Happy Birthday T-Bone !!!

I'll never forget the day you were born brother. Everyone's attention was off me for what . . . like three hours or something? It was weird . . . but kind of a cool break. Cheers to the most discriminating of all Van Doggens. BFC . . . how the feck am I going to spell Van Doggen correctly without umlauts? Hmmmm? Could you see about getting some umlauts please.

Verb That's What's Happenin'

"I can take a noun and bend it, make it a Verb and really send it..
Oh, I don't know my own power, I get my thing in action"

I caught myself 'Verbing' the other day; you know using a word that's not a verb and using it like a verb. For example, Olympic Skiier Bodie Miller failed to 'medal', but the Snowboarder, Seth what's'is'name from Maine did 'podium'. Anyway, I generally hate when people verb, because it sounds so trendy, but there you go, I 'verbed'.

It think it happened for the same reason I sometimes say 'prostrate' instead of 'prostate', or sometimes talk like Snoop Dogg (beeyotch), and frequently call people 'dude'. I start out trying to be funny, or ironic, or sarcastic, but now I really do say 'prostrate' when referring to my ass area, and I constantly 'dude' people, which I would find exceedingly annoying, if someone 'duded' me. Either way, I guess it could come in handy. At work, for example, if I am having difficulty 'staffing' a shift, I could 'network', or 'conference', or if things got really heated, our team could 'process' about it. Keeping in touch with friends could also be easier. I could just 'text' them or 'instant-message' them. As long as that didn't 'wierd' them out.

So I guess I'll keep on 'verb'-ing...... Right, "uh, Jack, could you please light".... thank you.

Weekly Celebrity Haiku Vol.#34

I'm Movin' on Up

To a DE-Luxe Appartment

Dumb Ol' Honkey

-Sherman Helmseley

If You Lived Here, You'd be Drunk by Now

Bigfoot chester,89, taunts college

coeds from the front porch of his

Orono Maine Estate

Hey college boy, would'ja please turn that shit down? I got'yer M and M right HERE! Hey, what're you looking at? What'cha gonna steal my ten-speed like your Dad did 20 years ago,you freakin' Diaper-Dandy?! Hey asshole, you like waitin' in traffic? Hey, Isaac Fuckin' Asimov, YOU signed up for a class on Friday afternoon, not ME. Hey Britt'ney Spears, is that your ass or two puppies playin' under a blanket?.... HaHaaaa!... Yeah, keep joggin', you friggin' freak. God Damned Dead-Heads. Hey fashion tip, Pot-Head: Patchooli went out of style in the 80's...HE-looo!!! Hey, can you Pu-Leeeze take that cell-phone off your head?!...Nice tatoo there toots!

Hang on, my Gibley's and Tonic is empty, I'll be right back. Man, I love livin' on Main Street.

Peace out, Bigfoot

The Results are in from the exiting, first ever monthly UPGL#178 music poll. The top ten Desert Island Discs, as of this second, are (drum roll please):







Exile on Main Street- The Stones
Mushwell Hillbillies-The Kinks
White Album-The Beatles
Fisherman’s Blues-Waterboys
Ramones
Never Mind the Bollucks it’s the Sex Pistols
Colossal Head-Los Lobos
Naked City-John Zorn
Randy Newman Songbook, Vol #1-Randy Newman
Imperial Bedroom-Elvis Costello


Imput was pretty meager, so if your favs weren’t represented, shut your pudding hole and e-mail jack@totallyout.com with YOUR favorite records of all time. This list can easily change from week to week..

J.O.T.W 3/22/06

Hey remember, back when, you used to like to blow Bubbles?

Yeah, well 'Bubbles' is out of the Joint. He's back in town, and he wants your number.

Dooh!!

A View from a Slippery Slope

Sung to the tune of Crosby Stills Nash and Young’s ‘Almost Cut my Hair’:

Almost trimmed my beard
Happened just the other Day
It was getting Pretty plain
‘Coulda said it looked kinda’ Gay….

One of the deadly side-effects of getting into ’Sufferin’ Bastard Middle-Age’ is the unsavory propensity to grow or fuck around with one’s facial hair. You know what I’m talking about. Everybody’s grown a beard before, if not on purpose , then at least by attrition. But what I’m talking about is the intentional manipulation of your manly facial hair to look more young or hip or fashionable. We’ve all done it, or toyed with it, at least. But my advice to you is to say that it is a slippery slope my friend, a slippery slope.

Here are some examples:


The Mustache:

When you start growing a ‘cookie duster’, it is so easy to over-groom, thus leading to ridiculous displays of facial anomalies, like, 1) Magnum P.I. Mustache, 2), Porn-Star Mustache, 3) the David Niven, or worst, of all, 3) Gay-Guy Mustache . If you’re trimming, you’re falling into one of these categories.

Goatees:

Unless you Want to look like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo (Rooover heeere, Raaaagy), don’t even fool with Goatee. It is NOT cool. It is, for the middle-aged guy, the facial hair equivelent of a ‘comb-over’. A goatee may look cool when you’re 25, but not when you’re 45. A double no-no is the old ’shaved head and a goatee’ look that seems to proliferate these days. Face it dude, if you’re bald, shaving your skull and growing a goatee is not going to change a thing. You’re just bald and lame. Uncle Sam you are not.

Van Dyke:

A desperate cry for help, the Van Dyke is neither mustache, nor beard, nor Goatee, but a bastardization of all three. It is personal grooming gone amock. If you are seriously considering a Van Dyke, consider buying a Corvette, because you, my friend, are having a mid-life crisis. The mere time it takes to maintain an effective Van Dyke would stop any sane man from considering it. The desire to grow a Van Dyke is directly proportionate to a man’s male pattern baldness. Again, don’t do it, my friend, don’t do it.

Beards:

Beards are fine and Beards are beards, best kept for hunting camp and slothful days of Winter. But again, when you start ‘trimming’ your beard, you inevitably end up looking like either Abe Lincoln, or any Amish guy you might see in Pennsilvania. Grow a beard, but don’t start fooling around with it. It’s a slippery slope, Abe.

Bottom line: grow facial hair for only one reason: because you are too Fucking lazy to shave and you don’t care what you look like. Anything else probably means you are a ’Poofta’ (Nooooooo Poooooftaaaas!).

Hey, I'm just sayin'

BFC

Celebrity Haiku of the Week

Mizlflender..Giflmizn, c'garette...

Mick, Charlie, Bill...Great times man...

Altimont...somthing...gryzl,mif


-Keith Richard

Red Sox Reprise 2006

I just realized that I've been doing this blog for a while now, and I haven't even mentioned my beloved Red Sox. It occurs to me my Grandfather, Pa Hennessy, must be turning over in his urn by now. To wit, here is a republished account, originally penned into 'Tales from East Mosquitoville...and Beyond', on October 27, 2004:

For the first time in 86 years, for the first time since the Wright Bros. took to the sky in Kitty Hawk, for the first time since Doughboys fought Facism in the muddy battlefields of Europe, after the Great Depression, after the advent of the Nuclear Age, after three generations of Americans watched with painful anticipation, the Boston Red Sox have won the World Series and are champions of the baseball world. I repeat...the Red Sox win the World Series.

Now take a deep breath and look around...the earth is still rotating on its axis. Fields of locusts aren't ravaging the Midwest. There seem to be no signs of the Apocolypse on the horizon. So let's think about this for a minute. In 1918, the Boston Red sox beat the Cubs in the World Series, their fifth at the time. The Star Spangled banner, which wasn't even our National Anthem yet, was sung for the first time at a baseball game. The Sox were the most formidable force in th American League.

The next year, the Sox owner, needing money for a lame Broadway show he was producing ('No No Nanette, I think it was), sold the contract for his star pitcher Babe Ruth to the Yankees of New York. Since then, the so-called 'Curse of the Bambino', coined by lame sportswriter Dan Shaunessy, has vexed the loyal fans of the Olde Towne Team. Many years the Sox were so close to winning it all with Hall of Fame players like Speaker, Williams, Raditz, Pesky, Yaz, Pudge, Freedy Lynn, Buckner, El Tiante, Spaceman Lee among the littany of memorable names. Always so close, but always snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.

Each time Sox fans were brought to the brink. Each time they vowed that next year would be their year. Like Syssaphus, in the Greek myth, cursed to forever roll a boulder up a hill only to have it roll back down to the bottom at near climax, the fans had snatched from them the joy of a championship, like Santa had snatched back the G.I. Joe with the Kung-Fu Grip, just as you openned it Christmas morning. Even in my lifetime, witness the tragedy: 1967, Captain Carl almost singlehandedly brought the Red Sox to the big dance, only to have Bob Gibson annihilate them in the end. In 1975, the Red Sox on the brink, were saved in the 12th inning, early one October Boston morning, by a homer of the left foul pole by by Carlton Fisk, in the most highly watched baseball game in baseball history to date. The next, and deciding game, of course, they lost. In 1978, a schedule anomily forced a 1-game play-off to decide the American League East. The Sox had a 14 -1/2 game lead in August, but let it slip and slip, until, a diminuitive 2nd baseman named Bucky Fuckin' Dent homered off Mike Torres and dashe our hopes again.

In 1986, on the pitching arms of Ratchet Roger Clemens and Oil Can Boyd, we were one out from a World Series clinch when an injured and hobbling Bill Buckner, who was, in my opinion, a fine a player as there was, and in NO position to be in the game as injured as he was, could not come up with the play at first and Mookie Fuckin' Wilson scampered home. The rest is misery.

In 2003, the Bean-eaters brought the Yankees, the Fuckin' Yankees, to the brink, into extra innings, when again a dolt from no-where named Aaron Fuckin' Boone took a Ttim Wakefield knuckleball deep into the Bronx stink-pit and the Yankees go on and lose in the World Series to a most infinitely beatable Florida Marlins team, usurping our hopes again.

But THIS year, something happened. Down 3-0 to the same evil and dreaded Yanks, the Sox, visited by some sort of miracle, beat the Bronx Boners in 4-straight games. Talk about your Heimlich Maneuver. Took it to them, right in the Bronx. The American League Championship was ours. At this point, even with the World Seies yet to play, I knew the curse was lifted. Destiny was about to be revealed.

In four straight games against the St. Louis Cardinals, the most formidable line-up in the majors, so they said, came up, and four straight games they sat back down. T-Bone and I got out the special expensive hootch and poured a couple of glasses. We got out the 'more than $2' cigars we had prepred for the unlikely occasion. I thought of my old Paba, who would have loved to see this, and took a healthy swig of some really good Polish Vodka.

"Ground ball to Faulke, he stabs it, he has it, underhands to first, and the Boston Red Sox have won baseball's World Chamionship. For the first time in 86 years the Boston Red Sox have won the World Series. Can you believe it"?!

Ahem,...my cigar please.

March Seventeen, Two -Thousand Six

"Yo' Snakes, this

is Our House"!

May those who love us, love us.

May those who don't love us, may God turn their hearts.

And if he doesn't turn their hearts, may he turn their ankles,

So we may know them coming by their limping!