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.
--
Thanks to everyone who participated in our informal demographic research
poll yesterday. It appears that Surf Reporters are not a certain age, or
live in a specific region, but are linked by a common sensibility. I
like that, and appreciate... well, most of you guys.
The site got infinitely better when we added the comments link at the
bottom of each update, allowing everyone to get in on the act. I have no
problem admitting that on many days, the comments are funnier than the
update itself. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
We've fashioned ourselves a nice little community of fucked-upness here.
Thanks folks, sincerely. The Fish thanks you as well. And if you didn't
log your vital statistics yesterday, do it today. Or tomorrow. As the
poet J. Mascis once said, whatever's cool with me.
Now go buy something from Amazon, dammit.
-- I worked in the yard all afternoon on Sunday. I mowed, I whacked, I
raked, and I blew. (And that was before I even got started.) Needless to
say, I hate all that stuff with every fiber of my fiber-laden body, but
in the end it was a masterpiece. I even walked out into the middle of
the street, so I could admire it from the perspective of passing
motorists. I guess I was experiencing the satisfaction of a job
well-done, but I don't know enough about it to be certain.
After I made every member of the family go outside and heap praise upon
me, I fixed us a cuppa two tree stiff bourbon 'n' Cokes, and Toney and I
started getting ready for dinner. My role was to make the salad, and
that simply can't be done without booze. At least that's been my
experience....
Before we sat down to eat, I closed the curtains on the front of the
house. It seems that every night, right at dinnertime, an irritating
woman walks past with her passel of peanut-allergy children. I call her
many things, all having to do with her slightly too-long neck. She's
alternately High Neck, Tall Neck, Chimney Neck, and Tower Neck. And she
waves at us, through the windows.
I don't know why this bothers me, but it does. It's OK to wave at
someone if both parties are outdoors, or indoors, but it feels like a
violation somehow when you start mixing and matching. One night she was
waving at us, and I closed the curtains right in her face. Then I told
everyone that I was about ready to run out on the porch and yell PEANUT!
Every one of those kids would probably blow up like Mrs.
Puff, I predicted, and the Secrets thought that was a riot.
So we had dinner, and were preparing to
settle in for America's Funniest Home Videos, the funniest show
on television, and our dog Andy started giving me his I Need To Lay Out
A Tan One stare. Grrr... Pennsylvania Outdoor Life was still on
though, so I had time. I didn't really care which viewer would win the
deluxe turkey call package anyway.
And when I opened the front door, I think I literally shrieked.
Everything had gone to hell. Leaves were all over the lawn, and it
looked very similar to the way it had before I'd done any work at all. I
couldn't believe it. The wind was blowing, and there was a freakin'
vortex of leaves in the middle of the yard, taunting me and calling me
pussified. I was suddenly on the verge of tears.
Andy went out there and shit in the middle of it all, then I closed the
door without saying anything, and went straight to the Maker's Mark
bottle. To settle my nerves.
-- I know this one is sorta short, but I need to get to work. It's
starting to heat up there, and I'd better be available for bitching and
whining sessions. But I'll leave you with a few things to take up the
slack.
This a good explosive-diarrhea story that Buck suggested we all read.
It's from the National Lampoon Humor Network, you'll notice. So blame
them and Buck, not me.
Here's an all-time classic from the print zine era. This is "Ass
Shaver" by Doug Holland, from the pages of his legendary Pathetic
Life. Anybody know what happened to that
guy? He's gone even
further underground, it seems. A shame.
And finally, let's switch gears completely, and check out the latest
happenings in Normal, over at Jason Headley Dotcom.
--
Thanks to everyone who participated in our informal demographic research
poll yesterday. It appears that Surf Reporters are not a certain age, or
live in a specific region, but are linked by a common sensibility. I
like that, and appreciate... well, most of you guys.
