Thursday, December 21, 2006

Everybody's got something to hide
Except me and my monkey

You know what?

I could do this...




Gimme your daughter
It's alright

Don't you love lemony fresh scent?

I know I do.

Hubcap diamond star halo

Let's just keep it going, shall we?

As a treat for those people who check here every day from work, desparately bored or procrastinating, or both, hoping that there will be a new post... something, something, looking for anything to take them away from what they are supposed to be doing... what they are being paid to do.

This is a treat for you, slackers.

They're checkin' it, checkin' it, and they face the door of their office or cubicle, so that someone coming to the office door can only see the back of the monitor. It looks like you're working, but you're really just reading this blog, with your hand on the mouse, brow furrowed, looking like you are really absorbed in that spreadsheet.

Dude knows the score.

Hey, when was the last time we showed you Eva Longoria's ass?

Too long. Too long, indeed.

(((((Right now, you better hope your monitor is facing away from that office door, because you are going to look like an ass for reading this at work. Guess I should have told you that earlier. One of these days, I'll get the hang of this.))))))

In case you missed it, I have a role, alongside my friend Dave The Wave is the upcoming Adam Sandler-Jessica Biel movie. We play the names on the door of Jessica Biel's non-profit law firm.

I smell Oscar.

I do.

Or maybe I smell mustard.


That's the funniest thing about it, certainly funnier than Adam Sandler.

He's borderline retarded.

For real.

You know what I want
You know what I need

Still here, waiting.

Riding out the last waves of Thursday.

Thursday is cool that way.

Thursday can take over the game in the fourth quarter.

Thursday separates the wheat from the chaff, the men from the boys.

But Friday...

Friday is like honey dripping slowly, languidly, pooling in the melted butter on your toast, and when you crunch into it, you inhale deeply and thank God for inventing bees and deciding that those ornery, little things should build their little hexagonal honeycombs.

Friday, you saucy tart.

Rock on gold dust woman
Take your silver spoon and dig your grave

First, Happy Birthday to my sister, Liz. Rock out with your cock out, girlfriend.

I'm waiting on Quagmire, soon to be known as Dr. Quagmire. Wait. He already has a Master's and a PhD, so he already is Dr. Quagmire.

But when he gets his M.D. can we call him Dr. Dr. Quagmire?

I don't know, and I don't really care. For the next 7 days, he is Doctor Doctor.

Gimme the news.

I figured out a couple new songs on guitar while I was (am) waiting, "Gold Dust Woman," and "Personal Jesus," which is a Depeche Mode song, but I am doing it the Johnny Cash way because I do not own a synthesizer, nor, sadly, eyeliner and black, clunky boots.

So, anyway, they're done, they're down, and we'll probably knock 'em out on Christmas over at Bells'.

Hey, this is how we spent last Christmas. ((Click me, homeslice. Don't worry, it'll open in a new window, and y'all can come right on back here to see what I've got goin' on.))

Anyway, Merry Christmas, duders.

Thanks for stopping by.

This picture is what prompted me to post. I wish I could say it was mine, but it came into my email box from a reader, T. It is a forwarded thing, and supposedly, it was taken in Alaska.

But who cares?

Look at this:

That's a Golden Eagle.

Badass, dude. Seriously badass.

Look at it!

Pretty awesome.

Hey, I got that helmet cam for a Christmas gift.

It straps on the top of my snowboard hemet and records video onto a 2 gb memory card. All I have to do is hit the button on top of my head and do something worth filming.

That's pretty badass. Maybe not Golden Eagle badass, but badass nonetheless.

(((How many times have I typed "badass?")))

Another good thing is that I got myself a new set of wheels and it has Sirius Radio.

I'm back in Stern's filthy womb and enjoying the all-rolling-stones-all-the-time channel which is one channel below Howard. That's as far as I have gotten, but it just might be all I need.

Anyway, take your silver spoon and dig your grave, fools.

I'm out.

Bacon grease.

I've been sitting, waiting, wishing

that I was at Winter Park, Colorado today.

Instead, I am "enjoying" another frigid, sunshiney day here in SW Montana.

I was spoiled by last year's epic, record snowfall here, and I know we will get ours in due time. That still does not stop me from cursing the high pressure system that has been parked over Gallatin County, diverting all those Seattle storms to the North and South of here.

Nonetheless, bitching about the lack of snow was not the reason for this post.

The reason was the chunk of swiss cheese I refer to as "my brain."

See, I thought Quagmire was flying in yesterday at 11 p.m. Turns out, it is today, at 11 p.m.

He and I were speaking on the phone about his final exams, his trip, the snowcat adventure, and little details, like "what are you wearing... oh,that's hot." As we were winding up, I said alright, dude, I'll see you at 11!

Thankfully, he was alert, and said, "Uh, dude, I am coming in on Thursday."

Had he not caught on, I would have been sitting outside the airport until well into the night last night.

So, yeah... me = idiot.

Get your goose on, people.

Peace and bacon grease.