My buddy Bob has a “Cushman”. If you don’t know what that is, it’s basically an armored up 3 wheeled golf cart. Well, we get bored. So he brings his Cushman down to my house and I already had the ridin’ mower out to cut grass. The drag race was on. Yard Machine vs. Cushman. I got my ass kicked… We didn’t even register on the speed meter… Fast forward later yesterday evening, I’m comin’ back from Mom and Dad’s and there’s this asshole on my ass(just like everybody else I’m sure)… Anyway, it’s Bob. We wound up playing Dukes of Hazzard running through a road back towards home. Once we got there, round two of the time trials set in. I managed to squeak out a 37… He busted out a 42. His motor is illegal, I’m tellin’ you. We both usually drive about 15 miles an hour down this stretch of strait away, but putting that damned box that clocks you just fueled a competition between us. Hell, I’ll bet you bicycles are next(sans spandex clown suites), jeans boots and a couple hard hats maybe.

I got back from the steak house tonight. I sat by a fella that is from the Bronx. He speaks spanish. Well he speaks English better but his profession requires a little more language control from south of the border than does mine. I just have to learn how to interpret Indian English. Any way, I made two passes from the court by my drag racin’ speedometer tonight. I hit 36 the first time, and 35 the next.

See… they’re baitin’ me. They know no RedNeck worth hsi weight in Red could pass that up. Bastid’s… It’s about 11:00 PM ish now, but tormorrow, if/when I head to the waffle house, I’ll try to do 37… I’m wrong, I know, but I’m built that way. I can’t stand a challenge that I can’t challenge. Plus, peeps are going to be sleeping in tomorrow morning. If I break 40, I’m gonna brag to the ol’ timers a the Waffle House, Ken, and Dave, about it.

Of course, that’s all assuming I drag my ass out of bed tomorrow at a unreasonable hour. It isn’t usually a problem. When you got to pee, you got to pee. It’s the tingle that jingles.

This dude, I talked about above, he’s loaded, he was tryin’ to get me to go out to bars with him tonight. WTF, it’s rookie hour. I’m goin’ to bed. Plus he was wantin’ to carry me to bars like “Martini Party”, or “Scotch and Soda”. When did people get so bored they started namin’ their bars after drinks. Whats up with that?

I did feel pretty good at the steak house though. Heard about 13 “Hey Trouble’s” as food was bein’ brought out as I sat at the bar. I’m a skinnier “Norm”, in a RedNeck Cheers…

You’ve all probably seen those little road side boxes that have a posted speed limit on a sign, and then a set of lights that says “Your Speed” underneath of them. Well, they put one of those on my street today. S.T.U.P.I.D. See, it’s not a deterrent to me, it’s a got-damned challenge. It’s about 70 yards from the driveway. I’m wondering if ol’ Black Betty can bust 40 before she hits it. Hell, with a three day weekend coming up, I may make my own RedNeck Brickyard out of the block just to see how freakin’ high I can register that thing.

I did have another thought about what to do with it. I though about hookin’ it up to Betty’s hitch and putting it on a dead end court. That’s double funny now. Everybody is slowing down when they get to the back of a court, plus, there’d be plenty of head scratchin’ when they couldn’t figure out where they left their speed machine.

If I was the dude who’s house that parked that fucker in front of, I’d be raisin’ 13 kinds of hell with city hall. I got enough junk in my front yard without that thing addin’ to it.

Happy Memorial Day, take some time to remember those that have gone before us.

This shit is funny now. Maybe I’m “insensitive”, but it’s fucking addicting reading these craigslist ads. I keep reading these things and I just keep laughing, and keep on reading them.

Example: I’m an employed, attractive, intelligent single mom looking for a long term relationship. I’m 5′7″, auburn hair, hazel eyes, in shape, but with curves in the right places. I have a sarcastic sense of humor, an appreciation for other peoples’ feelings, and I don’t tolerate dishonesty. I am not a serial dater, and I’m looking for a man who is interested in having one special woman. I’m not necessarily interested in getting married, but I am looking for a commitment.

About you: 5′9″ or taller, attractive, able to hold your own when we play jeopardy. A good smile, sense of humor, and lack of game playing skills are a definite plus. Also, caucausian, NON-SMOKER, around my age, physically active.

I live in Dublin, work in Hilliard and prefer someone in this part of town. We can talk via email. Your picture gets mine. Serious replies only - no hook ups or one night stands. If you’re a game player, or have cheated in the past, please move on. Thank you.

I am not a serial dater I don’t date Fruit Loops either… I prefer Honey Combs… But only for LTR’s.

5′9″ or taller… Check, got that one covered…

attractive… eh… who knows, my dogs love me.

able to hold your own when we play jeopardy wtf does that mean? I can hold my own any time I reach down… but that takes all the fun out of it… I’d rather she hold it… ain’t that the point?

A good smile I grin better than I smile…

lack of game playing skills are a definite plus Ok, lemme get this right, you want me to hold my own in jeopardy, but lack game playing skills… huh? What about pocket pool?

Also, caucausian, NON-SMOKER, around my age, physically active Check on the caucasion thing(fuck I spelled it wrong too) but BUZZZZZZ on the NON-SMOKER deal. I’m a chimney babe… nothin’ else matters after the smokin’ thing… trust me on that one…

We can talk via email. Really? What kind of email program do you have? Usually I have to type.

Your picture gets mine. Then do I win? Ooops, there goes that game playin’ stuff…

Serious replies only Are you serious/kidding? Hey, I’m not the one that said I had a sarcastic sense of humor…

If you’re a game player, or have cheated in the past, please move on. I’m steppin’… I like to play games.

Thank you. You’re welcome.

At least I have manners. Even if I’m smokin’, grinnin’, and playin’ games and holdin’ my own when I say “You’re welcome”…

I’d rather be a boy named Sioux…