friday is casual sex day

It's Friday and I have little time. I've already spent too much time moving draft posts forward so I don't leave them behind and lose them. I'm suddenly getting floods of weird junk emails, like the Nigerian scam I posted today. I've got a ton of those from just this week alone.

The emails from nudists is a new one on me. I've never had those before. I wonder if Google pushed my name up higher in their search results for nudists or something? Ah well, if it leads to more people reading my blog then what do I care? Except for the weird emails.

If today goes smoothly, and nothing disasterous happens, then we will be moving from Redneckville to the Boondocks soon. It's ironic in a way, because suddenly there are a lot of teenagers in my neighborhood. I like teenagers. My wife thinks I'm crazy, but I think they're fun. I fully realize they can also be a nightmare, but these kids coming around lately aren't criminals like the Fireman's son and his friends seemed to be. I'd rather live surrounded by young happy healthy people than old people and no kids. I know there are some little kids in the neighborhood in Boondocks that we expect to be moving to, but I have no idea how old or young the homeowners are. Anyway, I hope we're happier there.

Oh, and happy day, I've just won the UK National Lottery again! My streak of good luck just keeps on coming!

victoria beckham and the rest
Victoria Beckham and ... um .. the others

I've just eaten lunch at a cinderblock hole in the wall known as Gus's Fried Chicken. It's one of a few in the Memphis area. It has been brought to my attention that The Football Widow and Miss Memphis ate at the original Gus's some time last year, but they didn't invite me. I am so sad right now I could cry. Miss Memphis did not get up on stage and shake that butt-model bootay when I hung out with her and Mrs. Dallas K down on Beale Street earlier this month. What gives? Am I not good enough? Did I not buy you enough ... oh, wait, you bought my beer, not the other way around. Dammit, that's where I went wrong!

Must remember to always buy the women's drinks and make them STRONG.

What is with the new ad campaign for Secret deodorant? Am I the only one who has noticed this crap? For as long as I can remember, Secret's slogan was "Secret - strong enough for a man, but made for a woman." This was not shocking. It certainly wasn't in the slightest conceivable way demeaning to women. All it meant was that men sweat and stink more than women do, but that Secret could handle even that if needed.

Ah, but then the fanatical ideological female supremacists got involved. They felt that it didn't stroke the Female Ego well enough, and you know them feminists are all about the stroking of the Female Ego and all that.

So, to appease the Nazis, Secret changed it's slogan to "Secret - strong enough for a woman."

Yes, this indicating that women stink and need something to stop the stink. How lovely. All the ladies were positively thrilled. It went over like a load of bricks. And it didn't in any way indicate that women necessarily needed Secret for the stink, either.

So the PC geniuses at Secret went back to their pink drawing boards to try again. Now they have come up with a new masterpiece of pure ego stroking. "Secret - strong, like a woman."

So, what does all this mean exactly? First, they were saying effectively that men sweat and stink more than women do. And the ideological (religious) feminists took offense to this statement of fact. Oddly, any statement of obvious truth seems to offend these comfortably dressed, yet incredibly unattractive female persons.

So, they changed their slogan to simply say that women are sweaty and stinky and Secret can handle it. Ah, but not good enough, because sales did not exactly climb with this not-so-great, but very-PC slogan.

So, another attempt, and this one apparently has made the misandric bitches on Procter and Gamble's board of directors oh so happy. Basically, it says that Secret is really powerful, like women are (Except that supposedly they aren't, remember? Shhhh!) Women sweat and stink like men now. Yes, they do! And they are powerful and rich and beautiful and control everything and this is as it should be! PooYA! Buy our shit, you sweaty, stinky divas!

But still, they're talking about stinking. Women stink. That's the message coming from Secret. Women stink like giant, hairy men. And this is somehow a victory.

I swear, I am a better marketing person than 99% of the people who actually get paid for doing this. In fact, I know I am. These people are a bunch of 12-year-old morons. Secret should hire me. My slogan would be

secret for really stinky women


Because No Woman Should Smell Like Ass

Yeah, you tell me, who has the better slogan, me or the marketing pinheads at Secret.

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I Crave Your Indulgence

I have free millions for you, American sweetie!

From: "draliu mohamed"
Subject: Urgent Response!!!
Date: Thu, 28 Jun 2007 23:01:18 +0000


Dear Friend,

I crave your indulgence as I contact you in such a surprising manner and I want you to bear in mind that this is not a hoax mail But I respectfully insist you read this mail carefully as I am optimistic it will open door for unimaginable financial reward for both of us.I got your contact through Burkinafaso information network online services,

I crave Carmen Electra, but alas, we don't always get what we want. Perhaps if I were a rich man then she might be mine at last? And here you are, offering to open a door for unimaginable financial reward? What luck! What timing! Who the hell is Burkenstock information network online services, by the way, and where would they have gotten my email address unless they read my blog? Is some African government reading my blog, perhaps taking tips from all my articles about politics in Memphis to help them better ruin .. I mean, run their countries?

I am the manager of bill and exchange at the foreign remittance department BANK OF AFRICAN (BOA).I am writing to seek your interest over a transaction. In my department we discovered an abandoned sum of $15m US dollars (FIFTEEN MILLION US DOLLARS) in an account that belongs to one of our foreign customer,known as Dr George Brumley Jr, 68, and his wife, Jean, 67.Who died along with his entire family in Monday, July 21, 2003,in plane crash with Atlanta airline.visit the


Ah, the old Dr Brunley Jr ploy, eh? Yes, I have heard of this, of course, and I know all about the tragic circumstances surround his death. Didn't his beloved shitzu die with him? How terrible. And all that money that he mysteriously kept in an African bank for some odd reason and which the corrupt leaders there have somehow failed to grab at the first opportunity, too. How tragic. How unusual.

Since we got information about his death, we have been expecting his next of kin to come over and claim his money because we cannot release it unless somebody applies for it as next of kin or relation to the deceased as indicated in our banking guidelines but unfortunately we learnt that all his supposed next of kin or relation died alongside with him at the plane crash leaving nobody behind for the claim.

As it happens, I know of a woman who claims to be related to him! How fortunate for us both. Her name is Mary Winkler and she lives just over the hill from me. Currently she is staying at a women's country club resort, but she is expected to be home again in about 2 months or so. They're having a parade in her honor. Murder is such a minor offense, you know, and it was really just an unfortunate accident that never would have occurred at all if she hadn't been caught kiting checks with Regions bank while working with some African gentlement such as yourself in an effort to rescue millions of dollars that were left in just these very sort of circumstances. She is helpful and caring like that, they tell me, and is likely who you need to talk to. I'm sure she'll be out and on Oprah any day now and you can simply reach her that way. Oprah is very active in Africa, building schools there for girls only, because as we all know, boys are born knowing how to read and write already and thus don't need any education. Hey, alternatively, you could use that money to build schools for those boys! What do you think about that?

It is therefore upon this discovery that I decided to make this business proposal to you and release the money to you as the next of kin or relation to the deceased for safety and subsequent disbursement since nobody is coming for it and we dont want this money to go into the Bank treasury as unclaimed Fund.

How very thoughtful of you. Are you saying that you believe I am the next of kin, or that you believe I am greedy enough to lie and say that I am? I really think you should just call Mary. She knows far more about greed and lying than I do.

The Banking law and guideline here stipulates that if such money remained unclaimed after six years, the money will be transferred into the Bank treasury as unclaimed fund. The request of foreigner as next of kin in this business is occasioned by the fact that the customer was a foreigner and a Burkinabe cannot stand as next of kin to a foreigner. I agree that 35% of this money will be for you as foreign partner, in respect to the provision of a foreign account, 5% will be set aside for expenses incurred during the business and 60% would be for me and my family.

Ah, my cut is 35%, eh? I see. That sounds like a good deal. But I still think Mary Winkler is more the sort of person you are looking for. Perhaps I could put you in touch with one of her unscrupulous attorneys and they can come up with some story which explains how she is related to this dead doctor or his wife and is thus the "real victim" in this tragedy. I'm quite sure the whole thing would be considered perfectly legal by the time they got through with it.

There after I will visit your country for disbursement according to the percentages indicated. Therefore to enable the immediate transfer of this fund to you as arranged, you must apply first to the bank as relations or next of kin of the deceased indicating your bank name, your bank account number, your private telephone and fax number for easy and effective communication and location where in the money will be remitted .

You know, I used to work for a very large bank, one which routinely lost people's money and even entire accounts at times. Perhaps it would be better if you simpy sent me a cashier's check instead?

Upon receipt of your reply, I will send to you by fax or email the text of the application. I will not fail to bring to your notice that this transaction is hitch free and that you should not entertain any atom of fear as all required arrangements have been made for the transfer,You should contact me immediately as soon as you receive this letter and also call me on phone for more directives.Contact

Tele-Phone:00226 78 01 6778

Hitch free and not an atom of fear, eh? Ah, how can I possibly resist? Well of course I cannot, so you send that cashier's check right on over and I'll be waiting. Okie dokie?

Hopeing to hear from you immediately.

Your's faithfully,


Show me the money!
Memphis Steve

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Memphipedia: Sonofabitch

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Paternity Surprises?

Your real daddy

From the Wall Street Journal: "As genetic testing has become more common, so has an uncomfortable side effect: paternity surprises. Genetics students are commonly taught that 5% to 15% of the men on birth certificates aren't the biological fathers of their children. The rate of nonpaternity can vary from community to community. The Sorenson Genealogy Foundation in Salt Lake City found that the nonpaternity (PC-speak for "bitch done lied") rate from a sample of father-son pairs among its' 100,000 volunteers is less than 2%. At the other extreme, an unpublished study of blood groups in a British town found that around 30% of the town's husbands weren't the fathers of their children. While geneticists conducting large population studies tend to keep the news to themselves, genetic counselors, who work with parents of children with birth defects, generally inform the couple.

In such cases, most counselors tell the mother, but not the father."

OK, let's go back to that last part again. The bitch cheated on the husband, which she damned well knows already. So they tell her, but not him, that he isn't the father. She already knows, but he needs to know. And he's usually the one paying for the tests in the first place. So why do they tell her? And what possible justification can they offer, however feeble and pathetic it may be, for not telling him?

your real daddy
Momma when daddy's not around

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More Nude Email

nude golf enthusiast

Subject: Nude greetings
Date: Tue, 26 Jun 2007 16:17:04 -0400

Hello Steve,

I ran across your nude Memphis blog when I was searching to see if there were any nude recreation areas, etc. around Memphis. I will be in Memphis on business late July, and was thinking of coming a couple of days early if there were any nude opportunities around there. So is there anything? Official or unofficial places where people just go to strip down and enjoy the weather, along rivers or for nude hiking, etc.? Any help or suggestions you can give me would be greatly appreciated!



Subject: Re: Nude greetings
Date: Tue, 26 Jun 2007 16:17:04 -0400

Howdy Scott,

Great to hear from a fellow nudist! Are there any nude opportunities here in Memphis?! You betcha! And what great timing on your part to ask me now! As it happens, this Fourth of July weekend, there is an all-nude motorcycle rally down on Beale Street. All the bikers will be there, and all will be as nude as they want to be. Most years, everyone just strips down before crossing into the city and rides all the way through Memphis straight to Beale Street in the buff. That's what I recommend you do. It's the only way to truly experience Nude Memphis as it was meant to be. Trust me on this one, Scott, riding the I240 loop around Memphis in the nude on the back of a big old Harley is like nothing else. And if you make it all the way to Beale Street, there will be a huge crowd of fellow enthusiasts waiting to greet you. I recommend you stay at the Madison, if you can afford it, or the Peabody. Saturday night is Nude Night on the rooftop of the Peabody, so if you get out of jail in time, head on up there for a naked partying good time! I'll be there, waiting to greet you and buy you a beer.

Nude Memphis Steve

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Random Ramblings and Rome

running with scissors

ROME (Reuters) - A 22-year-old American man was arrested on Sunday after an early morning naked bath in the historic Barcaccia fountain at the foot of Rome's Spanish Steps, an Italian news agency reported.

Doug? Doug, is that you?

I guess dude gave up on finding nude painters in Memphis and headed for parts unknown. Ah well, good luck with that.

I had weird dreams last night. There was a lot of activity and I'm trying hard to sort it all out in my head.

I started off in a college classroom. The teacher was telling us that it is official policy that we must all say "women and men" from now on and never, ever say "men and women" or put anything masculine first or else we'd be expelled for failing to support the war on males and possibly even charged with a hate crime. I informed her that I would be suing for harassment and discrimination. She informed me that males were no longer allowed in colleges and that I was only there because of my employer. Then I looked around and saw that I was, indeed, the only male in class.

I left the classroom to go find my lawyer and get busy suing, but ended up lost in a maze of hallways and people. While I was originally at the college, whatever college it was, I gradually wandered around the hallways, completely lost, until I was suddenly at work.

Some woman came up to me and was asking me about a project I was apparently leading. People were racing by everywhere. Then another woman in a pantsuit came up and grabbed me and said we had to get to some meeting. I apparently knew what the meeting was for because I went with her. I began to figure out that I worked for some weird variation of the Big Alabama Bank, which I actually did once work for. We were in Birmingham and I apparently had been transferred there permanently, working for this woman in the pantsuit on some project that made people walk fast. I never did find my meeting. The woman in the pantsuit disappeared through a door which led nowhere when I used it.

Funny, because that's how it really does work at the Big Alabama Bank. That's why I'm not there anymore. That's probably why, after dreaming about colleges not allowing males, I began to dream about working for them.

Anyway, I couldn't find my meeting and the work day ended. Everyone was racing for the parking garage. It was raining. I got to my car, somehow, and headed out into Birmingham rush hour traffic. If you've never experienced Birmingham rush hour traffic, it is not fun. Think rednecks and gang bangers all merging into a volatile mix with corrupt bankers in BMWs and Lexus SUVs and you've got Birmingham at rush hour.

I made my way to some hotel off the main highway. Someone I knew was staying there, but I can't recall who it was. Several of my old associates from my hometown were there, hanging out in the parking lot leaning on their musclecars and talking. My brother was even there.

We ended up cruising around, at 2 a.m., through now completely deserted, rain-soaked streets, driving like maniacs and going nowhere as fast as we could. We were piled into 2 cars and skidding around downtown. Apparently there was some urgency to our trip, which I understood then, but can't remember now, so we drove fast and hard. We arrived at a black woman's house. A black guy got out of one of the cars to meet her. I knew who he was, and I knew who she was, and I knew why we had to get there so fast, but for the life of me, I can't remember anything now. I just remember the feeling of being out at 2 a.m. cruising. It felt like high school or college again. Only we were all older now. And yet still, after all these years, nothing was any better than it had been, and we were just passing the time to keep our minds off of all the things that were bothering us, the overwhelming things we couldn't control and didn't want to talk about. So we talked about cars and drank beer and drove fast in the rain, laughing at stupid things and telling old jokes, pretending that tomorrow would somehow miraculously be better than all the days before it.

And then I woke up.
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Because I Am An Ass

short bus self-esteem

I am so very sorry. I don't know why I do this every single time. First I asked you how things were in Georgia, all the while knowing you are in Florida. That was a few months ago, but I haven't forgotten.

Then I couldn't find your blog, even though it's in my own blogroll and I do read it, although not as regularly as I thought, apparently.

That's when I completely and totally blanked about the biggest thing in your life for the entire past freakin' year.

"Divorce? What divorce?"

And to add to all my sins, I mentioned that other guy. And that was so very recent.

I know you said it didn't matter. You said you were only joking about being upset. But clearly I took you from happy and bright to angry and hurt in 2 seconds flat. Good Lord, I work fast.

Because I am a stupid ass.

I have been so tired lately. I can't seem to keep up with anything or anyone. I can't keep up with my own life, let alone all the people around me. I recently asked a coworker a completely stupid question about his new house. It wasn't his house. It was another coworker's house. He just looked at me like I was on crack. "What are you talking about?"

"Um, clearly I have no idea."

I know this whole house-hunting thing has worn on me. It's been three years of hunting. And sure as hell, all the packing of boxes isn't letting me rest any when I get home. But that's not it.

My new workouts don't seem to be making me anything but tired. But that's not it, either. I have always worked out, not that anyone could tell, but I have never felt like this.

My job is all new people and a whole new language, but I don't know if that's it or not. I don't think so. The trip to Texas was great, but it wore me down just a little bit more. And it wasn't the traveling to Texas that made me tired. It was the coming back to Memphis. I felt a weight on my shoulders the minute the plane began to take off. And oh, when we crossed that damn river into the steaming air above the city, I felt like screaming, "Nooooooooooooooo." It was like crossing the river Styx.

I wake up feeling like I haven't even been to bed. It's every day now. It's week after week of waking up with my head on the floor and just dragging myself into the shower thinking, "what is it all for and where am I going? Who shot me while I was in bed? Did I die in my sleep and just forget to walk into the light?"

There is no coffee strong enough to revive this. There is no exercise strenuous enough to muscle it away. There is no overpriced workout supplement loaded with enough protein or creatine or Nitric oxide perpetual pump you up, you girlie man with flabby abs, to make this fatigue finally end.

And I don't even know just exactly what it is that is wrong. But I know that I added to your pain, as if you needed any more of that. And for that, I am so very sorry.

My name is Memphis. I am not a gay webcam nudist, but I am apparently an ass.
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Excuse Me, Nurse?

nurse with patient

A male patient is lying in bed in the hospital, wearing an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, still heavily sedated from a difficult four hour, surgical procedure. A young student nurse appears to give him a partial sponge bath.

Nurse", he mumbles, from behind the mask. "Are my testicles black?"

Embarrassed, the young nurse replies "I don't know, Sir. I'm only here to wash your upper body and feet."

He struggles to ask again, "Nurse, are my testicles black?"

Concerned that he may elevate his vitals from worry about his testicles, she overcomes her embarrassment and sheepishly pulls back the covers.

She raises his gown, holds his penis in one hand and his testicles in the other, lifting and moving them around.

Then, she takes a close look and says, "There's nothing wrong with them, Sir !!"

The man pulls off his oxygen mask, smiles at her and says very slowly,

"Thank you very much. That was wonderful, but listen very, very closely ......

A r e - m y - t e s t - r e s u l t s - b a c k ? "

* This joke brought to you courtesy of Amber

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Doug - aka Ryan - Another Blogger's Response

Doug - aka Ryan - in hot pursuit

On 6/22/07, Amber wrote:

Steve, I'm a nudist in Memphis.

Do you like that mental picture? Huh? Do ya, do ya, buddy?!

I'm wondering if you happen to know any house painters?

So, do I get an award or something for THE Worst Pick Up Line, Ever?

I'm needing to get a bid.

Do you charge? ... You know... for like, sexual favors and shit? I don't know if I want to go with the "lowest bidder" on this one.

I hired a guy and he turned out to be terrible.

Dude showed up thinking he was there to actually PAINT MY HOUSE and got all freaked out just because I was laying on my bed. So what if the only thing I was wearing was a leapord G-string! What? Like that's weird or something?

I found him on Craigslist.

FUCK! Isn't Craiglist supposed to be a "sure thing"?! Somebody lied...

Nice to meet someone like you who enjoys being nude like me,

Let's meet up, say... at my house, so, you know, you could paint! Yeah, paint. And we could be nude together!

I use yahoo messenger to chat, if you do. Also have a webcam. Not looking for sex.

It's not sex if you're wanking off for someone's viewing pleasure, is it? But hey, I'm totally open to sex. I mean... if you are...


(You can call me Pimp Daddy!)

One Sick Bitch,
Amber :)
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Um, I Think You May Have Misunderstood

aka: Ryan

From: "Ryan" (
Subject: Naked Steve in Memphis
Date: Fri, 22 Jun 2007 08:44:27 -0500

Steve, I'm a nudist in Memphis. I'm wondering if you happen to know any house painters? I'm needing to get a bid. I hired a guy and he turned out to be terrible. I found him on Craigslist. Nice to meet someone like you who enjoys being nude like me,

I use ### messenger to chat, if you do. Also have a webcam. Not looking for sex.


To: "Ryan"
Subject: Naked Steve in Memphis
Date: Fri, 22 Jun 2007 08:54:23 -0500


I'm relieved that you aren't looking for sex because, to be perfectly honest, you've caused my penis to retract into my abdomen with this email and I'm still waiting for it to come back out again. In addition, the pucker factor for this very unusual letter was a whopping 10. So now I can't pee or poop, and it's all from the images in my mind which you have put there.

I noted that you asked about painters, and I, being incredibly naive at times, was actually going to recommend the guys who painted my ceilings. But then I examined the search terms that led you quite unexpectedly to my blog and I see that what you are, in fact, wanting is a team of men to paint your house in the nude. I assume it's men you want, as you invited me to view you nude via your webcam after looking at my profile picture.

I'll be blunt, Doug. I don't know any nude painters, although I have known several painters with severe enough drug and alcohol problems that I have little doubt I could indeed find you someone high enough to take the job. I can't vouch for the quality of the work, as I tend not to hire addicts, but I suspect that the painting itself isn't what you're after. Correct me if I'm wrong. I don't mean to make assumptions here.

I am flattered by your offer to talk online with me while we are both nude, but I feel I must inform you that I am not actually a nudist and am not even the person in the picture on my profile. Don't feel bad. This misunderstanding isn't your fault. You are by no means the first person to mistakenly conclude that the photo of a naked man on a toilet by the roadside is a photo of me. Although I honestly don't think the guy in the photo is a nudist either. I think he's just a smartass, like me, and saw an opportunity to create a really funny photo. Given the chance, I would do the same, but only because it's funny.

Also, to be frank, the only nude video or images I have ever requested or even sometimes gleefully received during online chats came from women. But they were really hot women and I think they just enjoyed how ridiculously excited I became. Women seem to enjoy how easily they can excite a man, and I am a pretty excitable man. It's just that women are the only ones who can do it for me.

So anyway, I'm afraid you have mistaken me for someone else. I am not a nudist and I am strictly heterosexual. It's rare for anyone to ask to see my naked bits and pieces, so I am truly flattered. But even so, I only ever beg and plead for women to get nude in IM sessions, and they rarely do.

I'll tell you my secret, though - I don't yell, I don't tell, and I'm always grateful as hell, but in all of that I am straight. As such, I have no interest or desire to see naked men, either via webcam or otherwise. But thank you for the offer. And if I ever encounter any nude painters I will send them your way. And if you ever encounter any nude women, please send them my way.

Not-Actually-Nude Memphis Steve

Location Continent : North America
Country : United States
State : Tennessee
City : Memphis
Time of Visit Jun 22 2007 8:40:43 am
Last Page View Jun 22 2007 8:42:19 am
Search Engine
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As many of you know, I originally did not blog any of this. Instead, I forwarded the letter to some of you and simply said, "WTF?"

In response to my mass emailing, one of you replied not only to me, but to "Ryan" as well, entirely by accident. And now he's apparently emailing you. I only mention this because I think it's funny as hell.


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This morning on the way to work I rear-ended a car at a red light while not really paying attention.

Anyway the fella who was driving got out. And he was a dwarf! He said, "I'm not happy"

I said, "Well, which one are you then?"

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Wordless Wednesday - Send In The Clowns

laugh clown laugh

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Search Terms Leading To Me

OK, this is too funny. Someone in Lille, France just found my blog by doing the following Google search:

found me

Yeah, you just keep laughing. It could happen to you.

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Father's Day and he is gone

Father's Day came and went and instead of blogging about my father, I blogged about my concerns with the infamous Taser. It was burning on my mind and would not leave me alone. But I feel bad that I wrote about that instead of about my dad.

I guess part of me didn't want to concentrate on my dad on Fathers Day. I didn't want to think about why I didn't need to send a card this year and why I wasn't driving down to my hometown to see him. I didn't want to think about why I have been dreaming about him walking along talking to me night after night. I didn't want to be this upset.

My dad was never what anyone would call the sensitive type. He was raised in circumstances and fought through situations that required a hardened and uncaring outlook in order to make it to the other side. He was in both the Air Force and the Army. He graduated from West Point. He worked 30 years for a branch of the U.S. Government whose only purpose was to create weapons to defend against annihilation by the Soviet Union. He took his job very seriously. He had a top secret clearance. He would never talk about what he did, even after he retired, and even when he had to bring work home and struggle with it right in front of us.

At one point I recall him buying a bunch of model airplanes and flying them all over the yard. His sudden interest in these noisy plastic planes was fun for me, but he never seemed interested in playing with me or my brother while he flew them. And then, just as suddenly as his interest in those planes arose, it was gone again, and the planes were thrown into a box in his workshop. I had no idea at the time that he was working on the very first design for an unmanned drone spyplane for the Army. He didn't care at all about flying model planes.

I do recall him complaining about how they had a perfectly good design for a plane with a camera that would allow the infantry to fly over the enemy's position and see what they had and how they were forming without risking any men. He said the damn generals wanted to "gold plate" the plane until it was so expensive that our men would never get it. And as it turned out, that is exactly what happened. Today those planes are in production, but they would have been available a good ten years sooner if not for all the extras that the generals tried to load onto them, extras which they have gotten in many cases, but in a very different and much larger version.

Dad was the sort of man who would laugh at other men's pain. He felt that compassion was for the weak and was something that needed to be beaten out of a man. He loved a cold heart. It wasn't until after he had retired and gone back to church that his views on this began to change. It had not really occurred to me that my own father had had no use for God all those years when I was growing up. And it hadn't occurred to me that perhaps God was the reason that I was so different from him.

My father was a smart man. My middle sister's husband is probably the most intelligent person to ever become a part of our family. He once said that my dad could teach himself absolutely anything just from reading it in a book. That was true. Dad read more books than any human being I have ever known. He would read ANYTHING. He had stacks of old used textbooks that he had read cover to cover just for the hell of it.

Despite my dad's high intelligence and wide spectrum of knowledge, still he had some wild ideas about things. He once tried to fill his own cavity when a filling came out, simply because he hated going to the doctor or dentist for any reason. He was acutely aware of the statistics for people dying in hospitals and such. He could justify his avoidance, but couldn't make the extremes he would often go to seem less outrageous even so.

My dad did alright with money. He was never hurting. Yet he took great pleasure in fixing things in odd ways, just to make them last longer than any human being might ever want them to. He would cut out pieces of rubber from old innertubes and attach them to the bottoms of his worn out tennis shoes. He had done this with his leather dress shoes for many years and apparently saw no reason to stop doing it when he retired and switched to garage sale tennis shoes, for which I'm sure he had paid no more than $5 per pair. It wasn't about the money. It was about the challenge.

Unfortunately, that challenge sometimes backfired, as it did with the shoes. His soles would flip and flop around when the metal tacks came loose from the rubber pieces he had used. Several times he tripped from the flapping rubber patches. One time he fell down a large concrete step and injured his knee.

I know he tore some cartilage in that knee when he fell, but I couldn't convince him to go to an orthopedic surgeon to have it looked at. He limped for several years without ever allowing any doctor to find out for sure what was wrong.

Despite his pain and limping, he went for long, rapid walks every day, except when his knee was hurting him too much. On his very last walk, a neighbor saw him holding his leg tightly and grimacing as he raced by. The neighbor yelled to my dad, but my dad didn't respond and kept racing towards home. Later that afternoon, my mother found Dad lying in the floor of the downstairs bathroom, barely concious. He had thrown up in the tub and fallen between the tub and toilet. He was in an awkward, mangled position and had been there for a long time.

At the hospital they diagnosed him as having had a stroke. A bloodclot had gone to his brain. They did surgery and it appeared that he might recover. By the time I arrived from Memphis, he was in the ICU and didn't look well. Still, my dad had been an indestructible man all my life and not one of us ever doubted that he would recover. He was a lifetime weightlifter and would have no trouble with all the rehab exercises. He was always stronger than anyone else. He could not possibly die.

It appears, although we have no way of knowing for certain, that his knee injury finally caused a blood clot to form and go to his brain, lodging at the base, which is a most deadly place for it to be. The doctors likely knew that he would not recover, but they couldn't tell us that.

Dad was recovering at a rapid pace when he suddenly died in his hospital bed one night. We were all taken completely by surprise.

Since then my life has changed. Although I did not rely on him for money or shelter or food or any of the things he gave me when I was a child, suddenly losing him made me realize that for as long as he was there I would always feel as if I had a safety net. I had a place to fall if disaster ever struck. And of course, whenever I needed advice that no one else could give, I would ask him. I didn't always take his advice, but I listened to it even so.

This past week I have been dreaming about my dad again. He is walking along with me while I'm working. He's talking to me, yet I can't hear what he's saying. It doesn't bother me that I can't hear him. It just feels good to know that he's there.

And then I wake up.

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Stolen Meme

I wasn't tagged for this. I just flat out stole it. From a former cop, even.

A - Attached or Single?
It's attached, but it's not a single. It's a 2-car, plus storage space.

B - Best Friend:
I don't know, but if you ever show up at my house wearing kneepads and a smile then perhaps you can be my best friend.

C- Cake or Pie:
What kind of cake or pie? Some cakes are better than pie, and some pies are better than cake. For example, I'll bet Carmen Electra's pie is fabulous.

D- Drink of Choice:
I do believe at this moment it is Shiner Bock, hand-delivered from Dallas, Texas, by the Queen herself.

E - Essential Item:
I used to answer this question with "athletic cup", but as I later discovered in a soccer game which ended with me in the ER, it doesn't help all that much. In fact, it was pretty much useless. So now I say, powerful pain killers.

F - Favorite Color:

G - Gummi Bears or Worms?
Bears. I once traumatized the future Miss Alabama, Heather Howard, with gummy worms. She thought less of me after that and I was sad.

H - Hometown:
The Rocket City

I - Indulgence:
Um, blogging?

J - January or February?
January, 'cause lots and lots of bad things have happened to me in February. Not that January has been a picnic.

K - Kids:
If I could find a wife who loved me enough, I might

L - Life is incomplete without:
Sperm. See, 'cause you'd just have all these eggs and no sperm and then there'd be no fertilization. It's funnier if I don't have to explain it.

M - Marriage Date:
You shouldn't date during your own marriage. That's just rude.

N - Number of Siblings:

O - Oranges or Apples?
I ate one of each at supper tonight. Do I win a prize or anything?

P - Phobias/Fears:
Life not getting any better than this

Q - Favorite Quote:
"I once shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got into my pajamas I'll never know." - Groucho Marx

R - Reasons to smile:
Shiner Bock

S - Season:

T- Tag Three:
Kentucky Fried Girl

U - Unknown Fact About Me:
I was Captain Vader of Yendor on LambdaMoo. Never heard of LamdaMoo? Don't worry about it.

V - Vegetarian or Oppressor of Animals?
There's no chance to oppress them. They're already disassembled and wrapped in plastic by the time I get to them.

W - Worst Habit:
Caring about issues I can't do shit about.

X - X-rays or Ultrasounds?
Ultrasounds 'cause they don't give you no cancer, but they is kinda messy 'n all that.

Y - Your Favorite Foods:
Pizza, Barbecue pork plate, Rocky Road ice cream, um ... I don't know.

Z- Zodiac:
Aquarius - the soggy dude.
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It's Fathers Day at Taser International

Today is Fathers Day, a day to celebrate fathers and show gratitude for their unique contribution.

I find it ironic that our nation, which has done so much to castrate its' males and eliminate its' fathers from every household, still has a single day each year in which it smiles and says "thanks dads." How dramatically different this day is from the other 364 days of the year!

Many nations, those whose governments have signed CEDAW, a United Nations treaty written by billionaire American feminists, have had to fight to keep Fathers Day at all. The UN feminists say it demeans women and encourages their oppression. They want Fathers Day castrated and killed.

Just this past year the United States marked the rise of the single mother household to outnumbering intact, father-including households, by having a huge celebration in the media. 40 plus years of War on Men and Families has finally achieved this milestone, one of the primary goals of feminism, as plainly and repeatedly stated in women's studies books going all the way back to the 1960s.

My father died last year near this time. I still have dreams where he is walking with me and talking. I can never seem to quite hear what he is saying, but somehow it helps to know he's there. When I wake up, of course, I remember that he's gone and will never walk and talk with me again. Perhaps this has contributed to the stressed and depressed mood I have been in lately? I don't know. I have quite a few things on my mind besides the fact that my father is gone and I am still not a father myself. There is one thing in particular that is lately bothering me and won't leave me alone. I want to write about it, but I'm not very good at expressing these kinds of thoughts. Nevertheless, I'm going to do my best here. I have to get this off my chest. Please bear with me, or if you like, skip this post completely.

If you have a father and you are planning to celebrate Fathers Day with him, do him a favor and go and see him. Don't make him come see you. If he does he may be pulled over by police for failure to wear a seatbelt or forgetting to signal a turn or something. And if he gets out of his car, or comments on the hostile attitude of the officer, or simply doesn't respond quickly enough to her orders, she is going to Taser him, firing a 2 inch long straightened fishook with a weight attached, one into his chest near his heart and the other into his groin, potentially spearing his genitals and hitting his testicles with the force of a punch, before frying those same testicles that gave you life with 50,000 volts and 18 watts of tissue-destroying electric sexual torture. If this happens, your father will scream from an agony unlike anything you can possibly imagine. He will grab his now pierced genitals with both hands before his abdominal muscles and legs are completely locked up from the electric shock. His heart will flutter instead of beating and his mouth will open wide to try in vain to draw in oxygen. No heart beat means no oxygen. It is little different in this way than a normal kick to the groin, except that the electric shock has the effect of a thousand rapid kicks in a matter of seconds. If he falls he will smash down onto the pavement with absolutely no ability to catch himself, bouncing his face on the asphalt and writhing in agony before the sexual torture temporarily ceases.

Then he will cry. He will cry an anguished, castrated, horrible cry from a pain he will remember in his nightmares and quiet flashbacks for years to come. As he does so, the officer will approach him and demand that he immediately put his hands behind his back, fully aware that because of the grave injury and overpowering agony of his testicles he is unable to do so. And so she will electrocute his genitals again, yelling at him as she does so to release his genitals and give her his hands. And he will scream and cry again, begging her for mercy. She will torture his sexual organs again and again until he is finally turned into nothing more than a limp puddle of urine and tears, at which point she will be able to pull his hands out from beneath him with little more effort than if he were dead. Then she will handcuff them. Only then will the torture stop.

The dart, stuck as much as 2 inches deep into his groin, will still need to be removed. And the pain of his injured testicles won't subside for a very long time. His legs will be almost useless, and when he is pulled to his feet, his inured testicles will feel as if they are swollen to the size of grapefruits, forcing him to walk partially bent over and with his feet wide apart, in a kind of humiliating waddle. If he is lucky, they may have a paramedic remove the dart. If not, they will simply yank it out with pliers or have him do it himself. The wound will leave a round blood stain in his underwear to remind him for years to come of what was done to him.

When you are called to come and pick up what is left of your father, you might be tempted to be angry with the police officer who sexually tortured and psychologically castrated your father. But you needn't bother. She did what she was told to do exactly how she was told to do it. The Taser doesn't give police officers much choice as to whether or not to target a man's genitals. The Taser aims for the groin area with every shot, only giving the police an indication of where the upper dart is going to pierce, but not the lower dart, not the dart that Taser International has carefully calibrated to shoot below the belt as often as possible so as to maximize the utter devastation of its' victims, physically and psychologically.

Nothing subjugates a man like the pain of electric castration. That's why terrorists and tyrants the world over have relied upon it so often and so heavily, although they usually use a car battery attached to jumper cables instead of a $1000 Taser Gun. No matter though, because the effects on the victims are virtually identical.

Nothing sells weapons faster than a license to utterly destroy a target without any legal ramifications whatever. Oddly, our Bill of Rights' prohibition against cruel and unusual punishment hasn't been applied to Taser International and its' products. International laws prohibiting genital torture and the use of electric shock to genitals are also oddly not being applied to Taser's products. The CEO of Taser International is a very rich man. And I wonder if he, who has virtually castrated so many American fathers over the years with his constantly evolving "electric rifle", has any children who celebrate him on this day? Wouldn't that be ironic?

When I was only 11 years old, I was sent to a school run by lesbian feminists. They made no secret of their hatred for us boys. In the middle of the school year, they took all the girls off to an assembly. The boys were simply taken off to be held in silence while we waited for the girls to be finished. When we were finally all brought back together, they told us that the girls had been taught various ways to attack our testicles. They were going to kick our testicles, knee our testicles, grab and twist and crush and rip off our testicles, and even stab our testicles using their pens and pencils. They told the girls to do this to us "any time" they felt "angry for any reason."

For ANY reason.

It didn't matter if they weren't angry with us. It didn't matter if we had nothing to do with their anger at all. They had been taught that sexually assaulting and even mutilating us boys was their right, and an acceptable outlet for any anger they may feel at any time. Thus, we were threatened with perpetual, random castration at all times.

We were further informed that we were not permitted to fight back or protect ourselves in any way. If we tried, the teachers would step in and restrain us, enabling the girls to continue their sexual attack if they so desired.

As you might expect, I was the first boy to leap from my seat and shout in protest. "That's not right," I screamed. "If they hurt us there then we'll hurt them right back in the same way."

"No, you won't," my teacher replied angrily. "It's OK for girls to hurt boys there. Boys aren't sensitive. Boys don't have feelings like girls do. Girls ARE sensitive." She paused and then screamed, "and besides, girls have to have babies!"

The other boys began screaming at her as well. She ignored them. Finally, I said, "if they're going to do this to us, I guarantee you, boys will start bringing guns to school to protect themselves. I guarantee it!"

She laughed and assured me that this would never happen.

Ten years later they had to install a metal detector at my school. Boys nationwide were carrying guns and school shootings were occurring throughout the country.

While I was attending this very feminist, very misandric school, an 11 year old girl kneed an 11 year old boy half her size in the groin as they were both standing in front of the classroom. She kneed him as hard as she could, just as the teachers had taught. The boy fell to the floor screaming. As he lay crying, gasping for air, and grasping his wounded testicles with both hands, his now bruised bladder opened up and dumped its' entire contents into his pants. The urine then began to leak from his pants out onto the floor. Ultimately, the little boy ended up crying his eyes out in front of every boy and girl he knew, while lying face down in a pool of his own urine. The girl then turned to the teacher and said that she just wanted to see if it really worked like the teachers said it did. The teacher smiled.

The girl was not punished. The boy was never apologized to. He had done absolutely nothing to the girl or anyone else. The teacher finally carried the boy to the school clinic and had the boy's mother come and take him home because he stank of urine. She showed absolutely no compassion whatever despite his streaming tears and obvious overwhelming sexual humiliation and trauma.

Today the authorities tell us that it is of no consequence for anyone, especially the police, to shoot a man's genitals with a Taser and electrocute them. They lie and say that it has no lasting effect, assuming, as my lesbian feminist teachers did, that males have no feelings beyond those in their pants. They insist that it is not cruel and unusual, and that the police have a legitimate need to use sexual torture and terror in order to control and restrain average men.

I wonder, what will they do to us tomorrow? Where will this end? Will we become another Rome, where castration is used as a punishment for virtually everything, just to please the feminists and appease this ever growing culture of anti-male hate?

* Apparently, I'm in a deep funk. I have seen more videos this month of men being tasered in the groin than I ever knew existed. Actually, I had no idea this was going on at all before I saw a police video on SpikeTV of them tasering a man in the genitals 4 times in a row. Apparently I was the only one who didn't know. Men all over the internet appear to already know about it, and they are somewhat terrified. One man was apparently so unable to cope with the fear that he decided to Taser himself in the groin, under circumstances that he could control, just to try to determine if it was truly as horrible as it appears or if perhaps his fears were overblown. Unfortunately for him, he appears to have found that it actually hurts worse than it appears.

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Hi Neighbor - A Texan Visits Memphis

Well, heidie ho, neighbor, it was good of you to come all the way to Memphis! I know them Ford boys done did prolly grope them some hottie and you, being a liberal white girl, didn't mind it a bit. :)

Kami meets 2 Ford brothers after being in town for only 5 seconds

(Photo stolen Memphis-style from Kami's private collection)

I told you that you'd meet some Fords. And I told you so much more, everything you could ever want to know about Memphis politics but were afraid to ask. And they told you quite a bit, too. And I know I pissed you off while you were in Arkansas in the Bill Clinton Library and I texted you to ask if they hand out knee pads to every woman who visits. But it was damned funny and you know it.

Who would have guessed that the band I walked past as I was leaving your hotel and they were just arriving, the band with the funky woman who was sitting in the floor locked out of the room later that night, was the Black Crowes? I had no idea. I just knew they were obviously a rock band of some kind, but I was distracted.

Beale Street during Harleymania was fun. Too bad we weren't thinking "Fug Tuesday" or whatever, 'cause Memphis has just so much fug, and a lot of it finds its' way down to Beale street whenever there's a party going on. There's always some hotness mixed in there amongst the fuglies, but just enough to make it bearable, I guess.

Kami the biker babe on Beale Street

Sorry we missed the photo opportunity of Mr. Mullet Man. I still think it would've been funny to post his picture and say it was me. So many women would be a-pukin' and a-wretchin'. Ah well, my rep is probably better off because of it, but there's nothing like a good joke to stir things up. And that dude was a good joke if ever there was one.

Your friend, Miss Memphis, is cool. I'd call her "Memphis" like you all do, but that would just be too confusing. And I'd call her Mrs. Memphis, but that would make it seem like she was married to me. And Ms. Memphis just sounds like an angry lesbian, so that's right out. Anyway, you were right, she's got charisma out the rear (notice how I didn't say anything about how you told me to check out her ass because you wish yours looked like hers.) I wish I'd met her before she got all packed up and ready to move East to better places and larger spaces. She's fun. But at least now I know that when I see them hits on my blog from a certain cracker subdivision outside of Memphis just who it is.

Hi Miss Memphis, it was good to meet you, too!

Miss Memphis and Mrs K
rejecting shiny-shirted men at the Peabody Rooftop Party

That poor guy with the chest hair and the shiny shirt sure did lose out when he lost her, but then he doesn't really know what happened, does he? Dude ended up with The Librarian by the end of the night, and that despite there being so much tail to choose from up there on the roof of the Peabody. Oh well, better her than the implant lady who loves the tanning bed, I guess.

Tell Miss Memphis that I said "thanks for the beer." And thank you, Kami, for the second beer and all the beers the night before. And for the case of Shiner, especially! I can't believe you brought that all the way from Texas just for me. You beered me good!

I don't mean to harass you about being a liberal white girl in sandals going to the Civil Rights Museum to feel all guilty and apologize for things you never did, but it's just so easy and so cliche. And so much fun.

Your next stop in New Orleans, that Country Fried Girl, is emailing me, while you're walking around looking at the place where Martin Luther King was shot, and Jesse Jackson began, and feeling all bad about your honkey self. We both feel fine. See what you're missing out on? And after your guilt-trip, you have to drive all the way through Mississippi just to get down to where she is, in the swamps of Louisianna. I hope you packed several bottles of OFF! 'cause girl, you're gonna need it down there. It's like Houston on steroids.

I broke my own rule. And just for you. I had always sworn I would never meet in person anyone that I only knew online. Tammy and Michelle don't love me 'cause when I was in Texas, they didn't come. And I didn't realize that Tammi and Melanie and Officer Matt were close by, too, or I would've invited them as well. I guess if I'm going to break my rule I might as well have done it big-time. But maybe next time I'm in town, we can have us a big party. In the meantime, I hope the party on Beale and the party on the roof of the Peabody entertained you. I know I had fun. I didn't get much sleep, but I had fun, by God.

Ya'll come back now, ya'hear?

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Public Service Announcement - TP Carjackers

Please be aware of this possible car jacking scheme:




!!! NEW NEW NEW !!!

!!! IMPROVED !!!

Heads up everyone. Please, keep this circulating...

You walk across the parking lot, unlock your car and get inside.
You start the engine and shift into Reverse.

When you look into the rearview mirror to back out of your parking space, you notice a piece of toilet paper stuck to the middle of the rear window.

So, you Shift into Park, unlock your doors, and jump out of your car to retrieve that precious strand of toilet paper, because you just never know when you might need it.

When you reach the back of your car, that is when the car jacker magically appears out of nowhere, jumps into your car and takes off. They practically mow you down as they speed off in your car.

And guess what, ladies? I'll bet your purse is still in the car!

So, now, the carjacker has your car, your cell phone with those embarrassing nude photos you took of yourself while drinking one night, your tampons, your coupons, your credit cards, your birth control, your hemorrhoid cream, your prescription for that embarassing "condition" you picked up from that guy with the shiny shirt and the chest hair poking out last Thursday night after a few too many drinks and a poor decision, your home address, your money, and your keys.

Your home, your body, and your whole identity is now compromised!

And you just know those nude photos will be all over the internet before the day is out, complete with your name and phone number attached just to totally humiliate you.


If you see a piece of toilet paper stuck to your back window, resist the temptation to retrieve it and just drive away.

Buy a whole roll to keep with you later if you need it.

And, be thankful that you read this e-mail.

I hope you will forward this to friends and family, especially to women, because men don't stop and get out for stuff like this. Seriously, we'll just let that toilet paper flap in the wind as we drive for miles and miles if it doesn't blow off. We don't care.

A purse contains all kinds of personal information and identification documents, as well as those precious nude photos in your cell phone, and you certainly do NOT want this to fall into the wrong hands. If you really want to keep those photos in a safe place, send them to me and I'll archive them for you. Seriously, I'd do that. It's because I care.

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I Have A Dream

Take this quiz at

I had a dream the other night. I don't recall what all it was about, but I recall walking down my driveway, out to my car, back and forth to the house and the car, and my father was walking with me and talking to me.

I can't remember a word he said. I can't even hear his voice anymore. Every time I dream this now I wake up and can't recall a word. It's good to see him again, but still strange that I can't hear him speaking or recall the things he was trying to tell me. I always listened to the things my father said, even if I didn't always agree. Now I can't seem to hear him.

Last night I dreamed I was scuba diving. I can't remember why. Somehow it seems that it was work-related, because I don't recall it being a vacation and there sure weren't any hot babes in bikinis with me. Anyway, I was swimming in and out of a sunken ship, retrieving something, I have no idea what. Sharks began to come around. They weren't attacking me, just slowly moving into the area and swimming around closer and closer. It didn't bother me until I surfaced and was preparing to get back into the boat. Once your head is above the water, you can't see where the sharks are anymore and you can't see what they're doing. There was a guy in the boat helping me and trying to watch the sharks. As he was looking down into the water at the sharks he said to me, "don't move!" But I ignored him and threw my mask into the boat before pressing myself up onto the back and jumping into the boat with it.

That was it. After that, my cat woke me up sitting outside the bedroom door meowing. She's doing this more and more now, ever since Booger Bear died. She's really lonely. She doesn't know where he is and she still searches the house for him. She seems scared, too. She saw me leave with Booger and come back without him. Since then she hasn't been bad even once, and she pays more attention to me than she does to My Wife. It's almost as if she's afraid I'm going to take her away for being bad and not bring her back. She was always the rule breaker. Now she never does anything wrong. Not one thing.

After I dealt with my cat and went back to sleep I had another dream. I was working in a gym. I know I've dreamed about this gym before, but I couldn't tell anything more than that. I was working with 3 guys and a girl and we had to pile a bunch of stuff into a Jeep and go to some sort of celebration. I can't recall what the celebration was for, but we drove that Jeep through the huge mall where this gym was located and through fields and mud and just basically went everywhere except where we were supposed to be. At one point we had to stop and stay in a hotel for the night. The next day we arrived at wherever it was we were heading. Everyone got out and got their stuff and we all went our separate ways. The job was over and we weren't going to see each other anymore.

So, after all of the activity last night, this morning I am absolutely dead tired.

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Monday Morning, Wish I Were in Australia

I don't really have anything important to say this morning, same as most every morning. My stress levels are rising, as are My Wife's. I had strange dreams all night. I dreamed someone, and I can't remember who, loaned me their 1966 Chevelle hotrod and I was using it to move. I can't imaging why I'd do that, but that was the dream. Anyway, I was moving things from my parents' house, which is scary in that it seems to indicate I may have been living at home. While I was putting stuff in the backseat and getting ready to leave, some Mexicans in a hotrodded Camaro pulled up.

I guess dreams aren't as creative as we'd like to think because both of our cars had similiar mono-colored paintjobs and the same rims. I think my car was red and theirs was blue, or something wild and revolutionary like that. Anyway, the cars were something straight off the cover of Hot Rod Magazine. Nice cars. When I pulled out to take the stuff I was moving to God knows where, I expected the Mexicans to come, too, and want to race. Generally, whatever I expect to happen when I'm dreaming does happen. But this time it didn't. They didn't follow me and we didn't race and nothing even remotely exciting happened. I was just driving around in this '66 Chevelle with stuff in the back seat. Yay! So thrilling. But it did make me think about the fact that I haven't done much of anything with my own Chevelle in a long time.

Did you know that when you buy a load of boxes to use for packing that they often come with spiders? Yes, it's true, and the spiders are free! You don't even have to pay for them. My Wife is thrilled about that.

fences make good neighbors
Fences make good neighbors

My former neighbor, Yo G, the one the police say was responsible for trying to murder me through vandalism of my vehicles for 6 straight years, the one who moved out of his parents house about a year ago for the first time, is apparently back.

The timing is interesting. But before I explain why, let me fill you in on a little background.

Several years ago, Yo G broke into another neighbor's house, the house of Tina the Yankee Nurse. He stole jewelry and things, or so I was told. Tina caught him and pressed charges. Yo G was found guilty and sentenced to 5 years in Shelby County Correctional. He served approximately 2 months before magically coming home again, without any explanation. Hmmmm.

After this odd magic trick, Yo G seemed to become much like The Fireman's son and his criminal friends, in that he was untouchable by The Law. He could do as he pleased and would not get into any trouble.

"You fucked up when you messed with me. You don't know who I am!" is how it was explained to me. But in that case, the case of The Fireman's son and his friends, it was simply their relationship with The Fireman that gave them immunity. Following that criminal period in Redneckville, the Chief and the Captain of Police were fired. Things changed. Immunity such as that seemed to be less common and supposedly some of The Fireman's son's friends and possibly the son himself went to jail, or so I was told.

You fucked up when you messed with me!

So, getting back to Yo G, he is suddenly home at his parents' house again. There was no moving van and no indication of what had occurred. He was just suddenly back.

Yo G has allegedly sold drugs for years and years. I have seen what I believe to be deals taking place right in front of me many times, although I never reported it. I did ask The Captain about it, when we talked once. His response was that they simply could not catch him. I thought this odd, as I could so easily catch him if I wanted to. I did not believe him.

Then I thought about the odd situation of his 5 year sentence which suddenly ended after 2 months. I mean, this boy was treated better than Paris Hilton. What's the deal?

Hmm, the deal. I think I'm onto something.

Last week, at Shelby Farms, a huge park on the East side of Memphis, there was a massive arrest of drug dealers and buyers. It was a huge operation, netting a large crowd of Memphis' finest party animals. They were all taken off to jail.

And then suddenly, out of nowhere, Yo G reappears, home again.

I'm not speculating on this any further. But when I was in college a cop friend of mine, whom I was supposed to follow into the Academy after I graduated, had asked me to help him catch crooks by posing as this or that. I know a little about how that game is played. I'm no expert. But I think I know how Yo G got out of jail so fast and I think I know why he is home again while so many others are in jail right now. Just sayin'.

So anyway, we are packing boxes and trying to figure out where in the world to put them. I'm looking forward to living in The Boondocks. My Wife is more excited about the idea now, too. But it is always stressful prior to being all settled in. She hates this sort of thing.

Just the other night, I suggested that we should move to Texas. She said "I don't want to move again!" But I could see that she was thinking about it.

And then, just last night, as we were getting into bed, I suggested that we should seriously look into moving to Australia. Before she could answer, I said, "no matter where you live in Australia, you are never more than 30 minutes from a beach." She liked that idea. So do I.

bondi beach sydney
Anywhere, Australia

Did you know that Australians don't know what a pickup truck is? Either that, or they were just jerking my chain.

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Relationship Questions


1) Single, Taken, or Flirty?
Flirty, but taken, and occasionally given back

2) Are you happy with where u r?
No. But if I get up and go into the next room I might be. This is an amazing house.

3) When you meet the right person, do you fall fast?
I fall all the time. I'm really clumsy.

4) Have you ever had your heart broken?
Broken heart, torn ACL, torn meniscus, bruised testicles, broken nose, sprained jaw, sprained knee, sprained ankle, sprained quadriceps, sprained hamstrings over and over again, broken tailbone, etc, etc, etc. Now, admit it. The only part you remember is the bruised testicles, isn't it? Yeah, I feel your pain. I feel your pain right here.

5) Do you believe that there are certain circumstances where cheating is okay?
It depends. If you're really drunk when she ties you up and only then do you notice the whips then I should think so. Either way there's gonna be some cryin' involved.

6) Would you ever take someone back if they cheated on you?
Depends on who with. Any girl who has been with Tommy Lee is out, as far as I'm concerned. But if it was someone lame, like David Hasselhoff, I could hold that over them FOREVER, so it might be worth it.

7) Have you talked about marriage with another person?
Sure, I was just bitching about marriage to a friend in Dallas a minute ago.

8) Do you want children?
Yes, but not children of the corn type children. And not flower children. Just the regular kind.

9)How many?
Hell, I'd take 1 at this point. Any more is a bonus.

10) Would you consider adoption?
Sure, is Jessica Alba available?

11) If someone liked you right now would you want them to tell you?
She already did. But if you'd like to as well, by all means, pour out your heart to me. Say nice things to me. Tell me I'm great.

12) Who is on your mind as you are taking this survey?
Kris, 'cause I stole it from her and I haven't talked to her in months. Hey Kris!!!!

13) Do you want someone you cant have?
Remember all those times I went on and on about Carmen Electra? Well, she's kind of weird. So maybe Shannon Elizabeth?

14) Do you believe love at first sight exists?
I believe I can fly. I believe I can touch the sky. I believe I believe. Sure, why not? But what do blind people do? Do they have love at first touch? I'd think that would be more realistic really. Think about it. Mmmmm.

15) Do you believe in celebrating anniversaries?
Do I BELIEVE in it? Sure, people do it all the time. It requires no faith. It's just a fact.

16) Do you believe that you can change someone?
With a scalpel, some suction, and some thread, I most certainly can. Would you like silicon or saline? I aim to please!

17) If you could get married anywhere, money's not an object, where would it be?
Notre Dame. The cathedral, not the college. Duh.

18) Do you have feelings for someone right now?
Well sure. I have feelings for lots of people. And if you're nice, I might let you feel me right back.

19) Have you ever wished you could have someone but you couldn't?
Um, no that NEVER happens. Women hurl themselves at my feet every time they see me. But the floors are pretty slick at my house, so maybe I should put down some carpeting? Either that or up my liability insurance.

20) Have you ever broken a heart before?
Jaw, teeth, wrist, and some ribs, yes. Heart? Not sure. I'd have to go around asking all those clumsy girls who fall at my feet, and you know, girls often lie about stuff like that. They're sneaky that way.

21) Would you ever fight somebody over your girlfriend?
Yes, and yours too. Put'em up!

22) What bad thing would you say about your ex?
She dumped me for a dork. HA HA! You lose!

Relationship Questions

Alternatively, REPOST AS:
Memphis Steve Did My Mom and She Liked It
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Friday Bits and Pieces

booked la county
Paris In The System

I realize Paris Hilton isn't what you'd call a decent person, but I do think that it is entirely possible to enjoy her suffering just a bit much.

paris cries
Britney's Mentor

Speaking of suffering, I've been playing phone tag with a doctor's office. Here's a sample:

"What do you mean they want me to make an appointment to come in to get my test results? I was in there all day yesterday and they had said they'd give me the results then. And then they said they'd call me and give me the results over the phone. I can't take off any more time from work. I was there almost the entire day."

"So you can't come in again?"

"Not any time soon, no."

"Let me see if I can get a nurse to talk to you."

Looooooooong wait --

"Hello, this is Kim. Let me look at your file here. Ummmm. Oh yes. We have some concerns and he may want to check ... blah blah blah ... and what he'd do is to insert it up through your groin ..."

"OK, stop."


"That's pretty much all I needed to hear. I don't want to do that."

"It's really not too painful. They'd give you Valium first."

"So it'd hurt like hell, but I wouldn't care, eh? Yeah, let's not."

"Well, he just wants to see ..."

"Yeah, but let's just not."

"Well, let me talk to him and see what he says."

"Yeah, tell him we're not inserting anything through my groin and then see where it goes from there."


groin insertion

Yeah, and meanwhile, in my home search, it appears we were not locked into the interest rates of 2 or 3 weeks ago. But we are now, by God, and they're so much higher now. Yay!

And in the news, falling into the category of "Same As It Ever Was", Mary Winkler, the cold blooded killer who shotgunned her husband and father of her children in the back as he lay in bed sleeping, was today sentenced to three years, minus time served, leaving her only a few months until parole. Who didn't see this coming? Who still believes in justice and our courts? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

mary murderer
Crazy Mary - Rosie's replacement on "The View"
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Email From My Wife

Why is everyone so whiney and angry all the time? All day I listen to this. Is there no peace and quiet?


I really need to pull someone’s hair out and a few of my own gray hairs!


Everyday it’s YACK, YACK, YACK, YACK, YACK!! What is there to say everyday!?

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Wild Card Wednesday - K

wild card logo

Well, okay then. TKW, whom I love dearly, says that I must take down my Wordless Wednesday because today is Wild Card Wednesday, as everybody knows. And I, because I'm weak, always do whatever she says. In a minute, you'll see why.

This Wordless Wednesday is brought to you by the letter 'K'. Here is something that starts with the letter 'K'

kami backpack

This is Kami. I met Kami in Texas. Kami is kool. I like Kami. Kami has a son named NiK. NiK is kool, too. Kami and I had Koffee together in a Kafe. We had a kickin' time.

Also, from the letter 'K' is this

tkw knockers

This is TKW. TKW was blessed by God above with fabulous taste in shirts. See her fabulous shirt? Try not to stare too long. It is mesmerizing, I know, but don't be a perv.

I haven't actually met TKW in person as yet, but even so, I know that she is very Kool, too. Kami and TKW are friends, and they are both Kool.

So there you have it. K is for Kami. K is also for Knockers, Kept Woman Knockers, to be exact. Did you play?

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Wordless Wednesday - Fly Away

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Replacement Windows for the Blonde


Last year I replaced all the windows in my house with that expensive double-pane energy efficient kind, and today, I got a call from the contractor who installed them. He was complaining that the work had been completed a whole year ago - and I still hadn't paid for them.

Hellloooo, just because I'm blonde doesn't mean that I am automatically stupid. So, I told him just what his fast talking sales guy had told ME last year,..... namely, that in ONE YEAR these windows would pay for themselves!

Helllooooo? It's been a year! (I told him.)

There was only silence at the other end of the line, so I finally just hung up.... He never called back.

Guess I won that stupid argument. I bet he felt like an idiot.

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3 Days in Texas - I Wanna Be A Cowboy


We met in a cafe she likes. I arrived first, crashing my rented Mustang over a curb in my unfamiliarity with this particular Texas parking lot. I sat at a table all the way in the back, facing the door, anticipating the arrival of the most famous woman in Dallas, Texas.

I was wearing my standard computer geek uniform - Dockers pants and a polo shirt that was one size too large, causing it to hang on me like a sack, drooping the shoulders halfway down my arms. I was sporting my infamous bad haircut that I blogged about a few weeks ago. It may be ugly, but there isn't much I can do about it.

So there I was, geeked out and nervous, waiting for her arrival.

Finally, the Queen of Dallas walked in the door, her little buddy right behind her with a big smile on his face. He ran in ahead of her and did a few laps around the room. She entered with style. She owned that place. Maybe not on paper, but as far as anyone there was concerned, seeing her cross that room, you could tell it belonged to her.

She swept the room with her brilliant blue eyes until, at last, she rested them on me.

I smiled a goofy smile and waved like a dork. "Howdy howdy howdy! It's me! I'm a big dork! Here I am!"

I didn't say exactly those words, but it was something along those lines.

What I really wanted to do was to sit cooly, ever so nonchallantly noticing her, and then say, "How YOU doin'?" Instead, I practically joined the Little Man, running around the room with a happy grin, and saying "KamiKamiKamiKamiKami!"

Kami, of the Dallas Ks, strolled over to my table and sat down.

"So, you've got 3 minutes. Let's get this over with."

OK, that also is not exactly what was said.

"Are you Steve?" she asked me.

"Uh huh!" I blurted, in a cool, James Bond-like fashion. "uh huh, that's me!"

There was an awkward moment, where we tried to decide whether to hug or shake hands. We ended up shaking hands. I felt like an idiot.

I don't remember a word we said. But I remember her eyes. And I remember checking her out as she walked across the room to get a coffee.

"Woo, hot babe!" I quietly thought to myself. And then I quickly checked, "Did I say that out loud?" But no, I had kept it to myself.

I checked her out again as she returned with her coffee, walking towards me this time.

"Woo, hot ... hot day today, isn't it?" I cleverly recovered, wiping my sweaty palms on my pants legs.

"It's not so bad, really," Kami replied. "We've had a lot more rain than usual this year. It's been cool compared to most years at this time."

Kami will look at you for just a moment, long enough to make you nervous as you feel the coolness of those blue eyes, and then she casually looks to the side, as if you might be important, or you might be annoying her. It's up to you to decide which it will be.

In reality, she is keeping on eye on Nik, as a good mother will do. But she makes it look so darned sexy and cool. In fact, every move Kami makes seems sexy and cool. Nothing rattles her. Not one thing.

And as for her boy Nik, this boy is going to be a great photographer one day. He knows how to use a camera. He fully understands that to get a good photo you don't conserve film and hope your one try turns out. This boy shoots the whole roll, which is smart in this age of digital cameras. He's got passion, energy, and a hot mom to practice his modeling shots on who also happens to be an expert photographer herself.

Kami by Nik

While I breathed heavily in Kami's direction and attempted to speak intelligently, some other Dallas folk were attempting to reach me. Tammy and Michelle were alternately bombing me with text messages. I was trying my best to reply, but I am a slow texter, so it was difficult. It seems that I had once referred to Tammy as "Michelle's sister Tammy," differentiating Texas Tammy from Texas Tammi during a conversation, and this resulted in a bit of a rivalry. In short, I was running for my life from Tammy while sister Michelle laughed at me. And all of this was done via cellphone texting.

Quite extraordinary, really.

After an hour of talking and drinking caffeine, Kami had to go. Nik wanted to catch butterflies and there was soccer to get ready for. So I walked with her and her boy out into the parking lot. We talked about this and that while Nik ran through the grass, searching for his butterflies. Finally, we hugged, and said goodbye. I watched as she drove away. And I was sad to see her go.

I can't remember a single thing we talked about, and yet I wanted to talk forever. It isn't every day that you meet the Queen of Dallas. It's a moment to remember.

When it came time for me to get on my plane and fly home, it was as if more than just my heart didn't want me to go. The plane took forever to load with passengers. I watched as people shifted impatiently in their seats, wondering when the stewardesses were going to shut the doors and get us moving. People started switching seats, assuming no one else was coming onboard. Then the extra people came and the people who had changed seats had to shuffle around some more.

Finally, the stewardesses shut the doors and started telling us to put on our seatbelts. And then the plane shut off again. We sat there for awhile with no air circulating, in an odd silence. Suddenly, the captain came over the PA system, "We have a broken starter. We have to pull out of line and get it replaced. It'll be about a 45 minute delay."

30 minutes later, the captain came on the PA again, "we have a broken poop shoot ventilator. They're trying to find another one and see how fast they can get it here and install it. Please be patient."

OK, I don't remember what the part was, but it was something that had to be delivered. And all the while, Kami and Tammy and Michelle were texting me, "don't leave, you dork."

I was texting back, "Come get me off this plane. I don't want to go back to Memphis. I wanna be a cowboy."

But eventually they did fix the plane, and no one ever did come to get me off. So we screamed down the runway and took off for Memphis. I felt no joy in the knowledge that I was heading 'home'.

When we came to Memphis, the pilot flew us all over town, taking his time reaching the airport before finally landing. Perhaps he didn't want to be in Memphis either? Whatever the case, I felt almost sick when we touched down. It wasn't a bad landing. But my heart did not want to be here. It was still back in Texas.


Each day while I was in Texas, both in Forth Worth and in Dallas, I found a single penny lying somewhere on the ground, face up. The last one I found was a wheat penny.

On my return to Memphis, as I was standing in a crowd at the baggage return, I found another penny, lying on the floor unnoticed by anyone. It was face down.

I've never been overly superstitious, but if I were, I would think this means something.

I did not pick up the Memphis penny. I just stood and looked at it before walking away.

I don't belong here.

My heart is in Texas, where my family comes from, where they had always said one day we would return. And something tells me I just might belong there with it.

hookem horns
Hook'em horns

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