Magnificent Moral Morale

Of course those words make no sense together. I began with the idea of showing some morale patches and then needed a title. After contemplating how close morale was to moral and wondering if there was any correlation between the two words I had a headache. So I poured more coffee. Then I realized I was one letter away from a MMM post of my own. And since we all love a good MMM I ran with it.

Hotspur Meets His Match

In the sad wake of Notre Dame burning yesterday, I mentioned getting engaged there. Oso said she enjoyed hearing it, but that was only a tiny part of the story.

Here I will tell a complete version of my history. I will start at the beginning.

In January of 2000, a close friend of mine, Rick, invited me to an “Ignore The Super Bowl Party.” The idea was to keep the sound off during the game so everyone could chat, then turn it on during the commercials, so everyone could laugh. That was back in the days of the Dotcom bubble, and the commercials were hilarious.

During the week before the game, if Rick asked me once, he asked me five times if I was coming on Sunday. I told him yes each time. But when Sunday came I really didn’t want to go, but I thought, “Fuck, I told him five times I was coming. I’ll just go and stay for a drink and say I have to get up early in the morning, then leave early.”

So I went.

Watermelon Douche Chills

Gather round my friends and lend an ear, there’s a tale needs to be told. This is the abridged version. For the complete story you’ll need to pony up 50 cent to my publisher.

You see, there was once a man, so big he shook the ground with each mighty step. For a snack he’d eat an entire ox and pick the gristle from his big-as-a-surfboard teeth with the ox horns.

Lies, Damnable Lies – POS Calumny

Imagine my surprise when aspersions were flung at me recently!!!

HHD

Good morning, and welcome to another edition of Hunky Hump Day. Thanks to Blackiswhite for the musical inspiration and thus the first of today’s hunks.

The hunk in the video is Jme Stein (dude, buy a vowel).

My Mom

Since you sonsabitches are always making “your mom” comments, I thought it would be nice to make a poat about our moms. Feel free to update this poat with photos and stories of your own. Or if you’re too retarded to figure out how to add content, send it to me and I’ll do it for you.

My mom was born November 7, 1921 in Detroit. In those days women did not generally go to the hospital to give birth, so my mom was born at home on Drexel Ave.

My mom attended Catholic school through eighth grade, then she enrolled in a high school that taught, among other things, how to become a seamstress. After graduating as a seamstress, she went to work in a very upscale women’s clothing store which no longer exists – Himelhoch’s – pronounced himmelhose. She worked in alterations where she remained until WWII.

While my dad was over in Italy patching B-24s that returned from missions (if they were lucky) all shot to hell, my mom went to work as a clerk at Fort Wayne Ordinance Depot in Detroit.