Enough already!

I've been receiving a lot of flack from people about not having written anything in a while. What you people don't understand is that I haven't been sitting on my ass - I have been out killing drug dealers, cops, civilians, blowing cars up, putting down union strikes, assassinating church leaders, racing cars through the desert, riding camels, discovering lost artifacts, and implementing civilizations in remote corners of the globe (pffffllllpppp, corners on a globe--ridiculous.) So what if I've been sitting on my ass playing PS3 all the while. It was 'me' time.

Another much more tragic reason I have not been writing in a while is because I think I may have graduated to another dimension of humor that can no longer be satisfied in this 3 dimensional world.... Which is another way of saying I suck, and no longer have a sense of humor. To illustrate this more clearly, let us visit this past Saturday when a less fortunate woman with a butterball figure and a bad case of the gout was knocked over by a horny dog (AKC does not acknowledge said breed), and was repeatedly assaulted in the face by a crooked, pink protuberance on the dogs under carriage, and I DID NOT LAUGH! It even played out funny: One man yelled, "Jesus Christ, that poor dog is stuck to my wife's face by some strange pink protuberance!" Not to be outdone, the dogs owner cried, "That's just my dog's misshapen penis; it's looking for a place to hide!" After everyone but me got a good laugh in, we helped this poor gun-shy woman up and got her out of there. So you see, if that's not funny, then what the hell is? The answer is nothing. I am doomed to be a crotchety old man shooting pigeons with my shotgun off my front porch sipping Arnold Palmers because that's what crotchety old men do. I don't even know what an Arnold Palmer is, but it's namesake tells me they taste like sweat and defeat--A suitable flavor for the elderly.

Because nothing is funny anymore I thought I would just tell a couple true stories from my past that may have a moral lesson. If you can find it, you can keep it.

When I first got my license I thought I was the shit. With the wind in my face and the sun warming my cheeks as I passed through numerous toll stations with my butt hanging out in an effort to attract a mate, I motored through life without a care in the world. Everything was beautiful, until one day....: I was dropping my younger sister and her friend off at a little league game so that they could drool over pre-pubescent boys when I was accosted by a group of said individuals blocking the narrow causway I needed to take to get out of there and go home. Their leader, who was not in uniform and on a bike, thought it would be a good idea to play the 'tough guy' role for his friends by, not only blocking my way, but also giving me the "I'm not to be messed with" eyes. If there is one group of people I don't take shit from more than any other, it is 13 year old thugs. Unlike all you pussies who probably would have found a way around these ruffians all the while being sure not to make eye contact muttering to yourself about how kids have no respect today, I did what any good citizen should have done: I ran those punks over with my car. Unfortunately for me, bad parents no longer appreciate when their children are disciplined by others, regardless if their method yields a more long term result. These ungrateful swine actually sent cops to my house to investigate me. Of course when they found out who I was they dropped all the charges - but would you believe that the mother of the child that had his bike justifiably destroyed demanded that I fix the thing? Clearly, I thought to myself, she must be kidding. I told her I may have taken away his bike, but I gave him the XP 9000, which as everyone knows, is the best wheel chair they have out right now (IT HAS THREE SPEEDS!). I told her that I would come back and fix his arms if she didn't start appreciating what I did for her family. 10 years later, that guy whos legs I fixed won a silver medal in the special Olympics. I still have yet to receive some recognition.

This next true story will also feature other people's children, and how simple misunderstandings can turn into horrible misconceptions that spread like AIDS in Africa.

I like kids - really. I wouldn't want them, and they annoy me horribly, but I do like them. I also think it's funny, before attending family functions such as Christmas and Thanksgiving, to ask if all the kids where invited, too. The answer is of course, yes, and then I let out a god-awful groan as if some one where twisting a knife inside my stomach. You don't think that's funny, but in the 7th or 8th dimension that would be hilarious. Because of all these things.. and of course that time I ran over a bunch of kids, I have to be extra careful around every one's children. For a while I didn't notice, but there was a reason that when I attended social gatherings with kids present, they part for me like the red sea. I considered it lucky - in the way that people think carrying around severed feet of small animals is lucky. But I realized that it wasn't just luck when I caught my first murmur of a concerned parent, "I can't believe they let that monster in! Did you know he once ran over a bunch of kids just because they where blocking his path! One of them is in a wheel chair now!" and the other said, "Oh I know.... Did you hear the one in the wheel chair won a silver medal last year?" So after hearing this, to avoid starting another witch hunt, I started being extra nice to kids. For a while, that kept me out of trouble.

4th of July, 2007, 7:42 pm:

It was a festive occasion, I was drunk and having a blast. That in itself was an accomplishment, i.e. - I was a drunk at what seemed like an arts and crafts festival. I made my way across the street to the party that was happening there to find that the owner of the house was willing to sell me a couple black jacks and such; the kind or fireworks you can hold in your teeth and blow up, albeit uncomfortably. I was so happy and drunk that I was throwing fireworks this way and that. When I got back to the house, I lit a black jack and through it about 4 feet away from a group of people to startle them, but guess what was in the center of that group of people hidden from my eyes - A DAMN KID!!! AHHHHH!! All that hard work of making believe I turned over a new leaf went to shit. It only took a moment before people realized who was responsible(it probably didn't take that long.) "WITCH HUN... I mean, THERE HE IS!", someone shouted. Soon parents began to amass. There where only 20 people at the party, so imagine my confusion and fear when no less than 70 parents came before me brandishing pitch forks and flood lights (torches went out of style with the mob back in 1870, but for some reason they kept the farm tools) - Parents from far and wide responding to some archaic signal in the brain where ready to burn me alive! I was forced to try and reconcile with an angry, drunk, and fanatical mob that was out for my blood. If there is one thing I learned about dealing with an angry mob, it is that you need to use small words, speak slowly, and use lots of hand signals. Preferably the same kind Italians use. I was able to assuage their blood lust and remind them that American Idol was about to start using these simple techniques. And in doing so, I ended the fiasco. However, my troubles are far from over. I am now, "That guy who ran over a bunch of kids with his car" and, "that guy who tried to blow that kid up with class A fireworks."