tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-203601892024-03-07T19:38:16.392-05:00SUFFERIN' BASTARDS LOCAL #178If you lived here, you'd be Drunk by now...bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.comBlogger340125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-49711746322377378972013-02-13T20:24:00.003-05:002013-02-13T20:29:46.262-05:00A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying...ROCK!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiBsD7LIRcAOBj2c793pNbNl5sNAwlKGD_G7zD6VsOqIb2v8ivCUtsBmBp6930oCwODmO5WorgnYjW0a6YsZotYNfy1GEZtw6HM2qI0R_29RaMcZz9a4UKhl5TbHljw5vyrTVb1g/s1600/p-dogs+hooligans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiBsD7LIRcAOBj2c793pNbNl5sNAwlKGD_G7zD6VsOqIb2v8ivCUtsBmBp6930oCwODmO5WorgnYjW0a6YsZotYNfy1GEZtw6HM2qI0R_29RaMcZz9a4UKhl5TbHljw5vyrTVb1g/s320/p-dogs+hooligans.jpg" uea="true" width="320" /></a></div>
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Pavlov's Dogs circa 1926 during their "Stinkin' up the Kennebec Valley'' world tour. From left, T. Ejevoli, Farook Amam, and some guy named Spot...</span></em></div>
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<em>It was 50 years ago today, </em></div>
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<em>Mr. Myk taught the band to play,</em></div>
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<em>they've been going in and out of style, </em></div>
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<em>but they're guarenteed to raise a smile,</em></div>
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<em>so let me introduce to you, </em></div>
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<em>the band you've known for all these years....</em></div>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tac71micVyQ">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tac71micVyQ</a></div>
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<strong>February 14th is the anniversary, as it is most years, of the innaugeral performance of Pavlov's Dogs, the rock and roll juggernaut formerly known as JET. A musical tour de force, forged in the traditions of british pop and punk, and definitely in the vein of the garage bands of the 70's such as Velvet Underground and Iggy Pop.</strong></div>
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<strong>Sure, pretty high falootin' alright. That is, if they could ever get their guitars tuned up. Guitar tuning was actually a central and essential element of their live performances. That is, of course, if they actually showed up for any of their gigs. For a while they were known as the greatest band that never was. Pavlov's Dogs famously did not show up for the Bangor State Fair Midway show, failed to show for Newport Maine's sesquecentennial celebration, and were nearly arrested at the Etna Dixmont School talent show. A prodigious resume indeed.</strong></div>
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<strong>Some may ask, ''what ever happended to the memeberes of the P Dogs"? Indeed you may wonder what they are doing now. Well bass player Ivan Zwieback still plays at local Holiday Inns and Pancake breakfasts as a member of an illustrious local blues band. Uncle Myk has joined the Jesuits and is currently doing missionary work at Radcliffe College in Cambridge MA, counseling young coeds on dating. Spot has been recently spotted in Nashville Tennessee, sporting a sequined Nudie suit and playing lead in an Eagles cover band, drunk off his ass, bby all reports. All of their former drummers, curiosly enough, have perished of spontaneous combustion. An ignominious end indeed to such a promising young ensemble with so much potential.</strong></div>
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<strong>So, on this auspicious anniversary, let us raise a glass of $4 Merlot to the boys, once destined to change the world, now destined to change their grandchildren's diapers, and toast them a toasty toast. Let us hope to Jesus they do not get back together for any more shows. Don't worry. They probably wouldn't show up anyhow.</strong></div>
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<strong>Coming this summer from Flybynyt Records-''Pavlov's Dogs Greatests Hits Straight out of the Garage''-when ever Hughie gets off his ass and masters the old recdordings.</strong></div>
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<strong>Keep a rockin' kids</strong></div>
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<strong>BFC</strong></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-10696678007167973002011-11-26T18:46:00.005-05:002011-11-26T20:20:36.062-05:00Tempest in a Wine Glass:SBL#178 De-Obfuscates the Top 5 News Story of the Week<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQVDnVPK_0-4GUANxQ8_X7CbYJNxvnTRpDw-eu6kHcxHTM6DTX06AUMZJbbFnoLY3V97BvBujobU71BMYQyGwp_cSSmYkUyO5dQN73VBe_9F9WiwgQaMDvE3UbkW2b70CfbpwKSg/s1600/gingrichn.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 296px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 211px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679455512197238754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQVDnVPK_0-4GUANxQ8_X7CbYJNxvnTRpDw-eu6kHcxHTM6DTX06AUMZJbbFnoLY3V97BvBujobU71BMYQyGwp_cSSmYkUyO5dQN73VBe_9F9WiwgQaMDvE3UbkW2b70CfbpwKSg/s400/gingrichn.jpg" /></a><em> "Be afraid, be very afraid''<br /></em><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em>Someone once said 'it doesn't take a genius to tell the difference between chicken shit and chicken salad'. Well, it's true, and the axiom is never more true than when you skim through the news headlines of the day. Surfing for news on the intronet is like panning for gold: the comedy just writes itself. Now, I've never been the most politically astute person around. As a matter of fact until recently I thought "Eurozone" referred to a popular porn site. Be that as it may, armed with a bottle of cheap Cabernet, I, and the editorial staff at SBL#178 sat down recently to de-obfuscate the top news stories of the week. I know the news can be obfuscative, so it our journalistic duty to de-obfuscate it, if for no other reason than to overuse the word obfuscate. So, with that in mind, we present, in no particular order, the top stories of the week.</em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em><strong>Alabama Getaway</strong></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="color:#000000;">On Nov. 16, a European businessman paying a visit to his company’s manufacturing plant near </span><a class="web_ticker" title="Get Quote" href="http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/quote?ticker=3665MF:US" density="sparse"><span style="color:#000000;">Tuscaloosa</span></a><span style="color:#000000;">, Alabama, was pulled over for driving a rental car without a tag.<br />The police officer asked the man for his license, but the only paperwork he had with him was a German I.D. card. Anywhere else in the nation, the cop might have issued the man a citation. Not in </span><a class="web_ticker" title="Get Quote" href="http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/quote?ticker=STOAL1:US" density="full"><span style="color:#000000;">Alabama</span></a><span style="color:#000000;">, where a strict new law requires police to look into the immigration status of people detained for routine traffic violations. Because the man couldn’t prove he had the right to be in the U.S., he was arrested and hauled off to the police station. The businessman turned out to be an executive with </span><a class="web_ticker" title="Get Quote" href="http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/quote?ticker=DAI:GY" density="full"><span style="color:#000000;">Mercedes-Benz</span></a><span style="color:#000000;">, one of Alabama’s prized manufacturers, Bloomberg Businessweek reports in its Nov. 28 issue. The Mercedes plant employs 3,400 people, and the company’s much-heralded decision in 1993 to build cars in the state encouraged Hyundai, Honda, and Toyota to follow. Mercedes has downplayed the incident, calling it “unfortunate” and refusing further comment. Yet word of the arrest spread quickly through the state, amplifying a growing sentiment among many politicians, business owners and citizens that the immigration law, intended to drive off undocumented workers and free up jobs for the unemployed, is too strict and damages </span><a href="http://topics.bloomberg.com/alabama/" density="sparse"><span style="color:#000000;">Alabama</span></a><span style="color:#000000;">’s reputation as a place to do business.</span></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left">“I was really embarrassed and overwhelmed,” says state Senator Gerald Dial, who previoiusly unequivocally voted for the law. “Mercedes has done more to change the image of Alabama than just about anything else. We don’t want to upset those people.” It was an honest mistake. We thought he was Mexican".</div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em><strong>No Es Occupado</strong></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><strong><em></em></strong></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left">"Is it equitable that 99 should suffer for the extravegance or grandeur of one, especially when it is considered that men frequently owe their wealth to the impoverishment of their neighbors"(New York Gazette <em>1763).</em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left">Okay, I get it, the whole rich versus poor, Robin Hood appeal of the "Occupy" movement a'sweepin' the nation these days. I really don't like the rich bastards that have submarined our economy for the last ten years either. But here's a news flash for you kids: since the very beginning, our great democratic nation has, at it's heart, always been a corporate oligarchy.That hasn't ahanged kids, and it's not going to, despite the noble efforts of all the stinky assed, Patchouli wearing, tarpaulin tenting occupiers from NYC to San Francisco. But go ahead, hippies, rage...rage againt the dying of the light...or against the machine...or something to that effect. I'm with you. At least in spirit. However I think, this time they've gone to far. Outside malls in large west coast cities like San Fran and Sacremento, occupyers beseeched lust filled shppoers passing by their encampments to abstain from the capitalistic orgy that is Black Friday.As if that is going to happen. As ambivelent as the average person feels about the Occupy movement, I would say their pleas fell on deaf ears, not to mention armed shoppers (see story below). Alexander Hamilton laughs in his grave.</div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em><strong>Freaky Friday</strong></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em><strong></strong></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left">15 people pepper sprayed at a WalMart in the early hours of Friday-<strong><em>Insane</em></strong></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left">A suspicious item, thought to be a bomb, was found and dispatched in a Wal Mart in Cave Creek Arizona-<strong><em>Whacko</em></strong></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left">55-year-old shopper was shot and wounded during a robbery near a Walmart in Myrtle Beach, S.C.-<strong><em>unbelievable</em></strong></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left">Getting the brand new X-Box 360 before anyone else, at a great low Wal Mart cost<em><strong>-"PRICELESS"</strong></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left">Well, I know one God damned thing: I'm staying the Hell away from Wally Mart for a few days. Yes Black Friday not only results in fabulaous savings, but a number of felonies as well. Can you feel the Christmas love?</div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left">By the way, my teen-aged son wants me to mention the violence is in no way indicative of teenagers, nerds or gamers.. Joyeux Noel Asshole! Out of my way!!</div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em><strong>Send in the Clowns</strong></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left">I don't know whether to be disgusted or morbidly drawn to the series of Republican debates being assailed upon the media watching public these last months. It's kind of like a car accident, which you cannot help but peek at. One after the other, crazy assed GOP hopefuls rise meteorically<em>,</em> shine brightly, then burn up impressively upon re-entry to the atmomsphere. First Michelle Bachman, who, by the way, has got the craziest eyes since Marty Feldman. She made Sarah Palin seem perfectly rational. Then Ravishing Rick Perry, who also makes George Bush look as smart as Noam Chomsky. Then Herman "the Pizzanator" Cain, who apparently can't keep "little Herman" in his pizza oven. Herman, we hardly knew ye'. Which lefft all you Republicans with Mitt Romney, who is a about as likable as Herman Goebbels, and makes historic flip floppers like John Kerry look positivley, well, not flippy floppy. Until, the seemingly unexplainable rise of Newt Gingrich. Remember Newt? How the hell did they figure to dig him up. Just because he doesn't trip all over his tongue and get his State Departments all mixed up,I guess he is your man."Him real smart"...Well, in case you kids forgot, or never knew, ask your parents who Newt Gingrich was in the 80's and 90's. You'll see. Good luck with that one. President Obama, the elction is yours sir.</div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><em><strong>"I'm Super, Thanks for Asking..."</strong></em></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><strong><em></em></strong></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left">Okay, let's pretend the Congressional Supercommittee is a celebrity marriage. Let's also pretend the Republicans are Kim Kardashian. And let's pretend the Democrats are NBA star Kris Humphries. Let's pretend all those budget cut ideas are the expensive wedding gifts given to Kardashian and Humphries. Can anyone else see why it was a union doomed from the start? I mean who is going to get all those gifts? Do they give them back? Anyway, we always have until 2013 to find out. Unlike Kim andKris.</div></div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><div align="left">Anyhow, that about covers it. And I didn't even have to bring up the end of the big NBA lockout ending. Yeah, millionaires! </div><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="left">May I be the first to wish you a delighful holiday relatively free from acrimony and strife.</div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><em></em></div><br /><br /><div align="center">Non illegitimi Corrundum</div><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>BFC</em></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><em></em></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><em></em></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /></div><br /><br /><div align="left"><em></em></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-1408449786726981592011-11-13T17:45:00.003-05:002011-11-13T17:49:39.421-05:00Joke of the week, Volume 26:"you'll eat a muffin, you'll eat it and like it.."<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl5VAOVChK3NwIywGhLFzw_Nbv2qIgDbTt9eesbCBrwaCDVUpdZzf24QFXrBlUCZ9aXod9R-6bQsp1Nh9UCYwFcB5iOF755ewl_yumlk_QiLnIxCpcKbXhB2SOuv1a0NY6TEEGww/s1600/muffin.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 397px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674615643635245922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl5VAOVChK3NwIywGhLFzw_Nbv2qIgDbTt9eesbCBrwaCDVUpdZzf24QFXrBlUCZ9aXod9R-6bQsp1Nh9UCYwFcB5iOF755ewl_yumlk_QiLnIxCpcKbXhB2SOuv1a0NY6TEEGww/s400/muffin.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">So these two muffins were sitting in an oven.</span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">One muffin looks over to the other and says, "pretty hot in here, id'n'it"?</span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">The other muffin says, "Holy shit, a talkin' muffin".</span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Get it?</span></strong></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-41520431185445514902011-10-20T20:24:00.006-04:002011-10-20T20:40:16.351-04:00Celebrity Haiku Volume #71- My Stanley Cup Hangeth Over<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOUkJjCsvXRRniloENMH24OImp0J7nhSkwECXwGtebgFzO1c1Cc_PeOj4B93h2Zbz4ewq2ysQdmg6imnPm7YLnxubsLzsrl3UkV9xP0HpiZmb_r2XH8NBX6UilDwTzZADEGMXj4w/s1600/claude.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 296px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665735183747688514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOUkJjCsvXRRniloENMH24OImp0J7nhSkwECXwGtebgFzO1c1Cc_PeOj4B93h2Zbz4ewq2ysQdmg6imnPm7YLnxubsLzsrl3UkV9xP0HpiZmb_r2XH8NBX6UilDwTzZADEGMXj4w/s400/claude.jpg" /></a><em><span style="font-size:85%;"> Bruins Coach Claude ("Cload") Julian</span></em></div><br /><br /><p><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></p><br /><p><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></p><br /><br /><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>After the glorious season that was last year, capped by a fantastic Stanley Cup victory by the Big Bad Bruins. Clode's boys seem to be suffering a mild psychological let down. Nothing another Duck Boat parade can't fix. But alas, it is time to get back to the business of defending said cup. Lord Stanley waits for no man, as they say. So, in that spirit, Clode contributes this most recent Celebrity Haiku, as always torn from today's headlines. Hopefully this will improve the B's thus far dismal performance. Look! I haven't even finished this post and the B's are, at this moment, leading the Leafs 3-1. See?! Thus it is proved...</strong></span></p><br /><br /><br /><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong></strong></span></p><br /><p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">I love a parade</span></strong></p><br /><br /><p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Would you like to see the Cup?</span></strong></p><br /><br /><p align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Sweet-est hangover</span></strong></p><em><br /><br /><div align="center">C. Julian<br /></div></em><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-26275256515448264932011-10-08T18:14:00.014-04:002011-10-08T18:59:13.810-04:00Celebrity Haiku #34: Al Davis<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhepmci9RA32UHxzoBdoQL_5J3dWUTggcLz5ALmxEeLt1G-epJz7ethMMyJKa590xa2b3Hhx-YY-Cw6e1su6l4zoSseXHCjfnXtQecZA7MvFRyzLGw0hDDQPeDD2JVA_koOQtmtZQ/s1600/al+davis.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 220px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 238px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661249674897168978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhepmci9RA32UHxzoBdoQL_5J3dWUTggcLz5ALmxEeLt1G-epJz7ethMMyJKa590xa2b3Hhx-YY-Cw6e1su6l4zoSseXHCjfnXtQecZA7MvFRyzLGw0hDDQPeDD2JVA_koOQtmtZQ/s400/al+davis.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"> <em>Erstwhile Raider owner Al Davis</em> </span></div><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><em></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em>Al Davis was known by a lot of adjectives over his legendary career in Oakland, some not prudent to repeat on this family oriented blog. We'll call him 'plucky' and leave it at that. Any case, before his untimely passing yesterday, the irascible owner (yes, that's it, we'll call him irascible) penned this appropos Celebrity Haiku. RIP Al.</em></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><em></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em></em></div><br /><p align="center"><em><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">"Come to the Dark Side"</span></strong></em><br /></p><br /><br /><div align="center"><em><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">"Full-y Op-erational"</span></strong></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></em></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><em><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">"Wipe them out, all of them"!</span></strong></em></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><strong><em><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></em></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">-Darth Sidious,...errr Al Davis</span></em></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-21673150297803813692011-10-07T19:43:00.005-04:002011-10-07T21:07:04.819-04:00Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi15qXutD1wzqHQ9eM8eVfboPCr5mzMQLidQx2pHdQhqHVjqvXmG2VmB5PxD0aL5vr5rbJGyWbf9jGDvNGXg5hVimOMBNRVCs2QxnbjhbaEP373S6j4VIIAqc0SL-WEhUxQZiYY8w/s1600/francona.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 265px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660900770968080786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi15qXutD1wzqHQ9eM8eVfboPCr5mzMQLidQx2pHdQhqHVjqvXmG2VmB5PxD0aL5vr5rbJGyWbf9jGDvNGXg5hVimOMBNRVCs2QxnbjhbaEP373S6j4VIIAqc0SL-WEhUxQZiYY8w/s400/francona.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>"Tito, we hardly knew ye'' </em></span></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><strong>By now, all you 'pink hat' wearing Red Sox fans are just climbing back down from the ledge and going back to your happy lives. After an epic fail September, historic for any team outside Boston, the Old Ball Team has missed their chance to fail in the 2011 playoffs and not make it to the World Series. After a very strong season on balance, the Sox went something like 7-20 in September to let the Tampa Bay Rays catch and eat them to take over the wild card spot. Some of you newer fans, who seem to think the Red Sox will always win, appeared suprised. I mean, Christ, at the beginning of the month, the Sox had a 9 game lead in the wild card race. Only a bunch of idiots could blow a lead like that, right? And I don't mean 'idiots' like the 2004 Johnny Damon idiots. I mean real idiots. A team would have to either be on the take or completely implode to lose a lead like that. Or be from Boston. Some of us knew though, Yes we did. I knew. Sully from Southie knew. Norm from Canton knew. We'd seen it all happen before.</strong></span></div><br /><br /><br /><p align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><strong>Listen to my words you ''pink hatters', that is what we do here in Boston. That is what we have always done. Let me tell you a story. In 1978, I was a freshy freshman at Nokomis Regional High distracted from my studies by the baseball pennant race. In late July, the Sox had a seemingly insurmountable 14-1/2 game lead in the American League East. There was absolutely no doubt they would take the division and go to the World Series. Alas, on September 7, incredibly, their lead was down to 4 games entering a final four game series with the Jeezily New York Yankees. As you may have known or can guess, the Yanks went on a rampage in the series, scoring 42 runs on 67 hits, while the Red Flops commited a dozen errors and were uncerimoniously swept. That, children, forced a very rare one game playoff to break the tie and see who would go to the playoffs. The Sox of course lost the game, painfully and dramatically, off the bat of the Yankees diminutive shortstop, known as Russell Earl ''Bucky Fucking'' Dent. He homered, and my childhood hero Carl Yastrzemki watched it sail over the Green Monster. I saw it all unfold, right there in Mr. Lane's biology classroom. He brought in a TV and let us watch, thus scarring us for life. Thanks Mr. Lane. </strong></span></p><br /><br /><br /><p align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><strong>In any event, 1978 was not the first year the Sox choked on such an epic scale. Review your baseball history books. In 1941, the Red Sox painfully folded against the Cards. You remember, Peskey held the ball. In 1967, same thing, same team. Cards ace bob Gibson kick the Sox asses and again the Sox fold. What is this, some kind of a curse? In 1975, the Red Sox played in what many consider the best World Series ever. They lose painfully and dramatically to the Big Red Cincinnati Machine. Later in Red Sox history, there would be even more epic fails. In 1986 there would be Bill Buckner and Mooky ''Fucking'' Wilson. In 2003, there was Aaron''Fucking'' Boone. Must be the curse.</strong></span></p><br /><br /><br /><p align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><strong>Then there was 2004. And 2007. Great yes. Historic, yes. Life altering, you bet. But alas, Boston is still Boston. As great as the two world championships were, it is kind of comforting to be back in the drama. I t must be why people like Opera. Nothing like a good tragedy. </strong></span></p><br /><br /><br /><p align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><strong>Anyway, whatever happened to precipitate such an enormous implosion this year, causing the Bosox' early exit, is just as elusive as the causes of 1978 or 1986 chokes. Maybe the pitching staff was out of shape, or drunk, or both. Maybe it was the pitching coaching staff. Maybe it was Papelbon. Maybe it was Francona. He always has been a ''player's manager'' and a little soft. Maybe it was the fat lazy complacent overpaid superstars who just could not be concerned enough to play hard or play together. Maybe it was wonderkind GM Theo Epstein, whose every off season and free agent deal amounted to about doodly squat. I mean, seriously, Carl Crawford has had less than a career year. And Erik Bedard? Fugetaboutit! It really doesn't matter. The iportant thing is that somebody has got to pay. Even though Francona is really not to blame, he must be ridden out of town on a rail. Who in Hell we are going to replace him with is an irrelevent consideration. Theo needs to go too. Probably he'll head to Chicago. Hell, why not take Tito with him. Win them a World Series. They're due. Papelbon? His head needs to be on a pike at the city limits. Okay, well, at least don't renew his contract. We'll have to keep Papi andWakefield-just because.</strong></span></p><br /><p align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><strong>Yes, Red Sox nubes, changes are needed. Change is in the air. Sports talk in Boston will be heating up the hot stove early this year. This is what it was always like, every year, before 2004. Perhaps you hadn't heard. You'd better get used to it. At least now maybe I can get seats to a game at Fenway for under $200. It'll be just like old times. </strong></span></p><br /><br /><br /><p align="left"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><strong>I wonder if I still have Grady Little's number.</strong></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-33660380206708236242011-01-23T20:01:00.003-05:002011-01-23T20:08:21.230-05:00Joke of the Week Vol. 76<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9sYbulYQnpUy6SVRIRCEAMH_tK4Er3M3N-F7_rX6xZ4SvfiiWsg1-2peLYjjE3bOGWNu9V05DpNp2WNEI7lha_EOCGukXzG8TwyMqVMprVzntYb2daEN1yMrZaySVNz0zprAqCQ/s1600/think_12.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 160px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565551921939240338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9sYbulYQnpUy6SVRIRCEAMH_tK4Er3M3N-F7_rX6xZ4SvfiiWsg1-2peLYjjE3bOGWNu9V05DpNp2WNEI7lha_EOCGukXzG8TwyMqVMprVzntYb2daEN1yMrZaySVNz0zprAqCQ/s400/think_12.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Q. Did you hear about the Amish lady who had a husband and also had a lover on the side?<br /><br />Yeah, it seemed that she wanted to have 2 Men-no-nite! Get it !? 2 Mennonite?! Haw Haw!!!<div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-85473192408415073252011-01-18T20:09:00.006-05:002011-01-18T20:50:40.722-05:00It's only a Game, it's only a game, it's only a game....<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgecNrS04aTuAxJM_z84SdzifVOqTzeQtZAmpAZbnj53kts7LweVSRnTKn2S2ATQ12xoRmWSl4OsXFVdSlNUTgTQ72T16x0KkQvLEfIJ6LAJ2rgkVIrE-9mw5OULsiTDSzYFfgTGQ/s1600/1202029199_0633.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 178px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 192px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563699816857312818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgecNrS04aTuAxJM_z84SdzifVOqTzeQtZAmpAZbnj53kts7LweVSRnTKn2S2ATQ12xoRmWSl4OsXFVdSlNUTgTQ72T16x0KkQvLEfIJ6LAJ2rgkVIrE-9mw5OULsiTDSzYFfgTGQ/s400/1202029199_0633.jpg" /></a><em><span style="font-size:85%;"> "Once again you have brought shame to the family. You are no son of mine. You're dead to me".</span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em> </div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em> </div><div align="center"> </div><p><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></p><p><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>For one thing, let's get this straight. The Jets did not beat the Pats Sunday. The Patriots lost. They threw up on their shoes. They peed their pants. They dropped a deuce. Sexy Rexy and his rag tag band of miscreants had not much to do with it. Yes, yes, they played some defence. Wowee!! That's part of the playoffs. But the Pats laid a big fat egg. I've been afreared of this happening all season long, the day when the wheels finally come off the cart. It just double-sucks that it had to happen against Rex Ryan and his little ''foot soldiers'' from Gotham. Now all I can hope for is for Big Ben and the Steelers to crush and humiliate the Jets and then fall on their own swords in shame. I have absolutely no rooting interest anymore as of about 7:30 PM the other night. Even in the NFC, I have about equal measures of hatred for both Chicago and Green Bay. None, I repeat, none of any remaining teams have any interest for me at all. I've explained to loyal readers of SBL#178 tha I am a true Boston homer, provincial and parochial. Me and Sully from Southie hate outsiders, especially when they beat our teams. You put one of ours in the hospital, we put one of yours in the morgue. In 1986, the Bears pasted the Patsies in the Super Bowl. Now academic is the fact that anyone who came up against the Super Bowl Shuffle Bears that year would also get pasted. But, jeez lousie 46-10!? I still shudder when I hear the names Tony Eason, Walter Payton, Jim MacMann or Refridgerator Perry. And Green Bay is no better. In Super Bowl XXXI the Cheesy bastards beat my Pats a la Brett <a href="mailto:F#@^*ing">F#^*ing</a> Favre and Desmond F*^&@ Howard. I have since had little love for Green Bay, even though I have a soft spot for the old gunslinger Favre, being an old gunslinger myself. However, my man crush on Favre aside, I hate the Pack. They are dead to me. And the Jets??! Fugetaboutit!!!! Firstly any team from NYC has already earned my disgust. Add to it that toe nibbling knucklehead of a coach and his band of jive talking, over achieving chumps, and you have a team anyone outside of New York has to hate. I told you. Boston fans are petty, uinforgiving and mean.</strong></span></p><p><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">So, no fans, I will not be sitting around watching the Hyperbowl this year. At least not for the football. All I can hope for this year is a wardrobe malfunction to make things interesting. Now, alas, I can get back to thinking about the important issues in life. Chiefly, ranting abut how much I hate the Yankees.</span></strong></p><p><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">So enjoy your little moment in the sun Jets fans. If anybody is interested, I'll be up to camp ice fishing. Non illigitimi corrundum.</span></strong></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-46133182379074589182011-01-09T08:50:00.003-05:002011-01-09T09:14:07.382-05:00Celebrity Haiku Vol.56: The 'Hoodie' versus the 'Footie'<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3SPeDB6g1hhEwZIRecwbjt9ma7O5SpRMmTk3Qb1fqPF1Ht5Gft2DWIJR9s8trBJfPLiF4YG7qpFPln_GX2zyCPIXW3HHo2Ll4kFXQRSYpkLkDDCUasGy_dmL3Ftu_snuB16QOqw/s1600/rex-ryan-bill-belichick-jets-patriots-6f87c1ac803d5d8a_large.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560184630158543282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3SPeDB6g1hhEwZIRecwbjt9ma7O5SpRMmTk3Qb1fqPF1Ht5Gft2DWIJR9s8trBJfPLiF4YG7qpFPln_GX2zyCPIXW3HHo2Ll4kFXQRSYpkLkDDCUasGy_dmL3Ftu_snuB16QOqw/s400/rex-ryan-bill-belichick-jets-patriots-6f87c1ac803d5d8a_large.jpg" /></a> <em><span style="font-size:85%;">Now that the Pat's and the J-E-S-T, Jest, Jest, Jest's are going to meet agin for the thrid time this year, and by the way, the Pat's will win, the pedantic New England coach and the 'podiatric' New York caoch figured it might be a good time to quickly collaberate on a Haiku before the big game. Good luck Rex, and get ready for some more 'Hard Knocks'.</span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em><br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">It is what it is</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">The Pats will cover the spread</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">I loves me some feet</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></strong><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">-Bill Belechek/ RexRyan</span></em> </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-55677418662029438162010-12-26T20:36:00.010-05:002011-01-20T20:54:49.669-05:00Salad Days Vol:67: Dude, Where's my Jet Pack<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnfUaKx6dB90AGOnJq-1Rk8tHCOHaOp4BqKgP1r5HfaBKX6SSeOsxLqL-aDIy6YwHcYVNaI8Sa60lyWPylpZoAIQqQVg-JyQ-fEfmPsQ-aLxlBNW92baClfxzeFIZM_Hv4pbCzYw/s1600/imagesCANBEWE1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 262px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 192px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555171076078951522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnfUaKx6dB90AGOnJq-1Rk8tHCOHaOp4BqKgP1r5HfaBKX6SSeOsxLqL-aDIy6YwHcYVNaI8Sa60lyWPylpZoAIQqQVg-JyQ-fEfmPsQ-aLxlBNW92baClfxzeFIZM_Hv4pbCzYw/s400/imagesCANBEWE1.jpg" /></a><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em>''We are living in the future</em></div><br /><div align="center"><em>Tell you how I know</em></div><br /><div align="center"><em>I read it in the paper</em></div><br /><div align="center"><em>15 years ago</em></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>W're all riding rocket ships</em></div><br /><div align="center"><em>Talkin' with our mind</em></div><br /><div align="center"><em>Wearing Turqoise jewelry </em></div><br /><div align="center"><em>and standin' in soup lines...''</em></div><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>-John Prine<br /></em></div><br /><br /><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><strong>When I was a skinny lad, back in the 60's, roaming the mean streets of Mansfield Mass., me and my miscreant friends used to have a lot of fanciful notions of what the future might be like. It was, after all, the era of Kennedy, Johnson, Civil rights, Summers of Love and all that 60's jazz. Heady times, yes indeed. Of course, about that time, I was, after all, just a nipper, and I was focused on the more elemental things in life, namely TV. Shows like Star Trek and the Twilight Zone were popular and these shows gave us all sorts of misconceptions, as it turns out, about what things would be like in the future. In particular, there was this really cheesy show back then called "Space 1999. It was a show about how cool and futuristic the turn of the century was going to be. I got to thinking one day, and I calculated how old I was going to be in the year 2000.<em> </em>I was agast to discover I would be 37 whole years of age when the new millenium started. It seemed like such an incredibly old age. I could not imagine, at the time, being of such a disgustingly decrepit vintage. But, here I am, all these years later, not pushing 40 anymore but pullin it very very hard. I really would enjoy, right about now, waking up and having my back feel like it did when I was 37. It would be treat. And my kids would be a lot littler and cuter too. Anyway, it got me to thinking of all the incredible advances time has revealed to us, now that we live in the modern world known as the future. Some things I never would have imagined (cruise control for example), some I could easily live without("Glee" for example). To illustrate, for Christmas this last year, I received a Tom Tom GPS for my car. It is about the size of a deck of cards. It tells me how to navigate my car anywhere in the world without having to ask for directions. It has more computer technology in it than any of the Appolo Space missions to the moon and outer space in the 60's and 70's when I was a kid. It's cool alright, but it still can't get me through Boston at rushhour. Now that would be something. Another thing I have now that I live in the future is an MP3 player. Now when I was a young buck, back in the 80's, and I had to move from one appartment to another, the toughest part of the move was transporting my tunes with me. I had to pack all my LP's in my car, usually a 1974 Oldsmobile Cutlass, and tote my entire collection, which consisted of abnout 8 lobster crates full of albums that I may or may not have even listenned to. Plus I had to tote my big assed stereo, and my even bigger-assed speakers. Big meant better. Now with my MP3 player today, I can carry my entire collection of tunes in my jacket pocket, right next to my cell phone, both of which are about the size of a pack of basebal cards. Actually, that's the one thing we miscalculated about the "future" back then: the smallness of future technology. Back on Star Trek, computers were the sizes of cars, taking up whole rooms. Now, in actual practice, there are computers the size of walnuts, and cell phones the size of postage stamps, on which you can download and watch any movie you may want to watch any time anyplace. That same technolgy, however, cannot make the movie "Gigli" not suck. So, it's all relative, I guess. </strong></div><div align="left"><strong></strong></div><div align="left"><strong>The biggest dissapointment about the future, though, is that there are no "Jet Packs". Whe I was a kid,it was a common fantasy that, in the future, everyone would have their own personal jet pack. People would commute back and forth to work in their very own personal rocket powered vehicle...or at least a hovercraft. We really believd that. What a cruel dissapointment to discover that, now in 2011, I am still schlepping to work in a regular old internal combubstion engineered car. And for that matter, work itself, is a mjor bummer. It was <em>supposed</em> to be obsolete by the future. I thought Robots were supposed to do all the work for us.</strong></div><div align="left"><strong></strong></div><div align="left"><strong>Anyhow, I guess the future is not all bad. I do like not getting lost. I also like being able to call home from my car or from my favorite fly fishing stream. I enjoy being able to watch Ferris Beuller's Day Off on demand any time anywhere on a teeny tiny screen. I can pay for gas without even having to talk to the attendant. That's pretty cool. So, I guess all things considered, the future is about as cool as we thought it would be. But I'm still waiting for my damned Jet Pack. That'll be really cool. </strong></div><div align="left"><strong></strong></div><div align="left"><strong>Anyway, my Merlot is gone. Time for a refill. Whoever invented Merlot must have been a genius. Peace out. </strong></div><div align="left"><strong></strong></div><div align="left"><strong>Non illigitemi corrundum.</strong></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-49300461839629191732010-12-25T18:21:00.004-05:002010-12-25T19:17:36.555-05:00Gruss von Krampas: Happy Hollandaise from SFL#178<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAystJOlDIRXnVPM8Vnk1H-1bNVoVooiLQqWFviMEZFseinFxna-Da1Iz8XR6_5w6LR7BKu1AXaghW5BgO1ecdhV3Cc0-H7xwz0z5NOG77TEvKnS_x-jiJ3VKUhHVoyDZ_e5LCrQ/s1600/1920s_krampus-snick1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 292px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554764810270775490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAystJOlDIRXnVPM8Vnk1H-1bNVoVooiLQqWFviMEZFseinFxna-Da1Iz8XR6_5w6LR7BKu1AXaghW5BgO1ecdhV3Cc0-H7xwz0z5NOG77TEvKnS_x-jiJ3VKUhHVoyDZ_e5LCrQ/s400/1920s_krampus-snick1.jpg" /></a><em> </em></div><div align="center"><em><a href="http://www.krampus.com/who-is-krampus.php">www.krampus.com/who-is-krampus.php</a></em><em></em></div><br /><strong>If you're anything like the Bigfoot household, by now all the presents have been unwrapped, the egg nog has been drunk and al the relatives have gone home. You may be watching some NBA on television, or maybe watching a new video you received as a gift. Right about now, the Bigfoot family is laying around watching "Highlander Season II", which the Big Unit got for a present. My lovely bride is just awakening from a well deserved nap and doing some Sudoku on the couch. Between bouts of gorging myself on leftover Buffalo Chicken dip, I am currently enjoying an Oak Pond Brewery "Growler", one that I got from my old buddy Mudder, and writing in the old Blog. I don't have to work until Monday, and , fully stocked for the weekend, I am looking forward to a relaxing Boxing Day, in front of the Pat's game.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Now I have not always had such a cordial relationship with the "Holidays". I have always been kind of ambivelent, to say the least, about the Christmassy season. Why, just ask anyone that knows me well, and they might go so far as to say I am a veritable Grinch. I mean, yes, it is the Lord Baby Jeebus's birthday and all, and the season of giving. But, at times, I find the hub bub and hassle of the Holidays a bit stressful. And expensive. I'm not so much a Grinch, really, as a Krampas, Santa's dark side, just waiting to take all the bad little boys and girls to the woodshed, just because he's and old grump. Or like George Kastanza's dad on Seinfeld, celebrating "Festivus", I sometimes just feel like airing greivances for the Hell of it. "I got a lot of problems with you people. And now you're gonna hear about it".</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>However, as the holidays wind to a halt and we turn our attention to the brand new year, I have to admit a certain amount of grim satisfaction having survived another season. Hopefully, all of you are also enjoying your cekebrations, whatever they may be, and are looking forward to the new year. May the New Year pass with as little rancor or acrimony as possible. Happy Happy Joy Joy from all of us at Sufferin' Bastards Local #178.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong></strong><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-89430149299386456282010-12-16T22:15:00.005-05:002010-12-18T22:12:45.611-05:00Celebrity Haiku #35: The Old Gunslinger<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEKTsA9Zd66m9nrX2QfiVIVUR5qgLoFzQvnUscz_SOlnM3NM438P98KJn99f9IsgwsomX35gBPu7Fbbf7F2tpMu0lvkgvDaLXWrjqt9FvFK2S9IU-gK0fR5vwlA0LVzCw4Lxhiyg/s1600/Farve-Ad.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 290px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551485326724668674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEKTsA9Zd66m9nrX2QfiVIVUR5qgLoFzQvnUscz_SOlnM3NM438P98KJn99f9IsgwsomX35gBPu7Fbbf7F2tpMu0lvkgvDaLXWrjqt9FvFK2S9IU-gK0fR5vwlA0LVzCw4Lxhiyg/s400/Farve-Ad.jpg" /></a><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Now that the old River Boat gambler has probably played his last game, he has more time to pursue his muse.Including his passion for Haiku. Here is his first forey into the ancient Japanese verse form since his ass was knockeed out of the game last week. </span></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><p></p><p><br /></p><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">It's aw-some, aw-some!</span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Those aren't <em>my</em> cell phone pictures.</span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">This time it's for sure.<br /></span></strong></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>-Brett Favre</em></div></span><br /><div align="center"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-22553944705321359372010-12-10T18:27:00.012-05:002010-12-17T13:58:07.873-05:005 Signs of the Apocalypse: SBL#178 De-Obfuscates the top news stories of 2010<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRo3gPXOLOLpIuD78U-5C1hOPJ9826AMv70At6HulIS7gUAFRSYcfm99IXa8G1E7TJegDAqAH_QKtN8pehO4AM8USr-KxdX2wp08ASmsZWDPiy89cP_vHNrqPGLcS_eeHm-CmEQ/s1600/slide_10986_144465_small.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 275px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549199464122490914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRo3gPXOLOLpIuD78U-5C1hOPJ9826AMv70At6HulIS7gUAFRSYcfm99IXa8G1E7TJegDAqAH_QKtN8pehO4AM8USr-KxdX2wp08ASmsZWDPiy89cP_vHNrqPGLcS_eeHm-CmEQ/s400/slide_10986_144465_small.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><em> A Meat Suit-Now why did I not think of that?</em></span></div><br /><p><strong></strong></p><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p>Well, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times, as my old high school chum Chas. Dickens used to say. The year 2010 has started its slow grind to an anti-climactic halt and, with a glass of Five Oaks Merlot on the table, the editorial staff of the SBL#178 prepare for you the top news stories of the past year. It's been a great year here at the SBL#178. If, by a good year you mean another incremental slip further into decreptitude. However, as they say, the news marches on. And time waits for no man. Now, I have never been accused of being politically astute. As a matter of fact, I always thought Hamas was made of Chickpeas and spread on flatbread. That being said, it doesn't take a genius to tell the difference between chicken shit and chicken salad. So, non sequitors taken care of, here are the top five news stories of the past year. Enjoy. And remember, "non illegitmi corrundum".</p><p><br /><strong>The McRib is BACK!</strong></p><p>One of the most mysterious questions to vex philosophers has re-emegred its ugly head again this year. No, not the riddle of the Sphinx, that's an easy one. No, it's not that "I before E, except after C" thing, though that can be tricky. It is...the riddle of the McRib. As one of my Facebook friends recently posited, "why, if the McRib is so damned good, does it only sporatically appear at McDonald's, and for a limited time only?". An excelleny query indeed. Is it because the deliciously decadent ball of fat in a bun is so damned good that the general burger buying public cannot handle the porky goodness?("You want the Rib?! You can't handle the Rib"!!) Is it rather that its fat and cholesterol content is so dangerously high that long term exposure could pose a health risk to the general public, thus a liabiltiy for the meaty mega franchise? Could it merely be a marketing ploy, restricting the supply, thus increasing the demand for the savory, sauce covered, sanguine slab of pig meat? The world may never know. Or at least I may never know. To be honest, I've never had a McRib. I have always wanted one, really, but have never gotten around to it. I probaly never will. I, likewise have always wanted a tattoo. And to write the great American Novel. But I haven't. And at this point, I will probaly never get to do those things. Or having a McRib. Especially if I don't hurry, because, as I said, it is only for a limited time.</p><p><strong>We Have Met the Enemy, and it is Us</strong></p><p>For years, the faithful followers of the beloved Boston Red Sox have opined and bitterly complained about how much the New York Yankees have spent to get their twenty-whatever championships. I have done it myself, and it is true. The Yankees have far outspent any other team in history. Their luxury tax alone is even more than the entire payroll of the Pittsburg Pirates. Plus, those poor bastards have to live in Pittsburg. It is patently obscene how much the Wankees spend to get the top players they always seem to get. Teams like the Red Sox, in order to keep up, must spend likewise to even hope for a championship. However, this year, the tables have been turned on the Yanks. The Red Sox have landed two of the top free agent prospects of the Hot Stove season. Adrian Gonzales, landed. Carl Crawford, landed. All top Red Sox stars-under contract. The Red Sox have out tricked the Yanks this year fo' sho'. They have spent approximaately 150 Kazillion dollars, but have essentially locked up the American League East, the Pennant, and the World Series...on paper. Yes, on paper, anyway. The funny thing is, the Red Sox still don't even have the highest payroll in the majors. That honor still belongs to thew Yankees. By a long shot. Still, I think the days of Red Sox fans' tired complaints of the Yanks buying their champpionships have been played out. Sox fans, we have bought ourselves a championship....on paper. How does it feel? Good, I'd say. Bill Buckner drinks the sweet wine of vindication.<br /></p><p><strong>Dude, where's my Job?</strong></p><p>Dude, the guy has had such a bad year, even Ron Paul has got to feel for him. Our illustrious Pesident, Barack Obama, only a short time ago annointed as the chosen one, has been so far unable to resist hanging himself with the rope the previous administration had left him. Now the Republicans, not unlike the McRib, are back. Hopefully, only for a limited time. After bitch slapping the Democrats in the mid terms, they have a solid hold on the house and the Senate. America, prepare to be dazzled. You thought the Democrats were ineffective? Child's play. Now the Democrats can't get doodly squat done witout kissing the Republicans' asses all over Washington. President Obama's populrity ratings are in the toilet, and if that's not bad enough, even his own people are turning on him. Recently, in one of His pick up basketball games He is famous for, Obama was elbowed to the chops by Rey Decerega, from the Congressional Hispanic Caucus. Decerega, the speedy Latino point guard, known among Beltway insiders for his killer crossover dribble, was evidently trying to take it to the rack, knowing full well the leader of the free world has a weak defensive move to the left. The president tried to draw the charge and take a flop. This was a failed diplomatic move, not his first this year. Rey took the contact, threw up a left handed shot, got two points, plus the free throw. Mr. Obama got called for the foul and also got 13 stitches in his lip. All in all, not too much worse of a pasting than the Republicans gave him on the tax cut vote.<br /><br /></p><p align="left"><strong>Favre Death Watch 2010</strong></p><br /><p>After nearly 20 years at the helm of his football ship, the erstwhile Packer, erstwhile Jet and current Viking Brett Favre is about to call it a career. That's right, the ol' Gunslinger. The ol' River Boat gambler. On again, off again, retired one day, unretired the next. Brett Favre, once the envy of every red-blooded football fan, the holder of about every quarterback record that Dan Marino does not have, has presumably played his last game. After 297 games uninterrupted, the old bastard is now relegated to doing Wrangler Jean commercials. By the way, in those commercials, when he throws that pass in the back yard pick up game, he totally lays out that wide reciever, just like he has been doing for years in Green Bay. In any case, his cell phone videos of his man-junk sent to Jen Sturger will be going viral soon enough. That's something. (BTW, I just Googled Jen Sturger-Holy Smokes!) Now, don't get me wrong. Even though the old goat has been more of a Diva than Liza Minelli at a Cher concert, I have always found him compelling TV. I also, by the way, find the Weather Channel compelling TV. Anyhow, now that the streak is over, and the old gunslinger has likely ridden in his last round up, I'll have to admit I'll miss him. But, there's always next year. Ya' never know with the Old Gunslinger. </p><p></p><p><strong>Keith Richard Still Not Dead</strong></p><p>Despite all logic, the iconic Rock pioneer, long time Rolling Stone and erstwhile Pirate of the Carribean Keith Richard is still not dead. Despite his best efforts, this Saturday Mr. Richard will turn 67 years of age. Doctors are at a loss to explain Keith's incredible persistence in refusing to die. Researchers at the famed Helsinke Institute in Weinergaten Germany have found that, if exposed to comparible amounts of Heroin, Rebel Yell bourbon, Marlboro smokes, and live Rolling Stones music, laboratory rats were dead after only 15 minutes. "How ol' Keith doesn't die remains a mystery to us", says Professor Ivan Zweiback, of the Institute. When reached for comment, outside his Barbados mansion, Mr. Richard was quoted as saying, "Mizen'raft'n mizzleflander, maaaan". Ain't it the truth?</p><p></p><p>Okay, now that I review my notes, these are probably not the TOP news stories of 2010. If I did my resaerch, I would probaly find more important stories, that , you know, effect people's lives and stuff. However, these have been getting a lot of play around the offices of the SBL#178. </p><p>Anyhow, enjoy the new year. How bad could it be?</p><p>Non illigitemi corrundum....</p><p><strong></p><p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p></strong><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-67333285500262224772010-11-11T20:40:00.003-05:002010-11-11T20:43:46.824-05:00Thinking of Getting the Band back Together<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqe2cKxdcOYCTzyw-DqcbMIpd9s-LFxpMfEdmdWBldTd1zAiFCdSn82gsLihzdnA8c-nKrEfbZjnnSMh5NuD67Wiua7BiLn8hYSf7PNsdNO7mntnDbspdrYFn9BzUF2PPzHXrEEg/s1600/18640_1193961734566_1394115759_30452171_7874195_s.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 75px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 100px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538472345720971938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqe2cKxdcOYCTzyw-DqcbMIpd9s-LFxpMfEdmdWBldTd1zAiFCdSn82gsLihzdnA8c-nKrEfbZjnnSMh5NuD67Wiua7BiLn8hYSf7PNsdNO7mntnDbspdrYFn9BzUF2PPzHXrEEg/s400/18640_1193961734566_1394115759_30452171_7874195_s.jpg" /></a> I haven't had an opportunity to vent my spleen for a while, but am thinking over the end of the year, I may start up again spewing the type of loveable vitriol<br /><div> readers of the SBL#178 have come to expect, though they have probably forgotten. Actually I could probably repost old stuff and you all would never know. But, anyway. you've been warned America.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-6617365022988931482009-12-03T20:33:00.007-05:002009-12-04T08:28:18.265-05:00Celebrity Haiku Volume #58, "Can I get a Mulligan"?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCXLGO0uYw4j4CWW56A_BV3f2hOhKE0w46yy1irQhjmamrcj39hxOtETrhUxPgqAzP6RXQGtnYb3FOuhShY3KZIPKp8GYQLyJZ6_eMVXYe_cDEnWvrNkhRfcfLyCVRSYYaRC1UgA/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 153px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 86px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411190345193521746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCXLGO0uYw4j4CWW56A_BV3f2hOhKE0w46yy1irQhjmamrcj39hxOtETrhUxPgqAzP6RXQGtnYb3FOuhShY3KZIPKp8GYQLyJZ6_eMVXYe_cDEnWvrNkhRfcfLyCVRSYYaRC1UgA/s400/images.jpg" /></a><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_Zy0dohPqyRXrWyVU1N-2_PkbBq30396HlpMIs4_ig0Yq2HFGyM6kW8D87algz8wESjJrgDmtZUT7zlaNLVtv4F-xElPtwxszU1hUJovKbTJ0DLr3363n8Ax5g1rTcuyM3kVWw/s1600-h/images.jpg"></a><em></em></div><div align="center"><em></em></div><div align="center"><em></em></div><div align="center"><em></em></div><div align="center"><em>Mega golf-star and close personal friend, Tiger Woods, has been spending lot of time spinning and blogging of late. He submitted this Celebrity Haiku, reflecting on recent events.</em></div><br /><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:180%;">Wow, a hole in one!</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:180%;">Damn it all, caller I.D.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:180%;">What cocktail waitress?</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-25720207778591352802009-11-06T19:56:00.007-05:002009-11-14T18:35:33.323-05:00The Yankess Still Suck<div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">"How much d'jya spend for the tickets Trump"?</span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">"Bill, if ya' gotta ask, ya' can't afford 'em"</span></em></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRVxNs2ivNf6HcWtFhMJoVopfSoLHgem0-toEhg85K8_Z1iRfyZRB3FuVJ1JP_R1k7WIcxkt8RmTl3LNrh5oBqW9UypU-LLSuhUz-64W6zxDh-PsrvEWqQUY1eOlWp1DnK_fpFQ/s1600-h/D-1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 280px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401159682397456082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRVxNs2ivNf6HcWtFhMJoVopfSoLHgem0-toEhg85K8_Z1iRfyZRB3FuVJ1JP_R1k7WIcxkt8RmTl3LNrh5oBqW9UypU-LLSuhUz-64W6zxDh-PsrvEWqQUY1eOlWp1DnK_fpFQ/s400/D-1.jpg" /></a><br /><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="left">I<em> </em>know I should be a good sport about this World Series thing. I know, as a long time BoSox fan, how frustrating it can be to loyally follow your home team, stay with them through thick and thin, and patiently wait for your year to come. The Bronx Boners have been long suffering, since way back in 2000, waiting pateintly for their beloved Wankees to bring home the banner. Through good times and bad, they stuck with their stars. Well, except A Rod, that is. Their long wait has ended. The Spanks are the champs. I should be decent about it. I should extend a hand of congratulations and of friendship toward the Crankies and their legion. I should but I won't. I don't care how much of a bitter Boston homer I sound like. To me the Yankees will always Suck. It doesn't matter if they win 47 championships. They will still suck. It is the way of things. It is the order of the universe.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Firstly, Yes I am going to play the payroll card. I know, I know, you say, "but what about the Red Sox payroll, Bigfoot". Nyah, nyah, yes I am quite aware that the Red Sox have a prodigious payroll. Over $122 million, actually. They have the fourth highest payroll in the majors. Obscene, yes. Odoius, yes. But the Yankees, last time I checked, spent almost $210 million. This is an inexcusably high amount. The Yankees drive the bus when it comes to the payroll wars. The Flanks inexhaustable ability to spend cash on marque players like A-Tool push all others in the league to do the same. Not only do the Yankees spend the most, but they also own a good number of the highest of the highly paid players. Rodriguez himself makes more dough per year than <em>all </em>the poor bastards who play for Pittsburg. Plus those slobs have to <em>live </em>in Pittsburg. Actually, at almost $27 million, the Yanks actually pay more in Luxury tax each year than the Pirates pay in salary. The way baseball works, if the Boston Red Sox want to keep up with the likes of the Bronx Bummers, they have to try to keep up by securing overpaid stars, just like the Yanks. Evil yes I know. But MLB doesn't seem to want to share their revenue or cap their salaries like other sports. In 1998, it wasn't the Yankies that led in payroll. It was the Baltimore Orioles. The lowly Orioles. In that year, the O's paid Robbie Alomar, Cal Ripken and their pals a paultry $74 million total. The Yaks were a distant 2nd at $73 million plus. In the short time since then, the Yankees have tripled their payroll. With exponential spending like that, it is a major gaff that they do not win every year. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">The worst thing about getting in a baseball discussion with Yankee fans, is when they invoke "27". Yes, yes, we are all quite aware that the Yankees now have 27 championships. It is the one thing a Red Sox fan cannot answer to. It is inarguable. It is an immutable truth. They have won a considerable number of championships. But think about the pictures of all those Yankee World Series celebrations. How many of those photos are in black and white, not color. To a large degree, the Yankees illustrious history is just that. History. Okay, well this year's banner aside. Besides that, they still suck! Just because evil enjoys success, it is no less evil. Witness Duran Duran. Witness Simon Cowell and the Spice Girls. Evil exists, my friend. Take a look in the stands at Yankee Stadium the other night. Regis Philbim, Donald Trump, Kate Hudson, JayZee, Mary J. Blige. JayZee, for Christ's sake!!! No wonder evryone hates the Yankees. Oh yes, Yankee fans, we all hate your team. Except for however many million there are of you in "Yankee Nation", the rest of us hate your team. I know that doesn't sound very sportsman like of me, but alas, I cannot lie. I would be betraying my upbringing, my history and myself. I would be betraying Sully from Southie and Fitzie from Quincy. I would be betraying Nick from the North End. I would be betraying my ol' Paba, in who's garage I used to spend countless hours listenning to Ned Martin and Ken Coleman call the play by play, while he tinkered on a car. To congratulate the Yankees would be to betray my Biology teacher, Mr.Lane, who dragged a TV into his class one fateful fall day in 1978, to let us watch the one game playoff, when Bucky Fuckin' Dent hit a wall ball homer off Mike Fuckin' Torrez, and ended another bitter year for the Olde Town Team. To concede to the Yankees would be to turn my back on Ken 'the Hawk' Harrelson, 'Boomer' Sott, 'Teddy Ballgame', or 'Captain Carl'. "Not agonna doit' as old George Bush used to say.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">So sip your champagne Yankee boys. Sit in your chair on the Letterman show. Enjoy your little Duck Boat parade. Enjoy your visit with the President. I'm not gonna cheer for you. We'll be here next year. I'll be here. Sully from Southie and Fitzie from Quincy will be here. Theo Epstein will be here too, and he'll be ready with his wallet. You'll spend. We'll spend. A lot! Of course Pittburg and Kansas City are already mathematically eliminated, but who the hell cares. </div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">Victory is yours. Now let us not speak of it again. To paraphrase WCBS radio play by play host, John Sterling, "Theeeeee Yakees suck...theeeeeeee Yankees Suck!"</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left">This is going to be a long year.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-24642333945916101802009-11-04T11:37:00.005-05:002009-11-14T18:35:50.031-05:00Smoke 'em if you got 'em Maine....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIw6t75HWkx2yY1fn5v1qmR-3bmGc2XAqM9vj6CyiPasnsjOn0mQqDkNS32dNSH3MX_4iugWQqiaiqtzljkb8pcvLK32fR_zM3ifCaJ1IigkxOhEScGylVb-9sule83Eg6oafTMg/s1600-h/reefer+madness.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 283px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400289054956979298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIw6t75HWkx2yY1fn5v1qmR-3bmGc2XAqM9vj6CyiPasnsjOn0mQqDkNS32dNSH3MX_4iugWQqiaiqtzljkb8pcvLK32fR_zM3ifCaJ1IigkxOhEScGylVb-9sule83Eg6oafTMg/s400/reefer+madness.bmp" /></a><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;">I can feel my Glaucoma getting better already, yo....</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:180%;">Thanks Question 5!!</span></strong></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-38529360492244308572009-07-07T17:42:00.004-04:002009-11-14T18:36:10.904-05:00Joke of the Week, Volume #34<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB5Ye22sVz34TyJAUWyUL3WwKnmTxYy_7Blws9EWtiHyFl_cALjDu1B20_yiX95EQRoI3NrBDX9jaQKy52w9gsIMHCj3z7YiDZ8AnexbwKwN8w8qxxaPyuTCtstOflY6-pooEqEA/s1600-h/images.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 120px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 84px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355837491027133218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB5Ye22sVz34TyJAUWyUL3WwKnmTxYy_7Blws9EWtiHyFl_cALjDu1B20_yiX95EQRoI3NrBDX9jaQKy52w9gsIMHCj3z7YiDZ8AnexbwKwN8w8qxxaPyuTCtstOflY6-pooEqEA/s400/images.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><br /><p>There was this guy, we'll call him Gordy, who was in the mood to go ice fishing one fine day. He gets himself his fishing traps, buys himself some bait and gets out the old ice auger. He gets his'self to his favorite bit of ice and sets up his gear. He starts cutting a hole in the ice, but suddenly hears a booming voice that says, "THERE ARE NO FISH HERE". Non-plussed, Gordy picks up his gear and moves down ice to pick another likely spot. He gets the auger going and the same impressive voice says, ''THERE ARE NO FISH HERE''! This happens a couple of more times: Gordy gets his ice hole started and the booming voice tells him there are no fish there. Finall, he looks up to the Heaven and exclaims, "Is that you God"?! </p><p>There is a moment of silence and then the voice sighs and says,......</p><p></p><p>(wait for it....)</p><p></p><p>"No, this is the Rink Manager Gordy, THERE ARE NO FISH HERE"! </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-29966110020443216792009-06-27T08:30:00.004-04:002009-11-14T18:36:24.657-05:00Celebrity Haiku Vol,#86: " Hikin', my EYE"!<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggtL_QPrv67NLz0R_zRfVifsWJNoBc85UJEg63SQ9-jEm8Mj870tGNjJ39w5sorhUBeSKzV26HHh9gaS-m1o2Xh7YKNsg60sgwrvhK35HYCgCvLTqgB3vPefnuBFP0fnZ4JwiibA/s1600-h/capt.29fc80bbb8f54708ac6bb2d448543cd7.sc_governor_scmc103.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 142px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351984134890808642" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggtL_QPrv67NLz0R_zRfVifsWJNoBc85UJEg63SQ9-jEm8Mj870tGNjJ39w5sorhUBeSKzV26HHh9gaS-m1o2Xh7YKNsg60sgwrvhK35HYCgCvLTqgB3vPefnuBFP0fnZ4JwiibA/s400/capt.29fc80bbb8f54708ac6bb2d448543cd7.sc_governor_scmc103.jpg" /></a><em><span style="font-size:85%;"> South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford reflects on his recent misadventers with this introspective Haiku. Haiku ripped from the headlines!</span></em></div><p><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></p><p></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I was on a hike!</span></strong></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">CRY for me Argentina</span></strong></span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Well, KIND of a Hike...</span></strong></p><em><div align="center">Gov. Mark Sanford<br /></div></em></span><div align="center"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-87957744209357555032009-06-11T22:07:00.003-04:002009-06-11T22:15:06.813-04:00Celebrity Haiku Vol#34:"It ain't over 'til Big Papi swings'' Edition<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx51nbuz18baQCxp_ncXDCme1G0BIHZXqj2ndacSVJzgWfojVcFk4R9wX8VUCP5K-eNmVqdRfHuR2HEDULc51Fmp7cvD0Vn6uEMYvd5cQayj2X4oiTgLWjNoe0FwgOpoP3U_WMFQ/s1600-h/roadtrip_article_large_article_large.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346257147544089234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 223px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx51nbuz18baQCxp_ncXDCme1G0BIHZXqj2ndacSVJzgWfojVcFk4R9wX8VUCP5K-eNmVqdRfHuR2HEDULc51Fmp7cvD0Vn6uEMYvd5cQayj2X4oiTgLWjNoe0FwgOpoP3U_WMFQ/s400/roadtrip_article_large_article_large.jpg" border="0" /></a> <em><span style="font-size:85%;">With this month's rendition of the ancient Japanese verse is Slumping sluggers David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez, a la Thelma and Louise...</span></em></div><div align="center"><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><strong>"The cream or the clear"?</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><strong>No way man, seventy games...</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Hey Papi, I tell you what...</span> </span></strong></div><p><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong> </p><p align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">-Papi</span></em></p><strong><div align="center"><br /></div></strong></span><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-34109061057097738122009-04-14T20:56:00.004-04:002009-04-14T21:03:42.951-04:00Celebrity Haiku Volume # 89: Teddy Ballgame Edition<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBx9qdwJPb0-uH3h-GpMkEBt_QAn44n-et2YrbMi2i-lFxwqIEMlpPkLmrt81CetJXA7nv-SP7QcubxpSp03sDD1_NjJeNf6lWJgBnw8ND4sJxHaVmcTjJKz2vkjhQCZKikvxXYQ/s1600-h/bilde.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324716133018083714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 230px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBx9qdwJPb0-uH3h-GpMkEBt_QAn44n-et2YrbMi2i-lFxwqIEMlpPkLmrt81CetJXA7nv-SP7QcubxpSp03sDD1_NjJeNf6lWJgBnw8ND4sJxHaVmcTjJKz2vkjhQCZKikvxXYQ/s400/bilde.jpg" border="0" /></a><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em> </div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"> As the distinguished Senator from Massachusetts prepares to throw out the first pitch at Fenway Park last week, he ponders his long, illustrious career and coins the latest of our celebrity haiku. He is spartan in his implementation of the ancient Japanes verse and us Mass-holes love him for it. </span></em></div><p align="center"><em><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></em> </p><p align="center"><em><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Where the Hell am I</span></strong></em></p><p align="center"><em><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Who the Hell is the Black guy?</span></strong></em></p><p align="center"><em><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Mary Jo Ka-who?!</span></strong></em></p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">-Senator Edward Kennedy</span></em></p><p><em><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></em> </p><div align="center"><br /></div><div align="center"></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-78621141143708718902009-04-04T21:11:00.005-04:002009-04-04T21:42:24.148-04:00Poem of the Week, Vol.#46<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiblycm4i7kDHqv23ZrspsrsvQ2Poi3UgWgKSj-SRg51QUE2HSgrOOjyGDIW20Hmpjl9RXwn_sCyt1d2QLFz3inhlNHNjoZn2WTS_U94uOgOLa9jhga4kYOo_wJIYc2J96PnF-aBw/s1600-h/sb1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321009889872394866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiblycm4i7kDHqv23ZrspsrsvQ2Poi3UgWgKSj-SRg51QUE2HSgrOOjyGDIW20Hmpjl9RXwn_sCyt1d2QLFz3inhlNHNjoZn2WTS_U94uOgOLa9jhga4kYOo_wJIYc2J96PnF-aBw/s400/sb1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">(An old Chestnut. Reminds me of the time I spent in New Orleans)</span></em></div><div align="center"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center">The Irish Pig </div><div align="left"><br />'Twas an evening in November,</div><div align="left">As I very well remember,</div><div align="left">I was strolling down the street in drunken pride,</div><div align="left">But my knees were all aflutter,</div><div align="left">So I landed in the gutter,</div><div align="left">And a pig came up and lay down by my side.</div><div align="left"><br />Yes I lay there in the gutter</div><div align="left">Thinking thoughts I could not utter,</div><div align="left">When a colleen passing by did softly say,</div><div align="left">"Ye can tell a man that boozes</div><div align="left">By the company he chooses" </div><div align="left">-At that the pig got up and walked away.</div><div align="left"></div><div align="left"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">-Anonymous (a famous Irish author)</span></em></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-42379121765106678942009-03-06T19:29:00.005-05:002009-03-06T21:18:12.836-05:00Salad Days, Volume 56:"Exile on Chamberlain St."<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiED5ZdvanC2P59SSwICXAlbcs2w85I9dvkOxI3iocl8jo1MlPs7vcuL_hFFKc7fS9rbAMBlBwIdSkiLNpkhbs5OrjLzHDiBjoQa49bkqFNZv3KZ4Mz8nim9lf65Zcm3-zZ-udhrA/s1600-h/keefsign-700766.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310238705776429442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 375px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 379px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiED5ZdvanC2P59SSwICXAlbcs2w85I9dvkOxI3iocl8jo1MlPs7vcuL_hFFKc7fS9rbAMBlBwIdSkiLNpkhbs5OrjLzHDiBjoQa49bkqFNZv3KZ4Mz8nim9lf65Zcm3-zZ-udhrA/s400/keefsign-700766.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong>It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. The year was 1981, and me in my natuaral prime, had just left my parent's nest. I had established myself and my college career in the swanky, cosmopolitan capital of Maine, and was plying my academic acumen at the University of Maine in Augusta. When I say academics, I don't mean to lead the reader astray and imply I was actually going to classes. Nay, it happened to be more the case that I was actually skipping most of my classes. They were Art classes anyway, and, since Art is impermanent and all, I figured what's the big deal about actually studying. I had, though, met up with a couple of swanky babes at the campus, one Korean girl and one hippy-chick from Vinyl Haven, and we hit it off right away. We used to hang out and smoke Ginch, paint our paintings, draw our Charcoal sketches and ride around town on our bikes, wearing Berets and looking very Bohemian. I lived in a very old, 3 story appartment house on Chamberlain St. and was the only tenant. I had the big old house to myself. Unfortunately, the joint was very haunted by an old lady who apparently died in her sleep there years earlier. This according to the Granola girlfriend of my landlord. Anyhow, aside from that, and a Friday 8am Art History class, life was pretty good. I missed my old Homies in Newport, but if I skipped my Friday class, I could be drinking and jamming by supper time each Friday. The old lady ghost didn't make too much noise, excepting the occasional bump and squeak and I generally had the run of the place, blasting my tunes and mastering my domain.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>One paritcular Thursday afternoon, I had just returned from class, and was listenning to the radio. I was enjoying a nutritious supper of Kool Whip and Peanut Butter, right out of the bowl when WBLM announced that the Rolling Stones had announced an extra date for Hartford Connecticutt on their current tour. I knew the Stones were touring, but all the dates in the area were sold out. I had never, at that point, seen the Stones. They were the Holy Grail for an 18 year old Rocker. I had seen about every concert that had come to the area, but Mick and Keith had somehow eluded me. An extra date on the tour might just be my in. Now keep in mind this was 1981. There was no Stub Hub and no Internet. The only way a lone poor boy like me could get such Tix was through the local Ticketron, which was located across town. That would have been fine, except that 1981 was also before the time when I had Credit Cards or ATM cards. I had about $8.67 on me and my bank was back in the Hub, 60 miles away. The tickets were selling faster than shit through a tin horn and I needed to take immediate action. I called my most esteemed crony and band mate, Spot, and told him to saddle up, I'd be in Newport in a half hour. I stoked up the Death Mobile and off I went. I needed to get to my bank before it closed, and get to the Sears in Augusta before the mighty Stones sold out. How I was going to get me and ol' SPot to Connecticutt with my car and no funds I would figure out later.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>I put the D.B.'s 400 cubic inch engine to the test and soon was in Newport picking up Hughie and my cash. We skeedaddle back immediately to Augusta, blasting Exile on Main Street as loud as my 8-Track would blast...."</strong><em>Yeah, hear the women sighin', all down the line</em><strong>"...It was destiny. We would be seeing the Stones, the greatest show on Earth,the Glimmer Twins, Keef Riffhard, my musical hero. Nothing could stop us. Nothing, that is, except a State Trooper. A Sate Trooper, who coincdentally was my parent's next door neighbor, Duane. He unsentimenatally and uncerimoniously wrote me a big ol' ticket for speeding, 88 in a 65, I think. Worse than that though, he cost us precious time. Tickets were selling out rapidly as we waited there on the side of the highway. By the time we got to the Sears, the line was a big stinky phalanx of stoners winding all the way into the automotive section. The ticket office window was so far away, I could barely see it. Spot and I chewed our nails and waited with baited breath, hoping there would be two with our name on them. Alas, as you may guess, as we approached the window, verily the next hopeful customers in line, it slammed closed. The Stones were sold out. My disappointment was bitter.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>I learned a few valuable lessons that day. First, I hate cops, especially officer Duane, the un-neighborly bastard. Second, I needed a credit card. Third, I was wasting my fucking time in Art School. If I hadn't been at University dicking around, I would have been better prepared for the elementally important things in life, namely, like rabbing my bud' Spot and snatching up those fucking Stones tickets. My time would be far better served, it seemed, back in the hub, where my old band mates were handy, in case the urge to jam struck. Lesson four, I should never mix Kool Whip with peanut butter; I had a wicked stomach ache. So, withtin a very short time, I quit the college life and soon was plying my musical acumen with my old buddies</strong><em>..."too cool for school, too stupid for the real world...hey, I know, I'll start a band...</em><br /><em><strong></strong></em><br /><strong>Anyhow, to think I could have been working.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><div align="center"><em>"...you got to scrape the shit right off your shoes..."</em></div><em><strong></strong></em><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-67832551169587170882009-02-19T19:37:00.003-05:002009-11-14T18:36:39.188-05:00Joke of the Week 2/19/09<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhq0Uyi7ORaycBLZJs_EaeEIUxo5yJaSSGi4X5JfWarOLDqHO3AzbhN2WFKjHzmQavuuXRW57Dd8gsFgIIf6fxR9F1yGN0f8z8CBpXwOtsqOYZya7-jE8xyFPNf32HY1tuGmWWzQ/s1600-h/005w3D-14359084.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304672608663365954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhq0Uyi7ORaycBLZJs_EaeEIUxo5yJaSSGi4X5JfWarOLDqHO3AzbhN2WFKjHzmQavuuXRW57Dd8gsFgIIf6fxR9F1yGN0f8z8CBpXwOtsqOYZya7-jE8xyFPNf32HY1tuGmWWzQ/s400/005w3D-14359084.jpg" /></a> <div></div><div></div><div></div><div><strong>So there was this guy standing out in the front of Ceasar's Palace in Las Vegas. He had a big tin cup in his hand. He was shaking the cup and shouting to passers by, 'please sir or madam, my wife needs a critical heart operation. She may die if she doesn't have the operation. Please give any money you can'. The dude was actaually out in front of a Casino panhandling for money for his sick wife. So, eventually this guy comes up to him and says, 'hey Mac, how do I know you aren't going to take any money I give you and go right back into that casino and spend it on gambling'? </strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><strong>The guy looks him in the eye and says.....</strong></div><div></div><div><em>(wait fooooor it.....)</em></div><div></div><div><strong>'Oh, I already GOT me gamblin' money' </strong></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20360189.post-36595615031214488142009-02-19T19:15:00.001-05:002009-11-14T18:36:52.561-05:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVDNm8z2taH9pUWsZspPYLBNSDupyWhOVYMBGiiZhve7li2opm_ZhXZLq5yH5Lnww3Y_HdR0YkFMIUZs1nTCyAHPlO-60ti3N3evbdCJsklacolmAwB-odlvc1Knkx9TPlN79ug/s1600-h/0525a.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 295px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304667745249110626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVDNm8z2taH9pUWsZspPYLBNSDupyWhOVYMBGiiZhve7li2opm_ZhXZLq5yH5Lnww3Y_HdR0YkFMIUZs1nTCyAHPlO-60ti3N3evbdCJsklacolmAwB-odlvc1Knkx9TPlN79ug/s400/0525a.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"> Never let the Bastards Grind You Down.</div>bigfoot chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01210227820895428918noreply@blogger.com4