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.
--
Not much to report this morning... The oldest Secret was under the
weather all weekend, and we didn't venture too far from the compound. I
was planning to take the family to Toney's favorite Mom 'n' Pop Italian
restaurant for dinner yesterday, but was worried that a hearty stream of
vomit might put a damper on things.
So I just bought a couple of big (and decidedly kick-ass) pizzas, a case
of Yuengling Black & Tan, and it was my kind of Mother's Day.
And luckily for me, Toney's kind as well.
I hope everyone had a good one, where applicable. I'm generally not a
big fan of the extortion-racket Hallmark "holidays," but when
you can work beer and pizza into them.... much of the bitterness has a
tendency to evaporate.
Here are a few random nuggets I cobbled together during our weekend of
dormancy:
-- For the past couple of weeks I've had a copy of Shopgirl
sitting on top of the downstairs TV, nestled inside its red, red Netflix
envelope. But I just can't bring myself to watch it. I have a feeling,
and I could be wrong, that it'll be creepy as fuck. The idea of Steve
Martin, who is even older than I am, pining for Angela
Chase, makes me nervous.
I like Steve Martin, always have. The first "concert" I ever
attended was a Steve Martin comedy show at the Huntington Civic Center,
during his wild & crazy King Tut white suit days. I laughed so hard
I thought my pancreas might dislodge from its housing. I don't really
want to start thinking of him as the modern-day Roman Polanski. Ya know?
So I'll leave it in your hands. Tell me how to proceed. If it's a dirty
old man pervfest, I need to know now.
-- I'm a little worried about our neighborhood. We've lived here for six
years, and it's been a full-on Leave It To Beaver town: no
crime, kids everywhere, parents out mowing their lawns and washing their
cars, gas grills a-cranking on the weekends....
But that's the way it was in Atlanta too, until the graffiti started
showing up. I remember seeing it on a stop sign first, and it spread
from there. Before we knew it, things had become a tad questionable.
And by the time we moved, it was more than just a tad.
So you can probably understand my concern
when I discovered some tagging near our house on Saturday. Check
it out.
Do you think it's <gulp> gang-related?
-- Steve told me about this on Sunday morning, and I was excited all
day. The 1975 World Series, all seven games in their entirety, on seven
DVDs! It's the freakin' holy grail -- the reason God and Al Gore gave us
modern technology. June 13 is the day it'll be released, and man, I'm
all over that like a dingo on a Cub Scout.
I'm sorry, I'm getting a little emotional here....
-- Surf Reporter Todd sends along this photo of what he claims is white
dog shit. I'm not so sure; it looks more like radishes to me. But I
assume he knows what he's talking about....
Thanks Todd, for this rare
glimpse of a true endangered species.
-- Here's something both entertaining and a bit baffling. Is
Jack
finally losing his shit?? Sweet Maria. Maybe it's a result of all the
times he's been, you know, dead?
-- This is an article announcing the release of a Play-Doh perfume. Not a bad idea, but I'm still waiting on the New Electronics
scent. What other perfumes and colognes would you like to see on the
market?
-- And finally, here's something new and tasty from lakrfool.
--
Not much to report this morning... The oldest Secret was under the
weather all weekend, and we didn't venture too far from the compound. I
was planning to take the family to Toney's favorite Mom 'n' Pop Italian
restaurant for dinner yesterday, but was worried that a hearty stream of
vomit might put a damper on things. 