Florida Ave. Beyond Thunderdome

Josh shared his observations about his drive home one day last week:

"Florida Avenue was a freak show on the way home today.  There was some weirdo dressed in all black wearing a breast plate and shin guards like it was something to do.  In the same block there were a bunch of other weirdos wandering around without shirts on looking confused.  It was like 'Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome' out there."

The Queen Bee

I made the mistake of relaying a warning I read on the back of a jar of Tucks.

Me: "Did you know that you're not supposed to insert Tucks into your rectum using your finger, mechanical device, or other applicator?  Who would actually do that??"

Josh: "Hmm...  I suppose there could be a situation wherein you would be so desperate for hemorrhoidal relief that you would want to go directly to the source.  You gotta get the Queen Bee while she's still in the hive."

Trashimus Prime

As we were pulling out of the parking lot on our way to Nordstrom's today, Josh again noticed that the neighbors on the corner need to replace the ceiling fan on their porch and this prompted the following rant.

Josh: "Is it wrong that I want to go buy a ceiling fan and sneak over and replace that floppy piece of shit on their porch?  They are so trashy!  All they do is drink beer and shoot cans with BB guns in their backyard."

Me: "They shoot cans?!?! I've never noticed that."

Josh: "YES!  OH MY GOD!  It's like Trashimus Prime over there.  They are out there every day starting at 8 o'clock in the morning shooting at Busch Light cans and bottles while listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd.  AND there's always some dumbass 10 year old over there learning how to shoot cans!  I moved out of Zephyrhills to get away from that.  I'm going to set up a tactical shooting range in the backyard and teach Laura how to shoot at cans because that's apparently the thing to do in this neighborhood!"

After watching the Lightning win a playoff game, Josh and I started watching the pre-show for the Preakness horse races.  While watching footage of some obviously arrogant jockeys prepare themselves before the race, I postulated that jockeys fight a lot.  This prompted Josh to make the claim that he could handily kick a jockey's ass while I claim that it wouldn't be as easy as he believes. 

This discussion has been going on for three days now and has followed this general pattern:

Josh: "I would destroy a jockey."

Me: "I wouldn't be too cocky about that.  They have to be strong enough to handle a thoroughbred racing horse."

Josh: "They weigh 85 pounds!! I have at least 90 pounds on them!"

Me: "First of all, jockeys usually weigh about 105 pounds.  And secondly, a race horse weighs half a ton.  If they can handle a half ton horse, they can handle you." (Don't ask me how I know the weights of racing horses and jockeys - it's just some of the stupid, useless knowledge that clogs my brain).

Josh: "No way.  I could pick up a jockey over my head and snap him in half.  Besides, they just whip the shit out of the horse with a stick - that doesn't take any strength.  A baby can do that."

Me: "So you can dead lift 105 pounds over your head with your crap shoulder?"

Josh: "Yes.  I could only fight hard for about 30 seconds but those 30 seconds would feel like an eternity for that jockey due to the ass beating I would put on him.  I can't believe you don't think I can kick a jockey's ass!  No faith!  I have specialized training."

Me: "I don't doubt that you could kick a jockey's ass... eventually.  I just don't believe it would be as easy as you think it would be.  They're strong and fast, like little leprechauns."

Josh: "Let's go to the horse track.  I'm going to find a jockey and pick a fight just to prove to you that I can kick a jockey's ass."

Me: "Let me know which jail I need to pick you up at."

Yes, Lord, we will ride with you

In honor of the rapture, and to cement the fact that we're not floating up, I'll share Josh story of some classy ladies of Zephyrhills.

Current mood: recumbent

After a recent trip to Chili's for dinner with my wife and neighbors, I noticed an 88 Shitbox Hatchback on our way home. In the front seat was the Zephyrhills version of Thelma and Louise (i.e. two frizzy haired, toothless hags looking hot in their undersized Jordache jeans). They were smoking cigarettes while heading into the local liquor store, undoubtedly for enough booze to help them stomach riding some homeless guy in their league.

In the back seat was Jesus. Not in person, the real Jesus wouldn't be seen with these "ladies". But in the form of a 3-foot tall framed portrait. I wonder if they felt guilty about putting him in the trunk while they gum down some dude in the back seat... I doubt it.

When the rapture comes...

Josh has recently been obsessed with Family Radio, the organization headed by the crazy bastard Harold Camping, which has predicted that Judgement Day will be this Saturday, May 21 at approximately 6 pm.

"You can bet if the rapture really happens Saturday I'm going to wild out.  If at 6 pm, I see f***ers float up and I do my little hop like, 'Hey, why aren't I floating up, too?' I'm gonna go crazy.  I'm going to spend the next 90 days without pants on!  Since the universe is going to cease to exist, no one will remember what I've done in the last 90 days."

Space Pig Cometh

After noticing last weekend that Josh watched no less than 3 hours of TV about aliens and how they altered our genetic code, I was reminded of this post from October 2008.

Current mood:frisky

Last night on my way to work one of the guests on my favorite AM radio program (Coast To Coast AM) detailed the events of a most unpleasant encounter of the alien kind. Reportedly, a couple was abducted and while aboard the alien craft, the space beings forced their space pig (as described by the witnesses) to rape the woman. You read this correctly - space pigs are raping people while aliens watch...  Wow. So, a good old fashion probing isn't looking so bad now, is it? Bring on the glowing wand, I say.