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.
--
The new season of Deadwood kicked off last night, and the
numbers were posted within fifteen minutes of the end of the
show. A little slower than normal, but I was out of practice.... In the
coming weeks I'll do better, once I find my fuck-counting groove.
Last night's episode served up a fairly typical ration of our favorite
word, along with its sister-obscenity, cocksucker. But the surprising
development, as far as I can tell, is that Trixie just might give
Swearengin and Calamity Jane a run for their money this season. She's
not quite as colorful as those other characters, but the girl has a
world-class gutter mouth that cannot be ignored.
Anyway, the new season has started, and the first show was excellent as
always. And we're here counting the fucks, which will lead to a thousand
links on a thousand blogs, accompanied by the sentence, "Some
people have way too much time on their hands."
Just the way nature intended.
-- On Sunday we dragged the camper, our rolling box of beds, out of the
garage for the first time this season, and set it up on the driveway. We
wanted to prepare it for another summer, put new batteries in all the
flashlights, and load in the miscellaneous supplies we'd picked-up over
the winter. Plus, I needed to make sure that a family of raccoons or
hedgehogs or whatever hadn't taken refuge inside, an annual fear.
So we opened it up in front of our house, much to the chagrin of our uptown
neighbors, and monkeyed around with it all day. It's exciting to start
making plans, and to smell the campfire smoke-saturated interior. I
think that it's nearly impossible to be in a bad mood while smelling
campfire smoke.
The Secrets, of course, were bouncing off the ceiling the whole time,
and wrestling on the beds, and all that stuff. I noticed that the thing
was moving around a lot more than normal. The heck? For a few seconds I
couldn't figure it out, but then I remembered: I'd failed to lower the
four corner braces, the stabilizers. Oh well, I thought, we were almost
done. Screw it.
And as we were folding it back up, I
had trouble with one of the beds. The aluminum bar that holds up the
canvas above the boys' bunk wouldn't come down, so I crawled up there to
work it loose from the inside. It was wedged in pretty good, and I had
to put forth some effort to work it loose.
Then the whole deal tipped over. The big bed on the front end went way
up in the air, and the smaller one that I was lying on tilted all the
way the ground. The thing was like a giant teeter-totter, and I didn't
know what was going on. Was the shit collapsing?? I heard Toney gasp and
I jumped to the floor, which caused the camper to crash back down
to earth with a sickening, bone-jarring racket.
Holy crap.
I was sure I'd damaged something vital, but I think we got away with it.
We opened it back up, did a thorough inspection, and everything seemed
normal. And as soon as we realized we were in the clear, we both started
laughing hysterically, and couldn't stop for a while.
I am the real-life Homer Simpson.
-- On Saturday I returned to our neighborhood dive bar for the first
time in several months. Again they were serving up frosty pints of
Yuengling lager for two bucks each, every other one free. How do
they even turn a profit?? I feel almost guilty drinking there.
When I arrived there were three or four people sitting at one end of the
bar, all huddled around a big brood mare who looks like she's wearing a
neck brace. She clearly fancies herself the Queen of the Bar and is
apparently always in attendance. Every single time I've gone she's been
seated in the same place, holding court with her cigs and
boisterousness.
I planted myself on a stool all the way at the other end of the bar, by
myself, and told the bartender to open up the Yuengling pipeline. As I
nursed my vessel of golden elixir, I checked the place out again, and
noticed that the bubble gum machine that looked like it had spent
considerable time on the bottom of a lake was now gone. What the hell,
man?? I'm pretty sure that nothing much has changed in that dump since
the Nixon administration. Yet they'd removed my favorite feature in less
than six months. Wotta rip-off.
While I worked on my second pint, I overheard a member of the Queen's
court tell a disturbing story. He was an old guy, probably in his
seventies, and wearing a fishing hat.
He said that years ago he'd been infatuated with a woman who had
"incredible breasts." He'd see her at his favorite bar all the
time, and lust after her in silence. Finally, on a night when he was
extra drunk, he made his move. And to his surprise it worked out well
for him. He ended up back at her apartment, making out with her on the
couch.
Shocked at his good fortune, he frantically helped her out of her blouse
and bra, and was prepared to see her "legendary tits" for the
first time. The only problem was, he was so drunk he saw four of them.
And it rattled him so much, he couldn't perform.
I experienced a full-body shiver, but the court thought it was
hilarious. I looked over and the Queen had her head thrown back, and
great puffs of smoke were coming out of her mouth as she laughed. Sweet
Jesus.
A few minutes later a gravelly-voiced woman came in, with wet
just-out-of-the-shower hair, and took a seat near me. She ordered a beer
and a shot of something, and announced to everyone, "I need to
pee," before heading off to the can.
And that's when I got the hell out of there. Ol' Wet Hair felt like a
talker to me, and I didn't need any of that action. So I hit the
highway.
Always an interesting experience, though.
-- And I had two more items that I wanted to mention today, but they'll
have to wait. I'll leave you now with the
cover of Friday's New York Post, which made me laugh.
Thanks to Brad for forwarding it to me, and also for suggesting woxy.com,
a really great internet radio station. You'll notice a small ad for them
at the top of this page, and you should check 'em out if you're so
inclined. Both the main broadcast and their vintage channel are unusually
good.
--
The new season of Deadwood kicked off last night, and 