEODORE: Sounds better than having to talk about this “album” (Theodore asked me to note that as he said the word album he was making air quotes...or would if he had fingers...and could raise his arms)
XMASTIME:What about the big falling out with the fans, the large sense of betrayal that the fans railed about on the band’s message board?
PADDY MAC: I can sort of understand their feeling that, but I think as some times passes they’ll look back and realize what a great album it is, what great songs are on it.
THEODORE: Why don’t we all take a stab at how many times I’ve hit the Marah message board. I’ll give you a hint: it rhymes with “This band sucks, and Bruce is gay.”
PADDY MAC: I don’t think that rhymes with a number.
THEODORE: No, but Bruce sucks.
XMASTIME: Well, I think we’ve heard about enough. That’s one “thumbs up”, and one “thumbs down” an-
THEODORE: ...and one “this album is gay”
XMASTIME: Theodore and Paddy Mac, thank you for your time. Join us next week as we discuss DT & the Shakes debut ep “Smooth Studio Crafted Teen Fodder.”
THEODORE: Ann! Call me! We can work it out!!!!!!
PADDY MAC: ohoh. Code brown down below.
(END TRANSCRIPTION)

Some Happy Thoughts

My brother sometimes says I’m too angry/negative here at Xmastime, so I thought I’d take a minute to run through a few things I like:

1) My nephew - Paddy Mac!!!! His mother doesn’t like me calling him that, but I see saying Paddy Mac!!!! as a celebration - it’s not “Paddy Mac please pass the salt”, it’s “HEEEEYYYY, it’s Paddy Mac!!!! Let’s do this!!" When I first met the kid, he was, he was, oh, a few weeks old. Maybe 2-3 weeks. Tiny. And like most people fairly inexperienced with newborns I was freaked out that my oversized mitts and general hugeness would somehow crush him to death. So we all load into my brother’s car and go for a ride - he and his wife up front, me and the Kid in the back. I’m messing around with him, poking his belly, rubbing his head, whatever you do with a baby, and then FOOOMP!! His head is in his lap, stone cold out. His head looks like it’s attached to a long piece of rope, dangling there bobbing along with the road. And sheer, utter panic ran through me as I thought: Oh my god. I have killed this child. White terror sliced through me as thoughts ran through my head at 1000x the speed of light as I debated how to explain to my brother that I killed his son. Of course, while this is going on I would try to time it so that every time my brother looked in the rear-view mirror I’d lightly lift his what-I-thought-was-lifeless head up so no one would suspect anything. I’m sure it occurred to me that maybe I could keep this charade up for decades. Weekend at Bernie’s 3. Then my sister in law decides she needs to be in the back, so we pull over to grab a soda while she switches. I slowly walk into the store with my brother, awaiting the scream I know is coming and figuring out which woods I would have to live in for the rest of my life, eating berries and making friends with squirrels. Squirrels being, of course, the only animals in God’s Kingdom that still give babykillers the time of day.

No scream ever came, and when we walked back to the car he was awake, being fed. Never been so relieved in my life. Even while it was happening, I didn’t really believe it, but there was that 2% thought in my brain that I had somehow snapped this kid’s neck. Man. Anyways, I’m hoping to go see him again soon (I’ve seen him a few times since). In the meantime I have to beg for photos as my brother apparently is hellbent on setting the record for “Least Pictures Taken of Firstborn Child.” Ah well. Paddy Mac!!!!!!! :)

2) Television. I’m not a movie guy, I’m a sitcom guy. I’m sure I’ve already blathered to you people how I feel about cinefiles who turn their noses up at people who watch tv. To summarize: fuck you. Fortunately, there is a TON of good shit on tv - PBS, History Channel, Discovery Channel, A&E, some news channels, Food Network, National Geographic, HBO etc. UNfortunately, I’m usually too busy watching reruns of Dawson’s Creek and Who’s the Boss and episodes of The Real World that I’ve already seen 40 times. But I am aware of the vast amount of choices out there at least. For instance I know that this Monday PBS will feature Paul McCartney at Abbey Road running through his songbook. I’ll spend the next 4 days looking forward to it, but then of course flipping madly between it and The King of Queens and that hideous Flava Flav “reality” show. So you see my dilemma.

3) Cooking. I like cooking a lot, although unlike most people that enjoy cooking I pretty much stick to a handfull of things. Fried chicken, meat loaf, lasagna, meatballs, anything that can use 5 lbs of ground beef. I do have a few white trash specials: “Continental Chicken” aka white rice, cream of mushroom soup with some chicken on top. “Majestic Macaroni” aka 3 boxes of Krasdale mac n cheese with some ground beef mixed in. Mmmm. I like making huge amounts of food for other people, I enjoy hosting - mixing some Xmastime food with some entertaining thrown in. My biggest hit of course has always been fried chicken, but somewhere out there there is an English woman who came to one of my get-togethers that I’m pretty sure still hasn’t gotten over the “Festive Chili Bread” I made once. Round loaf of bread dug out, insert Hormel, top with cheese, voila!! She was stunned and pretty much stared at it for three hours. Probably realizing at that moment why the British eventually gave up the colonies.

4) Car Alarms. Like everyone else I wanna jump off a bridge whenever one of these things go off, but they are fun to think about when you consider has there been a single piece of widespread technology developed over the last 15 years that is as completely worthless as these things? What are the numbers on how many cars have been “saved” because of these things? Number of Times I’ve Seen/Heard One of These Things Going Off: 22,943 Number of Times I Have Ever Seen Anyone React in Such a Way So as to Stop a Crime: 0. You never hear one of these go off, and then see some dude sprinting down the hallway “My car! Someone’s breaking in, I can hear it!! I’ll kill him!!!!” It’s always car alarm goes off, and you see some guy “...and so, summarize, I-...oh crap. Is that mine? Is that me? Jimbo, that your car or mine? Mine? You sure? Crap. I gotta go down and turn it off. Dammit!”

I reckon that’s enough “happy thoughts” for now. I don’t wanna go totally soft on you people.

A Modest Proposal by a Simple, Small Man

This whole turning a chunk of our "homeland security" over to terrorists is pretty baffling to me; although not really when you see the history of hubris this administration has had for 5 years, along with the incredible capacity for the rest of us to open our mouths wide and accept however much shit they wanna cram down our throats. "Being lied to about going to war? Paying $3/gallon for gas while the oil companies report record profits? PLEASE SIR, MAY I HAVE ANOTHER??!?!!"

Seems to me, there are a LOT of unemployed people in this country. Maybe, instead of handing over $7B to another country, never mind one that might have a personal stake in blowing us up, we can take that huge wad of dough and put our unemployed peeps to work doing the job. Instead of forking $7B over to some country so that it can come right back into Dubya's pockets so that he can afford flights to Saudi Arabia to blow all those guys, maybe we can give a huge chunk of the American unemployed jobs and therefore, money to be put back into our economy. And dont tell me that its a complicated job - if we dont mind spending $300B to train Iraqis to...well, be Iraqis, then we can sure surely fucking train people to look through boxes. And dont tell me gee, it will take a long time to train them, cause for the last 5 years we've only peeped into 5% of the containers anyways, so don't act like we're gonna pretend to fucking check every container by Friday.

A simple solution. We've fucking outsourced everything else, let's use this opportunity to give some jobs in-house for once. Otherwise, let's not pretend to be fucking shocked when the next port gets blown up, let's not pretend to be outraged, we need only to shrug our shoulders and not give a shit cause it'll be EXACLTY what we asked for.

Yet Another Reason the Winter Olympics MIGHT Be a Joke...

Dig this.

"Ski racers often play other sports — such as basketball, volleyball or hockey — to maintain fitness."

Now, if you play a sport wherein you have to play ANOTHER sport to "maintain fitness", maybe you're not playing a real "sport" after all. Christ.

Things are Good, Part IX

1) I have found that some parts of the human body are named after people. For instance, your eustachion tube is named after Bartolommeo Eustachio, and the organ of corti (middle ear) is, as you probably already know, named after Alfonso Corti. But I gotta say, if I had to be known for one part of the body, and my name was forever attached to a certain place and it’s affects on the body as a whole I’d hafta pick this guy. Imagine that: bearing the name of the one, miniscule, mysteriously hidden part of the female anatomy that apparently unlocks all kinds of orgasmic pleasure, driving a woman crazy to you’re your touch. Not too shabby. Would not be the worst pick-up line at your local tavern. “Why yes, as a matter of fact that IS my name…” Like most men I have no idea where this spot is, and, like most men, I don’t really care. Hey, if you’re not gonna let me have a threesome with your best friend and film it, why should I make all the effort?

2) Enough with these fucking smokers who come up to me on the street and ask for a cigarette, then when I reply that I don’t smoke try to give me some speech “oh yeah? Wow, good for you – hey, do yourself a favor, don’t start, like I did…” yada yada. What the fuck is this? Smoker’s guilt? Wow, you SAVED me from a lifetime of smoking!!!! Thank you!!! I hope you feel better when you get back to your carton of Newports, fuckhead.

3) I just read over the weekend that a dog’s sense of smell is 100,000 times better than a humans. How is this possible without dogs constantly vomiting/retching etc? I walk out on the street and I can barely take the stench, I would think it would drive Fido insane, no? Shouldn’t dogs all over the city be throwing themselves off rooftops?

4) Seriously, was Tara Reid ever really in a movie? Or even a tv show? Why is she constantly on my tv screen? Get your fucking sex tape done and “leaked” already, and let’s fucking move on.

5) I’m sitting there watching the beginning of ‘Jerry McGuire’ last night (yes, I have no penis) and a few minutes in I start to notice that credits are still popping up on the screen. What the fuck. And by this point I don’t even mean “Tom Cruise” or “Cuba Gooding, Jr”, I mean “Music Supervisor Randy Whittman.” Camon. Credits are annoying enough, and now I check my clock and we’re NINE MINUTES IN, and we’re still having them fucking pop up??!?! And they don’t even just throw them out there, they fucking take a minute or so between them. What the fuck is this for – suspense? “Hold on…who’s the assistant cinematographer here? Who? WHO THE FUCK IS TH- oh, good. Jim Dickhead. He’s good.” I realize they’re folding them in as the movie is rolling, as if they’re part of the fucking story. Which is, I will say, a tad distracting when you’re trying to get a grip at the beginning of a flick. Luckily as I said is was only ‘Jerry McGuire’, so I already knew that I was in for 2 hours of wanting to kick the little kid in the face, Cuba Gooding screaming, and Renee Zellwigger’s face looking like Tomcat just cut one.

6) Speaking of movies, do I constantly need to be barraged with articles about how good or bad the movie business is doing? Every day, all I see in the papers are charts with how much $$$$ each movie is making. Unless my name is Steven Speilburg, why do I give a fuck? When did this start happening, when did we start demanding to know how much each movie was raking in? But even better than that is how every other fucking week we gotta read through some sob story where the movie industry wants us to feel bad cause they’re not making as much money during this quarter, please please run out and spend all your money at the movies!!! Cause even though I’m returning all my Krasdale Coconut Grape Drink aluminum cans to Key Food for a nickel so I can buy a pound of “ground meat” for 99 cents, how can I live with myself if Jeffrey Katzenberg doesn’t make enough scratch this week to buy Trinidad AND Tobago????? Fuckwads. Save these fucking reports for the 6 people in Hollywood whom it affects, and in the meantime maybe, hell, just for shits and giggles, actually try to make a fresh, new movie that doesn’t COMPLETELY fucking suck. If I’m dropping $10 for a ticket, $6 for a tub of popcorn where 6 pieces on top are drenched with a pound of butter leaving the other 4 lbs completely dry/tasteless, and $5.50 for a soda, how about a real movie and not yet another shitty remake of an already shitty movie or an “update” of another cartoon/comic book character etc. Fucking a.

7) In the very, very few instances I’ve been to “fancy” restaurants, I’ve noticed that rich people eat funny. They seem to think that in some cases, the chef just not even trying is actually “cool” and “hip” or “ironic”, which makes it okay to shell out hundreds of bucks for it. It’s like if the chef has contempt for his patrons, they’ll happily scarf up whatever he throws at them. For instance, if you order a steak sandwich in Manhattan at an upscale joint in Manhattan, you’ll pay about $45 for this “steak sandwich”: See, they think it’s clever to just grill a steak and throw it between 2 pieces of Wonder Bread. Fuck you – if I wanna eat a steak, I’ll fucking eat it with a knife and fork. Meanwhile, for $6 you can get this: 12 inches of shaved ribeye, so greasy/juicy it melts in your mouth along with the cheese wiz. Same thing with “hash browns.” Fancy joint, for $7.50 you get this: as in “I barely chopped up a potato and threw some grass on it, fuck you, gimme $7.50” whereas for about 80 cents you can get: buttery, crispy outside and soft potato inside. Remarkable. With the fancy chef, I guess we’re just lucky he doesn’t throw this at our heads

8) Wouldn't it be funny if at the end of “Brokeback Mountain”, Jake & Heath get eaten by, of all bears, this one:

Things in Dick Cheney's Life That end in "Ooter" That Give Him trouble (or rhymes, anyway)

1) SCOOTER – as in Libby, as in gee, turns out the Veep may have given the thumbs-up to leak classified info, including the name of a CIA agent. Meanwhile, 2 gay dudes in Idaho can’t get married, cause that would, you know, threaten national security.
2) SHOOTER – as in whenever someone gets blasted in the face with a shotgun, there must be a shooter, which in this case of course was the big Veep. Of course, this wasn’t a case of real hunting, with real, mobile animals or even real shotguns. Luckily, this was a case of a coupla shitheads sitting in the woods wishing their dicks were bigger.
3) COOTER – as in slang for “vagina”, which Cheney’s daughter loves to munch. That’s okay darling, me too. Of course, my dad hasn’t spent a lifetime of public service dedicated to keeping two chicks from marrying each other, but hey.
4) NEUTER – as in “to castrate”, as in what the big Veep does to the sitting president when he, you know, SHOOTS SOMEONE IN THE FACE and then doesn’t bother telling the president; all this of course after 5 years of hearing grumblings that the VP is running the show and that the president himself is just a dumb, slightly retarded puppet mouthpiece. Way to go, shitforbrains. Helping the team!
5) HOOTERS – as in the greatest restaurant in the world…maybe next time they decide to go “hunting”, Cheney & his Gang can make things a little easier on themselves and walk into a Hooters and shoot up a nice, big plate of hot wings. Hey, they USED to be birds. Dick, pitchers are omly $10!!!!
6) LOOTER – as in what this shithead turned thousands of people into when hurricane Katrina destroyed a whole chunk of the country. Well, except for the white people, who were of course only “finding” things…
7) INTRUDER – as in what many people in this country see the big Veep and his buddy W to be as they sit in the White House and try to completely destroy everyone’s lives. Well, except those people that are white, filthy rich and served under "Daddy", anyways
8) From the ROOTER to the TOOTER – I’m not sure which one is which, but whichever one means “asshole”, which is what fuckhead is.

Portrait of Xmastime as a Young Dreaming Idiot

I was always a dreamer when I was a kid. I mean even so much so that sometimes I’d rather dream about something than actually do it. So I’d fantasize about being a great baseball player, but I wouldn’t actually practice with my brother to get better. He’d hound me to play catch, practice hitting, whatever, I’d decline. Meanwhile, I’d slip outside and all of a sudden it’s the bottom of the 9th with 2 outs, bases loaded, down by 3 runs and guess who’s up? That’s right. In my mind, I could at least save myself from looking like an idiot by playing it cool. I’d wander outside, act like I was just moseying round the yard, taking it all in. But in my mind’s eye I had all the bases mapped out, home plate, the pitcher’s ugly face, and of course the thousands of people in the stands losing their minds. I’d grab a bat and walk up to “home plate”…then I’d look around, see that nobody was watching, and BAM!!! Game-winning grand slam, outta the park!! I did it!! I’m a hero!! So now of course I had to do my triumphant, the world loves me now home run trot. But, of course, I had to do it in a way that would not attract nobody’s attention. So I’d look around, then start easing towards first base, jogging slowly while pretending to be looking for something. Meanwhile, the crowd’s going crazy – cool dudes are wanting to hang out with me, and all the 11 year-old girls are falling in love with me. I make it to first base and stop, pretending I see something on the ground. I look around, see the coast is clear, and start moving towards second base, maybe this time loudly muttering “what the…” so it appears, should somebody spy me, that I have spotted something on the ground that needs my attention, as opposed to some idiot kid in the middle of his ridiculous home run trot. Anyways, of course by the time this charade ended it had been about 20 minutes.

Looking back now, I would think that all my “acting”, all my ridiculous effort trying to NOT appear to be running around bases, looked even more ridiculous than had I just torn off round the bases in the first place. Plus, it coulda been over with in about 20 seconds, as opposed to the quarter of an hour I’d take up being “clever”, strolling though the yard like an idiot. Years later, I found out that the whole time of course my family knew, my brother would see me during one of my performances and point it out and they’d watch me and have a laugh. I’m sure I looked completely retarded playing it cool. Ah well. Story of my life. And in the end, surprise, my brother became a lot better baseball player than me. I was too busy dreaming these ridiculous scenarios to actually get better. Same thing with basketball – couldn’t bother with drills/actual practice etc, I was always too busy playing with Jeff Lamp and Lee Raker and draining the game-winning shot to win the Final Four.

Fortunately or unfortunately I still got a bit of dreamer in me. Throw a ball at me right now and I’m right back there, stripping the ball from Len Bias and going in for two to win the game at the buzzer. Some parts of you as a child stay with you always, I reckon.

Things are Good, Part VIII

1) In looking at the Winter Olympics (ugh) I now realize I played the wrong sports as a kid. I played the standards: football, basketball and baseball – along with about 500 billion other kids across the country. With that much competition, I had about as much chance getting to the highest level as I did banging Kelly and Jessie while Zack and Slater threw dollar bills at me. But now I see some of these “sports” in the Olympics and I’m like fuck, if I had taken up some of these stupid fucking things as a kid, chances are good I’d be in the damn Olympics. Rich and famous for “sports” where I lie on my back and hurtle down an icy runway, or snow ski through woods shooting things, or follow some big disk with a broom, sweeping in front of it. I mean, do you know anybody who knows anybody who knows anybody that does these fucking things? I gotta think that if I had played curling instead of football, my competition woulda decreased from 30,000,000 kids to 6. Hey, I fucked up. Soon as I have a kid I’m putting him on skis with a rife in his hands and shoving him into the woods. “Call me when Pepsi calls for the endorsement deal, fucko.”

2) I think the funniest thing about the Cheney shooting thing is that what with the new Valerie Plame stuff coming out making a stronger case that Scooter Libby was in fact told by the Big Veep to leak classified info, him shooting his friend and almost killing the guy wasn’t even the worst thing that happened to him all week.

3) A few things about fake titties:

a. Every time I flip by “Dr. 90210” or whatever the fuck show that is I see some chick laying there with doctors slicing her chest up to bits – graphic, gory vomit-inducing operating table stuff, but of course they make the effort to blur the nipples. Christ. How come we barely see Janet Jackson’s nipple for a split second and we’re all going to hell as a country, but I can turn on E! network and see the whole kit and caboodle getting sliced up? Crock of shit.

b. And ladies. No more of these bullshit reasons for getting boob jobs, no more insisting you’re not doing it to attract attention from dudes. “I’m doing it to feel more confidant as a woman when I walk into the room” or “It’s a self-esteem thing, I don’t care one bit if guys notice them” or whatever crap they say. Just be honest – “I’m doing it to attract attention from men.” I got no problem with that. Just don’t act indignant/offended when I suggest you’re doing it to get attention from guys. Hey, I love titties- real, fake, big, small, in a brown bag under my bed, whatever. Just don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining. Unless of course you pee on my leg in the shower while your twin sister has my nuts in her mouth. But you probably knew that already.

4) 2 things I never remember to say that I always wish I did: when someone is ordering Chinese food suggesting “cream of sum yung guy”, and when someone at the bar asks what time it is I need to say “Beer o’ clock!”

5) Can you believe it’s taken this many years for a Kid Rock/Scott Stapp sex video to surface? I mean damn, we waited long enough. Enuff of those pesky Pam Anderson/Paris Hilton vids, lets get to the good stuff. And if it was done in 1999, are we gonna be treated to some Joe C camera time? I’m picturing Scotty getting a hummer, reading from his Bible on top of the gal’s head while Kid Rock & Joe C write one of their “gems” as 3 teenage girls “pound!!” the Coors Lite party ball. We can get a rapping dwarf, a wanna-be redneck and a Christian rock singer together on tape but we can’t get Paris & Nicole to kiss and make up for a new season of “Simple Life”? What the fuck country am I living in?

6) Guys: quit trying to win the “REAL Baseball Fan” award by acting all excited and announcing the days until pitchers and catchers begin their workouts together. Every fucking year I gotta hear “17 days till pitchers/catchers!!!” Really? Are you a pitcher on a major league baseball team? Are you a catcher? Are you going to said practices to watch? Are these exciting workouts being televised? Do even the very pitchers and catchers that show up give 2 shits about this event? No. Acting like a excitable kid about something this worthless will not get you laid, it will not inspire me to buy you a fucking beer. The season starts on April 2. Until then, the only time I wanna hear “pitchers & catchers” is at my neighborhood gay bar, thank you very much.

7)
"Stella! STELLA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Dreading tomorrow...

February 17 is a funny day for me. First time I kissed my high school girlfriend was Feb 17, and the day I met my college girlfriend was Feb. 17. My first high school girlfriend kiss took place at a party after a basketball game – matter of fact the party was at Troy Allen’s, whose name later was legally changed to Troy “Circling Over Your Relationship Like a Buzzard, waiting for it to Die So I Can Swoop in and Fuck Your Girlfriend” Allen. You know those guys. 8 seconds after you break up he pops up outta nowhere and is all in her grill. Douchebag. ANYways, I mustered up the gumption to ask her outside, to sit in will Acree’s car to “talk.” So we get in the back seat and I…well, I start talking. And talking. And talking. I’m actually blathering on and on about the stupid game as she stares at me wondering if I dig dudes. Finally in the middle of one of my cleverly crafted anecdotes about the game I just lean in and POW! plant one on her. I lean back, thrilled outta my mind, awash in new teenage love and…well. Start talking again. Right in mid-sentence from where I had left off. Blah blah fucking blah “…and then Coach he leans over and says blah blah blah blah” Christ. Anyways I guess we made out some more, then went back in to the party. Me abuzz in my case of love, her…well, she probably had a buzz on. Also, Febuaury 17 here is ironic, since that's the day Michael Jordan was born. He of course played in Chicago, which is where the last girl I was in love with moved to. Ah yes. The sweet, horrible cycle of life.

As does usually happen in small towns as mine, the second my girlfriend could break away from my clutches and go to college, she realized there were other guys out there - guys who had traveled the world, guys who had money and were smart, guys who didn't still think making fart noises with your hand in your armpit was funny. So she canned my ass. I later came to realize that high school first loves always mean more to boys than to girls - girls seem to somehow know that this is just a young love thing, that there's more out there. Dudes are a little more nostalgic, maybe cling to that first one a little more. Oh, not that they're not being assholes the entire time, but it still is more confusing for them when it ends than for girls. For instance, the fact that I even remember our first kiss, and the date, and the car etc. I'm sure she doesn't. I don't mean that in a cold or mean way, I don't mean that she should. It's just how it is I reckon.

What I Think the Afterlife Looks Like:

What greets you at the Gates of Heaven...
…and what greets you at the Gates of Hell

Things Are Good, Part VII

Today's "Things are Good" Post is dedicated to Brooklyn's newest citizen, David "My Sister is in Love with Xmastime" Watts. Welcome!!

1) Does anyone know where the word “shampoo” came from? According to the dictionary, it’s meaning is “Any of various liquid or cream preparations of soap or detergent used to wash the hair and scalp.” From this I would expect a soft, clean word. But when you break down “shampoo”, I see sham, which means trick, therein lending itself to “tricky”. And the second half of it is another word for “shit.” So basically the word means “tricky shit”, which is ironic cuz shampoo is the gold standard for simplicity: rinse, lather, repeat. Funny.

2) Remember the “Brady Bunch” episode where Mike got fed up and installed a pay phone? I’d like to see the one where he installs a pay toilet. Then little Cindy gets caught with no change – while desperately trying to hold it in, her intestines rip apart and she dies of toxic shock from her own shit.

3) The Winter Olympics is getting sillier and sillier. The luge, the skeleton, whatever the fuck it is – if there can be an event where your job is to fucking lie down and not move, I think we’ve gone too far calling it a “sport.” My suggestions for 2010:

The Aluminum Hold: I sit on my couch and see how many beer cans I can set on my stomach without them falling off.

The Flusher: While on the toilet I see how quickly I can “read” an entire year of InTouch Magazine.

The Trail Race: handed a huge bag of Trail Mix, I must race against time to remove all the raisins.

Electronic Sensing: goto Turkey’s Nest. Drink 8 containers, then text-message every girl I have a crush on. Any reply that doesn’t include “Please stop texting me” is one point.”

4) Talk about chutzpah. Noticed today that on the box of Cocoa Puffs they actually say “Good for bones!!” Amazing.

5) A Few of My Favorite Numbers:

a) 12. Always liked this number, seemed strong. Was THE quarterback number when I was a kid – Stuabach, Bradshaw, Namath etc. Also if you double it, it’s 24. In high school my friend Robert used this number for his football jersey. When I asked him why, he answered in that incredulous tone like Anthony Michael Hall in “The Breakfast Club” when asked why he had a fake id: “Cause it’s divisible by so many numbers.” Right on.

b) 7. Supposed to be lucky. Apparently it’s not, tho. My birthday being 7-14-72, I’d think I’d be doing a little better here. But I still like multiples of 7s, maybe cuz that’s the number of days in a week. Or the longest number of days in a row my dad once went without reminding me “Hey, you’re just not as smart as your brother. You have to try harder.” Thanks Pop!!!!!

c) 2.90 – the price of a 20-pack of McNuggets when they first came out. Man. 14 cents a McNugget!! Of course, that was back before they used real chicken meat, according to their own recent ads. Hmm.

d) 4. The collective number of high school football games I won. Looking back, 3 of them were in one year – seems like we piled it on a bit thick that year, no? Could've spread it out over the years. I guess our insatiable thirst for winning could not be contained that year.

e) 1. Tis the number of white athletes in my high school who were on academic probation. Hmm. Who could that have been?

f) 8. Number of pieces in a chicken you can fry. I’m a breast man myself. I’ll tell you people down South who had some surprisingly good fried chicken – Krogers Grocery Store. When I was living in Oxford I started hitting them on Sunday mornings and was pleasantly surprised by the chicken. Was wonderful.

g) 0. The number of jokes I ever tell about friend chicken. Zero.

h) 30. The number of beers I once drank while watching “Dazed & Confused.” They still talk about me in hushed tones back at school. Most people don’t know, however, that the next night I turned around and drank 27. Or that I have Sean Penn’s dick in my freezer.

6)

"Baby's first Chinese food dinner"

...and the Hits Just Keep On Coming

What with my over the top, bordering on the dangerous luck with the ladies, Valentines Day has always been a big deal for me. Let's take a walk through the years and, starting with 8th grade, see how each Valentine's Day went for our guy Xmastime.

1986: nothing
1987: nothing
1988: nothing
1989: bought rose for girl I was into and later dated. of course by the time it got to her, it had died and shriveled up. Just like her promise later on to always love me. Hmm.
1990: I think I got a keychain shaped like a heart from her. Ring-a-ding fucking ding.
1991: nothing
1992: nothing
1993: nothing
1994: nothing
1995: broke up with my college girlfriend on actual V-Day. It’s called timing, people.
1996: nothing
1997: nothing
1998: nothing
1999: nothing
2000: nothing
2001: nothing
2002: nothing
2003: nothing
2004: nothing
2005: nothing
2006: nothing as of 3:10 EST

Ode to WAC III

I would like to submit that the movie-sequels "riff" from below was not soley my own; my buddy Will and I have had this riff going for years. So let's give credit where credit is due. Other things about Will:

- "not comfortable" watching porn
- does not like eggs or milk (freak)
- once shit his pants in school in 5th grade
- once led my squad of squads, DT & the Shakes (look them up fuckfaces)
- played football in the vaunted Northern Neck District.
- played tennis in high school. Which, of course, makes him gay.
- previously owned my first car, a 1978 Ford fiesta. Sigh.
- only person on record as actually ordering, and eating, the fish fillet from McDonalds. They LOOOOOOVE when he comes rolling in.
- goes to White Castle, orders the fried clams, and then has the chutzpah to be disgusted with them. Wow.
- Might be the slowest human runner on earth. and I'm including my Aunt Pat on that list.

Valentine's Day Success (for Once)

I did not wake up alone on this Valentine’s Day. My eyes opened to find your ebony skin pressed against me, your head laying on my chest rising and falling with my calm breathing. I smiled as I remembered our cavorting from the night before – your loud, ceaseless panting as I dominated you. You were so eager to please me, so anxious to submit and serve. I can still feel your wet tongue as it covered every inch of my body. I can’t wait to be with you in bed again tonight. But right now, you just took a huge dump on the sidewalk and I gotta pick it up. I love you!!!

Things Are Good, Part VI

1) I’m flipping around on the tube last night, waiting for American Idol (cough), and I land on Tyra Banks’ “show.” Of course I stop - let’s face it, Tyra is fun to look at if you’re a red-blooded gent like Xmastime. While staring at her chest I vaguely overhear that today Tyra is CONFRONTING HER BIGGEST FEAR!!!!!!!!!!! Hmm. I think to myself: what could Tyra be afraid of – snakes? heights? failure? becoming homeless? guns? Nah. Tyra’s big fear is…TA DA! Dolphins!!! Because you know, dolphins are known for strolling into your home or office and eating you. What the fuck. “Doris, I’m telling you, I go to sweep under the couch and BAM!!! This dolphin had me in a fucking headlock! Unreal!!” So we have to sit through 40 minutes of watching Tyra shake and cry while a dolphin swims up to her going “Lady - pat my head, get it over with for fuck’s sake. Look, I’m cute. The cameras are fucking rolling. Christ.” I hate when people say they are scared of things like that. A snake could roll up to you in your Lazy-Boy anytime, but a dolphin, you really gotta make an effort to get mixed up with. Maybe a team of dolphins raped Tyra when she was young, I dunno. But if I’m floating in the ocean, I think I’m more worried about this
than this:

2)I’m compiling a list of movies I gotta write sequels to. So far I got “Road House 2: Dalton Goes to Japan” and “Eddie and the Cruisers III: Eddie Lives!......or DOES He…” Will keep you posted. Michael Pare, quit calling me – I’ll let you know when I’m ready to shoot.

3) If everyone is so bent outta shape about these cartoons being so offensive, can’t I be fucking offended Marmaduke has not ONCE made me laugh?

4) Spelling bee furor, I see. “Her mother, Cindy, calls herself a "momma bear with her bear claws out" and is ready to go to court.” Wouldn’t it be cooler if it said “Her mother, Cindy, calls herself a ‘momma bear with her titties hanging out, hoping to attract attention from cub scouts at the local 7-11’? I dunno. Woulda made her seem more exciting, I think.

5) Seedless fruit baffles me. How the fuck can we make fruit with no seeds, but we still can’t make a dollar bill that I can insert into a fucking jukebox without it having to be fucking ironed/pressed by a member of the Federal Reserve?

6) Unless Madonna promises to walk out of my tv screen and give me a big sloppy blow job, I think I’ll pass on the Grammys tonite. THINGS I’D RATHER DO TONIGHT THAN SIT THROUGH THE GRAMMYS:

1. See how long I can keep my nuts dunked in a mug of scalding hot coffee
2. Invent a tv dinner that is guaranteed to make me shit myself before I can finish it. (no fair eating it on the bowl, either)
3. Try to visualize a scenario where I would rather make out with Jan instead of Marcia. Yeesh.
4. Piss the lyrics to “Everybody’s Working for the Weekend” by Loverboy onto my kitchen floor.
5. Try and remember another song by Loverboy. File this under “The Impossible Dream”
6. Draft a letter to all the blind people in the city asking them who picks up the shit from their seeing-eye dogs.
7. Write and perform the speech I would’ve written had I been asked to speak at Coretta Scott King’s funeral. Which would’ve included lines such as “Hey look, President Bush is here...well, I guess every funeral needs at least one brain-dead fucker, eh? Hiyoooooo!! Mr. President, I kid…” or “jesus christ…how many days ago DID she die?....” or “..she now joins Rosa Parks, another civil rights icon who died this year…well, along with a thousand other worthless niggras in New Orleans, right Mr. President? Hiyooooo!! People, people – I’m in the zone up here!!!!”
8. Compile a list of every girl I’ve ever had a crush on. Imagine what I’d say to them if they were auditioning for “American Idol” and I was a judge. “Not with those titties, sweetheart.” “What smells? Oh, it’s you.” “You weren’t this big when we dated, were you?” and of course “well well well, look who we have here… little Miss I Can’t Date You Because My Mother is Pretty Sure You’re Gay. Start singing, bitch!”
9. Teach Theodore how to ballroom dance.
10. Write an reunion episode of “Full House” where the gang all come home again to help Michelle in her court case to prove she invented and copyrighted the “Dirty Sanchez.” Sam Elliot guest-stars as “grizzled, much older husband of Stephanie who SWEARS he’s not crazy, that there are indeed TWO Michelles.”

I'm Not Worried - Terry Can't Fucking Read Anyways

A big FUCK YOU to qb legends Joe Montana and Terry Bradshaw, both of whom blew off appearing at the Super Bowl in Detroit along with every other past MVP, allegedly because the NFL refused to pony up enough dough for their fucking appearance. Jesus fucking Christ. Hey jackasses - the moment wasn’t about YOU, it was celebrating living, breathing heroes, an awesome collective of great players from the past that even you yourself prattle on about how much you looked up to when you were young. But instead of being part of a nice moment, and soaking in the fact that you’re part of a tiny fraternity of greatness that millions of people were dying to applaud, you pull this shit. And it’s bad enough that two living legends that had embodied all that is great about pro football blew off such a special moment for money, but them pulling the old “I wanna spend time with my family” bullshit REALLY infuriates me. Joe said he was going to his kid’s basketball game. Give me a fucking break. We’re all supposed to go “awwww, how sweet”, but camon. The kid has what, 30 games this year? Pops can’t skip ONE for such a special occasion? Junior wouldn’t understand? Oh, wait, Joe COULD skip his kid’s game…for the right price. Fuck you. And Terry, fuck you too. “I wanna spend time with my family”…but you have NO problem showing up on Leno last night SLOBBERING over the “Go Daddy Girl.” Hmm Terry, where was your fucking family then?

What a big, fat, hairy disappointing crock of shit. Players that I and MILLIONS of others looked up to when I was a kid pulling this shit. Next time the NFL wants to do something nice, I hope they say ‘don’t bother, asshole’ to these guys.

Rave On Buddy Holly

Today is The Day the Music Died – the day Buddy Holly died. No offense to Ritchie Valens, who was young and did have some great hits, or the Big Bopper who, inexplicably, has a box set available. I’m assuming there are 60 versions of “Chantilly Lace” on there.

Like any kid who grew up loving rock n roll and then bought a guitar, Buddy is a hero of mine – one of the first rock n roll guys I fell in love with; was always “my guy.” Amazing songs, amazing guitar, and looked a little geeky. With his perfect combination of simple, heartfelt songs mixed with studio experimentation (e.g. double-tracking vocals, bringing in strings for “True Love Ways”) it’s a downright crime we never got to hear more than the first 18 months of his career before he hit the ground in Clear Lake, Iowa. We can dream about what he would have done with the Beatles and the millions of other bands that were a direct result of his records, but of course we’ll never know. Every coupla years I go through an extended period of becoming obsessed with Buddy – listening to nothing but him, playing his songs only and watching “The Buddy Holly Story” over and over. One time back in college I had a million pops and then called directory assistance in Lubbock, TX and tried to get a hold of his parents. I’m sure had we talked, I would have been amazing. Hmm.

So anyways, raise your glass tonight for Buddy Holly and REAL rock n roll.

Grizzly Man

Be sure to catch this tonite on the Discovery Channel. A grisly (hiyooooooo!!) ending as you know, but can you beat a coupla hours of watching big bears? Of course Theodore already has his huge foam "#1" finger thingee ready to go. And it looks like his "Bears 2, Humans 0" t-shirt is gonna make its debut.