Pretty decent video. Iraqi terrorists taken out by an Apache gunship. If you're wounded, it's a good idea to remain as still as possible...as you will see.
http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=13e_1226753003
Friday, November 28, 2008
LiveLeak.com
Pretty decent video. Iraqi terrorists taken out by an Apache gunship. If you're wounded, it's a good idea to remain as still as possible...as you will see.
http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=13e_1226753003
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Designated Marksman
Many of the designated marksmen carry the M-14 rifle.
I'd say these Marines are all in line for some important promotions and personal citations regardless of their race, color or creed.
Marine Makes Insurgents Pay the Price
http://www.military.com/news/article/marine-corps-news/marine-makes-insurgents-pay-the-price.html
....During the battle, the designated marksman single handedly thwarted a company-sized enemy RPG and machinegun ambush by reportedly killing 20 enemy fighters with his devastatingly accurate precision fire. He selflessly exposed himself time and again to intense enemy fire during a critical point in the eight-hour battle for Shewan in order to kill any enemy combatants who attempted to engage or maneuver on the Marines in the kill zone. What made his actions even more impressive was the fact that he didn’t miss any shots, despite the enemies’ rounds impacting within a foot of his fighting position.
“I was in my own little world,” the young corporal said. “I wasn’t even aware of a lot of the rounds impacting near my position, because I was concentrating so hard on making sure my rounds were on target.”
http://www.military.com/news/article/marine-corps-news/marine-makes-insurgents-pay-the-price.html
....During the battle, the designated marksman single handedly thwarted a company-sized enemy RPG and machinegun ambush by reportedly killing 20 enemy fighters with his devastatingly accurate precision fire. He selflessly exposed himself time and again to intense enemy fire during a critical point in the eight-hour battle for Shewan in order to kill any enemy combatants who attempted to engage or maneuver on the Marines in the kill zone. What made his actions even more impressive was the fact that he didn’t miss any shots, despite the enemies’ rounds impacting within a foot of his fighting position.
“I was in my own little world,” the young corporal said. “I wasn’t even aware of a lot of the rounds impacting near my position, because I was concentrating so hard on making sure my rounds were on target.”
Drink Up and Be Merry, Damnit
A review of a comendium of Kingsley Amis' thoughts on drinking is out: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/nov/23/kingsleyamis-alcohol
They just don't make drinkers like Kingsley anymore. Christopher Hitchens probably comes close but would probably be quickly routed in a set to with the elder Amis, even though he's been dead for some time.
As for me, I've decided to more properly dedicate myself to the two bottles of Famous Grouse I just found in my desk drawer. They'll go well with Fraser's Flashman, or with Mr. Amis.
Survey says.....
It's 3:00 P.M. on Thanksgiving. The big meal was served 3 hours ago and the rest of the family has either retired to the back for a nap or returned to their own homes for a while. You are prone on the couch with the football game on in the background. As you approach the blissful oblivion of an afternoon nap, you suddenly realize that the world is once again your own private domain. You remember that a plate of turkey/dressing/broccoli-rice casserole has already been made and is waiting in the fridge for you, right next to 4 cold brews. The kids are visiting nearby cousins for the afternoon. You check the game and it has suddenly become very exciting, with the Cowboys up by 4, the Seahawks with the ball on their own 40 and 2 minutes to go. Just as you rise to take advantage of the 2-minute warning time-out by heating up the plate of leftovers and cracking open a cold one, a noise from the back bedroom reminds you that the missus promised you 20 minutes (give or take) of mind altering happy time, hinting at pleasures you haven't known since 2 weeks before your wedding day. Time is of the essence, however. Your little visit to the land of "afternoon delight" is dependent on your arriving, ready for action, before she falls asleep or anyone else wakes up/returns home/etc. Do you...
A. Head straight to the back, peeling off clothes as you go.
B. Head straight to the fridge, grab the Guinness, heat the food, and return to the couch just in time for the rest of the game.
C. Mumble "fuck it" and drop off into a tryptophan induced coma...
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Hack head sportswriter Kirk Bohls article in today's Austin American-Statesman. File under "backhanded compliments".
Has Texas A&M become the Big 12's new Baylor?
COLLEGE STATION — Texas A&M's football program is once again at a crossroads, even if some are wondering whether the Aggies can even see that intersection from where they sit.
The painful questions are as obvious as the shine on a Corps of Cadet member's low-quarter shoes.
Is Texas A&M the new Baylor?
http://www.statesman.com/sports/content/sports/stories/other/11/25/1125bohls.html
Has Texas A&M become the Big 12's new Baylor?
COLLEGE STATION — Texas A&M's football program is once again at a crossroads, even if some are wondering whether the Aggies can even see that intersection from where they sit.
The painful questions are as obvious as the shine on a Corps of Cadet member's low-quarter shoes.
Is Texas A&M the new Baylor?
http://www.statesman.com/sports/content/sports/stories/other/11/25/1125bohls.html
Monday, November 24, 2008
New Orleans Confidential
Great visit to the Crescent City this past weekend save the miserable LSU game. The team has given up on this season. Hard to believe this is the same bunch that played Alabama to OT.
We spent much of Sunday strolling around in the Vieux Carre' and drinking 32 ounce Pina Coladas. Friday lunch at Galley Seafood in Metairie near where we used to live, Friday night dinner at Brigtsen's (pronounced "Brightsons") just off Carrollton near Camilla Grill (where we ate breakfast Saturday morning). I weigh 5.5 lbs. more than I did Friday morning.
Stayed at the fabulous Windsor Court Hotel.
A fantastic weekend. Many thanks...
Thursday, November 20, 2008
One Sorry-Ass Piece of Ground
I'm talking about that eternal piece of shit called Afghanistan. A new book by John Sweeny (reviewed here: http://www.newstatesman.com/books/2008/10/afghanistan-british-taliban) gives a nice overview of the rotten history of that dung heap, populated by a wretched race of goat and boy rapists. For something more entertaining (and damn good history, too) pick up the first book of the "Flashman" series by George MacDonald Fraser. A ripping yarn and nothing like you've ever read. Our boy, Flashman (see here in a later adventure) slinks, cads, and otherwise screws himself through the better part of British colonial history. Fraser's depiction of the utter demise of Elphinstone's force at the hands of the Afghan cutthroats (except for Flashy, of course) was enlightening when I first read it ten or so years ago. Great stuff.
Southern Smack
Some good old fashioned SEC jawing, this time courtesy of some Ole Miss types about their next door white trash neighbors over in Baton Rouge (you listening to this, Shellback?) http://redsolocup.blogspot.com/
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Vols Coaching Update
EDSBS has an on the spot update regarding the search for a new Tennessee Vols football coach as faithful orange hued fans (one shown at right) pray for deliverance and squeel like pigs. http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/2008/11/19/its-new-and-it-scares-me/#more-7758
"not funny ha ha, funny queer..."
"...a cop knelt, and kissed the feet of a priest, and the queer threw up at the sight of that..."
Great line from a Bowie song I was listening to this morning. Funny how such a simple line from a song most have never heard (I doubt it has ever been played on the radio) can underscore a major change in our society, more than 30 years after the lyrics were penned.
At the time the song was released, no one thought much about such lyrics, gave a second thought to the use of the word "queer", or found the scenario of a policeman paying his respects to a man of the cloth to be the least bit disturbing. Only the question of why a man widely considered to be the walking embodiment of "queer" would use such imagery in his own song made the words more than just a throw-away line.
This morning, though, the above words reminded me that in these enlightened times "queer" could never be used publicly to describe a person - as there would be much gnashing of teeth in Washington, prohibitive laws would be written, and the courts would most assuredly punish such insensitivity, any policeman - as a functioning "public servant" - would probably lose his job for such an seditious act "prohibited" by whole church/state bullshit, and that the "queer's" revulsion at such a display would engender more of our attention than either the respect and courtesy shown by the lawman or the comforts of faith imparted by the priest, as the feelings of Mr. "ass-is-hairier-on-the-other-side-of-the-fence" certainly carry more weight than those of the other two.
Another line in the song includes "...and if the black hadn't pulled her off...". Yes, "the black" is being used to describe a person. Don't get me started...
Great line from a Bowie song I was listening to this morning. Funny how such a simple line from a song most have never heard (I doubt it has ever been played on the radio) can underscore a major change in our society, more than 30 years after the lyrics were penned.
At the time the song was released, no one thought much about such lyrics, gave a second thought to the use of the word "queer", or found the scenario of a policeman paying his respects to a man of the cloth to be the least bit disturbing. Only the question of why a man widely considered to be the walking embodiment of "queer" would use such imagery in his own song made the words more than just a throw-away line.
This morning, though, the above words reminded me that in these enlightened times "queer" could never be used publicly to describe a person - as there would be much gnashing of teeth in Washington, prohibitive laws would be written, and the courts would most assuredly punish such insensitivity, any policeman - as a functioning "public servant" - would probably lose his job for such an seditious act "prohibited" by whole church/state bullshit, and that the "queer's" revulsion at such a display would engender more of our attention than either the respect and courtesy shown by the lawman or the comforts of faith imparted by the priest, as the feelings of Mr. "ass-is-hairier-on-the-other-side-of-the-fence" certainly carry more weight than those of the other two.
Another line in the song includes "...and if the black hadn't pulled her off...". Yes, "the black" is being used to describe a person. Don't get me started...
Monday, November 17, 2008
Gut Talk
Gutfeld weighs in on Obama's pick of Clinton lackey and UFO boy, John Podesta, shown here on the right, purchasing tickets at a gay and transgendered themed music festival.
Rivalries
A little something about college football rivalries:Baylor's ass whipping of A&M this past weekend was not unexpected (the bookies had the Bears favored and Baylor repaid the compliment by covering) and could point to the emergence of an actual coherent program, something that watchers of Art Briles have been predicting. According to astute observers, most notably our very own GC Mandrake, prospects for the Bears are actually quite promising in 2009.
Speaking of rivalries, who is Baylor's rival? A&M has probably stirred the most passion in the girded loins of Baylor types in the last decade. Texas? Not really--not much chance of anything resembling an even footing between the schools, at least in football. SMU and TCU maybe in the good ol' SWC days.
The Texas/OU game is tough to beat in terms of rivalries. Hatred in spades and two programs that really get after it on the field. Watching two 60ish well dressed River Oaks/Highland Park type ladies sitting in front of me jump up to scream, "FUCK YOU, OKLAHOMA!" while simultaneously offering double barreled middle fingered salutes as the Sooner squad ran onto the field just kind of warms your heart.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
One day these helpful "fun facts" will be a thing of the past but we've been living with them for a long time. From the Austin American Statesman article on the Baylor - A&M game:
http://www.statesman.com/sports/content/sports/stories/other/11/16/1116aggies.html
They notched their first victory over a Big 12 South team since 2005 over Oklahoma State — the only other time they finished out of the basement.
It was just their fourth victory against a South team in the league's 13-year history.
http://www.statesman.com/sports/content/sports/stories/other/11/16/1116aggies.html
They notched their first victory over a Big 12 South team since 2005 over Oklahoma State — the only other time they finished out of the basement.
It was just their fourth victory against a South team in the league's 13-year history.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Some things just make you all happy like
Italian playboy finds prison unpleasant.
http://www.austin360.com/news/content/shared-gen/ap/Movies/Vaticam_Scam_Follieri.html
Ouch!
Baton Rouge Police reported that an individual attempted to "egg" Coach Les Miles home last night.
The report stated:
An empty egg carton was recovered at the scene. Two eggs hit Coach Miles house, 3 eggs went over his house and hit his neighbor's backdoor, 2 eggs hit the houses of each of his next door neighbors, and the remaining 3 eggs were found broken on the ground near the carton from where the individual threw them. Looking at what was hit, police officials say they are considering LSU quarterback Jarrett Lee as the primary suspect.
The report stated:
An empty egg carton was recovered at the scene. Two eggs hit Coach Miles house, 3 eggs went over his house and hit his neighbor's backdoor, 2 eggs hit the houses of each of his next door neighbors, and the remaining 3 eggs were found broken on the ground near the carton from where the individual threw them. Looking at what was hit, police officials say they are considering LSU quarterback Jarrett Lee as the primary suspect.
Rove Weighs In
Rove says the numbers (and the gloom) are not what they appear.Of course, both Rove and O'Rourke didn't discuss the inevitable occurrence of Democrats stepping on their collective dicks prior to the next general election (that goes for you too, Ms. Pelosi) and the positive fallout that will benefit the R's. The D's are determined not to: they're filling their White House staff ranks with Clinton vets who they think have learned from the hijinks of Bill's Happy Happy Fun Time years and can apply those lessons to make Prez elect Obama the Six Billion Dollar Man. The D's are smart people, with degrees from Brown and Choate and Hahvad--just the kind of folks who sat around the table with LBJ and told him it was a good idea to boost troop levels in Vietnam to get rid of those pesky VC's, while showing the world that liberals are tough guys, too. I've never been happy with what I and a lot of others have perceived as W's lack of intellectual curiosity and Lord knows he could have benefited from Reagan's Communication 101, but one thing that history has taught us is that well intentioned smart people can do some ridiculously stupid things. I hope Obama and his team proves us wrong, but I'm betting that Karl and P.J. probably won't take that bet.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
James Bond
Mildly interesting WSJ article on Bond:
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB122644756360418951.html
The Kingsley Amis book might be interesting -
Decades of big-budget movies, most of them overstuffed with ridiculous gadgets and increasingly absurd save-the-world plots, have taken us away from the real Bond, the Cold War-era warrior admired by such high-class fans from the literary world as Kingsley Amis (who wrote a book, "The James Bond Dossier," in tribute), Raymond Chandler, W.H. Auden, Cyril Connolly and Anthony Burgess.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB122644756360418951.html
The Kingsley Amis book might be interesting -
Decades of big-budget movies, most of them overstuffed with ridiculous gadgets and increasingly absurd save-the-world plots, have taken us away from the real Bond, the Cold War-era warrior admired by such high-class fans from the literary world as Kingsley Amis (who wrote a book, "The James Bond Dossier," in tribute), Raymond Chandler, W.H. Auden, Cyril Connolly and Anthony Burgess.
Sobering Words for Knuckle Draggers Everywhere
P.J. O'Rourke lays it all out there to see. Not pretty, but he's on target.
http://www.weeklystandard.com/Content/Public/Articles/000/000/015/791jsebl.asp
It's a shit sandwich and we're all gonna have to take a bite.
Mill Creek happenings
Anybody here have a photo of the infamous PISS ROCK from Salado #4 tee-box? I could use it for the grief I'm about to receive at Spikesnstars.com. Much obliged....and stuff.
bears-aggies humor
Hate to give credit to anyone who has ever spent more than 4 hours in college station - much less attended the institute of agricultural instruction located in a pasture there. That being said, check out that most rare of treasures: a video of insightful and entertaining sports commentary produced by, directed by, and starring....aggies.
Well, "produced by" may be a stretch. I'm sure that some t-sip had to show 'em how to turn on a camera.
http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/2008/11/11/improvement-is-all-relative-baylor/
It goes without saying that aggies had nothing to do with the commentary that follows the video. I mean, come on...
Well, "produced by" may be a stretch. I'm sure that some t-sip had to show 'em how to turn on a camera.
http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/2008/11/11/improvement-is-all-relative-baylor/
It goes without saying that aggies had nothing to do with the commentary that follows the video. I mean, come on...
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
don't fvck with the bull...
Got my monthly "Howdy" message from Baylor Proud, or whatever they call themselves. For some reason I still can't quite fathom, I clicked on the link for pictures of the Homecoming '08 Parade. Hmmm. Highly disturbing. Not just the fact that twenty-some odd years and vast increases in technology have led to several steps back in the quality of the floats - they sucked mightily. Nor the fact that not only did I not see a single malted beverage container, I didn't even see anybody that looked even remotely hung over. No smoke coming out of the floats, nothing. Reminded me of cub scout fun day. And though I wasn't too impressed with the Baylor lasses, that didn't really bother me. As Jerry Jones would say, we had the pick of the litter back in our day, so such drop in quality came as no surprise.
No, what bothered me was that the fucking Betas are still on campus. No, wait. It gets worse. They tag-teamed it with the Sigma Chi's to build a float. What the hell is that all about? The Bull getting chummy with the dandies at Sigma Chode-Woofer? I think it wouldn't bother me so much that Taurus got a pass if they at least still sported a pair. Nope - apparently they sold their collective souls - or at least cut off their boys - to have the privilege of remaining an active chapter.
No, what bothered me was that the fucking Betas are still on campus. No, wait. It gets worse. They tag-teamed it with the Sigma Chi's to build a float. What the hell is that all about? The Bull getting chummy with the dandies at Sigma Chode-Woofer? I think it wouldn't bother me so much that Taurus got a pass if they at least still sported a pair. Nope - apparently they sold their collective souls - or at least cut off their boys - to have the privilege of remaining an active chapter.
Irritating Stuff
I'll try to "reach out to you." I even found myself saying this
the other day to someone.
Horrible.
"I was just throwing it out there." Okay, then. Mind if I just fling the same shit right back at you?
Being referred to in mixed company as "you guys" as in "What would you guys like to drink?" by a chirpy transplanted Iowa waitress. My reply: "I would like water, but you'll have to address the women here as to their preference. Afterward, your tip will be a direct reflection of the number of times you utter that odious phrase during lunch today. May I suggest the adoption of 'Y'all" to your lexicon? It is both inclusive and highly functional and also adheres to regional standards."
The use of "amazing" by the Gen X,Y,Z or whatever generations. "That was an amazing lunch. My English Lit professor is amazing. The guys who helped me move the couch were amazing." The word means nothing now. In fact, you can now ascribe virtually anything to it. "The tick that adhered itself to my scrotum was amazing."
"Veggies." I don't eat "veggies." I eat beans, potatoes, broccoli, or whatever but not what they say in the Northeast.
"Grande" or whatever terms Starbucks wishes to apply to a cup that is either large or small. It's fun to frustrate their order takers by refusing to use their corporate jargon.
"Empower." Don't get me started. Same for "diverse." Those words, when used in collegiate recruiting material are there to gain or maintain a weird competitive stance with their competition and usually mean the exact opposite of their actual definitions.
"Thank you SO much." Okay, how much? If you're that damn thankful, I'll think of something else you can do, honey."
There's probably more.
the other day to someone.
Horrible."I was just throwing it out there." Okay, then. Mind if I just fling the same shit right back at you?
Being referred to in mixed company as "you guys" as in "What would you guys like to drink?" by a chirpy transplanted Iowa waitress. My reply: "I would like water, but you'll have to address the women here as to their preference. Afterward, your tip will be a direct reflection of the number of times you utter that odious phrase during lunch today. May I suggest the adoption of 'Y'all" to your lexicon? It is both inclusive and highly functional and also adheres to regional standards."
The use of "amazing" by the Gen X,Y,Z or whatever generations. "That was an amazing lunch. My English Lit professor is amazing. The guys who helped me move the couch were amazing." The word means nothing now. In fact, you can now ascribe virtually anything to it. "The tick that adhered itself to my scrotum was amazing."
"Veggies." I don't eat "veggies." I eat beans, potatoes, broccoli, or whatever but not what they say in the Northeast.
"Grande" or whatever terms Starbucks wishes to apply to a cup that is either large or small. It's fun to frustrate their order takers by refusing to use their corporate jargon.
"Empower." Don't get me started. Same for "diverse." Those words, when used in collegiate recruiting material are there to gain or maintain a weird competitive stance with their competition and usually mean the exact opposite of their actual definitions.
"Thank you SO much." Okay, how much? If you're that damn thankful, I'll think of something else you can do, honey."
There's probably more.
sins of our youth
Many of us received a much needed reminder yesterday that evidence of the mighty conquests of our younger days - achievements about which we were once so proud - has an odd way of showing up later in life. No, we aren't part of the youtube generation, so we don't have to worry about videos circulating out there, entertaining approx. 6 billion people (well, most of us don't). True, most of this information is pretty harmless - might even bring a smile to your face (if the missus ain't watching). However, it is only harmless until that same info also reminds your oldest and dearest friends of your past dalliances. Matters not that their closets have just as many skeletons as yours, and many of those a lot scarier. Not a bit. For them, it's sort of a call-to-arms. Time for some fun.
At your expense, of course.
So a bit of advice to the younger readers out there: always leave 'em smiling. Follow through on any ill-advised promises you may have made, and then get the hell out of Dodge.
And I don't care how much you want to brag about how big her tits were, always remember to keep your damn mouth shut.
At your expense, of course.
So a bit of advice to the younger readers out there: always leave 'em smiling. Follow through on any ill-advised promises you may have made, and then get the hell out of Dodge.
And I don't care how much you want to brag about how big her tits were, always remember to keep your damn mouth shut.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Our Latest Contributor
Put your hands together for the lovely Brandy....
No, not really. Please welcome Shellback as the latest site windbag. Has a gift for astute political observations, gun savvy, collegiate football ruminations, hatred of Jerry Jones, Navy stories, marital advice, and is a snappy dresser to boot. Glad to have Shellback along for the carnage. He's most frequently armed.
The Luger my grandfather brought back from WWII is 100 years old this year. It is a "first issue" Luger, meaning it was part of the original Luger contract for the German Army in 1908, hence the Luger was known as a P08 in the German Army. There were 25,00 in the original contract. This one is unit marked as well - the abbreviation for the unit it was assigned to is stamped on the grip strap. About a quarter of the original contract first issue pistols were unit marked. Alas, this pistol was assigned to a horse-drawn munitions supply column, at least originally in the Great War. No telling after that.
It also has the mysterious "W" on the outside of the trigger guard. No one has yet definitively figured out what that is supposed to mean.
The first issue Lugers and many subsequent Lugers were made by the DWM company - Deutsche Waffen- und Munitionsfabriken (German Weapons and Munitions Works).
Tiger Bait
The brilliance of the Florida alums who do the EDSBS site and the glory that is the LSU fan experience is detailed in their October 8th entry which describes the 2007 LSU v Florida hoedown:
Somewhere in Louisiana late on Friday, a drunk hunter shot himself, fell on his knife, slashed his femoral artery with a jig, or otherwise mortally injured himself in the course of trying to catch a fish or convert a happy, walking live deer to tasty venison sausage. And rather than going to the hospital or even calling for help, he simply lay down on the deck of his boat or sat back in his tree stand, gazed at the purple sky, and said something to the effect of “Lester, you brought this on yourself. Might as well finish what’s in the flask.”
This is because there are things you do not know about going to an LSU game on Saturday night in Baton Rouge. We’ll explain all you need to know in a few simple bullet points.
Cheers from Baton Rouge. Mandatory remark about obvious homosexuality of opponent included on t-shirt.
Everyone’s there. Lester accepted fate as he bled to death, and just as well, since Lester was a dead man walking. No one was in the emergency rooms, nor in the morgues, nor in the dispatcher’s seat. Every single person in the state of Louisiana was in Baton Rouge, professionals, ne’er-do-wells, rapscallions, and professional ne’er-do-wells and rapscallions, to watch LSU play Florida in Tiger Stadium. Babies went unborn; ships sat unloaded at the docks. Dogs circled a spot on the floor three times and then lay down on the floor, passed out until their woozy owners returned 48 to 72 hours later.
On Friday night, a quick drive around the campus confirmed our suspicions. It felt like a tour of a war camp of some unnamed guerilla army on maneuvers. Figures moved under trees in black silhouette against Christmas lights that read “LSU” across the front. Cars prowled, sniffing out prime real estate for tents. Televisions flickered behind the mesh of screen netting. People crawled all over the campus a full 24 hours before gametime. At Florida, show up at 12 p.m. for an 8 p.m. game, and you may tailgate anywhere you like; at LSU, show up at noon, and you may park in Slidell and take an airboat into campus.
Again: patients are left on the operating table sometime around late Thursday. That’s how devoted LSU fans in full flood are to tailgating.
Batter fry it, or the terrorists win. Everything not cooked in a huge iron skillet over a gas burner is cooked in a huge aluminum pot full of oil over a burner. At our own host’s tailgate, LSUJoshua batter-fried two turkeys, a pork loin, and a 2002 Hitachi portable television just to prove a point: anything may be batter-fried. He did not actually batter-fry a television, btw, though we did spend a good and drunken five minutes starting at the bubbling oil contemplating the act of dipping our cell phone in batter, tossing it in, and then eating it just to see what would happen. It just seemed appropriate at the time. Enough vodka and creole-butter-infused fried turkey meat does odd things to the brain.
Fuck you means “I love you.” That’s what an optimist says, at least, since we assume it was reaching out to other fans, and not garden-variety hostility. We racked up five “fuck yous” and two “faggots” walking around in Florida gear before 11:00 a.m. Central time, including a hearty “Hey, fuck you!” from a guy who, after two minutes conversation, gave us a beer and welcomed us formally to Baton Rouge.
Much of the faggotry centered around our beautiful baby Rhino of a quarterback, Tim Tebow, who throughout the day performed a dazzling array of hypothetical homosexual acts: he was fucking us, or we were fucking him, or he was sucking our cock or vice versa through a glory hole somewhere in the Baton Rouge metropolitan area. How any of the fans knew such specific and accurate locations for anonymous sex was beyond us, but whatever PR company is representing the glory hole operation in Middleton, Louisiana needs to up their fees, since we had three different people suggest we check it out after the game. It must be the most glorious hole of all.
Nevertheless, once you got past the threats of bodily harm, the lack of decorum suits the outgoing blogger very well. We actually had this exchange with a guy after the game.
Hammered to bejeezus guy: HEY, WE FUCKING KICKED YOUR ASS.
Orson: Yes, yes you did.
HTBG: I should kick your fucking ass, man.
Orson: It’s a great environment in there. Loud as hell.
HTBG: You enjoyed it?
Orson: Yes, I did.
HTBG: Come here, man. I love you.
Orson: Yes…I…I love you to, Hammered To Bejeezus Guy.
HTBG: (Kisses us on the cheek.) I’m Tony Joiner baby! I love you! I’m gonna steal your car!
The improbable three Fs of the LSU football fan: Friendly! Fucked up! And Fucking Hostile!
The tiger is real. You know that there’s a live tiger on campus at LSU. And that they parade it around before games. And that you’re going to see it. But seeing it registers the lunacy of the whole event at a level that only the visual can really deliver: it’s a live goddamn tiger in its own bizarre cage/car, staring out at all the fresh meat it could possibly ever want from behind mesh and generally looking very, very unimpressed with the whole affair. The crowd loses all sense when it arrives, bringing LSU pregame out of the realm of mere “pep” and into a conflation of sport and primitive totem worship.
The tiger, meanwhile, gets to play the part of Philip Fulmer behind the glass at a Krispy Kreme, watching all the tasties float by him with zero chance of him actually getting his massive mitts on any of the goods.
Tiger Stadium is proxy Mardi Gras. Something cuts Tiger Stadium loose from the fetters of reality. Perhaps it’s the brown liquor buzz peaking with the setting of the sun, or the lurid dark purple the sky turns just as the sun is sliding beneath the horizon, or the combined and complete attention of 92,000 people all focused on one communal point of attention. We’ve read about the intangibles of playing in a place like Tiger Stadium before–the vague “something” described alternately as “special,” “different,” or “MY GOD I’M NOT GETTING OUT OF HERE ALIVE”–and scoffed.
We scoff no more. It’s real, live, and tangible enough to hang your freshly slaughtered baby alligator carcass on in a pinch. (We met a tailgater who, in festive fashion, had slaughtered a baby alligator that morning in order to prepare it for the tailgate. Tiger meat’s a bit harder to come by. Thanks, Chinese Medicine black market! Assholes.)
It’s as loud as The Swamp, yet somehow more unhinged. When the USC score was announced, the reaction was loud enough to cause a rhythmic buzz in the ears, a noise not unlike that of a didgeridoo in full throat in the wastes of the Australian Outback.
That voodoo’s real. When the “Four Corners Salute” gets cranking, it’s like listening to a 747 made entirely of fired clay crashing into a field of shattered glass. Getting a snap off effectively is in itself a game ball-worthy achievement. Combined with the orgy going on outside the stadium for five miles in any direction, it’s the gold standard for any other college gameday experience. Any of them. It is peerless in terms of demonstrated intensity, lunacy, commitment, flair, and menace. At several points in the day, we were convinced we were going to be killed, injected with creole butter, and thrown in a deep fryer…but only in the most festive and accommodating of ways, of course.
In the end, the hat remains undefeated. Les Miles went for it on 4th down five times and made all five. Justifiably, LSU fans are fascinated with hats, including Les’ huge white beamer of a skull cover and their own. We summed up the action Saturday night with Mario and his own lucky hat as Pantera’s “Walk” thumped along in the background.
More on the actual x’s, o’s and implications of the game tomorrow. But it’s Columbus Day, and we’re going to celebrate the renowned genocidaire by catching up on our sleep after a napless weekend in Baton Rouge. We drove there, drove back, and in between enjoyed 36 hours of outright madness covered in brown liquor and a tasty roux of football, screaming, and tiger-striped lunacy. We are sorely in need of a defense that can get a three-and-out, some Aleve, and a good nap.
Thanks again to LSUJoshua, who gave us his ticket so that we could experience to the maelstrom that is Tiger Stadium. We only owe him our firstborn in return. Cannon Dorsey Swindle actually sounds pretty tough already.
Somewhere in Louisiana late on Friday, a drunk hunter shot himself, fell on his knife, slashed his femoral artery with a jig, or otherwise mortally injured himself in the course of trying to catch a fish or convert a happy, walking live deer to tasty venison sausage. And rather than going to the hospital or even calling for help, he simply lay down on the deck of his boat or sat back in his tree stand, gazed at the purple sky, and said something to the effect of “Lester, you brought this on yourself. Might as well finish what’s in the flask.”
This is because there are things you do not know about going to an LSU game on Saturday night in Baton Rouge. We’ll explain all you need to know in a few simple bullet points.
Cheers from Baton Rouge. Mandatory remark about obvious homosexuality of opponent included on t-shirt.
Everyone’s there. Lester accepted fate as he bled to death, and just as well, since Lester was a dead man walking. No one was in the emergency rooms, nor in the morgues, nor in the dispatcher’s seat. Every single person in the state of Louisiana was in Baton Rouge, professionals, ne’er-do-wells, rapscallions, and professional ne’er-do-wells and rapscallions, to watch LSU play Florida in Tiger Stadium. Babies went unborn; ships sat unloaded at the docks. Dogs circled a spot on the floor three times and then lay down on the floor, passed out until their woozy owners returned 48 to 72 hours later.
On Friday night, a quick drive around the campus confirmed our suspicions. It felt like a tour of a war camp of some unnamed guerilla army on maneuvers. Figures moved under trees in black silhouette against Christmas lights that read “LSU” across the front. Cars prowled, sniffing out prime real estate for tents. Televisions flickered behind the mesh of screen netting. People crawled all over the campus a full 24 hours before gametime. At Florida, show up at 12 p.m. for an 8 p.m. game, and you may tailgate anywhere you like; at LSU, show up at noon, and you may park in Slidell and take an airboat into campus.
Again: patients are left on the operating table sometime around late Thursday. That’s how devoted LSU fans in full flood are to tailgating.
Batter fry it, or the terrorists win. Everything not cooked in a huge iron skillet over a gas burner is cooked in a huge aluminum pot full of oil over a burner. At our own host’s tailgate, LSUJoshua batter-fried two turkeys, a pork loin, and a 2002 Hitachi portable television just to prove a point: anything may be batter-fried. He did not actually batter-fry a television, btw, though we did spend a good and drunken five minutes starting at the bubbling oil contemplating the act of dipping our cell phone in batter, tossing it in, and then eating it just to see what would happen. It just seemed appropriate at the time. Enough vodka and creole-butter-infused fried turkey meat does odd things to the brain.
Fuck you means “I love you.” That’s what an optimist says, at least, since we assume it was reaching out to other fans, and not garden-variety hostility. We racked up five “fuck yous” and two “faggots” walking around in Florida gear before 11:00 a.m. Central time, including a hearty “Hey, fuck you!” from a guy who, after two minutes conversation, gave us a beer and welcomed us formally to Baton Rouge.
Much of the faggotry centered around our beautiful baby Rhino of a quarterback, Tim Tebow, who throughout the day performed a dazzling array of hypothetical homosexual acts: he was fucking us, or we were fucking him, or he was sucking our cock or vice versa through a glory hole somewhere in the Baton Rouge metropolitan area. How any of the fans knew such specific and accurate locations for anonymous sex was beyond us, but whatever PR company is representing the glory hole operation in Middleton, Louisiana needs to up their fees, since we had three different people suggest we check it out after the game. It must be the most glorious hole of all.
Nevertheless, once you got past the threats of bodily harm, the lack of decorum suits the outgoing blogger very well. We actually had this exchange with a guy after the game.
Hammered to bejeezus guy: HEY, WE FUCKING KICKED YOUR ASS.
Orson: Yes, yes you did.
HTBG: I should kick your fucking ass, man.
Orson: It’s a great environment in there. Loud as hell.
HTBG: You enjoyed it?
Orson: Yes, I did.
HTBG: Come here, man. I love you.
Orson: Yes…I…I love you to, Hammered To Bejeezus Guy.
HTBG: (Kisses us on the cheek.) I’m Tony Joiner baby! I love you! I’m gonna steal your car!
The improbable three Fs of the LSU football fan: Friendly! Fucked up! And Fucking Hostile!
The tiger is real. You know that there’s a live tiger on campus at LSU. And that they parade it around before games. And that you’re going to see it. But seeing it registers the lunacy of the whole event at a level that only the visual can really deliver: it’s a live goddamn tiger in its own bizarre cage/car, staring out at all the fresh meat it could possibly ever want from behind mesh and generally looking very, very unimpressed with the whole affair. The crowd loses all sense when it arrives, bringing LSU pregame out of the realm of mere “pep” and into a conflation of sport and primitive totem worship.
The tiger, meanwhile, gets to play the part of Philip Fulmer behind the glass at a Krispy Kreme, watching all the tasties float by him with zero chance of him actually getting his massive mitts on any of the goods.
Tiger Stadium is proxy Mardi Gras. Something cuts Tiger Stadium loose from the fetters of reality. Perhaps it’s the brown liquor buzz peaking with the setting of the sun, or the lurid dark purple the sky turns just as the sun is sliding beneath the horizon, or the combined and complete attention of 92,000 people all focused on one communal point of attention. We’ve read about the intangibles of playing in a place like Tiger Stadium before–the vague “something” described alternately as “special,” “different,” or “MY GOD I’M NOT GETTING OUT OF HERE ALIVE”–and scoffed.
We scoff no more. It’s real, live, and tangible enough to hang your freshly slaughtered baby alligator carcass on in a pinch. (We met a tailgater who, in festive fashion, had slaughtered a baby alligator that morning in order to prepare it for the tailgate. Tiger meat’s a bit harder to come by. Thanks, Chinese Medicine black market! Assholes.)
It’s as loud as The Swamp, yet somehow more unhinged. When the USC score was announced, the reaction was loud enough to cause a rhythmic buzz in the ears, a noise not unlike that of a didgeridoo in full throat in the wastes of the Australian Outback.
That voodoo’s real. When the “Four Corners Salute” gets cranking, it’s like listening to a 747 made entirely of fired clay crashing into a field of shattered glass. Getting a snap off effectively is in itself a game ball-worthy achievement. Combined with the orgy going on outside the stadium for five miles in any direction, it’s the gold standard for any other college gameday experience. Any of them. It is peerless in terms of demonstrated intensity, lunacy, commitment, flair, and menace. At several points in the day, we were convinced we were going to be killed, injected with creole butter, and thrown in a deep fryer…but only in the most festive and accommodating of ways, of course.
In the end, the hat remains undefeated. Les Miles went for it on 4th down five times and made all five. Justifiably, LSU fans are fascinated with hats, including Les’ huge white beamer of a skull cover and their own. We summed up the action Saturday night with Mario and his own lucky hat as Pantera’s “Walk” thumped along in the background.
More on the actual x’s, o’s and implications of the game tomorrow. But it’s Columbus Day, and we’re going to celebrate the renowned genocidaire by catching up on our sleep after a napless weekend in Baton Rouge. We drove there, drove back, and in between enjoyed 36 hours of outright madness covered in brown liquor and a tasty roux of football, screaming, and tiger-striped lunacy. We are sorely in need of a defense that can get a three-and-out, some Aleve, and a good nap.
Thanks again to LSUJoshua, who gave us his ticket so that we could experience to the maelstrom that is Tiger Stadium. We only owe him our firstborn in return. Cannon Dorsey Swindle actually sounds pretty tough already.
LSU - Alabama game
From the Birmingham (AL) Press-Register:
Football dispute leaves 2 dead
Monday, November 10, 2008
By CONNIE BAGGETT
Staff Reporter
An Escambia County couple died Saturday after an argument over the Alabama / LSU football game ended in shotgun blasts, according to Conecuh County authorities.
Football dispute leaves 2 dead
Monday, November 10, 2008
By CONNIE BAGGETT
Staff Reporter
An Escambia County couple died Saturday after an argument over the Alabama / LSU football game ended in shotgun blasts, according to Conecuh County authorities.
District Attorney Tommy Chapman identified the people killed as Dennis and Donna Smith of Appleton Road near Brewton.
The shooting allegedly occurred about 7 p.m. at the home of Michael Williams near the Owassa community in Conecuh County, Chapman said.
Weekend on the USS Lexington CV-16
Great Cub Scout weekend on the USS Lexington CV-16, an Essex-class carrier. We had plenty of free time for independent steaming. We toured the ship and went to the Texas State Aquarium which is right next to the Lexington. There’s a beach on the other side. A tad chilly for swimming but we do have a hermit crab at home now. There is actually an IMAX theater on board in the forward hanger deck. We watched the Operation Red Flag movie there. All the kids enjoyed playing on the quad 40MM antiaircraft batteries on the ship. They still train & elevate.
We ate all of the meals in one of the wardrooms. Chili dogs for lunch, spaghetti and meatballs for dinner and breakfast tacos in the morning. We slept in an enlisted berthing compartment. They had double and triple stacked racks. As a former officer, I felt it beneath my dignity to sleep in an enlisted man’s quarters and said so but I was told by the Lexington staff to shut the fuck up and get my ass in the bunk.
All the kids had a great time. I highly recommend it.
We ate all of the meals in one of the wardrooms. Chili dogs for lunch, spaghetti and meatballs for dinner and breakfast tacos in the morning. We slept in an enlisted berthing compartment. They had double and triple stacked racks. As a former officer, I felt it beneath my dignity to sleep in an enlisted man’s quarters and said so but I was told by the Lexington staff to shut the fuck up and get my ass in the bunk.
All the kids had a great time. I highly recommend it.
leaders of men
Another cub scout campout and another few years off of my life expectancy. I enjoy weekends spent snuggling up to mother nature as much as the next guy, and get a charge out of working with other parents to instill a similar love and respect of the outdoors in our children. For a few days afterwards, though, I can't help looking forward to the day when most of those same kids are either visitors to some random state, federal or county facility or busy getting tanked at some far-away campus of higher learning...
Wrap Up
Since October, the weather in Central Texas has been pretty much perfect. We could use some rain, but these days in the low 80's and cool evenings are downright tasty.
A lot of folks complain about the brutally hot summers in Texas, but I don't mind the heat and I don't pine for the cold. Great stuff, this "fall" we have here.
Took in the Texas v Baylor game Saturday as guests of a client. Nice seats, the Longhorn club, free drinks, etc.--not bad. Our official hostess became highly drunk which was a little amusing. Baylor still has a ways to go, but Robert Griffin is a force of nature and will be all world if he can avoid getting crippled by an irritated linebacker. Afterward, took in the end of the LSU v Bama game and then the Tech v Okie State contest. I thought that was going to be a helluva game but the Raiders are playing machine like football. Impressive. The Tech v OU game is stacking up to be big time. I'm supposed to be hunting that weekend but may reassess that deal.
This coming weekend, supposed to be at Waco for the vaunted BU v A&M battle to decide just who sucks less. Should be a good matchup.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Weekend Update
Screwing around with this blog/internet thingy--no freaking clue as to what I'm doing. Anyway, apologies for the buffoonery.
Tonight: meeting another couple (she was a h.s. classmate of the missus) for dinner at Sullivan's and to listen to Beto y Los Fairlanes who are playing in their lounge. At last Saturday's WSL Gala which we attended (the first thirty minutes of which my fly was open) a guy at our table moonlights as the band's drummer while not otherwise being a lawyer and suing people. He encouraged us to come, so the wallet opens again. The gala was an excuse to enable females to purchase evening wear, force their spouses to haul out the tuxedo and pray it still fits, and hopefully allow hubby to slam back enough Jack Blacks in order to place idiotic bids on silent auction items. Check, check, check, and check. Damn it!
Saturday: going to the UT/Baylor game. It's an 11am kickoff which screws up the tailgating aspect to a significant degree. Sitting in some choice seats courtesy of a customer and will be flinging my green and gold afar amid a sea of burnt orange. Sic 'em and here's hoping Robert Griffin doesn't suffer the removal of a limb during the festivities. Not good timing for dear old Baylor, coming off the UT loss to Texas Technical. Hopefully, will have time for some time on the patio and grilling of dead animal flesh Saturday evening.
Sunday: working out and performing feats of strength for la senora Denise for the remainder of the day.
We'll see how it all works out.
Riding the Cotton Pony
It has been suggested that I use red text, something about my constant ragging. I'm not quite sure I understand the comparisons of my well thought out and expertly presented opinions to the volcanic eruptions of a woman in the midst of surfing the crimson wave, but I aims to please, so...
Rakin' the Chips
Last night's gambling excursion reminded me once again that poker is a great metaphor for life. In both there are safe bets, sucker bets, and sure things. "Safe bets" are plentiful, easy to spot, keep you in the game, and 9 times out of 10 are the right course of action. Problem is that you never really get that I-just-raked-a-huge-fuckin'-pot elation that comes from hittin' on a big risk. "Sucker bets" are the apple in the game's Eden, and eventually everybody will take a bite and get kicked out of paradise. "Sure things" are sucker bets on steroids, and have the damnable habit of paying off just regularly enough to make you think you know what you're doing. You don't, though, at least not as much as you think you do. Every player loses his seat at a game as the result of a "sure thing".
When it's all said and done, if you break even at the big game you're way ahead of the curve.
When it's all said and done, if you break even at the big game you're way ahead of the curve.
Obama's Attack Dog
Rahm Emanuel has been named to be White House Chief of Staff for President Elect Obama. Emanuel is described as a fierce warrior in the Democratic tribe with a take no prisoners attitude. Democrats think he'll be a great taskmaster to keep things on track and to whip everyone in to line. Some R's think the addition of Emanuel means a return to business as usual in terms of partisan politics. There's most probably a lot of truth to both sides there. What interests me is something that no one in the media seems to think is a big deal. That, Emanuel, a lifelong political hack who never had a real job takes a sabbatical after leaving the Clinton administration to join the investment firm of Dresdner Kleinwort and leaves two years later with 18 million dolares. Sort of the old wink-wink treatment from his fellow travellers in the media who think that's just jiffy, as long as a Dem is doing it--sort of like our gal Hillary and the water to wine miracle she had with investments. So, Rahm, just what in the hell did you do at Dresdner to be rewarded with that big ass pile-o-cash?
Essentially, it's the way these guys set things up. You're a star politician with no obvious means of support. So, here's what we're going to do, Rahm old boy. You go over to Dresdner and close the door to your office to read all those back issues of Rolling Stone and the New York Times Sunday edition that you've been saving and otherwise be a good chap. Then, like a beautiful butterfly emerging from its coccoon, you'll soar back into the political landscape and won't have to worry about those silly money things that bother people in the red states.
Sheeesh.
Essentially, it's the way these guys set things up. You're a star politician with no obvious means of support. So, here's what we're going to do, Rahm old boy. You go over to Dresdner and close the door to your office to read all those back issues of Rolling Stone and the New York Times Sunday edition that you've been saving and otherwise be a good chap. Then, like a beautiful butterfly emerging from its coccoon, you'll soar back into the political landscape and won't have to worry about those silly money things that bother people in the red states.
Sheeesh.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Politics, Women and a Bit o' Confusion
Last night I was involved in a spirited discussion on obama, our future, and the best places to stash money. Out of the blue (actually, it came from the table right next to ours) we (7 men of various ages, waistlines, and beer selections) were accused of racism. Had nothing to do with our choices in the voting booth - it had to do with our pessimism about the future of the U.S. economy under an obama presidency. For some reason a nearby tart of statuesque presence - who no doubt would have great difficulty distinguishing between a cabinet member and a fashion designer - found our position reprehensible, and felt it her duty to interrupt us and tell us so. Before we had to chance to offer her a drink, ask her to join us, and bring her around to our way of thinking, she was ushered out the door.
I still don't understand the logic or the racism charge. Now had she said anything about sexism, she would have us dead in our tracks. I for one had been staring at her tits all night...
I still don't understand the logic or the racism charge. Now had she said anything about sexism, she would have us dead in our tracks. I for one had been staring at her tits all night...
Fishing
I can't really call myself a fisherman anymore, since it's rare that I actually do it, preferring to spend most of my leisure time working out at the JCC and snapping towels at attractive older Jewish men in the locker room ( I go for that sultry look). But, I got a call from my brother in law, Rick, who farms cotton and grain in the RGV when he's not otherwise performing magical feats as the greatest shallow water fisherman in the Laguna Madre. Rick was calling from somewhere near Marker 6 along the intercoastal to report how many big trout/redfish/flounder he had landed, his custom that he enjoys immensely since it irritates the shit out of me while I'm otherwise engaged in pushing some piece of paper around my desk. So, he casually mentions that our mutual friend, Tony, had brought a couple of "business associates" down with him from Crested Butte to fish at South Padre and he was taking Tony and these two guys to some of our choice wading spots. "Yeah, one of these guys is pretty important with the economy or something," says Rick. "Really," I said, calmy gnashing my teeth over Rick being there catching fish and me being here just off the phone with "Wes from Met" who wanted to interest me in selling voluntary disability products in San Antonio. "Yeah, this guy is kind of old and he looks like he goes about three bills on the scale. I've got him wading over in the arroyo where you and I got stuck and walked into all those stingrays. I think his name is Voelker or something." I sort of gulped some of that Central Market Free Trade Bat Shit Infused Java I was drinking and said, "Uh, Rick, did you say Voelker? As in Paul Voelker?" "Yeah, yeah that's him--Paul Voelker." A slight bead of sweat develops nicely on the back of my neck. "Rick, listen to me closely. Turn the boat around and go get Paul Voelker. If that fat son of a bitch croaks due to sinking up to his teeth in mud or gets hit with a stingray we're all in deep shit. And you'll catch all sorts of hell form those fuckers at the next CCA banquet. Hell, they may not even let you buy into the raffle for a Shallow Sport." Rick was working on his second or third Pacifico but did sense my concern and eventually did retrieve Big Paul, alive though still large and full of microeconomic theory.
The WSJ reported the next day about how Voelker is consulting with Obama and indicated that he is fond of "disappearing" to go fly fishing. I can attest that both my brother in law and I did our part in keeping Voelker alive to dick around with the economy for a while longer. We should at least get a "Change" coffee mug or rainbow decals out of the deal.
The WSJ reported the next day about how Voelker is consulting with Obama and indicated that he is fond of "disappearing" to go fly fishing. I can attest that both my brother in law and I did our part in keeping Voelker alive to dick around with the economy for a while longer. We should at least get a "Change" coffee mug or rainbow decals out of the deal.
Auto Industry Humor Part 1
With apologies to my good friends who work with Chrysler and General Motors, but the discussions related to the merger/buyout between the two companies is akin to two drunks trying to hold each other up.
A Day After the Day After
Obama is "huddling." Huddling is where politicians gather to be important in a communal circle, with huddlettes assuming the submissive position around the alpha dog. Lots of that occurring now.
I genuinely hope that Obama is a successful president and that he will earn my vote in the next rodeo. My guess is that when performance inevitably does not match the soaring rhetoric, his supporters will become greatly disillusioned, resulting in vast wealth for those who bought calls on Starbucks or other retailers or providers of comfort items for the rainbows and unicorns faithful.
Lots of blame going around among the R's for the crushing defeat. That's a fairly useless exercise. Obama is immensely likable, is a fantastic communicator that would have made Ronald the Reagan proud, and the economy was in the toilet. Pretty easy to guess what would happen.
More later.
I genuinely hope that Obama is a successful president and that he will earn my vote in the next rodeo. My guess is that when performance inevitably does not match the soaring rhetoric, his supporters will become greatly disillusioned, resulting in vast wealth for those who bought calls on Starbucks or other retailers or providers of comfort items for the rainbows and unicorns faithful.
Lots of blame going around among the R's for the crushing defeat. That's a fairly useless exercise. Obama is immensely likable, is a fantastic communicator that would have made Ronald the Reagan proud, and the economy was in the toilet. Pretty easy to guess what would happen.
More later.
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