Worst Mom Ever

This story really is one of the worst I have ever heard. An accident, I'm sure, but still. People who believe that kids should be learning abstinence instead of learning about birth control options should really be forced to read this article and/or talk to this "mother":

Teen Mom Arraigned in Horrific Baby Death at East Harlem Shelter

Friday September 22, 2006
by Adam Goldman
Associated Press Writer


NEW YORK (AP) -- Four-month-old Niah Ford should have been sleeping in a crib. Instead, her teenage mother after swilling gin put the baby in her bed at their East Harlem homeless shelter.

The decision cost Niah her life. The infant fell into a bucket filled with vomit, water and cleaning solution that was next to the bed.

Savarin DeJesus, 18, was arraigned Friday in Manhattan Criminal Court and charged with criminally negligent homicide and endangering the welfare of a child.

"I loved my baby. I want you to know that," a weeping and visibly shaken DeJesus told the judge during the brief hearing.

The criminal complaint filed against DeJesus revealed more details about the horrific case, and what DeJesus was doing in the hours leading up to Niah's death.

DeJesus told a NYPD detective that she had a date on Sept. 15 and left the infant late that night in the care of a person living at the shelter.

During the course of the evening, DeJesus drank a 20-ounce soda bottle that was filled half with soda and half with gin, according to the complaint.

The next day, at about 3:40 a.m., she returned to the shelter stinking of booze and retrieved her baby. A few minutes later after chatting with some residents of the shelter and smoking cigarettes, she took Niah back to her room and changed her clothing and diaper.

That's when she told police she felt sick and vomited into the bucket next to the bed. She then laid down on the bed and passed out, clutching Niah's legs.

When she awoke between 2 p.m. and 2:30 p.m., DeJesus found the baby's head inside the bucket that contained about six inches of liquid. The baby was taken to the hospital where she was pronounced dead.

The cause of death was either asphyxiation or drowning, according to the medical examiner's office. The complaint said the baby smelled strongly of alcohol.

It's not clear if the shelter, called the Fox House, had a crib. A spokeswoman with the city's Department of Homeless Services was trying to determine if the shelter had one available and whether an investigation had been launched into whether the shelter had followed appropriate guidelines.

On Friday, DeJesus' lawyer told the judge that Niah's death was unintentional.

"She loved her baby and would never hurt her," Kenneth Gilbert said.

Gilbert said DeJesus had no criminal record and was taking antidepressants in the wake of Niah's death.

He said his client, who's from Staten Island, was living at the shelter so she could be closer to the baby's father.

DeJesus was being held on a $1,000 cash bail or $3,000 bond. Gilbert expected her to be released Friday.

Associated Press Writer Sam Maull contributed to this story.

Losing Wisdom

Finally, about 15 years later than I should, I have made an appointment to get my wisdom teeth out. So, fill yourself with all of my wisdom now, because as of October 13, 2006 the wisdom will be yanked out and replaced with stitches, gauze and pain killers.

In a possible bit of bad planning (if you are a superstitious type) my appointment making went something like this:

Me: Hi, I'd like to make an appointment to get my wisdom teeth removed.
Dental Office: OK, do you have a date when you would like to do that?
Me: I was thinking of October 13th
D.O.: OK, how about 10 o'clock?
Me: Sure. That sounds fine.
D.O.: And do you want local anesthetic, nitrous or IV drip anesthetic?
Me: Ooh, I didn't know I had a choice ... I think knocked out. You think that is my best bet?
D.O.: How many teeth?
Me: All four and a couple of them are in there pretty good.
D.O.: Well, probably go with the IV, the knocked out option. You just need someone to pick you up after.
Me: OK. Well, then let's go knocked out style.
D.O.: You can always let us know if you change your mind.
Me: Great.
D.O.: So, I guess that's it. We'll see you Friday, October 13th at 10am.
Me: Friday the 13th ... I didn't think this through very well. Friday the 13th probably isn't the smartest choice for something like this.
D.O.: And they call 'em wisdom teeth.

It's All In The Genes

+ =

Not Able To Get The Job Done

How embarrassing is it to get hired to kill a 51-year-old nurse, be armed with a fairly fool-proof weapon and still wind up getting strangled to death? Embarrassing!

Worst. Hired killer. Ever.

Police: Strangled 'Intruder' a Hit Man

By ANNE M. PETERSON, Associated Press Writer

PORTLAND, Ore. - When Susan Kuhnhausen returned home from work one day earlier this month, she encountered an intruder wielding a claw hammer. After a struggle, the 51-year-old nurse fended off her attacker by strangling him with her bare hands.

Neighbors praised the woman for her bravery, and investigators said they believed the dead man -- Edward Dalton Haffey -- was burglarizing Kuhnhausen's home. But after an investigation, police now say the intruder Kuhnhausen strangled was apparently a hit man hired by her estranged husband -- Michael James Kuhnhausen Sr. -- to kill her.

The 58-year-old husband was taken into custody Thursday and charged with conspiracy to commit murder and attempted murder. He was ordered held on $500,000 bail.

Haffey had worked as a custodian under Kuhnhausen at an adult video store, according an affidavit filed by the Multnomah County District Attorney's office.

Kuhnhausen and his wife were in the process of getting a divorce, and she told officers "her husband was distraught about the divorce and wanting to reconcile but that she was insisting on the divorce," the affidavit states.

A background check showed Haffey had served lengthy prison terms for conspiracy to commit aggravated murder and convictions for robbery and burglary.

Inside a backpack Haffey left at the scene was a day planner with "Call Mike, Get letter," scribbled on the week of Sept. 4, the affidavit said. Michael Kuhnhausen's cell phone number was jotted on the inside of a folder, it said.

An emergency room nurse who lives in a southeast Portland neighborhood, Susan Kuhnhausen arrived home on the evening of Sept. 6 to find Haffey coming at her with a claw hammer.

She was struck in the head and wrested the weapon away, but the struggle continued and Haffey bit the nurse, according to police. A large woman, she was eventually able to get the slight Haffey into a chokehold and police later found him dead in a hallway. An autopsy revealed the cause of death as strangulation.

Police say she acted in self-defense.

There was no sign of forced entry into the home, but according to the affidavit, Susan Kuhnhausen offered an explanation for the lack of evidence of a break-in: Her estranged husband had the security codes for the home's alarm system, and would have been able to disarm it.

Michael Kuhnhausen denies any involvement, the affidavit states.

Susan Kuhnhausen was out of town attending a nursing conference and did not immediately return a phone call seeking comment.

She left this message on her voicemail: "I'm not able to answer all the calls that I've received in the past few days. I'm being comforted by your concern and your support. I want you to know that our lives are all at risk for random acts, but more likely random acts of love will come your way than random acts of violence."

It Isn't Breaking The Rules If The Comments Come From Someone Else

I made a little rule for myself to stop writing about Rachael Ray anymore, because (a) it just gives her more exposure that she doesn't need or deserve (b) it's not very nice and (c) watching her drives me nuts, and to get material I would have to watch.

Today, I'm on the computer and my wife is watching Rachael whip up some 30 minute meals. The comments coming from behind me were too good to not put on record. During one 30 minute show, here are some comments my wife made that almost took away the pain of Rachael's annoying voice pumping abbreviations and alliteration into my ears. I couldn't have said it better myself:

God, your ass is getting huge!

Of course you can, look at your fucking gut.

What is wrong with your boobs!?

Rachael: I put butter and cheese on lots of things.
WJR's wife: Like your toothbrush?

Obviously, rules are made to be broken.

Almost Genius

So, Supernova has a new singer and my prediction wasn't quite right. Almost a genius, but not quite. Lucas Rossi is the guy. I only missed by one, though as Dilana came in second.

Here's another prediction. Actually, not a prediction, but rather more of an opinion stated: Supernova sucks. The guys in the band may be good and may be famous, but the two songs I have heard are average as hell and boring as hell. All show, the guys are telling the potential singers, "You need to bring the rock" but they aren't following their own advice. They are bringin' jack shit. Fucking blah.

Starts The Meal Off Right

I caught a commercial for the exciting new appetizers at T.G.I. Fridays yesterday. Just seeing the SIZZLING TRIPLE MEAT FUNDIDO -- A combination of sizzling cheeses blended with pepperoni, Italian sausage and bacon. Served sizzling with warm breadsticks for dipping -- makes me feel like shitting in my pants.

And if that wouldn't do it, the CRISPY GREEN BEAN FRIES (fried green beans) and FRIED MAC & CHEESE certainly would finish me right off.

Sort of Back

Well, my computer is back from round 2 of its fix-o-rama. Hopefully this will be the last. Now I can start blogging about all the awesome shit I have been doing/witnessing/thinking.

[cricket chirps]

[cricket chirps]

[cricket chirps]

Rain Issues

Dear umbrella users,

When you have an umbrella held over your head, please realize that you need to increase your distance from others. With an umbrella you need more than your usual shoulder width to get by others. You'd think this would be obvious, but my whole walk home today I had umbrellas jabbing me in the head, the face, the arm, etc. It's fucking annoying having little, metal umbrella spikes jabbing at you. And just to let you know, I'm not against punching your umbrella so it smacks you in your own head or even ripping it from your hands and crushing it into a useless tangle.

Thanks.

Oh, and this goes with extra emphasis to the ladies. I know you are used guys lifting their umbrellas higher so you don't have an umbrella collision which is very nice and all, but although I am as chivalrous as them, I don't use an umbrella (because they are fucking useless) and I have not yet figured out a way to disconnect my head and raise it out of the way of your umbrella. So until then, keep your shit away from me.

Sincerely,
WJR

(Attempted) Dancing Queen

In the song Clint Eastwood by Gorillaz one part goes:

Rhythm

You have it or you don't that's a fallacy ...

Well, I went to see Better Than Ezra last night and after watching the girl and guy in front of me (they weren't together, it was all chance), I can say with confidence that the Gorillaz had that wrong. These two had zero rhythm. Zero.

I noticed the guy off to my right pretty much immediately, trying to sort of dance and clap and whatnot. Total spaz. Off the beat, pained look on his face, bumping into others, etc. The girl, the real issue, was right in front of me. Alarmingly close on occasion. She was spinning around, facing away from the stage, hunching over and really looking retarded. A few times I wasn't sure if I was about to be smootched on the lips or knocked out by a flailing arms. She was madness. Now, I don't normally make fun of anyone's dancing as I'm no pro, but this girl was a combo of Axl Rose when he does that sidewinder dance, a one legged stripper, Elaine from Seinfeld and a penguin.

I tried to get a photo, but it was just too dark. Photo or not, it was not pretty.

Mr. Morning

I love when the first word out of my mouth for the day makes me laugh at my own prickishness.

I was on my way to subway via rollerblades this morning around 5:40am. It's barely light, I'm bordering on late, I'm fairly sleepy (if you know me this means "not wanting to talk") and I'm rolling along at a pretty good clip. A guy on a bike is coming the opposite way and does a quick U-turn so he is heading the same way as me, obviously ready to ask something stupid or tell me his B.S. story that he has been rehearsing all night or if nothing else, mess up my momentum and "me time". As I come up on him and roll on by we have this brief yet enjoyable exchange:

Bike guy: Hey buddy, can I ask you something?

Me: Nope.

Putting the Art in Fart

So, it looks like we have all the submissions that we are going to get in the "draw my parasite" contest. Surprise, the usual suspects were all involved. In my book, all submissions were quite delightful and I think everyone is a winner. You may think otherwise (especially the bitter artists). Nevertheless, let's look at the submissions (click on the long URL for the art in motion) --

Toole's:

http://admin3.imaginationatwork.com/LaunchPage?aFileType=&_nolivecache&aDrawingID=20060813_081408703_1832726033_usa



Meg K.'s:

http://admin3.imaginationatwork.com/LaunchPage?aFileType=&_nolivecache&aDrawingID=20060816_081340701_987522782_usa
Editors are advised that due to a technical glitch during the sending of the art, the text within the picture and the caption did not post. She was saying "Oh my, I just love it here in Bill's butt. I'm going to stay forever!" and the caption was "Beautiful, but deadly"


Lozo's:

http://admin3.imaginationatwork.com/LaunchPage?aFileType=&_nolivecache&aDrawingID=20060812_213255437_1560507130_usa
Editors are advised that due to a technical glitch during the sending of the art, the text within the picture did not post. It should read, "I am here to destroy Bill's poop!"


Last but not least ... AND it should be noted the first submission -- done before this was even a contest. Meg C.'s:
http://admin3.imaginationatwork.com/LaunchPage?aFileType=&_nolivecache&aDrawingID=20060720_135250291_1859462958_usa


Feel free to discuss / critique / judge.

Buzz Worthy

Newly joined up to the Netflix world, I have been hunting their archives of crap as to fill my brain with even more useless quotes, plots and other pointless brain clogging material. This is my favorite movie synopsis yet:

Killer Bees
When a truck crashes in a small town, releasing a torrent of angry killer bees, it's up to the sheriff (C. Thomas Howell) to convince everyone they're deadly -- but no one except a local beekeeper believes him. And wouldn't you know it? The bees have arrived just when the town's abuzz about the annual Honey Festival. Tracy Nelson (daughter of 1950s icon Ricky Nelson and sister of the hair-band duo Nelson) co-stars in this made-for-TV thriller.

It could be so bad it's good, but somehow I am guessing it is so bad it's shit. Perhaps I will someday get the balls to watch it, but so far, I just can't do it.

Totally Crossed Out

Last night I went out for a few frosty beverages with my old roommate. First stop was B-Side.

Who was DJing? David Cross. I first saw the sign outside and figured it must be some other David Cross. I mean, why would David Cross be hanging out in the same dumpy place as moi? And as long as I'm asking myself questions, why even bother with a DJ at this place? Either way, as it turns out it actually was the actor/comedian David Cross. I'm not much of a celebrity junkie and even when I see a celebrity, I never say anything or make a big deal, but I still like it.

I generally don't see (or perhaps it's just that I don't recognize) many "famous" folks, but Cross is the third person from Arrested Development I have seen at random. I once saw Kitty Sanchez on 52nd Street, between 6th and 7th Avenue. Then I saw Buster Bluth in L.A. And now I can add Tobias Fünke to that random list.

Although these cast member siteings are nice, I would still prefer it if I could spot them once a week in full character on my TV like I used to be able to before Fox wrecked it for me.

You Should Be In Art School

Dave has made his own rendition of my parasite:


See it being made here.

Dave does this, not just to create a tribute, but rather because he has an DNA-based issue that forces him to make everything a competition. In this case, he wanted to flex his artistic muscle in an attempt to prove that he is better suited to document the moment than Meg is. I'm not so sure I find myself in agreement that his creation is better, but I suppose art isn't really something that can be judged. Especially computer art of something microscopic.

Thanks for the effort though. Anyone else that feels like making an artistic tribute or being a competitive art dork, feel free to create something (here or otherwise) and e-mail it to me.

Last Stop ... America

I bet we see ya in L.A. or N.Y. very soon, Beckham: http://cbs.sportsline.com/soccer/story/9596952

You too, Posh ... I guess.

Health and Vitality

I have run across this supersized infomercial on i (formerly known as PAX) a couple of times recently. I think it is 30 minutes (maybe more?) and formatted like a news program. Everyone is very serious. Very serious about clean colons. It's fucking ridiculous and slightly gross, yet somehow I can not look away from the horror. I think they have one for another ailment too, but this is the one that fascinates me the most (of course).

This is the guy who is the colon "expert":
He's all business. He makes a lot of awesome faces and hand gestures to show how serious dirty colons are and how expert he is.

Is a clean colon the secret to health and vitality? The expert seems to think so.

I still haven't actually hung around long enough to figure out what the hell this infomercial is promoting. I'm guessing from the conversation I have witnessed is that it is something that makes you shit out everything you have inside you -- probably even vital organs. When you do, you may or may not make this face:
Keep an eye out for it.

Speaking of shitting, I've had some inquiries of my parasitical status. Well, I feel better, thank you very much. However, before you get all "hip, hip, hooray" on my ass, I am still not 100% cured. I have to have some more testing done (probably this week) to see if the parasite has been killed by the medication I was on, or if it has just gone into temporary hiding. Apparently parasite are sneaky and rather resilient.

On the parasite note, my co-worker Meg made me this artistic tribute to my parasite on GE's very entertaining Imagination Cubed site: See the painstaking process of making this here.

Although this may very well be an accurate portrayal of what is going on inside of me, I don't care for the smile and carefree attitude that parasite has one bit. Little fucker!

Mad Hatter

Dear gal at the post office,

You are not at The Kentucky Derby. You aren't at a polo match. You aren't even at a fancy hat wearin' funeral. You are at the post office in Jersey City. You were having trouble seeing the guy behind the counter because the brim is so big. That hat is not only unnecessary, it's retarded.

Sincerely,
WJR

PS I've never seen someone involved in such elaborate (aka never-ending) mailing in my life.

Always Excuses

I know I haven't posted in fucking forever. I also know most of you don't give a fat shit. Actually, more importantly, I realize there isn't really a "most of you" except for A.P. who seems to have gotten so disgusted that he has given up on insulting me and my blogging.

That said, I'll let you know what my problem was/is. First my computer which I only purchased in February died. After two weeks, a new logic board, camera board and disc drive, it was once again ready for action. Unfortunately, this exciting action has been delayed thanks to a lack of internet connection (thank you Time Warner).

So, someone is coming to fix this shit on Thursday but I have just made the realization (without even trying) that my neighbors signal floats into my computer, so I am now sort of online until then.

So, that is my pathetic attempt at an excuse. Welcome back, me.

Rage Against The Paycheck

It must be nice to have seven figures dangled in front of you and be able to turn down: Audioslave over?

Seven figures = $x,xxx,xxx. Fill in each "x" with whatever digits you want and I think it is safe to say I'd take it ... doing almost anything.

U-S-A! U-S-A!

"I'm so happy I made it to the semi-finals of the Miss Universe Pageant, I could just shit! There, that feels better. Yes!"

Next Time I'll Get It To Go

Last night, I decided to enjoy a little burrito action at Chipotle so I cruised down to the location on St. Mark's. I got a seat at the counter by the window which normally makes for some interesting viewing while munching solo.

Not this time.

I had some St. Mark's urchins having a makeout fest on the steps right below me. It's about a thousand degrees, the stairs are dirty as hell, they're dirty as hell ... fucking unappetizing to say the least.
He's not gonna pork her, Russ.

Scat-tastic

Scroll right on past this if you aren't interested in bodily functions. More specifically, my bodily functions. Even more specifically, shit.

As you may have read, I'm having a battle with a parasite or I guess parasites. My good friend AP, who likes to see me in discomfort thanks to a history of errors committed by me at his expense (e.g. being a Yankees fan, busting up his knee, letting my iguana crap on his bed and sweatshirt), inquired about the testing procedure to determine what is attacking my innards:

Tell me you had to submit a sample of your poop to make the diagnosis. Please, please tell me that.
-AP

I will tell you. Yes, the basic procedure did involve poop samples. I had to scoop some poop into three separate vials that had some sort of mystery liquid inside. Fill to line on container, shake, bring to doctor, make joke with doctor about carrying shit around with me in my backpack, wait for results. Luckily for you, AP (and those of you who were curious, but not gross enough to ask), I anticipated such inquisitive concern and snapped some photos documenting the at-home procedure. No actual poop scooping photos, but photos nevertheless:

Here's me prepped for the unpleasant scooping task
(contrary to popular belief, summer heat does not help the situation).

The tubes waiting for their precious cargo.

Done and done. Gross and gross.
The best part is that I get to repeat this procedure again a few weeks after I finish the medication I am on to see if I killed my enemy. This time though it is just two vials instead of three. You are invited to help if you want. If not, don't worry. I'll keep you updated.

Microscopic Stowaway

After some trips to the doctors and various tests, my doctor has determined that while in Honduras, I managed to pick up some internal fun in the form of a microscopic parasite called Blastocystis hominis. Despite not being thrilled about this, I am at least pleased that I now have some reasoning for being so sluggish and sleepy as of late. My favorite part about this is that nobody seems to really know how to treat it. Medication has been prescribed, but it doesn't always work. Plus I can't drink while on it (and that's why I'm not starting it until Sunday). Fucking parasites!

Anyway, for all of you who like to say things to me like "Why can't you go on vacation somewhere normal?" or "What, are you to good for Cape Cod or Disney World or Toledo, OH?" or whatever it is you say to me when I go to such "strange" places, I guess this is where you can say, "I told you so."

Thanks.

Drinking and Bouncing

This weekend I am heading upstate for a friend's birthday party that should be filled with cursing, boozing and lots of immature behavior. To make certain this is the case, there is going to be a keg and a bouncy bounce. By the way this friend is turning 30. I think his neighbors are going to love it.

I had this conversation with my wife the other day:

Wife: What's the story with Tom's party this weekend? Is it a barbecue or catered or just whatever?

Me: I don't fucking know. All I care about is that there is going to be a bouncy bounce.

Wife: You're going to have to keep it under control after you get some drinks in you.

Me: It's a fucking bouncy bounce.

Wife: Well, let's make sure that Frank The Tank doesn't wind up in the bouncy bounce, OK?

[crickets]

Wife: OK?

Me: Hmmmm.

Three Enter

Everyone who ever stops over at my apartment always seems to have to comment on how my fish tank is filthy or green or gross or whatever. Geeez! So much judging. Get off my case.

I would clean the tank once in a while, but being near the window makes the algae grow with the quickness, so it was sort of an uphill battle. The fish didn't seem to mind so, whatever. I didn't find it to be that huge of a crime for things to be a little cloudy.

To those of you who love to bust my balls, take a peak to the left. The tank has been cleaned. That shit is clean! Also, a new air pump has been installed, so hopefully it will stay that way a little longer than usual.

Recently, my two goldfish, Blackie and Chompers died (not due to the water cleanliness -- the coroner's report has cleared my name), so today, I went out and picked up three new friends. As you can see I like to keep my fish tank diverse. All races live in harmony.

So, presuming these three idiots survive the night, they'll need names. This is where you come in. I'm looking for suggestions. I'm not guaranteeing your suggestion will become the legal name of one of these fish, but perhaps if you have a good suggestion, and the board approves it, you will be able to go to sleep at night with the warm, fuzzy feeling inside that you can only get from knowing that a fish that you named is swimming around a tank in my apartment. Now wouldn't that feel nice?

Ride The Lightning

"I woke up and blood was coming out my ears."
Lightning Strikes Teenager Listening To iPod

Ouch.

Know H2O

Dear terrorists,

Bomb tunnel, flood city? Really? Let me let you in on a little physics secret: water generally does not flow up. It's true. Sure, blowing up the Holland Tunnel would make for a major mess -- death, traffic issues, mental issues with tunnels, etc. -- but flooding the Financial District it would not. The river sits below the land here in NY, just like it probably does where you live.

Oh, and in the event that the Financial District did flood? We own these things called pumps. They suck the water out of an area that has water in it and dumps it somewhere else (like back in the river). It's amazing.

Thanks for being such idiots.

Sincerely,
Me

Did I Go To Sleep in New York and Wake Up in Mississippi?

When did New York become part of the Bible Belt?

New York Court Rules Against Gay Marriage

How fucking embarrassing.

Rock On

Just a quick prediction on the winner of Rock Star: Supernova. It was quite a turdfest week one, with singing from some that was bordering on sounding like something that I could produce with my ass.

Predicting after one showing is a bit tough, but I'm going with Dilana Robichaux. Maybe it won't work out, but at this point, she was the only one that sounded good, worked the crowd, catered to the band /judges and fucking rocked it.

Another prediction ... Jill Gioia won't make it to the end, but she will wind up in Playboy. Or at least Maxim (which will probably be way more skanky than Playboy).

It has been spoken.

Canadians Do It Best

Someone got here today searching for canadians fucking dogs

Just any ol' body fucking dogs isn't enough? They need to be Canadians?

Happy 4th

I'm not a big fan of this clown, but I wanted something "American" to post and I found this in a hurry. I figure there's not much more American than red, white, blue and camo (and God knows you don't want to see me dressed like this).

Happy 4th everyone. Happy birthday U.S.A.

Everything in a Machine

A friend of mine sent me a link to this page a long time ago: http://www.photomann.com/japan/machines

Sometimes I really wish I had access to an egg vending machine.

Privacy or No?

Hey Britney! Hi. How's it going?

I remember back in March when you said in an interview, "In the future, I will refrain from discussing my private life in interviews." That was funny. Then just a couple of weeks ago (June 15) when you were shooting the shit with Matt Lauer you said that you wanted the paparazzi to leave you alone and that you needed "privacy" and "respect." Sure. Makes sense. You are entitled to those human rights I suppose.

Well, I'm not judging you. You can do as you wish, but just to let you know, this sort of magazine cover stunt doesn't exactly take the spotlight off you or inspire the paparazzi to get bored of you.

I swear. It's true.

Flat Bride

I was going to post this photo anyway, but after getting a negative comment on a photo that has had me laughing for days, I knew that I had to post it in an attempt to redeem myself. My thinking here is that perhaps if scat-based humor isn't going to work, perhaps some bride trampling will.

These ladies are participating last week in a promotion goin' down in Times Square for WE tv's, Bridezillas. They are negotiating a frosting filled, wedding themed obstacle course to win $25,000 towards their upcoming nuptials. Funny enough right there if you ask me, but take a closer look at the photo. Click on it to make it bigger if you must. They all look nuts as can be, but the highlight is that there is definitely a trampled bridezilla down on the ground in the back. Not just down, but face first, limbs all over the place DOWN.

She's not winning shit. I just wish I was there to see it in person.

Drink With Those Who Do Not Judge

This past Friday evening, I had a work "outing" to attend. Work outings generally consist of some sort of brief meeting then an attempted game to build team camaraderie and then the thing that really seems to build team camaraderie -- boozing.

So, after about 6 hours of open bar, snacks and lots of talking about absolutely nothing, I head from Jersey City towards home. A former co-worker calls when I am about 20 steps from my door, telling me she is out just 10 short blocks away. I am certainly ready to call it a night, but am I smart enough to know this, or admit to this? Hells no! So, I stop in my apartment for a quick urination break and head back out again.

Saturday after I woke up and watched some SpongeBob I did a little recap of the night and quickly came to realize that I was pretty F'ing drunk by the end. I was able to IM my former co-worker about the latenight meet up, concerned that maybe I had been a disaster in front of her friends and boyfriend (all of whom I had never met before). The answer reveals that I hang out with the right people to keep me looking good ...

me: How retarded was I on Saturday night?
former co-worker: ha. I was so drunk I didn't even notice. I thought you were sober
me: Sweet.

I'm Taylor Hicks!

"I love shitting my pants in public. Check it out!"

Notable Quotable - Phil Style

I finally got to see the Pantera "Behind The Music" in its entirely the other day. My poor ass doesn't have cable, but one of my more upscale friends was nice enough to record it for me and I just finally got the VHS drop. It was a good one indeed. Sad for certain with the Dimebag shooting and all, but overall it was the kind of rock story that makes watching "Behind The Music" worth viewing -- rock, struggle, drugs, touring, boozing, breakdowns and death.

Phil, as is so often the case had some classic quotes, running the gambit of emotion and mental diagnosis:

Unbalanced?

"I guess not everybody that goes to a rock show or a heavy metal show is going there to get their nose broken, ya know a lot of people want to watch.

And I wouldn't allow it.

If I didn't get what I was demanding out of an audience I guess, I became furious."

Humble?

"Any free time I had I would start something that would turn into something awesome."

Confident?

"Don't underestimate the kid. You're fucking crazy if you do. And I AM the kid."

Peep the Pix

So, here are some selected photos from the Honduras escape. You can click on the photos for a larger view if you feel the need. I hope you like them, but even if you don't, I don't give a shit. Kidding. Of course I care about all of my readers and what they think. Always.

Let's go ...

This first photo is stop number one on the trip. The town is Copan Ruinas and the place is Casa de Cafe Bed & Breakfast (highly recommended). We had a nice little room with a nice little hammock just out the door that I made good use of.


Here's what I do best on vacation. This was about 5 minutes after we checked in. You can't beat a comfortable hammock with a good view.


Take a good look at this one. This is my wife. She has many rules about not ever appearing or being mentioned on this blog. This was an approved posting although I have full confidence that this decision could be reversed at any moment. Anyway, here is a photo of my wife with some green parrots. This looks like tons of fun going on, but is actually moments before the birds start getting a little too friendly and a look of panic crept onto her face:


This is a little travel buddy aptly called Witch Duck (notice the hat and cape). Here Witch Duck is meeting a new friend, Copan Cow.


From the country, we move to the beach. More specifically, the island of Roatan. This shot is from happy hour at the aptly named Sundowner. So nice. So delicious. It's in Half Moon Bay, conveniently located right near the place I was staying.


The sun sets on Half Moon Bay.


Possibly my greatest nature photo ever. Well, the camera did most of the work, but shit ... those little hummingbirds are fast so I get some credit.


This is me feeding a very tame toucan. If I was getting a pet and had the choice between a dog and this bird I may very well choose the bird. It was great.


Witch Duck again! This time beach bound. Sunscreen my little friend. Sunscreen.


This guy loves his job. He'd come out everyday with a goofy smile on his face and just drive along, fluffing up the beach at West Bay. I have serious thoughts of becoming his apprentice.


So very hard to celebrate 6/6/06 with Dave Matthews Band playing at the restaurant downstairs. Fuckin' Dave Matthews! So un-metal.


Here are two geckos doing the nasty. You never see the Geico gecko do that. My wife tried to tell me that they might just be cuddling. No way. If there is one thing I know, it's reptile sex. These two were humping.


Another day winds down at Half Moon Bay:


Guard dogs on the roof? I don't know how they got their asses up there or how effective a guarding tactic this is, but they certainly liked to bark. See how toucans are better than dogs?


This photo is another of my wife. This photo is not authorized, but I think it is great, so I am including it.


The end.

Quotes From Vacation

Sure there were many, but these two were within the first few days and I think really show how the brain goes from worrying about stupid shit like work, bills and the world's demise to absolute nonsense with the quickness:

I don't know where this conversation even came from, but it is nice to know that Toole's love for The Price Is Right stays with us even on vacation. Just for the record, the Burbank Airport is named after Bob Hope:

Wife: Is LAX the only airport in Los Angeles?
Me: Well it's the main one, but there is Long Beach, that's where Jet Blue flies. Also, there is one in Burbank. I think it is called the Ronald Reagan or Bob Barker or something like that.
Wife: [silence].
Me: Wait that's not right. I know it is named for someone, but Ronald Reagan is in DC, and there is no way the airport is named after Bob Barker. He's not even dead yet.
Wife: Well if Mike Toole was in charge it would be.

As an intro here, I will just say, that at every meal up to this point, I had some sort of cheese. Every meal.

Wife: (with package of cookies extended my way) Have another cookie.
Me: I don't want one. All I'm doing is eating fucking cookies.
Wife: No you're not ... you're eating cream and cheese too.

Back

I'm back from my R&R. It was great. Honduras was the location -- hot, cheap, relaxing and full of all things non-home. I'll post some photos soon (actually, the Time Warner fix-it crew is supposed to be fixing my internet connection in a little bit, so it will probably happen after that).

I find one thing that vacation always insures is meeting or at least encountering people from all over this crazy planet. That's great. It's always refreshing to meet other people in the same vacation state of mind you are. We met some interesting folks from Ireland, Canada, New Jersey and elsewhere. However, vacation or not, people are annoying more often than not, so I tend to get quite a nice list to hate. Vacation hating isn't really hate. It's just my special way of saying, "That guy/gal certainly is annoying." Sure, it isn't fair to judge an entire group on the actions of one, but I really don't mean it like that. I wouldn't judge a whole group on one person, but shit, I like to curse and a little internal, personal humor is fun. Plus, I hate more than just people. Here's my list (that still comes to mind) from my 16 days away from home: Fucking French. Fucking Texans. Fucking departure tax. Fucking Spaniards. Fucking Mario. Fucking security. Fucking Canadians. Fucking dogs. Fucking Italians. Fucking Bostonians. Fucking Southerners. Fucking locals. Fucking Flight 93. Fucking hippies. Fucking Israelis. Fucking birds. Fucking Fidel. Fucking sunburn. Fucking roosters (it's not even light out yet!). Fucking Brits. Fucking AnneSophie. Fucking New Yorkers (ya can't get away from 'em). Fucking lack of smoking ban. Fucking Argentineans. Fucking pork rinds. Fucking missionaries. Fucking Germans. Fucking Russian planes. Fucking etcetera.

Escaping The Grind

Not that you would really notice anyway, thanks to the lack of posting 'round these parts as of late, but yours truly is going to be not posting for a little bit thanks to some vacation. I'll be gone for a bit, but upon my return, I will return with photos and magical tales of land, sea and air adventure.

Culture Upgrade?

This past weekend I got myself a little cultured for once. I went to a Broadway show. Fancy, no?

I saw Avenue Q. It was the 2004 Tony Awards winner for Best Musical. Fancy.

In actuality, despite the musical aspect of it, I'm not sure it falls into the culture category. It has puppets in it which is sort of the lower end of the culture spectrum to begin with and these puppets curse, drink and have sex. It's certainly no Les Miserables in the eyes of most.

Nevertheless, I'm putting that down as culture.

Peep-N-Sheep

On the way home from work today, stopped in Ricky's for some hair dye (just in case). The woman in front of me in line is buying the following:

(1) 4 piece Little Bo Peep costume - something like this.
(1) box of 12 Trojan Twisted Pleasure condoms.

Total cost $84 and some change.

I have the feeling that sheep is in for the night of his life.

Chalkboard Grades: Art = A; Spelling = F

Long time no post ...

Well, here is something I saw on my way to Jeremy's Ale House last night that motivated me to get back on the blogging wagon:

Customer Service and Motherly Advice

I just got off the phone with one of my credit card companies. I had a question about my account. Things went smoothly and wrapped up nice and quick, just the way I like phone calls. The end of the conversation went a little beyond the usual financial talk:

Credit Card Lady: Is there anything else I can do for you today?
Me: Nope. I think that will do it.
CC Lady: OK, well happy Mother's Day.
Me: Oh, thanks. [pause] You too.
CC Lady: Thank you. Now go call your mother.
[Click]

The Wit of The Stadium

Last night, I went to one of the worst baseball games I have ever seen. Definitely the worst I have ever seen in person, and this includes T-Ball. The game was Yankees vs. the hated Red Sox. For the Yankees, it was a fiasco of horrible pitching, shitty fielding and a lack of hitting. Awful.

Despite this shit storm on the field, and the annoying fucks from Boston around me, it was fun. Plus I had a couple of overpriced beers and a hot dog, so that makes the night better than average. Here are three things I overheard that gave me a laugh.

Outside the stadium before the game, by the big bat (where everyone loves to meet their friends -- including me) a woman walks by. On the way into a stadium that is slowly filling with 54,000+ people. She says, "Why is it so crowded?"

Next, was some guy behind me who had the genius to switch the nickname of David Ortiz a bit for his own enjoyment. Instead of Big Papi, this guy was yelling, "Ortiz! Big Poopy! Big Poopy!"

My favorite, was later in the game. I was in the bathroom making room for more beer. Some guy comes in, waiting his turn. He gets his best Boston accent going, "I'm from Baaston. Where'd I paark my caaa. I'm from Baaston. Where'd I paark my caaa." A couple of chuckles. Then, "Guys from Baaston have wicked small penises. Wicked small."

The Trick

I've been listening to Cheap Trick The Greatest Hits. I can't, for the life of me figure out why they aren't in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. They certainly can hold their own against some of the other clowns already in there.

Even if you don't necessarily feel the same way I do, don't you think a band that includes a five neck guitar and an awesome display of facial hair like this deserves some recognition?

That is rock and roll my friends.

Insane in the MemBlaine

Last night I shot up to Lincoln Center to get a peep of David Blaine floating around in his watery, crystal ball. As all things that are free and slightly freakshowish, it attracted quite a mob of idiots. Blaine wasn't doing much of anything when I was there. Apparently he was getting his nasty, rotting hands treated, so he was just up by the top of the tank with his hands outside. I wanted to see something happen, maybe some swimming, or waving or whatever one does in a water-filled ball, but I'm not one to devote a lot of time to a waterlogged guy with rotting hands who may or not live past Monday, so I didn't stay long.

Back when I used to work in NYC, I worked a late shift for awhile, so I was getting out at midnight. I used to rollerblade to and from work too, so when he pulled the frozen in ice stunt in Times Square I stopped by on my roll home for a little Blaine time and then when he did the standing on a big pole stunt in Bryant Park, I got to see him with practically nobody around. Just me on a chair and Blaine standing 100 feet up. That was cool. Anyway, it wasn't so cool this time with so many people around.


This lady was the highlight of my visit. People could walk up and touch the ball or take photos or whatever, but there were security guys around doing a lot of "Keep moving folks" and "Take your pictures but the line needs to keep going." Well, this woman was having none of it. She was there to show good ol' D.B. her love for his soggy body with roses. Blaine wasn't really looking due to his body position and the fact that his hands are about to fall off. Although security kept telling her to move on, she held her ground. Eventually Blaine saw her (I think), however he couldn't really signal his thanks or return any sign of love because his hands were busy and he has an air regulator crammed in his mouth. Nevertheless, she left looking somewhat accomplished. I bet Blaine can't wait to get out of there and spend some quality time with his new girlfriend who is at least 20 years older than him. HOT! I guess that is some added incentive to survive holding your breath for nine minutes.

That is beyond my comprehension by the way. Nine minutes! That's some sick shit.

3 For Me

I was starting to sweat my promise to have something to blog about for a little bit, but these three ladies sharing my return ride on the PATH from work saved me: I'm generally not a big gawker on the train, but these three had me hooked from the moment I got on. The two adults were all over the little one in the middle. Doing something with her left ear. I don't know if there was something in there or if it was some sort of science project, but there was a lot of digging and poking with no results other than a dirty tissue and a lot of face making.

I then noticed that the girl's shirt said, I'M GOOD. ASK YOUR BOYFRIEND. In my opinion she was a tad on the young side for such an announcement of skankiness, but what do I know? Not much, but at least I know she is GOOD.

The next scene entailed the lady on the left putting bracelets on the young girl's arm I guess so she could look fancy for the big trip to NYC. She proceeded to push the first one up past her elbow, because "That's how I used to wear them when I was young." Well, apparently they had different arms back then because the bracelet lodged itself on her upper arm pudge and wouldn't come back down. There was panic in the girl's eyes when she realized that it was stuck. That look was still on her face when I got off at 14th Street, while the girl and the two ladies struggled with the stuck bracelet. I was briefly tempted to stay and watch the drama continue, but I was concerned they might ask me to get involved.

I've Got Nothing

I know I promised a couple of you T.L.B. fans some sort of update. I'm still having some sort of blockage of ideas, but I will certainly whip something up by tomorrow morning. I'm going to make something worth complaining about happen in the next 12 hours if it's the last thing I do. In the meantime, here is a tennis photo for you that will hopefully hold you over until then: