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.
--
You guys have yourselves a great holiday. We're shoving off this morning
for my parents' house, where we'll partake of outrageous amounts of food
and not nearly enough drink. Because that's the way we roll on Kay family
get-togethers, I'm afraid. I think it has something to do with the Baptists. Or
whatever.
I haven't yet reached the point where I carry a hip flask during family
gatherings, and completely check-out, but estimate that I'm only about two or three years from it. Yep, my
inner barometer is telling me I'm roughly 24 to 36 months out, from
being crowned a full-blown "drunk uncle." You know what I'm
talking about, right? Those surly, distant men (that don't literally
have to be an uncle) who continuously need to "check on
something in the car," and always smell like Old Spice and Early
Times?
Wish me luck. I've got a lot invested in this.
When I was a senior in high school we took a school- sanctioned trip to
King's Island amusement park near Cincinnati, and a Reds game on the
following day. We were warned, repeatedly, that our bags would be
searched and no alcohol would be tolerated. Therefore, lots of booze was
transported via decoy shampoo bottles.
After an evening of horrors inside the park, we returned to the hotel
and got "settled in." Within an hour I was walking into rooms
and finding classmates taking blasts off bottles of Breck, and passing 'em
down. I hunkered down for an extended period with a couple of guys who were
enjoying a tall VO5 (for normal hair), and some spirited baseball talk.
And much later in the evening I stumbled into a room at the end of the
row, and encountered a girl completely passed out, smiling, and cradling
an empty container of Salon Selectives in the crook of her arm.
So I'm thinking I might go that route, once I get the call-up. This
might shock some of you, but I believe it's time for a complete overhaul
of the Drunk Uncle program. And ass flasks will be the first thing to
go. I mean, what is this, the Dean Martin Comedy Hour?
Anyway, we'll be driving today for a long, long time, and our dog Andy
has never been inside my new car. So far I haven't even allowed him near
the interior with his big Freddy Krueger hands. But I guess that's all
about to change. I'm planning to cover everything with blankets and
sheets, and will try to keep the damage to a minimum. But I'm not exactly
bubbling over with confidence here....
And yes, I'm aware it's only a tiny leap
from covering the interior of your car with bed sheets, to going around
the house and unplugging appliances before leaving on a trip. And I
know, intellectually, that it doesn't make any sense to believe your
electrical outlets will just suddenly burst into flame the moment
you back out of the driveway. But what's there to do? There's no fighting nature.
And if unplugging is the next mile-marker then, mister, I'm ready for
it. I am ready to embrace the unplugging!
Ahem. These frantic late-night Yuengling-fueled updates never really work out,
for some reason.
I think I'd better just wind this thing down.... I hope y'all have a
great Thanksgiving. If, on the off-chance, you should feel the need to
complain about anything, we're here for you. If, say, a brother-in-law is
really getting on your last snappin' nerve around the
holiday table, just log onto TheWVSR and cut loose with it.
Use the comments
link below as your own personal therapist and/or bartender. Because we're
all in this together.
--
You guys have yourselves a great holiday. We're shoving off this morning
for my parents' house, where we'll partake of outrageous amounts of food
and not nearly enough drink. Because that's the way we roll on Kay family
get-togethers, I'm afraid. I think it has something to do with the Baptists. Or
whatever.