The End is Near

The forecast from the National Weather Service for Dallas, Texas on Sunday, January 1, 2006 calls for a high of 80 degrees farenheit. A quick query of a website called Weather Underground says that Rio De Janeiro will have a high on New Year's Day of...you guessed it: 80 degrees farenheit. For those of you who don't know, Brazil is in the southern hemisphere of our beloved little sphere. The seasons there are the reverse of ours. They are in the beginning of their summer. Those large-bottomed, brown-skinned, topless little skanks are slipping into their thongs and Brazil-cut bikinis and stepping out to the beach to get some sun and stares, and we have exactly the same weather forecast. What the hell?

On another note: NASA says that the polar ice caps are melting on Mars. So the global warming problem is so massive here on Earth that we're melting the ice on other planets. Or is it pollution and greenhouse gasses on Mars causing the problem? We need to educate those crazy martians on the dangers of burning fossil fuels.

Happy Nightmarish Holidays

Just wanted to wish everyone a freakishly scary, belated merry Christmas. And a happy new year. I hope evil Santa skipped your house this year.

The Wrap-up

Apparently, lots of websites and blogs do year end wrap-ups, and I will not be breaking the tradition. Now, I haven't seen any of these wrap-ups, but I like the idea because it's stupid and corny and I like stupid and corny. Besides, my important works get buried under each other and I need to rehash them for your entertainment.

So, the first post was a stream of consciousness thing about finding out a competitor was using my company's badging illegally and deceiving customers into going to them for their pick 'em up truck needs. The situation ended up all the way in Motor City, letters were sent, people were threatened, and I won some silly award that pays $25 and a certificate. Awesome. Welfare is still jacked up, Texas still rules, and Ted Jesuschrist God is still coming soon to take out his anger on his mortal enemies. Becky Oliver is still rooting out evil business owners and corrupt politicians with her in-your-face brand of investigative reporting. And Mexican women still believe in the dangers of exposure to cold weather.

The team I am supervising is currently composed of a girl from India (that our customers probably think is IN India), a guy from Chicago that now lives on a farm here in Texas, a flamboyant older gay man that the girls consider one of their own, and 5 Mexican chicks (4 of which are single mothers [of course] ). These Mexican ladies are sweet, attractive, intelligent women. And they think that mincing garlic into a glass of milk and drinking it will cure anything from a sinus infection to food poisoning. They also believe in the concept of "ojo." Ojo is a theory of sorts which posits that if one admires something, one must compliment it or bad things will happen. For instance, if I admire my friend's shirt I have to tell him or I will spill something on my shirt. If I remember prior to the bad thing happening that I put the "ojo" curse on myself, I can dispel it by rubbing an egg, thereby transferring the curse to the helpless chicken embryo. I just keep reminding myself of their sweetness, intelligence (where it counts), and attractiveness and I enjoy the snacks.

Kermit still hasn't cum. That froggy bastard gots legs, I tell ya! Debra LaFave, the hottest teacher I've ever seen, got probation for banging a 14 year old boy that eventually told on her. I'll never get over that. I think the judge gave her probation because he couldn't deal with it, either. You can still buy poop deodorizer over the internet and that guy at work that everybody hates is still here. Well, sort of. He's been missing tons of work lately. I think he's holding out for the promotion he applied for which comes with a relocation package. Or maybe he's looking for another job. All of the bridges may be burnt here.

I haven't had anymore dreams of naked snowcone purchases. Nor have I done anything to improve my appearance. Fuck you. Just kidding, I love you. Fuck you. People are still into S&M and I imagine that someone somewhere is considering breaking into a building to have sex. Those same people are enjoying some good old Backstreet Boyz music and watching awards shows on TV, and those things are the only things that they have in common with the "richest two percent" or whatever communists call the president's friends.

I love my wife. This is probably the biggest thing that has happened since I started this blog. Not that I didn't love her before, but my actions certainly didn't bear that out. I spent enough time trying to convince her that our problems were her problems that I realized that I was the whole problem. Not that she was or is perfect, but I realized a couple of things. First of all, we each need to deal with our own BS rather than running around trying to change everyone else. Second, if we are going to love people, we need to love them in spite of the circumstance. Oh, and I also learned that memory is a vehicle for a longing and desire. When I honestly looked at the "good old days" when we first got married, I wasn't really happy then, either. I just pretended I was to justify the changes I observed in my wife's response to me. In any case, I am more in love with her than I ever have been and I'm happy now. I've learned to see the big picture in my relationship with my wife. Happy isn't situational, it's the result of an overall picture of the quality of my life.

Homeless people are still playing world-class soccer tournaments. And racism is still holding a brotha down. Social workers are still desperately poor and homos still can't get married to their booty buddies in Texas or 19 other states. I haven't seen the '82 New Yorker anymore; I assume it broke down after the simulated police chase. The guy that sprinkled poop on the donuts at a Dallas grocery store got some crazy long sentence. My friend at work got over her silly ass anger at not having been asked to lunch, and it only took a day.

War is still hell, but you can kiss my bobo if you think it's not winnable. I have the utmost respect and confidence in American armed forces.

Oh, and I'm still sterile and enjoying the hell out of it. And I'll be catching some more fish in January.

Now for the news:
Howard Stern is going to Sirius. I am praying for the success of Sirius because I am freaking loving it! Raw Dog is a channel that plays nothing but stand-up comics all day long. There's a channel that plays only jazz standards, a dozen or so rock channels, a bluegrass channel, and dozens of channels I don't want to listen to. Sirius rocks!

Other stuff is happening, too, but it's Christmas people. Leave me alone!

I Had Fish For Lunch Today

My dad, some of my brothers and I did some fishing with my wife's stepdad this weekend. He is a professional guide on Lake Texoma. Since I was the one taking the pics, there are none of me. But I got an old one off of Mrs. Mitch's stepdad's website for your enjoyment. I don't really have the "post pictures and talk about that hella cool movie I saw this weekend" kind of blog, but these fish were so great that I had to show them off. Oh, and we saw 5 or 6 pair of bald eagles during the day, which was a huge bonus.















This is Gabriel and one of the fish we had to return to its frigid home.















This is JR and another fish that lived another day (or so).















And this 15 pound monster I caught on September 11, 2004. He was delicious.

Believe it or not, these are fresh-water striped bass. This is an ocean fish that spawns in rivers like salmon. Only at Texoma, they have begun to not only spawn, but to mingle with the fresh-water species "largemouth" or "black" bass. Texoma is one of the only lakes in the country where stripers spawn naturally, since they are outside their normal habitat. Or course, with three rivers running into the lake and over 600 miles of shoreline, they don't have any idea they're not in the ocean.

Don't It Make Your Blue Eyes Burn

Well, I promised Bam a post about my recent seminal submissions to my latently homosexual urinologist ( I know it's urologist, but I like the name I came up with better), but I can't for the life of me remember what I was going to write about. My relationship with my wife having improved greatly over the last few weeks, I can't bring myself to write in any detail about her help in the retrieval of said specimens, so it couldn't have been that. What's more, I didn't actually have to walk into the office and watch the receptionist recoil upon seeing the conspicuous brown paper bag, so it wasn't that either (the wife took them in for me because the office is next door to her office). It wasn't the unfathomable discomfort of having to go into the office and ask for the specimen cups because the lady of the house did that for me, too. In fact, I didn't lift a fucking finger in this process - there's something to be thankful for this holiday season.

Ah, yes. I remember now. I wanted to write about receiving the news that I am now sterile. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that. I am now sterile. Not to get too far off the subject here, but I was a little confused about how to react to that. Well, not about how to react to the news itself, but rather how to react to my reaction. Some men my age have received the news of their sterility and gone home and maybe cried a little (if not a lot), comforted the wife, maybe comforted mom and dad about the eternal absence of the promised grandkids. Hell, some dudes might have been crushed – I know I always wanted kids. So it was a little weird for me to want to take the wife out dancing in celebration. I mean, I was fucking elated about finding out my balls are no longer functioning properly. I have since tried out the modified equipment, and the missus said it was better. HELL YEAH!

Anyway, if you read my post about public nakedness you'll remember that I was fully exposed to the mortifyingly stee-ewpid assistant before and during the mind-numbingly painful removal of a small portion of my vas deferens. She's also quite cute, which somehow makes the whole situation 10,000 times worse and she is a patient of my wife's office, which makes me feel like crap because now the silly wench knows the hell her hygienist has to endure when she gives herself to me and she probably feels sorry for her every time she sees her. But I digress. The aforementioned airhead called to tell me the results of the semen analyses a week ago today, and although I was pretty sure what I heard on the answering machine, I found some sort of cheap thrill in calling the office up and making the blonde tell me live. Something about the message on the machine told me that this was one of the more uncomfortable aspects of her job. So I called and asked to speak with her.

She came to the phone and I told her that I had received a message but that my machine was crappy and I couldn't understand it. Keep in mind that I signed some form allowing her to leave the information on my machine, so she was sure that she would never have to talk to the fat Mexican with the small *ahem* again about the contents of his jizz. Oh, the joy of listening to her swallow, shift from foot to foot, scratch the back of her head, fan the smoke coming out of her ears, and nervously hitch up her pants as she tried to diplomatically tell me that I could "…live your life from here on out like you please." She actually used those words. She said everything but "Go home and fuck the shit out of your wife or anyone else you want to, they won't get pregnant but you could still get herpes or the clap or a UTI if you don't use a condom and the person or persons you are ravaging has one of those or any other sexually communicable conditions so be careful unless you are only banging the pretty lady that brought us the cum cups and you are sure that she isn't banging someone else because if she is…." and so on and so on and so on. I swear I was on the phone for 10 god-awful minutes. She probably cried herself to sleep that night.

Damn, I am one mean bastard sometimes. But don't tell my wife, I have her deceived. She thinks I'm a great husband.

p.s. I am now the rarest form of Mexican: one unable to procreate. Hell, Anthony Quinn made a baby and then became a fossil two minutes later. Most men of Mexican descent can cure barrenness in women with nothing more than a good lay. I'm pretty sure we are direct descendants of Abraham. If we stare at a woman's ass long enough, she misses a period and starts producing milk…yada, yada, yada.