Naw, this ain’t a HBO Sports Special Presentation…

Last night I spoke to two of the three, naw, more then that, well more then that headin’ to, but I only spoke to two “widgits” on there way to the “manger” blogmeet. To be honest, I had forgotten all ’bout the damned thing. I punched up “Cornbread” on the horn, and heard ’bout 2 and 1/2 words ‘fore I heard “Here’s it’s ‘Neck, talk to him”… ‘Necxt thing I know, I’ve got some other widgit on the phone who’s voice sounded familiar, but the last time I had heard it to date it was sayin’ “I’m gonna pull the pin man, I’ve got to pull the pin”.. then… click.

After a long and entertainin’, at least for me, chat with the widgits en route, I finally got to get my point acrossed to the widgit who’s digits I had punched up on the cell horn. Somewhere in that converstation I heard about a Bristol look-alike crash, which no doubt due to the “spotter” on board, the driver missed on 85 or Semty-Five or one of those big roads on the way to Georgia. I’m glad they didn’t get wadded up on the back stretch. I accused them of spikin’ the gatorade on the last pit stop with that “illegal fuel” artillery punch in da’ bucket, that was buckled safe and sound tightly in the back seat. Now I know why the damned “punch bowl” was so important. Ever try to reach ’round the seat and take the top off a five gallon bucket while you’re spottin? Vman has his shit together. Or at least, he’s got a plan that involved some thinkin’ ahead…

It sounded like Pornbread Cornbread was doin’ his best to stay out of the way while workin’ the radio back here to Buckeye country, and, well, that in and of itself warrants merit. Especially considerin’ his room is to be the “Partay Room” this weekend. I hope he bought the one next door as well so he can go out and go in and get a wink or two. Of sleep that is…

Ah hell, y’all have fun down there… I’m thinkin’ ’bout you.

If you’re still wonderin’ what in the hell a Widgit is, well, I was too. I wished I had a quarter for ever time I’ve heard the word Widgit used as an example for somethin’ that meant “anything”, but in this case, Widgit is a cross ‘tween a wise man and an idjit, hence Widjit. They’re both smart enough to know better, but alive enough to try anyway…

Yep, I’m livin’ in Buckeye Country. There’s a Buckeye Nation. We travel well. In this “country of Buckeye’s”, in the fall, there’s 3 things that matter. God, Family, and Football. Not necessarily in that order…

I watched one of the most painful self destructions tonight… I could not continue to sit in the stands. I had to leave the “stadium” for fear of embarrasin’ my S.O. wife even more then I already do. I had some gene’s in that game, and dammit, somebody was doin’ bad things with ‘em.

I wanted to scream at the coaches, holler at the players for droppin’ the damned football. Cuss the coaches again for the offense they run, bitch slap them for the play callin’ and generally go nuklur over it.

I went outside the stadium, smoked cigarettes, and cussed like a sailor under my breath.

See what I mean about “Not necessarily in that order” in Buckeye Country?

I saw this over at Kelly’s. She dug it up from Yabu’s joint. Well his blog, not his joint, which if you’re dyslexic, is Ubay backerds for somekind of Europeon Ebay?.

Hell, I thought I’d be some kick ass varmit. Turns out, I’m a rhodent on ‘roids with sharp teeth and a fair amount of tenacity that lives in cheeseville and is the mascot for Wisconsin college sports. Damn, life ain’t fair now… She get’s the wolf, I get the overgrowed rat with a racin’ stripe and good graphics… I’m worried somebody might mistake me for Peppe Le’Pugh. Then I’d kick their ass. But the ass whippin’ wouldn’t be as bad as they thougt it was, ’cause they said “thank you”. See why I’m worried?

What Is Your Animal Personality? brought to you by Quizilla

Rob’s got a post ’bout “expiration dates”, and some, well at least one, was comparin’ themselves to a jug of milk, ’cause well, that’s where most of us see the expiration date thing. The smart folks look for “born on dates”. Now, I ain’t butter, or whipped cream, or even milk. I’d like to think I’m a little more then any of those things… It’s got to do with, when your time is up, hell, it’s up, and whether or not you can do a damned thing about that time before hand. I don’t believe you can. Here’s the comment I started to leave on the subject before I decided I didn’t need to put up 18 inches of comment for a 2 inch post… hell, I left it anyway.

Great GoogleyMoogley… what in the fuck… I think you sew what you reap reap what you sew while you’re alive, but when you’re dead… You’re killed dead. You ain’t reapin’ shit. Grim Reaper done come reaped your ass, and you’re done reapin’. You’re dead. If you go to heaven, good on you. If you go to hell, it sucks to be you(or me). If you just rot in the dirt, well, who knew? You won’t no more, that’s for sure.

I try to do my best by those I can help. I try to tell fuckup’s they’re fuckin’ up, and it’s gonna bite ‘em in the ass along the way sometime in their life.

I believe I’m not gonna die until my “expiration date” comes ’round. I can “off myself” to speed it up, but if I do that, who’s to say that the day I did it wasn’t my expiration date. All this wonderin’ is just that. Wonderin’, ’cause ain’t a one of us that can know the time of their death. Screw death… Live life like you’re alive. Be good to babies and youngin’s. Mama’s, and do gooders, puppies, and yes got dammit, kittens too(I squashed one underfoot accidentally one day, and it was a bad feelin’). Let the bad guys get what’s comin’ to ‘em. When your numbers up, hell, it’s up, and you ain’t gonna have shit to say about it, and there won’t be a damned thing you can do about it probably.

I’ll tell you what, I get so damned tired of hearin’… “drinkin’ ‘ill kill ya dead”, “smokin’ ‘ill kill ya dead”, “eatin’ this or that or whatever our ancestors ate will kill ya dead”… Hell, when you get right down to the bottom of it, there’s only 1 thing that’ll kill you dead, and that’s bein’ born. That will kill you dead guaraaaanteed… You’re startin’ to die as soon as you get here. Bullshit on thinkin’ you can “stretch out your time”. Bullshit on thinkin’ you can “earn (life points)”. The hell with all that mucky pucky. If you believe all that, say hello to Mother Goose for me, and give Santa a nod while you’re at it. While I’m alive, I’m gonna do the best I can, and when I’m gone… it’s up to the rest of you all to do the best you can for your own sake…

That’s just my opinion though. I could be wrong, but we all know ’bout opinions and assholes. E’rybody’s got one.

You can take the StillerSteeler fan out of Pittsburgh, but you can’t take the Pittsburgh out of the Stiller fan… I found this very amusing, and quite reassurin’. Spud, I’m thinkin’, as king of the tater’s is a certifiable nut, but I’m diggin’ it. Hell, If I “mic’d” myself on the way to work… man oh man… I’d make your mother blush, and mine disown me…

Oh, one more thing… Phil Simms is my boy now.