Saturday, May 29, 2010

Monday, May 24, 2010

when I was a kid, we used to visit my cousins who lived in southern Missouri.

They had deer ticks, and since dad was a physician he was always concerned about Lyme disease (or some other crazy tick disease from 20 years ago). Anyway, my uncle ran a church camp down there. So we would go visit; they had woods and a lake and ball fields and all kinds of fun stuff.

Every night, tho , we had to have the tick inspection. After we took a shower, dad would inspect me and my brother. We always had at least one tick on us that he would have to extract. Usually with a pair of tweezers.

One night I was under tick inspection, and pop found a tick. In a private area. On my sac. Bear in mind, I was probably about 9 years old. So he tells me to lay down; I lay down and he gets his tweezers. It's about this time I realize that what he thinks is a tick is what I know to be a mole.

I tell him "it's just a mole". He didn't believe me. So he tugs on it "why won't this tick come out" while I'm yelling "it's just a mole! It's just a mole!"

he finally stopped tugging.

Friday, May 21, 2010

im.a hard core conservative

Proud as hell to of grown up in a county that votes about 95% republican

or course you would think that, thank god .homoism is a choice you failed to make correctly
Of course based on the pictures I've seen its no surprrise you are a lesbian no normal man would get within 100ft of loving you

i have moved out and despite a 20% paycut im still probably making more tuan you
Thankfully I'm confident enough in myself. that I don't have to resort to homosexuality as my only hope of love

ive said what i needed to say

Thursday, May 13, 2010

True story:

When we were little kids (like 3-5), my dad used to tell us he was John Oates. (He kinda looked like him back in those day.s) Every morning, he'd leave for work, and he'd say something along the lines of "Welp, see you later, gotta go hang out and make music with my buddy Hall."

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Our yard is the Killing Field for bunnies

2009: a hawk swooped down and took out the daddy bunny, leaving in its wake of its carnage, two little bunnies and a momma bunny who had to explain to the little ones why daddy wasn't coming home that night.

2010: 4 little bunnies arrived a week or two ago. As late as yesterday afternoon, they were growing and seemed to enjoy the lettuce, carrots and celery our boys brought them each morning.

Then, something happened; something mysterious and horrible. I found two of them dead, a third was still breathing but immobile, and hungry bugs were surrounding it.

Of course, I couldn't leave it there to suffer a slow death, but I didn't know the most humane way to end its suffering.

Should I put it in the garage and turn the car on?

Should I put a little piece of plastic wrap over its head?

I still have an unused bottle of Vicodin left from a recent injury.

Perhaps end it with a small pocket knife whilst whispering, "shhh, shhhh, shhh" like in Private Ryan?

You will be happy to know that I finally did what I had to do.

RIP little fellas.