So the Crocodile Hunter has become fish bait. There’s a shock. You know, I always figured that’s how it would all end for him. You can only screw with fate one time too many. But man, what a way to go, stabbed in the heart by a stingray. I guess that beats dying in a pool of your on vomit and feces in an alley after a ballgame.

I attended the WVU football game on Saturday. It was very pleasant. In fact, maybe it was too pleasant. From where I was sitting, nobody got drunk and disorderly. Nobody uttered a cuss word the entire game. When it was over, everybody filed out in orderly fashion and there was no hate filled diatribe from the token old man sauced since the third quarter. It was a little disconcerting. I’m not sure I like the “new tone.” I mean—somebody at least bare a flask and give me an obligatory “FUCK MARSHALL” just so I KNOW I’ve been to the game.

I bought a Dominos pizza Saturday night for the first time in years. As you’re aware, I used to drive for the Domino’s hot cheese delivery service. It took years for me to get past the scent of roasted mushrooms and I just couldn’t eat the food. I’m told that happens when you work for any fast food outlet. Maybe that’s why I saw a girl with a Hardee’s uniform in Kentucky Fried Chicken the other day. Then again—Hardee’s food makes one’s openings constrict at the mere thought of what could be in there. Usually, with regard to Hardee's I just say to hell with it and eat. I don’t give a shit.

I’m a big fan of Long John Silvers, so I hesitate to present this story fearing you may be like me and have a twinge when you eat there. However, I move forward. My brother used to work at LJS. He had another guy who worked there with him and was a complete stoner from the Bill and Ted strain. This guy didn’t give a shit about anything. My brother tells me one night they were mixing up the cole slaw and this slack-jawed bastard reached into his pants, grabbed a fistful of pubes, and tossed them into the mix. To this day, I can’t stomach the thought of swallowing the cole slaw there—especially if it’s served with pepper. You just never know.

I’m told by friends in the fast food industry, we’d never eat there if we actually knew the kind of shenanigans that go on behind the counter. I’ve heard more than a few horror stories about hamburgers being pulled through the cracks of asses and so forth. I try not to think about it. I mean—for 99-cents what do you really expect?

My no-account neighbor really fucked up the other day. He’s the ex-husband of the door-mat lady next door. He bought a used boat and, AT HER EXPENSE, is fixing it up. He’s also storing it in her backyard. She doesn’t like it, but doesn’t have the guts to tell him to move it. The latest incident is the pinnacle. This asshole is parking the boat in the backyard on a slight incline. He unhooked the boat without scotching the wheels and it took off backwards down the hill. The boat hit and DESTROYED the chain link fence. He didn’t do ANYTHING about it, except take the boat to get it fixed. He didn’t fix the fence. Wotta douche.

As you can probably tell…I’m struggling today. In fact, I’ve been struggling a lot lately for material. I apologize. I’m hoping things will turn around, but so far…there’s just not been anything worth writing about. I give you this update only to let you know I’m still alive….barely.