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The Fisher of Stories



I am surrounded by facial hair.

My family and friends, on command, can grow glorious beards of magnanimous proportions, full of glory, honor, and old-timey epic adventurous grandeur.

I give you examples.

Meet Dustin. He’s in a band.


My Sunday School teacher, Jason. He grew this in ten minutes.


Christion, who is going for the “I’m never shaving again” look.


Jeremy, whose wife can’t be shown on film. Something about drugs and witness protection.


And finally, the bestie. Kinman, aka Kid Funk. This also took ten minutes.

These beards are all fantastic in their own special ways. And then there’s me, circa 2010, with about two months of pathetic growth on my face.

The Missus called me “Patches” for three weeks until I broke down and shaved.

There is only one thing that picture brings to mind.
All I want in life right now is to be able to grow a thick, luscious, manly, and sexy beard. One that The Missus will run her fingers through and immediately be consumed with passion and romance and want to throw down wherever we are. One that inspires the lust and envy of other men wanting to be as manly as I. I want a beard that would make Abraham Lincoln proud, and I’m talking the real Abe, not this retarded vampire hunter in the movies right now. I hate Tim Burton.
I want to be able to get lost in the snowy wilderness with a group of people and have them immediately elect me as a leader because my facial hair inspires mad confidence in my ability. I want that facial hair to help prove me innocent when all of those people eventually die because I know absolutely nothing about helping people survive in temperatures below sixty degrees. And I want that beard to shake the confidence of my cellmate who had sodomy on his mind until he saw the thick, coarse, and lustrous hair sprouting from all the follicles on my well-chisled and trial-hardened face.
I want a Chuck Norris, George Clooney, Zach Galifianakas, Brian Wilson, Ron Swanson, Conan beard. I want people to stop in the street and say to their children, “Son, one day you might be as manly as that,” or “Daughter, when you get older, fall in love with a man who has a beard like that one.”
I decided to get The Missus’ opinion on what she would do to me if I could grow a truly amazing beard. I thought surely she would speak of things only to be repeated in sleazy books and Penthouse letters, but I was instead taken aback by her response.

I am incapable of making my wife vomit. Except when I’m naked.

So there you have it. Maybe I can’t grow a beard, but one day, one day when I can grow stubble, I’ll finally be “liked” by The Missus. Until then, I’ll keep praying for puberty to head my way with something other than a face full of zits and ill-timed arousal.
Wish me luck.image

Call me Ishmael.

Look, I know the title told you to call me Ahab. But if I didn’t begin this with “Call me Ishmael,” I would never be taken seriously in the literary community. Anytime you reference Moby Dick, you have to start it with “Call me Ishmael.” I don’t make the rules.

Many of you remember my landmark dieting run that began the year 2010. I was going to go all liquid for thirty days. I lasted approximately twenty eight hours on that “diet.” However, many of you also know that The Missus and I went on to be on the Tyra Bank’s show, and then how I tried out for The Biggest Loser. If you know all that, you know that on the way home from that tryout, I hit an icy patch on a bridge and almost killed The Missus, Kid Funk, and myself.


So after realizing that I’d almost killed us all so I could be on a TV show to lose weight, I decided, “Why not just lose the weight on your own?” And so that’s what I did. In about a six month period, I lost 70 pounds, taking my weight from 370 lbs down to 297 lbs. Some of you were around for that, and you can remember how excited I was to be under 300 for the first time in ten years. Then you might also remember how the very next week I went up to 301, went into a tailspin, and then two years later weighed in at 363 lbs. That’s what I weighed on January 1st of 2012.

However, all is not lost. Since January, I’ve lost about thirty pounds, and I’m down to 332. I’m trying, I’m going slower, and hoping that some changes will stick.

But this isn’t a weight loss post, believe it or not. This is a post about me proving I’m not crazy. About knowing that my sanity, though recently marred beyond repair by the addition of the boy and girl child, is still firmly grasping the edges of my mind, clinging precariously, but there nonetheless.

You see, in May of 2010, I started the job where I currently work. As a part of my fitness regimen at the time, I would take a three mile walk/jog on my lunch break most days. The route I chose led me through a small collection of neighborhood streets, just like in any rural community. One day, as I was making my way back to the office after sweating intensely in close to 100 degree temps, I saw something kind of funny.

It was a pig. An enormously fat white pig. And no, I hadn’t jogged past a mirror. Shut it. This pig was in the yard of one of the houses on my route. It was just standing there, by the door of the house, and then the door opened, and the pig was gone, its phantasmal memory left to dance on the gossamer filaments of my heat-stroked brain.

Had I imagined it all? Had I been in the grip of a dehydration delusion? Why would anyone keep a pig in their yard, and then let it in their house? I understand that kind of thing on a farm, and I understand getting a mini-pig as a house pet, but a full grown pig in town? And in your house? I don’t get it, Big Dan.

I’m trying to remember if I told anyone about it. I know I wouldn’t have told anyone but The Missus, and I’m not even sure if I told her. So I sent her a text this morning.

“It sounds familiar” is code for, “Whatever.”

Let’s shift back to 2012. More specifically, let’s go to the first day of May in 2012. Yesterday. Narrowing it down even further, let’s get down to my lunch break. I went for a walk. You know, because I’m trying to look less like a man carrying a past-due child and more like a man who simply smuggles bowling balls for a living.

I am taking it slow, so I’m doing more walking and less jogging. By “less,” I mean “none.” I was nearing the end of my route when I walked by the “Pig House.”

I’d like to take this chance to let you know that in the past couple of years, my distance vision has gotten absolutely abysmal. In fact, I’m now wearing glasses.

So when I looked into the yard of the Pig House, I saw a huge white rock standing by some bushes. A huge white rock that hadn’t been there when I’d walked by thirty seven minutes before. So for at least ten feet, I’m thinking, “How in the world did they get a rock that size out there that fast?”

Then it moved. Then I realized.

This was the pig. This was my white whale.

And so I did what any man who didn’t want to be drug down into the ocean by an allegorical creature representing the demons of his past would do.

I snagged a picture.

Hey look, it’s your mom. BURN!

So I’m not crazy. This is the final proof. I’ve decided to name him Toby Hick, which makes him a whole lot less scary. Toby is actually pretty fortunate that I wasn’t carrying a spear gun.
Right now, I need ideas on how to lure Toby into the back of a van so I can take him to a meat processing plant home with me. You know. For the kids. Do pigs bite? Do they have any idea how delicious cute they are?

Future Toby.

I need your suggestions. I also need a van. And the number to the guy who “cleans” your pigs.

I didn’t fart. That’s my wink face. That’s the face that my wife fell in love with.


I don’t normally repost stuff. However, I was looking through my archives and this little conversation made me start laughing all over again. Here it is in all its glory, and its just a sample of the many weird conversations Kid Funk and I have had over the years.Kid Funk: If Morgan Freeman and Sam L Jackson were preachers, Freeman preaching on Heaven and salvation and Jackson preaching on damnation, wouldn’t a soul go to Hell. Heaven would be crowded.Me: I’m very much inclined to believe that.KF: For sure Freeman would make you believe and Jackson could scare the devil right out of you. Matter of fact, I might write a letter to someone, see if we can’t match them up in a feel good exorcism movie.Me. Duuuuuuuude, and if we could just get Billy Graham in the movie and just have him nod and point a few times. That’s icing on the cake. I’d make a chocolate cake and vanilla icing reference, but geez.KF: People would come out of the theater saved and washed with the blood of the Lamb, be in church the next Sunday, singin Go, Tell It On The Mountain.Me: The world would be turned into one great big Pentecostal church service. People would still be yellin at each other, but it’d be spirit filled yellin.KF: “Imma go get saved again!”Me: Wait. What about the Jews? They wouldn’t even go see it. Heck, they were at the cross, and they STILL don’t really believe.KF: Yeah… Somethin about God’s people… I don’t know.Me: Maybe if Seth Rogen got saved…KF: Ha.KF: If anyone could convert a Jew, it’d be Freeman and Jackson.Me: I’M TIRED OF ALL THESE MOTHER LOVIN UNSAVED PEOPLE ON THIS MOTHER LOVIN PLANET!Me: He’d have to say lovin, see. Because of the whole not being able to curse. Really, I’d consider him a black Paul. Paul had trouble with cursing.KF: It’s the message that counts.Me: That’s right. Paul wrote half the friggin New Testament. I’m sure he let a “damn” or somethin slip when he made a typo. I mean, it’s the Bible. You can’t have typos.Folks, it’s TMI Thursday time with the one and only Lilu over at LivitLuvit. She’s a peach of a gal that really does her best to get everyone on the internet to do something embarrassing or nasty on Thursdays, and so far, she’s done a good job. This is my contribution this week. If you want more of this, please for the love of all that is holy and pure, click the picture of those old people having more fun than you did last night. 
TMI Thursday
If I could, I’d like to outline my sexual education for you.
It didn’t take place in a classroom, nor any other part of school, such as the gym teachers office, or in the janitor’s closet, or out on the football field one night after the Spanish teacher got done telling you why he was unhappy in his marriage.
It didn’t take place in a church, and it wasn’t personally taught to me by a priest, or any other clergyman that was forbidden to marry.
It consisted of my mother almost, but not entirely chucking a book by Dr. James Dobson into my room when I was in the 6th grade, saying, “Here Travis, I picked this up at the library, you should read it!” And running out of my room back into her protected little housewife bubble.
It also partly consisted of a prank some older girls pulled when I was in the 5th grade that involved them leaving little scraps of paper on the floor of the gym that said, “A woman get’s pregnant by a man putting his penis into a woman’s belly button…”
I still won’t put a load anywhere near one of those things.
The book had a chapter in it called “Sex” or something like that.
I turned right to it. Hell, I thought it might have pictures.
Instead what I read was a graphically detailed chapter of how a p goes into a v, and how babies are made. They didn’t get right into the “parts” so to speak, but they gave me the basic idea of things, which I was sorely needing, because I was starting to be the kid that “didn’t get” jokes at school.
It also taught me how to masturbate.
Now. Before I go further, I’d just like to say that I am sure that when Dr. Dobson wrote that book, he didn’t envision a child starting a habit that, 15 years later, has developed into a hobby that he’s mastered much like a young Asian boy masters karate and meditation.
However, that’s what happened.
But I’ve wandered off the point a bit.
The point is, I didn’t know certain things about a woman’s body. Hell, I’ll be honest, I’m still in confusion about that g-spot thing. That’s real. And don’t give me any of that “Poor Missus” shit, I don’t think she even knows where the damn thing is at. It’s like finding a set of keys in a lake that you’ve been looking for for 8 years, then turning around in excitement to tell your wife about it, and knocking them back into lake you pulled them out of.
Anyclimax, I was 16, and I was at my first girlfriends house. We had been dating while, long enough that we were using the “L” word, and I was getting handjobs pretty regular, and I still thought regular handjobs were a pretty cool thing.
Somehow, the topic of her period came up. This sparked a question in my brain. A question that I thought I could trust her not to laugh at.
“Hey. When you have to pee and you have a tampon in, do you have to take it out to pee?”
cricketcricketcricketuncontrollable laughter and finger pointingcricket
I was pretty ticked off.
“Travis, we have a pee hole. It’s right above the vagina… Did you not know this?”
“No. I didn’t. Thanks for laughing at me.”
So yeah… That’s how I found out that a woman doesn’t pee through her vagina.
Maybe next time I’ll tell you about Kid Funk diagramming where the clit is for me.(Hey guys and gals. It’s Memoir Monday time! This is where you write down a story about yourself, steal my button down there, drink a beer, and call it all a win. The only rule is that it has to be true, other than that, there are no rules. I keep getting more and more people to follow my lead! It’s catching on! Will YOU be one on the bandwagon this week? Once you post, let me know, and I will link you up down there for all my kick ass bloggy followers to go and read! Y’all are the greatest, and I love you. If you want to see all the Memoir Monday posts, just click on the book!)

Kid Funk (Justin Kinman) and I have had some adventures.
One of them in particular is dying to be typed today, so here it goes.
A very long time ago, I was “girl crazy.” I would like to say at this point that I am still crazy, but only for my wife, who is not a girl, (thank you baby Jesus) but a woman. So. I am officially woman crazy I guess.
Either way, the point is, I was girl crazy. Loved the ladies. They revved my engine.
Our pastor at the time was from a little town in Oklahoma called Barnsdall. It’s north of Tulsa a bit, and it’s a typical Oklahoma small town, only it has a stoplight. If you don’t know why I brought that up, you have never lived in a small town. Small towns are judged by their stop lights or stop signs. If all you’ve got is a bunch of stop signs, you’re pretty lame. If you’ve a got at least one stoplight, well then my friend, you are UPTOWN.
Anyway, there was a girl in this particular town that had caught my eye. I was 17 or so at the time, and she was 14 or 15. I didn’t care. I wanted to take her as my lover date her a bit, and maybe hold hands, and then leave town and break up with her, because let’s keep it real here, she lived like 2 hours away. Who here can remain faithful to a high school girlfriend whilst being two hours away? Not this guy. Besides, I wanted to hold hands with every chick in Green Country.
So Kid Funk and I decide to take a drive up to Barnsdall to see this chick. I decided not to tell her we were coming, because, well, that would have given her the chance to tell me no. I also decided we’d go up on a Wednesday night, on the premise of visiting their church, which my church had gone to on a mission trip of sorts a few months earlier. There was also a wicked good pizza place up there called Bighearts Pizza (props to them if they are still in business) and I figured if all else failed, we’d at least have some good pie. (TWHS)
We got there with little incident, and stopped for some pizza, wherein the greatest single prank in the history of man might have been pulled. You see, the waitress at the pizza place was kind of cute. I for sure would have held her hand. Twice. Not to be one that doesn’t mess with a cute waitress, I decided to talk to her. I walked up to the counter, and looked at her and said, “Darlin, what’s your number?” She stumbled for a moment, and then started saying a number. I immediately said, “No. Not yours personally. The pizza place’s.” Woo. Talk about an embarrassed lady.
We get done with our pizza and head out to the church. When we finally found the place, no one was there. No one. There were a bang ton of empty cars, the doors to the church were unlocked, and no one was home. NO ONE.
Now you’ll have to understand, I am a Christian. I have no bones telling anyone that, and if you don’t like it, you can leave. I firmly believe that one day Jesus will come back to collect his own, and so on and so forth. However, I won’t shove this down your throats, because I respect you as human beings who mainly just want to laugh at me, and not talk about God.
So. When we see that there is no one at this church, and there were cars and such outside, we start to do a little trembling of the maybe we’re not so righteous sort. We drove to a second church.
You can understand our panic.
I mean, let’s be honest, Hell is gonna be turrible.
So anyway, we were a bit freaked out. We decided to stop at the next place we saw some fellow left behindinians, and politely, if not a bit panicky, ask them what they did with all their church folk.
Turns out, once a month, all the area churches bus their people to one of the churches for an all denomination get together.
Woo. False alarm. I don’t think the people in that little store understood our relief, or our request for a bathroom.
When Kid Funk and I walked into that church, we started jubilatin. “Almost left behind but not really praise the Lord Almighty put your hands together and clap for Him and do it all again and put 5 dollars instead of 1 in the offering plate and raise your hands to heaven and testify and confess that one time you took a good kid out to strip club for his bachelor party and then got him drunk but you’re forgiven now and you just wanted to tell the church and dance a little in the aisle and maybe speak in a tongue or two” jubilatin.
We had good reason to.
I didn’t even remember why we came until the end of the service, and then I saw the chick. For some reason, I wasn’t as worried about it anymore.
We wound up going out to her house, where Kid Funk had his shirt chewed on by a goat, we met an honest to goodness retarded rabbit, and her mom and dad both drank milk straight from the cows teat.
Small towns in Oklahoma.
You never really appreciate the people in them until you think you’ve been left behind.
Other Non-Raptured Trips Down Memory Lane: (GO READ THEM!)
Alex’s Memoir Monday
Daffy’s Memoir Monday: Can You Feel The Burn?
Ed’s Memoir Monday: I’m A REAL LIVE Mountainman.
BigSis’ Memoir Monday: Do WHAT?
Quixotic’s Memoir Monday: The Honeymoon Is Over.
Greg’s Memoir Monday. *ROOKIE!
Josh’s Memoir Monday: It Was The Summer Of ’98.
Corrie’s Memoir Monday: How A Movie Taught Me About My Son.
Carol’s Memoir Monday: Monday Morning.
Shany’s Memoir Monday: Parenting Tips. *ROOKIE!
Cody’s Memoir Monday: My First Try. *ROOKIE!This is a conversation with The Missus that I had the other day on IM.

TM: I’m back.
Me: Yay! The Youngest and I are trying to jailbreak my Ipod.
TM: What does that even mean?
Me: I am still not sure, but it’s cool!
TM: Okay, I mean, I understand doing that to an IPhone so it will work on other networks, but just the Ipod?
Me: This is different. It gets you in the setup and what not.
TM: What do you need in the setup for?
Me: It’s a long story, but I’ll get free music!
TM: How?
Me: I’m not real sure. The Youngest says so though, and that’s good enough for me.
TM: Yeah, and listening to The Youngest is a sure fire way to get things done.
Me: The Youngest is tellin me about almost getting caught by a cop, doing it with a girl at Honor Heights.
TM: Dang it, I thought The Youngest was still a good kid.
Me: Naw.
TM: That kinda hurts my heart.
Me: HA!
TM: So how does it feel to be the only brother to graduate high school with his V card?
Me: Cheap shot!

Conversation with Kid Funk:

KF: Sin is sin!
Me: Right. I know that. Hell, I also know that if I ask forgiveness, He’ll forget about it. That’s wicked cool. Jesus is a pretty cool guy.
KF: Yeah, but He talks in red.
Me: I would too, iffen people had nailed me to a tree for just tryna make the world cooler and get em into Heaven.
KF: Jews…
Me: Right? I have like 95 Jew followers.
KF: Who are you, Blog Moses?
Me: I might be. Someone made a Moses reference the other day. I need a staff.
KF: A really strong one.
Me: I need to learn how to talk majestically too. In a way that gets me millions of followers with lame ass attitudes that aren’t ever happy.
KF: Now you sound like Blog Obama.
Me: Hey, I’m trailblazin.

Also, the other day I met Lauren, from over at (Mis)Adventures In Theatre! She was on a road trip from Montana to North by God Carolina, and she happened to drive through my neck of the woods! We had a wonderful visit in an IHOP, because I’m classy like that.

She is a great person, a great blogger, and she was even more fun to hang out with! It just really makes me want to go on a “Blog Tour” and meet all or most of my bloggy buds. Maybe one day.

Below is a picture!

Hope y’all enjoyed this little Saturday post, and I’ll see you back tomorrow maybe for a “Most Embarrassing Songs On My Ipod” type thing. Maybe. Enjoy your weekend!

So I’ve been up for about 2 hours now, I’m working on about 5 hours of actual sleep, and I’ve already written 2200 words for my novel.

I know. I’m the greatest. I expect you to say that, as today is my birthday, and I get what I frickin want. (Ed, I want those damn nudey pics you promised me. Daf, I want you to interpret this whole post into sign language. Jeff, I want you to write me a song. AG, I want a birthday poem.) There. That should get everyone started.

In all seriousness though, last night I went out with some friends for a “Halloween” party. I was invited because I told them I’d drive. I told them I’d drive because it meant I’d get to stay sober while they got drunk. I knew this would be rewarded with a great amount of fun, and I was also promised free entry into a bar in which ladies may or may not remove their clothing. (The Missus knew…)

So I’ve acquired this little list of quotes that were made last night. I tweeted them all out live, and since Daf and I were chatting all night, she got to hear some of them, but I know that a lot of you haven’t moved into this century and have a Twitter. Get your twat on, people. Seriously. And if you do decide to Twatter a bit, you can follow me, and I will follow you. Just click the link on the side near the bottom.

Here, in no certain order, are the quotes.

“I’m on Itunes, bitches!” -This was yelled by a very drunk Kid Funk every 5 minutes in the club. He actually is on Itunes, and yeah, I’m gonna get a link up here eventually.

The word “thigh brow” was used. As in, she totally had a thigh brow. I didn’t ask for a definition.

“The Crow technically could have been a zombie, because he came back to life…”

“I picked a lot of people off before I ever even set foot on the rubber.”

“I was looking forward to drunk Metallica.”

“Comparing HD to Blu-Ray is like comparing Beta Max to VHS.”

“First down, Phillies!”

“I don’t need any more face! I’ve got a lot of face!”

“I would do it with a Jew if she looked like that. I would tell her I loved Jesus while I was doin it with her.”

“If at any point in the night you wanna flick a tittie, you can flick mine.”

“Now I’m falling down the wall. That’s great.”

“Being a stripper, and no one coming up and tipping you, has to be like getting picked last in dodgeball.”

“Somebody is going to have to direct me to where we parked.”

“If I knew where the car was, I’d just go stand by it.”

So yeah. I was in charge of 4 drunk people, one of which is a really super cool guy that wound up getting so drunk he passed out in the club, then threw up all over the floor. Then the whole ride home he wanted to touch me. Heck, the whole ride to the club he wanted to touch me. I told him specifically not to touch me. I should have just whipped his ass. (It was not Kid Funk)

However, upon exiting my vehicle, Kid Funk did fall out of my truck. On his face.

On a side note, the flicking tittie quote did not come from me. None of these did. The reason that got said was because the last time we took this super cool guy somewhere, he got drunk, started dancing with a girl, and just started reaching out and flicking her on the breasts. She didn’t like it, so he got mad and flipped her off. She didn’t like that even more, so he moved into a combination trying to flick her boobies and flipping her off. Yeah…

Not a classy guy.

Today is “Would You Rather” day I guess, so I’m going to take a shot at it. Here goes.

Would you rather,

Be put in a box for one hour with a a million pieces of freshly chewed Juicy Fruit gum, chewed by a million different people,


Have to use the restroom on a web cam that broadcasts a live feed from all all angles for a year in which everyone you’ve ever met is forced to watch every time you go?

Things to consider: With the gum thing, SOMEONE is gonna have the swine flu. Probably a lot of other stuff too. Plus, there is the slobber factor. With the bathroom thing, your mother will be watching. Weird people who like that sort of thing will be watching.

On to the conversation…

Me: I’ve gotta come up with questions for a questionnaire for guest guest posting on my blog. It’s kind of lame.
KF: I don’t even know what that means. Doesn’t bother me the slightest.
Me: Yep. Bothers me though, “Guy who wants me to DD for him.” Let’s show some damn sympathy here.
KF: Travis… I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry you are gay.
Me: Hey. I’m gonna have sex tonight with a chick. Are you?
KF: Naw. Don’t mean I don’t wannna. I bet you cut it short to blog though…
Me: Hell no. Unless blogging now instead of doing it counts.
KF: Yep, you could be doing it, but you are blogging. Blogging is something you do when you have nothing to do. If you have, in fact, IT to do, then you do have something to do.
Me: I’m not really blogging. I’m just making something for the blog. Plus, she’s watching soaps. Hell, that’s foreplay.
KF: That’s even worse. That’s like putting lipstick on your blog. She’ll come back and tell you she’s in love with your evil twin if you’re not careful. Soaps killed my 4th cousin. Mmmmhmmm, that one that lived in Nacadocios. She done ran her car off a bridge so she could see if she had an evil twin, and she could come back and confront her, she didn’t come back, Travis. Then I found out she was my aunt.
Me: Damn. Did you sleep with her before you found out? Shit could get complicated.
KF: Naw.
Me: Thank God for that.

There you have it, folks. Give me your WYR answers, iffen you haven’t had a seizure after reading that conversation. Happy Hump Day! Get you some!

On Bacon In Heaven:

KF: If there is bacon in heaven, I bet it’s slab peppered bacon.
Me: And I bet it’s half an inch thick. Probably made by Blue and Gold.
KF: Made by jesus. Who may or may not make Blue and Gold.
Me: That’s real. You gotta capitalize Jesus though, man.
KF: Jesus Christ. Happy?
Me: Well. I mean, He is, I’m sure. Your phone doesn’t automatically capitalize it?
KF: Nope.
Me: Well, let he who’s phone hath no sin cast the first stone, I guess.

On Really Good Chili:

KF: Quick chili is amazing. Imma do that for sure next time. Just cook it all in a pan and get it ready, then toss it is a crock pot with the veggies and let that shiz melt into butter like chili.
Me: And invite me over.
KF: Yep. Imma have to wait at least a week before I can eat chili again. Woo.
Me: I’ve got gas like you wouldn’t believe. I’ve just been holding them in all day. It’s brutal.
KF: I’m at the part where you’re done shittin and you just don’t wanna wipe. Just wanna set there.
Me: Where it just takes all your moxy.
KF: All of it… Leaves you makin poor decisions the rest of the day.
Me: “I probably should invest it all in high risk. I mean, it’s just my life’s savings…”

On Head Country Salsa:

KF: I want to write a letter to Head Country. “Hey guys. We need to have a talk about your salsa.”
Me: Yep. Stick to the sauce.
KF: “Although I haven’t tried it on ribs, I feel in whole that your salsa is a fail. That’s the best you could do, that’s the best recipe you had before canning and selling it?”
Me: “With all due respect for your fine BBQ sauce, we’d like you to take all that salsa, and shove it up the development teams ass. Go on, it’s not even that spicy.”

Me later on: Peter Griffin weighs 270 pounds. I’m almost 100 pounds heavier than Peter Griffin…

(sends me picture of magazine with Edward from Twilight on the cover)

KF: That’s an entire mag about Twilight.
Me: Geez. I like it, and yeah I know I’m gay, but I don’t like it enough to buy a magazine about it.
KF: Yep. Stupid. 27 pages are just Edward Cullen pictures.
Me: I like him better than I like that damn werewolf. Vampires are way cooler.
KF: Not even a werewolf… Just a native that wants to be a dog.
Me: Yep. Just a shapeshifter. Shoulda shifted into a vampire.
KF: Or something cool. A wolf? Not cool.
Me: Have you seen the preview? Not even a cool wolf. Like a damn German Shepherd. Wait. A German Shepherd is cool.
KF: Eh. I’d change into a lion or a bear. A Kodiak Grizzly will kill you and eat your camp supplies.
Me: Damn right it will. Might even kill a vampire.
Me: Wait. Naw, I think one of em like to kill bears for fun. The big one.

Also… Presenting…

TA DA!!!!!!!

Seriously. Go check that out. I bought a website. After 2 days of working in Dreamweaver, and 2 hours total of tech support, that’s what I have on it. Go look.


Yeah, yeah. I know it’s Tuesday. But I have a memoir, and I’m gonna write it.

This is a story about how well The Missus and Kid Funk get along…

One day, The Missus and I decided to go fishing. I invited Kid Funk, and he invited another gentleman, we’ll call him “Big Guy.” I’m calling him that, because he was, in fact, a big guy. Also hairy. Also maybe not the…ahem… most knowledgeable person in the world. I’m not calling him dumb. To give you an example, I’ll tell you about the first time I met Big Guy. I was sitting with The Groom at his girlfriends brothers house, and Big Guy walks in, looks at me, and says, “WHAT THE F*CK ARE YOU DOING HERE!?!?!?” And he walks right up to me like he’s gonna whoop my ass. We’ve been over the kind of pansy I am before. This guy was HUGE. Scared me to death. I almost pissed myself. He gets right up to me, cocks his fist, looks at me one more time, and says, “Oh, dude I thought you were someone else. Someone from Ft. Gibson.” I didn’t bother letting him know that at the time, I did kind of live in Ft. Gibson. It seemed maybe he wasn’t exactly fond of the person he thought I was. I let it go. I also changed my pants.

Anyway, that’s the back story of Big Guy. We got to be friends, he developed sort of a crush on The Missus, ( which I also let go) and he totally took me in a game of pitchin quarters one time.

BG and KF were roomies at the time, so they both decided to roll.  We went to a spot called Billy Creek, and yes, I’ve taken the liberty:


We liked to pull right up to that road, get out, and toss our lines into the honey hole. Now, this was easy to do, provided no one actually went out on the pipe. Then it made it hard to cast, and you couldn’t really catch fish. Oh, and by the way, there really was something dead wrapped up in a sheet. We never did check. I know this seems like a bad place to fish, but you could really tear up the crappie…sometimes. Mostly, it was a good spot to fish and drink, which there was none of on this particular trip. (there’s another story that involves Big Guy, about 20 beers, and a 12 gauge…)

So we get out there, get our poles out, and start not catching fish. This makes us antsy. KF and The Missus both are not capable of really just sitting still if the fish aren’t biting. They get restless. Well, The Missus decides to restless herself right out on the pipe. Now, we’d all agreed beforehand that we weren’t going to do this. But she did. This makes KF really mad. He asks why she’s out there, and to my knowledge, the conversation went something like this.

KF: “Why the hell did you go out there?”
TM: “Shut up, they aren’t biting.”
KF:  “Don’t tell me to shut up, we said we weren’t gonna do that!”
TM: “They aren’t even biting, you dickhole!”
KF:  “Did you just call me a urethra?”
Big Guy: “Naw man, she called ya what ya piss out of!”

This resulted in two things. One was laughter. By everyone but Big Guy…..and The Missus. I couldn’t stop laughing. It was the funniest conversation I had ever heard, hands down. Nothing had even come close.

The other thing that happened was The Missus picking up KF’s keys, and throwing them in the water, then immediately turning around, getting in our vehicle, and driving off. OFF. O-F-F.

My ride had gone, and KF’s keys were somewhere in the water. This pretty much turned laughter into not laughter. The situation had ceased to be funny, if you can imagine. I really thought we were going to have to walk home.

After some digging, we found the keys, and we just kept fishing. I wasn’t about to deal with the situation, and I knew I was in trouble. About 30 minutes later, The Missus pulls back up, and I very sadly reeled in and went on my way. She was still wicked pissed, but mostly I just blamed KF for everything.

Thanks for taking one for the team, buddy.

This is also not the only time something like this has happened when I’ve been fishing with them. Those are other stories for other days. On the plus side, I’m feeling better, and I have a doozy of  a TMI story this week.

Anyways, I’m out. Gonna go watch a volleyball game, and maybe see more of that sportsmanship

Yeah… He does! Look on down my sidebar there and go follow him. It’s more a college football and beer type thing, but for sure, he’s still one funny dude. Need proof? Go read some of my conversations with him!
Things I’ve done this weekend:
Got told I couldn’t have a new TV.
Bought a new stereo and speakers for my truck.
Played golf. Shot a 102. Don’t judge me.
At 92 shrimp in one sitting at Red Lobster.
Hung out with some very interesting family members of my wife.
Watched The Matrix Reloaded. Twice.
Been generally lazy.
The best part is? I get an extra day! Yay Labor Day weekend! I may go throw rocks at the jet skiers tomorrow. That will be fun.
Excuse me, I’m gonna go poop 92 shrimp…

Another classic, and because I’m all out of blogging material. I’m rating this blog R, because it has some themes…and he’s drunk. Enjoy!
Kid Funk: I’d give a kidney for some Head Country right now.Me: Ha! What about the current value of a kidney on the black market? Cause I’ll head your way.Kid Funk: Ha! It’s for a Banquet rib dinner. That imma put on bacon grease grilled wheat berry bread. And those pork rhynes…Kid Funk: Rines…Kid Funk: Skins…Kid Funk: Chicharron…Kid Funk: Less pacitoMe: Dude. You’re gonna have your very own white trash bbq.Kid Funk: I got a bean and cheese burrito bakin too.Kid Funk: After you don’t get laid, you might as well eat barbecue.Kid Funk: I eat barbecue a lot…Me: I like how it says in big letters BONELESS PORK RIB, and then underneath in tiny letters, shaped patty meal.Kid Funk: Eh, I got an 87% chance of gettin some @ss tomorrow from a chick that doesn’t recreationally stick needles in her, so that’s cool.Me: Cool. Really cool. I’m interested though, 87%?Kid Funk: Yeah. She has an 8 year old, and a 5 year old, but she wants my fireman…Me: That equals 87? Or 85?Kid Funk: Well, that’s a 100 for wanting my fireman, then subtract 8 because I’m like, “no sh*t he’s 8.” Then subtract another 5 for , (tear tear) “Mommy you should be with daddy.”Me: Ha! If it wasn’t for the proficient use of the word “fireman” this would go on the blog!Kid Funk: Replace it with “whatever you want to.”Kid Funk: Fireman, for all I care.Kid Funk: She wants my fireman…Me: Ha! I might, I’m all out of blogging material.
(10 minutes later…) Kid Funk: Laaaaame. I got a Banquet bone…
He should really have his own blog… But! He gave me material when I needed it most!
Until next time, folks.I woke up this morning to this:
Kid Funk: If Morgan Freeman and Sam L Jackson were preachers, Freeman preaching on Heaven and salvation and Jackson preaching on damnation, wouldn’t a soul go to Hell. Heaven would be crowded.Me: I’m very much inclined to believe that.KF: For sure Freeman would make you believe and Jackson could scare the devil right out of you. Matter of fact, I might write a letter to someone, see if we can’t match them up in a feel good exorcism movie.Me. Duuuuuuuude, and if we could just get Billy Graham in the movie and just have him nod and point a few times. That’s icing on the cake. I’d make a chocolate cake and vanilla icing reference, but geez.KF: People would come out of the theater saved and washed with the blood of the Lamb, be in church the next Sunday, singin Go, Tell It On The Mountain.
Me: The world would be turned into one great big Pentecostal church service. People would still be yellin at each other, but it’d be spirit filled yellin.KF: “Imma go get saved again!”Me: Wait. What about the Jews? They wouldn’t even go see it. Heck, they were at the cross, and they STILL don’t really believe.KF: Yeah… Somethin about God’s people… I don’t know.Me: Maybe if Seth Rogen got saved…KF: Ha.KF: If anyone could convert a Jew, it’d be Freeman and Jackson.Me: I’M TIRED OF ALL THESE MOTHER LOVIN UNSAVED PEOPLE ON THIS MOTHER LOVIN PLANET!Me: He’d have to say lovin, see. Because of the whole not being able to curse. Really, I’d consider him a black Paul. Paul had trouble with cursing.KF: It’s the message that counts.Me: That’s right. Paul wrote half the friggin New Testament. I’m sure he let a “damn” or somethin slip when he made a typo. I mean, it’s the Bible. You can’t have typos.
This happened around 9:30 this morning. I’m just giving you a peak into our little world. He actually has a great point. Sam yellin, Freeman cooin. Kind of like a spiritual good cop, bad cop. Either way, today will be a good day.Alright. I’m gonna do 2 posts in one night here, because it has been a rather fun and eventful 2 days. First imma tell you about Kid Funk’s birthday party.
I had fingerprint powder spilled in my backseat. I’m not gonna go into why, so don’t ask. Anyway, it’s there. Last night, we picked up Kid Funk, and The Missus did her best to clean it up and out. Then we went to get his date.
I’ll let him tell you stories about the date if he wants to, but suffice it to say, I don’t think she had a good time. For starters, I’d been after him about using this opportunity to go eat some sushi. I heart sushi. There is a great place in Tulsa that has all you can eat sushi, and I regularly like to go in and shut them down. They always make it super cold when I go in, just to run me off. What they don’t know is, the whole time I’m shovelin raw fish and rice down my gullet, I’m jackin up my blood sugar, which is making me hotter, which makes the AC feel even better! Suck on that, Fuji!
Anyway, then we went to the Hard Rock Casino in Catoosa. He had heard about this ice bar that they have from a what turned out to be a misinformed co-worker. The ice bar wasn’t open. So we went to this hoppin little joint in the casino called Friction. I swear to all that is holy and pure, they had the biggest retards behind this bar. To start out, they just ignored us. Wouldn’t even look our way. Then, when The Funk yelled at a dude, and gave him our drink order (2 Long Island ice teas and a shot of Sailor Jerry) the kid just holds his hands up and says…”I’m not a bartender, and I don’t have any idea what you just asked for.” Cheese and rice. Get the freak out from behind the bar then!
Upon getting our drinks, The Missus goes to gamble, and Kid, his date and I went to find trouble. Not really. Actually, we just went to find The Missus. We found her, and then we went to find the Hard Rock Tower. The thing is, we couldn’t find it anywhere, and no one knew what we were talkin about even though there were signs for it everywhere! We finally find some elevators, and after trying 2 that didn’t work, we get in a third that takes us to the 19th floor. This floor contained nothing but contractors and building stuff. The Missus and The Date head back down, which as it turns out, was a great thing. Funk and I walk around a bit, then decide to leave. He pushes the button. Nothing. 10 minutes later, we kinda start freakin out. We’d both had a little sauce, ya know? Anyway, I got some pictures of him…

That’s him pushin a button, and him givin the blog readers and his fans the peace. If you look in the background of the first one, you can see all the speakers for the 19th floor. We finally called his date, and they rode the elevator up from the ground floor to rescue us. Thanks ladies!
Then it got interesting. We go to leave, and this guy that Funk had addressed briefly in the bar finds him again. Another picture, you ask? Okay.

You can’t see it in the picture, but what turned out to be his gay friend had a fanny pack. He started asking Funk if either of the ladies was his wife, and then when he said no, the guy proceeded to ask if he was single. Funk made it clear that he had a date, and then I bailed him out by saying I really needed to leave. As we were leaving the parking lot, we saw the guy, and I rolled down my window and told him that my friend told him bye. I’m a great guy, eh?
The BEST MOST PERFECT PART OF THE NIGHT?!?!? The following rant that I got from Kid Funk at 1 AM this morning…
Man… I wish I could show you how dirty my ass was in the exact pattern of your seat. I took a picture, but there is no justice. There’s barely enough in the late message for the fact that 3 people didn’t tell me I was walking around with an ass full of dirty diamond shaped checkers (diagonal) on my birthday of all days. That’s dirty diamond shape checkers on my ass when a guy is hittin’ on me lame. He probably saw my pants and thought, “this guy takes it somewhere, look at the dirty diamond shaped checkers all over his ass.” I’m just sayin…Maybe he was just trying to get friendly enough to say “Hey man, your friends aren’t gonna tell you… I know its friends because those chicks aren’t your wife. You’ve got dirt, all over you, in like, diamond shaped patterns.” You couldn’t say something like that to someone unless you knew where they were from…
Folks, I laughed so hard at this, I almost literally pissed myself. Remember that fingerprint powder? Yeah…I just wanted to give a shout out to Kid Funk, as it’s his birthday today. Turning 27. To celebrate, he’s having “birthday eggs.” If you’ve never heard his music, check him out here. He’s gonna be on a CD soon!
Also, Captain J gets a shout out for the most original phrase to teach my FIL. It helped a little that he had NO OTHER COMPETITION, but for the most part, I prolly would have picked him anyway, cause that’s a very funny phrase. Kudos, Captain J! You win……..the respect of all 7 followers of my blog! Although, you’re one of them. So it’s more like 6. But hopefully you have a lot of self respect, so that could make it 7. Either way.
Also, the “possibilities” I’m referring to? The Missus and I are going out with Kid Funk and another lady tonight for sushi and some hangin. I may have a very funny blog before the night is out.
I just hope I can remember it…Me: I just ordered an Enchirito.
KF: Ha! The rents are gettin me a grill for my bday. Propane too. She was gonna get me a grill and a fajita skillet and I told her to save the skillet and spend more on the grill, shoot. The Grooms grill is massive amazing.
Me: Amazing. I want a good one. Imma wait till that shiz goes on clearance.
KF: I know thats right. Winter time. I’ll grill a steak in the snow.
KF: We’re gonna build that deck out back, shoot my folks are too, but anyways, beers and braughts all the time. Imma grill er’thing.
Me: Brats sound so damn good.
KF: I really tried to sound that out too. They are good. I can’t wait till I get that grill. Imma f*ck my roommate up if he touches it. Imma f*ck my roommate up if his girlfriend touches it.
Me: I know that’s right. And phonetic spelling is killin our nation.
KF: Yep.
Me. You should just f*ck your roommate up anyway. Call it a just in case.
KF: I might. I might bring one of his little puppies in after it’s morning water portion (that I’d give it…) and just hold and shake it over his passed out face till it pisses on him.
Me: Atta kid. I’m watchin The Happening. It seems alright.
KF: Boooooooooooooob… You seen it?
Me: Nope. I know it’s the trees tho.
KF: Lame… I wish a tree would… Me and Smokey the Bear would be just burnin sh*t down…
Me: I’d be out there.
KF: Napalm’n bitches. Sit back and drink OJ.
Me: People just killin themselves.
Me: It would take some work for me to kill myself. I don’t care for guns really. Hell, they’d prolly find me at a Krispy Kreme.

These are normal conversations for us. I would like to point out, that no puppies will actually be shook to make them pee on his roommates face.

He’d prolly just squeeze them.