You know what’s weird? To me, anyway? We’ve lived in Pennsylvania for 18 years now. That’s a long time. In the near future, it’ll become the place I’ve lived the longest, surpassing West Virginia. I took the liberty of making a pie chart:

The weird part? It doesn’t feel like I’ve been here all that long. It still feels like a recent development. All the other places seem understated, and Pennsylvania seems wildly overstated. It feels like I was in Atlanta for a long, long time. But I’ve been here three times as long. The shit’s all distorted and outta wack in my brain.

For some reason, I have trouble estimating lengths of time now. Years used to last a year, and now they last six or seven months. Ya know? Occasionally my boss will ask me how long an employee has been with the company, and I’ll say something like, “Well… I’m fairly certain it’s more than a year, but less than twenty. Somewhere in there?” I say it as a joke, but it’s not. Not really. I can’t estimate it anymore.

It bothers me that time clicks along so quickly these days. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t. I’m not super-old but will be soon. My parents are now 76. How? They still seem like they’re in their 50s, but that’s me! I’m in my 50s. Sweet sainted mother of Sonny Drysdale.

One thing is very clear, though. I want to put another slice in that pie. I want to make one more move. Toney and I talk about it all the time and have thrown around dozens of scenarios. And I’m not really talking about retiring and moving… I mean something sooner than that. Somewhere in the southeast, probably. Not sure where, or how we’re going to make it work. But it’s our current project, the thing that keeps us semi-sane. We used to be willing to take those big life-changing leaps, and I want to believe it’s still in us somewhere. I think it is.

And by the way, that picture at the top is Charleston, WV. It’s a nice place, but I can’t see myself ever returning on a permanent basis. But hopefully, I can take steps to keep it from being overtaken. I’ve got to protect the sanctity of The Original Slice! We’ll see how it goes.

What about you? Are you where you’re going to stay? And is your Original Slice the biggest slice? Also, do you have a “project” that you work on and think about to keep yourself sane, like our plans to someday move again? I have to have something like that, or I start to lose it a little.

This isn’t the greatest update, but I’m going to have to leave it right here. I’m not feeling all that spectacular. Hopefully, I’m not coming down with that flu that’ll kill ya. That’s mildly disturbing. Not really a fan…

I’ll see you guys again soon.

Have a great day!

Now playing in the bunker
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I generally write these updates in Word, and copy/paste into WordPress when I’m finished. I find it mildly distracting to type inside WordPress itself. There’s too much shit going on and it takes me off my game. However, I’m more pressed for time than usual today. So, this one’s going to be pure and uncut. I’m going straight to the source, baby! We’ll see how it goes.

On Friday Toney and I visited a travel agent about a possible trip to Las Vegas in September. I mentioned this last time and a few of you were mocking and ridiculing me for using a travel agent in 2018. Well… I agree, if you’re just booking a business trip that requires nothing more than airfare and a hotel. But if you’re going full-tourist, and traveling deep into the heart of a place where businesses are fighting for every dipshit’s dollar, like Vegas or the all-inclusive resorts in the Carribean or Mexico, a travel agent can still be a big help. A good travel agent, that is. They know which hotel groups or resorts are offering temporary incentives, and can give you tips on what parts of the hotel to stay in, etc. A GOOD travel agent can share their personal experiences, and might even have a relationship with the hotel/resort which can result in an upgrade of some sort. And they don’t generally cost anything, the hotels/resorts/airlines/rental car companies pay them booking fees.

Anyway… we didn’t get a good travel agent, we got a bad one. Bitch was obsessed with Disney and apparently isn’t too interested in people who are traveling somewhere other than a Disney property. Or maybe she just didn’t like us. I guess that’s a possibility too. But her entire work area was covered in Disney knick-knacks and related bullshit, and she was even wearing Mickey Mouse earrings. Her business card proclaimed her a “Disney specialist,” and she told us multiple times that she visits Disney World five or six times per year.  She just went through the motions with our request, handed us a stack of printouts from the internet, and basically hollered, “Next!”

We’d been there before, maybe a year ago, and had a great agent. She was exactly what the doctor ordered. But the sack we got on Friday was terrible. She was more interested in what other people were saying, and rolling her eyes in exasperation. It was highly unsatisfactory. So, maybe we’ll just book through Costco travel, and let the poker chips fall where they may?

Pretty funny, huh? Poker chips? But I’m not a gambler. I get almost zero pleasure out of it. I’m susceptible to all sorts of vices, God knows it’s true, but gambling ain’t one of them. The trip will be all about eating and drinking, a day trip to the Grand Canyon, the neon light museum, the goddamn pinball machine museum (!!), and more eating and drinking. Hey, I just thought of this! Maybe we can swing by the Pawn Stars store. Get a selfie with Chumlee, if he’s still alive and out of jail. Although I liked him better when he was still full-fat, and didn’t have those weird porcelain teeth.

I’ve been to Vegas many times, always with WEA, never with Toney. We stayed at Treasure Island every single time (I don’t know why), and some of my co-workers would barely sleep. They’d gamble and drink all night long, shower and attend meetings during the day. It was crazy. They’d lose thousands, almost without fail. I’d think, “How??” How can you just piss away several thousand? But we’re getting way off-track. I told you this one was going to be weird.

It snowed over the weekend here. Nothing major, maybe three or four inches. But I went out and was going to clean my car off, and some shit went down. I was talking with my brother on the phone and started the engine so it could warm up. I was sitting sideways in the driver’s seat, with my feet on the driveway. And nothing happened for a few seconds. But apparently I’d left my wipers on, and it took them a little while to build up enough strength to move the snow on the windshield. Then, seemingly out of the blue, they swiped about ten pounds of snow directly into my lap and all down inside the electronics on the door. It was ridiculous. I began howling in protest and abruptly ended my phone conversation. Some of the snow worked its way INSIDE my pants somehow. No fun. And it was packed deep inside the power window controllers, etc. This winter is bullshit. One of the most annoying on record.

I need to go now. I have more, but the time is all gone. For a Question, I think this is a good one… What do you believe are the LEAST likely ways you will die? For me I’d go with being hit by a flying tire at a NASCAR race, receiving a savage beating at a Barbra Streisand concert, or the bungee cord snapping during an extreme tourism trip. What about you? Use the comments link.

And I’ll see you guys again soon.

Have a great day!

Now playing in the bunker
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I’ve started taking a daily multivitamin again. This happens from time to time. I get it in my head that I should be doing it, and buy a bottle. It always feels like they’re priced at roughly 25% more than my inner-sensors tell me they should cost. You know, since I’m a well-known vitamin expert… Then I take one per day until the bottle is empty. And that’s that, for four or five years. There’s almost never a second bottle. Yes, I’m very dedicated to all this stuff.

And check out the size of these things! You can’t really see it, but they’re thick too. Quite girthy… I had a little trouble taking the first one, without gagging. I think I was expecting a terrible taste, and everything clenched up on me. But there was no taste, not really. Now I’m just taking ’em on, one after the other. And this whole paragraph feels a bit homoerotic, doesn’t it? Hey, whatever. And yes, I’ll beat you to it, those are the hands of a man who hasn’t done a day of physical work in 30 years. What of it?

Do you take any kind of supplements? Have any of them actually helped you? I can’t really see a difference, to tell you the truth. I’m sure most of it’s going straight down the ol’ porcelain pee-catcher. Right? But I’m somewhat interested in this kind of thing. I heard a guy on the radio a few days ago talking about a daily “mega-dose” of Vitamin C. He’s convinced it’s kept him cancer-free, etc. But you’ve gotta be careful… People are full of shit, generally speaking, or misinformed or crazy. But I wouldn’t mind learning more about vitamins and supplements, if I could do it without, you know, putting forth any effort.

Has anything worked for you? Help me out, won’t you?

Speaking of healthy living, check out this Filet O Fish sandwich I was served a few days ago. What goes on?! How is that acceptable? Do they have people with one eye working back there? I had to go in and make a radical adjustment so everything lined up vertically. ‘Cause with a sandwich it’s all about the vertical.

I saw the two guys working back there, and think I know what it is. It’s nothing to do with a glass eye or any of the common palsies. I think they’re just a couple of half-assed pieces of shit. I mean, I know I’m going way out on a limb here. But that’s my conclusion. I don’t think they care, one way or the other. I’m lucky I didn’t get it bun/bun/filet. Or even bun/bun/bun. And I don’t understand that, I really don’t. I had my share of stupid-ass jobs when I was young. But I had a little pride. Ya know? I can guarantee there would be no Jeff Kay-sanctioned fishes going out with 50% overhang. It’s ludicrous.

And the thing about it? People defend this kind of stuff. They make excuses. “What do you expect from a 17-year-old who’s basically being exploited, blah blah blah…” Are you serious? How about a halfway decent effort, and not having a terrible attitude? You’re essentially telling the world, “This is a stupid and embarrassing job, but I’m not capable of mastering even it.” Right? Right.

I was at a grocery store on Super Bowl Sunday and was going to buy a rotisserie chicken for my quesadilla extravaganza. They had none, so I asked a solidly-built low-to-the-ground woman for a status. “Forty-five minutes, if not more!” she spat at me, and spun on her heel and walked away. No apology, or even a hint of human kindness. After I shouted sarcastically, “Thank you! You’ve been very helpful! A true delight!!” at the wide wheelbase deli worker, I started bitching about it to my son. And he said, “What do you expect? It’s just some minimum wage job.” And my heart sank. How? How could he have this opinion too? My own flesh and blood? He was giving her a pass and acted like I was the crazy one.

We’re very near the end of civilization, my friends. Sweet sainted mother of Gale Gordon…

I took Friday off, and Toney and I are going to meet with a travel agent about a possible trip to Las Vegas in September. It’ll be our 25th wedding anniversary, and we’ve kicked around a thousand ideas for a trip. A thousand, I tell you. We discussed Europe, all-inclusives in the Caribbean or Mexico, a fancy-ass resort off the coast of Florida, etc. But some of the ideas were way too much money or didn’t work for other reasons. “How about Vegas?” Toney threw out, one-day last week. Huh. It seems somewhat ridiculous, but also intriguing. And the more we thought about it, the more we like the idea. We’re going to get more info on Friday, and maybe get the ball rolling on this deal. I’ve been there many times, but always with work. And Toney grew up in Reno and has been there many times, as well. But we’ve never been there together. I’ll keep you updated on this plan that will almost certainly be abandoned by March. Pass the beer nuts.

I need to go now. A slightly-abbreviated work week beckons.

Have a great day, my friends!

I’ll see you again soon.

Now playing in the bunker
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I saw a headline somewhere that said only 19% of football fans wanted New England to win, and I know people hate them with the intensity of a thousand suns. So, I was pulling for New England. If they won, I knew it would cause the most emotional anguish, and that’s what I was craving. But, when it got right down to it, I didn’t give a shit one way or the other. It was enough to allow me to enjoy the game itself, though. It seemed to be a good game. Right?

The halftime show meant little to me. I don’t know any of those songs, and it sounded muffled and terrible. The whole thing reminded me of this old Dr. Pepper commercial, but with worse sound quality. Timberlake’s a good dancer, I’m sure. But it’s not something I’m looking for in my entertainment: dancing. Ya know? Not once have I left a concert and uttered the phrase, “And I thought the choreography was top-notch!” Both my grandfathers would be spinning like egg beaters inside Grandview Memorial Park.

And they referred to that as a Prince “hologram?” It was a bed sheet with somebody pointing an 8mm projector toward it. I watched porn films in the 1970s that way. Hologram! Hilarious. And they chose “I Would Die 4 U” as the song? The man’s freshly dead, which makes it a somewhat curious choice in my mind. Oh well. I wish they’d stuck with the Minneapolis music theme and offered up “holograms” of Husker Du and The Replacements as well. Paul Westerberg belting out a heartfelt rendition of “Gary’s Got A Boner” would’ve been just what the doctor ordered. A missed opportunity, for sure.

There was a commercial for Coke or Sprite maybe, featuring a woman with freakishly long legs gyrating in front of a brick wall or somesuch. That was weird enough to cause me to remember it, but I’m not sure about the specific product they were hawking. And one commercial actually caused me to chuckle slightly. It was people inside of a dome who went all Lord o’ the Flies at the end because the WiFi was down. That was funny. Was it for avocados? Weird. Since when do they run ads for produce? I’ve never seen a cucumber commercial or anything on carrots. Anyway, I thought it was fairly amusing. I don’t remember anything else. A lot of stuff about Tide? I was barely paying attention.

At one point the TV went black and silent for thirty seconds or so, and they just went back to the game with no explanation. Couldn’t they have charged like five million bucks for that? Or maybe somebody bought it and asked for nothingness? I’d like more information on what that was about.

There was a guy on the sidelines (I know nothing) holding a large laminated card. Here he is:

And again, I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure I know what he was looking at:

Speaking of food, this wasn’t for the Super Bowl exactly, but I made up some kick-ass quesadillas yesterday. I cooked them individually in a big skillet, used an unreasonable (yum!) amount of cheese, rotisserie chicken, and grilled peppers and onions. And I had sour cream and salsa on the side. As I was making them, I put them in the oven at 200 degrees, to keep them warm, and served ’em up in a big pile, piping hot. It was great. I might not have a bowel movement until midday Wednesday, because of all that cheese. But we’ll see how it goes. Did you cook up anything special for “the big game?” We also had Bell’s Two Hearted Ale last night. Holy poopballs is that stuff good! What did you have in the food and beverage category?

And my final thought: I believe it’s time to ditch the Roman numerals. I don’t know what the L means, not really. I assume it means 50, but it’s not a knowledge I carry around with me on a daily basis. Once you get past V, X, and I it’s time to move on. I think they’ve painted themselves into a ridiculous corner with that crap. Right? The band Chicago made the same mistake. I’m not even sure why they’re numbering them at all. Why not just the 2018 Super Bowl? Is that too radical of a suggestion?

I’m done, my friends. I have to go to work now, and there’s a lot on the docket there. I’m not looking forward to it. At least I’m primed with cheese energy. I’ve got that going for me. …Hello?

Before I go, check this out. The Surf Report gets a nice mention in the same newspaper I used to deliver to homes as an ugly teenager. Pretty cool. Thank you, Mr. Steelhammer! Much appreciated.

I’ll see you guys again soon.

Have a great day.

Now playing in the bunker
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I read an article a few days about a page that’s deep inside everybody’s Facebook profiles, where they list information they believe they know about you, for the purpose of serving up relevant ad content. It was difficult to find, but I finally located mine. It says, among other things, that I’m a U.S. liberal with an affinity for African-Americans and an interest in Farming, Fishing, and Forestry.

That affinity category is especially interesting. If you hover the cursor over it, it says my Facebook activity aligns with African-American multicultural affinity. What does that mean? I ‘book like a black man? I’m very confused. Whatever. I have no problem with it, I just don’t understand how they arrived at the conclusion. Ya know? I find it slightly odd that they even attempt to decide what races you might be partial to. Am I way off on that?

Examples of people who work in “production” are, according to this bizarre page, miners, blacksmiths, and lumberjacks. So, Facebook suspects I might be a lumberjack? I guess that explains all the ads I’ve been seeing for giant saws with handles on both ends?

They say I’m away from my hometown, am a commuter, and live in a family-based household. All true, but not super-impressive. My cell phone knows WAY more than the Zuckerbots. My phone knows where I work, what time I leave the house every day, my favorite restaurants, and probably detailed toilet data. This Facebook stuff needs to be tightened up, in my opinion.

Take a look at yours, and report back anything interesting you might find there. You know, if you’re so inclined. Go to your Facebook page, and click the triangle at the top right, then settings, then ads in the left sidebar. Click Your Information, followed by Your Categories. And we’re going to need a full report.

A few nights ago I opened a beer and it AGGRESSIVELY overflowed in my lap. It didn’t spray out like a bottle of World Series champagne, it just rose up and went over the top at a high rate of speed. WTF?? I didn’t shake the thing, or juggle with it, or throw it on the floor and kick it into the living room. So, what the hell?! It was so surprising it took my brain a second to process what was going on. And before I knew it, I had half a bottle of ice cold beer down my crotch and white-watering through the crack canal. Yowza! That’ll wake ya up.

I had to spend a lot of time trying to get the chair cleaned up, with a fully saturated ass, as Toney laughed with delight on the other side of the room. Then I had to take another shower to get all the hops and barley off of me. It was ludicrous. And when I returned to the rogue beer, it was literally half-full. So, six full ounces came out of that bottle, for reasons unknown, and went straight down my crotch. It was highly unsatisfactory. It’s not the manner in which I usually take on beverages, thank you very much. The beer buzz was pretty good, though.

Last week I ate at Cracker Barrel three times. I went there with my youngest son on Sunday, met Steve there on Tuesday, and had breakfast there with Toney on Saturday. It was fantastic all three times. I’ve said it before, and I’m not kidding, I could eat all my meals there for the rest of my life, and be OK with it. Sure, I’d miss Mexican food, and pizza. But it would be alright. I could drown my sorrow in chicken gravy.

I also went to a hole in the wall Mexican joint with my son a few days ago, and we polished off nine tacos between us. Five beef and four chicken. They’re super-simple: small tortilla, meat, onions, and cilantro. Then there’s an array of sauces you can put on ’em if you like. So good… I could also eat those the rest of my life. And just so you know, I could’ve taken down all nine by myself. Just wanted that on the record.

And Toney and I ordered a pizza from a little mom ‘n’ pop place near us on Saturday night, which was somehow the greatest pizza I’ve ever tasted. It would be no problem to eat that forever too.

I’m not sure why I’m trying to zero in on something to eat for every one of my remaining meals, but I’m kinda locked into that notion right now. What would be your choice?

And I need to go to work, my friends. I have more but I’m all outta time.

I’ll see you again soon!

Have a great day.

Now playing in the bunker
Support us by doing your shopping on Amazon! In Canada? Here’s your link. Thank you, guys!