BACK OFF BITCHES!

Sorry to disappoint all the sexy ladies of the world - but this highly desirable hunk of spiced Italian man-meat is now officially off the market. (like it was really on the market anyways...) I managed to ask the question once the Halloween hour struck, not throw-up on myself in a nervous fit, and received a positive response for my efforts. Party to follow. Eventually.

I DON'T WANT THE STUFF THAT YOU DON'T WANT, SO STOP HANDING IT OUT TO ME.

PENNIES, QUARTERS, HALF DOLLARS, PENCILS, ERASERS, BRAZILIAN NUTS - ie RANDOM CRAZY SHIT: This is the lowest of the low in terms of Halloween treat giving. This is scum level territory. When you're an adult and you decide that any of these things, or even more berserk items, are a good idea - then you obviously missed out on your childhood somehow. And for this loss, I'm sorry.

Kids don't want you pocket change. They want goddamn candy. Candy by the fistfuls. Candy to get them through the dull November month ahead. CANDY! As for handing out school supplies...for real? You want to remind the kids of school while out on their once a year pagan sugar rampage? Stupid. Even Halloween themed or some other gimmicky shaped erasers are a no-no. School's not fun. Stop ruining the fun.
And nuts of any sort are bullshit. Unless they are soaked in chocolate and hidden inside of something called a "Snickers". I honestly got 3 or 4 Brazilian nuts one year. I was beside myself. I didn't realize it until I got home, which is a shame. I'd have loved to return the favor to their gas tank.

Wrapping up this sort of random crap from around your house and throwing it in opaque "treat bags" is a favorite way for these types of terrible people to hide their wrong doings. Cast a wary eye on such gifts, they inevitable contain sadness. Step on them in front of the giver. You're better off.

IF YOU ARE SCUM AND HAND THIS GARBAGE OUT: Prepare to find the stuff in your bushes, jammed into your lawn, stuffed in you mailbox, or thrown into your gutters. One year just prior to Halloween, out group of lil' bastards discovered the ol' hairspray and lighter flamethrower trick. It was a good Summer. What's more, we linked this reaction to cans of Silly String as well. This way we could take the stuff out on Halloween without turning any heads by dragging cans of hairspray around. And even one better, there was no need for a lighter because there were Jack-o-lanterns a plenty in the 'hood.

Anywho after some fucking Chud handed us a pile of Dixon Ticonderoga #2s, there only one thing to do. Once the dude had closed the door, presumably to masterbate on the glee of causing distress to kids dressed as skeletons and a Rubik's cube, we set upon his pumpkin with wicked intent. Man, that thing went up quick. Three cans or so of Silly String will casue quite the visible fireball in the October evening. I definitely recall peeing myself a little, such was the power of the laughter. Two or three more pumpkins were reduced to a grinning cinder that night.

GOBSTOPPERS: Yeah. I was into those pretty hardcore.

MR. BONES VS. WPSTGAMITBOYPAMATOGCSTS (MR. BONES WINS EVERY SINGLE TIME)

MR. BONES: OK, so somebody ruined the unveiling of today's awesome candy by blabbin' his cyber face in the comment section. Oh well, you can't control crazy, only harness it, point it in a direction, and hope for the best! But the point remains completely true. Mr. Bones was a pretty fucking dope candy to get. It was mega-rare, because most people suck and just get whatever for Halloween candy. Few folks think it through.

I still get excited when I see the stuff in CVS or whatever. My mind subconsciously scans the shelves for Mr. B during the October month. I can't control it. But it's been goddamn years since my last Mr. Bones encounter. Oh, where have you gone, you beautiful bastard? There's some bullshit impostor out there called Scary Skeletons, but they are bullshit. The candy isn't as hard and goes all powdery pretty quick. Fuck Scary Skeletons.

So, what is Mr. Bones? It's basically a crummy plastic coffin filled with various colored pez-like bones that you assemble to make...yup, Mr. Bones. But it was tough to assemble the fucker. You either were missing a precious bone, had three heads, or got a few busted bones bits which ended up being quite necessary. So you had to trade with your friends, but your friends are all dicks and generally withheld the precious finishing pieces and you just ate the shit bit by bit anyways because it's near impossible to just stare at candy when you're 10. As to gettin' a complete Mr. Bones all in one color? That's the stuff of legend. I heard some rich kid in the next neighborhood had one once, but it was probably bullshit.

Mr. Bones rules. Here's to you Fleer candy!


WPSTGAMITBOYPAMATOGCSTS: Now, the shit candy of the day. I don't even know what to call them. It took 10 minutes of various internet searches to even pull them up. For such hateful little things that are so hard to find, it sure seems like they always ended up in my haul. Always. Let's call them waxy-peanuty-shits that get all melty in the bottom of your pillowcase and make all the other good candies suffer their stink. Or WPSTGAMITBOYPAMATOGCSTS.

You knew from the second you set your eyes on that black or orange waxy lump of ass, that this stuff was no damn good. Hell, even the parents would toss 'em away because they were uber-suspect to tampering. Peanut buttery in nature, but gooey and mostly stuck tot he wrapper, these things sucked. They might have been the bomb in 1920, today, not so much. So, a hearty FUCK YOU to home owners who continue to perpetuate the existence of these worthless garbage candies by purchasing and distributing such crap.

IF YOU ARE STUPID ENOUGH TO GIVE THIS SHIT OUT TO KIDS: Fuck you. Instead of spending that whopping 2 bucks for 50 lbs of this crap, you should instead lay the 2 dollars on the ground and piss on it. Then, shutter your house, turn out your lights, and be that douche bag house on the street. You know, the one that isn't answering the door and will be missing lawn ornaments in the morning because you hate Halloween and are not paying the yearly Halloween tax which keeps your house on the "good list" in the minds of the neighborhood kids - thus protecting you investment from eggy transgressions during the night of October 30th.

HALLOWEEN SUPER SPECTACULAR #1! (SEE HOW I RESISTED THE URGE TO USE SPOOKTACULAR? IT'S CALLED STANDARDS PEOPLE.)

In the spirit of the single greatest, most ridiculous holiday on the US calendar, I'm gonna take a look at the best and shittiest Halloween candy a kid (ie, me a billion years ago) could get. One a day, along with helpful suggestions for folks intent on ruining childhood memories.

OK, let's begin with probably greatest abomination to the candy world....

NECCO WAFERS. If I wanted to eat flavored-ish chalk in an olde tyme wax paper format, I'd fire up my time machine, pack up a handful of sugar packets, go to a quarry in 1820, destroy my time machine (I've already brutally wasted it's potential) then die a horrible candy fueled intestinal mineral death. These things blow. Here's a fun fact from the NECCO website:

"The U.S. Government requisitioned a major portion of the production of NECCO Wafers during World War II. The candy doesn’t melt and is practically indestructible during transit, making it perfect for shipping overseas to the troops."

Sounds delicious. I especially loathe the "chocolate" flavored ones. My throat swells at the thought of them. And luckily, you can buy a whole roll of delicious dark dusty pain in pure faux chocolate form. Booyah! Thanks Oliver Chase and Silas Edwin! Try harder next time.

IF YOU'RE STUPID ENOUGH TO GIVE THEM OUT THIS YEAR: Expect retaliation. These things are pretty hard. So expect a hail of them to chip the paint on your car, injure your cat, put out an eye, clog your sewers, and serve as the medium for swastikas to be drawn on your driveway/house.

On the better side of things: Reese's Fucking Peanut Butter Cups. These things were the single most sought after item in my quest for sugar charged Halloween nirvana. I remember one year our group encountered some goon who left a big ass bowl of them on his porch, all alone with the note "Please take only one." We just sorta looked at each other, then shit went down like Lord of the Flies. 5-6 of the precious candies were crushed in the ensuing wrestling match. We walked off with at least 10 to a person. I don't remember the rest of the evening, I was wasted on chocolate and peanut butter.

Thank you Harry Burnett Reese. You rule. I'm not sure where all this peanut allergy bullshit came from, but I'm sure you could conquer it with enough of your delicious candies.

SERIOUSLY?

CORN FTW!

WHAT WILL THE HAMBURGER PIMP DO NOW?

"For those motherfuckers who don't believe I just did that.
Watch this good shit."

What else is there to say? Rudy Ray Moore was just about the feyest, non-gay black man, but also the most badass Blaxploitation hero/Nasty Comedian of his time. He will live on forever, thanks to his amazing film legacy. Let's just hope that Fred Williamson doesn't eat it anytime soon. I'm not sure if my heart could withstand that loss as well.

Internets links to a sweet clip and a trailer from his more watchable films, along with probably the best supporting actor to appear alongside him.

"Breathin' down yo' neck muthafucka!"

"The Human Tornadaaa!"

"Say, Hamburger Pimp."

NOW STUUAAAART!

I'm posting from beyond cyberspace! Yeah! Anyways, today marks the 20 somethingth birthdate of my obtuse and special friend from the Gem State - Stuart! Lord of logic, master of all words, champion of spelling, hater of everything, and king of putting things into compartmentalized drawers/ziplock bags. (like a good serial killer)

Happy Birthmas Stu!

It's also a little known fact that Stu and I are in a huge (well, at least in San Marino) Metal band known as COKKEN. We finished off our 1st EP "Tunneling to the Moon" about 3 years ago, but have been trying like hell to get someone to press it. Mainly to placate all our fans while we work on the next LP. Before that our first album was only available on about 7 cassette tapes. But those were all lost in a gig fire, along with our drummer. So we're mainly a live band right now. And we can't decide on the cover art. Shit's important! Maybe this year...

JOE THE SIX PACK PLUMBER PALIN/SHARPIE YELLOW LEGAL PAD '08

Last night's limp wristed foppish wordy debate was his-fucking-storic. For the first time ever a candidate has been replaced completely by the rise of a surprise uber-candidate! SIX PACK MAVERIC JOE THE PLUMBER PALIN MOOSE SHOOTER COPTER PILOT! And SHARPIE made it's 3rd impresive appearance, along with the pronounced shuffling sounds of Sharpie's good friend, Yellow Legal Pad.

I'm stoked.

Seriously, this shit is over. Barring Obama saying on live television that he hates all crackers, this one is in the bag. FOX News was even reporting in a rather odd manner afterwards. It was surprisingly not filled with crazy-person reality distortion lunacy. Even they couldn't spin McCain in a positive light as they begin to defect by the dozens and distance themselves from any association with W and John John.

I'm not even sure why either of these guys really wants this whole president job anymore anyways.

Everything seems so very fucked.

SWEET JUNK MAIL

I've had a rotten hotmail account since the beginning of the internets and it is purely an internet dumping ground for online accounts and such that require an email addy. I get some amazing junk in there now and again. Here's one that make me giggle a bit. I was lured into clicking on this one because of the subject line. I mean, Montanoceratops? Heck yeah I wanna see/learn about that. Oh, well. Alyssa will have to do. It is necessary to see.

THE THRISS OF VICTORY

I can barely spell most days, but dang. My favorite non-greek, yet totally greek friend sent the video linked above which leads to a YouTube clip from WHEEL OF FORTUNE. (shout it in your head please). It's pretty choice, if you have the time to check it out. I easily lost about half an hour afterwards watching other crappy clips and here's what I've dredged up. For. Your. Pleasure. (Pleasure is optional)

TACO YOU DUMB BITCHES! TACO!

K IS FOR STUPIK!

SPECIAL, SPECIAL VIEWERS. WITH CAMERA. AND TIME.
(like me without a camera)

Finally, let's turn the camera on us, the know-it-all viewer with 20/20 hindsight. Who are we to judge? Well, after this clip. I'm fit to judge ALL! Especially these fucktards.

HEY, IT'S PAID FOR!

So feel free to sideswipe the sweet bejebus out of my well kept vehicle at your convenience! And total (broken axle) the car (owned by a visiting acquaintance) behind me too for good measure! The big win is for me and my deductible, since they're probably not gonna find the drunken culprit. Despite a witness. And the sideview mirror of the douche nozzle's car. And a call to the cops minutes later for a car that was spraying sparks and making more noise than, well, a spark factory, as it drove away. Balls.

+ + + + + + + + + + NEWSFLASHINGS + + + + + + + + + +

Looks like the culprit actually owned up to the dirty deed (or perhaps felt The Faceless Lord's musings of evil) and stopped by the house to say "Shucks, I'm sowwry.". Well, I guess 12 hours'll sober anybody up. Now, teh insuranced battel can beginss!

YTMND OF THE WEEK: BREAK UP LETTER

>>>>>>>>>>WEB-TAST-IK-LINK<<<<<<<<<<

Not so much the visuals that got me this time around. But the dude reading this wonderful piece of literature helps it come to life in your mind. Also, it reminds me of the Book of Lostrom (sp?) readings from the good ol' GW Daze.

SO IT'S COME TO THIS or NO AMOUNT OF BOOZE HELPS or MR . TOM BROKAW, PLEASE TO BE SITTING THE FUCK DOWN AND SHUT YOUR NEWSIE PIE HOLE

Round two of the excitement and thrills as 2 dudes who hate each other go at it for the betterment of the nation! Yeeeeeeeeeeah! Ice the ponies of High Life!

First Problem: Which channel to watch it on. So, Fox News had the candidates double mic'd. It was all weird sounding as their voice faded in and out between pauses. PBS was all wavy and snowy because my cable sucks. I can't find the damn olde tyme channels (3,6,10). CNN had the fun-o-meter (people with friggin' dials to register their joy or disgust as the talking went on and on) and the sound was right, so I went there. The meter turned out to be quite entertaining. It would make for a good "flatline" screen capture to prove that McCain is in fact, already dead.

Second Problem: Moderators so get in the way. Of everything. Again. Poor Tom Brokaw, (I mean who the fuck does he think he is anyway?) tried to remind the guys that they had a time limit and that there were rules agreed upon ahead of time so that many topics could be covered and everyone got fair time share. He tried several times to keep them on point. He tried to mention the lights (which McCain prolly can't even see, thus the "Just wave your hand at me when time is up." comment), he interrupted their ramblings, he tried being jokey, and finally he just gave the hell up.

Third Problem: Pesky, pesky, questions. By my count Obama answered/nailed 2ish questions. McCain answered/nailed one. Good job. There had to be about 10 of them. By my grading scale, they both get held back a grade. Seriously. I spent most of this stupid program yelling either "Answer the fucking question!", "Booooo!", "More Ponies!", or Shut up! Times up bitch!". These debates are a fucking circus event of non-information. I'm voting for the Sharpie. (which was once more audible. and on that note weren't they supposed to not be writing stuff down in this folksy town hall free for all format?)
Fourth Problem: I could not get drunk enough, fast enough. I really tried. I even mixed in real beers between ponies of High Life. And when they both kept going back to finger pointing and character attcks, I was besides myself with rage. Especially after the "Hey since your fucked up parties got us into this economic mess by bickering, what are you going to do to make us trust you again?" question. Fuck. Really? By acting like children? Win.

Fifth Problem: "That one." [points at Obama in a sidelong manner] Holy shit. Just keep it civil and call him a chocolate face already. Jeeze. And do you remember those little Tomy Robots you'd get at Radio Shack in 1985 where you'd stick a few AAs in that bad boy and it would bump into walls, turn, and bump into a new wall until you smashed it to pieces out of a mixture of sheer boredom and overpowering pity? McCain is that robot. He shuffled to a fro like the lil' Tomy Dingbot, Sharpie in hand, as he blathered on and on about nothing in particular. The dude looked ooooooooooooooooooooooooooold.

Fail: Both candidates and thus, the nation. I have little hope left. Especially after waking up to people on the CSPAN radio show calling in and continuing to reference Obama as a Muslim and terrorist, along with the racists who have nothing better to do at 6AM. Fuck. I quit.

Ultimate Fail: The atrocity I left in the ol' Thunder Bucket this morning, thanks to the "Champagne of Beer". Or, if you'd prefer, its lesser known moniker "Man Juice". (Not shittin' you.)

OUTTA CONTROL GREEN STUFF

Since stupid politics have been a focus on my mind as of late (and sure to be so once more after debate #2 tomorrow...) and retarded politics only seem to make me angry, I'm posting about something that make s me happy. My stupid plot of dirt in the back yard. Shown above is a shot of the overgrown garden after some some serious weeding, but before before me and the sweaty, yet helpful man-monster known as Curren tackled the soil itself in early May. And below is shot of it after a few hours of me ordering Curren around and pointing to where he had missed a spot with his shovel.

It was a good planting year with plenty of tasty Cima di Rape harvested and stuffed into my face. I had to give it away to the old man (not that he minded) I just had too much at times. After my final planting of Cima di Rape ended in failure (massive aphid invasion x1000) about late August, I had but a few things left in the dirt to grow and eat. I was down to raddishes, peppers, and edamame. The radishes eventually came up and were way spicy, the Edamame was awesome since it's such a hardy bastard of a plant, and the peppers still continue to produce. But, I had a huge plot left where the Cima di Rape used to be - mainly because I successively planted the stuff so that I'd have it on a weekly basis, and this takes up some space.

I needed some Fall/Wintery type things to plant. So I shot off an order for some Japanese pumpkins known as Kabocha. I liked the tempura version of the thing, so I planted the stuff in 4 mounds using a variety of 3 different hybrids. One was a small, single serving type thing, the other two were full sized but one was mega-sweet tasting. I tossed in the tiny seeds and left them to their own devices. I had noted their growth over the 1st month. Nothing to write home about, though one mound totally failed. I have one shot of the vines in their youth. It's shown above.
Then a few rainstorms hit, followed by sunny weeks. The Kabocha exploded. It was strangling out the peppers, crawling over my crappy anti-rabbit fence, and expanding way beyond what I planned. I've read The Ruins and seen the movie, so this disturbed me a bit. The many,many little tendrils that shot off the main vine and wrapped themselves around whatever they could in a rather prehensile manner only added to this unease. I half expected the fucker to start speaking German when I was looking for ripe Red Peppers.

The leaves of the Kabocha form a protective canopy of sorts with a few yellow flowers here and there, as you can see by the top down shot shown above. Keeps the soil underneath moist and also chokes out most of the invasive weeds, which should make next years tilling a wee bit easier. But it makes finding the damn developing Kabocha a bit tricky.

And since the clock is ticking due to the earlier referenced Zebra Mosquito problem, I have like 5 minutes to get what I'm looking for before I become a walking feast for those fucking evil bastard blood sucking fucks. Here's what it looks like under the canopy and you can see one lil' Kabocha.

There's about 12 of the things out there now (that I can spot) so I'm stoked. But, there's one problem. Since I planted them without marking them, like a dumbass, I don't know which of the three types each Kabocha is. The only real problem here is that one type is not supposed to grow past a certain point, since they are of a tiny variety. I 've got to do some booklearnin' to figure that mystery out. Balls. I might do some garlic and fennel for winter. That's it 'till next Summer I guess.

CAN I PLEEZE HAS THE TAKE HOME TESTZ? or AT LEAST THEY LOOKED AT EACH OTHER but really WHO THE HECK IS THAT DOG GONE PESKY LADY?

Stinging "debate" (biggest group of jammed together stump speeches ever!) observation time take two. This time Veeps! Woot! Wilmington, DE in the hizzouse yo! I'm surging in my pants!

Unfortunately nothing as obvious or awesome as John John's scratchy Sharpie popped up this time around (please keep using that sucker in the future McCain dawg!). But there was a sweet moment or two where Crazy Joe was audibly sighing into his mic.

Mainly, I just want to know who the hell that ANNOYING lady was in between the debating peoples. Jeeze, she was constantly asking questions and stuff and confusing me. And her desk was waaaaaaaay bigger! What gives? I mean you figure that crazy person (or drunk person, I mean check the sketchy tumbler to her right in the photo) would get the point when her questions fell on deaf ears/was told to politely shut the fuck up because I'm not here to answer questions - several times.

Moderators, more like bore-a-phyll!