Skip to content

The Fisher of Stories

Img00074 20090730 1530

The 2nd blog today. My fans are truly lucky! This is just a random blog that is catching you up on some things around the Sloat house. And there are pictures!
The other day, I got in the shower and saw this.

Come on guys. You know what I was thinkin. “I could totally just put shaving cream on my face and shave. Not even have to use my hands. This could be a real time saver!” I didn’t do it. I might, but I can’t get past the fact that it’s been used to shave legs.
Also, I mentioned in my last FB post that I was stealing Internet. I have some pictures on how that is happening.

The firt picture shows a USB wireless Internet thingy suspended from my roof overhang with 12 pound test fishing line, and a paneling nail. The second picture is the cord running through my window and into my computer. My brother in law brought the USB thingy over, and this was the only way we could get an unlocked signal. So thank you, unsuspecting neighbor! If you look in that second picture on the window ledge, you’ll see I even show you the nails, and what appears to you to be a screwdriver. I fooled you though. It was my hammer. Sure, it might TECHNICALLY be called a screwdriver, but it worked.
After all that stressful labor, I went fishing. Didn’t do a dang bit of good. So lame…So I told you I would tell you a story yesterday, and here goes.
But before I do that, I interviewed at America’s Lender today. I knew something was up when the posting on Monster said “Sun Valley Loan”, and when I pulled up and asked, no one had heard of that place. I walk in the building, and I am greeted by a very pregnant cat. Classy. They stuck me in an interview room and left me waiting for 20 minutes, and in comes Nick. The title for the position I am interviewing for is “Loan Officer.” What does it turn out to be? High pressure phone sales for mortgages. Cheese and rice, people. I’m not gonna spend all day on the freakin phone tryna talk someone out of their life savings. When asked what my salary goals were, I said 30k. Aim low, right? “Oh you’ll need to make much more than that to stay employed here.” Okay, I don’t have a problem with more money. But taking it from an 85 year old widow? Yeah. I have a problem with that. Nick, the guy that interviewed me, wants me to call him back at 3:30 and try to sell him something as a demonstration of my skills. Keep waitin, Nick. I’ll get right on that.
Anyway, back to my original story. I used to be a youth minister for my local church. I did it for about 3 years, and I loved every second of it. I quit because I’m an idiot. That’s all you need to know for now. The Missus will confirm this though.
One day, we had a guy come to the church that was a couple years younger than me, and he needed some help. You see, the person who was giving him a place to live had said that he couldn’t live there anymore, and he didn’t have a job of his own. What he did have, surprisingly enough, was a lot of power tools in his car. Tools that he could use, he said, for any kind of work anyone needed for some cash.
You seeing it yet? Cause I didn’t.
I am a very trusting person. I took him to my house, and got him fixed up with some clothes and such, and the church put him up in a hotel in a nearby town for a week. While we were at the house, he looked at me and said, “Is that yours?” The item in reference was a 13 foot long surf rod, for catching really big fish. “Yes.” I replied, because it was indeed mine. “Do you just leave it out like that?” he asked. “Yeah, its a small town and we really don’t have to worry about theft. Besides I just paid 35 bucks for it. It’s not a very nice rig.” His response? “So you just leave it out?”

You seeing it yet? Cause I didn’t.
One day that week, I was down the street at a friend of mines house. We were outside doing something, and our wives were inside the house. As we stood there talking, a little black Pontiac Sunfire comes down the street. This Sunfire has a fishing pole sticking out of it. A big fishing pole. About 13 feet, if I had to guess it. What did I think? “Oh! Ol boy probably wants to borrow my pole, and I wasn’t there to ask! I’ll just head for the road and give him permission.” Yeah. That’s how trusting I am. It’s pathetic, really. So I head down to the road to give this guy permission to use something he’s already borrowed. The second I put my hand up to flag him down, he tramps on the gas, and flies around the corner.
You seeing it yet? Cause I finally did.
I ran, and made a huge mistake. At that point in The Missus’s and my lives, we owned a Mustang. Not a GT, but still, by all means, a fairly quick car. The other vehicle? My trusty 1995 Chevy 1500 with 4.3 liter V6 engine. A great truck, with one fault. It has a governor that causes the truck to cut out at 100 mph. Guess which vehicle I got in to pursue? Yep. My trusty truck. In hindsight, that was stupid. We get out on the highway, and we start a high speed chase. He is weaving around cars left AND right, and I’m racing down the highway to this tune. RRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA click raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA click raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAA. You get the idea. I can’t go faster than 100 and everytime the governor kicks in, it slows me back to 90.
He got away, but I knew where his hotel room was. He wasn’t there. Smart move, douche. I talked to the manager of the hotel, and he was nice enough to let me into the room, to see if I could find any clues. What did we find? Around 764 beer cans, a half naked chick claiming to be his girlfriend, and one wicked pissed off pit bull. Oh yeah, and a bunch of power tools. Guess he dumped those so his car would run lighter if he encountered any trouble on his get away. The hotel manager kicked the girl and the dog out, and I didn’t hear from the guy until later that evening.
(sobbing) “Travis?””Yeah, man.””I’m so sorry I stole your pole. I’m gonna give it back. I just want you to forgive me first”(incredulously) “Really? Cause that was pretty stupid, and you could have gotten both of us killed.””I know, I know. I’m so sorry. Do you forgive me?””Yeah man, I forgive you.””Meet me at Albertson’s tonight, and I’ll have your pole.””Alright, I’ll see you there.”
You see it? Cause I didn’t.
He never showed. Where is my pole now? It’s on sale at a pawn shop in Muskogee. $15. I refuse to go buy it back. It’s a matter of principle. I thought about filing a police report, but geez. It’s $15. I did learn something worth a lot more than 15 bucks though. People are not always what they seem to be. And no matter how nice you are to someone, they still might bite you smooth in the ass.
Where are my fishing poles now? Right out in the open, in plain view of everyone. Let a man borrow your fishing pole, he catches fish for a day. Let a man steal your fishing pole, and he can get a couple of Big Macs, and maybe more “quality time” with the hooker staying in his hotel room.So the first two didn’t really count, I was trying to fix something. (that’s what she said)
Anyways, this post is actually about fishing. Imagine that. You come to a blog that has fish in the title, and you think, “Hmmm… Does this guy ever ever fish?” Yes, my faithful 11. Yes I do.
I went out tonight with The Missus to Taylor Ferry in Wagoner. We were just going out to relax, and possibly fish with Marinas 2 boys. You remember them? From this post. Marina wasn’t there, but her kids were with her new man friend. I prolly should give him a name. But I’ll let him tell me what he wants to be. I don’t just go around naming people. Unless it’s idiot.
On the way out, we had what is becoming a routine “Did you grab (insert item here)?” This time, it was the corks I bought from Wal-Mart earlier. “No” came back the answer. It’s my fault really, not even hers. I say, “It’s cool, I have some in my tackle box maybe.” So we get to the water, and guess what? I haven’t brought my tackle box. Geez. I’m nothing if not unprepared. I have minnows and worms, but no hooks or corks. Classic. So I hop in the truck and head to the nearest store. I get the items I need, and some I don’t, and head back. I get out of the truck, tell The Missus that I was practically robbed. “What was the total?”, she asked. “7 dollars! Can you believe it?” “Ummm… These tags don’t add up to 7 dollars, Travis. And you smell funny. What did you get to eat?”
So we start fishin. The 8 year old and the 5 year old start treating corks like they are rooster tails. Castin out, reelin back in. Sigh. It was about this time that The Missus points out the sand bass jumping on the other side of the point. I’m gonna explain what that means. When sand bass start feeding, they herd all the bait fish up into shallow water, and then they just start tearing them up. Kinda what Pharoh had in mind with the Egyptians, only he forgot about Moses totally being tight with God. So when they start feeding, they go into a frenzy, much like Piranhas. When they do this, you can toss ANYTHING with a hook in the water, and you’ll catch a fish. (I tried to find a picture of this, and I can’t. That is a new mission of mine.)
So there they go. The 8 year old says, “You can drive around there.””Where?””This road.””Get in the freakin truck.”
I drive around the point like I’m chasing the guy who stole my fishing poles that one time. (I might tell that one tomorrow.) I get to the point, and they’ve stopped. Lame. I fish for a couple more minutes, and I look over, and The Missus is neck deep in a school of them. I’ll give the 8 year old credit. When I yelled to get in the truck, he didn’t even hesitate. I’m pretty sure he even did a hood slide across my truck. I REVERSED down the same road I went down, did a backwards hockey slide, and got back to the other side without putting my truck in the lake.
My reward for this Duke Boys drivin? 1 fish. The Missus still had her first fish on her line, and she waited patiently for me to take it off. You know, that used to annoy the hell out of me, but I love it now. I caught one, took hers off, and the fish were gone. Laaaaaame.
I spent the rest of the evening on that side, and sure enough, the fish went back to the other side. They came back our way a couple more times, but I was running back and forth and always got there a little too late. I caught one more fish the entire evening.
It was the most fun I’ve had this week.
If you’ve never been sandbass fishing, or fishing at all, for that matter, go. Please. Take your kids. Take your wife, or your girlfriend. I got very lucky in life. The Missus is my fishin buddy. A lot of guys have other guy fishin buddies. I prefer my arrangement.
My fishin buddy will totally have sex with me after I take a shower. That’s wicked cool. And totally not gay.
(I used totally a lot. Geez. I’m totally sorry.)

Yup. Jeff over at This Is Why Your Hold Time Is So Long fixed my problem! I’m so happy! Not only did he give me a solution, he gave it to me in HTML. I looked at the edit HTML page, and folks, well I almost had a seizure. It looked like someone had set a keyboard down in front of Michael J Fox and told him to type out Othello. (too soon?)
Anyway, a big thanks to him, and for sure, as soon as he picks out a candy bar, I will be mailing him one. Scoot on over to his blog, and read the hilarity that he puts up with on a daily basis. Maybe put him on your follow list. He may give you a car made from eagles.See? I designed a new banner for my blog. However, I can’t get that dang border around it to drop dead. If anyone can help with that, I’ll give you a shout out, and I’ll send you a candy bar (your choice).
Shoot me an email if you figure it out!
P.S. I’ve tried the formatting thing, the border won’t leave. Also, I’ve tried decreasing the picture size, and that makes it look crappy.Me: “Do you have anything without sugar in it?”Girl A Working Concession: “Water.”Me: “Nice.”Girl B Working Concession: (holding up an Oat and HONEY granola bar) “These don’t have sugar in them.”Me: “Darlin, honey is made from sugar.”Girl B: “Oh.”
And in all seriousness, when I left the game, she was still lookin at the label on that granola bar. I’m givin smart ass props to Girl A. That was awesome. Girl B, you need to watch Bee Movie. I think it might be the only thing that would help you understand.
Idiot.Well, it’s happened.
Someone appreciates me.
I was reading a blog I follow by Jeff, called This Is Why Your Hold Time Is So Long, which I am loving, because he deals with as many idiots I do all the time. Also, he has a pretty cool fiance that makes him cake because she’s indecisive. Anyway, he gave me an award. (click that funny colored word. Just do it, you get to read what he said about me! He’s a funny guy.)

This is for blogs that show “Candid Honesty.”
I fell so special! As a return, I am supposed to give the award to 3 other bloggers that I follow. Since he already gave one to shine, I am going to give it to the other two people on my list that I follow, and honestly the reason that I started blogging.
1. Mattress Police: Rob Kroese: This man is the bees knees of blogging and of candid honesty. When I first started reading funny blogs, I googled that exact thing, funny blogs, and he came up. Go there, and become an instant fan. He’s kind of paused on the blogging to write and publish a book, (which I will buy. Twice.) but check out those archives. Your funny fuse will be glad you did.
2. 15 Minute Lunch: If you want a mix of old school, almost killed a guy stories and up to date dealing with idiot stories, this is the blog for you. I started reading this one when I clicked the link off of Mattress Police. Johnny Virgil will make you laugh until you cry, then he does it again.
In all seriousness, go check out their blogs.
I’d like to thank God for this award, and for making me funny. I’d also like to thank all the idiots I come in contact with on a daily basis that give me my material. Jeff, I appreciate it much, new buddy, I wish I could buy ya a beer. If I’m ever up Milwaukee way, it’s on me.
Thank you, try the veal, tip your waitresses and good night! (pretend I typed this at night.)I’m going back this evening. Back to a time and a place that I miss very much. A time in my life where I dare say, things were normal. We lived in a trailer in Green Acres trailer park in Okay, Ok. My first best friend, who I will call Brooklyn, had moved away, and we had bought their lot. One of the first things that my father did was poor a cement slab, and he put up my first basketball goal. To this day, I give him all the credit for me being hooked on basketball. What started as him wanting to shoot hoops with his boys, turned into an obsession for me.
The year is 93, and the place is my back yard. The one thing that didn’t change when Brooklyn moved away was the old sycamore tree that was growing in the yard. That tree used to be a meeting place for her and I, and we’d sit and talk, and do things to just generally get us in trouble. I don’t even know if she’ll read this, but don’t you miss it? We both had dads then…
Back to the shot. It was a summer day, and all was still. I was 11 years old, and in my prime. (by prime I mean I was around 5’6″ and weighed in at around 79 pounds) It was around the time for my dad to come home from work, and I was wrapping up a day of shooting hoops. I was resting in the shade of my sycamore tree, and thinking about taking a last shot before going in. A lot of boys play the game, “buzzer beater.” If you are not familiar, this is where you give yourself a countdown to zero, and lauch up a shot from wherever you are, and try to be the hero no one will ever see. If you make it, you are that hero. If you don’t…well, ususally you were fouled. I was fortunate enough to live this moment twice during a game WHILE people were watching, but on this day, it was me and my dreams.
:03 The air is still as I move away from the tree, the fans screaming in my ears. Knowing I have to be the hero, and knowing I can’t quite make it from here, I move closer to the goal.
:02 I decide I’m going to attempt a longer shot than I ever have before. The crowd seems to sense this, and they react by screaming even louder, knowing I’ll make the shot.
:01 I take the shot. I heave the ball up from around 35 feet. (Remember, I’m 11, and 35 feet is about red line distance on a real ball court. Or for those of you with no volleyball program, its the hash mark.) Either way, it was a long shot. The longest I had ever attempted.
:00 Silence rules the day. Time has stopped, and nothing is moving except for the ball. I know the second it leaves my hands that it has the distance. I can remember the spinning of the ball, and how it looked as it went up towards that old, faded and weathered red white and blue net we had. At the halfway point I can see that it is going in, and I raise my arms in victory. As if fulfilling my prophecy, the ball drops into the bucket and caresses the net in its spin. Matter of fact, it caresses it SO much, that the net curls up around that ball, and the momentum breaks the net off. The ball falls to the ground, encapsulated by the net, and hits the ground and stays. No bounce, no roll, nothing. Stillness prevails. The birds stop chirping and I knew…
I am in SOOOOO much trouble.
This is the greatest shot of my life, I know that. Yet all I can think about is how pissed dad will be when he sees that I ripped the net off. If he was alive today, he still would not believe my story, and no one else does either. I did get in trouble, and I believe I had to pay for a new net.
I didn’t care, it was so worth it. Those were the greatest 3 seconds I’ve ever had with a basketball in my hand. Thanks Dad, and I love you.Just thought I’d give everyone an update on the whole job thing. Yeah… I quit. Turns out, I needed about $200 worth of clothes just to work there, and I ain’t got it. Heck, I can’t even put somethin on it. The Missus went out and bought me $100 worth of clothes the other day, and none of it fit. None of it. My legs are like 15 inches long. My torso makes up the rest of my 6 foot frame. (alright, 5’11”) Anyway, we took all the clothes back yesterday so she could get her some things. This is were we had a life changing experience, and helped break down the segregation of a small department store in Tulsa.
Before I start, I want to give a shout out to the chick in Woodland Hills mall yesterday that had a magazine rolled up and tucked down in the ass of her pants. That’s classy. “Umm, I’d like this hairstyle please?” “Why’s the magazine smell so funny?” “Well, I didn’t have any pockets big enough to hold it…”
Then we went to Ross. I’m sure you’re familiar with the store, they have everything but the kitchen sink. I love going in there and looking at cooking stuff, because I’ve gotten some pretty cool stuff for cheap. (or if you live in Okay, “cheep.”) Anyhow, we go in, look for some stuff, she gets some stuff, and I spent a lot of time just lookin around. It’s what I do. As we get to the check out, we see this. (These are really low quality and blurry pictures that I apologize for, but they convey the point.)

That’s right. You’re looking at a white line, and a black/mexican line. I don’t KNOW that this is what people were intending when they lined up to check out, but for sure, this is what happened. I almost laughed out loud right there. Which line did me and The Missus line up in? That’s right, the black/mexican line. It’s here that I would like to point some things out.
I am not a racist. At all. However, I am very stereotypical, and I think that most people would be lying if they said they weren’t. I love all types and races and I believe that God put us all here together to just freakin get along for a while before we join Him in Heaven. I think its the least we can do, right?
I have a dream. A dream that one day, all different races will line up to pay for their purchases in a line with no segregation. A line that includes people of all colors and body types and clothing. A line where a black person can purchase mayonnaise, and a white person can buy….mayonnaise. Can we not all line up together!? Can we not turn this Ross into a culturally diverse and race appreciative store?!? Can we try?!? We did. The Missus and I stood tall in the face of prejudice, and we stood in the line with our fellow humans! We are changing the way things are done! We will not tolerate this any longer!
What happened after we got in the line? I’ll tell you, my rainbow colored plethora of fans and followers. This happened.

That’s right. Those are white people behind us. We did it! We have integrated the Ross at 71st and Memorial! This is the happiest day of my life! I know a good portion of the picture is my neck, but you have to look past the color of my neck meat and look at the color of the people in the right half of the picture! Oh! Glorious day! We do not wish to be looked upon as heroes, nor do we wish to be idolized in the African American culture. We are simply people. Brave and good people, who knew what this Ross needed. You are welcome, America. You’re welcome.
That Asain guy that checked us out sure looked at us funny though. Or did he? Their eyes always look funny, so I can never tell.

(I am so totally kidding on that last crack. So totally kidding. It was just for laughs.)Today was worse.
It started with a girl in training that could NOT stop coughing. And she was sitting right next to me. Get a cough drop, lady. Did I mention I am in training with ALL girls? Yeah. Thank goodness I got in a week and a half late. These girls are nasty. Not look ugly nasty, or bad hygiene nasty, but dirty freakin minds in gutters of innuendo nasty. At one point, they were discussing things you can do to your sheets to help dry up the wet spot. (I want to apologize for even posting that, and at this moment, I’m blushing feverishly.) Seriously ladies? Can we act like ladies? I was the only dude in the room, and for sure, I just kind of stared straight ahead like Mel Gibson right before his head comes off in Braveheart. I know that if I had looked at one of em during that conversation, I’d have been accused of more sexual harassment than Bill Clinton at a church social for old ladies.
Also, I work with a gay guy. There is nothing really wrong that in and of itself, other than boning dudes. Thats not really that cool. Not to me anyway. But my point is, why do gay people always walk so fast? This guy passed me like I was driving a Big Wheel at Daytona. I got nothin.
Anyway, I go back in at 10. I get to stand by a grill and ask people if they wanna try my sausage. Seriously. I’m not joking. It’s something called “pamper day” for our customers. I’m tryna get them to buy some sauce, and a George Foreman grill. My partner in this? The 13 year old child of one of the associates. He gets to “man the grill.”
There’ll be stories…First days at new jobs are typically pretty lame, and while this one had it’s high points, it held true. For starters, I’m a week and half behind in training. This is due to when they hired me. Not my fault. I’d like to go over a few things today that kind of made me smile, or just annoyed me for your entertainment.
When I got there, I met the store manager. I have a funny story about that, but ask me to email it to you. I won’t dare post it in case he reads it, and I’d be fired. Anyway, we get into his office and he starts going over some paperwork and training stuff with me. Important stuff, I imagine. Somehow, the talk turned towards medical conditions, and I mentioned I had the diabetes. Turns out, he does too. Training material? Funk that, lets talk diabetes. So we did. We went over paperwork for 15 minutes, and diabetes for 45. I don’t think he got around to half the stuff he wanted to.
Then I had to watch videos. I don’t really care for training videos, because it’s all the the same stuff at every company. Don’t steal, be on time, wear gloves if someone bleeds on the floor and vehemently deny any responsibility for any accident that might ever occur in your store. However, today I saw a sexual harassment video that……..Drumroll……ACTUALLY USED THE WORD “SLUT”! Two guys were standing over a magazine, and one of them looked at the other and said, “She looks like a real slut.” It was hands down the greatest moment that I have ever not been able to laugh at. It also used the phrase, “You got any fries with that shake?” It was very classy.
As I was doing a walk through of the store with the manager, he turns to me out of the blue and says, “By the way, when you get the chance to buy some ties, make sure they’re longer. GQ recommends the widest part of the tie hitting you in the bellybutton.” Hey. ASS. You got me here in a tie, don’t push your luck. I mean, I’m fat! My ties don’t do that! So now I have to go find longer ties. They’ll probably make me pay extra.
All in all, it was a lame day. But I think I may like the job, if I can get people to like me for my little ties. Also, in one of the training vids, I found out that tears are a biohazard. So if any little kid starts crying in my department, I’m gonna stuff them in a bag and seal it up with tape. After all, I have to protect the people.
Anyone else need a good person to deliver pizzas or mop the floor in strip joints? I think I may be considering…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…This post is directed to some people I met in the mall today while I was working. I’m gonna comprise this post of short letters to those people.
Dear People who come to the mall at 10, even though it opens at 12,
Please stop. It’s very weird to see you slowly walk circles around the mall until stores open. It’s not like you’re gonna buy anything anyway. Nothing was released today. It’s not Christmas. Please go home and wait till 12.

Dear “Cool Guy” who walks around the mall for 6 hours with no bags,
Why are you here, cool guy? Is it to scope the 16 year old chicks when you are plainly over 20? Are you here to purchase things that are as cool as you? Also, cool guy, long sleeves in summer is STUPID. Not cool. I bet you listen to Birthday Sex and think it’s cool, don’t you? You might be the only person that actually reads the letter intended for them. I know you don’t know the meaning of impry… And guess what? IT’S NOT A REAL WORD!!!

Dear 14 year old that had her shorts cut so short that the pockets were showing at the bottom,
Really? I bet you’re the same kind of girl that grows up and wonders why men treat you like an object. YOU’RE 14! Wear pants. If you can’t wear pants, wear long shorts. 14 year old boys are hormone DRIVEN, and you’re leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Where are your parents? Tell them to call me.

Dear security guard,
I know you don’t get segways in our little mall, and I know that upsets you. I know you dream of one day hitting it big at the Tulsa mall and getting your own segway. But until then, think you could look alive and walk around a bit? Stop talking to that 14 year old girls pockets.

Dear old people mall walking,
I know you’re old. I know you don’t care. But could you please get out of my way when I’m pushing a rack with clothes on it that is very unweildly down the hall? I wouldn’t walk in the way of the surgeon that is giving you a hip replacement, would I?

Dear people that I used to work with at Foot Locker,
I know I only worked there for 2 weeks, but could you please remember my name or not talk to me?

and finally….
Dear Asian guy that walked around the corner just as I made the Jet Li crack,
I’m really sorry. I love Jet Li. Please don’t hurt me, and please don’t look at me like I’m a bad person for mentioning a dominant figure in your race. Do you know him? Can you get me an autograph?
I go back to work tomorrow. Can’t wait to see what kind of winners show up on a Monday.

I like to fish.
Odds are, if you came to my page you know that. Because it’s the title of the page. So I went fishing earlier this evening. I was gonna catch some sandbass. Others might know them as white bass, but here I call em sandbass or sandies. It’s an incredibly fun fish to catch, on account of they all fight like marlin whether they are 3pounds or 3 ounces. Anyway, that’s not really what I’m blogging about.
I caught one fish. It was awful, y’all. I tried everything, and nothing worked. Beside me, a man walked up with a surf rod and started casting to the moon. I’m serious. That man casted so far out, he reeled in my ambition. If he’d had 12 more feet of line, he’d have been able to catch my hopes and dreams. Anyway, he was sacking them. Every cast, he had a fish. He asked me if I wanted one, I said sure, and so from then on out, he just tossed fish at me when he caught them. Didn’t matter where I was standing. He just pitched em at me. FISH HAVE SPIKES. I don’t like spiky filets of pissed off fish just tossed hot potato style at my face. Thanks. Other than that, thanks dude, that was pretty cool of you.
I wound up with about 10 fish. Not a mess, exactly, but enough for a meal. My filet knife sucks, so I take them over to my in laws house to clean them. When I got there, we got the filet rig set up, and I started.
It is here that I would like to point out that I really like my father in law. We’ve had our out times, but for the most part, since my dad died, I’ve not had a real father figure in my life. This man has done what he can to fill the gap, without actually trying to fill the gap. Those of you who’ve lost a parent can probably relate to me here. The point I’m trying to make is, he’s a really cool guy, and I like and look up to and respect him a lot.
Anyway, I take the first filet off, and it starts. Mother In Law: “Is that all you get out of those big fish?” Me: “Yeah, I learned a long time ago that if you don’t take the red meat off, you can’t eat them.” MIL: “Oh. Hmmm.”
A couple minutes later… Father in Law: “Is that how you filet fish?” Me: “Yeah, I know I don’t get much off, but it keeps the nasty stuff off.” FIL: “You’re doing a fine job.” Me: “You want to show me how you do it? I’m open to suggestions.” FIL: “Nah… You’re doing just fine.”
There was about a ten minute pause. Then. FIL: “Travis, let me in there after one of them things. Me: (trying not to laugh) “Sure, go ahead. I’m gonna drink some tea and see if I can learn something.”
He fileted a fish, then handed me back the knife. This is where things got…odd. The Missus texted my brother in law to see if he wanted to go back fishing with us in the morning. He was slow on the reply, and this is the conversation that followed.
The Missus: “He’s slow sometimes on texting.”MIL: “He might be out chasing ladies.”Me: “That will probably be good for him.”
FIL: “You think he’s out tryna get some strange?”
What? What did you say, FIL? This man is 60 years old. And he just uttered the phrase, “tryna get some strange.” Sweet, sweet Moses. I almost fell over. I was in the middle of a filet, and I have got to give myself a lot of credit when I say I didn’t cut my fingers off. I just kind of stared at him. He laughed, and made a comment about how he kind of had a filthy mouth. Ummm… Yeah? My MIL didn’t get it, and I am still thanking Jesus that I didn’t have to be the one to explain it to her, or even be in the same room when it was explained to her. To this moment, I STILL don’t know if it was explained to her.
I’m going fishing with that man in the morning. I think I’m gonna teach him some new phrases. Just for the shock value. Hell, he might use them in church. Any ideas?My little brother and I, The Youngest, were headed out to Ft. Gibson Dam today to catch some fish. On the way there we saw this gem.
I braked as hard as I could, and damn near wrecked tryna get us into his driveway for a pic. This is gorgeous, y’all. This is what happens when you let people in my home town have wood and paint. He even made it rhyme. I’m so proud. I think if he had more space he might have made a haiku.
Anyway, he needs gas, and he’ll mow your yard cheep. You might see what you can talk him down to. And shoosh, if you need a sign made, I’d give him a buzz first.So installed one of those tracking things on my blog. Yes, I am tracking you. If you are reading this post, you have been tracked. Sorry if that offends, but I had to know who was reading my blog and what was bringing them here. I just installed it yesterday, and I’ve already gotten some interesting feedback.
Apparently, when you search for the meaning of the word “impry”, you get sent to my blog. I wanna give ol google a shout out for that. That’s pretty cool, google. I appreciate the traffic! I guess I need to give a smaller shout out to the douche that sings the song. Also, I guess a lot of people want to know what that means. Let it never be said that I am not helpful. I can’t give you a link for the word impry, because and urbandictionary both don’t admit to it’s existence. However, I will do my best to explain.
Impry: -verb 1. To get in between.
There ya go, all you google searchers who like shitty music. I hope this clears things up, and I also would like you to consider not filling your ear holes with this trash. May I suggest better sounds; i.e. dogs baying, nails on a chalkboard, horns honking, sirens wailing or even the music of a Mr. Marilyn Manson. All these things are better than what you’re listening to now.
Oh yeah. The average length of time spent on my blog by one of these searchers? 0:00 seconds. Even more proof of their douchiness. Maybe now that I have a definition, they’ll stick around.

Being an Ex High School Athlete, it’s really hard for me to resist a challenge. I don’t know why this is, but anytime someone asks me if I wanna play something, or if I wanna do something that involves any kind of ball, (not that kind, douche) I’m down. So when The Missus asked me if I wanted to play baseball yesterday with her friend and her kids, I said yes, even though I had had some pretty severe intestinal issues all day.
The Missus’s friend, we’ll call her Marina, has 2 kids. One is an 8 year old, the other is 5. The kids are pretty well behaved, (usually), and are worth a lot of laughs. The 8 year old whooped my tail at guitar hero a while back, and I was still kinda lookin for some vengeance there. Get where this is going? I dress in shorts, flip flops and a t shirt without a support garment underneath, (aka another t shirt) and we head out.
About three quarters of the way out there, The Missus looks at me, and says, “Why didn’t you bring your glove?” “We’re playing REAL baseball?” I asked. “What did you think I meant?” “Well, I thought you meant we were gonna play on the Wii.” Guys and gals, I am so ashamed. I really had thought the whole time that we were gonna play their little baseball game on the Nintendo. I’m an idiot, right? Also, this speaks volumes of my laziness. I kind of told her to just turn around and go home, but she didn’t. Then I told her I wasn’t gonna play. I was in flip flops, for cryin in the mud. I was having INTESTINAL issues! Anyway, when we got there, I just put my trunks on, and jumped in their pool.
Lying there, floating on some little tube things, I see the 5 year old head my way. He proceeds to tell me how he was really hoping that I’d play, and how he liked it when I played games with him. He may have teared up a little. I explained to him, in 5 year old terms, that I wasn’t feeling good, and I didn’t have a glove or shoes. He left.
A couple minutes go by, and I see the 8 year old. He was tryna sneak up on me, and I called him out on it. This 8 year old is one of the most logical thinkers I know. Spock himself would have a hard time out thinking this child. I’m pretty sure that he’s smarter than me. Anyway, he walks out there, and he’s all sad, and he says that he guesses they aren’t gonna be able to play, because they don’t have enough players now. I point out that even with 6 players, you can’t really even have ONE team, much less two. He says, “Well, someone was gonna catch from the team that was batting, and that will let all the people on the other team play the field.” This made no sense to me. But I got out of the pool. I didn’t know who they’d send at me next, and I didn’t wanna find out.
For the record, 3 on 3 baseball is the lamest thing I’ve ever done. It was good for a lot of laughs, mainly because I was using a 26 inch bat, (that’s what he said) and a tee ball. The tee ball wound up being a good thing because it was soft, and I didn’t really need a glove. What do I do the first time I’m up at bat? I hit a line drive straight back at Marina and manage to put huge red marks on BOTH of her legs. I kind of felt bad, but not really. No mercy. I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up a sketch of the baseball field.

First was the corner of a metal fencepost. Second was the end of a long railroad tie, but I think you were safe if you were anywhere on the railroad tie. Third was a tree. Home was a spot between 2 trees that wasn’t really marked. That being so, you were safe as soon as you stepped off third. You’ll notice that our playing field ended in a lake. At one point, I told the 5 year old that I was hitting it in the lake and he was gonna have to go get it. He immediately started bawling. From there on out, I started callin him the 8 year old’s sister. I mean, come on. He had to know I wasn’t gonna throw him in a lake. Also, notice the almost trapezoidial shape of our field. I think this is how MLB should set up all their parks from here on out. The pitchers mound varied widely on who was batting. At one point, I had 57 strikes on the 5 year old, and he wasn’t out. Explain that.
Anyway, it was kind of fun, and I didn’t really hurt myself too bad in the flip flops. Got some exercise in, so that was good. Then we moved to the pool.
When I get in a pool with the 8 year old, I’m instantly turned into “that fat guy who can throw me far”. Thats all I get, the entire time. Throw me! Throw me! Please? Throw me! I always oblige, even though it kills my back. It’s kind of fun, even. It’s a way to get my guitar hero revenge… Well, we got in, and he almost immediately had to get out, because he got in some trouble. I had about 10 minutes of blissful swimmin time with The Missus, and then he got back in.
“Throw me! Throw me! Throw me!” It began instantly. So I threw him. I won’t say I was trying to hurt him, because that’s lame, but it’s always satisfying when they come up coughing and stay a pools length away from you the rest of the time. This didn’t happen. He swam back over. “Throw me again! Throw me again!” So I threw him again. 10 or 12 throws later, I was feeling it. I called it off, and swam a bit more. He got out of the pool and proceeded to try and hit me with pool noodles. So I launched out of the pool beached whale style to try and grab him, and when I slid back down into the pool, I scraped almost all the skin off under my gut. Talk about hurt. I thought I was bleeding. Turns out, it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought, but it still hurts this morning. I got out of the pool soon after, and headed home to bed.
My reward for all of the “fun”? I can’t move my back hardly at all this morning. I woke up to go use the restroom last night, and I looked like the got dang Hunchback of Notre Dame. It was pathetic. I’m staying in today, recovering from 3 on 3 baseball and swimming with an 8 year old.
If anyone has a Wii though, bring it over. I’ll walk two miles on that.I made a decision last night. I was laying in bed, and I say to myself, “Travis, you’re a fat guy. And no one believes you’re gonna get any other way.” I replied, “Self, people like you fat. You’re a funnier person when you’re fat.” And I said, “Well what about skinny funny people, like Daniel Tosh and Dane Cook?” To that I replied, “Good point.”
After this little internal dialogue, I decided I was gonna start excercising. 2 miles! That’s it! That’s what I’ll walk tomorrow! As I decided this, I kind of fell asleep. When I woke up this morning, I decided to go through with it. 2 miles. I laced up the Nikes, put my Ipod on shuffle, and headed out. This is the route I chose. I marked some points on the way so that we could discuss some events that happened as I was walking. These points are not in alphabetical order, mainly because I can’t seem to work google maps very well.

View Larger Map

K.) This was the start. It was here that I fully realized that it was about 103 degrees outside, and the possibility of me dying was a very real one. I decided to leave my cell phone at home, because I can’t text and walk very well, and lets face it Statgirl, I would have been texting.
G.) It was here that my Ipod earphones didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Actually, they aren’t my earphones, they are The Missus’s. She was kind enough to let me sweat on them for a while. Anyway, at this point, I decided to call it quits. If I can’t have an Ipod, I’m not walking. Then I turned around and saw The Missus taking a bag of trash out, and I had to keep going for appearances. I finally got the headphones to work. Dang.
A.) This is the turn around point to start walking back and go down side streets. That little loop it shows on google isn’t there, let me tell ya. It was here that I really started to sweat good, and I even felt pretty good about myself.
B.) I almost saw a traffic accident here. Both people were idiots, and would have deserved to hit each other. It doesn’t help things that the roads in this area are narrower than George Bush’s reasons for attacking Iraq, either. And that people like to park on the sides of the street instead of IN THE FREAKING DRIVEWAY!!!
C.) When I turned down this road, I almost quit. It is LONG. I didn’t realize how long this road was, because in my original drive of the route, I didn’t take it. I had a vision of myself lying passed out in the road baking like a pale skinned sea lion, but I pressed on.
D.) It was here that God truly blessed me. I went through about 25 feet of lovely, precious, sweet shade. It was amazing. I could have passed back under it on the return trip, but I didn’t have the energy to cross the road when I came back to it…
E.) Here I passed a Grandmother and a granddaughter headed swimming. They had towels, and what appeared to be bathing suits, and were walking across the street to the neighbors house. They looked at me funny when I started following them, so I pressed on. On second thought, it was so hot, they may have just needed towels to be outside.
J.) Here I passed a man with a water hose spraying down his driveway. The ONLY thing that kept me out of that spray was the fact that I paid $100 for my Ipod, and I didn’t wanna ruin it. That was the only thing. Damn how strange he might of thought I was. I didn’t care. I was DYING.
I.) Here I had to really fight to just hook a right and return back to my house. I had stopped sweating at this point, which is dangerous, and I was also getting rather dizzy. I really don’t like to quit things though, and I told myself that I had just a little bit left, and I could do it. I have to give credit to the Ipod, and the folks at Apple too. It started playing a very moving and catchy song at this point.
H.) It was at this point that I truthfully thought I was done. My stomach was cramping, my vision was blurry, and I was walking kind of sideways. It was pitiful. But that’s not all. It was here that a transformer somewhere in the neighborhood blew. I didn’t know that at the time. It sounded like a freakin gunshot. I dropped to the ground, and ninja rolled behind a car. This is true testament to the fact that no matter how unconscious I am, I can always be counted on to be a complete and total vajay. Getting up, I realized I was almost done.
F.) I’m HOME!!! Thank you, sweet sweet merciful Jesus. I made it. I did it. 2 miles. I drank around 34 gallons of water, and instantly sweated out 30. The other 4 made me immediately have to go pee. I was shaking, sunburned and my sugar was probably 12. Heck, I take that back, it was probably normal. But I made it. 2 miles. After 20 minutes, Kid Funk asked if my heart rate had gotten over 100 during the walk, and I told him I didn’t know. I took my heart rate then, and it was exactly 100. 20 MINUTES AFTER THE WALK! Geez. I know round is a shape, but I’m out of shape. That’s real.
Will I be going out again tomorrow? Damn right I will. Someone come with me, and bring a wheelbarrow.My buddy Kid Funk got a new grill for his birthday, and I went over yesterday to help him set it up. Okay, I didn’t really help too much, mostly just gave him nuts and bolts when he hollered for them. Let me tell ya, that grill is nice. Kudos to his parents for gettin it for him. The first thing we cooked on it? Hot dogs, smoked sausages, chili and jalapenos. Those peppers were awesome. I heart his grill.
As we were finishing up the movie Juno, he had a quote that has to be shared. This isn’t on topic, but it was hilarious. “If I was a woman, as good as they are with scars these days, I’d just have a C-section. I don’t even like takin big dumps, really.” That was classic Funk.
After dinner, we were flippin through channels, and saw that The Shawshank Redemption (aka The Shank) was coming on. This movie is incredible. If you haven’t seen it, you may as well stop reading, because you aren’t going to get anything out of this post. It’s a classic great movie, starring Tim Robbins, Morgan Freeman and Bob Gunton. I won’t give any plot points away here, but there may be some given away in the “what I’ve learned” section. SEE THIS MOVIE!!!
Things I’ve Learned from The Shank:
1. The first one goes to Kid Funk. In prison, you should always have a hobby that will eventually help you escape.
2. If you go to prison, you should see if Morgan Freeman is there. If he’s not, you should befriend an old black man. Preferably one who admits his guilt for his crime. The wisdom of these men can’t be overlooked, and they will eventually get you pictures of half naked chicks for your cell, which will come in handy on particularly lonely nights, or iffen you’re digging a large hole in your wall.
3. After you finish digging a tunnel to get out, and you’re feeling a bit cramped in it, get sent to the hole for a couple of months. It will help you shed those pesky pounds and get you in prime tunnel crawling shape. Plus it really adjusts your night vision.
4. Always get the cell at the end of the row completely by chance.
5. If a gay bully asks you in the shower if anyone has gotten to you yet, tell him, “Yes, thank you, someone has.” Andy didn’t do this, and it may have saved him a lot of time tryna not get raped in the laundry room if he had. Also, make sure you have a good line memorized about bite reflexes. This movie could have turned into a most hated if Andy hadn’t done that.
6. Write a letter a week to SOMEONE while you’re in jail. They will eventually send you a check, and some books for a library, which will turn you into a hero.
7. If a guy comes in and claims to know the person that framed you for the crime you didn’t commit, run. Tell him to never talk to you again, and certainly don’t become friends with him and administer a GED test to him. You are guaranteeing his death.
8. Always hide tools for escaping in the Bible. No one will ever actually open it to find those tools.
9. Try to pick your night for crawling through the sewer with care. Taco night, for example, would be a bad night. Also chili night, beans night, nacho night, Chinese night, any meal with asparagus night and tamale night would be bad ideas. Come to think of it, just try to find another pipe to crawl through.
10. Finally; Try not to cry on the first night. I’m not sure how the guards today are, but it got that fat guy killed. Being husky myself, I took offense to that. Rough him up a bit, take away dessert for a week, stuff like that. Don’t beat him to death with a baton. That’s lame.
All in all, there are probably many more lessons we can each take from this wonderful cinematic achievement. If you haven’t seen the movie, please do so. You will love it. Also, feel free to add things that you’ve learned from the movie as comments to this post!

[Editors note: For the definition of the word impry, go here.]
I heard a song last night on the radio. Now hang on, it gets better. At first I just changed the station on the radio, because the music and beat seemed like EVERY OTHER SONG OUT RIGHT NOW. But all the other presets on the radio had commercials, and since I’m too lazy to use the tuner knob, I just switched it back to the station I started with. Music is better than commercials, right? Wrooooooooooooong. Cheese and rice, this song was STUPID. I was fortunate enough to snag the lyrics from this classy jewel off a website. You ready for this?
Disclaimer: If you are over the age of 40, you may suffer a small aneurysm. This happens when you read something so retarded, your brain is actually trying kill you to spare itself. You’ve been warned.
It’s yo birthday, so I know you want to riiide out
Even if we only go to myyy house
Sip on weezy as we sit upon myyy couch
Feels good, but I know you want to cryyy out

You say want passion, I think you found it
Get ready for action, don’t be astounded
We switching positions, you feel sarounded
Tell me where you want your gift, girl

Girl you know I-I-I, Girl you know I-I-I
I been feenin,
Wake up in the late night
Been dreamin bout your loving, girl
Girl you know I-I-I, Girl you know I-I-I
Don’t need candles and cake
Just need your body to make…
Birthday sex…Birthday sex
It’s the best day ouf da year,girl
Birthday sex…Birthday sex

g-spot g-spot….
Gonna hit dat…
g-spot g-spot

See you sexy and them jeans got me on 10
1-2-3,think I got you pinned
Don’t tap out….fight until the end
Ring that bell, we gonna start over again
We gridin with passion, cuz it’s yo birthday
Been at it for hours…I know you thirsty
You kiss me so sweetly, taste just like Hershey’s
Just tell me how you want your gift, girl

Girl you know I-I-I, Girl you know I-I-I
I been feenin,
Wake up in the late night
Been dreamin bout your loving, girl
Girl you know I-I-I, Girl you know I-I-I
Don’t need candles and cake
Just need your body to make…
Birthday sex…Birthday sex
Its da best day of the year, girl
Birthday sex…Birthday sex

g-spot g-spot….
Gonna hit that ….
g-spot g-spot

First, I’m gonna take a dive into the water,
Deep until I know I pleased that body
(body ah oop)

Or girl without a broom I might just sweep you off your feet
And make you wanna tell somebody
(body, how I do)
Or maybe we can float on top my waterbed
You close your eyes as I impry between your legs
We work our way from kitchen stoves and tables,
Girl, you know I’m only able to please, yeah
Say you wanted flowers on the bed
(on the bed)
But you got me and now it’s on again

Girl you know I-I-I, Girl you know I-I-I
I been feenin,
Wake up in the late night
Been dreamin bout your loving, girl
Girl you know I-I-I, Girl you know I-I-I
Don’t need candles and cake
Just need your body to make…
Birthday sex…Birthday sex
It’s da best day of da year, girl
Birthday sex…Birthday sex

g-spot g-spot….
gonna hit that….
g-spot g-spot

Okay. I told you so. Apparently this song is by a young man named Jeremih? And apparently ladies, he don’t need no candles and cake to give you the birthday sex. Really, Jeremih? Really? I have some questions about your song, young man. And he IS young. 21 to be exact. His momma should be washin his mouth out with soap. I was embarrassed just copying and pasting that garbage to my blog. Anyway, on with the questions.
1. What is weezy? My common sense tells me this must be wine of some kind. However, I had a kid named Weezy in grade school with me. Wasn’t his real name. He had asthma. We were mean, big deal. But seriously? Weezy? Is that a brand? Is it a vineyard? Is it label name?
2. What gift are you giving this young lady, exactly? Why are you asking her where she wants it? Is it a shirt? Candy? An Ipod with decent music on it? I don’t get it, Jeremih. Explain this to me.
3. “See you sexy and them jeans got me on 10.” I am offering a $1000 dollar reward for those lyrics, dead or alive, returned to me with a definition that doesn’t require urban dictionary’s help.
4. Why are you comparing sex with a boxing/wrestling match? Ringing bells? Hours? Again? On second thought, I can see how this would appeal to the ladies. Right? When you think about makin the sweet “birthday love” it’s always like a good ol fashin wrasslin match. If I hear a bell ring when I’m doing it, usually it involves me beggin to finish, and her tryin to get up and get clothes on to answer the door. Just sayin.
5. Apparently at this point in the song, he’s taking a swim. It doesn’t surprise me really after hours and hours of his expert lovin. He’s prolly tired. Prolly just wants to cool off.
6. “Or maybe we can float on top my waterbed, you close your eyes as I impry between your legs.” Gentleman, I dare you to go up to the next lady you see today and say that phrase. See what happens. I have no bail money for you. FYI. And listen, I’m sorry for even posting that trash. I have underage fans that prolly shouldn’t even be reading that. But I’m tryna prove a point.
I’m 26, guys and gals. When did music get so stupid? When did we start calling this trash music? I remember 90’s music, and even 90’s rap. It was wonderful. I think this whole thing started with Nelly’s “Air Force Ones”. I knew, the second I heard that song, that we were in a downhill spiral. And it’s not all bad. I just got done listening to “Second Chance” by Shinedown. I love that song. But geez. Can someone please stop tell these 21 year old retards to stop singin about sex? Thank you.
Also, mentioning the G spot in your song? That’s classy, Jeremih. Classy.

Today is the 4th of July. Before I get started on this post, I would just like to thank EVERY single one of the men and women who have died fighting to give me the glorious freedoms I have, including the one to write this blog. You guys and gals are heroes, and you deserve much more. Thank you.
It hasn’t rained in Oklahoma (this part) for about 2 or 3 weeks. Before that, we had nothing but rain for 2 or 3 weeks. It was depressing. However, it’s raining today. As I’m typing, I’m looking out my window, and watching the rain. I’m also watching the sparrows hit up my new bird feeder that I made, and also watching two gigantic doves try to muscle their way in on some food. I think the only reason the sparrows tolerate it, is because the doves are the same color. My point is, it had to rain today. If it rains out fireworks tonight, I’m gonna be wicked pissed.
The 4th of July runs deep in my family. We love it. My dad loved to spend money on fireworks, and he passed that love down to his 4 boys. Unfortunately, when you lose your job the week before, fireworks aren’t too high on your agenda. Normally we go to my moms house, and we talk her into giving us an absurd amount of money, and then we treat our family and neighbors to a show. The last couple of years, we’ve even gone to Arkansas to get bottle rockets, which are illegal here in Oklahoma. Why in the world they are illegal, I have no idea. Must be some fun haters in our legislature. “Snakes and sparklers, guys. That’s all.” Anyhow, I guess we’re doing the 4th at my aunt and uncles house this year, which is cool, because they have one of those 5 foot deep pools, and I’m fairly certain I can get my grandmother to get me some floaties.
Last year, however, we did it at moms house. Bottle rockets, M-80’s, sparkler bombs, the whole nine yards. It was so much fun. For nightime, we got a bunch of those cannon ball things. the ones you put in the tube, light the long fuse, and pray to God on high that the tube doesn’t tip over and send a flaming ball of patriocism directly into the lap of dear Memaw. Once again, my mother gave us a stupid amount of money, and we bought a crap ton of these things. We spent a good portion of the day just waiting for nightfall so we could do it up big.
As darkness settled upon us, and we started pullin out the leftover food and the homemade ice cream, my brothers and I started gettin stuff set up. Lawn chairs came out, and everyone assumed the neck back, head up position. And the show began! Everyone oooohing and aaaaahing. It was nice. The Liar and The Youngest set off the fireworks for the most part, with myself and The Groom doing the roman candles and the night time bottle rockets. Then they got stupid. It started with throwing the balls in the air, which is just dumb. Wait….wait….wait….wait…NOW! Anything that involves that kind of thinking is generally a bad idea. It moved on to putting balls that didn’t belong in certain tubes into those tubes so they could launch a bunch of them at once. My family is nothing if not show offs. This is where things went horribly wrong, horribly fast.
I have a cousin. His name is The Cryer. When The Cryer comes over, he cries. Inevitably, someone will make him cry about something. The fastest way is to tell him that OU sucks. Anyways, we often times bet on how long it will take him to start crying after he gets to the house. And I’m gonna admit it here, (Ang, if you read this, I’m sorry) sometimes we resort to some low measures for making him cry to win that bet. The thing is, what I’m tryin to say, he’s kind of a crybaby. Now that’s just keepin it real.
Back to our young firework engineers on that fateful night. They were keeping the box of balls and such right behind the table that they were shooting balls off of. This is a very intelligent thing to do, and a great time saver. For the most part, things were going good. Then they decided that they were gonna do two or three tubes apiece, and make six shots go off. I think they put multiple balls in the tube as well. Well, The Youngest can’t quite light things as fast as The Liar, and he kind of got in a hurry… He knocked over one of his tubes. The word “bail” doesn’t convey the speed in which they got outta there. They were gone. They didn’t really warn us that anything had gone wrong, but we made quite the informed guess when they were back up on the porch with us. And sure enough, it happened. One of those balls rolled right off the edge of the table and smooth into the box of other balls. This is what resulted.
I’ve GOT to give The Missus credit for that picture. The rest of us were duckin and runnin for cover, and somehow she snapped that off. It looks like that was taking place in the sky, but for sure, that was about 4 feet off the ground. She’s a picture gettin soldier. I’m so proud of her. Anyways, one of these balls shoots straight for The Cryer. It doesn’t get anywhere near him, but that was enough. Everyone is kind of laughin and still screamin over it, and The Cryer gets MAD. He just started cryin and punchin people that were laughing! I have never seen a more emotional response over fireworks almost killing someone. Sure he’s like 10. But so what! Get that stuff together! Anyhow, they went through the box after a safe amount of time, and shot off what was left. But it’s really hard to appreciate fireworks when you’re locked in the house for safety.
I hope you all have a happy and safe 4th, and I’ll see you back on Monday morning.
I mentioned “balls” a lot in this post…I am a 26 year old. I start a lot of blogs by stating what I am. I do this so you will have appropriate visuals when I blog things. Along with being 26, I am large. Very large. Now, the doctors, they call it obese. I just call it large. Either way. The visual.
Around 2 PM today, I get a text that we’re going cliff diving at lake Tenkiller here around my hometown. I decide to go with. I have a lot of friends that are either in high school, or just got out. No, I don’t buy them booze, and I’m not touching any of them. I used to be the youth minister at the church, and now these kids are my friends. For the most part, I think they feel sorry for me because I don’t have any friends my age with the exception of Kid Funk. So I text back and say that I’m down.
I went out to this place last year after a wee bit of a rainy season, and worked up the nerve and finally jumped in. It was about a 10 foot drop, and I survived. Hell, I even did it again. And another time. Had a blast. Even so, the first time, it took me about 30 minutes to work up the nerve. In the meanwhile, the kids I was with were doing backflips, and swan dives, stuff like that. I don’t think they have any kind of little voice in their heads at all.
So we get out there today, and the water is down. WAY down. What was once a 10 foot drop had doubled in distance. I looked over the edge, and I knew without a doubt that I would not be jumping. Funk that. My survival instinct started screaming about branches and poles hidden beneath the waters, and it also provided me with several graphic displays of what I would look like speared by said objects. At this point is was just me and two of my little brothers and another kid. They start jumpin off of this thing, and just in general start trying new ways to take their own lives. I just sat up there and waited to dial 911. Then about 10 more of em show up. This is when I got the most peer pressure to jump in. So I walk down to the “pansy” section of the rock (maybe about 10 feet drop) and I do it. I jumped.
A couple of things happen when I leave solid ground and jump into mid air. 1. My hands instantly turn sweaty. Thats another story. I almost died. 2. I go down. Quickly. As I am falling, I realized I forgot to ask if anyone had encountered any rocks on this particular “pansy” section. With my constitution sinking as fast as me through the air, I landed. I went straight down about 6 feet onto STONE. This is where I found out that my left leg is longer than my right. It hit first, and since I wasn’t expecting to hit STONE, it shoved my ankle damn near through my leg. Alright. I exaggerate. But it hurt. Still hurts, and I may ice it down. Anyway, I kept the face of an ex high school athlete. I did a modified doggy/frog/breast paddle all the way back to the bank, then climbed up some rocks and sat my fat butt down.
At this point, about 5 others showed up, and I swear, one of em didn’t even stop to look off the edge or anything. He showed up, screamed something, and jumped. Barely had time to take his shirt off. Retarded. He didn’t even LOOK! My youngest brother started saying “Leap before you look.” a lot, and I’m convinced that this motto will be the downfall of our nation. Eventually everyone but me had jumped off the high cliff, even the chicks. I was called every name in the book. Literally, I lived the question, “If everyone was jumpin off a cliff, would you?” I’d like to think that if my mother was out there, after she got done washin our mouths out with soap, would be very proud of me. I played that ankle injury up a lot. By the time we left, I’d half convinced myself it was broke. Hobblin everywhere. I made a decision though. I won’t be going back. Give me a swimming pool without a deep end and some floaties, and I’ll be the happiest man alive. I’ll quote the Bible here, Jesus said “Lo, I am with you always.” That’s real.

These are pictures of my brothers jumping off. The one thats upside down is The Liar, and the one that is swan diving is The Youngest. Those are their names for now. Both of them are retarded, and had The Groom been there, he’d be retarded too.
As for me, anyone got a nice 4-5 foot pool and some floaties? I’m in. Oh, and 60 SPF sunscreen, because my skin is a pantywaist too.