Those crazy things we do.

Captain Redneck let me borrow this story. It was just too good to not share.

A couple years ago, Mr. Neck received a birthday present from his wife. She likes to embarrass him at work. So she made a gift basket for him with all the things a guy likes. At least a guy like Mr. Neck. There was candy and mints, nuts and chips and a picture of the wife, and a new tie, and a book on computers. Just normal stuff. There was also the rose. The beautiful red rose was not just a rose but actually a pair of thong underwear for men contoured in the wonderfully accurate shape of a red rose. He unwound the rose and held it up for the office women to see. Now his face and his rose were the same shade of red.

Fast forward to several months later. Living arrangements at the Mr. Neck house are as follows, Mr. Neck, his wife and their twenty something, should-be-living-out-on-his-own, son. This nite as fate would have it, free-meal-Freddie, was out with his friends and the wife was watching American Idol on the boob tube. Mr. Neck is doing a little cleaning upstairs. He comes across the thong. Now this is where the story could have taken a turn for the lame. He could have thrown them out, moved them to another junk spot or left them in the desk drawer. He chose door number four. He decided it would be a great gag to strip naked, don the bananna hammock and parade around downstairs in front of his soon to be shocked wife. And so he did.

He sneaks downstairs and is about to do the Electric Boogaloo in front of his soul mate when he hears a disturbance in the force. Moocher Mike is arriving home early from his shenanigans and is on the other side of the front door applying the key to the keyhole. The horror sets in, just in time for setback number two. Son is not alone. Mr. Neck hears voices, female, male, many. He leaps for the door and slams it shut as it is opening. Then, with one deft manuever he aims to turn, run upstairs and change lickity split. He makes it through procedure one, he turns. And rams his head into the corner, ripping it open like a cheap pair of pants on an all-you-can-eat diner. So now he is running up the stairs, wearing a thong and all that the good Lord gave him. He makes it to his room as his wife and son wonder what the commotion is all about.

The night winds down as he manages to slow the bleeding and get dressed. He explains the story to his rather amused wife, son and son's friends as they accompany him to the emergency room for stitches. Who could make this crap up???

Animals

I heard some good animal conversations this week. I want to share a couple with you.
1. Sandwich Artist gets dumped by his live-in girlfriend last year and falls into a downward spiral. No sex and no prospects of sex. He compensates for his lack of sex by purchasing two cats. As if he wasn't getting laid already, he seals his fate by bringing two felines into his home. These beasts proceed to use his apartment as their toilet. He is fine with that, meaning that the smell covers his 36-hour video game rampage, no shower funk. Flash forward 11 1/2 months of sex free catdom. All of sudden out of nowhere two separate women want the Artist. He is on cloud nine and unfortunately not life nine for his hairy friends. His new women think it a little homoish that he has cats so off he sends his furry soulmates to the great litter box in the sky. Not a happy ending for two souls that could have been lifelong companions. Rest assured dear reader, it was all for the good of mankind. I am sure one of these two fine women that are sharing a 28 year-old burger flipper are the marrying kind. And hope beyond hope that one day he reproduces.
2. This is always one of my favorites. Now let me tell you right up front, despite the humor you will find in it, it is a true and very sad story.
Nosaj and his old lady are dog lovers. Not like the in-laws with their crusade to save every greyhound in America. More on them later. The Nosaj family is a boxer family. They love boxers, they rescue boxers, they adopt boxers. And their house doesn't smell like greyhound piss. Not that anyone else's does either. So anyway, Nosaj and his lady are dog sitting for some adopted boxers. Most of these animals are from abusive homes and are a little skittish. So ole Nosaj was a heavy smoker back in the day. He is out walking the dogs for some exercise and, based on animal behavior in my neighborhood, to let the beasts crap all over my yard. He stops along the sidewalk and lights up. (Now keep in mind, someone took this lovable animal out of a bad home and made it part of their family and now they are on a quiet vacation relaxing and Nosaj is generously watching their animal for them) So to make a long story short, the mutt gets spooked with the lighter, busts loose from Nosaj, darts out into the road, gets clobbered by a car, and joins the pack in doggie heaven. Here is how that call must have gone:
Nosaj: Hey. How's the vacation?
Dogless: Great. How is my little guy?
Nosaj: He has been better.
Dogless: (Concern in his voice) How so?
Nosaj: He kind of got away and got run over by a car.
Dogless: (Speechless for a few seconds) Damn. I should have brought the dog and let you walk the wife.

I would like to close with a phrase I find myself saying over and over before bed and again when I rise in the morning:
-

SAVING ONE DOG WON'T CHANGE THE WORLD,

BUT WILL CHANGE THE WORLD FOR THAT ONE DOG

Hipsters and Egyptians

Monday is always a good day at work. You get to chat with all the other smucks that have lives as miserable as yours and find out what they did over the weekend. Most times it is stuff similar to the lame events in your own life, but sometimes you get the goods.
Like just this weekend Sandwich Artist broke his 'sane female population imposed' sex strike. He supposedly (and I don't mean supposedly in a bad way) got some this weekend. All of a sudden he has gone from a zero to a liar, I mean a hero. And get this, he has victim number two already lined up. Where have these women been hiding for the last 11 months and 7 days? The home for criminally insane? Ah. Best of Luck Sandwich.
We also learned more about Bird Flu Man. Just when we thought we had dealt with all the nightmares learning about his past had caused us, he brings us more. Over the weekend, he traveled out west to join a cult. Or pay his cult membership, or some crazy crap like that. Who knows, he could have been out there torturing moose. I need my sleep, I cannot know any more than I already do. He also has a money making pyramid scheme he wants me to link to from SuperJiggyE.com. I am not too keen on linking to pyramids. I mean, the only pyramid I want to be associated with housed King Tut for a couple thousand years. He is a good friend, loony as bat shit, but a good friend, so I will probably link to it, but damn man, selling hugs online just don't make sense to me.
Captain Neck got a speeding ticket over the weekend. Not too outrageous news except for the fact that he was driving without pants again. Still not too outrageous I suppose except that he had a car full of people with him. Again, I could live with this if he hadn't just picked up the old people that were waiting for the bus after church. Those damn old people will get in anybody's car if it stops at the curb in front of church.
Another thing with church. Easter is a great time of the year. Except for these people that come to church once a year and make the place all crowded for us that are going to heaven. I mean, seriously, do you think you can cruise in to JC's house once a year and get a ticket to salvation? Sorry dude, you should have slept in yesterday. You are still gonna burn.

Hugs

Hey guys. It has been a little while since we have really talked. Let us get back to the core of our relationship. You are the reader and I am the writer. But it should not end there. Feedback and comments are important to the relationship. I need to know you are out there and appreciating the blog. You need to nurture the relationship, stroke my ego. This is a two way road. Which leads me to....
Friendship. It should be a bond between buddies, a flexible thing, a living thing. You should, say, be able to move out of state and still be invited on a fishing trip. Or say, take a break from a carpool to work on a different job site and still be invited to the yearly golf match. Camping trips planned by you should not be partaken by others without you in secret. Maybe I am just sentimental but those are some things friends should be allowed to do. I wouldn't replace my wife with a new 22 year old blond with a great body and a desire to constantly please (oops where was I) just because she went to the store and was gone a little long. I don't worship rocks because it is not Sunday and I am not in church. Loyalty. That is what I am talking about.
Did I leave you when you left your keys in your desk like a moron? No. Did Lumpy abandon you when you got drunk and needed a place to crash, over and over again. No. Why do you leave us, oh Hugger?
There was a time when you were confronted with a possible beat down by a group of Mexicans and Lumpy and I had your way-back. I wouldn't go around bad mouthing the beaners anymore mi amigo. You might be going it mano y mucho manos.
Which leads me to my last little bit today. What is the deal with the protests? You either are legal or you ain't legal. There is no grey area. If you are illegal and you produce little ones, guess what, they are illegal too.

Small Town Living

As many of you Jiggy E fans know, I have a couple kids. When I say a couple, it is closer to ten than it is to zero. So I am used to controlling a mob in public and making sure the family is polite and quiet when we are out. Because of this, I am more in tune with the rest of the freak world out there and their behavior in public. I notice people using profanity when normally I would not have. I notice the obnoxious smoker too. Yesterday the bozos of the world made life easier on me. They just thrust their boorish behavior right out in the open.
We were at a doctor's office yesterday for an appointment. So I get the banshees seated in the waiting room. Well the waiting room was kind of full and there is an open door and an extended waiting room in the lobby of the building. I kept my family out there so I could more easily beat them down if they got out of hand. Never had to worry about that. Too much entertainment going on for them to be bad themselves. As soon as the wife checked us in, it started.
There is this guy in the waiting room. He looked like half a tard to start with. You know the slightly (OK a little more than slightly) overweight middle age dude with the athletic shorts, long tube socks and off-brand tennis shoes. Well this biathelete begins to multitask. He starts making phone calls. Here is a brief exerpt from the first one. Words are not exact but damn close as it was etched in my mind.
Biathelete to his buddy at the top of his lungs - I am at the doctors office. I don't know when I will be done. Most people's earwax just comes out naturally. But since I have the hearing aids (possible reason for the near screaming) I have to come in here and get my ears cleaned out. I have to be down in Tappahannock this afternoon. I might be a little early. Yada, yada, yada. Yada,yada,yada. Well I gotta go.
Call two - I am new to the insurance. Oh? I need to call who? Damn. Ok. Bye.
There is a brief period of silence. My children are asking me why the strange man has to talk so loud and then....
Call three - Yep. I am still in the doctor's office. I am not sure if I will be late down there today. I have the car. It needs to get worked on. Huh? Yes. I will call if it runs late here today. Ok. Thanks. Bye.
We get called back. The wife takes the patients to the back and gets a brief vacation from the shenanigans. I help her get the kids into the doctor's office room. When I get back to the lobby, I am in the middle of...
Call four - I don't know when I will be out of here. I don't think I am ever going to be done. I will call you. Bye.
Just then, biathelete takes a backseat to another family. You have seen Poltergeist right? The crazy lady that tells them to go to the light? That is the mom. A little fat blob is the daughter and a chain smoking middle aged woman is the grandmother pushing the stroller with an infant. Blobby daughter, we will call her Pudgey, is in the outer waiting room with my kids, elbow deep in a bag of Crab chips. Grandmother tells her to offer some to my children and she looks like she just went into shock. My children politely delcine. This is when I notice a couple of things. First, Pudgey has just spilled some toxic red grape juice on the carpet. I am chuckling inside, wondering if the heifer is going to lick it up or not when I look out the front door. Two big signs are on the only door you can enter from. Sign one says, please turn off all cell phones when entering. Sign two says, hey morons we just got new carpet, please respect it and don't bring in your fat kids food and drink. I am glad that both of these people obviously cannot read. What else would I write about?
As the day is ending, it gets even better. Biathelete is getting upset. He has gone to the receptionist twice to inquire on his place in line. This is not good enough. So now he has taken to asking people on their way out from seeing the doctor, "Did you see doctor Shmo?" Obviously they answer incorrectly because each answer is followed by a big DAMN and him sitting back in his waiting room seat and them hurrying away from him like he has the plague. As we are leaving, he is finally called. Much to the chagrin of the others waiting.