Happy F'in Easter...

Here you go, you Pagan bastards. This video warms the Cockles of my heart, stone cold as it may be:

http://one.revver.com/watch/18559/format/flv/affiliate/8401

That reminds me of another one...

I was at this cocktail party a few years back down in Boston. Famed MIT Professor Noam Chomsky was there. He comes up to a group of us talking and asks a friend of mine, 'what's your I.Q.'? My friend says, 'about 160'. 'Good', he says, 'I can talk Quantum Physics with you'. He turns to me and says, well what's your I.Q.'? I sez', 'it's about 120, I recon' '. 'Good', he says, ' I can talk World Geography with you'. He turns to the dude to our right and asks what his I.Q. was and the dude says, 'uh, about 75 or 80, I guess, why'? So Chomsky thinks real hard for a second and sez' to the guy,

'uh... Go Yankees' !

Joke of the Week:Canadian Idol Edition

Submiteed by my Canadian Humour Dept. Editor, 2D

A Newfoundland couple, both well into their 80s, go to a sex therapist's office. The doctor asks, "What can I do for you?" The man says, "Will you watch us have sexual intercourse?" The doctor raises both eyebrows, but he is so amazed that such an elderly couple is asking for sexual advice that he agrees. When the couple finishes, the doctor says, "There's absolutely nothing wrong with the way you have intercourse. He thanks them for coming, he wishes them good luck, charges them $50 and says goodbye. The next week, however, the couple returns and asks the sex therapist to watch them have sexual intercourse again. The sex therapist is a bit puzzled, but agrees. This happens several weeks in a row. The couple makes an appointment, has intercourse with no problems, pays the doctor, then leaves. Finally, after 5 or 6 weeks of this routine, the doctor says, "I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Just what are you trying to find out?" The old man says, "We're not trying to find out anything. She's married and we can't go to her house. I'm married and we can't go to my house. The Holiday Inn charges $98. The Hilton charges $139. We do it here for $50, and I get $43 back from Blue Cross."

GO LEAFS GO !!!

Salad Days Volume 14: A Three Hour Tour...

It was the best of times, it was the best of time, as old Chas. Dickens used to say to me all the time. It was, as usual, sometime int he mid-late 80's, and me in my natural prime, was living the life of Riley, since he was out of town. I was currently on temporary hiatus from my paying gig as stage hand on Uncle Frank's Rolling Thunder Revue and General Construction Company. I was enjoying the summer and, at the time, work seemed to be an inconvenience I temporarily could live without. My Ol' Uncle Frank was somehow stoic enough to plow on without me, and was taking the show on the road once again in the greater Chesapeake Bay, in East Bal'more. As Frank was want to do back in those days, he spent a good deal of week-end time cruising the boatyards trying to find that nautical gem of gems to take back to Maine with him. Fortunately, for the purpose of the story, on one of his weekend trips he found a lovely old wooden yacht: a 1957 Broadwater I think it was, 40 some feet long and just about as broad in the beam as a bull Elephant. It was a marvel of marine design and had spiffy bright work, tique decks and all. The price was impossible for Frank to pass up and before he had a chance to think it through, he had it bought straight out. Fair enough. Now how to get it home to Maine from Maryland was the question. Frank was currently in the process of building a Women's Clothing store in Gaithersburg, and was extremely busy bribing building inspectors and hiding illegal labourers and stuff. There was no way he could find the time to transport this behometh home.

That's where yours truly enters the scene. I was at the time, currently unengaged, as I said. I was enjoying some time at my summer retreat of East Mosquitoville with some family and esteemed cronies, licking salt and sucking lemons, contemplating the concept of doing this indefinitely, when the call comes in from Frank explaining his dilemna. A team meeting was immediately called and as all good ideas are generated from beer, we make sure plenty is on hand. In Vino et Veritas, as it were. My neighbor, Tom Hart, of the Hart seed fortune, erstwhile Navy Pilot and crack Welder, is the first to come up with what seems like such an obvious idea: the boat is too big and decrepit to transport by trailer. Why don't we drive it up to Maine by water? 'Brilliant', we says, 'except we've never driven a boat that big Tom and nobody knows how to read charts'. Tom says, 'no problem, I know how to read charts. All's I need is a crew'. Well, it just so happened my cousin I-Dog was up for the week visiting. He was young and able, and wasn't scared of dying yet. He was in. Then there was this kid with I-Dog named 'Plain Doughnut Bill' who was at least a warm body. He said he'd go. So of course I was in like Flynn, not wanting to miss the certain disaster that would ensue when Ol' Tom agreed to captain this dilapitated vessel, sight unseen, up the Inter-Coastal Waterway. Before we could think it through, it was agreed. We would transport the vessel by sea. ' A three hour tour..'

So somehow we make it to Kent Island Marina one fine Summer day on the mighty Chesapeake. All of us festooned in our duffels, baseball hats and cut off shorts, cases of brew under our arms, ready for Freddy. Frank gives the captain a quick run down of the craft, and after about an hour or so, the 'Bon Honny' was ready for her christening voyage. I will let my following entries as ship's First Mate narrate how the journy commenced. 'Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale...'

Day One: Kent Island- '...a tale of a fateful trip...' Well, as it turns out, 'Plain Doughnut Bill' is not actually a friend of Ian's. He's just a guy who lives near Ian, and is one of those guys who somehow gets himself invited to places by just hanging around being a pain in the ass. Ian told in me in confidence in the rest area men's room that's he's a first class weiner and an intolerable 'Dead-Head'. Well, that explains all his Dead cassettes and the bag of weed. Anyhow, we had to wait an hour and a half for the tide to lower so we could port the bridge leaving the Marina. Couldn't wait, jumped the gun, snapped of the radio antenna and scraped the roof of the bridge. Thank goodness Frank was already gone. Everyone relativelty sober so far. Nearly swamped at sunset by a very large Oil Tanker. By the time Tom noticed it, we were already plowing through its wake, shaking the Fuck out of the boat and soundly spilling my beer. Found a marshy bog to anchor in ner the head of the Bay. Crucified by the Fucking Mosquitos all night.

Day Two: New Jersey somewhere- Had to stop already to pick up more beer. Boy, the salty sea air makes a man thirsty. It turns out 'Plain Doughnut Bill' IS an intolerahble pain in the ass. Fuckin guy keeps singing 'Fire, fire on th Mouuuuuuntain' over and fuckin' over again. Tom and Ian are getting a bit impatient with him, but we are all enjoying the trip, as long as the beer holds out. Somewhere near Atlantic City a channel collapsed and the boat totally lodged up on a big-assed mud bank. We had to literally get out and push the boat while Tom, the captain navigated up there like a king. I don't think the bastard can actually read charts; I think he's faking. I wonder if there's such a thing as seas leeches.

Day Three: Long Island Sound- 'The weather started getting rough...' Well, this is great. The rudder is broken on this old beast. Were stranded out in the middle of nowhere, with no way to steer. Tom comes up with a solution: We rip out the galley table. I hold on to Ian's belt, hanging him over the port side. He holds the table, I hold him. The boat goes along, listing to starboard for a few thousand yards, then, on signal, Ian stabs the table into the water bringing us back a'port a while. We go on like this most of the morning, until a Lobster boat comes and tows us into the nearsest marina. As we're waiting, we pass through a giant school of Jelly Fishes, and Bill amuses himself by trying to snag them with the Zebco fishing rod he brought with him. 'Fire, fire on the mouuuuntain'. Dipshit.

Day Four: New York City- Well, $120 later, Tom bought and repaired the part, a rudder pin or some shit, and we're back under way. Pass into the harbour in the late afternoon, and it's splendid. Never seen a busier harbour, except maybe Annapolis, but that didn't count since they were mostly little sail boats. Dodged major cargo ships and got to see the Long Island Ferry. Ian and I had our picture taken in front of the Statue of Liberty wearing our Beer-Serving baseball helmets. Classic. Passed up the East Side of Manhatten, through a piece of water called Hell's Gate, or some shit. Sounds promising. Boy, you'd have to pay me serious walking around money to swim in this harbour. Talk about pollution. Beer supply getting seriously low. Meet Frank in Hartford tomorrow.

Day Five: Connecticutt River/Wethersfield- 'If not for the courage of the fearless crew...' 'Well, good news, bad news. Good news is Frank, Gene La Francois and some boys met us at the Wethersfield Marina and re-stocked us with the essentials: banjo strings, flour, gunpowder, vaseline, beer, more beer , swisher sweets, etc. We will be good to go for the remainder of the trip. Bad news was that Frank also dropped off his soon to be erstwhile girlfriend, B.B. LaPinch, who wanted to enjoy the rest of the trip with us. Now, I've never really bought into the sailor myth that a women on board a ship was bad luck. However, in this case, I was willin to entertain the notion. The sooner that she became ol' Frank's ex-girlfriend was not soon enough for me. Or that's how it felt at the time. Maybe it was just because I was tired of Plain-doughnut Bill singing Dead tunes ad infinitum. Besides, how could luck get anty worse?

Day Six: Open Ocean- I discovered what 'Sea Swell' are. Sea swells are what you call big mountains of water, maybe ten or twenty feet high, that slowly and painfully ebb and flow, sickeningly, over and over, until you feel like barfing. You know that feeling you get when you get to the top of the stairs at night in the dark, and accidentally step into thin air? Or when you drive over the crest of a hill too fast and your stomach jumps in your throat? Well, extend that over a whole day and that's what sea swells feel like. One second I'm looking at the Coast of Rhode Island, the next I'm looking at hills of water. Nice. My only solace is that Frankme's honey is hanging over the port side, greener than a fern, ready to barf.

Day Seven: Cape Cod Canal- 'The ship set ground on the shore of this uncharted desert Isle...' We pass through Canal uneventfully. Get to the North shore near sunset, but seas too rough to travel for our craft.

Day Eight: Cape Cop Canal- Seas too rough to travel, have to wait until tomorrow. Frank's woman is getting greener. 'Fire, fire on the Mountaiiin'.

Day Nine: Cape Cod Canal- Fuck it. I've had it. I'm getting a Cape Cod Bus Lines shuttle back to Boston ASAP. I knew having a Dame on board was bad luck. Ian, Tom I'm sorry. Bill, B.B. sy-o-fuckin-a-ra!

Day Ten, Eleven: Boston- Spend the weekend at the Ames Plow Tavern and then catch a Greyhound to Bangor, Maine. Arrive at 10:30pm, a bit hungover, worse for wear and tear, laughing to myself.

Day Twelve: Bangor, Maine- Meet the crew at the Municipal Marina. Frank's woman is gone, but Tom's best buddy Barry has taken my place as First Mate. What the fuck, over? Any way, I'll be God-Damned, they made it. Frank got his beautiful 40 something foot, tique decked Broadwater up to Maine safely, and nobody got killed. I guess Tom could read charts after all.


I calle Frank later that week, and he got me back on thae road working, so I could re-raise some of the money I spent on the trip. He asked me how things went and I answered honestly, 'Fuckin' Great'. Hey nobody got killed, Frank got his boat, and I got a chance to learn how to read charts, though I never did. As I hopped into the company van, getting ready to go back on the road, thinking over my last couple of weeks, I said to myself, literally out loud, 'shit man, to think I could have been working'.

Writtren Drunk to be read drunk.

To read more 'Salad Days', click on 'Salad Days' below

From The Old Stone Cross

William Butler Yeats (1865 - 1939)

A statesman is an easy man, he tells his lies by rote.

A journalist invents his lies, and rams them down your throat.

So stay at home and drink your beer and let the neighbors vote.

Celebrity Haiku, Vol.#18: Spring Training Edition

私は最もよい beyocthes によ



ってストン示す私に moula をで



ある Red Sox を愛する



-Daisuke Matsuzaka

Go Red Sox; Yankees Suck.

Last Ice Fishing of the Year 3/24/07

5 Things you'll do at Camp that you'd You'd Never do at Home

1. Make a distinction between 'breakfast beer' and 'regular beer'.

2. Buy Swisher Sweet cigars, when perfectly good cigars are right there next to them on the shelf.

3. Completely neglect your toothbrush and floss for 2 whole days.

4. Go to bed with the same pair of wool socks you wore in your boots (okay, I do that one at home sometimes).

5. 4 Food Groups: Bacon, Onions, Lil' Debbie's, and Beer.

5a. Did I mention Beer already?

Man, was that ice mealy. Never have I driven a snowmobile and left a water wake. Good time, good Togue, good Trout, good God, let's eat. Next trip, I am wearing my waders and standing in the water waving a stick.

BFC

So Much Great Music - So Young, The Year

I have to be honest, last year it was pretty hard coming up with a top ten, never mind a flippin' top twenty CD's.
This year has already lay witness to a pleathora, nay a cornucopia, nay a veritable shmorgasboard, nay a shitload.....well.... you know what I'm driving at. We have already seen the following contenders for "album of the year" with a mere 9 months left of 07.

The Shins - "Wincing The Night Away" : The third release from James Mercer and co. putting an exclamation point on that musical hatrick.

The Arcade Fire - "Neon Bible": Hype? Only time will really tell.....but while you're waiting for this wine to age to see if it turns ..... right now it's going down pretty sweetly.

If you like Big Star (and who doesn't?) and Cheap-Tricky power-pop goodness . . . the two latest releases from The Broken West - "I Can't Go On, I'll Go On" and Grand Champeen's "Dial T for This" are two EXCELLENT examples of everything that is right with indy rock.

Ladies? Perennial Faves Patty Griffin and Lucinda Williams have very strong releases this year as does "The Innocence Mission with "We Walked In Song" a number one contender if there ever was one. If you are not familiar with the Innocence Mission . . . you need to remedy that pronto tonto!

It's too early to tell if Modest Mouse have topped themselves with their latest release, but if you've heard the single "Dashboard" and it isn't stuck in your head . . . well... then you haven't heard it.

From the great Uncle Tupelo, The Son Volts and The Wilcos will duke it out for musical superiority this year releasing "The Search" and "Sky Blue Sky" respectively. What I've heard of "Search" is pretty good, but I have to give it to the soul-stirring Wilcos with their best release since "Being There".

I've also heard snippets from forthcoming discs by Fountains Of Wayne and golden voiced Grant Lee Phillips, both showing lots of promise.

If none of these do it for you . . . there's always that "Chinese Democracy"

I am Sparticus!

'I am Sparticus '... 'No, I'm Sparticus' ... 'No wait, I am Sparticus'...

Well, all you loyal readers of SBL#178 know that I've been following closely the trials and tribulations of Brittany and K-Fed over the last year or so. I had really thought that Brit was over Kevin and was getting her shit together. Then the news broke last month of her latest rash of 'peculiar' behavior in the public eye. As you now know from the tabloids, the over-rated entertainer, erstwhile Mousekateer and pole-dancer, evidentally in a meth induced jaunt with her harlot homey Lindsay Lohan or something, had caught an express train to Crayzee-Towne and, amoung other things, shaved her head and checked herself into rehab in Malibu. Big suprise, right?

Well, today, a mere month later, on the radio news, I was giddy to find out, she was checked out of this chi-chi drug rehab 'resort' totally cured. Must be a miracle. I'm sure whatever problems she had going on were mostly acute. Obviously, the girl doesn't have any issues or anything, right?

Got me to thinking, though. As you readers may know, I happen to work in the Human Services industry, or the 'helping' professions. It's my job to counsil folks in their times of trouble, just like Brit has been wallowing in recently. When families in the State of Maine are in need of social services, it's up to good decent liberal types like me to provide services at a bloated and inefficient cost, paid for by the taxpayers. As you probably also know, as astute observers of current events, the State and Federal Gub'mint is trying their level best to save money on these mportant services by eliminating them or relegating them to faith -based programs, i.e. free or cheap. Given Brittany's recent breakthrough in treatment, however, I have an idea for Jim Beougher, now in charge of reforming Maine DH/HS. Instead of paying knuckleheads like me to prolongue and perpetuate reliance on the system, why not cut our positions and send all the poor bastards to that place out in California Brit went to for a speedy and complete treatment. Sure it'll cost a bucket of money at first, but shit, ONE MONTH: I can't compete with that. Hey, 50 million celebrities can't be wrong.

I'm sure Brit would agree.

Somewhere in Cootersville La., K-Fed sips the sweet wine of vindication.