As is the usual case here in the ‘Neckshack, the boy, his bud, and his … girlfriend, well, come to think of it she wasn’t but they were here when I got home. Dogs were swingin’ freely, which the ol’ lady just loves. Juveniles supervisin’ major pissers are her favorite topic. She’s “passionate” about it.

Anyway, I piddled around in the garage for a while and being so over cookin’ for 1, I went on up the the LongHorn stick it to you house. Had some surf, passed on the turf, but one of my favorite bar tenders was workin’. Her friend/fiance/soon to be husband is in Iraq wantin’ an Ipod. I don’t know shit about Ipod’s. He want’s a bigger one. Shit, … don’t we all. Anyway I’m assuming that he wants one that holds more songs. At some point I’ll be off to investigate hella ipods. If I can’t swing one myself, I’ll donate for one for him. From what I can understand he’s in the legal business over there. I don’t know who he’s suein’ but, there must be a need for it. Lawyer one day, motor pool the next. So it goes. Changin’ oil can get borin’ after a while so I figure if he wants to listen to some tunes… I’ll try to he’p a brother out.

There’s a couple of other peeps up there I’ve come to know. One is Pat, he’s a bulldog fan. We’ve discussed this years predictions on college footbal. We’ve discussed it knee deep. It’s all horse shit anyway you shovel it. I like messin’ with Pat’s head. So, it turns out he’s dating my bartender’s sister. She’s standin’ beside me eating food that her sister ordered and it dawns on me to ask the absolute intelligent question of this young lady, “So, do you ever fuck with Patrick?”… uh brain is already backin’ up. “Wait, I didn’t mean that, how about, do you like to mess with head?”… damn, foot two feet farther down my own pie hole now… Hey, I’m battin’ a thousand here. Will I shut up, or won’t I? She said, “Do you mean do I like to kid around with him”, I said “YES, that absotively what I mean!”.

I left shortly thereafter. Tail between legs, head up ass. That’s a tough trick. I think I saw an Armadillo do it once…

Got the dog tickets by registered mail yesterday. That was a nice personal touch. I would surely not want anybody else to get ‘em by mistake. I went to where the post office is, ’cause they attempt to deliver ‘em at 11:00am everyday when I’m scratchin’ the sack workin’, and I’ll never meet up with the delivery boy. Problem was, post office wasn’t where it used to be… My bad, should’ve figured out where I had to go before I went almost there. A hundred a forty two bucks. When that’s all totalled up, the shots, the tickets, the time, … I”m not sure those bastards are worth it. I may dress ‘em up in squirrel cammo and drop ‘em off in Eric’s neighborhood. I can see it now SWG “I shot the biggest 2 squirrels I’ve ever seen in my life today while they were peein’ on my birdfeeder, one of ‘em was albino and had david bowie eyes, and the sky was blue, one bullet, two squirrels… It’s all about accuracy and conservation of lead”…

My site was infected earlier. No, I’ve not been to the tittie bar, or down Main street drivin’ slowly with a 20 hangin’ off the mirror. Some lovely person ftp’d some shitty script into my page that made all visitors think they had a virus. It would literally close the browser, popup a popup and try to hijack you to a bogus virus scanning site. I hope that hole is plugged. I think it is. Oh well, such is the suck that is around here.

I think it’s gonna rain Saturday, based on all the professional scientists on TV. So I’m thinkin’ of draggin’ the useless as tits on a bore hog boat out Sunday and tryin’ to fish/run/go some got-damned where other than the dock and trailer. They say Sunday will be a better day. That’s what Grandma used to tell me when I was over freakin’ on Saturday cartoons and candy.

Crystal Meth ain’t got shit on me when I was 3.

Anyway, I almost forgot, well, I did, but I reminded myself this time on the way to the fridge… At the steak house, I’d met this dude a couple weeks ago. I chatted with him a spell. He told me a joke that I’d forgot, until he told me again after askin’ me if I remembered, which I didn’t. He said ok, here it is…

What do you get if you play a country song backwords?

I said, “Hell I don’t know, howlin’ dogs?”

Naw, you get your dog back, you get your house back, you get your wife back, and you get your money back…

Come to think of it, I think he’s on to something there, but lookit… dude has some serious Marty Feldman eyes. I didn’t know the Navy would do that to you but maybe that explains Harvey.

It has been written, that I have neglected a certain “issue” for a month. Let me set the record… straighter. It took me about 7 days to sort the shit out. The first I heard about it, I started tryin’ to wrench it back to usability.(aka beat it back into submission)

I believe the other individual in this certain “issue”, had been abducted by aliens for 3 weeks while attending a blodge meet and simply lost track of time or… fell in love. I have email records to prove it. Well, not that this person was abducted for 3 weeks, or fell in love, but to prove I’d only known of it for 7 days.

Now wasn’t that interesting.

On a happier note, my tight assed neighbor to my left, if you’re facing the front of the house, objects to me cutting his lawn and asking for just a little gas money now and then. He was down with it ’til I asked for a little help on the gas money. Otay Buttwheat. Do it yo se’f. I now simply cut around his yard when I’m doing the neighbor to his left, if you’re facin’ the front of his house, mine, and the neighbor to the right of my house if you’re facing the front. I can’t wait ’til that fucker gets ticks and flee’s breading in there and I bill his ass for a vet trip. We’re not talkin’ extortion here, seriously. The tank on my little tractor that thought it could holds a gallon and a half of gas. I can cut all 4 yards without refillin’ the tank. Even at todays prices, that’s a dealio to get your grass cut. Your 4th of a gallon and a half of gasoline? Buck and a half maybe?

I’ve had to fix 2 flats, one on the old mower(my college educating daughter’s artist previoulsy know as friend, thought a riding mower could take out a manhole, thus studiously putting the mower deck to rest for a final time on that one. Allah was willing evidently.) and then a flat on the new one I bought after he rendered the ol’ one useless. Neither occurred in my yard. I never said anything to the neighbors about helpin’ repair the mower should it break, so I do it, and have no problems with the expense or effort. It’s just as easy to cut ‘em all in a straight whitey guy line as it is to “go around” for me.

‘Neckson is living a kind of KISS life right now. I don’t mean KISS as in keep it simple stupid, I mean “I wanna rock and rap all night, and sleep through everyday”(rinse and repeat as needed). The real pisser in that situation… When he runs out of deoderant, he, and his buddies that sleep and shower here help themselves to mine. Ain’t that a peach.

‘Necksis moved out. Apparently she couldn’t handle free rent, free insurance, and free gasoline anymore. It was that bad for her. Or, she was just tired of my shit. You be the judge. Now, she just wants to borrow the truck every other weekend to haul some sorta stuff back to her crib, in the hood. Wasn’t everybody’s first crib in the hood, one way or another? I don’t mind too much, as much as it scares me to watch her exit the jelly bean KIA and hop in Black Betty. This just in… Who in their right mind would name a car company KIA. Bad bad juju that name.

The ol’ lady works whenever I’m here. I think she plans it that way. Ok, I’ll handle the dogs. Except, the last time she did, she let ‘em out in the back yard unchained(my heart), and they ran ‘crossed the road. Scared the shit our of an ankle biter and the woman that was walkin’ said beast. Said beast proceeded to run in circles around said walker and wrap it’s leash around the walkers legs, which caused the walker to “tip over”. It’s not like I ain’t told her not to do that before. It was just… one of those things and “said walker is a beyotch”. … Right. We/I don’t even know “said beyotch”… but I thank her from the bottom of my anus everyday because she might have actually billed some sense and fear into my ol’ lady. If not that, the “said walker” is in trouble, ’cause when the ol’ lady gets pissed, you get out… if you can.

Cool.

I get up from a Sunday nap to find Animal Control knock knock knockin’ on heaven’s door and was permitted to receive 4 citations. Damn I’m good. I don’t even have to be here to be good. No, not for valor, for pay up or a warrant is on the way. Most of the folks in the neighborhood that walk their critters are cool with dumb and dumber, but, I guess it’s the end of the line when ones dogs scare the everlovin’ shit out of yours so bad it causes your animal to harm YOU by wrappin’ you up in it’s leash and pullin’ on you. $500 later, I’m assured I’m almost out of the woods but 2 more doggie citations are “in the mail”. Can’t wait those. I may pay ‘em and fuckin’ frame ‘em.

Boat motor is still a bitch. The money I’ve spent on that thing this year would’ve better been wasted in a tittie bar. I get in the places, not very often, but when I do, I forget all about fishin’, and boats. Where’s the ATM at in here? Never mind the $10 surcharge for usin’ it. I wanna see some titties and get me another beer… pretty please, yeah, one of those $8.00 ones.

Lots more fun stuff goin’ on, but I’m ’bout too brain fried to recall it at this moment. Have a good one, and thanks for droppin’ by.

Dam Y’all ‘tween Leslie, Teresa, and Oddy, what’s the damned ol’ worl’ comin’ to? I hope to Got I didn’t miss anybody but ain’t that enough…? Shit! I’ll say a few words to the Lord in an attempt to he’p out, but I seriously think he laughs at my good wishes and moves the spare school bus to another section of the back yard just to fuck with me.

Hell, while I’m on the subject of things you can’t see comin’ at you in the dark, I want to talk ’bout cats. Dark grey cats. Ones that cammo into the carpet when the lights are off. You can hear ‘em. You just can’t see ‘em. You can feel ‘em when you step on ‘em though. Go ahead, make fun of them toddler shoes with l.e.d.’s built into ‘em. I’m gettin’ a pair of ‘em ’cause I accidentally boot stomped a kitten that got under my feet one day on the farm when I was on my way out the way out the back porch after bacca farmin’ and washin’ up with LAVA one day. I was lookin’ back at grandmama and tellin’ her “I’d be careful”… and damned if I didn’t squash a kitty.

That sound… That feel… I’d be better off without knowing it. It’s one thing to step on an ant, or a roach, a 70+ pound dog, or an Eric, but to squash a pussy is just wrong on so, so many levels. I’d like to say it hurt me more than it did the cat, but that’d be a damned lie.

Strange, that, I never had a problem beating the head of a Yellowhammer retrieved from the roost of a ‘bacca barn from atop the barn across the stoop of the barn to put it out of it’s misery, or wackin’ it with a Pepsi bottle. Equally effective. Run what you brung kinda deal. Steppin’ on a cat hurts, even though I don’t like ‘em either. That Reeearrrraah SNAP sound kinda brings you down… man.

So, where’s this goin?… nowhere, fast. I do want some jumbo sized L.E.D. toddler shoes with velcro so I can see what I’m steppin’ in, or on, though. I don’t care if it’s infrared or white light or if you need NVG’S or what. I’m tired of steppin’ on pussies. They’re too stupid for their own good. Meow, meow… Yeeeeouw! You dumbass, get out of the way. All I wanted was a beer. Damned cat.

Gene, I know you won’t understand. You’re still mystified by the white boat with the blue stripe, or the blue boat with the white stripe, or the boat full of Red Stripe. Don’t bust your brain buddy. Just go with the flow and let the Captain handle it man. It’s just a 3 hour tour… a three hour tour.

Say hi to Mary Ann for me man. Prok Ginger if you get the chance. Yes, I said prok.

Ladies, I hope I haven’t offended as I wish nothing but the best for all of the ailing amongst you. Sometimes things get to where you have to try to laugh, or you cry yourself to sleep. I don’t wish the cry part for any of you 3. I wish all the best on all of you.

Imagine that… dollar a gallon self serve gasoline. Damn… I need a back in time machine. God bless the bastard that invented the banjo, and, the banjo minnow.

Al Gore… Al Gore… Al Gore… didn’t some bull runners get Gore’d this past week? Now you know why they call it Gored. Uh huh. Wonder why green man comes to mind?

Which is it… are they one and the same? Do they need to be? Are they predisposed to be counselors?
I don’t have the answer… it’s a damn sure likeness though.

Go Bucks… meathicken sux… oh, almost forgot… Dr. Drew, I’m drunk. Jim, I only had 19 bucks so I’m headed back to Georgia. K?