Actually, I’m at the dining room table. But who’s keeping track? Toney’s working downstairs this evening, and the bunker is off-limits for a few hours. Both hooligans are also at work, so it’s just me, Mayor McStench, and my laptop. I don’t usually write this time of day, so I’m making no promises. I’m generally a morning/early afternoon fart joke scribe, so this feels a little weird. I’m drinking coffee, to try to fool myself into believing it’s 9:45 am.
Speaking of the bunker, I almost killed myself in there this week. I had a metal folding chair in front of my computer, and the shit collapsed on me. One of the legs — the rear passenger leg, to be exact — just said fukkit underneath my great heft. Before I knew what was going on, I was piled up in the corner with my legs sticking straight up in the air. Toney heard the commotion and came running. And as soon as her brain processed the ludicrous vision before her, she started laughing and didn’t stop for a long time.
I had a hard time getting up, and I’m not kidding. I was afraid I was going to be gutted by raw metal, and the only part of me that was touching the floor was my lower back. But I eventually extracted myself from the debris, and only had a skinned right elbow at the end. And Toney was still laughing. There are few things in this world that she enjoys more than seeing me get hurt in some unusual way.
When we lived in California we had a swing on our patio, and it collapsed on me one day. I turned an S-bolt into an I. When she’s feeling down, she likes to recall that incident. Also, I sat on a child’s bed inside a Raymour & Flanigan furniture store years ago, and exploded the wood frame. The thing was splintered and fully-collapsed. Toney’s face was blood-red from laughter, and tears were streaming down her face, as we raced toward the exit before the twice-divorced mustachioed salesman could catch up to us and hold us accountable for the wrath my fat ass exacted on their merchandise.
So, anyway. I need to lose about 75 pounds. I quit drinking and immediately began putting on weight. And I was fat to begin with. I don’t get it, but whatever. Pass the pudding pops, goddammit.
Have you ever had something like that happen to you? If so, please tell us about it in the comments. I also blow the entire ass out of pants on a semi-regular basis. Sometimes it appears that a substantial amount of fabric is completely gone, after the smoke clears. It’s a real mystery. Please share your tales, if you have any.
You know what I find intriguing now? Craft root beer. Every grocery store has a section of semi-expensive designer root beers these days, and I’ve been testing them out. I’m not talking about the alcoholic swill that supposedly tastes like root beer, but actual old time soda fountain stuff. I’ve tried several, including Saranac, but none have blown me away yet. A&W is still better. But I’m getting sucked in, I can feel it. I’m on the hunt, boys and girls. If you have any tips for me, I’m all ears. And gut. 100% ears and gut.
Another thing I’m completely invested in: Homeland, on Showtime. Holy shitballs, it’s fantastic. I find myself getting excited, hours in advance, about the prospect of sitting down and watching another episode or two. Remember when TV sucked? Yeah, me too. But it sure as heck doesn’t anymore. There’s never been a better time to be alive and lazy!
A few nights ago I was driving home from work, and a guy in front of me was all the way over in the right lane. I knew that lane was ending, but he didn’t get over. I watched in amazement as he just kept driving after his lane disappeared, straight down the shoulder, at full speed. Yeah, and he didn’t make it very far before he hit a truck tire, and a big pile of metal. There’s a lot of debris alongside I-81… the remnants of other peoples’ horrible days. When he hit the tire it looked like his car went up on two wheels, and the metal was the knockout punch. When I sped past him, five seconds later, he had his flashers going and it sounded like his engine was flying apart in every direction. Dumbass.
Our younger kid had the flu about a month ago. He took the test at the doctor’s office, and was prescribed Tamiflu. So, it was official. Not that fake catch-all “flu” that people talk about all the time. It irritates me, because I’ve had the real deal, and felt like I was moving toward the light. But everybody calls the tiniest little sniffle the flu, which cheapens it. In any case, he was pretty sick for a few days, and I was convinced it was going to rampage through the family. But it didn’t. Nobody else got it. It seems unlikely, but it’s true. Whew! I’ve never been sicker than when I had that crap. And it lasted for almost two weeks. None of my clothes fit when it was over, and I almost had to go out and buy underwear suspenders. I still don’t get the flu shot, though… I’ve never had it in my life. Go figure.
On Christmas Eve I installed a new light bulb in a lamp inside the bunker that will supposedly last for 22 years. Ha! I give it four months. Am I wrong? I have a backup bulb for when it burns out. But I guess I’ll be 76, so maybe my surly nurse can screw it in for me? Oh, she’ll be mouthy, but will have a heart of gold.
I was thinking about something today, that happened when I was a kid. My friend Doug and I were cutting between two houses, instead of walking all the way around the block. And we saw a woman washing dishes at her sink wearing a tremendous bra. The thing had straps like seat belts, and the cups looked to be lined with steel crossbeams. We took off running, terrified, and I still remember it more than four decades later. I have a feeling the Army Corps of Engineers were involved in the design of that thing. Holy mackerel.
Years later, a girlfriend and I were walking home from a bar, and saw some girl (college-aged?) standing in her brightly-lit living room, ironing something while wearing nothing but a bra and underwear. I mean, it was like she was standing on a stage beneath a spotlight, and didn’t seem to have a care in the world. We didn’t stick around, but I have no doubt a crowd eventually formed. Oh, it was something worth watching. For years I became aroused whenever I smelled spray starch.
And I’ll leave you now with yet another question… Have you ever accidentally seen something of note through a window? I know this is a long shot, but it feels like I asked some other questions above. There should be something for everyone, I hope.
I’ll see you guys again soon.
Have a great weekend!
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Phil Jett says
Frostie root beer. My dad had it at his bar when I was growing up and I would stop by on my way home from elementary school to see him and he never asked what I wanted. Still drink one now on occasion though it’s not always easy to find unless I go to Jungle Jim’s International Market. They have pretty much everything. I have never found a better root beer.
I saw a neighbor through their bedroom window in bra and panties when I was about ten. Unfortunately it was my buddies dad.
Steve in WV says
Frostie is awesome. Great root beer. You can ocasionally find it in a 4 pack in supermarkets.
Is that the one that used to have a cartoon bear on the label? And maybe icicles dripping off of the word Frostie? If it’s what I’m think I.g then bell yeah! Delicious root beer.
Phil Jett says
That is the one.
I work for a hospital network, an annual flu shot is required for employment. Like you have to get one or you get fired even if you’re nowhere near patients. It’s a great place to work so a yearly jab & 12 hour runny nose is well worth it.
I hate that policy….I’m in charge of technology for the main campus library and health science campus library at the University where I work. I’m nowhere near the hospital or patients, but have to get the flu shot, take all the HIPAA training, and all of that related stuff. It’s a good job, so all you can do is jump through the hoops.
Our old porch was made of concrete and brick; you had to climb up 5-6 steps, and the porch was a good 4-5 feet from the ground. Trying to get inside one night, it collapsed under me. We always thought there was some kind of fill beneath the concrete, but there was not. I fell backwards the 5-ish feet and landed on jagged concrete. I was so stunned, it took a few seconds of hearing my husband’s frantic yells to snap me out of it.
Fun times. I got an ER trip and one hell of a story to share.
I had one of those $6 plastic chairs collapse under me last summer. The right front leg just detached from the structure, and I went sprawling. Fortunately, no beer or glassware was harmed.
Dominion, out in Ashburn, Virginia, used to make a really outstanding root beer back when Jerry Bailey was at the helm. Since the Anhueser-Busch – I mean, AB-Inbev – takeover, it’s anybody’s guess.
Also: Mayor McStench? I feel like I missed something important.
I think the mayor is Andy the dog.
Well, that’s good. For a minute it sounded like Andy had gone to the great yard-o-crullers beyond, and that this was some new dog. I know Andy has had some health issues in the past. I hope he continues stinking up the place for the foreseeable future.
Skippy in WV says
There used to be a woman that every morning at 6:45 on the dot would apply make up, do hair, etc. completely topless. The window faced a major thoroughfare here in town. She had to know she was being seen. Maybe an exhibitionist, who knows.
She did have some nice “lady bits”. Just sayin…
Fat Dave says
Jeff, there is a simple explanation for the disappearance of pants cloth during a structural failure. Friction. Your thighs have rubbed together to the point that a small, contained fire breaks out and the thinned material simply evaporates. It happens to the best of us men with, ahem, gravitas. Don’t worry about it. But you may want to take your britches off immediately after the next occurrence and sniff them to be sure, if that’s the kind of thing you’re into. We statuesque guys don’t judge.
Mark T. says
If you can get it where you are, the wife and I are huge fans of Thomas Kemper root beer. And we’ve tried them all… Well, all that we can get in Los Angeles, which I assume is a decent variety.
I’ve had the same borderline blood pressure for 40 years. My doctor figured she should double my medication dosage to see if it elicits a reduction. The first day I took the higher dose, I was standing by the kitchen counter drinking coffee, reading the newspaper when I slowly slipped to the floor…sort of like the witch melting in “The Wizard of Oz.” My wife and daughter were frantic. I wobbled back to standing and temporarily returned calm to our kitchen. I got rid of “Dr. Mengele” and all is well. Looking back, the experience was like a pleasant, 30 second near death-vacation.
Craft root beer you say? I tried some at a picnic and it left a strong, bengay-in-molasses aftertaste. As old as I am, I remember cold A&W served carside in the 1qt, waxed cardboard cones. It’s a personal rootbeer standard. The fancier craft products seem to over complicate a simple flavor. Just saying…
It’s possible I’m older. I remember with rare clarity taking a gallon glass jug, ANY gallon glass jug, to the A&W; they would slosh a cupful of water around the bottom, then fill it with root beer for something like seventy-five cents.
They, as a matter of policy, didn’t give a shit whether the previous contents of the container had been gasoline, deer urine or moonshine. They just filled ‘er up with damn good root beer.
Six bits wasn’t a piss in the ocean back then: we got a jug about every other payday. I’m guessing plastic jugs hadn’t been invented yet, and I wish I were kidding about that, because it makes it sound like the Pleistocene. 1959 isn’t that long ago, is it?
I was alive, therefore it wasn’t that long ago.
That car accident doesn’t surprise me at all. When I was a regular commuter (I work at home now), the commute was mostly on 2-lane roads with 55-MPH limits. Nearly every day someone would be all over the road while head-down in their phone (I would presume). Folks think they can multitask in a car, and to a person they are wrong. Shoot, I can’t talk on the phone and drive, forget about social media or texting!
For those who are wondering – yes, I’m old.
The Qweezy Mark says
Jeff, I too am sitting on a metal folding chair at my laptop ever since my office chair took a dump 8 months ago. I can say this, even a cheap $60 office chair feels tons better. The height adjustment alone makes a huge difference. Now, if I wasn’t the Lord of Lazytown, I might actually drive the 1 mile to Office Depot.
I think Virgil’s Root Beer is pretty tasty. Available coast-to-coast, it seems. Maybe I’m just a novice as it is likely that’s where anyone would start their Root Beer Exploration.
I know all too well the feeling of weight gain after quitting drinking. I went to ice cream, candy and all manner of junk I never ate while I was drinking. Something about ice cream and beer that just didn’t set well with me. And in the 14 years since I left the construction industry and became a night shift technician, I’ve managed to put on another 40 or so pounds. Since I only wear jeans or bib overalls these days I don’t seem to have a problem with blowing out the ass of my pants.
I also remember the days of A&W root beer delivered to the car window in frosted mugs, and being able to get the stuff to go in gallon jug. They actually sold the official A&W jugs, which could be reused at will.
As far as the flu shot issue goes, I’ve never gotten one. In the middle of my distinguished military career, around ’75 or ’76 if memory serves, I was given a direct order to get a flu shot. This was during the great ’70s swine flu epidemic. I refused, and when I was the only one in a company of around 100 (+-) soldiers the whole order and threat of discipline somehow was never mentioned. Now when my doctor asks me if I got my flu shot I tell her I never get one. I simply explain to her that that’s how the government tracks you by satellite, and she drops the subject.
When I was 15 and I had my learner’s permit, me and my Dad were driving around the neighbour in my Beetle. We’re driving along and my Dad said “Shit, did you see that? There was a topless chick standing in the window back there!”. So we turned around and sure enough there was a naked chick standing there , but there was also a big hairy naked burly dude standing there too. He turned and looked right at us. We hightailed it right out of there and had a big laugh afterwards.
When I was probably 7 or 8 years old, my dad, my mom, and myself were checking into a motel in northern Michigan. It was one of those motels that was only one floor and kind spread out in a 90 degree angle. It was probably 1979 or 1980. My mom had gone before us to get in the room. While my dad and I were walking to the room, there was an open hotel door. It was late at night, so the light in the room made everything clear. There were two topless women (very good looking, as I recall), chatting nonchalantly like there it was perfectly normal to stand in an open hotel room topless with your tits in full view for all to see. I saw them first and pointed to them. My dad stopped in his tracks….paused for maybe 5 seconds and told me something awkward like they shouldn’t be standing there like that. We get to our room. My mom is in there already. My dad looked at us and said he forgot something and that he’d back in a few minutes. Yeah, he forgot something, he forgot to check out their tits for a little bit longer….not that I blame him.
Fritz Buzzard (Buzz in Wheeling) says
In the Upper Ohio Valley we used to have (and maybe still do) a brand called Barq’s Root Beer, I’ve tried A&W and some others, but Barq’s always tasted best to me. It had a smack-in-the-face-wake-the-hell-up sort of taste. The opposite of smooth, for sure. Also, one time I was in Fairmont and tasted something called birch beer. It wasn’t bad – anyone ever hear of it?
Also, can we PLEASE remove the words ‘craft’ and, especially, ‘artisan’ from the dictionary? Here’ allow me to craft some artisan farts for you. Ahh, much better.