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.
--
Toney told me she thinks there are "critters in the
crawlspace," near the Surf Report bunker. She was up extra-early
this morning, and said she heard scratching and scampering behind
the wall that separates my office from the garage. And as you might have
guessed, I don't much care for that sort of thing. The term
"critters" is disconcertingly vague, and could encompass a
wide array of exotic animals and small woodland creatures. And don't
even get me started on "scampering."
I haven't heard a thing in here, but I'm unable to fully relax. I just
know it's only a matter of time before a chipmunk or a grouse or
something comes free-falling out of the drop-ceiling, and attaches
itself to my face. Remember that scene in National Lampoon's
Christmas Vacation where Chevy Chase is running through the house
with a squirrel stuck to his back? Well, I do.
I'll keep you updated on this developing story. Sweet Maria. Aren't
rabies shots administered through the belly button? And every day for
two weeks straight, or some shit? Yeah, I can't have that.
Critters in the Crawlspace is a pretty good name for a band, though.
-- Toney's cousin was reportedly sitting at a stoplight in Philadelphia
a few days ago, on her way to pay her ailing mother's Sears bill (or
whatever). She was looking at the bill, not paying attention to the
light, and the guy behind her honked his horn when it turned green.
And just as she was moving her foot from the brake to the gas pedal, a
car came screaming through the intersection, running the red light on
the cross-street, and struck a pedestrian. The poor bastard went sailing
through the air "like a rag doll" and landed in a heap on
someone's front yard. Predictably, the car just kept going.
Everyone jumped out of their vehicles and ran to check on the injured
man, and he was supposedly unconscious with his eyes open(!). Blood was
pouring out of his ears and eye sockets, and I'm no doctor, but that
doesn't sound very good, does it?
If Toney's cousin hadn't been preoccupied with that Sears bill, she
probably would've been in the middle of the intersection when the car
came barreling through, and could very easily be dead today. And it
probably would've been closed-casket funeral. Ya know?
That's the kind of thing that'll flat
shake a person up. I remember driving in Atlanta once, through a quiet
residential neighborhood, and a car came rocketing off a side street, completely
disregarding the stop sign, and whooshed past my hood at a high
rate of speed. I don't think the color came back to my face until the
following day, and I can't remember the details, but it's very likely I had to
just toss my undergarments (including t-shirt) into the nearest dumpster; I have a feeling they
were completely shot.
Has anything like this ever happened to you? Have you ever found
yourself thinking, "Sweet sainted mother of Fantastic Sam! If I'd
left the house just five seconds later...." Tell us about
it, won't you?
-- Buck sent me this picture today, and said it made him think of me.
I'm not really sure how to take that....
-- Last night I was skimming an article about Rod Stewart in the latest
issue of Rolling Stone (yes, you read that correctly), and came
across this puzzling sentence:
"He smiles, because Elton John,
whom Stewart sometimes refers to as Sharon..."
WTF??
-- I stole this link from
Mark Maynard. It illustrates hate group activity in
each American state, complete with a whimsical map populated with jaunty
little Klansmen icons, etc. Here's Pennsylvania, for instance.
As you can see, there is supposedly some kind of skinhead Nazi activity going on
up here in the northeastern corner of the state. I don't know anything about
that, but I did once see a woman standing in line at the Gerrity's deli
who looked a lot like Heinrich Himmler. Does that count?
What's happening in your neck of the woods?
-- I think that'll just about do it for today, children. In case you
should give a tiny seahorse-shaped craplet, today's my birthday. Exactly
forty-four years ago I came tumbling into this world (that's right, tumbling),
and it's been a pretty good ride. How I've managed it, I have not a
clue, but it's been a good time, so far.
And since it's my birthday, that means it's also Shawn B.'s
birthday. She and I were born on the same day in the same year, and
shared the Big Birthday Chair all through elementary school. We're
linked forever, regardless of how she may feel about that.
So, once again, happy birthday Shawn, wherever you are!
Oh, and this year I'm really going to do it. I'm going to use the $100 my parents
send me, to have my prized Shane MacGowan poster framed. I've had it now
for about ten years and vow to get it framed annually, and properly
displayed in the bunker. But, for a variety of reasons, it never actually
happens. This is the year all that comes to an end, my friends, and Shane will
officially join the Surf Report Collection.
Yep, Mom and Dad will be so
proud I put their money to such good use....
-- To celebrate this semi-special day, I've taken the liberty of
breaking several copyright laws, and uploaded one of my favorite Phil
Hendrie segments to YouSendIt. It runs about thirty minutes, and
features Ted Bell, owner of Ted's of Beverly Hills steakhouse -- home of
the baked potato tree. The first 100 interested parties can download it here.
--
Toney told me she thinks there are "critters in the
crawlspace," near the Surf Report bunker. She was up extra-early
this morning, and said she heard scratching and scampering behind
the wall that separates my office from the garage. And as you might have
guessed, I don't much care for that sort of thing. The term
"critters" is disconcertingly vague, and could encompass a
wide array of exotic animals and small woodland creatures. And don't
even get me started on "scampering."