My Diseased Mind

Taking a Sad Song and Making It Better

I needed this:

Sure, he’s probably drunk, but it’s the Beatles.

What. The. Fuck.

Somebody help me out here. What is this shit?

I think this might be art, but I’m not sure. Either way, I’m subscribing to it.

Pure lust!

I’ll admit it.  I am in most every way a pretty straight laced guy.  Many people might even say boring.  I don’t drink.  Don’t swear.  I avoid porn & any movies with nudity, foul language, or excessive gore.  I love, adore, & still get excited by my wife after almost 20 years of marriage.  I even obey the speed limit.  But there is one thing that stirs me up & makes me lose control.  I want it & I won’t be happy until I get it.  I makes me think of doing things that are wrong & even illegal.    It’s…. 

a 1970 Plymouth Barracuda.

I have no rational thought when it comes to this.  I will have one.  And I really want to restore one on my own.  Get my hands on it.  Get inside it.  Get it’s motor running hot.  Work on it piece by piece with tender loving care.  And then when it’s all ready, get inside & ride.  And the best part is that my wife is all for it.  What a woman.

So if anyone out there would like to find the perfect Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Ramadan/Holiday present for me, make sure that you get me one with a shaker hood & either a 383, 426, or 440 engine.  Don’t worry about the color.  I’ll take care of that.  Thanks.

Trapped

The lady in front of me at the Wal-Mart checkout line is middle-aged, morbidly obese, and riding a Mart Cart. She’s also leading a second cart, pack mule-style, with 10 packages of Assurance Underpads. I really don’t want to know what she’s soaking up with them. All I know for sure is that I will never use a Mart Cart. I stare at them, practicing my poker face. A look of serene nonchalance washes over my face. It’s a look that says, “No ma’am, I’m not the least bit horrified by what’s in your cart, nor have I been attempting to determine whether or not I can smell urine right now.” I send The Boy to the electronics section to get the Super Bowl score. He returns with the correct score, but with the teams reversed.

The man in front of the obese woman is buying a 12-pack of Keystone. He also asks for some Skoal, and the cashier is apparently baffled as to where his particular flavor is located in the tobacco area. I want to disembowel him with a broken Keystone bottle, only instead of breaking it on a table, I want to crack it over his skull. I’ve never understood why that wasn’t done in TV & movies. Both are classic moves, but they’re never utilized together. If I make a movie, they will be, and a new level of awesome will be created.

Meanwhile, the man waiting for the Skoal has noticed the Assurance Underpads. He looks decidedly nonplussed. I know that I would obliterate him at poker, and this briefly makes me feel better.

The cashier is slow. She stops between passes on the scanner to chat with the customers. It doesn’t help that she apparently knows the morbidly obese lady. I resolve that I will not chat with her, that I will stare coldly into space, thus giving the customers behind me a break.

When I finally reach the counter, the cashier decides that the woman behind me, who isn’t carrying much, should go ahead of me. I agree, because she has been through just as much hell as I, and after all, she is only carrying 2 things. She asks for cigarettes, sending the cashier off on another odyssey in the tobacco section. My poker face cracks for a moment, but then I’m back to serene nonchalance. When my turn arrives, I chat with the cashier, answering her questions about my purchases. I’m such a pussy.

Dad of the Year

An actual conversation I had with The Boy this week:

The Boy: I don’t think I’m going to play football at school anymore.

M: Good idea.

I don’t know if I gave him great advice or shitty advice. There’s probably no middle ground here.

Crocodile Mouth

The boy is artistic. He dabbles in a variety of media, from pen on paper, pen on cardboard, clay, various paints, and most recently, Magnetix. It’s not unusual for him to call me into his room to see his newest masterpiece.

So when he told me that he wanted me to see what he had been working on, I wasn’t particularly surprised. I can’t say I was really expecting what he had to show me, though.

Seriously, WTF? He’s 11; is it possible this wasn’t intentional? He called it a crocodile mouth. But why would a stubby penis have a crocodile mouth?

And yeah, that’s a stormtrooper blaster right above the, uh, head. What of it?

I do not think it means what you think it means

M & I have had this conversation before.  So what do you think?  What’s the most unintentionally dirty phrase you’ve ever heard?  As for me, I always like the classics.

“Come together, right now, over me.” - The Beatles

Tags: dirty phrases, The Beatles

The geeks are alright

Y’all excuse me for a second.  My soapbox beckons.

<steps up>

Band geeks are some of the best kids you will ever meet.  And marching band is great.

<returns to the floor>

Yeah, I was in band.  And honestly, it wasn’t cool back then.  But I loved it.  I was captain of the baseball team, one the top 4 kids in the class in terms of academics, well liked by almost all, & I loved band.  And that’s coming from a school that didn’t have a football team.  So I never got to sample the cream of band performing, marching band.

There’s a good correlation between band & football.  Mighty Mite or Pee Wee football equates to those early band concerts.  Nobody expects a whole lot, everyone is very encouraging, & parents commit everything to video.  As you approach junior high, some people start to get serious, & individuals with real talent start to stand out.  Then you hit high school & it’s either enjoy your 4 years, or consider using your talents to help you get to college.  You get bigger crowds & chances to really shine.  Then maybe, just maybe, you get a college interested in having you.  Maybe even get a scholarship.  And if you’re one of those few, you may even get your shot at a big time division I school.  And here’s where the correlation ends.  For there is no pro league for marching band.  A fortunate few can continue to pursue music as a career whether through teaching or symphonies.  But the art of marching band that entertains hundreds of thousands of fans every Friday & Saturday in the fall ends there.

And as a former band member, the parent of a high school trumpet player & future tuba player, & someone who has spent time around people associated with marching band for a years, I can say that is truly a shame.  Your general marching band participant is fun-loving, creative, friendly, intelligent, dedicated, & just great.  Get to know some of the young people in the Michigan Marching Band, The Spirit of Troy, Pride of the Plains, or Florida A&M’s Marching 100.  Not only are these the kind of people you want to hang out with on a Saturday night, they’re the kind of people you want working for you & with you.  Or in my case, have as your own children.

For example, take those chosen few who participate in the holy grail of marching bands, drum corp.  My daughter’s dream is to be a member of her favorite drum corp, the Phantom Regiment.  To make it, she would have to go through an audition camp that stretches over 3 days in November in Rockford, IL.  If she was then selected, she would have 3 day camps once  a month in Rockford until May when she would have to move to Rockford for spring training to begin.  Then, beginning in June, she would travel around the whole country performing sometimes as many as 6 nights out of 7.  Rehearsing even on the days they have to perform.  Sometimes up to 8 hours of practice a day.  Still finding time to have fun & make some of the closest friends they will ever have.  And usually ending up sleeping on a gym floor.  Think about the dedication needed, the work ethic, the commitment.  I want to be the kind of person who would do that.  Who would have that kind of character.

The time has come to cast off immature high school notions.  Band is cool!  It’s time to begin the band revolution.  Check out the groups above.  Or the Blue Devils, the Cavaliers, the Cadets.  Go old school with the Madison Scouts or find a YouTube video of the Velvet Knights.  Come on.   We’re all grown up now.  We know band people aren’t really geeks.  Now excuse me while I change my pocket protector.

Tags: band geeks, DCI, drum corp, marching band, Phantom Regiment

Dirty Haiku

I know; I get it
bestiality is wrong
wait, do kittens count?

Dirty Haiku

healthy dose of spit
my cock won’t burst into flames
balls deep in your ass