Bestiality

Crunchy

I don't know what woke me up, but when I opened my eyes I could see in the soft glow of the clock that read three a.m. Chandler standing next to the bed, his face inches from mine. As soon as he was aware that my eyes were open he started giving me his little tail wagging, whining routine. He wanted to go out. In the middle of the night he wanted to go outside. I've learned that he doesn't bluff about that, so I got up, opened the door, and let him out. After a few minutes I called him back in. It turns out that I should have left him out there for a little longer because he very quickly barfed on the kitchen floor. Chandler is a hunter. He loves to hunt lizards, squirrels, and just about anything that moves. Especially if it moves quickly. So there I was in the dark, in my underwear, with a puddle of dog puke at my feet. I flipped on the lights in the kitchen and it became immediately apparent what had made Chandler barf. There in the midst of his stomach juices, and bits of last nights dinner, was a barely living palmetto bug. For those of you unfamiliar with palmetto bugs, they are basically cockroaches. Giant cockroaches that can grow up to two inches long. Oh, and they can sometimes fly, like the one that flew onto Mark's back while he was sitting on the toilet the other day. Now that was entertaining.

Down Under

I awakened Saturday morning with a pounding headache, swollen sinuses, and various other aches and pains. I wasn't surprised. I had drank four vodka/sodas and a peppermint patty shot the night before. I have had hangovers before, just not this persistent or harsh in years. I try to drink in a measured way so that I can avoid the unpleasantness of watching my insides splatter in the toilet bowl while my head screams out in pain. It was Sunday morning when I started to suspect something was wrong. I still had that hangover and I hadn't had a drop of liquor since Friday evening's lapse in judgment. The truth is, I did not have a hangover.

On Thursday my doctor had determined that my prostate was swollen to the size of a Mexican child's calf, like a cantaloupe. He prescribed a drug called Flomax that he promised would fix everything. Well I'm not sure what he meant by everything, but I assume he only meant everything associated with the swelling of my prostate. Because what the drug did do was screw up the rest of my body. After suffering for two days, I went to the internet and looked up Flomax side effects. They include, headaches, mild dizziness or drowsiness, sleep problems (insomnia), runny or stuffy nose, sore throat, blurred vision, rhinitis. There is more, including things that can go wrong 'down there', if you know what I mean. Let's just say Flomax has given new meaning to the term "shooting blanks". I have decided that the side effects of this drug are worse than the problem it was designed to cure. So if you are ever waiting to use the bathroom and I'm in there, have patience and a little sympathy. I'm peeing.

Swollen

I went to the doctor yesterday morning. It was time for my yearly physical, and besides checking how fit I was, I had a few other issues I needed the doctor to address. You will all be glad to know, or at least I will, that my heart is in great shape, my lungs are strong and clear, and my circulation is good. What was truly bothering me though is the fact that I have been feeling very lethargic lately. I tire out quickly, and if I sit in my big fluffy chair for any amount of time, I fall asleep. The other thing is that I awaken up to five times a night to go take a leak. Now it just might be that the getting up to go to the bathroom so often is what is leading to my extreme lethargy during the daytime.

You would think that in this age of modern medicine and advanced science, that there would be a easy and non-invasive way to determine if the prostate gland was in good shape. But no, instead the doctor tells you to drop your drawers, lay on your side with your knees bent up, and to try not to scream too loud. I know what you're thinking, he's a gay man, the prostate exam shouldn't bother him. You would be wrong. I do not find a man in a white smock with a rubber glove the least bit erotic. I find it humiliating, painful, and despite what the doctor told me, I do scream.

Anyway, after the 'exam' the doctor gave me a prescription for Flomax. This is a drug that is often advertised on televised golf, Fox News, and other shows that old people watch. I hope it works, I hope I can stand at the urinal and pee proudly, blasting away like a twenty year old. I am optimistic that it will do the job, especially when I think of all the time I've wasted standing in front of a toilet. After all, as you get older, time is golden.

Dog, Log

Zoë

Tree Stump

Low Places

Recently a lot of people in Chicago got their boxer briefs in a bunch because Justin Bieber stepped on the Blackhawk Hockey Team logo. I'm not sure if they're upset because Bieber is such a tool, or because the paint on the logo wasn't dry yet. Either way, if you put something on the ground, at some time, somebody or something is going to step on it. In this case it was the latter.

Last week some people who were marketing something or other, went through our neighborhood. To mark which houses they had already approached, they stuck small United States Flags in the ground near the street. I was unaware of the salespeople coming around as they never seem to bother us (Thank you Chandler). When I asked the lady down the street what all the flags were about, she explained it, and then remarked what a good idea that was. I don't think so, I don‘t think it was such a clever idea. Every ten or twenty feet there is a proper United States Flag right next to the street, about a foot tall. Right where I walk Chandler, right at the level where he is looking to lift his leg and squirt. Now I have tried to keep him from pissing on the American Flag, but there are a lot of them out there. They have been stuck in the ground now for about six days, and they are starting to all take on a distinct yellow tinge. Which leads me to believe that Chandler is not the only dog relieving himself inappropriately.

Who are those people and why are they watching that man?

On Sunday I wanted to watch the evening news but it was all screwed up because of golf coverage. Three of the big networks had golf on them. I don't get it. Not only is it covered extensively on television, but they draw huge crowds on the golf course to watch some middle aged guy with a gut whack a tiny ball around. Golf is not a sport. My dad played golf into his seventies, and he was never an athlete. I played golf with my dad once and I wasn't even winded. Sure my ears hurt from him yelling at me for being such a klutz, but everything else felt fine. Golf is a pastime. It is a game for people who want to get away from something or someone else, and waste that time with a couple of other people who also want to escape. Now lawn darts, there is a game I would watch. That is a pastime that I could see drawing thousands of spectators. Especially if you put the concessions and the bleachers on the opposite sides of the target.

The Blind Leading the Lame.

One thing my mom and I have in common besides bad feet, bad knees, and sagging breasts, is that we both miss the freedom of being able to drive. Mom gave up her license last December solely because she was tired of waiting in line every year to renew it. It had nothing to do with her bad legs or the fact that she has shrunk to the size of a baby hobbit. Although for the most part I have given up driving, I do still have my drivers license thanks to the State of Florida. I may have lied a little bit when they asked me if there was anything they should know before they issued me a renewal. Never the less, I leave all the driving to Mark now anyway.

Not driving is tough on me. I loved driving a car since the first time I got behind the wheel at the age of fourteen. That was when I "borrowed" my older brother's car for a quick spin through our neighborhood and ended up in a ditch. By the time I was seventeen I had bought my second car, a beautiful Ford XL500 that I promptly wore out in less than a year. I remember being surprised that I needed new tires after only a few months of ownership. Apparently putting on thousands of miles in less than six months will do that. Basically I bought the car, told my parents I'd be right back, and thirty thousand miles later pulled back into the driveway.

It's too bad Mom and I don't live near each other. I think with the both of us sharing responsibilities in the front seat, we'd be fine. She could help out when I was driving by pointing out stop signs and other obstacles for me. When she was driving I could sit in the passenger seat and scream in terror every time she came too close to another car thus preventing an accident. We could even put Mark in the back seat to get the effect of surround sound.

Cloudy and Depressing

This is my mom with her dog Cloud. Cloud had to be put down Thursday because of an incurable kidney failure. When Mom got Cloud she was so worried that she would go before her little puppy did, that she almost didn't take her. Now Mom is 91 and Cloud died at the young age of 9. Every Sunday I call my mom and at some point we start talking about our dogs. I am not looking forward to today's call.

Mom, Cloud, and some fat ass.

Home Sweet Home

Click on picture for more

"Oh look Alan. This one is so cute and it's well within our budget."
I walk over to where Mark is and take a look at the computer screen.
"That is nice. Where is it?"
"Memphis."
"I never heard of that neighborhood. North side or south side of Chicago?"
"Memphis, it's in Memphis Tennessee. Look at the kitchen." Mark was drooling.
"Why are you looking at houses in Memphis?"
"They're very inexpensive. You get a lot more house for your dollar."
"But it's in Memphis."
"I know but..."
"Memphis. You do know that Memphis is in the south, right? Middle of nowhere, Elvis lived there, hot, boring."

I recently took stock of our financial situation and although everything is okay right now, when I reach retirement age (go ahead and laugh) I will lose some of my income. I informed Mark that there is a good possibility that we will sell the property we have now, pay off all my debts, and pay cash for a less expensive home. Well, nothing stimulates Mark as much as the prospect of spending money on something. So he started researching the most inexpensive places to live, places where you can get a lot of house with a great kitchen for little cash. That is how he found Memphis.

"We're not moving to Memphis. In fact the only two places I will consider are Chicago and Wilton Manors, Florida. We'll either stay here in Florida or go to Chicago. I'm not moving to some place where the first thing people ask you is, what church do you attend."
Surprisingly, Mark shrugged his shoulders and agreed. Five minutes later he called me back over to his computer.
"Look at this place. I have to have this house. It is so adorable."
"Memphis again?"
"No, Springfield Illinois."
"Hmmm, you do know that Springfield is two hundred miles from Chicago don't you?"

Click on picture for more

Part 3

This one bothered me a lot. It bothered me because I laughed hysterically every time I saw it on television. Only a racist would find the mocking of another culture endlessly humorous, right? Having an extremely mockable last name myself, I have always been careful not to make fun of the names of other people. I consider it to be juvenile.

But after the fourth or fifth time I watched this video, I realized what made it so laugh out loud funny. Stupidity, it was stupidity that I found so damn funny. The stupidity of the person who handed that list of names to the anchor woman, the stupidity of the person who called the NSTB and verified the names, the stupidity of the intern at the NSTB who said "Sure, those names sound right to me.", and most of all the stupidity of the anchor woman. It happens in only a quick flash, but at the end of the video there is a look on her face where you know she realizes that she's been punked.

I am so glad that I have convinced myself that laughing at those made up Asian names isn't racist. Now if I can just get that little ditty out of my head that has been running for the last few days. 

♫ Ching chong Chinaman sitting on a fence, trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents. ♫

It's something I learned in grade school and for some reason it keeps running through my head like a bad earworm.

Part 2

Mark is still ranting and raving. I can't blame him much, he could be correct about things. Let's try another little experiment. Here are a couple of photos. Take a look at each one and think about who they might be and whether they are any obvious threat to society.

Don't do it right away, but after a few moments looking at this cute girl and the thug, click on each photo.

Part 1

Ever since Saturday evening Mark has been ranting and raving about getting a concealed weapons permit and joining the neighborhood watch program. I don't think it's something he has thought through very well, but during his shrill outbursts he has made quite a few good points. I do agree that many\most white people do not even recognize at what point they have a racist thought pass through their head. So I will attempt to point out some attitudes that may slip by once in a while.

First off, a quick test.

Do you agree that a law should be passed to prohibit this kind of indecent exposure? 

Many towns have passed laws against this fashion.

(Florida) (New Jersey) (Arkansas)

Okay, what about this? 

 If you say yes to both, you're just a prude and not racist.

Tinkle, Tinkle

I've always been proud of the fact that I keep myself informed. I read newspapers, watch all the cable news channels (Fox is difficult to take, but I do turn it on occasionally), and always catch one of the network evening news shows. I think I may have gone too far though. I may have to quit the network evening news.

Yesterday at bowling I took a break to go take a leak. As I stood there at the urinal, the restroom started to fill up with other bowlers.
"What the hell are you doing? Hurry up already." Came the shouts from behind me. It was true, I was taking forever. I have to admit, I have a weak stream. That's not all. I get up to pee four or five times in the middle of the night, and I can't go for more than a few hours during the daytime without peeing. Just like those guys on the commercial during the evening news, I have a swollen prostate. I also have low T, fibromyalgia, depression, restless leg syndrome, high cholesterol, irritable bowl syndrome or crohn's disease, and possibly some erectile dysfunction. Every evening I watch the evening news and according to all the commercials on there, I may need some drugs. I suppose diagnosing myself by watching pharmaceutical ads on the evening news isn't the best way to maintain my health, so I've made an appointment with my doctor. I'll get a full physical and let him sort it all out. One thing I am sure of is that I must have a swollen prostate. Oh, and just for snicks I might have erectile dysfunction.

Joyeux Quatorze Juillet!

So Damn Sleepy

Photos by Mark

I'm a Tool

 

 This is how I see my tools when I close my eyes and enter my little fantasy world.

This is how my tools actually look. A mess, right? There are four other drawers just like this. I originally had them all in the tool box in logical groups. There was no more than one layer of tools in any drawer, and always they were put right back where they came from when used. And then along came Mark. From the first time he asked "Do you have a hammer?", my tools have been in upheaval. Now it takes me ten minutes to find the most common of tools, and much longer to find that one of a kind that I bought for just one purpose. Of course that one of a kind tool will constantly be laying there while I look for the common screw driver, and disappear when I really need it.

How did this happen? Taking a quick look into Mark's kitchen gadget drawer says it all.

The Tree and The Apple

The Tree

My dad was a clown. For real, he was a clown. I don't mean life of the party, lamp shade on his head kind of clown. I mean he put on white face makeup, a big red nose, floppy shoes, and a goofy striped clown suit. He didn't do that professionally, he did it for fun. Dad and three of his buddies from the Knights of Columbus would slip into clown drag for town parades, church affairs, and visits to children's hospitals.

Down in our basement was his big clown chest which contained all the paraphernalia he needed for his little hobby. Did I also mention that he and his clown buddies would sometimes dress up as women? Anything for a laugh, they would put on little skits for our church and other groups dressed as women. I was probably around ten or eleven years old when I discovered that dad had falsies in that clown chest. Nicely formed, foam rubber titties, that he used in his comical drag act. Of course I couldn't resist stuffing those things in my tee shirt and parading around the basement. My sisters and I thought that was the height of hilarity, Alan with tits. Recently one of my sisters sent me an email with a video of dad in a parade. He was dressed in drag and was the spitting image of his mother. It got me to thinking, what ever happened to those falsies? I think Alicia and Alexis would really love to have those.

The Apple

Zoë

You know how sometimes you volunteer to do something for somebody and then later you wish you hadn't? Yeah, I did that. Luckily for me when it came time to do the favor, the neighbor I promised it to, backed out. What I promised, is that I would baby sit her little dog for a couple of weeks last year. The more I thought about walking, feeding, picking up the poop, and sharing my bed with another dog, the less appealing it became. Like I said, she let me off the hook.

I got a phone call yesterday morning. It was the neighbor.
"Hi, Alan?"
"Yes."
"It's Carol. Remember when you said you could baby sit little Zoë last year?"
"Sure."
"Well, could you do that for me. I need somebody to watch her for ten days later this month."
"Um... well.. "
"I'll buy you a bottle of Grey Goose."
"Sure, I'll watch Zoë. I'd love to do that for you."

So yesterday evening Carol dropped Zoë off at our house for a couple of hours. It was a test visit to be sure she would be compatible with Chandler and Sasha. Of course there was the usual craziness when she first walked in the door. Dogs barking, dogs chasing around, and investigations of each other's butts. But it soon settled down with Sasha sitting on the sofa giving Zoë the evil eye for sitting on my lap.

 And then there was Chandler. He apparently thought I had fixed him up with the easy girl on the block. First he tried to hump Zoë while she sat on my lap. When I scolded him and told him to get the hell off my knee, he proceeded to continue humping the air in the middle of the living room while staring and drooling at Zoë. At least I'll get a bottle of good vodka out of all this. I'm not sure what Chandler is going to get.

Fireworks

For the first time in a long time Mark decided to not invite a crowd over for a little cookout on the Fourth of July. Needless to say I was very happy.
"Maybe you could take me out for a burger instead of a cookout." He suggested.
"Sure, I'd love to go to a restaurant where they do all the cooking and cleaning."
I figured I would be getting out of all the pain in the ass cleaning for the price of a Big Buford at Checkers. This was my big plan for the Fourth. Take Mark out for a burger, and then come home and relax.

Around four in the afternoon, on July Fourth, as I sat in the living room watching a baseball game, the lights started to go dim. Then the lights went very bright. Coming from my office I could hear the speakers on my computer making a thumping noise as the power continued to fluctuate. Just as I got up to see what was going on, all the lights went out. Five seconds later they came back on. I sat back down and I watched as the television cycled back on along with the DVR. Before the television could come all the way back on it happened again, dimming lights, bright lights, and then no lights. Five seconds later the power returned. This time while my television equipment cycled back on I could hear the air conditioning making a horrible noise outside. The third time the power went through these gyrations I was already on the phone to FPL (Florida Power and Light).
"You people are destroying my house!" I shouted in the phone.
"I am so very sorry to hear that sir. Can I get your address and name please."
By this time my air conditioning system sounded like a freight train and the television had a strange error screen that I had never seen before. As I started to give the man my information, the power again went nuts. That was when Mark came wandering out of the bedroom.
"What's happening?"
"I'm on the goddamned phone and the house is about to explode. That's what's happening!" I screamed.
Mark then turned around and opened the front door while muttering something about checking outside. What I hadn't realized is that both dogs were totally terrified by all these strange happenings. When Mark opened the door, they bolted. The problem is that as soon as they hit the front porch they heard the firecrackers popping all over the neighborhood. This scared them even more.

So let me try to paint this picture. In one hand I have the telephone and I am screaming at the FPL guy. At the same time I am cursing at Mark to close the goddamned door while Chandler and Sasha are cowering in the little hallway, halfway between the inside and the outside of the house. The firecrackers are popping, the lights are flickering on and off, the air conditioning has stopped working and I have gone crazy in the heat.

The power continued to surge on and off for an hour before the electricity finally went totally out, but not before Mark called me a fucking asshole and stormed out of the house. We did finally go out for that Fourth of July burger. Only we didn't go to Checkers for dinner. Because of my bad behavior I had to take Mark to a much fancier place than that. By the time we returned home from dinner it was eight in the evening and the electricity was back on, the dogs were sleeping, the air conditioning was working fine, and my neighbors, the Clampetts, were shooting sky-rockets over my house.

Have a Happy and Safe Independence Day

Awesome!

There is something I have noticed while Mark is constantly watching his Bravo reality shows. They use the word amazing, amazingly often. From an overpriced piece of jewelry to an overdone McMansion, from a well turned boob job to a glass of wine, from a restaurant meal to a turd in the toilet, everything is amazing to these people. In one hour long Real Housewives episode you can be sure to hear the word amazing a couple of dozen times. They have the visual acuity of my dog Chandler coupled with the mentality of a three year old child. Anything shiny sets them off, so I am not surprised at how amazing the world around them is. I, on the other hand, do not use the word amazing, or so I thought. I figured I had better do a search of my blog for the offending word before I published this. Turns out I have used the word amazing often. If I had to guess before searching, I would have said I have never used that word. My search turned up at least twenty instances of me using amazing. Although that isn't too bad considering I have published over fifteen hundred posts on this blog. So starting with the end of this post, I promise that I will never, ever use that word again. Unless of course, it is completely appropriate. Like if Mark should walk on water, or actually clean up the kitchen. Also, a side promise, I will not use the word awesome either. I did a quick search on that word and I have only used it twice, so it won't be too hard to keep that promise. See you all tomorrow, and have a groovy, far out day folks.

Monkeys, Bananas, Used Cars, and a Schnauzer

It was around four in the morning and as usual I am awakened by a particularly bizarre dream. This one involved somebody who I haven't seen in over thirty years, a used car lot on the outskirts of the town I grew up in, and a grocery bag full of bananas. What was so unusual is that just moments earlier in the dream I was in Florida being driven across a bridge to the bowling alley, with a cat carrier full of cats in the back seat. I'm not sure what triggered that dream, but the day before I thought had I heard a monkey in somebody's backyard as I walked Chandler. Never the less, It's what I smelled when I woke up that bothered me. Dog stink. I could smell dog stink and it was coming from our darling little schnauzer, Sasha. She was draped over my pillow and had her head resting on my shoulder. We were muzzle to muzzle, and she had a very smelly muzzle.
"Oh gads Sasha, what the hell have you been eating?"
We don't have any more indoor cats so I knew it couldn't be kitty litter... or could it? The backyard! Earlier in the day I had allowed Sasha and Chandler out in the backyard while I watered the plants and flowers. They both made a beeline for the bushes back where the cats like to take a dump. I yelled at them to get the hell out of there, and didn't think about it anymore.

Anyway, in addition to the stank, Sasha has been itching a lot the last couple of days. So yesterday afternoon I lined the bathroom floor with towels, I took off her collar, and then I placed her in the shower. This is how I wash her. Me and Sasha naked, in the shower together, all soaped up. It's an odd sight I would imagine, but I do close the bathroom door. When I am all done with her, I open the shower door, she jumps out, and then she proceeds to run around the bathroom wiping herself on every available surface. Which is fine, because the bathroom needed to be cleaned and I proceeded to do that. Also an odd sight, me cleaning the bathroom naked.

Clouds

We don't have mountains here in Florida. What we do have are big fluffy clouds that often remind me of mountains. Saturday I was messing around with my little Flip video camera and tried to capture the beauty of those clouds. This is the same camera that captures the beauty of Alicia and Alexis.

  

I did this with only the Flip camera and the Movie Maker program that comes with Windows Vista.