I'm wasted again
Passed out, don't know where I am
I'm so wasted again
Blacked out, don't know where I've been or who I am
The following is a guest blog from Jimmyboy.
Jimmy was here in March.
We had a blast.
He has guest blogged before.
He's got carte blanche to ramble here any time he wants.
So, without further ado, a day in the life of Jimmyboy, way Up Nort' in Wisconsin.
I have gone back to my days of extreme weight lifting in the mornings and added some waddling that I call running also. Four miles this morning. I'm fucking fat! Marley loves it. Dr. visit went good. He told me I was extremely obese. Then he asked what I thought good shape for me was. I told him I was 206 and cut a couple years ago. He stated that for my height, that weight is still slightly obese. Fucking Idiot. I know they're not all that stupid, but where is the common sense for some of them?
On a lighter note, here is something that you and your lackeys don't have to deal with on an every day basis. Last week Marley (my dog) shows up with a deer leg in his mouth. No big deal, this happens all the time out here in the country. I take it away from him, toss it back in the woods cause I'm lazy and hung over that day (that really seems to be a theme with me).
A couple hours later I notice fruitcake dog chewing on something in the yard again. You guessed it, deer leg. By this time he's got all the hide chewed off and half of the hoof devoured. So I says to myself, "Self, No harm, No foul".
Three days later, there he is again chewing on a fresh venison leg dejour. This time I get smart. Take the leg, dig a hole and bury it. Case closed right? I'll make this as anti-climatic as possible. Yesterday, he brought me another delicious leg.
So, I'm at the point where I say fuck it. There's gotta only be one more, unless it was a three-legged deer. (Which are not as uncommon as one might think.)
Well this has seemed to go from an email to the Dude informing him of my rotundness to a guest blog.
Now some of you may be thinking "Gee, when a canine eats a part of a deer they will forever chase said deer". Well, my friends, if you stated that you could not be mor far off. That is an old wives tale passed on though many generations. I single-handedly have debunked this theory with many a test subject.
So, since we're on the subject of wildlife... Two weekends ago was my season I drew to hunt turkey's here in wisconsin. I ended up sending in for a party tag with two of my friends.
We head down to my parents house where I grew up. Hunt Thursday morning with no luck. Then hunt Friday morning and my buddy gets a Jake (a jake is an Immature male turkey). So everything is good so far. It's noon on Friday and we have to go to the local tavern to register this turkey.
In Wisconsin, when you harvest a deer or a turkey during there select seasons you have to register them with the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources. Now these registering stations are primarily at local taverns. But there are a some also at gas stations, DNR stations, and USFS ranger stations.
In my home town it's a Bar, and the guy who shot the bird has to buy at least one beer for everyone else. Now keep in mind that we got up at 4AM, have not eaten a thing, hunted till noon and are now at the bar.
The beer tastes good, but come on... when doesn't it?
We have one there then head down to the other bar down the street which a friend of mine has bought recently. In there, the time flies. My friends look more and more tired and I'm drinking two to their one while talking to a couple old friends about what everyone in the town is up to now.
Before I know it it's five, and one of my old friends has to go 20 miles to another town and pick up his girlfriend's dog. My hunting partners say that they are tired and are going back to clean the bird and rest.
I say screw that. I grab a six pack and ride with my old friend to pick up the dog. We get the dog and head back to the bar. When we get back to the bar I'm fading a little and I can feel it. But damn it, I've got staying power, I know I do.
So what do I order up? One RedBull and Vodka please. That always works. After drinking three large ones, my parents and buddies show back up. This is great. We can stay out, drink more and I'll have a ride home. That is one of the last things I can remember.
I woke up the next morning in my underwear, in the pasture next to my parents house. My legs are all cut to shit, one of my knuckles feels like it's broken. I've got a huge scrape on my cheek and my jaw is really really sore. I deduce that my legs are scraped up from getting stuck in the barbed wire fence. But I can't figure anything else out.
I head into my parents house and ask my dad where everyone is? Did they go hunting without me? He then proceeds to tell me that I was throwing food in the house, I tried to beat my hunting buddy up and they had gone back home.
I have no recollection of any of this. I am not a violent person, and I competely flipped out. Roid rage maybe? That would be plausible if I had ever taken them.
I think Jimmy just needs to lay off of that sweet nectar called red bull. I am still learning more and more about what happened. Some of it is kinda funny now that it's a little far removed. I have no clue how my face got road rash on it. My two buddys still have not really talked to me. I can't blame them.
Everytime I ate the next week my jaw and teeth hurt, which tends me to believe that I took some pretty good shots. Maybe I'm a gamer and don't have a glass jaw.
The best part is picturing myself in only my underwear all tangled up in a four wire barbed wire fence.
Anyway, I stayed sober for an entire week after that. The following week, I fell of the wagon and somehow my shoelace got snagged on the aforementioned wagon, which proceeded to drag me around all weekend.
Do I have a drinking problem? Yes. My drinking problem is I can't drink booze. When I drink booze i'm an idiot. My environment chooses for me to drink beer and lots of it.
Besides, it's fishing season here in Sconnie (that's slang for Wis-con-sin) and I'm married to that more than my wife.
Damn, Jimmy.
I told you... stay away from the red bull and heart attack, my friend.
Kid can write, though, no?
We here at the Dude Abides are very proud of our guest bloggers.
And, damn... are we bringin' the content this week or what?
Jimmy was here in March.
We had a blast.
He has guest blogged before.
He's got carte blanche to ramble here any time he wants.
So, without further ado, a day in the life of Jimmyboy, way Up Nort' in Wisconsin.
I have gone back to my days of extreme weight lifting in the mornings and added some waddling that I call running also. Four miles this morning. I'm fucking fat! Marley loves it. Dr. visit went good. He told me I was extremely obese. Then he asked what I thought good shape for me was. I told him I was 206 and cut a couple years ago. He stated that for my height, that weight is still slightly obese. Fucking Idiot. I know they're not all that stupid, but where is the common sense for some of them?
On a lighter note, here is something that you and your lackeys don't have to deal with on an every day basis. Last week Marley (my dog) shows up with a deer leg in his mouth. No big deal, this happens all the time out here in the country. I take it away from him, toss it back in the woods cause I'm lazy and hung over that day (that really seems to be a theme with me).
A couple hours later I notice fruitcake dog chewing on something in the yard again. You guessed it, deer leg. By this time he's got all the hide chewed off and half of the hoof devoured. So I says to myself, "Self, No harm, No foul".
Three days later, there he is again chewing on a fresh venison leg dejour. This time I get smart. Take the leg, dig a hole and bury it. Case closed right? I'll make this as anti-climatic as possible. Yesterday, he brought me another delicious leg.
So, I'm at the point where I say fuck it. There's gotta only be one more, unless it was a three-legged deer. (Which are not as uncommon as one might think.)
Well this has seemed to go from an email to the Dude informing him of my rotundness to a guest blog.
Now some of you may be thinking "Gee, when a canine eats a part of a deer they will forever chase said deer". Well, my friends, if you stated that you could not be mor far off. That is an old wives tale passed on though many generations. I single-handedly have debunked this theory with many a test subject.
So, since we're on the subject of wildlife... Two weekends ago was my season I drew to hunt turkey's here in wisconsin. I ended up sending in for a party tag with two of my friends.
We head down to my parents house where I grew up. Hunt Thursday morning with no luck. Then hunt Friday morning and my buddy gets a Jake (a jake is an Immature male turkey). So everything is good so far. It's noon on Friday and we have to go to the local tavern to register this turkey.
In Wisconsin, when you harvest a deer or a turkey during there select seasons you have to register them with the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources. Now these registering stations are primarily at local taverns. But there are a some also at gas stations, DNR stations, and USFS ranger stations.
In my home town it's a Bar, and the guy who shot the bird has to buy at least one beer for everyone else. Now keep in mind that we got up at 4AM, have not eaten a thing, hunted till noon and are now at the bar.
The beer tastes good, but come on... when doesn't it?
We have one there then head down to the other bar down the street which a friend of mine has bought recently. In there, the time flies. My friends look more and more tired and I'm drinking two to their one while talking to a couple old friends about what everyone in the town is up to now.
Before I know it it's five, and one of my old friends has to go 20 miles to another town and pick up his girlfriend's dog. My hunting partners say that they are tired and are going back to clean the bird and rest.
I say screw that. I grab a six pack and ride with my old friend to pick up the dog. We get the dog and head back to the bar. When we get back to the bar I'm fading a little and I can feel it. But damn it, I've got staying power, I know I do.
So what do I order up? One RedBull and Vodka please. That always works. After drinking three large ones, my parents and buddies show back up. This is great. We can stay out, drink more and I'll have a ride home. That is one of the last things I can remember.
I woke up the next morning in my underwear, in the pasture next to my parents house. My legs are all cut to shit, one of my knuckles feels like it's broken. I've got a huge scrape on my cheek and my jaw is really really sore. I deduce that my legs are scraped up from getting stuck in the barbed wire fence. But I can't figure anything else out.
I head into my parents house and ask my dad where everyone is? Did they go hunting without me? He then proceeds to tell me that I was throwing food in the house, I tried to beat my hunting buddy up and they had gone back home.
I have no recollection of any of this. I am not a violent person, and I competely flipped out. Roid rage maybe? That would be plausible if I had ever taken them.
I think Jimmy just needs to lay off of that sweet nectar called red bull. I am still learning more and more about what happened. Some of it is kinda funny now that it's a little far removed. I have no clue how my face got road rash on it. My two buddys still have not really talked to me. I can't blame them.
Everytime I ate the next week my jaw and teeth hurt, which tends me to believe that I took some pretty good shots. Maybe I'm a gamer and don't have a glass jaw.
The best part is picturing myself in only my underwear all tangled up in a four wire barbed wire fence.
Anyway, I stayed sober for an entire week after that. The following week, I fell of the wagon and somehow my shoelace got snagged on the aforementioned wagon, which proceeded to drag me around all weekend.
Do I have a drinking problem? Yes. My drinking problem is I can't drink booze. When I drink booze i'm an idiot. My environment chooses for me to drink beer and lots of it.
Besides, it's fishing season here in Sconnie (that's slang for Wis-con-sin) and I'm married to that more than my wife.
Damn, Jimmy.
I told you... stay away from the red bull and heart attack, my friend.
Kid can write, though, no?
We here at the Dude Abides are very proud of our guest bloggers.
And, damn... are we bringin' the content this week or what?
posted by Joe at
9:21 AM
2 Comments:
LMAO - See above, sounds like you need some education!
jimmyboy:
I keep on telling you
I tell you some more
You better leave that junk alone
And drink water.
Lord, that liquor's hot
Drink water.
You don't want to be a sot.
You better lay down the bottle
And put on the top
And drink cool H2O.
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