plain

It was the best of times, it was the...uh...best of times Current mood: quixotic Category: Blogging Well, last week at our house was winter break. That means everybody (except me) automatically gets 7 days off. It was an awesome week, though. Ciss and I made a roadtrip to Dallas earlier in the week to see Gomez. Traffic was not really that bad, but downtown....the streets are often one way, and there is currently a lot of construction. Put it all together, and it means that I only had to circle the block 5-6 times (Look kids....Big Ben!) before I could dart in to the tiny valet lot. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate valet? I think valet is in the top 3 evil things that Satan has loosed upon the Earth (The other 2 are methadone and Marilynn Manson). We will, unfortunately, further delve into the valet situation later on... The hotel was pretty cool. Very old building that had been re-done, but still had some soul left. Ciss and I wondered what to do first: Have a Starbucks treat? Walk around downtown and see the sights? Have a drink in the ultra-swanky bar? Long story short, we followed the example of some friends and had sex. There, I said it. We actually did all of the above, jackasses.... When it was time to depart for the concert, we decided to take a taxi. I walked over to a cab parked right outside the hotel's front door. The on-duty light thing on the top of the taxi was not turned on, so I was unsure if the guy was on break, or what. "Hey man" I say (because I am the people's champ), "Are you on the job?" The cab dude just looks blankly at me "We need a taxi", I explain "Abu jabba doe. No go diggy die" (in a thick Nigerian accent) I literally can not understand a single word that the guy is saying. So, I do the right thing and just start walking away. This is when Cissy walks up. "Can you take us to the Gypsy Tea Room", Ciss said. "yee-ssssss-uhhhh.....You know add-dresssss" "It's on commerce street, just up a couple of blocks" Cissy manages to direct the cabbie to the Tea Room. As we are exiting the cab, I almost step on some dude's foot. Turns out to be a member of the band Gomez. They appear to be on their way to scoring some dinner. After a short wait, we got in to the Tearoom. Now, if you've never been, I'll just tell ya: It's kind of a dive bar. I guess that's why my wife felt comfy enough to belly up to the bar and order a Chardonnay... WTF?!? (Beer and liquor only, sayeth the barkeep) ...The barkeep must have done his job pretty good, because Ciss was loose enough to make some friends at the concert (I know, I know...what a shocker...Ciss talking to some strangers and sharing our background). One was a kinda creepy couple originally from Colorado. Another was some very young blondie that was about to get married (but man, could she shake that ass!). Another was a goofball college kid with buck teeth (I would get to meet him after the concert, outside at the hotdog cart). Regardless, the concert was awesome. Real fuckin' awesome...The boys from Gomez played for well over 2 hours solid (not much talking between songs, and no breaks). They sounded great, but the crowd was mostly there to see the opening act, Ben Kweller ( He sounded ok, but he was dressed in this weird nautical-type theme. Striped sailor's shirt and captain's hat. I know it sounds bad, and he looked even more gay than my description sounds). After the concert, Ciss and I were hungry, and wanted to catch a quick taxi back to the hotel. I asked a nearby street hotdog vendor "Where is our best chance of catching a taxi?". "Right here", he answered, "Taxis run up and down all night long". While we were waiting, those damn hotdogs started smelling good. Cissy wanted one (This time, no sarcasm....I really WAS shocked that My wife wanted a processed meat product from a street vendor! Go figure....) but I explained that I was saving our cash for the taxi. I guess that was when the homeless guy heard that we wanted a taxi. "Y'all want a taxi?", he asked. "TAXI.....TAXI....." he bellowed, while running into and out of the street (ummm...I can clearly see that there are no taxis coming, crazy homeless dude...). Ciss and I started moving away. After we had waited awhile (Zero taxi sightings, either) we decided to start walking toward the hotel while keeping an eye out for a taxi. It was a little less than a mile, and the temp was nice and cool. As we were walking, though, I eventually noticed that we were discreetely being followed by a guy in a hoodie. He was about a half block back, but keeping pace to slowly overtake us. Of course, Ciss had no idea, and wanted to frequently stop and take pictures, until I explained. The only thing is....every time I told her we were being followed, she would say "Nuh-uh" or some variation thereof, until she spotted him with her own eyes. Finally, we made it back to the hotel. Just in time to miss room service. Well, I can always grab a quick bite.......Oh, wait a minute....That's right....My car is in VALET! I can go nodamnwhere! Cissy finally calls the front desk to ask if any place nearby delivers......Ah! Chinese food delivers! And the front desk hooks us up with the number! A very speedy 25 minutes later the delivery boy shows.....er, I actually should say the deliveryMAN, since he was about 50. And, here comes the unexpected....He spokey very little English! No, seriously! Very little English! The bill comes out to 26.87....all I have is 2 Twenties.....He looks like he has Zero idea of how to proceed, so I tell him "Just give me 3.00, and you keep the rest" (sure it worked out to be about a 40% tip.....That's just how I roll....That's why I'm America's Champion). Finally he got it through his head that I'd left him a pretty good tip, because there was a lot of grinning and nodding, until he backed out through the door. That was when Ciss discovered that we had been shorted one order of fried rice. The nice thing was.....finally I have beaten Brandi's and my record of drunken pizza spending. Forty dollar fried rice is a hands -down winner. You would think that for 40.00 it would be the best friggin' fried rice in the world, with all the amenities.....uh, not really......they forgot to include the eating utinsils. So.....Cissy sat on our expensive hotel bed and ate 40.00 fried rice with her fingers. Nice. So ladylke. Quite luckily, I had discovered the fork just in time for me to chow down. And this outing was only the start! Stay tuned for the 2nd part, or going to Ft. Worth with the family!

Red is traditionally the color of love....also the color of satan Current mood:smitten Category: Blogging So...It's almost St. Valentine's day. For the most part, I dislike this holiday. The hype has become an unmanageable monster (for proof, I offer The Vermont Teddy Bear commercial....that commercial is creepy on many, many levels. Next time you see me in person I'll tell ya all about it). Now, I like to think that Ciss knows how much I love her.....(Not that I believe in soul-mates. Let's face it....B and I are 2 beers away from "doin' it" at any given moment. It's just that sexuality oozes from me like sap out of a maple tree. And like that tree, I have a tube sticking out of my chest from which a small wooden bucket hangs. Supplicants come from near and far, just to dip their unworthy fingers in the bucket and dab some of my sexual power behind their ears.....Um, where the hell was I going with all this? Oh, right...) and I think that if I have to get some cheesy something to impress her on a "special day", then I'm not doing my job very well. Of course, it could just be that I'm a cheap, curmudgeonly bastard. Or it could be something else entirely. Do y'all give any credence to the theory that past stresses can psychologically cripple a person in some areas? When I was much much younger (around 3rd grade or so) I used to love the school Valentine party. Sugary goodies (yes, I was a portly child) everywhere, culminating with the exchange of cheap V-day cards and message hearts. How painstakingly I used to scrutinize the wording of each card and heart......I didn't want to send the wrong message, you know....but the cards and hearts I always recieved were....a little strange. Like, I recieved a beautiful Scooby-Doo themed card once from my crush du jour. But on the inside it said "You'll never find love. Just like Velma"....weird, right? And sometimes I'd get candy hearts that had, imprinted on them, little phrases like "Eat all you want, fatty....but you can't fill the void with food". Huh? Later on, I found out that those gifts were from my teacher. She recognized potential when she saw it... Flash forward to high school. One year, for a fund-raiser, the student council sold paper hearts that you could get delivered to your valentine while they were in class. The then-school secretary announced the big event over the P.A. and urged us to part with a dollar so we could "walk around with a big heart on". Yup, she actually said it....One year, for a fund-raiser, the student council sold computer dating slips that you could fill out and get results of who was most compatable for you. One of my top choices was Cissy (almost 100% compatability, as I remember).....but when I asked her to the Jr/Sr Banquet, I was blown off (.....um, not like that....I meant that Ciss turned me down...seems she'd rather go with her bitter chubby Mormon friend.....kiss my ass, compu-match!) So, apparently, I have quite a history with Feb. 14th. In an effort to break the curse, this year I have a very romantic gift for Ciss. I don't want to spoil the surprise, but I will divulge this: A Donkey Punch will be involved. PS- B, Ches has something very similar planned for you. Something about "Cleveland", maybe?!? So, happy V-day to all of you. May you each recieve your well-deserved Valentine's gift (Even if it's one of those creepy Vermont Teddies....)

Red is traditionally the color of love....also the color of satan Current mood:smitten Category: Blogging So...It's almost St. Valentine's day. For the most part, I dislike this holiday. The hype has become an unmanageable monster (for proof, I offer The Vermont Teddy Bear commercial....that commercial is creepy on many, many levels. Next time you see me in person I'll tell ya all about it). Now, I like to think that Ciss knows how much I love her.....(Not that I believe in soul-mates. Let's face it....B and I are 2 beers away from "doin' it" at any given moment. It's just that sexuality oozes from me like sap out of a maple tree. And like that tree, I have a tube sticking out of my chest from which a small wooden bucket hangs. Supplicants come from near and far, just to dip their unworthy fingers in the bucket and dab some of my sexual power behind their ears.....Um, where the hell was I going with all this? Oh, right...) and I think that if I have to get some cheesy something to impress her on a "special day", then I'm not doing my job very well. Of course, it could just be that I'm a cheap, curmudgeonly bastard. Or it could be something else entirely. Do y'all give any credence to the theory that past stresses can psychologically cripple a person in some areas? When I was much much younger (around 3rd grade or so) I used to love the school Valentine party. Sugary goodies (yes, I was a portly child) everywhere, culminating with the exchange of cheap V-day cards and message hearts. How painstakingly I used to scrutinize the wording of each card and heart......I didn't want to send the wrong message, you know....but the cards and hearts I always recieved were....a little strange. Like, I recieved a beautiful Scooby-Doo themed card once from my crush du jour. But on the inside it said "You'll never find love. Just like Velma"....weird, right? And sometimes I'd get candy hearts that had, imprinted on them, little phrases like "Eat all you want, fatty....but you can't fill the void with food". Huh? Later on, I found out that those gifts were from my teacher. She recognized potential when she saw it... Flash forward to high school. One year, for a fund-raiser, the student council sold paper hearts that you could get delivered to your valentine while they were in class. The then-school secretary announced the big event over the P.A. and urged us to part with a dollar so we could "walk around with a big heart on". Yup, she actually said it....One year, for a fund-raiser, the student council sold computer dating slips that you could fill out and get results of who was most compatable for you. One of my top choices was Cissy (almost 100% compatability, as I remember).....but when I asked her to the Jr/Sr Banquet, I was blown off (.....um, not like that....I meant that Ciss turned me down...seems she'd rather go with her bitter chubby Mormon friend.....kiss my ass, compu-match!) So, apparently, I have quite a history with Feb. 14th. In an effort to break the curse, this year I have a very romantic gift for Ciss. I don't want to spoil the surprise, but I will divulge this: A Donkey Punch will be involved. PS- B, Ches has something very similar planned for you. Something about "Cleveland", maybe?!? So, happy V-day to all of you. May you each recieve your well-deserved Valentine's gift (Even if it's one of those creepy Vermont Teddies....)

Sorry, this blog will prolly suck.... Current mood:hidebound Category: Blogging Why? Because I'm getting sick. Yes, I can feel, as I type this, my temperature slowly starting to rise (not in a metaphorical sense, either). Pre-driving to work, as I'm helping prepare dinner, I kinda have a coughing fit. "Oh no", says Cissy "You're getting sick!". "Nonsense", I firmly exclaim, "This is only sinus drainage". Well......fast forward roughly 6-7 hrs, and I'm hooking up my patient (a kid, but more on this later on).....I start to get the tell-tale feeling of an impending illness. Well, great...apparently, my wife has a spooky Nostrodomus-like gift for seeing the future. Next time, hon, could you use your powers for something a little more useful? Like foretelling the lottery numbers, or whether that hooker will press charges? Usually, I'm not so bitter about getting sick, but I thought I was gonna get to come home early from work. I mean, it was snowing and sleeting pretty hard in Douglassville and the ENTIRE drive to Texarkana. My patient (an older pre-adolescent of the age that Cissy may very well teach) and his mother were from a small town in Arkansas. Arkansas had supposedly been getting more precipitation than even Texarkana. Thus, by the associative property of geometry.....They'll surely re-schedule! I'll get to leave early! Um.....not so much....The snow was so bad in Arkansas that they left EARLY to get here. Nice.....Anywho, the kid is really nice. But he suffers from what I like to call "O.F.I.".......For you uninformed, that stands for "Overly Feminine Influence"...That is to say his parents are divorced and apparently doesn't spend much time with his dad. Just the mom. Here's how I know: On his first visit, this kid left his personal-blanket-afgan-shaw type thingy here at the lab. Well, cause I have a sainted heart o' gold, I placed it in a bag and held it for him in case he returned (yes, buttholes, I DID try to call them). On this visit, when I presented him with the blanket (which is known as "boogie-boo", or something...) his mom said excitedly "Oh! You'd better hug his neck!".... And the kid started to lean in for it !!!! She quickly rectified her faux-pas with..."You'd better shake his hand!" (which I did). Look, I know it was a heartfelt, sweet moment. But think of this poor poor kid. He's got to learn how to handle these social situations in a masculine way. This boy is on the fast-track to sitting on the toilet when he has to pee! And if things get to that point, then the only further instructions to give would be: "son, when you sit down to pee at school, be sure and brace yourself, because an ass-beating of epic proportion is certain to follow" Ok, As I look back on this blog, this was not even what I wanted to write about. I was gonna tell an amusing little story about working in a local community hospital located in Cass County....Oh well.....maybe it's the fever talking...

Sorry, this blog will prolly suck.... Current mood:hidebound Category: Blogging Why? Because I'm getting sick. Yes, I can feel, as I type this, my temperature slowly starting to rise (not in a metaphorical sense, either). Pre-driving to work, as I'm helping prepare dinner, I kinda have a coughing fit. "Oh no", says Cissy "You're getting sick!". "Nonsense", I firmly exclaim, "This is only sinus drainage". Well......fast forward roughly 6-7 hrs, and I'm hooking up my patient (a kid, but more on this later on).....I start to get the tell-tale feeling of an impending illness. Well, great...apparently, my wife has a spooky Nostrodomus-like gift for seeing the future. Next time, hon, could you use your powers for something a little more useful? Like foretelling the lottery numbers, or whether that hooker will press charges? Usually, I'm not so bitter about getting sick, but I thought I was gonna get to come home early from work. I mean, it was snowing and sleeting pretty hard in Douglassville and the ENTIRE drive to Texarkana. My patient (an older pre-adolescent of the age that Cissy may very well teach) and his mother were from a small town in Arkansas. Arkansas had supposedly been getting more precipitation than even Texarkana. Thus, by the associative property of geometry.....They'll surely re-schedule! I'll get to leave early! Um.....not so much....The snow was so bad in Arkansas that they left EARLY to get here. Nice.....Anywho, the kid is really nice. But he suffers from what I like to call "O.F.I.".......For you uninformed, that stands for "Overly Feminine Influence"...That is to say his parents are divorced and apparently doesn't spend much time with his dad. Just the mom. Here's how I know: On his first visit, this kid left his personal-blanket-afgan-shaw type thingy here at the lab. Well, cause I have a sainted heart o' gold, I placed it in a bag and held it for him in case he returned (yes, buttholes, I DID try to call them). On this visit, when I presented him with the blanket (which is known as "boogie-boo", or something...) his mom said excitedly "Oh! You'd better hug his neck!".... And the kid started to lean in for it !!!! She quickly rectified her faux-pas with..."You'd better shake his hand!" (which I did). Look, I know it was a heartfelt, sweet moment. But think of this poor poor kid. He's got to learn how to handle these social situations in a masculine way. This boy is on the fast-track to sitting on the toilet when he has to pee! And if things get to that point, then the only further instructions to give would be: "son, when you sit down to pee at school, be sure and brace yourself, because an ass-beating of epic proportion is certain to follow" Ok, As I look back on this blog, this was not even what I wanted to write about. I was gonna tell an amusing little story about working in a local community hospital located in Cass County....Oh well.....maybe it's the fever talking...

An enigma revealed Current mood:august Category: Blogging Well hello there, guys. Did anybody catch The Tonight Show last night? If not, y'all missed a bizarre, rambling stand-up comedy set by a drunken Phyllis Diller. She said that she was about to turn 90, so.........have a beer for me, Phyllis. In case you are not the rabid Scooby Doo fan that I am, you may not be aware that Phyllis Diller actually starred in a Scooby episode. As I recall, she was smoking almost constantly in that episode. Way to be a Role Model for the youth of the 70's, Phyll.....Anywho, If you didn't catch her stand-up set, well.....don't despair. I've got a little joke for ya: Me: Knock Knock...... You: Who's there? Me: Nutbag Pedophile.... You: Nutbag pedophile who? Me: The Nutbag pedophile that tried to pass himself off as a 12 yr-old boy by shaving off his body hair and wearing makeup. I enrolled in 7th grade. Later, it was discovered that I was really a 29 yr-old man! Surprise! So.....y'all did hear about this, right? I'm sure that you (like most people) are wondering how in the world this freakjob could have passed for 12. I wondered that myself, until the afternoon that I had to accompany my oldest son (astute readers may know him as "sexy bitch"....y, eh?) to a local JP's office to pay for some speeding tickets that he had. On the ticket it states that a juvenile must be escorted by a parent. Into the office we went, and sauntered up to the receptionist's desk. I quickly explained that we were there to see the JP. The receptionist told us that the JP was not in, but took the ticket (I guess to calculate how much "the sexy bitch" owed). After reading the ticket, here is a true and accurate account of the conversation:* Receptionist: "Now which of you is this ticket for?" Ryan: "Me" Receptionist: "A minor has to bring in a parent with him" Trey: "Yes Ma'am....That's why I'm here" Receptionist: "What? You're his parent?" Trey: "Yes Ma'am...I'm his dad" Receptionist: (blushing) "Oh...I'm not going to say how old I thought you were" Trey: (awarkwardly shifting his large girth from foot to foot) "oh...Haha" Ryan: (daydreaming about the ladies)".........." Receptionist: "I thought you were his brother, or friend, or something" Trey: (wondering if this is being filmed for a hidden-camera show) "Well....no" This was a little strange for me. Older women usually don't hit on me in such a transparent ploy (Big Girls and Black Girls, sure, but not Old Ladies). I kinda think it's because my aggressive, surly sexuality must be a little threatening to them. But here was this older lady, dishing out compliments and pressing her cleavage together....yeah, ok, maybe I was looking.....what?.....Anywho, that's when it hit me. There are people in this world that CANNOT estimate age accurately. And that, my friends, is how a 29 yr-old man got enrolled in the 7th grade. BTW, As I write this, I'm considering trying to get back in the 10th grade. I'll let y'all know how it goes in a latter blog. * Ryan can vouch for the truthfulness of said conversation. Names have been left out for the sake of basic human decency.

An enigma revealed Current mood:august Category: Blogging Well hello there, guys. Did anybody catch The Tonight Show last night? If not, y'all missed a bizarre, rambling stand-up comedy set by a drunken Phyllis Diller. She said that she was about to turn 90, so.........have a beer for me, Phyllis. In case you are not the rabid Scooby Doo fan that I am, you may not be aware that Phyllis Diller actually starred in a Scooby episode. As I recall, she was smoking almost constantly in that episode. Way to be a Role Model for the youth of the 70's, Phyll.....Anywho, If you didn't catch her stand-up set, well.....don't despair. I've got a little joke for ya: Me: Knock Knock...... You: Who's there? Me: Nutbag Pedophile.... You: Nutbag pedophile who? Me: The Nutbag pedophile that tried to pass himself off as a 12 yr-old boy by shaving off his body hair and wearing makeup. I enrolled in 7th grade. Later, it was discovered that I was really a 29 yr-old man! Surprise! So.....y'all did hear about this, right? I'm sure that you (like most people) are wondering how in the world this freakjob could have passed for 12. I wondered that myself, until the afternoon that I had to accompany my oldest son (astute readers may know him as "sexy bitch"....y, eh?) to a local JP's office to pay for some speeding tickets that he had. On the ticket it states that a juvenile must be escorted by a parent. Into the office we went, and sauntered up to the receptionist's desk. I quickly explained that we were there to see the JP. The receptionist told us that the JP was not in, but took the ticket (I guess to calculate how much "the sexy bitch" owed). After reading the ticket, here is a true and accurate account of the conversation:* Receptionist: "Now which of you is this ticket for?" Ryan: "Me" Receptionist: "A minor has to bring in a parent with him" Trey: "Yes Ma'am....That's why I'm here" Receptionist: "What? You're his parent?" Trey: "Yes Ma'am...I'm his dad" Receptionist: (blushing) "Oh...I'm not going to say how old I thought you were" Trey: (awarkwardly shifting his large girth from foot to foot) "oh...Haha" Ryan: (daydreaming about the ladies)".........." Receptionist: "I thought you were his brother, or friend, or something" Trey: (wondering if this is being filmed for a hidden-camera show) "Well....no" This was a little strange for me. Older women usually don't hit on me in such a transparent ploy (Big Girls and Black Girls, sure, but not Old Ladies). I kinda think it's because my aggressive, surly sexuality must be a little threatening to them. But here was this older lady, dishing out compliments and pressing her cleavage together....yeah, ok, maybe I was looking.....what?.....Anywho, that's when it hit me. There are people in this world that CANNOT estimate age accurately. And that, my friends, is how a 29 yr-old man got enrolled in the 7th grade. BTW, As I write this, I'm considering trying to get back in the 10th grade. I'll let y'all know how it goes in a latter blog. * Ryan can vouch for the truthfulness of said conversation. Names have been left out for the sake of basic human decency.

I can dance if I want to....I can leave my friends behind... Current mood:ruminative Category: Blogging Well, I guess it's pretty evident that I'm starting to get a little bored at work. And when I get bored, I tend to blog. Cissy told me last night that I had to friend Heather so she could read my blogs. It's always a little un-nerving for me to let somebody "new" in to read what I write.....not because I always bare my soul in an embarrasing, man-weepy sort-of-way, but because I am acutely aware that some think I'm a lil' strange (Ciss and Brandi don't count). It has become a sort of tradition for me to dedicate a blog to the newest friend who might read my blogs (anybody remember Cyndi D.....anyone? Oh, right.....she's still kinda with us). So, with that in mind, I thought I would try a pre-emptive strike and just come clean with the main reasons of what makes me one weird dude....and these are not in order of importance..... 1) - I tend to make up weird little songs in the car for the enjoyment of my passengers. The last one was, I think, a little ditty called "Who put the I in illegitimate"...uh, you would have had to be there.... 2) - I am an obsessive, voracious reader. I will read ANYTHING. That's the reason I subscribe to Playboy......and Sexy Grannies... 3) - It is a running joke that I think my life may be being secretly filmed for an underground reality - TV show. But I'm not paranoid, or anything.....ok it's time for my psycho-genic meds...... 4) - I prefer my microwave-popped popcorn to be just a little burned 5) - When I halfway joke about me being psychic, I'm only halfway joking....there have been some strange incidents...Now if only I could come up with those damned Texas lotto numbers.... 6) - When I start drinking (seriously drinking....I haven't cut loose in a long time) I will gladly hear your life story.....but I will quite probably offer some drunken advice/ philosophy. And I can't guarantee that it will be good advice (just ask Brandi). I think the last one was something like "Man, screw Google stock.....invest in edible paper.....that's where the money is!" On a side note, when I'm REALLY, REALLY drunk, I turn into a pizza connoisseur. 7) - Although it pains me to admit this, I kinda have a fingernail thing. I can't stand for my fingernails to be very long, so I keep them clipped short. Very short. But I think I developed this thing after working at the hospital, so doesn't that make it a little more understandable? Yeah, I thought so.... 8) - I really have no problem with uncomfortable silence. If somebody, say, at work, asks me an overly personal question, I have been known to not say anything at all. I'll just keep the eye contact, fold my hands, and...not say anything until the moment is soooooo tense that the other person gives up and leaves. On another side note, Cissy will tell anybody anything. This is especially true when alcohol is involved. So, there it all is. My soul laid painfully bare. All I can say is, "Heather, if this stark admission doesn't scare you off, then welcome to the Trey blogs". Oh, and I almost forgot....I'm a boob guy....

I can dance if I want to....I can leave my friends behind... Current mood:ruminative Category: Blogging Well, I guess it's pretty evident that I'm starting to get a little bored at work. And when I get bored, I tend to blog. Cissy told me last night that I had to friend Heather so she could read my blogs. It's always a little un-nerving for me to let somebody "new" in to read what I write.....not because I always bare my soul in an embarrasing, man-weepy sort-of-way, but because I am acutely aware that some think I'm a lil' strange (Ciss and Brandi don't count). It has become a sort of tradition for me to dedicate a blog to the newest friend who might read my blogs (anybody remember Cyndi D.....anyone? Oh, right.....she's still kinda with us). So, with that in mind, I thought I would try a pre-emptive strike and just come clean with the main reasons of what makes me one weird dude....and these are not in order of importance..... 1) - I tend to make up weird little songs in the car for the enjoyment of my passengers. The last one was, I think, a little ditty called "Who put the I in illegitimate"...uh, you would have had to be there.... 2) - I am an obsessive, voracious reader. I will read ANYTHING. That's the reason I subscribe to Playboy......and Sexy Grannies... 3) - It is a running joke that I think my life may be being secretly filmed for an underground reality - TV show. But I'm not paranoid, or anything.....ok it's time for my psycho-genic meds...... 4) - I prefer my microwave-popped popcorn to be just a little burned 5) - When I halfway joke about me being psychic, I'm only halfway joking....there have been some strange incidents...Now if only I could come up with those damned Texas lotto numbers.... 6) - When I start drinking (seriously drinking....I haven't cut loose in a long time) I will gladly hear your life story.....but I will quite probably offer some drunken advice/ philosophy. And I can't guarantee that it will be good advice (just ask Brandi). I think the last one was something like "Man, screw Google stock.....invest in edible paper.....that's where the money is!" On a side note, when I'm REALLY, REALLY drunk, I turn into a pizza connoisseur. 7) - Although it pains me to admit this, I kinda have a fingernail thing. I can't stand for my fingernails to be very long, so I keep them clipped short. Very short. But I think I developed this thing after working at the hospital, so doesn't that make it a little more understandable? Yeah, I thought so.... 8) - I really have no problem with uncomfortable silence. If somebody, say, at work, asks me an overly personal question, I have been known to not say anything at all. I'll just keep the eye contact, fold my hands, and...not say anything until the moment is soooooo tense that the other person gives up and leaves. On another side note, Cissy will tell anybody anything. This is especially true when alcohol is involved. So, there it all is. My soul laid painfully bare. All I can say is, "Heather, if this stark admission doesn't scare you off, then welcome to the Trey blogs". Oh, and I almost forgot....I'm a boob guy....

How I met a real live whore!! Current mood:I think I threw up a little bit in my mouth Category: Blogging So, I was at work esta noche, and my scheduled patient did not show up. As it just so happens, there was a previous study to score (a real monster...8.1 hrs of recorded time). I decided to take a break around 10PM and go to Burger King (take that, diet). I placed my order, pulled around to the window, and paid the cashier. At this point, there was a knock on my passenger side window. It was obviously a homeless woman. "Sir", she rasped, "Can you please give me a lift to the shelter?". I looked at the BK cashier, she looked at me, and we both kinda shrugged like WTF. Please keep in mind that it was around 35 degrees outside. Long story short, I felt bad enough to give this chick a lift (generosity has always been my weakness....too much love for humanity, doncha know). As we near the shelter, she (inevitably) asks for 10$, and I tell her sorry, but all I can give her is the ride to the shelter. "I'll give you a blowjob", she said. Man....did I mention that she looked around 75 and stank really bad? This encounter really floored me, and left me incredibly depressed at the plight of some people.....so as her head was a-bobbin, I reflected that (unlike her) I was really, really lucky. Howso? When I checked my e-mail today I saw that I had apparently won not just one, but 4 different foreign lotteries (suck it, Texas lotto!)....and had 2 different business proposals (with minimum monetary investment).....and also discovered that a long-lost distant family member died, and I could claim the estate (as long as I prepay the taxes, a small amount compared to the 2.4 million euros I stand to inherit). So, yeah....I'm one lucky bastard.....How many other dudes get the chance to get cheap head from a member of the homeless while eating BK (Actually, I guesss that means that we were both munching on a whopper, eh?) Ya-da-dant da-da Dant !

How I met a real live whore!! Current mood:I think I threw up a little bit in my mouth Category: Blogging So, I was at work esta noche, and my scheduled patient did not show up. As it just so happens, there was a previous study to score (a real monster...8.1 hrs of recorded time). I decided to take a break around 10PM and go to Burger King (take that, diet). I placed my order, pulled around to the window, and paid the cashier. At this point, there was a knock on my passenger side window. It was obviously a homeless woman. "Sir", she rasped, "Can you please give me a lift to the shelter?". I looked at the BK cashier, she looked at me, and we both kinda shrugged like WTF. Please keep in mind that it was around 35 degrees outside. Long story short, I felt bad enough to give this chick a lift (generosity has always been my weakness....too much love for humanity, doncha know). As we near the shelter, she (inevitably) asks for 10$, and I tell her sorry, but all I can give her is the ride to the shelter. "I'll give you a blowjob", she said. Man....did I mention that she looked around 75 and stank really bad? This encounter really floored me, and left me incredibly depressed at the plight of some people.....so as her head was a-bobbin, I reflected that (unlike her) I was really, really lucky. Howso? When I checked my e-mail today I saw that I had apparently won not just one, but 4 different foreign lotteries (suck it, Texas lotto!)....and had 2 different business proposals (with minimum monetary investment).....and also discovered that a long-lost distant family member died, and I could claim the estate (as long as I prepay the taxes, a small amount compared to the 2.4 million euros I stand to inherit). So, yeah....I'm one lucky bastard.....How many other dudes get the chance to get cheap head from a member of the homeless while eating BK (Actually, I guesss that means that we were both munching on a whopper, eh?) Ya-da-dant da-da Dant !

Weird recurring dream Current mood:lil' creeped out Category: Blogging Whilst trying to avoid any semblence of work, I was recently flipping through the late-night television channels. So, what did I stumble across? A classic Sly Stallone movie (Cobra...it really reinforces what a freak Stallone has become since his plastic surgery...for more on that, please see my earlier blog), infomercials galore (most, it would seem, deal with the lack of quality sleep, although the Girls Gone Wild videos take a strong second place), and a trailer for the movie "300". Noticably absent was the usual Action Central Cabaret commercials (but, I digress....). But this movie 300 looks to be pretty weird. From what I could piece together, it is a re-telling of the battle between the Spartans (not of NCAA fame) and the Persians. Interestingly enough, I remember a college teacher telling the class that the 300 Spartans in this elite unit were all gay. Seriously. I know Cissy will not take my word for any of this until Brandi verifies it (just like I've never cooked gumbo before. But again, I digress.....) even though this is EXACTLY the kind of trivial tidbit that I'm famous for remembering. So, all of that really has nothing to do with the subject of my blog, which is..... Lately, I've been having this weird recurring dream! The details vary slightly, but the constant theme deals with a haunted house. The house is always a large white woodframe, 3 or 4 stories tall, deserted, and in varying stages of ruin (sometimes almost wrecked to the point of condemnation, sometimes only peeling paint and saggy roof). In the dream, for whatever reason, I'm always having to enter the house. Something horrible has happened inside the house, and I always pick up the vibes from that. Strangely, I never actually see anything......only the feeling that I get from being in there is intense.....and bad. I've had this dream enough to wonder if I will have to actually enter this house in real life. Usually I can easily dismiss dreams as the firing of random neurons in a chemical bath......but now I'm not so sure. So.....anybody wanna play Freud and interpret this dream for me?

Weird recurring dream Current mood:lil' creeped out Category: Blogging Whilst trying to avoid any semblence of work, I was recently flipping through the late-night television channels. So, what did I stumble across? A classic Sly Stallone movie (Cobra...it really reinforces what a freak Stallone has become since his plastic surgery...for more on that, please see my earlier blog), infomercials galore (most, it would seem, deal with the lack of quality sleep, although the Girls Gone Wild videos take a strong second place), and a trailer for the movie "300". Noticably absent was the usual Action Central Cabaret commercials (but, I digress....). But this movie 300 looks to be pretty weird. From what I could piece together, it is a re-telling of the battle between the Spartans (not of NCAA fame) and the Persians. Interestingly enough, I remember a college teacher telling the class that the 300 Spartans in this elite unit were all gay. Seriously. I know Cissy will not take my word for any of this until Brandi verifies it (just like I've never cooked gumbo before. But again, I digress.....) even though this is EXACTLY the kind of trivial tidbit that I'm famous for remembering. So, all of that really has nothing to do with the subject of my blog, which is..... Lately, I've been having this weird recurring dream! The details vary slightly, but the constant theme deals with a haunted house. The house is always a large white woodframe, 3 or 4 stories tall, deserted, and in varying stages of ruin (sometimes almost wrecked to the point of condemnation, sometimes only peeling paint and saggy roof). In the dream, for whatever reason, I'm always having to enter the house. Something horrible has happened inside the house, and I always pick up the vibes from that. Strangely, I never actually see anything......only the feeling that I get from being in there is intense.....and bad. I've had this dream enough to wonder if I will have to actually enter this house in real life. Usually I can easily dismiss dreams as the firing of random neurons in a chemical bath......but now I'm not so sure. So.....anybody wanna play Freud and interpret this dream for me?

She's gynecologi-riffic ! Current mood:steely Category: Blogging In all of history, there are certain events that are so important, so vital to world culture that they are universally celebrated. I'm speaking of things that have the power to change the course of history, such as the creation of the Magna Carta, the re-unification of Germany, and of course, the unveiling of Britany Spears' labia. Of the 3, by far the more revelant topic has to be the showing of the hoo-hoo. Now don't get me wrong.....I love most vaginas....I just don't want to see the ugly ones. Britany Spears was an underage sexual icon throughout most of the 90's, and the Earth-shaking revelation that her downstairs is akin to a Salvadore Dali painting (you know the one...that one with the droopy clocks hanging over the tree branches).....well....that just sucks all the joy out of being a man. Because I tend to be benevolent, I have decided to write an open letter to Ms. Spears' privates: Dear Twatty, Ever since I saw you on the internet, my life has not been the same. And I don't mean that in a good way, either. The truth is, the sight of you glaring out so bare is a little disturbing. So what's the deal? Did Brit have a really bad bicycle accident? Was she in a fire that resulted in a vaginal skin graft? And don't give me the old stanby arguement that she just had two children.....We both know that those kids were delivered via C-section ( I know because I'm all stalker-y like that. And also because the scar was showing). Whatever the reason, let me offer a few suggestions: 1) - The bare look is not a good look for you. In fact, you may want to grow out the pubic hair as long as possible, and then attempt a combover to cover up a lil' bit (Hey, whatever.....it works for Donald Trump). If , like myself, you have trouble cultivating a proper pubic thatch, then I would suggest looking into buying a merkin. 2) - Do not underestimate the importance of a good distraction. Perhaps if you affixed a pair of "truck nuts" to your mommy parts, it would draw the eye away from your chaotic goodies ( "Chaotic".....get it? Here I'm attempting to link the name of her reality show to a disparaging adjective. Pretty funny huh? No? Oh, never mind....). 3) - Maybe start hanging around with chicks that have even uglier "down below's" than you, thereby making yours look better by comparison. You could befriend Lohan and Paris Hilton and....what's that? Ok, nevermind. The path you take, Beev, is not as important as the act of taking action. Just recently, I had to caution my teen son not to look at your pictures, lest he be scared of all women. respectfully, Trey As a postscript, lest I be viewed as misogynistic, I have decided to offer my female friends a service. If you are concerned that your clamster may not be lookin' so sharp, I will gladly inspect. Just call me, set up an appointment, and place your feet in the stirups. I'll even numb it for you, if you want.........

She's gynecologi-riffic ! Current mood:steely Category: Blogging In all of history, there are certain events that are so important, so vital to world culture that they are universally celebrated. I'm speaking of things that have the power to change the course of history, such as the creation of the Magna Carta, the re-unification of Germany, and of course, the unveiling of Britany Spears' labia. Of the 3, by far the more revelant topic has to be the showing of the hoo-hoo. Now don't get me wrong.....I love most vaginas....I just don't want to see the ugly ones. Britany Spears was an underage sexual icon throughout most of the 90's, and the Earth-shaking revelation that her downstairs is akin to a Salvadore Dali painting (you know the one...that one with the droopy clocks hanging over the tree branches).....well....that just sucks all the joy out of being a man. Because I tend to be benevolent, I have decided to write an open letter to Ms. Spears' privates: Dear Twatty, Ever since I saw you on the internet, my life has not been the same. And I don't mean that in a good way, either. The truth is, the sight of you glaring out so bare is a little disturbing. So what's the deal? Did Brit have a really bad bicycle accident? Was she in a fire that resulted in a vaginal skin graft? And don't give me the old stanby arguement that she just had two children.....We both know that those kids were delivered via C-section ( I know because I'm all stalker-y like that. And also because the scar was showing). Whatever the reason, let me offer a few suggestions: 1) - The bare look is not a good look for you. In fact, you may want to grow out the pubic hair as long as possible, and then attempt a combover to cover up a lil' bit (Hey, whatever.....it works for Donald Trump). If , like myself, you have trouble cultivating a proper pubic thatch, then I would suggest looking into buying a merkin. 2) - Do not underestimate the importance of a good distraction. Perhaps if you affixed a pair of "truck nuts" to your mommy parts, it would draw the eye away from your chaotic goodies ( "Chaotic".....get it? Here I'm attempting to link the name of her reality show to a disparaging adjective. Pretty funny huh? No? Oh, never mind....). 3) - Maybe start hanging around with chicks that have even uglier "down below's" than you, thereby making yours look better by comparison. You could befriend Lohan and Paris Hilton and....what's that? Ok, nevermind. The path you take, Beev, is not as important as the act of taking action. Just recently, I had to caution my teen son not to look at your pictures, lest he be scared of all women. respectfully, Trey As a postscript, lest I be viewed as misogynistic, I have decided to offer my female friends a service. If you are concerned that your clamster may not be lookin' so sharp, I will gladly inspect. Just call me, set up an appointment, and place your feet in the stirups. I'll even numb it for you, if you want.........

piss-poor state of the union Current mood:twaddle-prone Category: Blogging So.....the weather has turned a little cooler, Halloween and Thanksgiving have gone tits up, and my hospital has started playing festive music continually (but softly) over the PA. Each event is pretty innocuous by itself, but add them up and what do you get? The nearing of Christmas! And nothing says "Happy birthday, Lord Jesus" like another Rocky movie coming down the pike. In order to promote his new movie, Sly Stallone has been making the late-night talk shows. This brings me to my main point, namely, What in the name of organized fisticuffs has happened to Sylvester Stallone?!? I happened to look up at the TV and......wow. If you haven't seen him lately, apparently he's had a bit o' plastic surgery. And when I say a little bit, I mean an assload. His eyebrows are fixed in this weird double arch pattern, and it makes him look surprised all the time. Also, his eyes are looking a little asian (not that there's anything wrong with a little asian. In fact, I've hired one to ride on the back of my Newfie, but I digress.....) from the extreme and unnatural tautness of his facial skin. Don't feel too bad though for Sly, though. He's still pretty ripped. He looks like a boxer. I look like a Buddha who's put a moratorium on the whole "cessation of desire" thing and has decided to eat buffet. I guess if there's a lesson to be learned in all of this it would be 1) Don't mock my American Indian heritage, or I will put a curse on you, and 2) We are all going to grow old together, friends (Um, I hope we are, anyways.....the alternative to that is pretty grim, eh?) so let's just accept the inevitable with some dignity, ok? I'll get the ball rolling.......right after I have my mid-life crisis.

piss-poor state of the union Current mood:twaddle-prone Category: Blogging So.....the weather has turned a little cooler, Halloween and Thanksgiving have gone tits up, and my hospital has started playing festive music continually (but softly) over the PA. Each event is pretty innocuous by itself, but add them up and what do you get? The nearing of Christmas! And nothing says "Happy birthday, Lord Jesus" like another Rocky movie coming down the pike. In order to promote his new movie, Sly Stallone has been making the late-night talk shows. This brings me to my main point, namely, What in the name of organized fisticuffs has happened to Sylvester Stallone?!? I happened to look up at the TV and......wow. If you haven't seen him lately, apparently he's had a bit o' plastic surgery. And when I say a little bit, I mean an assload. His eyebrows are fixed in this weird double arch pattern, and it makes him look surprised all the time. Also, his eyes are looking a little asian (not that there's anything wrong with a little asian. In fact, I've hired one to ride on the back of my Newfie, but I digress.....) from the extreme and unnatural tautness of his facial skin. Don't feel too bad though for Sly, though. He's still pretty ripped. He looks like a boxer. I look like a Buddha who's put a moratorium on the whole "cessation of desire" thing and has decided to eat buffet. I guess if there's a lesson to be learned in all of this it would be 1) Don't mock my American Indian heritage, or I will put a curse on you, and 2) We are all going to grow old together, friends (Um, I hope we are, anyways.....the alternative to that is pretty grim, eh?) so let's just accept the inevitable with some dignity, ok? I'll get the ball rolling.......right after I have my mid-life crisis.

Quality Assurance can lead to Romance! Current mood:kinda glum..... Category: Blogging So.....I haven't blogged in awhile. To be perfectly honest, I've had some personal issues......setbacks, really.....that have left me kind of depressed. No, no.....don't cry for me, Argentina. Supreme Pizza and Family Guy have proven to be very effective balms. So, as I sit here at work scratching my beard (3+ weeks without shaving! I look like a more manly version of Grizzly Adams!) it occurs to me that I do, in fact, have a story to share. And with that shitty segway, here it is: Not so long ago, the powers that be in the sleep lab (that's me and my supervisor) decided to implement a patient satisfaction survey in our patients' morning discharge paperwork ( the story behind our decision is a doozy, but kinda lenghty....). Anywho, flash forward to last week. I'm reading the patient responses.....and I'm stunned to read the following: Tracy is very nice, and cute! and a little farther down the page: Tracy is a very funny man! Yes, the exclamation mark dots were in the shape of little hearts. But here's where the plot thickens....The note could have been written by any of my last 3 patients. Could the author be the aging (she was 30, but looked like she was 50), rough-living former stripper with the fan-freaking-tastic boob job? Or could it have been the spicy Latina attorney (here for the preliminary work-up for the lap-band surgery) with a mustache and arms that I could comb? Or perhaps it was my third patient......the guy who had just recently been released from prison! In all likelyhood, I will probably never solve this particular mystery. And I'm not sure that I want to.

Quality Assurance can lead to Romance! Current mood:kinda glum..... Category: Blogging So.....I haven't blogged in awhile. To be perfectly honest, I've had some personal issues......setbacks, really.....that have left me kind of depressed. No, no.....don't cry for me, Argentina. Supreme Pizza and Family Guy have proven to be very effective balms. So, as I sit here at work scratching my beard (3+ weeks without shaving! I look like a more manly version of Grizzly Adams!) it occurs to me that I do, in fact, have a story to share. And with that shitty segway, here it is: Not so long ago, the powers that be in the sleep lab (that's me and my supervisor) decided to implement a patient satisfaction survey in our patients' morning discharge paperwork ( the story behind our decision is a doozy, but kinda lenghty....). Anywho, flash forward to last week. I'm reading the patient responses.....and I'm stunned to read the following: Tracy is very nice, and cute! and a little farther down the page: Tracy is a very funny man! Yes, the exclamation mark dots were in the shape of little hearts. But here's where the plot thickens....The note could have been written by any of my last 3 patients. Could the author be the aging (she was 30, but looked like she was 50), rough-living former stripper with the fan-freaking-tastic boob job? Or could it have been the spicy Latina attorney (here for the preliminary work-up for the lap-band surgery) with a mustache and arms that I could comb? Or perhaps it was my third patient......the guy who had just recently been released from prison! In all likelyhood, I will probably never solve this particular mystery. And I'm not sure that I want to.

Fouke Monster.....That Funky Monster.... Current mood:curmudgeonly Category: Blogging Well, I've just seen the "teases" for the local news channel. As it turns out, police are raiding a religious compound in Fouke, Arkansas. It is being alleged that minors were forced into sexual situations by the "prophet". Mormons everywhere will breathe easier knowing that this isn't a FLDS compound. That's the good news. The bad news is that the leader of the compound is none other than Tony Alamo (On a side note, let me just interject this: He pronounces his name "uh-LAH-mo" when the word is clearly "AL-uh-mow". I'm not sure exactly why, but this irritates me greatly. Perhaps I keep imagining Sam Houston shouting "Remember the uh-LAH-mo!". Also, I think I can safely say that this parenthetical aside has gone on for far too long). If you don't know who Tony Alamo is, he's the leader of the church that distributed those cool comic book leaflets that assured the reader that they were probably going to hell. Back in the day, after a rock concert at the Hirsh, (didn't matter who was headlining.....Queensryche probably opened for them), an attendee could count on a little comic book under the car windshield. The comic was usually a morality tale involving some good-hearted, all-American teens that went to see a rock concert....usually over the protestations of their saintly old mothers. The teens go to the show anyway, where one realizes that the seductive music is only a lure...and that everybody in the arena had been tricked into worshiping satan!! Sadly, this realization comes a little late, as there is a car wreck on the journey home. All the good-hearted teens are killed and go directly to hell, where satan laughs and laughs. Alternately, there was another comic involving the celebration of Halloween (aka "Celebrate Halloween and Make Jesus Cry") that was sometimes distributed, but the rock concert tragedy was usually the 1 fave of the uh-LAH-mow crowd. I'm not sure how this whole Alamo thing will work out. I WAS glad to see that Tony faced the arresting officers with dignity, wearing his very best tie-dyed shirt and oversized Jim Jones sunglasses. I'm sure this matter will be settled by a jury of his peers....as soon as the court can find 12 nutjob cult leaders not currently doing time in jail (As another aside, I don't have any grudge against weird cult leaders....Cissy and I were married by one! Hey, does that invalidate our marriage?). As I watched the news story, I was struck by the tone. It was, like, 10% Alamo.....90% residents saying how that Fouke had really, really good things going for it, and how it was a really, really good town, and how they hoped that Alamo hadn't sullied the good reputation of Fouke. Incidentally, Fouke is the small town in Arkansas known for a bigfoot-like monster that some residents have seen running around. Also, Fouke was the town that had a charming little sign at the city limits that read "N*gger, don't let the sun set on you in this town". Also, Fouke is where the residents refer to "Martin Luther King, Jr day" as "Deer Hunting day". Also, Fouke has the dubious honor of having had 2 residents convicted for burning a cross in view of the lone black residents of the town. I sure hope that this whole Alamo thing doesn't ruin the really, really good reputation of Fouke.

Fouke Monster.....That Funky Monster.... Current mood:curmudgeonly Category: Blogging Well, I've just seen the "teases" for the local news channel. As it turns out, police are raiding a religious compound in Fouke, Arkansas. It is being alleged that minors were forced into sexual situations by the "prophet". Mormons everywhere will breathe easier knowing that this isn't a FLDS compound. That's the good news. The bad news is that the leader of the compound is none other than Tony Alamo (On a side note, let me just interject this: He pronounces his name "uh-LAH-mo" when the word is clearly "AL-uh-mow". I'm not sure exactly why, but this irritates me greatly. Perhaps I keep imagining Sam Houston shouting "Remember the uh-LAH-mo!". Also, I think I can safely say that this parenthetical aside has gone on for far too long). If you don't know who Tony Alamo is, he's the leader of the church that distributed those cool comic book leaflets that assured the reader that they were probably going to hell. Back in the day, after a rock concert at the Hirsh, (didn't matter who was headlining.....Queensryche probably opened for them), an attendee could count on a little comic book under the car windshield. The comic was usually a morality tale involving some good-hearted, all-American teens that went to see a rock concert....usually over the protestations of their saintly old mothers. The teens go to the show anyway, where one realizes that the seductive music is only a lure...and that everybody in the arena had been tricked into worshiping satan!! Sadly, this realization comes a little late, as there is a car wreck on the journey home. All the good-hearted teens are killed and go directly to hell, where satan laughs and laughs. Alternately, there was another comic involving the celebration of Halloween (aka "Celebrate Halloween and Make Jesus Cry") that was sometimes distributed, but the rock concert tragedy was usually the 1 fave of the uh-LAH-mow crowd. I'm not sure how this whole Alamo thing will work out. I WAS glad to see that Tony faced the arresting officers with dignity, wearing his very best tie-dyed shirt and oversized Jim Jones sunglasses. I'm sure this matter will be settled by a jury of his peers....as soon as the court can find 12 nutjob cult leaders not currently doing time in jail (As another aside, I don't have any grudge against weird cult leaders....Cissy and I were married by one! Hey, does that invalidate our marriage?). As I watched the news story, I was struck by the tone. It was, like, 10% Alamo.....90% residents saying how that Fouke had really, really good things going for it, and how it was a really, really good town, and how they hoped that Alamo hadn't sullied the good reputation of Fouke. Incidentally, Fouke is the small town in Arkansas known for a bigfoot-like monster that some residents have seen running around. Also, Fouke was the town that had a charming little sign at the city limits that read "N*gger, don't let the sun set on you in this town". Also, Fouke is where the residents refer to "Martin Luther King, Jr day" as "Deer Hunting day". Also, Fouke has the dubious honor of having had 2 residents convicted for burning a cross in view of the lone black residents of the town. I sure hope that this whole Alamo thing doesn't ruin the really, really good reputation of Fouke.

Be still my heart....uh, not literally Current mood:febrile Category: Blogging Welp, here it is at the very end of August. I have been very busy lately, which cuts down on my blogging time. After receiving many, many heartbreaking letters begging me to write more "zany articles of rib-tickling delight", I have a new goal....to blog at least once a month. Cissy would probably appreciate it more if my new goal was to double my income...but i am a man of my word, so 1 blog / month it is. After vacationing in Florida earlier this month, I am reluctantly recanting my previous blog. You see, i have decided again that (should the circumstances align just right) Brandi will indeed be my next wife. What follows is a list of the reasons why: 10) - Awesome rack. Oh, I forgot...she likes me to call them "titties" 9) - She makes purty kids 8) - Has a no-nonsense approach to teaching her kids the correct anatomical names for parts of the body, like "Yum-yums", "Tooterbug", and "Penis" 7) - B makes a baked penne dish that will make you murder several people in an attempt to incite a race war. At least, that's how Chuck Manson described it... 6) - She can play foozball like a savant 5) - Has a decent shot at becoming a poker professional. I bet you expected me to make a cheap pun using the word "poker", didn't you? Well I'm a master of the unexpected, baby! 4) - Not afraid to get burned by a stoogie. I can't say any more about that 3) - She knows she can't *CHANGE ME* 2) - Shes ready to turn in by 9:00 PM, leaving me plenty of time to fight crime as a costumed superhero 1) One word: Beva (all I'm gonna say is that it's NOT what you're thinking, ya sickos!)

Be still my heart....uh, not literally Current mood:febrile Category: Blogging Welp, here it is at the very end of August. I have been very busy lately, which cuts down on my blogging time. After receiving many, many heartbreaking letters begging me to write more "zany articles of rib-tickling delight", I have a new goal....to blog at least once a month. Cissy would probably appreciate it more if my new goal was to double my income...but i am a man of my word, so 1 blog / month it is. After vacationing in Florida earlier this month, I am reluctantly recanting my previous blog. You see, i have decided again that (should the circumstances align just right) Brandi will indeed be my next wife. What follows is a list of the reasons why: 10) - Awesome rack. Oh, I forgot...she likes me to call them "titties" 9) - She makes purty kids 8) - Has a no-nonsense approach to teaching her kids the correct anatomical names for parts of the body, like "Yum-yums", "Tooterbug", and "Penis" 7) - B makes a baked penne dish that will make you murder several people in an attempt to incite a race war. At least, that's how Chuck Manson described it... 6) - She can play foozball like a savant 5) - Has a decent shot at becoming a poker professional. I bet you expected me to make a cheap pun using the word "poker", didn't you? Well I'm a master of the unexpected, baby! 4) - Not afraid to get burned by a stoogie. I can't say any more about that 3) - She knows she can't *CHANGE ME* 2) - Shes ready to turn in by 9:00 PM, leaving me plenty of time to fight crime as a costumed superhero 1) One word: Beva (all I'm gonna say is that it's NOT what you're thinking, ya sickos!)

My future ex wife? Category: Blogging Brandi and I have a running joke about how, later in life, I'd try to marry her (because she's hot, she can cook like crazy, and she's one of the few people I feel comfortable with). Well, as amusing as this little joke is, I was suddenly struck by the fact that it will probably never come to pass. Why? I glad you asked, dear reader. Without further ado, here are the top 10 reasons B & I would never last as a couple: 10) - Ches and Cissy will probably live to be 120, whereas I only have, like, 60-70 days until that massive coronary hits. 9) - B is not a music lover. That, my friends, is blasphemy. BTW, I don't consider Flo Rider music. 8) - "Heart O' Stone" Liles is unaffected by my romantic poetry. 7) - The time it takes to go from being amused by my weird trivia recall to being weirded out by it is approximately 14.7 hours 6) - B is a social butterfly....I'm as social as the unibomber. 5) - I don't have any qualities that B would consider attractive (ie, I'm not rich, short, dark, or gay). 4) - Although I intensely dislike Chris Simms, that whole "Chris Simms is a p*ssy" shout kinda weirds me out. This leads me directly to: 3) - B can drink me under the table 2) - She has weird cousins (totally unlike mine) And the number one reason why Brandi and I would never last as a couple... 1) - I know sexual techniques that would blow her Lutherian mind, and might possibly cause her to be excommunicated. So, as much as it saddens me, I have to be realistic about these things. Ladies, I'm now taking applications (yes, you're gonna need references).

My future ex wife? Category: Blogging Brandi and I have a running joke about how, later in life, I'd try to marry her (because she's hot, she can cook like crazy, and she's one of the few people I feel comfortable with). Well, as amusing as this little joke is, I was suddenly struck by the fact that it will probably never come to pass. Why? I glad you asked, dear reader. Without further ado, here are the top 10 reasons B & I would never last as a couple: 10) - Ches and Cissy will probably live to be 120, whereas I only have, like, 60-70 days until that massive coronary hits. 9) - B is not a music lover. That, my friends, is blasphemy. BTW, I don't consider Flo Rider music. 8) - "Heart O' Stone" Liles is unaffected by my romantic poetry. 7) - The time it takes to go from being amused by my weird trivia recall to being weirded out by it is approximately 14.7 hours 6) - B is a social butterfly....I'm as social as the unibomber. 5) - I don't have any qualities that B would consider attractive (ie, I'm not rich, short, dark, or gay). 4) - Although I intensely dislike Chris Simms, that whole "Chris Simms is a p*ssy" shout kinda weirds me out. This leads me directly to: 3) - B can drink me under the table 2) - She has weird cousins (totally unlike mine) And the number one reason why Brandi and I would never last as a couple... 1) - I know sexual techniques that would blow her Lutherian mind, and might possibly cause her to be excommunicated. So, as much as it saddens me, I have to be realistic about these things. Ladies, I'm now taking applications (yes, you're gonna need references).