We're on the Map, and we aint Budgin'

Texan Feels Emotionally Empty After Chili Cook-off
EL PASO, TX—Native Texan and chili chef Jerry Gerber, 41, said he has been suffering a palpable sense of melancholy ever since the 17th Annual Five-Alarm Chili Cook-Off on Feb. 28 ended. "Spend all year gittin' together the hottest, rootin'-tootinest, mule-kickinest chili this side of the Rio Grande, and whadya git fer yer troubles?" Gerber said Tuesday. "Shucks, you eat it and then you're all hat and no horse." In lieu of seeking professional help, Gerber said he plans to force himself back into the saddle by beginning work on his entry for the Texas Beef Council Steak-A-Thon in June.

- Courtesy of The Onion

I’m Addicted.

 

They’re just too goddam fucking handy. You can put all sorts of shit in there. Granola, crackers, sandwiches…

And don’t even get me started on the little half-size ones. Holy Cow, those are a serious contribution. Pull one out for those half-eaten burritos, your odd-shaped chunks of parmesan cheese…Whatever!

 

You know those tiny little tomato sauce cans…what do you do when you use only half of it?

Stick it in the fridge as is? HELL no.

Put it in a Tupperware? What’re you, NUTS?!

No no, Stupid. Stick the whole little can, standing up, in a Ziploc. It's Freakin’ Genius!!

 

How do I know this is an addiction? Well, because I’ve been confronted, and I’m aware that I can’t help myself.

Plus, right after I take a chicken breast and watch yellow and blue make green, I get this glazed over, euphoric sensation all over my body. This is followed by a deep low, where all I can think about is how to create more leftovers.

 

Oh Ziploc. Why you so good to me, and bad for me at the same time.

This is Guy. He's a dancing fool.

OCALA, Fla. - Two boys were arrested for making pencil-and-crayon stick figure drawings depicting a 10-year-old classmate being stabbed and hung, police said. The children, charged with a felony, were taken from school in handcuffs. [story]

 

Basically, they didn’t like this kid and they drew a picture saying as much. But, handcuffs?!? I mean, check out the picture through the [story] link above. It's exactlty the kind of silly picture little kids would draw.

Geez, if I was held accountable for every picture I drew when I was 9, I’d be on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.

Come on. When I was in school, I remember kids playing guns in the playground, mutilating grass-hoppers, teaching each other curse words, and yes drawing pictures of all sorts, including some with weapons or depicting violence, while others depicted space ships or what we might imagine sex to look like. During my own elementary school education, there was about 6 months in the 2nd grade when I did nothing but draw pictures of boobs. Not all that well, (more like big lower-case “W”s) but still. I was pretty consumed by the idea. But I never grabbed anyone or drooled over them. I just drew pictures. And eventually, I moved on to drawing pictures of horses.

So, Chill Out, People.

By the way, doesn’t anyone remember playing “Hangman”?? The game that teaches you spelling through the methodical lynching of someone in effigy?

It was not only condoned, but ENCOURAGED by teachers. I must have played that game a million times, and not once was I ever compelled to actually string someone up.

 

Some say that these boys were clearly fantasizing about killing this kid. Although, when people hear the word “fantasize” such as, “he fantasized about burning the school down” everyone gets freaking creeped out. As if the kid fondles cans of gasoline late at night and his bedroom is covered with scribbled messages reading “burn Burn Burn!!!”

When in reality, to fantasize about something is about the safest and most normal thing anyone can do. It doesn’t mean they’re gonna do what they’re fantasizing about.

I, for example, fantasize All day, Every day.

I see someone with a cool jacket on the train, I think, “Wow, what if I had that jacket?”

The bus I’m on is going 2 miles an hour, and I envision myself behind the wheel, running red lights.

Someone is eating MacDonald’s on the street and then they just drop their trash on the sidewalk, I imagine myself picking up that trash and shoving it in their face. And what if they ended up taking a swing at me, in which case I’d duck and then throw a spinning roundhouse kick to the side of their head, and maybe I’d do a back flip as well, just to add a little pizzazz.

It’s all good, because I would never actually do these things. I’m just “Fantasizing”. Everyone does it. Wondering if they should have married their first girlfriend, or imagining how they’d redecorate their apt. if they had the money, or how they would exact revenge on their boss for making them work the weekend.

It doesn’t necessarily make you a murderous freak.

 

So are we getting too sensitive in schools? At these early, and mostly innocent ages? Actually, this story is even more intriguing when juxtaposed with the one from a few years back about a 3rd grader who was charged with sexual harassment when he kissed a girl on the cheek.

 

Anyway, someone involved had said that it was a mean thing for these boys to do, which it was, and that they should be punished, which they should be, but it should be done by the Parents, and not by the law.

 

Can you guess whether I agree or disagree?

There are very few celebrity deaths of the past years from which I felt genuine emotion.

Chet Atkins,…Stephan Grappelli,… and now I must add…Johnny.

 

I’ve you weren’t a child of the 70’s/80’s then sure, why the hell should you care? But let me tell you kids, there was a time, a time before Conan, before Jay, when there was no Jimmy Kimmel, no Kilborn, no Arsenio, and Macanroe was just a tennis player. A time when the only players in town were Carson and Letterman. And it was a glorious time indeed.

 

Johnny as the king of late-night, and Dave his crowned prince. It might sound lame to say that the country was in love with Johnny, but I believe it to be true. Sure, he had 820 wives, but beyond that he was extremely charming, funny, and sincere.

 

Thanks to Carnac the Magnificent, Aunt Blabby, Art Fern…. You had a great way with Jim Fowler’s monkeys.

 

“I was so naive as a kid I used to sneak behind the barn and do nothing.”

-Johnny Carson

Yes, it’s true. Not only does the famous Cat-Baby of New York exist, but it lives somewhere within the catacombs of my East Side neighborhood.

 

Now I’m sure you’re asking yourself, “what the hell is a Cat-Baby, and if it’s so famous, how come I haven’t heard of it?”

We’ll, it’s hard to describe. No one has actually ever seen the Cat-Baby. Its lonesome, howling cry is the only recognizable imprint it offers to the world.

And it’s probable that you’ve never heard of the Cat-Baby, because I only just dubbed this thing “Cat-Baby” sometime last week.

 

The Cat-Baby is a mysterious creature that lives across the street from me. Although, I don’t have a clue as to where, or in what direction. Its yelps seem to generate from an ever-changing array of hovering alley-ways.

 

Every night, around 3 AM, I am greeted from outside my apartment window with the high-pitched squeal, “...eeeEEyyuuu…EEyyuhhh….” A wickedly bizarre, inhuman concoction of equal parts “Meow” and “Waaahhh!!!”

This wail also reappears in the morning to supplement my radio-alarm clock right before work.

 

What the hell is this thing???

 

At first I thought it was a couple having sex. A very TINY couple.

Then I wondered if it was some old woman chained to a rusty hospital bed, like in a Steven King novel.

Well, the truth is that it’s clearly not either of these, and it sure as hell aint not cat, and it definitely aint no baby.

It’s a fucking Cat-Baby.

 

eeeeYYuuu…EEEEyuuu..!!

 

Many of you who have been reading K-Blog since last year might remember that I had a similar predicament involving a rooster in my hood, crowing at the most ungodly of hours. But, you know, those are easy to track down. There’re ordinances against roosters in the city. But, as I recall, I don’t think there are any laws protecting the larger sleeping public against screaming cat-babies.

 

There’s not much I can do, except to put up with it. It’s more strangely intriguing than it is annoying. (not to say that it ISN’T annoying, which it most definitely is)

 

But, anyway, here is a picture of what I imagine this mutant Manhattanite looks like. If any of you happens to see this thing during your midnight stroll, please alert the authorities. My all-too-short dream-time will thank you.

Sure, the Tasty Flavors Sno Biz dessert shop in the Chattanooga, Tenn., probably seems like a great place for a college girl to work. I mean, the hours are good, you’re surrounded by ice-cream and assorted sweets, plus the staff is made up of other young, pretty, playful females just like you.

However, according to owner Paul ‘Gene’ Levengood, when you work at Tasty Flavors Sno Biz, your ass belongs to him.

 

In November of last year, mean-Gene was charged with two counts of sexual battery. Two of his 19-year-old female employees came forward and reported that he would occasionally spank them for workplace errors.

For example, forgetting to put a banana into a smoothie drink is the kind of mistake that would warrant little cheerleader Cindy getting bent over Uncle Gene’s knee.

 

As investigations at the store proceeded, not only did police find many photographs of women’s posteriors, but a confident Levengood chose NOT to deny the allegations. He instead produced forms which were signed by the young ladies at the time of their hire which stated, "I give Gene permission to bust my behind any way he sees fit."

 

That’s covering your ass.

Just received this text message on my phone:

"Brittany, did Jay text you back about what classes you got?"

Hmm... how young do I seem? I've been out of school for quite some time now. No, not an 'A' student, but regardless, I'm almost 30.

Here is the posting I put up on the 'Missed Connections' section of Craigslist a few days ago:

"Please Help this guy! "This Guy" being Me.
My phone is riding around the city right now with no way of getting home. I just got back from spending the holidays with my fam. and I took a yellow cab from LGA to the Upper Upper East Side, today (Thurs. Dec. 30th) around 3:15pm.
As many of us do now-a-days, I use it as my ONLY phone. So, I have no way of calling it to see if anyone answers. No way of calling my friends to ask them to call the cab company. blah blah blah...
basically, if you happen to see a small, sand-colored, (NON-flip) Nokia in the back seat of a cab, would you mind calling one of the numbers in the contact list? or better yet, respond to this listing.
You would be recognized as a very cool person.
- thanks"

Yup, that sucked. In a desperate state, I borrowed a phone from not the new neighbor across the hall whom I haven't met, but from his old college friend who was staying over that night and was the only one home. I was able to get in touch with a lovely female fashion designer/soccer dynamo who I was to meet later, and she vowed to keep trying my phone#. When I saw her, she shared the splendid news that one of the times she called, the cab driver actually answered the phone. He unsuccessfully attempted to get her out to Queens to pick it up personally, but he was eventually persuaded to give us a call when he was in the city the next day.
He did so, dropped by my neighborhood, handed me my phone, yelled at me for leaving it in the cab, scowled at the $10 I offered him for his troubles, and drove away.