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The Fisher of Stories



Something big is going down tomorrow, y’all. Something huge. Something so awesome it can’t really be measured on a scale of awesomeness. It doesn’t behoove me to use the word “epic,” mostly because I hate how that word is overused. But it’s the closest you can get to epic without being disappointing. It’s going to be incredible, and I’m going to be there. And it’s happening tomorrow. What is it? Now that I’ve kept you in suspense long enough, I’ll tell you.

Duuuuuuuuuuuuuude. Did you just watch that? How pumped are you? THEY’RE ALL BAD GUYS THIS TIME AND THE ROCK IS IN IT. How are you not calling for your advance ticket right now?

Now I understand that some of you may have been living under a rock for the past 10 years and may not know anything about the F&F (that’s right I just gave it a nickname) franchise (that’s right I just called it a franchise). So let me get you caught up.

2001. Dude is a cop, he tries to catch some people stealing TVs and DVRs, winds up being compromised and lets his suspect get away. Included the most popular phrase among teens ever recorded in a motion picture: “I live my life a quarter mile at a time…”

2003: This film brings the addition of Tyrese, who will forever be an idiot to me because of “Baby Boy.” There is a Skyline in this movie. It is awesome. Also Ludacris is in it, making it awesome by default. Cop is being given one more shot by the FBI, he of course screws them over.

2006: The movie has a completely different protagonist, it’s set in Japan, and is widely regarded as the worst of the series. I liked it because it had fine Japanese chicks in Hello Kitty skirts and OMG VIN DIESEL WAS IN THE ENDING.

2009: This brings back pretty much all the original cast, minus the smoking fine girl that was Vin’s girlfriend. Lot’s of action, some desert racing, but a little too much CGI. Still though, amazing movie.


20??: If they stop making these movies I might seriously kill myself. It’s like, what is there to live for anymore, you know? So hear me now, F&F makers, DON’T STOP. Keep this thing going as long as Vin has any kind of muscle tone. If it has to be F&F 56: Hoveround Wars, that’s fine. You keep it going. You can put nitrous on a Rascal and don’t try to tell me you can’t.

So in conclusion, your plans had better involve going to see this movie tomorrow night. I’m going to see it in IMAX, because bigger is better when it comes to that chick in the bikini you saw in that trailer. Also, could The Rock get any more awesome? Yes he can, in IMAX.

p.s. Seriously, I’m excited. I don’t think I’ve been this excited about anything in years, at least since 2009, and they pretty much told us the other day that we were getting kids. Don’t judge me, I like fast cars. 

p.p.s. I need to borrow a fast car to drive after watching the movie tomorrow night. I have to put into practice what I just saw. Please make sure that it has a V-8 and full coverage insurance before loaning to me. Also wash it. Thanks. 

p.p.p.s. I seriously pulled off the word “behoove” in a post about a movie starring The Rock and Ludacris. I am a literary god. 

Many of you know that I am a college boy now. I’ve tried college twice, and both times I dropped out, and that is how I got a drunk Lindsay Lohan on my transcript. Now I’m back in, (giggity) and I’m loving it. I don’t know if it’s being older and wiser, or just wanting to get out of the house more, or what. One class in particular that I really love is World Literature. I love the stories, I love reading ahead and finding out what’s going to happen before the rest of the class, and I love the way the characters are always these great heroes, and how they mess up and make bad choices occasionally just like we do. I especially appreciate the epics. Gilgamesh, The Iliad, The Odyssey, The Aeneid, Beowulf, and The Song of Roland have been a few of my favorites.

However, I’ve started to notice a problem unfolds as I’m reading these stories. You see, while reading about these incredible heroes and their feats of strength, I need to envision someone in my mind. Someone strong, someone with rugged good looks and wearing the kind of outfit one would wear back then. Someone with a gloriously epic amount of facial hair, and someone with the voice of a young god. Someone that would, in essence, get the ladies wet, and get the gays hard. You would think it would be hard for me to imagine such a hero, but fortunately, Hollywood gave me that image back in 2006, courtesy of…Gerard Butler in a little movie called 300.

Now when I read about Gilgamesh, when I read about Odysseus, or Roland or Beowulf, and I need a mental picture of the hero in action, I get this image in my head.

It is seriously unavoidable. Let me give you a few examples of what I’m talking about.
From The Illiad:
Opposite him, Achilles exploded forward, fury incarnate behind the curve of his shield, a glory of metalwork, and the plumes nodded and rippled on his helmet’s crest, thick golden horsehair set by Hephaestus, and his spearpoint glinted like the Evening Star…

Boom. That just happened.

Or we can take a line from The Song of Roland:
Roland in pain, maddened with grief and rage: rushes where they are thickest and strikes again, strikes twenty men of Spain, strikes twenty dead, and Walter six, and the Archbishop five. The pagans say: “Look at those criminals! Now take care, Lords, they don’t get out alive, only a traitor will not attack them now! Only a coward will let them save their skins!” And then they raise their hue and cry once more, rush in on them, once more from every side…


That AOI reference is something you’ll only get if you’ve in fact read the story, which in my best guess might be about 0.0004% of my readership. However, I will say this, if you want a good read, The Song of Roland is freaking awesome. Lots of blood, guts, and good ol Crusadin’ Christian violence.

So, as you can see, I’m probably pretty screwed when it comes to getting this image of a “hero” out of my head. Why? Well because Gerard Butler was freaking BA in that movie. The beard, the abs, the voice, it’s all there. He’s the perfect candidate for an imaginary hero in my head to go along with all these stories. I suppose the only real problem is that any time there’s action, I just see him kicking a bunch of dudes into a hole instead of running them through with a sword or choppin off heads. Kind of makes for some anti-climatic moments in reading, and I’ll give you an example of that.
From Beowulf:
Inspired again by the thought of glory, the war-king threw his whole strength behind a sword stroke and kicked him into a hole. 
Next thing, they say, the noble son of Weohstan saw the king in danger at his side and displayed his inborn bravery and strength. He left the head alone, but his fighting hand was burned when he came to his kinsman’s aid. He lunged at the enemy lower down and kicked him into a hole. 
Once again the king gathered his strength and drew a stabbing knife he carried on his belt, sharpened for battle. He then kicked the dragon into a hole. 
See? It kind of makes for a predictable story. “How did Beowulf eventually kill Grendel?” “Well, he actually did the weirdest thing. He had a really neat sword named Naegling, but he left that alone, yelled something about Sparta, and kicked the dude in a hole. It was the weirdest ending I’ve ever read.”
So there’s a little peek into my brain. I wouldn’t stay long, it might be hazardous to your health.
p.s. I would officially like to start the movement to make Gerard Butler stop showing his butt in movies. Since the majority of people who read my blog are middle aged housewives, I think I’m starting in the wrong spot, but hey. The man is naked in EVERY SINGLE MOVIE. I’m pretty sure he mooned someone in The Lion King. He just shows up to the set, drops his pants, they shoot the scene and he’s out. C’mon. 
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Okay, so maybe you know Rita from Fighting off Frumpy. Maybe you don’t. Maybe you don’t know that we once exchanged sexy emails that included talk about grapefruits in socks or stretch marks. Maybe you don’t know that at her house, most of the time someone can be found naked. If you don’t know that, I highly suggest you go over to her blog and start reading. The following story is one of the million reasons why. Take it away, Rita!

Fighting Off Frumpy
This is her button. Click it, her husband is cool with that.

I come from a small, rural Midwestern town. And by “small” I mean no stoplights, two cops, less-than-40-people-in-my-graduating-class small. The cows far outnumber the residents. When you’re late getting somewhere, it’s because you were stuck behind a tractor. And if that doesn’t illustrate it vividly enough for you, consider this: I cackled all the way through Travis’s footage of the Okay parade because it reminded me so much of something I’d see back home.

So y’all can imagine what a culture shock it was when I moved to … wait for it … Las Vegas.I know. What’s a country bumpkin sweet small-town girl like me doing in big, crazy Las Vegas, right? Well, I blame the government. My husband Curtis was in the Air Force at the time, and the military stationed us there, at Nellis Air Force Base. So we called it home for three (very interesting) years.
When your beginnings are as backwoodsredneck humble as mine, and you somehow end up in the presence of cosmopolitan, city-fied peeps, you end up doing a lot of pretending. Like, you see things that would normally make your mouth hang open, but you just act all nonchalant like, “Oh really? I didn’t even notice that one-armed prostitute kicking the crap out of the homeless guy with the NEED MONEY FOR BOOZE sign.” You pretend certain situations are old hat – even when they’re anything but – just to avoid looking like the naïve and un-worldly dork that you actually are.
Anyway, the reason I tell you this is because while we lived in Vegas, I landed a sweet gig writing for a local magazine that catered to the upscale. It was direct-mailed to the wealthiest households in town. I had a monthly column called “Hotspot,” for which I got to review some of the fanciest, priciest clubs and restaurants in town.
The very first time I did a restaurant review, I had no friggin’ clue what to expect – but I put on a dress and hoped for the best. It was a little unnerving when the valet guy parked our (used) Jeep amid Ferraris and other pricey sports cars, but we went in with our heads held high like we always went to places like this.
When a restaurant knows you’re the person who’ll be reviewing them in a magazine, they pull out all the stops, y’all. It was all I could do not to jump up and down and squeal when I saw “VIP” penciled in beside my name in the reservation book. I mean, me? A VIP at a fancy restaurant? I laugh hysterically at fart jokes and can blow a snot rocket further than anyone I know (be jealous). If only they knew.
The meal was out-of-this-world. We ordered everything from appetizers to dessert – it was all free. I had scallops on a bed of illuminated rock salt and a frosty, multicolored martini that emanated wisps of “steam” from a chunk of dry ice. Fabulous. The executive chef even came to our table to chat, bringing with him a jaw-droppingly expensive platter of Kobe beef medallions. And through it all, I was silently congratulating myself on appearing like I was accustomed to dining in such a luxurious establishment.
At the end of the meal, our waitress brought a little squeegee over to the table and cleared off the crumbs. Then she put down a platter of mints. They reminded me of Altoids, just slightly bigger: white, round, compact little tablets.
I was just reaching for one of the mints when, to my horror, the waitress poured water over them. And then – it was amazing – those little “mints” magically transformed. Just a little water was all they needed to bloom into huge white napkins.
I had been thisclose to putting one in my mouth
I almost ate a napkin at a fancy restaurant, y’all.
To this day, I thank my lucky stars that I didn’t reach for the “mint” more quickly. I could have really made a major fool out of myself. I can just picture the entire restaurant of rich people laughing at me as a napkin exploded forth from my mouth. “Riffraff,” they’d say, and then throw me out on my impostor-ous posterior. (That’s rich-people words for butt.)
Gourmet meal at a fine dining establishment: $230
Not eating your napkin by accident: priceless

If you want to follow Rita, please head up to that link at the top of the page. Additionally, she’s a Twat! No, I mean she’s on Twitter. Yeah. Right HERE.The year was 1994, and I was in the 5th grade. Already standing 5’8″ and weighing in at anorexic 90 pounds, 5th grade Travis was a weakling. I was also just starting to take an interest in the ladies. One in particular had caught my eye, and one day while riding bikes I asked her to be my girlfriend. She said yes, and Travis got his very first main squeeze. Fast forward a couple of weeks and we had broken up. Don’t ask me why, I don’t remember. Enter this douchecanoe named Mike.image
I hated Mike. Mike had failed the 5th grade like 8 times. Mike was overdeveloped, and Mike used cuss words. That was a big advantage back in grade school, because I wasn’t allowed to cuss. As a matter of fact, the very first time a cuss word knowingly slipped from my mouth, it was directed at Mike. For the longest time, I told everyone that if I had one bullet in one gun to kill one person with and not suffer any consequences, it would be Mike. I hated him that much. The reason? Mike went after this girl the SECOND we broke up. Now, I’m thinking, “Well, she’s too broken hearted for Mike. She’s still pining away for me and sweet blond curls.” Also, I had an INCREDIBLE set of calves from riding my ten speed, y’all. That’s right. She wasn’t going to be Mike’s girlfriend.


I was pissed. But then I saw the thing that pushed me over the top. The thing that made my stomach curdle. Mike and this girl…they went ALL THE WAY. Now bear in mind, this is the 5th grade. Going all the way was holding hands. And they totally did it y’all. Right in front of me. My 5th grade heart shattered into tiny pieces and my soul was crushed. My world was ending, and I decided right there and then that I would have this girl back. So I devised a plan.

For the record, I did NOT have an erection the first time I held a girl’s hand…which was in the 10th grade.

I started writing a letter. The letter went something like this:

Dear Girl,

I hate you, and I want to break up. Sorry it didn’t work out, but I like this other girl, she’s cuter than you. I think you should go out with Travis again, he’s cool.



It was genius! It was madness! It had to work! I creeped the halls like a stealthy Dear John ninja until I saw them both disappear into their classrooms. I quietly slipped the note into her locker, thinking about how nice it was going to be to say that I had a girlfriend again. I MIGHT EVEN GO ALL THE WAY. I knew she was a hand slut now, so I figured my chances were better. I waited…and I watched. I never did see her open the letter, but I knew she’d gotten it. So I waited a little more and…

The next day this girl’s best friend walked up to me. “Travis, she knows you wrote that letter, Mike can’t write.” Alright, so maybe I made up the last part of that quote. I’ve GOT to learn to let stuff go. But anyway, the jig was up, I’d been busted. Mike was pissed beyond reason, understandably so, and so I went into a sort of playground ninja mode until the threat level went from “Imminent” to “Seafoam Green.”

I dated this girl once after that, in the sixth grade, after I bought her some chicken nuggets on a field trip. When we got back on the bus, my best friend at the time explained to me in no certain terms that she was being a gold digger, only he used a term that would have been relevant to us at the time. I would say “nugget digger” but that brings a whole new element into the equation. I never did go all the way with this chick, and I didn’t get another chance at that until I was old enough to know what the real “going all the way” was. And I didn’t even get to do THAT until I was 19.

But the moral of the story is this. If you’re going to forge a note, make sure you type it. Handwriting identification is not just something you see on CSI: Miami.

I guess you could say his trickery was “duly noted.”

Here’s the thing. It’s really not all about the money. But…

I’ve been doing this whole “blogging for free” thing for about 2 years now. And I got to thinking about it, and I thought, “You know, I could totally use a MacBook Air.” So I created a little online savings account thing through Smarty Pig. Then I thought about it a little more, and I thought, “You know, some of these followers of mine might want to donate some money for all the laughs and stuff I’ve provided for them over the years.”

I immediately answered myself with, “No, don’t do that. You hate people who do that.”

Then I realized that if even one of you donates even just a dollar, I’m that much closer to my MacBook Air. If all 300 of you donate a dollar, well then, I’ll come to your homes and hug you. That’s real talk.*

Anyway, you have my word that this money will go towards a MacBook Air. I need it so I can be cooler than you. Also it will help me…do…more stuff? I don’t know. I just want one. If I have to save the money on my own, it’ll take years, y’all. Do you really want me to wait that long? Do you?

I even did most of you a favor. I turned OFF Facebook commenting. See? I care about you. I want your comments…and your cash.

Anyway, just go over to that pig there on the right and click “Feed Me.” Then donate the appropriate amount, which I think currently is around 32 cents per laugh you’ve had here, American.

Also, this month, if you go over to Facebook and “like” my blog’s page, I’m giving away a $25 gift card of your choice. If I make 100 likes, I’m giving away a $50 card. Again, your choice. You can use this link to get there.

Next week we’re going to have a guest poster, it’ll be Rita from Fighting off Frumpy

You guys have a great weekend, and thanks in advance for all the money!

As long as you live within 5 miles of my house. Also as long as you aren’t naked. Wait. Unless you’re an attractive female. THEN you can be naked. Some restrictions may apply.

Edit: If you donate anything at all, and you let me know you did, and I see that you did, I will blog about you. I will make up a story that will make you seem like a hero. Something you can show your kids. Something you can show your GRANDKIDS. That’s right, I will make an epic poem about you. Homer style.

In the past few days I’ve discovered some thing about myself, and I thought I’d share them with you.
1. My head ALWAYS leans to the left. I’ve become very aware of that recently. If I am resting my fat head, it always leans to the left. I look like a freaking Boston Terrier. Just a tilted head all the time. I blame it on the fact that I truly do have the biggest head of anyone I know, I boast a fitted hat size of 8 1/4.
2. It’s taken 28 years, but I finally learned how to swing a softball bat. We played a pickup game last night, and I hit two home runs. That’s the same amount I hit in about 25 games last year. I don’t know what changed, but yesterday was the first game of the year, and I swung at the first pitch and knocked it out. I know what you’re thinkin, “This guy is talking about softball? My 13 year old slightly lesbian granddaughter with the thick calves can hit it out of softball field.” That’s all well and good, but I’ve never been good at sports that require a bat. Don’t judge me.
3. I still trust people way too easily. And I still get burned.
4. I’m way more excited and way more worried about getting kids now that it’s so close. I’m excited because I get to be a dad, and because The Missus gets to be a mom, but I’m worried about two little strangers moving in to our house. Also, does anyone know the policy on returns? I kid…
5. I’ve finally figured out how to argue with someone and not be mad at them. On a related note, I’ve learned how to explain my beliefs without shoving them down someone’s throat. I may not be patronized by the church, but I like to think I’m planting seeds. In reality I think I’m just planting a bunch of pissed off people.
6. This one is hard to admit…but I’m a…I’m a…slow driver. Over the last few weeks, with the exception of getting to work and class, I’ve looked down at my speedo and have seen the needle at a very disturbing 55 MPH in 65 zones. Folks, I don’t like that. It used to be that I was king of the roads, demanding the peak performance out of my 1997 Ford Scort and my 1995 Chevy 1/2 ton. Now? Now I see people pass me and think, “What’s their hurry?” I really think I need to be injected with hormones. I’ll take the acne again, and I don’t mind getting erections at weird times because now I’m married and my wife has to sleep with me when that happens. IF ONLY IT WILL MAKE ME DRIVE LIKE A TEENAGER AGAIN.
7. Speaking of teenagers, my tolerance for them is slowly dropping. I blame Facebook, mostly. If I see one more person talk about me needing to see who views my profile, I’m going to punch them in their zit riddled face. I can’t say I’m totally innocent on these charges, because the other day someone I trusted may or may not have posted about boobs accidentally coming out on a TV broadcast and I may or may not have clicked on it, and I may or may not have been phished. All of those are mostly mays. I immediately deleted the automatic post, changed my password, and felt horribly ashamed of myself. Like, the kind of shame you would after walking out of the beaded off portion of your local video store and running into, say, the pastor of your church. The person I got this from is not a teenager, but I’m still blaming the teenagers.
8. Bald eagles have become a good luck charm. When The Missus and I see a bald eagle, good things happen. We’re planning a trip this summer that involves lottery tickets and a bald eagle habitat. We’ll let you know how that goes.
9. I’m addicted to StumbleUpon. They have an extension that plugs into the Chrome browser, and that button just looms up there, begging to be clicked. And clicked again. And clicked again. I’ve seen more of the internet in the last 2 months than I’ve seen in my life. And let me tell you folks, it gets pretty weird out there. Weirder even than hitting the “Next Blog” button. If you have work to do, I highly suggest not even getting involved in it. If you have 24 hours to kill and plenty of Rhoto handy, then go for it. I seriously love Rhoto. It’s like cocaine for your eyes. Kid Funk can back me up on that.
So there you have it. Just some self-observations I’ve noticed in the last few months. Feel free to share yours in the comments if you want, I have the normal comments turned on again for all those that had trouble before. I’m leaving the FB comments up though, we’ll see how it works with both of them. A while back, Johnny Virgil (my blog hero) posted a blog about having to choose who he should get behind at an intersection. It’s a choice we’ve all had to make at some time or another, one with an immediate consequence if you pick wrong: you don’t get to accelerate near as fast as you want to.

Before I launch into my story, I’d like you to know something about me. If I have a 50/50 chance at doing something correctly, I will inevitably pick the wrong thing. Allow me to elaborate. A USB flash drive has one way it can go in a computer. I have NEVER put it in the right way the first time. I always have to flip it over, sometimes more than once. Go ahead, make any sexual themed jokes in the comments below. It’s the same way with docking my iPad 2 or iPod. If it’s plugging something in, I never line the big plug up right the first time, I have to flip it. If I have to guess at True/False, I’ll without exception choose the wrong one. Please don’t ask me to help you choose between two tough decisions, because I will undoubtedly choose the one that will ensure your life will end in misery and a long, painful, slow death.

Now, back to yesterday, and the situation I found myself in. I was in a hurry, as usual, and I came up to an intersection with a vehicle in each lane, so I had to pick who I wanted to get behind. In the first lane, there was a mid 2000’s Ford Mustang GT convertible. In the other lane…a big, boxy mail truck. As in a diesel truck with a big box on top. It’s been my experience that Mustangs and mail trucks don’t accelerate in the same fashion ever. So the choice wasn’t even a choice, really. I settled in behind the car that belong to the mid-50’s, slightly windblown couple sitting in it and waited for the green. The light turned green, and I goosed the gas in anticipation of a 0-45 time that would be in the under 5 second category. Then I IMMEDIATELY stomped on the brakes, having almost driven over the top of the shiny white sports car. Turns out, Mr. Mid-Life GT Mustang Crisis had decided today was the day he was going to save his $4 a gallon gas. He took off not as if there was an egg under the gas pedal, but a human embryo.

In the battle of Mass * Force = Acceleration, the winner will be the one I don’t pick. Eat your heart out, Newton

Needless to say, I yelled at him.

Oh yeah, and the mail truck? I’ve never seen a mail truck accelerate so fast before in all my days. I don’t know if it had a turbo on it, maybe a cold air intake, or maybe he’d put one of those chips in there that make things go faster. I don’t know. All I know is that thing took off like a bat out of hell.

So when I got to the next intersection, I was all set up to get behind the mail truck. I had been proven wrong, sour grapes aside, I knew what I needed to do. Then I saw the car in the other lane. This car had followed me all the way in to Muskogee, and the whole time they had proved that they were in just as much of a hurry as me. It was a little gold Dodge something or other, and the driver was a young man with a heavy foot and somewhere to be. So in what little time I had, I over-ruled myself and the decision to get behind the mail truck, instead opting for the “sure thing.” I waited. The light turned green.

In the moments that followed, I learned two things. The first was a SOLID confirmation that in any given circumstance where there are two choices to be made, I will pick the wrong one. The second was that from here on out, I will NEVER get in a race with a mail truck. This dude had some horsepower, and he had driving skill to back that up. He successfully blocked me for 2 miles before I got around him, and when I did, he had a huge smile on his face.

I couldn’t even be mad. I’d been bested by a mail truck.


So if you and I are ever in a situation with a bomb, and I have to cut the red or green wire, and I don’t have any clue about which one to cut so we both decide I should guess, then I want you to know I sincerely hope you have your affairs in order…because we’re going to die. And if you’ve read this blog, you can’t get mad at me either.

Hey Facebook readers! You can comment on my blog now! I’m currently testing this feature to see if any of you utilize it. If not, fear not old readers, I’ll go back to blogger comments, which I know will at least make Mandy happy. Also, for those of my readers with dichotomous lives, you CAN use anonymous commenting in this form. 

When I opened up Blogger, I saw Josh over at Vive le Nerd had posted his “Top Five Tuesdays” today. I don’t think it’s a meme he does per se, but it is something that I’m going to join up with. These are my Top 5 favorite movies from any genre.

5. O Brother Where Art Thou? – I hate to rank this movie 5th. It doesn’t matter where I am or what else is on TV, if I see this movie is on, I watch it. I won’t move until it’s over. This is one of those movies that I will even sit through commercials without changing the channel just because I don’t want to miss any of it. Not to mention the fact that I already have the DVD. To me, that’s the tell-tale sign of a great movie, if you’re willing to sit through commercials. George Clooney is hilarious, and so is the supporting cast. I quote this movie almost daily, especially so if I’ve seen it recently. I think I’m going to watch this when I get home tonight. “I don’t want Fop, dammit, I’m a Dapper Dan man!”

4. The Rock (1996) – You’re going to notice a pattern in my top four. That pattern is Nic Cage. I know there are some people out there that think Nic Cage is lame, and to those people I say this. Your mom is lame. The Rock is one of those thrillers that make you laugh and cringe at the same time. It also has Sean Connery, and there isn’t a lady reading this (especially you SAHMs) that can tell me they wouldn’t love him up faster than could tweet about it. I mean, right now, Sean is somewhere with a fine lady, and she’s lovin him up.  My favorite quote from this movie is “Losers always whine about doing their best. Winners go home and f*ck the prom queen.” “Carla was the prom queen.”

3. Con Air (1997) – Again, Nic Cage. This time though, the supporting cast is just as big, both literally and figuratively. It’s got that fat but buff black guy, John Malkavich, Steve Buscemi, that one chick with the weird face’s brother, that one dude from Star Trek, TNG, Danny Trejo, and a Trisha Yearwood song that I happen to love. It’s funny, it’s violent, and there is a moment where you’re certain Steve B is gonna cut a little girl’s face off and dance around under the desert sky with it. There are a lot of great lines in this movie, but my favorite by far is this: “Why couldn’t you just put the bunny back in the box?”

2. Armageddon (1998) – I’m not going to lie, I still tear up every time I see this movie. This is also one of two movies in this list that doesn’t star Mr. Cage, so be thankful. Again, you have a huge supporting cast, and Bruce Willis plays the lead. It is funny and heart warming, and it made me think about whether or not I could be a hero like him, or just let Ben Affleck die. To be truthful, I’d have probably rid the world of Ben Affleck. That’s one less person on The Missus’ list, and that’s a good thing, right? No replacies? My favorite quote from this movie? “Guys, the United States government just asked us to save the world. Anyone wanna say no?”

1. Gone in 60 Seconds (2000) – I saw this movie in the theater at least 6 times during the first week it was open. It has everything. Hot chicks, (well one) fast cars, action, humor, feel good moments, and enough stunt driving to make even the safest driver consider popping a wheelie out of the theater parking lot. When I got in my car after seeing that movie, I was trying to speed shift, double clutch, and replicate everything they did in the film, and I drove an automatic. There are some things a 1997 Ford Escort just won’t do, but I tried them after watching it. It’s a miracle I didn’t die. If it’s up to me, I’d also like to say that this movie is where Timothy Olyphant got his start, and it’s also the movie that made me fall in love with both Nic and Delroy Lindo. It easily takes number 1 on the list, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. My favorite quote from this movie is “160…180…He’s gone.”

There you have it, folks. My top five movies of all time. I don’t do “indie” crap, I don’t make my favorite movie something that others have never heard of, I don’t do “artsy,” and I could give two craps about documentaries. All those are well and good for some of you, just not for me. I like sex, I like violence, and I like funny and thrilling. That’s me, in a nutshell. I do however, have some honorable mentions.

Hoosiers (1986) – While it certainly will never be remembered as one of Gene Hackman’s or Dennis Hopper’s best performances, it is sort of the godfather of all basketball films. It is the classic David vs. Goliath movie, and it keeps you in suspense until the very end.

Anchorman (2004) – Will Ferrel, Vince Vaughn, Steve Carrol. Need I say more? I don’t think I stopped laughing through the entire movie. There are so many memorable quotes in this movie I don’t think I could list them all here, so here: ANCHORMAN QUOTES.

Tombstone (1993) – I typically despise Westerns, but this one gets a nod. Great movie, and the only movie with Val Kilmer in it where I actually like him. I think it’s probably because he dies.

I got the text message early Friday evening.

“Hey man, you still want to play?”

My reply: “Absolutely.”

The game in question? Dodgeball. The last time I’d played? Oh, about the 8th grade. 15 years ago, give or take a few. But in the 8th grade, I was a hero. Kids fought over me, because I could catch anything. It’s always been a gift of mine. I don’t know if it’s the large hands, the fast reflexes, or the double sided tape you ladies use for minimal boob exposure that I apply to my hands before each athletic performance. Maybe it’s a combination of all three. But I was good, y’all. Very good.

So I jumped at the chance to play as a grown up. It was an all day tournament thing, we were guaranteed at least 3 games, one warm up, two for realsies. We got more if we won, so naturally we wanted to get our money’s worth. We had some pretty athletic looking dudes on our team…and then me. I’m not what you’d call “in shape” unless the shape you’re talking about is round.

We lined up for the first game, the ref said go, and I walked up to the boundary line, not in any rush to get a ball first. I don’t throw all that well, and I am sure as sugar not going to win any foot races to get a ball. I’m just sort of standing there, looking around, and someone hurls a ball at me. I dodge it. I have successfully completed the rules of the namesake! However, someone else hurled a ball at me. It came straight for my chest.

I caught it.

Then I caught another one. Then one more, and we won the game.

Those of you that follow me on Twitter and Facebook kind of know how it went from there, so I’ll hit the highlights.

  • We lost our second game, but battled back from the loser’s bracket to fourth place.
  • There were 3 games when it was me against 6 people. We won 2 of those games.
  • I actually threw a couple of people out.
  • I had a black guy come up to me in the parking lot after and tell me he was jealous of my skills.
  • It was for real a black guy.
  • I had a guy come up to me after a game and say, “You can catch, mother f*cker.”
  • I had a pregnant mother come sit by me because I was catching balls on the sidelines.
  • I got a couple of offers from other teams for next year.
  • Ripley’s wound up calling. They couldn’t believe it.
  • I only heard the phrase “If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball!” 457 times.
  • Seriously. It was a black guy.

So, not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’m a pretty dang fine dodgeball player.
And the weekend didn’t stop there. Saturday afternoon I got to go fishing with The Groom, who hasn’t been in about 2 years. He caught four fish. I caught none. I’ve been fishing 3 times this year, I’ve reeled in zero fish.
Then on Sunday night, our church had a “Barn Dance.” I know you’re thinking, “Southern Baptists, dancing?” And that’s mostly what I thought too. But I have to tell you, I had a blast. Plus, I looked like this.

Fellas, hide your gals. And your chickens.

It was a great weekend, but I’ll be real honest. I feel like I’ve been hit with a truck. I could barely get out of bed this morning. Maybe I need to start exercising again instead of eating massive quantities of Mexican food and playing Words with Friends on my iPad 2. When the weather warms up, there will definitely be more tennis, that’s for sure.
So listen, if you need a dodgeball teammate, you give me a yell. Also, if you need a sexy cowboy, you give me a yell. But only iffen you’re a fine lil lady. No dudes allowed.*

Hey, y’all also need to tell me if you like the Facebook Comment thing. I think it makes it easier to comment, plus you can do Anon if you don’t want the world knowing your real name. Let me know what you think!

*Maybe if the money is right. Some restrictions apply.*
*No gay sex. That’s the restriction. I’m sure you’ve all heard the news by now. Yesterday, Alicia and I got an email saying we were selected to adopt two children! We’re both so excited, and we didn’t think it could get any better.

However, as it turns out, the good news didn’t stop there…

Since we’ve started the adoption process, all we’ve heard is “If you adopt, you’ll get pregnant. I knew these people, they adopted twins, they got pregnant with triplets.” It seems like every person we’ve ever told that we’re adopting has come back at us with that same story. I was beginning to think everyone knew that same couple. So last night, as a joke, I told my wife to get a pregnancy test to prove everyone wrong. She laughed and talked about posting pictures of it along with making fun of everyone who told us that. We had a good laugh, and I definitely didn’t think she’d do it. But she did.

That certainly didn’t turn out as planned.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on my wife’s face as she brought the test back into the living room and showed me. Shock, disbelief, and the kind of happiness you just can’t measure.

Anyway, they say a picture is worth a thousand words. So without further ado, I give you…


I love you guys.