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.
--This time they were right about the snow, the pricks.We got about twelve inches of the stuff on Friday, and I spent a
big hunk of the following morning shoveling the driveway and sending my
back muscles into a state of distress.
Folks are driving around with a big snow mohawk (snohawk?) on the
tops of their cars again, and parking lots are just a gray slushy mess.
And all of this happened after daylight saving time had already kicked
in.I don’t much care for
it.
--I’m not feeling so hot
this morning.I think my
husky torso is acting as an incubation chamber for some sort of
quickly-mutating illness.Like
maybe a cold, or something.I
want to lie on a couch ‘neath the Scrote-watcher, turn on the TV and
hope for the best.And
nothing else.Just thought
you should know.
--Yesterday Toney went to
Sam’s, the exclusive club that pursued us as members, then asked me to
help carry in the stuff she’d bought.I sighed loudly, put down my steaming vessel of Eight O’Clock,
and began hauling the crap indoors.
”How much did all this cost?!” I asked, with genuine alarm.Hell, I’m unemployed.What
are we doing filling an entire trunk of a Honda with food??Hondas have big trunks.
We finally got it down to the last few items, and I spotted a full-on
pineapple in there.No way
was I touching that thing.Pineapples
are menacing; they’re sharp in every direction.
So I refused to carry it in, and we actually got into a mini-argument
about it.Toney said I was
being purposely “ridiculous,” and I asked her what’s wrong with
just canned pineapple.I
mean, who buys the whole thing, with those razor-sharp Bowie knives
sticking out of the top, and needle-like briars going everywhere?This is America,
for crying out loud.
She apparently thought I was joking, and wasn’t in the mood for that
particular brand of levity.But
I wasn’t joking, pineapples
are scary.Those things
could cut a man wide open.
--On Saturday I almost called 911 because I needed a haircut, bad.It seems like I just had one, but it was clearly time to do it
again; the back of my neck was all fuzzy, and the top of my head was
thick and misshapen.And I
can’t have that.
So I went to my regular shop (the place where I met the Brit who smelled
like poop), and nobody was home.There
was a CLOSED sign in the window, and the parking lot hadn’t even been
plowed.The hell, man?
I thought about giving up, but I looked in the rearview mirror, saw
something that resembled Bert Convy on a five-day drunk, and decided to
press on.I’d try the
other place a few blocks away.They’re
too expensive, and you always have to wait there, but this was an
emergency.
I put my name on the list, and settled down with a battered copy of Us
magazine, prepared to log some substantial time.It’s one of the reasons I gave up on the joint….But to my surprise, I was barely into an article about Mary Kate
Olsen when they called me back.
I’d forgotten that they wash your hair in that place.And it’s another thing I dislike.I wash my hair at home, thank you very much.I don’t require a hair-washing professional, at an offsite
facility.Plus, they use
some kind of shampoo that makes a person smell like a walking, talking
salad bar.But whatever.
When I finally got to the elevated chair, the girl started in with the
forced chit-chat.How’s
your weekend going?Just
hanging out today?Have I
cut your hair before?On and
on it goes.
Needless to say, these types of conversation-starters don’t go very
far with me.I’m like an
emotional cul-de-sac when it comes to forced chit-chit.When they ask me how my weekend’s going, I always want to tell
them not so good.I can’t
stop the music that’s playing in my head, I’d like to say, the
merry-go-round music that just keeps getting louder and louder, and
makes me think Very Bad Things.
But I usually just answer, “fine.”
--Speaking of music, I
watched the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame ceremony on VH1 Saturday night.It was pretty good, especially REM’s performance.Perhaps I was slightly drunk, but I thought REM sounded damn
good.
The Van Halen situation was fairly pathetic.Nobody showed except Sammy Hagar and Michael Anthony, and another
band, Velvet Revolver, performed Van Halen’s songs. Apparently
Eddie is in rehab (again), and David Lee Roth was engaging in some sort
of hissy fit (again).Sad.
What’s the deal with the lead singer of Velvet Revolver, anyway?It’s the guy from Stone Temple Pilots, correct?Why does he act like Dieter in Sprockets?“Would you like to touch my monkey?”Freaky.
In any case, I thought it was a good show.And it caused me to break out my REM CDs yesterday, and get all
excited about them again.Especially
this one
, the most overlooked album in their catalog, and one of my
all-time favorites.Oh yeah.
--A couple of things before
I call it a day here….I
need your help in solving a crime.That’s
right, a crime.Please view
the evidence here, and I’m confident we can bring a murderer to
justice.Pass the beer nuts.
Also, I’ve added a new friend to the Big List of Friends over on the
sidebar to the left.Longtime
Surf Reporter brianf has started a blog, and you can check it out right
here.
That’ll do it for today, boys and girls.This afternoon I’m going to Staples, Long John Silver’s, and
JCPenney to buy slacks.Not
pants, mind you, slacks.
, the most overlooked album in their catalog, and one of my
all-time favorites.