Still On Holiday Mode

I survived Christmas and hope the rest of you did as well. I will of course recap the gory details later but no time right now.

I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of Kitty from her south Flordia abode. We will be joining Cowboy Dan and Fat Baby's Mamma to ring in the new year right - and by "right", I mean by getting drunk in the woods of north Georgia.

I'll be back soon and might even feel amusing by that time.

Till then - rock out with your cock out!

Just a Drive-By Cranky

Some quick crankiness...

- Hey, dumbass client! Leaving me the same message 4 times a day wil not, I repeat NOT, make me respond to you any fucking faster. Matter of fact, it just teases the tiger within and I start to see how long I can actually go without contacting you until you ultimately fire me. I already have your money so at this point I really don't give a crap.

- Here's a thought....when I agree that your kid can come over and play with POD, that means for a short stint. It means I expect her not leave popcorn kernels all over my "on the market" house and not to talk at eardrum shattering decibels. It also means to pick her up at 4 so I can get my happy ass to the bar. It's fucking Friday - come get your kid or I'll let POD turn her bisexual so fast it'll make your rainbow flag spin!

- Hey, dumbass client #2! I can't serve papers on a woman for whom you have no damn address! Simply putting her name on a court complaint and sending it to the state of Mississippi does not work. So the next time she calls to harass you, please ask her what fucking county she lives in cause your ass ain't paying me enough for any private detective services!

- Hey, prospective dumbass client! Don't leave me messages saying your statute of limitations is about to run and you need me to take your case then when I actually returne your call you inform me that your "good for nothing ass of attorney" took two years to file your case. Hey, guess what, you moronic twit! He FILED! That means no statute of limitation issues. Why don't you leave the high level thinking to those of us with opposable thumbs?

- DID I MENTION THAT IT IS COCKTAIL HOUR AND I'M STUCK IN THE HOUSE WITH TWO DAMN TEENAGERS????

- POD got a C- in Art this semester. How exactly does one grade art? What is the difference in a 15 year old's artwork that makes a teacher go "hmmmmm.....certainly no Picasso but a C- seems adequate"? POD's explanation? "I don't draw good".....yeeeaaahhh, you no talk so good either, what was your fucking English grade?

Screw it....time to start drinking at home.

Happy fucking holidays.

Concerns of the Season

So I've been obsessively pondering so very "earth shattering life altering" things....well, not really, but the mind does drift to the below items:

1. Captain Nutty is currently coming off the goofballs. Withdrawal sucks and we all know that but....what effect does this have on my Christmas intake?

2. Captain Nutty is currentloy coming off the goofballs.....and she comes to visit in 4 days. Me thinks it's time for Floyd to up her intake of her own goofballs.

3. So I told the Consort (Captain Nutty's husband) to "don't buy me any presents, just pay my car payment this month".....surely he wouldn't take me seriously?

4. My cat has started to masturbate. Truly. The cat has consistently woken me up every night this week humping my leg. Yep. The CAT. Seriously concerned....and perhaps just a tad aroused.

5. Do creditors rue the day caller ID was invented? Is Chase named "chase" because they chase your ass down for their money? How many times do they have to call before they figure out that you ain't answering the damn phone?

6. I owe the POD $60 in back allowance. Surely, she doesn't know how to report to credit bureaus? Right?

7. I read a note that a friend of POD's gave her (don't judge me! it was sitting on the counter - fair game!). It speaks of the POD picturing her boyfriend "giving it to her beautifully". I'm sure he's speaking of a nicely wrapped and age appropriate Christmas gift. Right? RIGHT?

8. This country still supports forced sterilization. Right? RIGHT?

9. Since it's the holiday season, I think I can consistently begin drinking at 10 am without much fear of reprisal or forced institutionalization. Who are we kidding? Some time in rehab might be a lovely vacation.....of course, unless they sent Captain Nutty with me.

10. Okay, riddle me this - I drink, I get drunk and my nose turns bright red. Rudolph? Reddest damn nose known to man. But not only does no one call him an alcoholic, they even let the little fucker drive! Fair? I think not.

I've Got Your Roasting Chestnuts Right Here*

*Alternative titles: "I'm Going To Shove That Mistletoe Up
Your Ass" or "Nobody Puts Out A Little Kettle And Rings A Bell For Me"

Yes, I'm here and No, I don't want to talk about it. I will ignore my abscence and present what I hope to become an annual tradition....


Things Floyd Really Hates About Christmas

1. Family coming to visit

2. Family coming to visit and having to talk to them

3. Family coming to visit while you have no money and are trying to sell your house and have to talk to them about having no money and trying to sell your house

4. Leaving with said visiting family to go visit more fucking family

5. Visiting said more fucking family and having to sleep on fold-out cot at foot of parents' bed

6. Being 35 years old, rather wide in stature and having to sleep on said fold-out cot

7. Knowing in advance that Captain Nutty will completely disregard ALL of the things mentioned that I want for Christmas and will buy whatever suits her whimsy (here's a hint - Captain Nutty asked "Have you been by Lane Bryant lately?" - and for the record, nothing against Laney but I have not yet reached that proportion yet)

8. Preparing for the POD to be all wonky during said visit with said fucking family and then having to constantly discuss the status of POD's mental health (but who can really blame her - Floyd wishes she could act up as well)

9. Trying to figure out the proper ratio of how many drinks I can have to make Christmas Eve tolerable in proportion to how many drinks I can have to not throw up on Christman morning

10. Having to fake smile my way through this whole crap-a-rama....bah humbug.

Next post: What Floyd Loves About Christmas (might be a short one)

Sausage In Your Stuffing? Just Say No

*Am I the only who giggles upon reading "sausage in your stuffing? I hear Beavis laughing every time.

So it's the Saturday after Thanksgiving and I'm working due to my "absolutely will not work on Friday after Thanksgiving"....that'll learn 'em.

I have visited the office bathroom a grand total of 4 times due to some mild intestinal distress. FOUR TIMES! IN TWO HOURS! I'm rather proud. Since I cooked Thanksgiving dinner, I hope I haven't killed anyone.

Turkeys are supposed to bleed a little bit when you cut into them, right? Right?

Soooooo....yeah....no more sausage in my stuffing (Beavis: "huh...huh....she said "sausage").

More than you wanted to know? Perhaps. More than I felt like sharing? Not so much.

Happy Trichonosis to all!

Stuff THAT In Your Turkey

So maybe I'm a little thankful but perhaps I'm not really thankful for anything and those who think I should be can kiss my cranberry-hating ass.

I'm thankful that I have clients BUT...

I'm not thankful that my last client wanted to know if she could put off her appointment because she had a mystery shopping gig at Hooter's....I kid you not, people. I was beat out by a pair of oversized mammary glands and a chick in panty hose and shorts.

I'm not thankful for the client who just called and asked my legal assistant if I was expecting her to bring in any money for her appointment. Of course not! How silly! I work for free! Keep your money! My mortgage company HATES getting paid on time!

I'm not thankful for the client's psycho wife who called me five times last night on my cell phone. Hey, bitch, I DON'T REPRESENT YOU! And here's a suggestion....when you fax me, you can fax me the whole document, you DO NOT have to fax it one page at at time, you flaming moron!

I am thankful for the POD...BUT.....

I'm not thankful for her little friends who show up in the driveway at 1 am to drop off a porn movie for POD. And yes, it was a "chick flick".

I'm not thankful for her inviting some little friends into the house while I'm not home to do god knows what. I'm fitting her with a chastity belt as we speak.

I am thankful for family....BUT....

Okay, I simply take that one back - not thankful at all. I would like to move to an isolated cabin in Idaho and do my best Unabomber impression.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Have You Ever?

As usual, my lame ass writing technique comes to the rescue of yet another lame ass post. But I suppose lame ass is better than no ass post...

Soooooo....HAVE YOU EVER...

- scratched your ass crack a tad too aggressively and caused some sort of skin separating injury in your cavern?

- decided that if your own personal Captain Nutty NEVER EVER came to see you again, that it still wouldn't be enough to make up for the times she DID visit?

- thought that if you moved out to the boondocks, you would be attacked by lumberjack, flannel loving rednecks with dubious tooth counts and wouldn't be able to find a bar that didn't play country music?

- felt like telling POD's teachers to kiss your dimpled ass and that the daily phone calls reporting her "lack of particpation" are getting to be a bit much? (Here's a hint - YOU'RE THE FUCKING TEACHERS! I CAN'T FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO! YOU'VE GOT A FUCKING DEGREE - USE IT!)

- been on your way to court to represent a drunken stripper for her d.u.i. and had to stop at the local Hardee's for an intestinal emergency?

- after visiting said Hardee's felt really bad cause you knew that what you did to that bathroom was going to cause some minimum wage Hardee's employee to have a really, really bad day?

- wanted to tell the POD that "sure, your guy friends can spend the night" cause they're ALL gay?

- thought that if you were in court nearly as much as you lead your clients to believe, that you might actually be half the attorney they seem to think you are?

- wondered if they could actually arrest you for malpractice? (Now for all my clients who are reading this - don't panic - I'm not committing malpractice - I just tend to freak over some things BUT NOT YOUR CASE - YOUR CASE IS FINE!!!)

- missed Macek really, really bad and worry that the last thing you told him was that you pissed in Lake Lanier?

- wondered if the stretch marks on your ass would eventually join together to make some sort of pattern that you could pass off as an art deco tattoo?

- thought that beer can make everything alright but if it doesn't, you'll be too drunk to give a shit?

- thought "gee, I have nothing cohesive to blog about" but then patted yourself on the back for using the word "cohesive" in your own head?

- wondered if Captain Nutty found your vibrator while snooping through your dresser?

- hoped Captain Nutty found your vibrator while snooping through your dresser? Such a find will send her to church at least 4 days a week to pray for my depraved soul.

- thought that stringing together a bunch of paranoid ramblings might spark the old creative juices?

- chuckled upon hearing "creative juices" and said in your best Beavis and Butthead voice "huh...huh...she said JUICES"?

Ummmm.....yeah....me neither.

Permanent Damage?

So I survived CAPTAIN NUTTY '05 but just barely. Thought I had made it through relatively unscathed until last night.

I'm sound asleep. As far as I can tell, not really dreaming. Suddenly, I'm wide awake and one word comes into my head.

Let me clarify - no images, no sounds, just one word. One word that now has me questioning my sanity because no one really just out of the blue thinks of this word without any type of context. And as far as I can remember, there was NO context.

What word you may ask?

LABIA.

That's right LABIA. I wake up in the middle of the night with a part of the female genitalia on my mind. (And no, NONE of you should google "labia" right now - trust me).

So what the hell does this mean? Who does this? What sort of damage has been done that makes me think of that word in the middle of the night? Couldn't it at least have been "van defrens" or something masculine? Like gonad? Or taint? Or nutsack? Or ballcheese?

NOOOOOOO - IT HAD TO LABIA!

Will now be upping the nightly Tylenol PM intake to 2 tablets every night.

Help Me, Pfizer! I Need You!*

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Sybil's Got Nothing On Me

So I'm not really ignoring you....I can explain. Captain Nutty is visiting. She swooped into town with the Consort and here she sits (the Consort's visit was just a drive-by - he's already back in Chicago).

I would like to be able to explain a little more clearly what this really means but in true Floyd fashion, I feel compelled to make a numbered list to give you a "feel" (or reach-around as the case may be):

1. I have yet to have a conversation with her that didn't end with her crying.

2. Trying to check my messages while I was out of my home office, I called the "don't ever touch this phone because it is my business phone". Captain Nutty answered with a "Hi baby!". Uber-professional.

3. At the all important parent/teacher conference today with ALL of the POD's teachers, Captain Nutty asked the VERY relevant question...."you do like her, don't you? you think she's okay?". Yep...cause these folks really, really want in on our family dynamic and the fact that the POD seems incapable of doing her homework is somehow tied into whether they like her or not.

4. After asking the above question of these teaching professionals, Captain Nutty promptly burst into tears.

5. After eating half a bowl of soup, Captain Nutty started in on the whole "i'm sooooo full, just stuffed! couldn't eat another bite" while I'm sitting across from her inhaling every last drop as if it's the last supper. Next time, I'm going to ask her to just call me fat and get it over with.

6. As of 5:09 p.m. today, Captain Nutty has asked me exactly 84 times if I think the POD is okay. (Apparently the teachers' opinions weren't enough).

7. When she's not asking about the POD's sanity, she's asking about my budget and "exactly how much money do I need" (let's be clear - she doesn't have the money to help but somehow just NEEDS to know). Not a bad question but considering it's been asked and answered about 9 times, it's starting to wear thin.

8. When not worried about the POD, we must worry about her upcoming knee replacement surgery and what I will do if "she doesn't make it". And then she cries again. And no, I haven't REALLY answered that question....it's a no winner.

9. I have been asked 13 times if I am on some type of medication and when I answer "no", I get "well, shouldn't you be?"

10. Her nerves had her so rattled that she threw up in the Super Target bathroom. SUPER TARGET! MY ALL TIME FAVORITE PLACE! WHO THROWS UP IF YOU'RE NOT EVEN DRINKING? WHAT MUST THE SUPER TARGET ASSOCIATES THINK?

I'm going to the Atlanta race this weekend and my mother will wrap up the 10th day of her soul-destroying visit at that time. I hope to be able to recover enough to be funny again one day but who's to say.....who's to say, my friends.

Cultural Sensitivity Starts At Home

So the POD and I are watching Gilmore Girls when there is a scene involving the slightly prissy conceirge. Thus the following exchange:

POD: "Soooo, he's gay, right?"

Floyd: "No, he's French."

POD: "Oh....I see."

That's me....Floyd....doing just a little something to ease world tension. Vive Le France!

Oh, My Aching Balls

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A Tuesday Manifesto

I do hereby proclaim the following to be the tenets upon which I base my moral certainty:

I believe that whoever decided all fat people were tall and therefore made all fat jeans an entire 12 inches too long for the vertically challenged but horizontally endowed should be hung up by his pubic hairs and the object of much ridicule for his fat but woefully short penis. How's them apples, asswipe.

I believe that the Governor of Georgia should be horsewhipped for declaring two days off of school for an anticipated but not occuring gas shortage.

I believe the POD's school should be reduced to rubble for not following such boneheaded edict and forcing me to rise at 6 am in order to cart the POD to the only school open in this damn state.

I belive that if you are stupid, I should be able to charge you double for all legal work and still be able to call you names behind your back. If you let me call you names to your face, I will charge three times as much cause you're probably too stupid to know that three is more than two.

I believe that if a woman is to be President of these here United States, she should not have horse teeth and she most certainly should not be 7 feet tall and look like Geena Davis (who if you notice, doesn't even know how to spell the name Gina correctly).

I believe that if you are my client and you call me on my cell phone more than once a month, I have the right to intentionally throw your case and send your statutory rapist kid to jail. (And guess what, moron? By saying you had sex with 12 year old, you're already guilty - the fact that she recanted don't mean diddly, dumbass)

I believe that even though the world at large believes Captain Nutty's nuttiness will be cured through via a knee replacement, I know better. I know the nuttiness shall continue to bloom and blossom until eventually she puts either POD or me up in a bell tower with an automatic rifle.

I believe that if the POD doesn't learn her basic Biology facts that I will staple her damn flashcards to the back of her hands.

I believe that if the POD utters the word "whatever" one more time, I will staple things to her regardless of her knowledge of Biology.

I believe it should NOT be 85 freaking degrees in the last week of September.

I believe I will wear my boots even though my ankles are sweating cause I can make fall come if I try hard enough.

I believe in slapping other people's children - especially in grocery stores.

I beleive I should stop writing this before I burst a blood vessel in my head.

Okay, I feel better now.

*Tap, Tap*....Is This Thing On?

Okay, I'm here. Still kicking. Didn't mean to ignore you my precious, precious gentle readers but life has been moving.

Probably shouldn't bore you with all the gory details but here are the highlights -

1. Floyd 1, Crack Whores 0
Dear Crack Whore,

I'm your Baby's Daddy's Attorney or as you like to call me "that white bitch trying to take your baby". Well, guess what? This white bitch won and despite your efforts to drag this all the way to the Supreme Court, you got the smack down. Despite your attempts to portray my client the MINISTER as a convicted murderer, the judge STILL thought your kid was better off with him then with your skanked out ass. So wail and moan all you want but if this white bitch had her way, I would be taking your other kids from you as well.

Sincerely,
Superlitigator Floyd

2. POD Patrol
The POD has decided that Biology is not necessary information for her in this world (and no, don't ask me what this means in regards to the reproduction section - I'm lobbying congress for forced contraception any day now). POD has failed to fully conceptualize that the failure of Biology means NO LEAD IN SCHOOL PLAY which makes Floyd fairly spastic with worry. So many, many tv hours have been devoted to harassing the POD about her study habits. And for those of you aware of the fact that I failed Biology in my day, you are correct in assuming that this is a case of the blind leading the blind - or the cranky leading the chronically pessimistic.

3. Speaking of Blind
My dog, Ben, is now fully blind. This really has nothing to do with anything but thought you should know. And despite the sadness, it's kinda funny. He hears himself break wind and assumes we are under attack - therefore, the fury of the blind hellhound is unleashed until some savory snack is waived beneath his snout to draw his attention back to the important things like his stomach.

4. How do you say "drunk" in Spanish?
I have found a way to solicit all the folks charged with dui over the weekend in a particular county. Well, this particular county happens to have a large spanish community and boy, according to the records, they must enjoy their tequilla (and really, who can blame them for that?). So far, my dui representation consists of illegal immigrants and drunken strippers. Not a bad start...not a bad start at all.

5. My lover, the television
Did anyone see the season premier of Two and Half Men? The relationship between Charlie and his nephew is like me and the POD .... except with much less screaming and worshipping of the devil.

Did anyone see the season ender of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia? Laughed so hard I scared the blind dog (see above).

Did anyone see Invasion? So freaking stupid I kicked the blind dog.

Did anyone see My Name is Earl? Loved it - even Daddy loved it and he don't do sitcoms - he's much more of a History Channel kinda guy.

Did anyone see J.D win on Rockstar: INXS? Morons. Like Marty better but assuming he will be rocking it single style better anyway.

6. Family Reunion

Went to Captain Nutty's family reunion over the weekend - without Captain Nutty of course who by the way just got off the phone with me crying because she can't remember what drug it is that she is allergic to (Morphine, you twit). Anyhoooo, let me summarize the reunion for you - I have aunts and uncles by the name of Seymour, Geraldine, Herman and Mannetta. I have a great aunt who's ass is so wide that she has to go through a door sideways - not even kidding. Haven't seen these people in about 14 years and frankly, I expected a big, big reaction. What did I get? "Oh hey". Yeah, apparently I'm not the glue that holds that family together even though I thought I was fucking crazy glue. Apparently, only the crazy part applies.

Anyway, you can see gentle readers why I've been so absent. I once again beg your forgiveness and promise to be better.

As Al Capone Laughs

In the comments to my last post, Cowboy Dan brought up an excelent point...what about Geraldo? Thanks for the reminder, Cowboy old buddy! So in continuation of my media theme this week, I would like to discuss my fascination and befuddlement of the one they call Geraldo (please note: every time you read his name, please hear some sort of theatrical "dum dum" music like they have at the beginning of Law & Order )

I would like to nominate Geraldo (dum dum!) as the celebrity whose countenance most lends itself to muppet mimicry. I can so see Ernie and Bert having a chat with a muppet Geraldo(dum dum!) - what with the bulbous nose and the rich, flowing mane of hair.

I've heard Geraldo (dum dum!) has his own personal moto - where there is misery and drama, I will be there! I caught Geraldo's riveting coverage last friday night outside of the convention center where he was in such a frenzy I believe I saw a little spittle fly out of from underneath his mucho macho mustachio. What a man.

He was just a railing away at Bill O'Reilly and saying "I don't know what's going to happen when it gets dark, Bill!" Hey, Geraldo, I'll tell you what will happen - it will get dark, you jackass.

Bill asked if he was safe and in answer the camera panned out and showed that Geraldo(dum dum!) had made himself a nice safe little spot with which to film from. He was surrounded by no less than 6 policemen/national guardsmen.....cause those folks weren't needed anywhere else at the time. Geraldo was numero uno priority. Where the muppet goes, trouble will follow so you must ensure his safety at all costs.

Geraldo(dum dum!) then grabbed himself some little black babies and cuddled them up to his mucho macho mustachio and which point one of the babies reared back in fear of the giant tarantula-like thing threatening it. I would have given a cool million for that baby to have grabbed a few nostril hairs and give a firm yank at that moment but alas, said baby was also in shock and awe at his blatant grandstanding to act appropriately.

And through this whole thing, Geraldo (dum dum!) managed to keep his lion's mane of hair just perfect. He looked better than Diane Sawyer or even Oprah who had to satisfy herself with a ponytail to look tv presentable. But not Geraldo! He clearly had brought Jose Eber (hairstylist to the stars) with him cause he knows the secret to good journalism - look good and people will believe your bullshit.

And fashion wise? Why he looked down right saucy! He had his dark tshirt tucked tightly in to his high-waisted jeans for a look that says "I'm in mourning but I still love my Calvins".

If there is any justice in the world (and I think we all know there is not), one of those random Gators that I just know are roaming freely throughout the flood waters will bite Geraldo right in his chimmichanga and he'll suddenly have a little "growing" room in his groin area.

One can dream, one can dream.

Katrina, You Bitch

So nearly everyone in blogworld has posted about Hurricane Katrina. And let me start by saying that my little pea brain can't wrap itself around the devastation, the loss of life and the poor rescue response. There are one million places you can go to donate on the interent and another cool million where people much more eloquent than myself can wax poetic about the tragedy.

That being said...I have a few points that I would like to make but please don't take me that seriously. These certainly aren't the big issues but just some minor annoyances to me who has no room to complain. I deal with bad shit with low class humor - trust me, I'm a real ball at a funeral.

1. So I'm watching local news last week right after the hurrincane and the weather guy comes on and goes, "Will the Atlanta area feel the effects of Hurrican Katrina? Stay tuned to find out!".

In what world is it appropriate that the weather forecast has become a cliffhanger? Is this really an area of the news that you should tease people with? Especially considering the weather just did huge old bitch slap on the south? Am I supposed to wait through maxipad commercials to find out if I am in any kind of danger? There are people in Louisiana floating on roofs and somehow the news guy thinks a little teaser is just what I need to make me not switch over to the King of the Hill. He was wrong.

2. Oprah went down to New Orleans and then to Houston to meet with survivors. I was all behind it - all about Oprah going down and helping out the folks cause I mean, hell, she's OPRAH! Should could probably raise that city from the ruins by her own self! All was well and good until the end when Oprah's chatting with a survivor and asks her about her family.

Survivor woman says "I don't know where they are, they were sent to different cities. And if someone could just tell them I'm okay or if I could finde them...".

Oprah says, "well, where are they?"

Woman names some other cities and then Oprah goes, "Well, I have a surprise for you - THEY'RE RIGHT HERE!" Enter lost family stage left and a lovely, screaming reunion takes place.

Now, let me be clear, I have no problem with Oprah doing a reunion but is now the proper time for a little theatrical setup? Do we not think it was dramatic enough without having Oprah to build it up for us? Hasn't this woman had enough surprises for the week? Just tell the woman you found her lost family and let it alone. As far as I'm concerned, Oprah put that woman through about 4 more minutes of agony and franky, I think she had been through enough.

Oprah done lost her some props from me for that one.

I Fell In Love This Weekend

That's right, gentle readers, IN LOVE.....with the television show 24. And for those who clicked on this thinking to find some sappy "fatgal meets emotionally available, six pack ab guy who swoons at her humor and wit to such extent he overlooks her back boobies and surface of the moon thighs and swears his total devotion" story, you are at the wrong damn blog and frankly, you should have known better.

After recovering from a near life ending hangover of vast proportions on Friday, I rebounded over the weekend to discover that A&E was playing the last season of 24 in an awe-inspiring marathon. Now, I'd heard the hub-bub over this little tv gem but frankly during the season, I could never follow it due to other "outside the house and off my couch" obligations - miss one episode and you were shit out of luck. But apparently, since I'm dirt poor now, I can devote 24 hours of my labor day weekend to intrigue and Jack Bauer. Loved it. Loved it to the negligence of POD duties. Loved it to the negligence of racing duties and Kitty hand-holding.

This of course reignited my eternal passion for my favorite thing in the world - television. Alas, I had forgotten my true love what with drinking and the raising of the POD and such. But it has been rediscovered. I have gone over and over my recent Entertainment Weekly which has an in-depth study of the upcoming fall season. Currently, I'm contemplating putting some premiere dates into my calendar...the only thing holding me back is how incredibly dorky this might be but slap my ass and call me Sally, I just devoted 24 hours to a tv show, I think my reputation can handle the blow.

So, as if you give a crap, I will rundown my television interests - past, present and future - in full disclosure of my dorkiness. If you choose to no longer visit this site in fear my geekdom may rub off on you, I completely understand.

Childhood loves? Electric Company and Captain Kangaroo far surpassed Seasame Street and that crack addict, Mr. Rogers.

Teen loves? Anything they put on MTV - when they used to play videos. Now every time I swing by MTV, it's always spring break which just leaves me with pictures of POD in some bar in Tijuana letting some jackass guy/gal take a shot out of her ass crack or something. I already have those fears - no need for MTV to stoke that fire.

College tv affairs? Knot's Landing and you can thank my roommate Whitney for this one. I would still ball Gary Ewing.

Law school diversions? The usual suspects - 90210, Melrose Place and Party of Five. We had whole dinner parties around Melrose Place viewings but that certainly doesn't make us unique.....of course, the level of drunkeness while simultaneously viewing Melrose and doing case briefs might make us a tad special.

Near past loves? Well, here's a hint - I hereby by pledge allegiance to Joss Whedon and all that he has done or may do in the future. My buddy Rob and I (shout out to Rob!) watched these shows over the phone together - he being in Florida and me being in Chicago.....ummmmm....neither of us got out much at the time (but you should know we both have risen over our loser status and rock out with our cocks out now!)

Present madness? Putting my new lover of 24 aside, I tivo Alias and Lost - but big whoop - most kids do.

Currently enjoying Rockstar INXS and well, that is all the summer had to offer me.

Let's see.... what else.....oh, I love The Office but mostly love the british version which cracks my ass up.

I recently viewed Always Sunny in Philadelphia which made me snort.

On the pay cable side, give me some Deadwood, you cocksuckers. (Wow, that sounded nasty)

On my expanded cable side, if left to my own devices, I would watch every single episode of the Wedding Story and Adoption Stories. Also, if you have a show with sextuplets or something conjoined, count me in.

What shows am I looking forward to this fall? Hard to say, hard to say.

The return of favorites - Without a Trace, Cold Case, Grey's Anatomy,Arrested Development, House, Gilmore Girls, Amazing Race, and Veronica Mars.

New shows I'll be checking on - Prison Break (already like it), Kitchen Confidential (with Xander in it!), My Name is Earl, Bones (starring Angel!). I'm sure I'll be checking out the whole alien genre that seems to bepopping up this fall as well.

I will NOT be watching Martha Stewart, Donald Trump or Geena Davis (the size of her teeth scare me).

Well, that's it - I'm out of the closet. I am a tv addict. Don't even get me started on my obsession with all awards shows or the Simpsons or King of the Hill.

We've merely tapped the surface, my friends. There's alot of bullshit beneath this.

I hereby open myself up to all of your tv related queries - I am in the loop, in the "know", I know my tv. Bring it on.

Oh Bristol, How I Love Thee!

Bristol - we came, we saw, we got knee-walking piss drunk. Someone should throw that on a bumper sticker.

So,fun was had by all. I would like to tell many soul tickling tales of fun from Bristol....but one doesn't know where to start...

Perhaps one should start with passing the "I'm A Lady Discount Lingerie Store"? (As opposed to passing the "I'm A Man Discount Lingerie Store")

Perhaps one should start with all the race fans who acted like this was the first time they've seen a little red wagon? We pulled up with wagon in tow and you would have thought we were hauling a modern scientific miracle. Those Bristol fans just love them some new-fangled technology! Like wheels! And a wagon! With a beer cooler! My god, IT'S GENIUS!

Perhaps I should begin with one young suiter who tried to woo me in his pop-up camper? Sort of a pop-up in a pop-up? Get it? Hahahahahaha

Perhaps I should begin with the frantic search for a little rubber raincoat for one member of our little gang? Sadly, search unsuccessful and therefore subsequent romance unsuccessful. Pity. (And no, Daddy, I'm NOT talking about me)

Perhaps I should begin with the phone call received from the one "most likely to be shot" client who has my cell phone number and called me in mid-drunk? I believe I gave some relevant advice like "Fuck them, those fuckers! They can't fucking do that! They don't know who they're fucking dealing with, Sista!" (Please note: said comment was made to 62 year old, african american special ed lady teacher who I happen to be representing - expecting call from state bar any minute now)

Perhaps I should begin with the fact that one of use ran out of clean underwear so in a show of solidarity we all ditched our drawers? (By the way, the chafing creme works)

Perhaps I should begin with our attempts to find a "shortcut" out of the track where we decided to scurry under a fence and make like mountain goats down the side of a hill so steep that all other race fans stopped to call and heckle our descent?

Perhaps I should begin with my fall on said hill and how I managed to find some thorns on said hill with my said underwearless ass?

Perhaps I should simply not relay ANY of these stories....me thinks me already shared too much.

Like I said, fun was had by all.

Life and Times of a Gothic Princess

Okay, I'm here. Stop your bellyaching. Before we discuss the POD, a few housekeeping issues. I have been discovered and invaded by the spammers. Apparently, my interest in a lifetime supply of Viagra and lengthening my penis has caused said spammers to find me easy prey. So now there is a little word verification thingy for when you comment. Please don't let this disuade you from commenting - it's really not hard. And we all know I'm slut for comments. Well, I'm also just a slut but that's neither here nor there.

I have slowly but surely recovered from the Captain Nutty visit. And for those inquiring minds, I do not know how the chaffing creme works as I DO NOT HAVE A PROBLEM WITH CHAFFING..... sweating is another issue. Speaking of sweating, I had to sew the emblem on the POD's new school blazer (does this just scream stuck-up private school or what?) And let me be perfectly clear, I do not know how to sew. I "hemmed" her pants with hemming tape - no sewing involved. But alas, one emblem must be sewn on or else we're looking at a uniform detention. So, I sewed. And? It made me break out in a sweat! Do you hear what I am saying? I am so out of shape that SEWING caused me to break out in a sweat. Good god. Who knew sewing was an aerobic sport?

Anyway,as I said previously, the Princess of Darkness (POD) has returned from her royal visit to the great white north this summer and has resumed her duties here. The summer matured her royal highness a wee bit. She seems to have moved away from the Insane Clown Posse worship into a stomach-turning fascination with Marilyn Manson. Hard to say how to take that one. Of course, Captain Nutty takes this as a further sign that good old Belzebub has his little foothold into our family.

On the good news front, apparently, gal pal, Krystal with a "K" who was the POD's gang-banging, orthodontically challenged girlfriend,kicked the POD to the curb a few weeks ago. I won't even go into how this bucktoothed delinquent hurt my precious little POD and how I would like to kick her ass but I fear retaliation from the Latino gang community of the white bread suburbs in which they reside - they might run me over with their mom's subaru or something.

On the bad news front, they are "still friends" and POD of course won't listen to my stories of why it is so bad to be "friends" with your ex's. I try to explain but I get the "what do you know?" I'm just a stupid older sister who's never been dumped! I objected and said "of course I' ve been dumped!". To which the POD looked surprised and said, "you've dated???". Yep. Point made.

POD is currently dating a boy. That's right - A BOY. A boy who goes to her school and has manners (also a crazy ass mother but who am I to hold that against someone)! I'm sure any day now I'll hear how he's like the school's "most likely to be someone's bitch in maximum security" or the "dropped the soap on purpose guy" but for now I'll take it. I expect any day to get some phone call from the school about blow jobs in the locker rooms or something but for now we're flying good.

POD also managed to snag the lead in the school play. That's my baby - drama queen! One day she'll be famous and then I'll be rich when I publish the tales of her misspent youth. Oh, the glory that day. She will sooooo be the next Courtney Love.

I will be leaving tomorrow to join my pals Cowboy Dan, Kitty and the Dutch Porn Star in Bristol for a little NASCAR fun. Make sure you look for me on t.v. I'll be the redneck one on top of the r.v. screaming obscenities at Jeff Gordon. Kitty has purchased a laptop so I just MAY be able to live post from racing ruckus. Wish me luck!

Functioning

Fear not, gentle readers, I am still here. I am simply busy and in a slow spiral of death I was trapped in during Captain Nutty's visit.

I don't have much time to write right now but wanted to pop in and let those "anonymous" readers and commentors know that I will be back and your concern is touching (please read with sarcasm). I have been busy getting the Princess of Darkness back into her school groove (no easy task) and there is that little thing of running my own firm, i.e. my attempts to make money.

Unfortunately, not all of us can run off to the Michigan racelike some idiots I know. "Anonymous", my ass.

More Therapy In My Future

So when your mother comes to visit you, does she bring you a gift? A little knick-knack perhaps? Some new fashion for the impending fall season?

My mother brought me a little gift.

She brought me anti-chubb rub creme or as the label calls it "new chafing relief powder-gel for my inner thigh and bikini area".

Top that...I dare you.

Passive Aggressive? Me?

So Captain Nutty has arrived with the Princess of Darkness (POD) in tow (for those newcomers, this means my mother is visiting with my little sister). Captain Nutty has been her usual nutty self and the POD has displayed her usual surliness and general disdain for all things cheerful and nice (it's going to be a great school year for me and POD!)

This all leads me to this little scenario.

The night before a big hearing I come down with a raging case of the old backdoor trots. This of course follows me into the morning and all the way to court where I sit on the bench with butt cheecks firmly clenched praying that I don't have to make a run for it in the middle of my client's testimony. Well, I make it through and chalk all the intestinal discomfort up to stress....until I get home. I arrive home and Captain Nutty laughingly informs me that last night whilst preparing some pasta (okay, it was macaroni and cheese), she added some oil to the noodles to keep them from sticking (like this must be a HUGE problem for Kraft Mac N'Cheese. Who the fuck adds olive oil to pasta from a box with day-glo, powdered cheese?). However, by accident she added the dish washing soap that is in a decorative bottle by the sink THINKING it was olive oil. What fun! What stomach cramping shennanigans!

Now, one could maybe forgive her for such oversight considering the soap WAS in a decorative, unlabeled bottle. BUT it was her idea in the first place that I put such dishwashing soap in a decorative bottle, she even BOUGHT me the bottle and IT WAS NEXT TO THE DAMN SINK, FOR CRYING OUTLOUD!

Well, I managed to not throttle her because any criticism of Captain Nutty merely prefaces a good hour's worth of tears and general dismay on how she has failed me and "why I am so mean to her".

But later I notice as she is sitting out on my back porch that she is sitting on the towel I used to wipe up the dog's pee the night before. And.....I say nothing. Nothing at all.

Does this make me a bad person?

Don't bother answering, I know I'm going to hell.

Have You Ever....*

*You may have noticed a recurring theme here...on Fridays, I find it difficult to form any cohesive topic so I'm thinking about making this a regular Friday thingy. Just a little spot where I can put down my random thoughts that intrigued me during the week but weren't enough for me to spin a whole post out of. So just bear with me on Fridays.

Have you ever...

...had a sex dream about Chandler from Friends and when he gets to the naked part he has a mangina? How 'bout a mangina with teeth?

...watched Extreme Makeover and thought "wow, I'm tons uglier than her....this can't be good"?

...wondered if your current drinking habits scare other people? if they scare college kids, does this mean your death is imminent?

...convinced a client that the "court" is requiring a document late in the game as opposed to the truth being you forgot to give it to them in the first place?

...found yourself really, really captivated by Kelly Rippa?

...thought to yourself "man, I could totally do Dr. Phil's job"?

...considered ordering a cookie cake all for yourself? one that you can just bring home and eat all the icing off of without anyone else knowing?

...looked a person doing a really, really menial job and thought "sheesh, that guy looks way happier than me" and then forgot about such thought as soon as you sped off in your Lexus?

...wanted to get into a car accident for just...you know...a little time off?

...just enjoyed saying the words "ben-wa balls"? (please note - not USING ben-wa balls just saying the words...keep it clean, people, keep it clean)


Ummm....yeah....me neither.

If You Believe, We Put a Man on the Moon

Explain this to me, gentle readers. We can develop heat resistant tiles to protect the underbelly of the space shuttle during re-entry into our atmosphere. We can devise a protective suit for an astronaut to take a meandering stroll through space and repair said tiles when they run amuck. Hell, we can even figure out how to crap in zero gravitiy without getting yourself all mussy. So we can conquer outer space but are you trying to tell me we can't conquer butt sweat?

We have anti-perspirants and we have deodorants for the old pits. But what does the butt crack have? What does the shelf beneath the boobies have? What does the cleavage running down your spine have? (And don't even getting me started on the general groin area)

Some brainiac invented protection for the old armpits but then apparently decided - "Hey, good enough. I've done my part for humanity." He surely expected some olfactory genius to continue his good work and invent some miraculous products to leave us all high and dry. Well, his grand social experiment failed. Failed miserably.

And don't you dare write to me expounding on the virutes of baby powder. Been there, done that. I've gone out of this house looking like I just had a cocaine bender with Tony Montana but it has done nothing to staunch the flow of sweat down my back boobies.

In fear of dire repercussions, I won't discuss my theories regarding the giant Johnson&Johnson/Proctor&Gamble conspiracy - you know the one where they all get together the most effective ways to increase global warming so that we sweat more and then buy more of their ineffective products. Somewhere in Battle Creek, Michigan, there is gleeful laughter in the boardrooms. (and yes, I know Battle Creek is the home of cereal and not sweat products but trust me, Snap, Crackle & Pop are probably in on this too - never trust three midgets in weird little hats)


I call on modern science to get their collective heads out of their collective ass cracks (sweaty ones, I'm sure) and develop some all-over body non-sweatner. Cancer will cure itself but sweat is never-ending.

Have You Ever...Part Two

Have you ever...

...seriously, seriously considered eating at the "Happy Happy China 100 Super Super Buffet" restaurant?

....wondered if your ovaries were fed up with the lack of activity and were currently hatching a plan in which they tunnel their way out through your belly button?

...really, really regretted buying the cheap toilet paper at a really, really bad moment?

...enjoyed cleaning out your dog's infected ear with q-tips?

...had to call your best friend in another state with a really, really moronic filing question cause you never do any real litigation work even though you tell your clients that you're "in court" ALL the time?

...been looking a client right in the eyes and spewing forth all kinds of sympathy while in your head, the little voices are saying, "man, this guy is sooooo screwed"?

...recommend a client seek professional help and then realize while the words are coming out of your mouth, "oh yeah, I AM the professional help"?

...wondered exactly how fat you have to be before you become unable to wipe your own ass?

...wondered how close you were to having to recruit some ass-wiping help?

...felt like you needed a beer even though it was only 9 am?

Ummmm...yeah....me neither.

Sign of the Apocalypse, Part Deux

Well, gentle readers, it's happened. As all things in the blogworld turn, my idiot friends have collectively decided, "Fuck Floyd! We're worlds funnier than her and why should she be the only one seeking internet fame and fortune!". And frankly, we all know they're right.

That's right, gentle reader. My pals and chums have decided to join us here in blogland. So without further ado, I introduce you to the following:

Me Wonders - the ramblings and musings of our very own Cowboy Dan

Team Endura - and of course, Kitty is not to outdone

Mandals - my good pal, the Dutch Porn Star has also taking his turn as a wordsmith.

Enjoy. And be kind - I don't want to be the evil bitch that sent the forces of darkness upon them....or maybe I do...hmmmmm.

Penis Times Two*

*Who are we kidding - I just love any excuse to work the word "penis" into a title

Word through the grapevine is that Big Fat Twin Mamma (hereinafter Mamma) gave birth to happy, healthy baby boys last night. The new boys came in at a whopping 4 lbs., 12 oz. and 4 lbs., 9 oz. - I say whopping cause poor old Mamma has been on bed rest trying to keep those rambunctious rascals in utero until such time as they were big enough to whoop some ass upon arrival.

I also have it on good authority that said babies are being named Floyd, Jr. and Floyd, II - of course to be called "Junior" and "Deuce". I'm greatly looking forward to the days when the boys are older and start sporting their matching mullets which if they inherit their mother's beautiful curly hair might seem a little "Welcom Back, Kotter" but the twins will be style setters - I have no doubt about that. I'm sure they'll spend their teenage years driving around town in their tricked out truck mooning the local girls. Mamma will certainly have her hands full but they will know early on not to cross Mamma - Mamma is NOT to be trifled with - especially not after she's had a couple of martinis and with twin boys, me thinks Mamma's drinking is about to increase dramatically.

And they will of course be spending quality time with their Auntie Kitty who really has a magical way with children. Per the course for Kitty, she will wait until after their first tee-ball practice and say, "Hey Junior! Hey, Deuce! Mamma said you're playing tee-ball. Do you swing the bat like a girl?" At which point Mamma will have to remove the twins from Auntie Kitty's presence and immediately enroll them in gender identification therapy.

Of course, Auntie Floyd will only be allowed limited access considering her propensity to randomly use the word "penis" at highly inopportune moments. But Auntie Floyd understands. Just knowing her namesakes are healthy, thriving little buggers is enough for her.

Congratulations to the entire Big Fat Twin Mamma clan! And welcome to the world Junior and Deuce!

Have You Ever...

So gentle readers, have you ever...

...plucked your eyebrows with the same tweezers you just used to remove a tick of your dog's ass?

...based solely on the smell of a fart, thought, "Wow...I must surely be dying?"

...told clients that you couldn't meet with them because you were caught up in court when actually you were sitting around in your pajamas watching Oprah while eating a big bowl of ice cream?

Ummmmm...yeah....me neither.

Hey Jackass...I'm Charging By the Hour

Dear Asswipe Client,

I realize that you may or may not have some legal issues which you would like dealt with in a professional and successful manner. I realize that you are probably truly stressed by the rough hand some big, bad meanie out there has dealt you. I realize that under ALL that turmoil you have found it very difficult to reach out to the dreaded and evil lawyer for help. I realize that all lawyers should be in the bottom of the ocean or that according to Shakespeare, we should all be killed first.

But guees what, Jackass?

NONE OF THIS GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO SHOW UP TWO HOURS LATE.

That's right, Dick Smoke. Despite what thoughts might be floating around in the little pea brain of yours, my time is valuable. I do not sit at my desk all day merely waiting for you to appear so that I can listen to you whine and bitch about how society is either - a) racist; b) sexist; c) ageist; or d) simply cruel and out to get you. Cause really unless you show up with a certified check and hand it to me before you even open your yapper, I could really give a rat's ass.

Despite what you see on t.v., the world doesn't owe you shit - and neither do I. Matter of fact, it is YOU who owe me - that's right, you're harshing my buzz. You are sucking up my oxygen and ruining precious hours in which I could be drunk.

So the next time you think you need a little legal shoulder to cry on, call the People's Court cause I'm heading to the bar.

Sincerely,
Your Devoted Legal Counsel

And Now....A Little Something About Me

Well, gentle readers, I've managed to subdue my liver after some careful bribing with a Bourbon and a Big Mac. He says he'll stick around a little longer if I promise to drink one glass of water per week. It's a hard bargain but I suppose one must do what one must do.

As I am currently wrapped up in full Harry Potter mania and therefore do not have a single original thought in my head that doesn't involve muggles or pensives, I thought it prime time to turn to you, gentle reader. That's right! It's time for Reader Email! (If you could please hear some sort of trumpet fanfare or perhaps Spanish Flea playing in the background, I would greatly appreciate it)

So, let's get right to it...

1. Exactly how many medications are you on?

Weeeelllll, hard to say, hard to say. On a daily basis? None. However, I would say that about weekly some guys in white coats hold me down and administer a few shots. I think that's just for the rabies though.

2. Is the POD (the Princess of Darkness) really all that dark?

No, she's blond. HA! But she does have a fondness for the color black and a general hatred toward all things pink. And I mean, HATRED - the color pink has been somewhat demonized by the POD. We are a pink-free zone.

3. So really, how much are you drinking and should I be concerned?

Ummmmm...I'm probably drinking a lot in YOUR book but in my book, I'm just drinking up to a "colorful" or perhaps "eccentric" level. No need for an intervention. (But if you are planning an intervention I do NOT want to be on that A&E show "Intervention" - their makeup person clearly sucks)

4. How's the new business going?

Well, I suppose okay...I'm broke...but people still call and I'm able to bullshit my way through their issues (ummmm...except for any clients that may be reading right now - your stuff I've got handled, no worries!)

5. Holy crap, does your family know you write about them this way?

Hell no! What kind of moron do you take me for? Well, actually Daddy and Skank Ass Cousin know about it but that's about it. POD would find it amusing but would probably devise new antics to be included in my commentary more often - and my heart (or heck, my liver) couldn't take that. If Captain Nutty knew, she would be forced into years more intensive therapy and I would be subjected to at least 2 more weepy phone calls per day over the 2 daily hand wringing episodes I already receive.

6. So is Captain Nutty really all that nutty?

Yes.....oh god, yes. You people have no idea. NO IDEA.

7. Are you as hot looking in person as you are in your pictures?

Yes....oh god, yes. You people have no idea. NO IDEA.

8. Aren't you concerned that with sharing all this information someone is going to steal your identity?

HAHAHAHAHAHA....GOOOD LUCK. If someone goes through all that trouble, I hope they take that $20 worth of credit and run with it. Party on me. Hell, here's my social security number - 334-58-0092 - have fun.

9. What's with all the weird names of your friends? Can a fella get a little helping hand or a decoder ring?

Okay, I realize those that newly pop in may become confused by the nicknames. However, I would like to inform all that I really call these people by these names. Per your request, decoder ring coordinates follow:

Kitty and Cowboy Dan = best pals - both chicks (and no, I don't know why I call her Cowboy Dan, I just do)
Fat Baby family = other best friend - all spoken of in relation to Fat Baby because he is the center of our universe
POD = Princess of Darkness who is 15 year old little sister who lives with me during the school year
Captain Nutty = my mother...nuf sed.
Skank Ass Cousin = rather self-explanatory, I would think. Also serves as best friend and compatriot in many adventures (read: drunkenness)

I have other pals who comment that I do know in my personal life - Paradise Lesbian, Magoozie, Big Fat Twin Mamma and many more.

10. Should I be calling for help?

Yes...yes, you should. Matter of fact, what the fuck are you still doing here? Get me some help!

11. Are you really a lawyer? Cause seriously, your spelling and grammar really kinda suck...

No, but I play one on the Internet....and in my office, but don't tell anyone. I'm actually a 12 year-old repeating the 4th grade for the third time.

12. Seriously, for the love of all that's holy, please, please tell me you make this stuff up?

No. I wish I could tell you that I'm that creative but everything here is true....well, except for a little creative license here and there. OKAY! You busted me - in the Daytona post, I mentioned that Kitty and Cowboy Dan rode around in a little red wagon....it was yellow. So sue me.

Sooooo, that ought to help you out a little bit. Feel free to keep the questions coming. I'll feel free to bullshit my way through them.

Much love,
Vladimir Poopshoot

P.S. Before you ask, Vladimir Poopshoot is one my many aliases and a key proponent in the fight to make A.S.S. a national holiday.

P.S.S. No, I haven't forgotten you, Dutch Porn Star. You will have your debut very soon.

P.S.S.S. Special shout out to Big Fat Twin Mamma - you keep those kids in there, you hear me! If you let them start calling the shots now, you'll never get the upper hand again! Sure, now they just want out of the womb a little early, but the next thing you know they're stealing your car, smoking the whacky weed and blaming each other for knocking up the neighbor's daughter. Keep your legs crossed and your ass on the couch, Mamma!

P.S.S.S.S. Another shout out to Big Fat Twin Mamma - Floyd is a great name for a boy...no really...I'm just saying.

A Cry for Help

Dear Internet,

Hello, gentle readers,let me introduce myself - I am Floyd's liver. Floyd would like to be able to post right now but if any of you are still out there, you are well aware that her recent proclivity to drink has really dashed all hope for amusing antecdotes in recent weeks.

However, as you once found her occassionally entertaining...or at least as engaging as watching a walrus humping a rhinoceros, I turn to you in my hour of need.

For the love of all that's holy, someone give this chick a glass of water. And when she asks you to throw a little bourbon in there to make it "worth her effort", please slap the ever-loving crap out of her.

I used to be all healthy back in the day. All filled with bile and living a good life. Suuuurrre, Floyd and I have had our issues with fatty foods and a fondness for sugar. And suuuurrreee, the college and law school years were hard on us all - I mean the girl likes her Budweiser. But now, for the love of Jesus, Mary and Joseph (being a liver, i'm of course catholic), I'm pickling, folks, FLAT OUT PICKLING! I mean if you could see me now - no healthy pink glow, no filtering function, nothing. I think a piece of beef jerky could do a better job than me at this point.

After her recent ho'down at the racetrack, I tried to escape through her anus, but that butthole wouldn't cooperate. He said he had his own problems what with being fed nothing but chips and french onion dip for four days. I thought I could sneak out with that round of McDonald's but there just wasn't room.

And this just in, her kidneys aren't that damn happy either! They're threatening to go on strike and block up the whole urinary tract system. And friends, if you know Floyd at all, you know her urinary tract don't play no games. Those are some badass fuckers down there.

So, please, if you have a heart at all and if you see Floyd on the street, roll her ass out of the gutter and slap her silly. If you happen to see her with the whore dog, Cowboy Dan, tell her to head back to the rodeo and to get her own horse drunk and leave Floyd alone!

You, gentle reader, are my only hope.

Best regards,
Floyd's Liver

In Retrospect...

I should have continued on my bender and not bothered with sobering up at all.

My deepest apologies to you, gentle readers, for my absence. It's been quite the hoot-a-nanny around here. I suppose I should start at the beginning.

After we last talked, Daddy's heart tried to leave his body the hard way, i.e. right through his chest. At least, that's what we thought at the time considering Daddy has previously gone the heart attack/bypass route. After a lovely 5 hour stint in the emergency room in which I deeply regretted having ingested Taco Bell for dinner that night, we discovered Daddy's chest cavity had managed to retain said heart but that his blood pressure was running amuck. We were sent home with a ream full of prescriptions and hardy slap on the back. At this point in order to preserve Daddy's sense of decorum, I will not mention the fact that they pumped him so full of dope that he acted like a drunk on tilt-a-whirl. I also won't mention his inability to walk or talk correctly and what he may or may not have done to my bathroom floor but I will mention my contemplated lawsuit toward said emergency room for not admitting him and leaving me to deal with his hepped-up-on-goofballs ass.

Anyhooooo, Cowboy Dan arrived on Tuesday night where we saw really no reason to delay or alter our Daytona-bound plans since Daddy was right as rain and promised me limited activity whilst I was away. Soooo, on Wednesday, we set out for the Nirvana of Redneckdom, otherwise knows as the Pepsi 400.

We met up with Kitty and other track friends and just as I was getting into a cab to hit some of Daytona Beach's fine, fine drinking establishments, I got a call from Daddy who was back in the old hospital. Luckily, Daddy is a race fan and refused to let me come home. So, I did what any reasonable daughter would do in such a situation....I got drunk.

Daddy had to stay prisoner in the hospital for a few days but was released with new drugs and feeling like he was run over by a dump truck. But he is on the mend and no permanent damage done...at least until I kill his ass if he doesn't take better care of himself (You hear me, Old Man? You're toast for cutting the grass).

I, however, continued to indulge in my worship of King Budweiser for a full 4 days with side offerings to Lord Jim Beam and Lady Kettle One. Daddy would have wanted it that way, after all.

So, let's review some Daytona debauchery, shall we?

Let's compare this recent Daytona trip to racing trips of the past...

I drank moonshine...again.

3 girls managed to consume 6 cases of beer over 4 days...again.

I managed to play piss poor poker....again.

I wrestled over whom I should marry, Dale Jr. or Elliott Sadler....again.

I rode around on a golfcart like I was the grand poobah of infield relations...again.

I did shots of some bizarro purple concotion at some pseudo bar set up by guys who were living in a tent for 4 days...again.

Kitty and Cowboy Dan were pulled around on a little red wagon throughout the infield like they were on parade...again.

I drank myself some rythym and decided I was the 21st century's answer to the Solid Gold Dancers....again.

I got my ass spanked a couple of times...again.

I enjoyed said spanking...again.

Oh, and there was some racing....saw that too...again.

A lovely time was had by all...at least from what I can remember.

OOOOOOO! Wait...here's a goood one. Soooooo, Friday morning, we all head to the Fan Zone which is a little happening spot in the middle of the infield at Daytona where one can commune with fellow racing fans and also pay $8.50 from some frozen fruity drink concoction. Me and my pals are sitting around the table enjoying the first drink of the day and Kitty suddenly gets an odd look on her face. She grabs the arm of my chair with sort of a panicked expression and begins looking around frantically. She bolts out of her chair...and WAAAAIIIIIT FOR IT....pukes right back into her glass. Right at the table. Without any warning. Filled the almost empty glass right full again. You will be proud of me though - amongst the sounds of shock and disapproval from the families sitting around us (and frankly, serves them right - the infield is no place for kids), I managed to hold in my laughter for a full 2 minutes....at least until Kitty could wipe the spittle off the tip of her nose.

True friendship? You bet your sweet ass.

I'm Here, I'm Here!

I have not disappeared...just sorta hiatus-ed. I promise I will post more today/this weekend. I promise I will try to say something witty (but no guarantees).

It's been a very eventful few weeks including trips to the emergency room and drinking in Daytona - do I have your curiostiy peaked? Yeah, I didn't think so but come back nonetheless.

More later...

Still Breathing...Barely But Breathing Nonetheless

I'm not dead yet. Despite trying to throw my body into some sort of alcohol induced coma, the old ticker keeps ticking. I did manage to sober up for a day or two last week and I've even managed to conduct a tiny bit of business (gotta make money for booze, after all).

I am currently planning on fleeing the state in order to continue my bender. So of course I will be attending the Pepsi 400 at the lovely Daytona International Speedway. I will be taking good old Cowboy Dan with me as it seems like I'm unable to bring forth a good puke-inducing-booze-related drunken rambling without her. Plus, I usually make her drink a 12 pack on the drive down to Daytona merely for my amusement - and trust me, it's amusing.

We will be meeting Kitty at the track and she drives her 38 foot motor coach up for our recreational pleasure. Yes, the motor coach is Kitty's - I told you the only thing keeping her from being a guy is the penis.

Anyhoooooo, I'll try to fill you in a little more later but for now I'm off to meet some new client who is so foreign that I can't understand a single word he says over the phone. Hopefully, I'll develop the ability to read lips in the next 10 minutes and I'll be able to comprehend what kind of help this fella needs. But frankly, who are we kidding - between my non-existent-been-drinking-for-two-weeks voice and his innate foreigness - we're screwed.

Wanted - One New Liver

I suppose I managed to stretch my birthday celebrations for as long as I possibly could. So what the fuck do we talk about now?

I've been sober now for 26.8 hours and frankly, it's making me cranky. And hell, you think I'm cranky, you oughta talk to Cowboy Dan - Ms. Cranky Pants, indeed.

Cowboy Dan paid me a return visit on Friday night where we proceeded to get highly inebriated once again. This resulted with us being on the phone with various friends until approximately 2 am (Please note: time is approximated because I have no clue what time it was and I became unable to read the clock at approximately midnight). (Also please note: do NOT put me on the phone while I'm all up in the drunk and ask for advice - I tend to inwardly fancy myself a hot-looking Dr. Joyce Brothers (hey, it's my fantasy - I can do whatever I want)- with that in mind, all apologies to those who had to sit on the phone with my drunken ass - especially you, Gas Man - I know you got way more than bargained for.)

Phone conversations were conducted in the backyard (not including a short trip to the Paradise to inhale at least 4 Diva shots) and thankfully, I have not introduced myself to my new neighbors - and me thinks me won't be doing this at all.

We were also joined for a significant part of the evening by Skank Ass Cousin. Skank Ass Cousin has been woefully neglected by this blogger and I do heretofore apologize for such oversight. Skank Ass Cousin is like her name says - my cousin, however, unlike her name says, she's really not that skanky (except when wearing purple running shorts but that perhaps is a vision for another time). Skank Ass Cousin and I were really kinda raised together so she's more than just a cousin - more like a sister (minus the gothic tendecies and general insanity currently present in the POD). Skank Ass Cousin lives around the corner from me and is generally my partner in crime, i.e. a good 80% of my drunken adventures involved Skank Ass Cousin. I really don't know why she hasn't been mentioned before but perhaps it's just that I take her presence for granted. Well, no more! Rise up, Skank Ass Cousin and take your rightful place in Floyd's hell! (Please note: Skank Ass Cousin has it way worse than the rest of you as she is real kin and has to really deal with POD and Captain Nutty - may the force be with her)

Anyhoooo, the drunken evening progressed. The POD was deeply impressed by my ability to hold my alcohol until I found her online talking about "licking pussy" at which point I began to scream like a banshee and banish her from all technology until she turns 32 or can spell "pussy" correctly, whichever comes first. I think Cowboy Dan became a little less frightened of the POD over the weekend - well, at least up until the pussy thing - now, I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Sooooo, that's about it. And frankly, unless I keep drinking, I'm probably going to need some topical assistance - and I think we all know that my liver needs a little rest. That being said - I have received some reader email with some questions which I plan on answering - some with questions that I don't plan on answering. If you have any questions, shoot 'em to me. I may or may not answer them truthfully.

P.S. Cowboy Dan - notice how I didn't mention that you threw a cell phone at me or didn't know how to cook a frozen pizza? Thought that was very kind of me.

The Stars Are Murky

So I've emerged from my 4 day drunken binger for a brief respite. I pick up the paper this moring to reconnect with the "real world". I of course flip right to the comics and horroscope section.

Where I am met with the little tidbit:

Gemini: "Buy something beautiful to please your lover." Well, smack my ass and call me Sally! I'm going to have a lover!

Holy shit. What do I do now? "BUY SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL"! What the hell does that mean? I don't even know my lover yet - how do I know what they want? Shit, shit, shit. Such pressure.

Is this one of those buy your fella a big present? Or is it one of those buy yourself something sexy and THAT is the present? And if THAT is the present, how do I know if he's a silk thingy kinda guy or a leather chaps and whip sorta guy?

I mean this HAS to mean that I'm getting a LOVER right? I mean what does my vibrator need with something beautiful? Right?

And holy crap, who exactly is this lover? (Please note: all references to "lover" should be read with the sound of some slick latin dude saying looooooooover cause that's how I'm saying it)

I mean I guess I'm going to have to leave the house if I'm to get a new lover today - cause you know I really don't want the new lover to be the exterminator guy (though I did see that once in a porn and it seemed to work out pretty well).

Who could this guy possibly be? And does he know he's all set up for a beautiful present?

Could it be the movers next door? They looked pretty hot. Perhaps I should go do the kindly neighbor routine and offer them a lemonade. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink - a LEMONADE.

Could it be my doctor? I'm trying to get in to see him and see if he can rectify this hacking "cough up a lung" illness that seems to be lingering worse than a case of syphillis. There's nothing hotter than a chick with voice like sandpaper and a cough like a coal miner. I think he's gay but maybe I'm supposed to turn him. I mean if Krystal with a K can take the POD maybe I'm supposed to recruit one for my team to even out the universe.

Could it be Gas Man? I mean it's quite clear that despite his protests to the contrary - he's clearly enamored of me. It truly makes no sense to keep denying his overwhelming love for me. It's a power bigger than the both of us, Gas Man, stop trying to fight nature. The quicker you surrender to the force, the happier you'll be.

Well, I suppose it's going to be a big day for old Floyd here. Perhaps I should take a shower. And of course, a waxing is in order - oh, what the hell, a little tops and tails spit bath could be enough. I'm overdue for my morning beer.

Wish me luck.

Can't Talk...Coming Down

Well, gentle readers, I would love to enthrall you with birthday debauchery tales but alcohol is a funny thing - makes you do things you wouldn't normally do but mercifully makes you forget most of them.

With that in mind, I'll try to hit the highlights of my 2 day bender.

On Tuesday, I hit my home bar of the Paradise to ingest several shots which were generously sent my direction. My pals also plied me with gifts and hors d'oeuvres (which really is the way to my heart - just in case you wanted to know - I love me some mini corndogs). As you can well imagine, Wednesday was a little difficult. It seems all the brain fluid in my cranium had clearly been replaced with alcohol and therefore me head hurt a wee bit. I want even go into the nausea.

After some greasy food, I recovered enough to welcome Cowboy Dan to my little abode where the whole vicious cycle started up all over again. We hit my other local hot spot where well-wishers plied us with chocolate martinis. Now, I think we all know that I'm pretty much a straight-forward Bud Light gal but I suppose one has to break out of one's rut occassionally. Cowboy Dan would also like me to mention that she beat out Fat Baby's Mamma and Kitty in actually delivering a birthday gift to me closest to my actual birthday. Said gift is a bottle of tequilla and some margaritta mix - does she know me or what?

So here it is at 11:33 on Thursday and I'm still in my pajamas. God, I love working for myself.

To all friends, thanks for all the good wishes and nice comments - you all my birthday simply grand.

16 Candles*

*Give or take a candle or two

Soooooo, I'm 35....and I have no words of wisdom. So please click on link below to see random racing pics of my life.

Me and My Pals

www.flickr.com More of FloydsTailgate's photos

Random for Random's Sake*

*Otherwise known as "No real cohesive topic here"

Some random thoughts submitted for your consideration, gentle readers.

1. From some reader emails regarding my last post about my client meeting in my home, I have come to realize something. A lot of y'all don't know that I'm not a complete moron. Seriously, I'm not...despite all appearances to the contrary. I really have done nothing, however, to dissuade you from the impression that my posts give to you, Internet Total Strangers. My posts are a reflection of my life but also really my reflections of my internal dialogue, i.e. the constantly running commentary that the little man in my head provides me. His commentary can get distracting but often I manage to function. But I've never really told you that I'm not crazy. So really you have no way of knowing that I'm not quite as incompetent as I may lead to you believe....well, hold on...maybe I am....okay, correction...I can fake normalcy pretty well.

2. So my birthday is tomorrow. I will be 35. 35 and single. 35 and childless. 35 and overweight. 35, single, childless, overweight, raising my semi-psychotic little sister. Yep. I'm putting alllll that into a personal ad. Come and get me! (the poor need not apply)

3. Speaking of the semi-psychotic, the POD has returned. Apparently, a "D" in World History is not sufficient for the ultra-snotty private school the POD is attending, so she is back for a two week run at summer school. Yep. She's realllly happy about it. Not as happy as me, of course, who enjoyed what? A one week vacation from parental duties? Yep. NIIIIIIICCEEE. (Please note: POD will be returning to Chicago at the end of the 2 weeks to harass our parental units for the rest of the summer)

4. So the POD and I went to see the movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Mindless summer entertainment that was quite enjoyable. However, it has led me to a surprising conclusion. Now, I love Brad Pitt - he is just easy on the eyes. Not so surprsing. However, I think if I was to start playing for the other team I would go for Angelina Jolie. I mean - holy crap. It's just not natural to be that good-looking AND good with weapons.

5. So tomorrow is my birthday. Cowboy Dan always gets me nice gifts. And always gifts that are totally unexpected. Therefore, around my birthday time, I usually get random conversations with Cowboy Dan. Therefore, I submit the following:

Cowboy Dan: "Where did you go to elementary school?"

Me: "Our Lady of Assumption"

Cowboy Dan: "Was that Catholic?"

Me: "Is the Pope catholic? Of course, it was Catholic. What public school would have a name like that?"

Cowboy Dan: "Who was your fifth grade teacher?"

Me: "I think Mrs. Fischer."

Cowboy Dan: "Was she a nun?"

Me: "No. Thus the 'Mrs' part."

Cowboy Dan: "Were there nuns?"

Me: "A few."

Cowboy Dan: "Okay. Bye."

Me: "Bye"

The first person to guess what relevance this conversation has to anything will win some sort of prize.

6. Please observe that in the last comments "Anonymous" submitted some commentary on the smell of my house and Bob's piss room. "Anonymous", my ass. That is Kitty. Kitty has a cat named Bob. Bob had a piss room. A piss room that she asked us to sleep in. That was not possible. I have smelled some bad things - and I mean BAD "NOT FOUND IN NATURE" things but none as bad as Bob's piss room. Kitty spent oodles of cash correcting said piss room to become a more hospitable part of her home. And so, while she makes fun of me, I have nothing, I repeat, NOTHING that could rival the smell of Bob's piss room.

7. Cowboy Dan has complained that she and Kitty are never mentioned anymore. Well, now there you go - got you both in one post. How ya' like them apples?

8. I ventured to Costco's yesterday. And you may be asking yourself what would drive a semi-sane person to venture forth into that den of suburban families all hepped up on free samples and 75 cent hot dogs on a freaking Sunday? Well, I'll tell you what - Jimmy Spencer. That thundering dunderhead that the powers-that-be feel is a quality commentator on NASCAR This Morning. I've seen people with drool running down their chins conduct more coherent conversations than this alcoholic blow-hard. Seriously, the man looks like someone pulled the gin and juice out of his hands about 20 seconds prior to air time and told him to form a sentence or two. Jimmy was more fun when he was beating the crap out of Kurt Busch. Let him return to the jungle and roam free with the other gorillas.

Well, that's all I have for today, gentle readers. Stayed tuned to see what whackiness ensues tomorrow. (I just wanted to say "whackiness ensues" - forgive me).

P.S. A small side note, our friend Macek's mom is apparently pretty ill so I know you join me in sending good thoughts, vibes and prayers their way.

Riddle Me This

Gentle readers, what is the proper decorum and etiquette of the home office? I'm meeting a client in my home for the first time and this has raised some puzzling issues.

Are candles unprofessional? Even when used to cover the smell of wet dog?

How 'bout capris pants? Wrong in the home office setting? Old Nave tshirts are appropriate anywhere, right?

Surely, if not capris pants, then sandals? Toes are polished so it's okay, right?

I mean who really wants to see me sitting in my own house in heels and dress slacks? Clearly, not the dog who keeps rubbing his molting skin all over me!

And what about background noise? Is it wrong that they can hear the dog licking his empty nut sack through the bedroom door?

Is it wrong to have the Foo Fighters quitely playing in the background?

So I have injection needles laying about the kitchen, need I explain that the dog is diabetic or just let them come to their own conclusions?

If there is a bad smell, is it appropriate to mention the dog's flatulence issues?

Will they notice that the hand towels in the guest bath arenn't exactly clean?

Can I charge them for parking in the driveway?

You know - they really don't tackle these issues in law school.

Things Contemplated

Well, let’s talk a little more about my trip minus the POD discussion. The full title of this post is Things Contemplated Whilst Traveling Through the Black Hole Commonly Referred to as the State of Indiana (And Other Adjoining Locales). It’s a 12 hour trip folks, and I think none of us are surprised that long solo car trips make me a little slap happy. You should also note that I read all billboards (often out loud which annoys Kitty to no end – thus why I do it of course) and I often simply scan the radio stations to get a feel for what is on without stopping on any particular one. You should also know that I’m not so much an “aggressive” driver as I am a “competitive” one – just keep that in mind.

1. Hey, asswipe on the motorcycle, you have 2 wheels… I have 4, I win, get the fuck out my way before I make you regret not wearing a helmet.
2. Dear Backstreet Boys, I know it’s an old song but let me remind you of this little lyrical poetry – “Loneliness is tragical”…..guess what, you dick licks? TRAGICAL IS NOT A WORD! I’m all for creative language but this just don’t fly. (wow…just looked it up….”tragical” is a word…I now have to face the realization that someone in the Backstreet Boys is more literary than I am….I need a drink).
3. I laugh at you, o guy that hits his brakes when I fly up behind him. Sure, I’m flicking you off at the same time but I’m laughing nonetheless.
4. God help me but I like that Kelly Clarkson….she’s got spunk.
5. Hmmmmm….sign for Spencer County, Indiana reads “Home of the Famous” and they show a picture of good old Abe Lincoln…..and Santa Claus. Do they know that Santa isn’t a real guy? And even if he was, Santa sooooo lives in the North Pole and NOT Indiana!
6. Take me down to Paradise City, Axel, you plastic-faced motherfucker! ( Please read while picturing me flashing the devil horns sign and rocking head back and forth in appropriate rocking out manner)
7. Billboard reads: “Dino World. You missed us!”….ummmm, yeah, by a couple of million years.
8. I wonder if I trademarked the phrase “Fuckity McFuck Fuck” if McDonald’s would sue me? (Please note: you cannot trademark profanity but it’s an interesting legal query anyway, don’t you think?)
9. Okay, hey, country dudes that sing that Mr. Mom song…. your lyric “sweet potatoes in my lazy chair” bugs me. It’s either a Lazy Boy or an Easy Chair, no such thing as a “lazy chair”, you backwoods jackasses.
10. There’s a rattle in my right speaker…. what are the odds I blew a speaker? What are the odds I’m the only one to bring in a Lexus into the soccer mom land dealer with a blown bass thingy?
11. Passing a truck that reads “Purnell’s Old Folks Sausage”…. so clearly their product is made from the decrepit bodies of old people. Truly recycling run amuck.
12. Excuse me, nice Mr. Black Man, I’m going 80 and you’re flying past me, which means you taking a nice clip through Kentucky and frankly that might not be a good idea. Oh! You’re from Georgia…you clearly know what you’re doing – carry on. (Please read: with smart ass girl raising her black power fist who deserves to have the white elitist sassiness smacked right out of her by said Nice Black MAn)
13. Interesting…if you drive fast enough the raindrops don’t come in through the open sunroof.
14. Hmmm….it’s 5:00 and I’m in Chattanooga…time for cocktail hour with the Fat Baby clan.

Needless to say, I didn’t make it home until Thursday.

Well, that's all for now....the good news is that POD will be back as of Thursday for a 2 week stint in summer school. God help me.

Tickle Me Sappho

* Advance apologies to the following - bisexuals, lesbians, Mexicans, goats, strippers and gangbangers - I kid cause I love!


Well, gentle readers, I survived. Physically intact? Certainly. Mentally sound? Hard to say, hard to say.

In my 12-hour drive home yesterday, I pondered several topics, which I would like to discuss with you but I will first begin with a story illustrative of my week. However, this story requires a little background so please bear with me.

Not sure if I have previously mentioned it but the POD fancies herself a bisexual at this stage in her life. Now, personally, I don’t care if she fancies girl, boy or goat but I of course am concerned that POD feels the need to declare herself at the ripe old age of 15. I mean - I think it’s kinda not fair to play for both teams – I mean – pick a freaking side and stay on it – it’s only fair to all concerned. Confusion need not be added to the dating scene - thank you very much. But whatever floats her boat is fine by me.

While playing for both teams, the POD has found herself a gal pal. Her name is Krystal – with a “K” you will notice. Apparently, Krystal’s parents wanted to prepare her for a life on the pole and gave her a proper stage name right of the gate. Now, I have a few issues with Krystal – not because she is a follower of the teachings of Sappho but because she’s a gang member. Oh, yes, you read that correctly – a member of the Latin Kings (though I have been corrected to say Latin Queens since she is a chick - apparently I'm not as up on my gang lingo as I assumed). Krystal with a “K” has several tattoos at her ripe old age of 17 and is fond of telling all of the POD’s friends that “they better not touch her fucking girlfriend or I will fucking kill you” – she’s such a little love!

Anyhooooo, you can only imagine how well this is all going over with Capt Nutty and the Consort who revel in their suburban upper-middle class life (i.e. these people are so Wonderbread white they glow in the dark). Up until this point, the main fear in the Consort’s life has been that the POD will wear denim to the country club - soyou can see that a violent gal pal is really expanding his horizons - I can only imagine how he broaches this topic on the old links with his pals.

So this being said, I get to the point of my story and why my family will probably start proceedings to disown me at any minute now.

I’m sitting around with Capt Nutty and her little dog. Her little dog starts licking the carpeting on the floor. So what do I do? Waaaaaiiiiit for it… I say “Hey look, Mom! The dog’s a lesbian too!”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…..GET IT “LICKING THE CARPET”? RUG MUNCHING?……..OH SHIT…..CRACK’S ME UP – I’M STILL LAUGHING SO HARD THAT I’M CRYING!

Needless to say, Capt Nutty starting crying and didn’t talk to me for the rest of the afternoon. Of course, I was laughing so hard all day I doubt I could have heard her anyway.

Gooood times, good times.

In the Name of Ra

As I have mentioned/obsessed over, I will be journeying to Chicago tomorrow to return POD to her roots (and in no coincidence, get my own roots done by the best of the best hair colorist this side of the Mississippi). This of course means a lovely (i.e. looooong) visit with my mother, Capt Nutty. This also means that I will be spending this evening with some sunless tanner products.

As I’m sure many of you southern gals understand, to Capt Nutty pale skin equals unhealthy deathlike pallor. My mother is a devotee of the sun god, Ra. Her altar is a Florida beach where she can set her carcass to baking for a minimum of 6 hours per day. However, in her simultaneous worship of Oprah, Capt Nutty has learned that turning one’s skin to the color of espresso is not good for you. It may even make you wrinkly – the horror! To equal out her worship of her two idols, she compromises and puts sunscreen on her face – to hell with the rest of her body, what has it done for her lately?

Now, since Capt Nutty has been forced into exile in Chicago some 15 years ago (straight from 8 years in Palm Beach, Florida for which she still yearns), her voyages to her beach altar have been limited. All was dark and gloomy for Capt Nutty until the skies broke wide open and her god revealed to her the glories of tanning creams, sprays, gels and other goops. You should have seen the celebration she threw when one of those spray-on tanning booths opened around the corner from her – people still talk about the debauchery and reckless drinking of that little fete.

How does this affect me one might ask? Well, when not worshipping the sun gods, Capt Nutty is holding court as the Queen of Passive Aggressiveness. So if I should offer my sunless skin to her majesty, I will be met with such comments like “oh, white is a very ‘in’ color this year” or “did you know the spray tanning booth is offering a two for one special right now? Isn’t that fun? Want to go right now? Oh, come on! Let’s go! It’ll be fun” (I hear – “please, please ghost child, let them spray your naked fatness with some chemical that will turn your nail beds orange and fill your crevices with god knows what chemical”).

Now, I can handle a couple of these comments but when she starts appearing at my bedroom door with a bottle of Neutrogena Fun in the Sun tanning goop and a pair of rubber of gloves, I draw the line. This inevitably ends up with me snapping at Capt Nutty with a “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, I DON’T WANT ANY DAMN SELF-TANNER!” This of course of makes Capt Nutty break into tears and moan about how she just doesn’t understand why I’m soooooo mean to her. Which is always but always followed by “I would NEVER have said something like that to MY mother…..but then again I loved MY mother.” I obligingly spend the next two hours exclaiming her virtues and my true love of Capt Nutty.

So you see, it’s simply good planning to go ahead and make myself look like an orange piece of beef jerky and forestall any such breakdowns – cause frankly there will be plenty of breakdowns without me having to bring the sun into it. This also explains why I will be bringing my own case of Bud Light in the car for the voyage…damn, I wish I would have gotten POD her learner’s license - what the hell, she's got a good head on her shoulders, I'm letting her drive. I advise all who value their lives to avoid I65 tomorrow.

Well, gentle readers, don’t forget me while I’m gone - I will be returning on Wednesday, if I can last that long. Try to muddle through without me and please keep me in your idol prayers to Ra.