--No beer ‘til England.That’s my vow.I’ve
set myself some fairly steep goals over the next few months, and I’m
also a not-so-jolly fat man.So
a temporary moratorium on the golden elixir should help on all fronts.
My last hurrah, as they say, was on my birthday last week.We went to Kildare’s, an “Irish” pub, and had dinner.I opted for the shepherd’s pie, a Guinness, and a Harp.And when I got home I enjoyed a cuppa two tree Yuenglings in
front of the Big Ass Television (BAT).
So there you go.No beer ‘til
England.Or until I call the whole thing off, whichever comes first.
And that goes for bourbon, as well.To
tell you the truth, this has been the worst Bourbon Season ever.I think we had one small bottle of Maker’s Mark back around
Halloween, and our hearts just weren’t in it.We never re-stocked, or even thought about it much.
Employment stress drove a stake right through the heart of Bourbon
Season ’07.Wotta rip-off.Perhaps I’ll sue somebody for infringing on my religious
rights?Is Jackie Chiles
available?
--Speaking of my birfday…My parents sent me a card with a check in it.(Yes, I’m in my early sixties… what of it?)I’ve been sitting on the money trying to decide how to spend
it, and need your opinion on something.
I considered getting caught up on my TV show box sets; I still need
the final seasons of The
Sopranos
and Seinfeld,
and also require
the just-released second season of Saturday
Night Live.But none of that feels quite right.Ya know?
No, I’m thinking about plunking some of it down on Photoshop Elements 6.0, and devoting a little time to mastering that bitch.What do you think?Should
I try to improve my skillz,
or just blow the whole thing on TV shows and the facilitation of my
ever-expanding ass?
Let me know your thoughts on this pressing issue.
--It’s almost time to start
working a little Christmas music into the bunker mix.Most of it irritates me, of course, but there are a few
exceptions.
Through my vast network of liars and backstabbers, for instance, I got
my hands on a Starbucks CD a few years ago, that features a bunch of
the old time classics.You
know, like Bing and Dean Martin....That’s
always a favorite.And you
simply can’t go wrong with Elvis and Sinatra during the holiday
season.
What are your favorite Christmas CDs?Or
is that a ridiculous question, like asking someone about their
favorite colonoscopy scope?Use
the comments link to tell us all about it.
--There’s a woman at my job
who keeps making references to her brother dying.She injects it into most conversations.Like she’ll say, “Yeah, I was doing real well with Weight
Watchers, until my brother died.Then
everything went to hell.”
I think she wants somebody to ask her about it, but nobody will come
near the subject.Because we
all know better.We know that
the moment a person says, “What happened
to your brother?” we’ll be trapped in an uncomfortable marathon of
pretending to listen and acting like we’re all busted up about it.
And we can’t have that.
--And speaking of work.I was there last night peeing on company time, when a guy came
waltzing into the bathroom, gave me a jaunty little salute, and
proceeded to have a
seat.
I simply don’t understand it; I must be missing a gene, or
something.How could a person
just shit so freely, in a public setting?By the time I left the Small Room I could hear newspapers
rustling, the humming of what sounded like “New
York,
New
York,”
and the very beginnings of beforewind.
I’m usually proud of my decades-long streak of never crapping at
work, but sometimes feel the tiniest
twinge of jealousy.
--Why do weather people tell
us about the barometer, and all that rising and falling stuff?Does anybody understand it, besides meteorologists?I’m not even sure I know what barometers do.What do they measure?And
how does it impact my life?!I’m
starting to get a little worked up…
--And Andy’s in the bunker right
now, staring at me.He likes to
play a game where he pretends to be on the verge of exploding in a
spectacular supernova of dog pee.Then
when I let him out he stands on the sidewalk like a ceramic lawn
decoration, staring straight ahead with the wind rustling his snout
fur.
We have this understanding, you see.
So I’m going to call it a day here, let Black Lips out, yell at him
to hurry his ass up, call him a piece of shit, and complete the
transaction.
, and devoting a little time to mastering that bitch.