Holy
crap in a Bundt pan...
Due to the
recent well-publicized shortage of
amateur websites produced by assholes who consider themselves to be
clever, I
have been called into action. My name is Jeff Kay, and I’m an
Ugly American living
on the cusp of a mid-life crisis, near Scranton, PA. And I’m here to
serve, baby.
The
State of My Fat Ass A journal of
sorts, updated every once in a while.
--
I took a sick day yesterday, to protect my nearly thirty year-long
streak of not crapping at work. I'd been to Don Pablo's the night
before, and my chicken fuh-jeetas tasted a bit odd. Not bad, really,
just unusual. I thought they were probably slightly burnt, and soldiered
on.
Then I woke up in the middle of the night with a disturbance in the
lower quadrant, and this was repeated several times throughout the
morning. Not to be unnecessarily descriptive, but it was like a shotgun
blast every time. So I decided to stay close to the house. I'm good, but
not that good. My status as the Lou Gehrig of the Sphincter
would've very likely come to an abrupt and noisy end yesterday.
And I can't have that.
-- Since I was home, I got a chance to watch the local news last night.
I rarely see it, because I'm always on the run (in a matter of
speaking). But we're supposed to get a little snow today, so we turned
off Nickelodeon for a half hour, and got ourselves up-to-date on the
local happenings. Here are the highlights:
A man walked up to a Kentucky Fried Chicken (that's KFC to the young and
with-it, the Colonel to all my relatives) with a "stab wound to the
buttocks." He asked the cashier to call an ambulance, and was taken
to a local hospital. That's all they said about it, leaving me and Toney
looking at each other with confusion. How does a man get stabbed in the
ass? What series of events would lead up to such an event? And where did
he come from? Did he just wander out of the woods with his ass laid-open
like that? I can't speak for everyone, but I'd like to see a follow-up
story on that deal.
The field where the AAA baseball team (the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre
Yankees) plays will no longer be called Lackawanna County Stadium.
Officials signed a "naming rights" deal with a bank, and the
stadium will now be called PNC Field. Needless to say, the locals are up
in arms about it. Change doesn't come easy in these parts.... Me? I
couldn't give even the tiniest of tiny craps about any of it. Who cares
what the stadium is called? Some people act like they're in training to go
pro with their bitching. Jesus J. McChrist.
Instead of putting money in their offering envelope, a local couple
inserted a protest letter addressed to the priest of their church on
Sunday. Apparently they're upset because a Catholic high school is
scheduled to close soon, and were making some sort of statement. The
priest took it as a threat of financial boycott, and kicked the
couple out of his parish. I was amused that this petty squabble was
being covered by the local media, and surprised at their take on the
situation. My reaction was that the couple was being punished for simply
voicing an opinion, but the news report seemed to paint them as rogues,
loose-cannons bent on the ultimate destruction of the Catholic Church. I
wouldn't be surprised to learn they had to flee the state in the dark of
night. Freaky.
A Sheetz convenience store in Altoona has received a license to sell
beer. Beginning at exactly two o'clock on Thursday, six-packs can be
purchased at this one store only. And a local news crew was hovering
above the building in a helicopter(!), sending back a live video feed.
There were no details on who made the first purchase, or what they
bought, but rest assured..... it's another sure sign of the coming
apocalypse.
And finally.... After being informed that the expected "winter
storm" probably wouldn't amount to much, we were treated to a
lengthy feature about a kids' product called Moon Sand. It started out
with an informational report about the stuff, then we were taken live to
an elementary school. A grown man was shown wallowing around in the
floor wearing dress clothes, building sand castles and acting all
excited about some crap he'd bought at Toys R Us earlier in the day.
There were kids there too, and they had that so-called Moon Sand all
over their pants and in their eyebrows and whatnot. I'm not sure, but I
think I saw one boy eat a handful of it. They told the wallowing man
that the stuff is "cool," and this was treated as a revelation
from on high, as if it sealed their Pulitzer, sure as shit.
I turned to Toney and asked, "So, is this, like, a normal
newscast?" And she said, "Yes it is."
What's going on in your neck of the woods? Can it compare to the beehive
of activity underway in northeastern Pennsylvania? Tell us about it,
won't you?
And I'm gonna pass the baton to Buck
now, and wish you folks a fine, fine weekend.
--
I took a sick day yesterday, to protect my nearly thirty year-long
streak of not crapping at work. I'd been to Don Pablo's the night
before, and my chicken fuh-jeetas tasted a bit odd. Not bad, really,
just unusual. I thought they were probably slightly burnt, and soldiered
on.