It ain't a family reunion without a knife fight

It's that time again. Time for the whole Captain clan to head on down to the Bible Belt for a little git-er-done-together with the family. Most of my family hails from Virginia and the likes. We are forced to see each other every year to talk about fun things like ourselves, our family, and Jesus. That's right, Jesus. I am the Black Sheep of the family since I am the only one not converted yet. The rest of the Klan is either born-again, my personal favorite, or born right into it. We have wonderful debates. And I am really looking forward to this year. Last year's reunion was quite a spectacle. We had a one hour fight about Gay people, a two hour "discussion" about the Bible, and lots of screaming. I think I helped kickstart this when I asked to no one in particular, "So if you believe them gays are taking over because they want to promote social change and anyone who agrees with them is gay as well, then by your own standards Jesus and his disciples were gay." Apparently this is wrong? I admit I probably shouldn't have spouted later, "Jews for Jesus? That's idiotic. You know who was the founding member? Jesus!" Well, this sent my uncle overboard. "I've about had enough of your mouth boy!" he screamed at me. Then he shot up out of his chair, and brandished the knife he had been whittling a wooden gun with. Not thinking, I grabbed my steak knife from dinner, flung the remaining Barbecue sauce at him, and pointed it at him like I was Costner's Robin Hood or something. "You want a knife fight" I screamed at him, "because I'm not from some rinky-dink farm in Virginia. I got my lunch money taken all the time at school, and I'm no stranger to a good old fashioned knife fight. Just one thing, when I win this fight, and you're dead, I'll thank God for giving me the strength to win this battle, which he clearly wanted me to win!" My uncle glanced around the table, sizing up everyone's approval or lack of, and sat back down. "Well now Captain, I was just fucking with you." I stayed my ground. "I forgive you uncle. Besides, the Lord teaches us to forgive, does he not? Except racially mixed marriages, that we can never forgive." The table burst into cheers and the fight forgotten as we bonded in our love for each other and our disdain for those different than us. Lord grant me the strength to change that which does not need changing.

Fignuts!

Tagged! Just like at my parents' swinger parties

Thanks to Tina Popo, here are 7 things I'll never do:

1) Vote for Pat Robertson for president...again

2) Wear ladies underpants on Wednesdays

3) Stop dancing. I just love it.

4) Agree that Rush Limbaugh has some good qualities

5) Jump out of an airplane. (actually, if I was diagnosed with a terminal disease, then I would)

6) Watch "The Nanny" (12 years and going strong!)

7) Say anything bad about "Arrested Development", the greatest show ever. No, Ever!

2 Stupid Things

Just a couple of dumb thoughts.




Seriously 20/20? With everything worth talking about? Summer of the Vampire? Hey John Stossel, give ME a fucking break!



Thank God they found Scout Taylor-Compton, the star of “Sleepover” and … “Sleepover”. If another week went by FOX News may have had to pull out this lady for reassignment.

Today's Classified Ad

SWM, 29, seeking a big and beautiful body of land inhabited solely by indigenous people. I would like to come over and meet all of you with some of my like-minded friends who wish to avoid religious persecution. Must be clean, not too strong, non-scalping preferred. If you would like, we could share meals together. I have been tested for most contagious diseases, so we should be fine there. You will recognize me when my large ship comes pulling up to your banks. Must allow gambling and alcohol. Interest in beads and pelts preferred. No fatties!

My smoker's cough has become a pawn of the anti-smoking media

There is a big problem, you people, that needs some attention! Recently, my smoker's cough has been outspoken and now has become a tool, a damn puppet, for the scurrilous anti-smoking media. Don't get me wrong, I sympathize with my smoker's cough. It is just mourning the slow degradation of my lungs. But now it has vocalized itself so much that it is sitting vigil almost all day waiting for me to come talk to it and quit smoking! Now, the treasonous anti-smoking people are noticing it and taking up its cause. I get things daily now like "Wow Captain, that cough sounds pretty bad. Maybe you ought to quit smoking!" We cannot quit smoking now at such a critical time, people! I began this smoking to deal with stress and anxiety, and the stress and anxiety is still there. If I pull out now and quit smoking, I will just be telling the anxiety, "Okay, you win. Come and attack me any time you like!" We must stand strong! But the pathetic asswipe anti-smokers will have you believe it's easy to quit and have also been joined been joined by miserable anti groups like the Low Energy Coalition, Veterans For Good Breath, and of course the sky-is-falling You'll Get Lung Cancer Brigade. They'll tell you anything to get people over to their side of thinking! Here's what I know about smoking. It's delicious, it promotes healthy relationships with your family, and Jesus did it. Need I say more! Michelle Malkin says in her latest book, Babbling Gibberish For Monetary Gain, "While having never smoked myself, I can tell you that anyone who opposes smoking is Communist and should be put to death." I couldn't have said it better myself, you people! And as far as my smoker's cough goes, I now believe it to be lying and making itself up. I did swallow a bug recently while riding in my convertible. I'm sure that is what happened. Come on people! Let us not stand for this anti-smoking media bullshit anymore! When someone comes up to you and says "Smoking is bad for you", you turn to that person and say, "Only someone who hates America, and freedom, and the right for me to do what I want would say that, you terrorist!" Let us make this stand for the goodness and righteousness that is smoking! We cannot let the terrorists win! We must continue to smoke!

Fignuts!

Roger Ebert says "This Site Now Better Than Deuce Bigalow:European Gigolo"

Attention all six of you! This site is now officially "the bomb"! A very special thanks to Baby Jewels for the designing of, as Focus on the Family's Dr. James Dobson says, "the greatest blog EVER created!" With the redesign of this blog, I will now be changing the format as well. Get ready for the Captain's hilarious new blog about silly things that happen while walking my dog. Thanks again Jewels. The Bomb!

Fignuts!!!!!!!

Thank you Osco! Your fear-based advertising is a refreshing change from all the other fear-based advertising I see on the news.

On my lunch break, which is when I always make sure to do my important tasks, I went to Osco Drugs to refill a few prescriptions. Making my way past the Krispy Kremes and Coca Cola in the front, I chuckled at how far back you have to go in the store to get anything healthy. I think if you even reach on a shelf for Brown Rice, you are immediately dragged through the shelf and into Narnia. It's true! It happened to my aunt once, but due to her girth and freakish upper body strength, she was able to pull herself back and promptly dropped a box of Honey Smacks into her cart. She'd tell you herself, but she's dead. Just kidding, she's just brain-dead. We have her on a feeding tube. Actually, we're not really sure if she's brain dead. Anyway, let's bring this back to me. I approached the counter and found my always courteous Pharmacist talking on the phone. Without making eye contact, she politely raised one finger to me, which I took to mean I should wait until she was finished talking and then she would gladly assist me in our 12 second transaction. Not 48 seconds later, I was given the privilege of handing over my doctor-written requests for my necessary medicinals. "So just the Prozac and Xanex?" She's so cute when she's acting non-chalant! "That's right my good lady! And I thank you in advance!" Turning to walk to the "waiting area", six chairs and a blood pressure machine, I noticed an advert for Aspirin.














Well, this was just the news I was looking for! I don't normally think about the fact I could drop dead at any moment, so occasionally I DO need a little reminder. I mean, if my doctor thought I needed to take something to help prevent an embolism he'd tell me, right? But then again, you never can be sure! I mean like it says, there are miles of arteries in your heart and brain alone, how remote can the possibility really be that I could clot? I drink a shitload of alcohol, so that can help thin my blood, but is that really enough? Am I paying no mind to the man behind the curtain? Am I ignoring the purple elephant in the room? Well, with all this going through my mind I did have a chance to be appreciative. Who loves ya, baby. Osco, that's who. I know you're not out to hawk some shit. You are genuinely concerned for my well being and care what happens to me, your loyal customer! A tiny comfort eased over me as I took this warming thought and let it envelop me like a thick, fuzzy blanket on a cold afternoon. Some people still really do care. The news cares if I am in danger of fetal jaundice, which is why they present teasers like "Is your kid at risk for turning yellow and dying a slow, painful, orangish death? Stay tuned!" Or the government. "9/11 happened and we didn't see that coming. Are you prepared?" and "We're raising the alert to Orange, but go about your business. Wouldn't be a bad idea to stop off at Osco and get yourself some duct tape though." I need these reminders to slap me out of a false sense of security and open my eyes to the possibility I may be clotting right now. I leaned over the counter and asked my little Mustang Sally "How much for this Aspirin? And any chance of getting an advance on two of those Xanex before the 20 minutes you require to bottle my medicinals?"

Fignuts! I just like the sound of it.

All hail the coolest mother fucker in the room...ten years ago

It's hard for me to believe, but I had to go back to school. It was my ten year reunion last week. It wasn't an easy decision either. I was in the Pay No Mind group, not even registering on a scale of coolness, unknow to to many of the others in my class. I was talked into it by two of my good friends who had Dual Citizenship. They hung out with the cool crowd but were also able to intermingle occasionally with the Pay No Minds, a bond not yet broken carried over from Junior High. There I was with my wife hanging out with the group of six I still talked to. I was eating a little pizza and rocking out to some Jesus Jones' "Right Here, Right Now" when in they walked. Strutting slowly across the gymnasium like "Reservoir Dogs" without the nice clothes. The Cool Kids. It was really reassuring to see that they hadn't lost any of their self-assurance. Thank God someone still has it. They immediately started mingling in with some of their other Cool friends, slapping hands, the Girls were fake crying and saying "I know, I know, I can't believe it's been so loooonng!" Then, the thing I feared in the first place happened. Two of them walked over. I could handle it if they had no clue who I was, but if they did know for some strange reason, I would be forced to make small talk. Really small talk. Since I'll be relaying a bit of dialogue here, let me create a sort of legend. We'll call the main Coolest Mother Fucker in the Room CMFITR. We'll call the other ones CMFGMF 1-? For Coolest Mother Fucker's Groupie Mother Fucker. We'll call the Dual Citizenships DC 1-?. And me? I'll be DISR, for Drunken Illiterate Surgical Resident.

DC1: "Hey, how's it going man?" *high five* "It's been a while! What's up dudes?"
CMFGMF1: "Hey"
CMFGMF2: "'sup"
CMFITR: "Yeah dude, long time" *turns to me* "Hey."
DC1: "You remember DISR?"
CMFITR: "Yeah, I think we had Pre-Calc together."
DISR: "Wasn't it Calc?"
CMFITR: "Nah, I didn't take Calc."
DISR: "Oh. Well who needs to use that shit anyway?"
CMFITR: "Yeah. So what are you up to?"
DISR: "Not much. Finished Med school. I'm a surgical resident now."
CMFGMF2: "Is that your wife? She's hot!"
DISR: "Yeah, she's a surgeon too. " *turn to CMFITR* "What are you up to?"
CMFITR: "Oh, er...I work here."
DISR: "No shit? That's cool, giving back to the place you loved. What do you teach?"
CMFITR: "Well, actually, I'm one of the maintenance guys. But it's cool, get to date a lot of hot eighteen year olds!"
DISR: "Really? That's...great."
CMFITR: "Well, two of them. They saw the old football picks on the wall and kind of got into it."
CMFGMF1: "Hey, now I remember you! Didn't we chase you in a car down the street during a party and then cover you in mashed potatoes and Saran wrap you?"
DISR: "Yeah, that was me."
CMFGMF1: "Oh shit, sorry about that."
DISR: "No big deal. My therapist says thanks."
CMFITR: "So a bunch of us are having a party afterwards at CMFGMF3's house. Should be pretty cool."
DISR: "Thanks but I rented out a room at a bar downtown. I think a bunch of us are going to go. Should be cool. I got a call from my friend and he said Brian Urlacher is coming."
CMFITR: "No fucking way! Hey...Do you got room for a few more?"
DISR: "Actually, I think it's filled. But why don't you stop by anyway? If there's room I'll let the doorman know to let you in."
CMFITR: "Why don't I give you my number and get..."
DISR: "That's OK, I think DC2 has it. I'll call you."

Then as we were leaving I asked my wife to wait outside the bathroom for me. I had to clean myself up after having the greatest orgasm of my life.

Moral? Closure. Helping people feel better about themselves since 1653.

Yes there is a reason I don't have a flag or a Support The Troops magnet on my car. I hate America.

Yesterday I was at my local Walgreens to buy some new lubricant and I had to wait about three people deep in line. I sat there staring at the many wonders they save for the very last second, the Island of Misfit Toys as I like to call it. There are your Troll Doll pencils, the Ultimate Dance Hits collection replete with Kathy Dennis and some Haddaway. And then there are the magnets. The Support Our Troops magnets, now in five fun colors! I picked one up to see if the whole thing was a magnet or just had some of those cheap little magnetic strips on back. I put it down, satisfied with the fact it was all magnetic, when an adorable woman in her mid forties, head to toe in OSG, Official Suburban Gear, decided to open her ugly mouth. She had on a visor displaying the name of her country club, Gucci sunglasses, and a baby tee far too small for her steadily increasing waistline. Let me just jump in and say I have nothing against people of any weight, just religion, but sometimes you need to know you are not twenty anymore. Seriously! She had tight short shorts and some sparkling white Asics on. Now that you get the picture here is what she said to me. “What, you don’t support the troops?” I figured, as always, that this person was talking to someone else. I looked anyway and realized she was speaking to me. “Excuse me?” She looked indignantly at me. “I saw you look at that ribbon and put it down. Don’t you care?” “No” I replied. “Since you are asking, I hate the troops and I definitely hate America. I’m purchasing this anal lubricant because I have a five o’clock flight to Amsterdam tonight and I’ve heard some of those Red Light District shoppes have shitty lube.” She looked like I had just told her something shocking like that her husband wasn’t fucking his secretary, or that her son really is guy, he’s not just trying to get back at her. Side note: my doctor says I have what is called IOS, or Inappropriate Opinion Syndrome. When the Challenger blew up, I was excited. When the Yankees won their first World Series, I cheered. When Operation Desert Storm happened, I thought it wasn’t about oil. And now this. I decided the day everyone gathered around CNN for sixty three days to watch us bomb the shit out of Baghdad that the popular opinion would be to hate America. I mean, when Vietnam was going on I had an American flag in my car window for six years! Why not, it was a good decision to go there. So back at Walgreens this woman is still staring at me, waiting for some sort of explanation. “Look, clearly the troops are making their own decisions on who to attack and when to leave, and they’re not leaving! So I can’t support the troops, because they are making decisions for themselves that I can’t agree with. Furthermore, Newsweek, The Wahington Post, and Ann Coulter say that everyone in America loves this war and fight for freedom, so since I don't I am being forced to leave by my local pastor.” We argued all the way out of the store and to our cars. As I was getting into my Range Rover, this loving woman comes running up to my window and knocks. “I didn’t know you had a Range Rover!” Long story short, we had sex in my car, she loved it, then hated it, and as she’s wiping her $110 mascara from her patriotic eyes she said, “If you don’t hurry you’re going to miss your flight!”

Dear Mr. McDonald, I could never be mad at you, you delicious bastard!

First of all Mr. McDonald, may I call you Ronald? I feel as if I've known you my whole life. Actually when you think about it I have. I've been there since as long as I can remember, through the fads, the old veterans, and the stuff in between. And let me just say I've always supported your decisions. I was there for the McLean burger, McDLT, the many incarnations of the McRib, or Ribwich as some blasphemors love to say! I've always savored a delicious Big Mac washed down with McDonald's orange drink. I'm not sure yet how I feel about the fruit and walnut salad or the McYogurt thingy, but it can't be bad because you make it! I love you! Now I don't want to come off as if I'm pandering or being obsequious for the sake of leniency, so I'll get right down to it. I think a lifetime ban from all McDonalds' restaurants is really just a bit harsh! And I don't mind saying the manager of your Elk Grove Village store is a complete fucking Ass Clown! I'm sorry to resort to names, but this issue has just been spun the wrong way and I'm getting desperate! The thought of never getting to knock down twenty McNuggets with "Sweet & Sour" sauce puts me into an immediate panic! But this event that took place was completely misconstrued. Fact: I did tell the Director of Drive-Thru Protocol that if he said one more word I would shove a Hot Apple Pie down his fucking throat. Fiction: I did not raise my fist towards him when saying this. Fact: I did try and drown the manager in the McPlayland McBalls. Fiction: I was not laughing while doing this. Fact: I did hop on top of the counter and yell "This place is a house of tyranny. Fiction: I was not "brandishing a spatula". Honestly the whole thing started with a simple request. I wanted extra cheese on my Double Quarter Pounder. Is this request out of line? I think I have earned the right, nay privilege, to ask for extra dairy products with my meal. To get a reply of "We don't do that here" was just not sufficient. When I came inside to question this store policy with the manager, I was met with gruffness and a severely bad attitude. "Can I help you sir!" was not so much a question as it was a defensive posturing. I understand he is the manager, I don't need it proven to me with arrogance and contempt. When I repeated my request for extra cheese, I honestly thought I saw the manager reach for a weapon, not a microphone. So I attacked. Wouldn't you, good sir Ronald, if your life and liberty were attacked? I'd like to think you would. And I truly am sorry I tossed hot "vegetable-based" oil at several employees, but I thought my life was in danger. So you see, this was a misunderstanding in the purest of terms. I can accept the restraining order, but I cannot accept as a free-willed American, a lifetime ban. From the bottom of my McGriddle clogged heart I beg you to lift this ban. I mean, Burger King's fries are for shit and a square burger makes me want to vomit at the mere thought.

Sincerely yours,
Grimace

So is the "L" word love or lesbian, because I kind of like both

In my family, the L word has always been Legacy. My great-grandfather was desperate for attention, nay, notoriety, so he attempted several things. He ran unsuccessfully for a seat in Congress in Pennsylvania, he tried various inventions like the sugar-less cube and a switch that would sit on a wall and ignite a kerosene lamp, a stunt that left my relatives homeless and scarred. He finally settled on what today would be considered a Reality Show stunt, he sodomized a chicken on the steps of the Governor's mansion in Pennsylvania. He was very militant in his child-rearing tactics, teaching all of his kids to strive their way out of obscurity. My grandfather would stand on a corner with a bullhorn and spew right-wing propaganda and racial epithets. He was way ahead of his time. If only he were around to try that today, he'd have a golden ticket! I'm surprised no one has done it yet! At one point my Great-Grandfather, Grandfather, and Father all shared a cell. My father went to jail for trying to rob credit unions. I don't think he really understood the idea...So here I sit, a man of 30, with a legacy of failed legacies before me. And I'm burdened. Not burdened like when Arnold had to decide if he should tell on the bike shop owner for being inappropriate with Dudley, more burdened like the kids in Dazed and Confused. I'm all wrecked on drugs, my life is going nowhere, Conservatism is the norm, and I can't quite figure out how to leave my mark. So here's what I'm thinking. My dad is the president of our Condo association, has been for years, but he's getting ready to move into a retirement home. Well I haven't told him this yet, but I think he's ready. I still live at home. Ready? I become president of the Association? Sounds pretty easy to me. A little Vodka for Mr. Bolski in 2F, some new bikes for Mr. and Mrs. Flores' kids in 6C, and some sympathy sex with Ms. Nellhoffer in 3B, and the seat is mine! Now how is that a legacy? I'm not done yet. Our complex is surrounded by four other complexes run pretty poorly as far as I can tell. I convince the building owner to buy out these complexes and make them look like ours. Then I become a president of a giant Association! Keep makin' bills, keep buying complexes, before you know it I'm Czar Peter the Great, man! Now that is a legacy, and the only thing that's slowing me back is trying to slip enough GSB into our condo owner's daughter's drinks to put her in a blackmailable situation. Don't worry, I'll think of something, it's my Legacy!

Moral? Don't let anything or anyone stand in the way of your Totalitarian dreams!



On a serious tip, my new hero Paul Hackett, when he was told Rush Limbaugh said he fought in Iraq to "pad his resume", replied "That doesn't surprise me coming from that fat ass drug addict."

Oh Shit! It's on!

You take the good, you take the bad, blah blah blah, the facts of life

I think I had a pretty big break through in group today. We we're sitting with the good doctor and today's discussion was about the our worst memories. I had to sit through some crybaby talk about the time she almost died in a car accident, yadda yadda yadda, she's fine. Finally it was my turn and I knew just what to talk about. The first time almost had sex. It was an ordinary Thursday night. Drop some acid, watch Beaches, and head to the pool hall to look for drunk chicks. I went by myself that night, because after Beaches I just need to be alone. Anyway, things weren't going so well. I was using all my best pick up lines. "Can I lick your stomach" and "Do you need a ride home? You look like you're almost passed out." Nothing was working, and on top of that I could have sworn I saw an Orangutan mouthing racial slurs at me. Time was starting to run out as the hall was really starting to clear out which meant only the really drunk girls or "undesirables" were left. When all hope seemed lost, she suddenly appeared to me, my angel in denim, my three foot bangs goddess. Sinda, or something like that, came stumbling towards me with a grin on her face and blue streaks down her eyes like the sky just as the first slice of dawn cuts up. She had been crying, so I knew I had a leg up here. "What's wrong" I asked her just to get things started. "My boyfriend, he cheated on me tonight! I knew it! I knew he would!" "Do you want to go somewhere and talk about it?" She looked at me with a blank stare and said, "Let's just go to my car and make out, okay?" I agreed and we were on our way. We eased in to the back of her '89 Cutlass, only hand-painted two colors I might add. Boom, we start making out. It's getting hot, she's calling me Andre, I'm asking who he is, she tells me to shut up and take my overalls off, when all of a sudden a bright light shines on me like Heaven had come to confirm this was my holy night. But it wasn't. It was the car door. And there's Andre staring at the both of us. He keeps looking at me funny, so I tap Sinda's head and she turns. "Andre, what the fuck! What, you want to screw this guy too!" He did, so I bolted and didn't stop until I was home. I came down from my trip with some weed, a chocolate Pop Tart, and a little Mannequin 2. Everyone in group is kind of looking at me, but this isn't the cathartic part. A voice comes from my right that sounds so familiar. "That was you!" There with a shaved head and some burn marks is Andre. The whole time I never recognized this guy! Guess I blocked him out, plus he kept saying his name was Joan. Then I remember that he's in for Multiple Personality Disorder, and I realize I am way better off than this guy.

Moral? There's always someone who has had a worse day than you.

I'll always love you Cousin Oliver!

Am I old enough yet to get in this guy's car? He's got Candy!

I admit it, I like to play Skip-It! The brilliant part of it is that it has a built-in counter on it so you can keep your mind free and clear to focus on your next jump. So I was hanging out in a forest preserve during my lunch break and working out a little Skip-It! When I notice that the preserve is pretty busy for Tuesday afternoon. I start walking over to a car to ask if deer hunting season started yet, when the guy in the car opens his door to talk to me? "Hey", he said, "Wanna get in the car?" He seemed nice. Tank top, cut off Jean shorts, and a smile that really said to me "How are you? I'd like to be your friend." "You got any candy?" I asked. "You bet, right in here!" I finished my last Skip-It!, 8 by the way, not my best, and I got in his car. It kind of smelled like someone shit inside a jar of Oil Of Olay, but whatever. "So what kind of candy you got?" I asked him politely, because mother says never to sound like you're begging for something you want. "Everlasting Gobstopper" he replied, "You can suck it all night." Now already I'm pissed, because if he thinks I'm too dumb to realize how an Everlasting Gobstopper works, we're off to a rocky friendship. "Do you like that idea?" I'm kind of pissed now so I get greedy. "I was kind of hoping for something nougatty, like a 3 Muskateers bar or a Baby Ruth?" He starts getting all huffy and says, "Look buddy, are you going to suck my dick or not!" Well that hardly seemed worth the price of a couple of candy bars, so I politely told him I was just interested in the candy and I'd take a pass on oral sex. This guy flips and tells me to get the fuck out of his car. Can you believe it! I bet his mom never told him not to throw a tantrum when he didn't get what he wanted. Oh Well.

Moral? Just because a stranger in a car says he has candy, he might not really, or he might just not have what you want.

Damn Gina! (I'm still looking for that elusive KCL, killer closing line.)

Tiaras aren't just for baby beauty queens and homos anymore

I had such a vivid dream the other night. Eternal beauty and Florida's Department of Makeup Security czar Katherine Harris and I were at Bed, Bath, and Beyond looking at blenders. I wanted the Oester model with 8 speeds and a real desire to blend things in a timely, convenient manner. She wanted the new Cuisinart, the Kawasaki Ninja of blenders if you ask me. Sure it looks slick and tears through beets like they're made of paper, but there is no Art to it, just Cuisin. We leave the store and as we are walking into our duplex we're still arguing over which blender! She tells me to hold on a minute and leaves the room. A short while later, just enough for me to find all the things wrong with the picture in my latest Highlights magazine, she comes in wearing a tiara and a full body suit made of black latex. I see what's up, so i put on my latex overalls and we start to argue again. This time it's over the safety word. I want it to be Huggable, she wants Wrinkle-Free. after a few heated words and more than one threat to put the ass paddle away for good, we finally agree on Jeb. She starts beating me, and as my mind drifts off to BlissTown, about two and half miles away from FunkyTown, i realize how silly all of the bickering was. Moral? Compromise is the key to a healthy, lasting relationship.

Since this is my first post, I'm deciding between a few trademark signoffs.

1) The lotion is in the basket, bitch!
2) Bob Novak says peace out.
3) Stay alive, no matter what. I will find you!

I'm open to suggestions.