all the cool kids!

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Friday, December 17, 2010


this is the first draft of the first chapter of the book Adlulthoodness...i began working on this about six months ago, but ran out of  motivation...or red pills...

1.Michelle Williams ( is married to Adam)
2.Rita Wilson (I got nothing)
3.Michael C. Hall (who is this?)
4.Nicole Kidman (bitch)
5.Heating oil (not just for breakfast anymore)
6.Rosario Dawson (I should know who this is, but I don’t care)
7.Jilted bride lawyers (seriously? Really? f that!)
8.GM cars ( all are being recalled)
9.North Korea (blew up in an dong missile accident…
10.Cold treatment (OJ and Chicken Noodle soup…)

The alarm rings. It is annoying. 6:00 am is a rude awakening. It is sticking your hand in the disposal and having it turn on without warning. God, I hate it when that happens. Or a chainsaw falling out of the sky and lopping off your arm. That really sucks! It is an atom bomb dropping on your lap. Well, maybe not an atom bomb, more like a hand grenade. Not the pineapple type, but those old GI Joe German style grenades.

You know the ones I am discussing.

Granted, those events rarely happen, but in the world of YouTube, all bets are off. It could happen. It makes me angry just thinking about getting out of bed. Where did cool adulthood go? Was it all just a mirage on the sands of the mundane grind? Some kind of oasis hocus-pocus?

This is not the adulthood I was sold those years ago when I was a kid. It is not what they said it would be. When Sting sung “a humiliating kick in the crotch” or very close to those lyrics, I had no idea, that he was not just being a cynic. Sting is f-ing NOSTRODAMUS. Adulthood is not what I thought it was going to be. Shame on me. Shame on you. Shame on me.

Someone killed my Peter Pan.

There are many reasons to be disillusioned with being a grown- up person. So many that I am unable to count them on all my digits. Why did it turn into a perplexing array of wrong answers, stupid questions, and deception? I know it sounds like I am just venting about the political machine, but that is only a part of the inequality of this debacle. This is not about happy. This is about confusion.

This is about a giant WTF.

However, there is always a silver lining. For every bad deal we get as adults, there is also a good deal. We just have to work a lot harder at finding the good. Or maybe not. I could just be on some way-cool mind altering substances. I could be a blissful Matrix-ite. I really don’t know. Was I supposed to take the green pills today or the red ones? I don’t remember.

Damn this adulthoodness!

Just Another Day In Paradise!!

Thursday, December 16, 2010

its thursday do you know where your mancave is?

this is a repost, because it is MCT and i have to get going soon...and basically i like this post and i am lazy...

1.Kardashian Christmas (who cares, unless it involves shoving a festivus pole you know where)
2.Annie Lennox (grew her hair out and got a real job)
3.Alina Kabaeva (who? Don’t care)
4.Angie Harmon (did Mark get a sex change?)
5.Nicole Richie (Lionel’s wife?)
6.Hulk Hogan (bald guy long hair does not work dude…)
7.Kwame Kilpatrick (wasn’t this guy the mayor of Detroit?)
8.Oil spill lawsuit (will settle out of court…the winner? Lawyers)
9.Broadband Internet (is a great investment…just like apple)
10.Mortgage investors (do not exist)

I am writing this blog after (actually reposting before cuz i am all time travelly and all that) Mancave Thursday, (MCT) which is kind of like a bowling league, it happens every week and there is drinking involved. This week we finally completed the paper football table. Not bad, it only took us 3 or 4 months, but a Mancave success is success nonetheless. It is kind of hard to complete any project when there is a hockey game, NCAA B-ball tourney,” Kelley’s Heroes” or MMA to watch. OR the Mancave is 50 degrees. OR there are too many daddy pops imbued by the participants.

Sometimes we do get over-served…OR the team doesn’t show…

Drunken blogging 101. Step one: get drunk. Step two: start writing whatever comes into your head. Step three: make sure Norman, the spell cjheckler is on. Oops I mean spell checker. See what I mean? Step four: concentrate on what you are really trying to say. Wait a minute that is difficult for me anytime. Step five: eliminate step four.

MCT is all about the project. (And the company.) Keep it stupid, simple (and the Evil twin is born)  Just like a bowling team, all members of Mancave should attend every week. However a few misses is okay. BLOWING OFF MCT EVERY WEEK IS LAME….(Unless you live three hours away)...kind of like bumper bowling…or rolling a 299, just one lousy pin away from perfect

I know you may be wondering what exactly a paper football table is, and why on earth would anyone make one. I have made two. That makes me either twice as great or twice as stupid…you decide. I know what my answer is. A paper football table is exactly like what it sounds like it is.

It is a table to play paper football on. The one we built has lines and a goal post and a beer spot to mark the “offs”. Three off and the other guy gets to kick a field goal. I know it is all coming back to you now. You played this in study hall and in the lunch room. Remember penny hockey and penny basketball?

I would include a picture, but techtarded is my middle name, so just picture it in your head. Remember back when I started this blog, I could not even link it correctly. Thanks to Chris B for the tutorial. If it helps, a football field is green. Not the color of Cookies house, but hey his house is a shade of green. Think Spartan Green. A football field has stripes every ten yards, is 100 yards (300 feet) long by 50 yards wide, so think proportions…I know that any rendition you come up with will suffice.

Our first rendition of the paper football table was actually the run off table, for the table saw, in the “original” Mancave. One night Rich and I played a game of paper football and decided to make a paper football table. It was awesome.

Strike that.

TOTALLY AWESOME!! The proportions were not quite right, but it gave us another option after our “project” for the night was done, or the game of the week was over. A game of paper football burns off about 3000 calories, so it is also healthy, however, not quite as much exercise as bowling.

Anyone that reads this blog regularly may think that I write all of my blogs in an altered state. They may think that every day is MCT. That is partially true, as the many people I am, while they have an uneasy truce, are constantly vying for the attention they so rightfully deserve. Remember I do hear voices…

It is kind of like a continual buzz. My head is like Alice in Wonderland. Well, at least the oddities that I saw in the previews for the new movie and the perception I have of the book. It is a nearly blind perception, as I have never actually read the book.

However, politicians have never lived on minimum wage, yet they think that it is possible to live that way. That parallel really does not work, Alice…okay so how about this…It is like 300 Spartans defying the odds…nope on that as well…

This blog is kind of like having me in the room with you. The difference is you can shut me up when ever you want simply by navigating away from the blog. That is what makes this interweb thingy so great, if you do not like the content, then you can simply go elsewhere. However, if we are face to face, I may follow you and keep rambling…Although I cannot imagine what other things you could do that cost so little and bring so much amusement.

And remember, we all need a little more amusement.

This seems like a lot of fun. Wwwweeeeeeee. Bruce’s blogger wild ride! Until I read the results tomorrow. Then I may feel a bit of shame, kind of like spending time in the penalty box. Probably not, as I usually do a couple dry runs and editing. Not this time! I am sending this out, hot off the presses. Roll the dice, baby see how it shakes out!!

It is amazing that I slur my words when I type and there is little difference between sober and drunken typing. I suck at both. Imagine that? I don’t feel drunk, but my fingers are. “Honestly ossifer, I am not as think as you drun’ I am.” Actually, I had only two daddy pops tonight, (talls, with a splash of coke) maybe I had three, but who’s counting. I should not have had that coca cola chaser…caffeine…

Counting your drinks is for amateurs. I am not an amateur. While I have a bit of a buzz, drunk is not a reality. Some things seem like a lot of fun when you are drunk. Then the harsh reality hits you like a 7-10 split, or a bazillion Persians. Or maybe 2 Parisians…Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I am not too drunk to think in the circular pattern that I usually do. WTF was my point?

Oh yeah.

MCT was a success this week. We accomplished a Herculean task. We stopped watching the NCAA round ball tourney, set down our daddy pops, stopped talking smack and worked as a team. The A-Team. That’s right Nabozniak, the A-team! We did all that just long enough to assemble the final parts and pieces. The sweet smell of success!

The taste of victory!

We rolled a 300…

The perfect game.

Just another day in paradise

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

wtf wednesday...

1.Nikki Sixx (died)
2.Mila Kunis (fuckin bitchy and hot)
3.Denise Richards (transgender dude?)
4.Edward Norton (you won’t like him when he is angry)
5.Iron Man 3 (straight to video in time for christmas)
6.Amanda Beard (got her face waxed)
7.Bill Clinton mustache (pornstache)
8.UBS dress code(United Bull Shit)
9.Credit cards (not cool)
10.Bellagio robbery (I was not there)

I had a crappy day...let me tell you all about it...

And then the cell phone rang...

And then the text and e-mails started pouring in...

I went to see my buddy VoHo...he was having a bad day.

I wrote most of this post in invisible ink.
I would have written it in regular ink...
but then i'd have to kill you.

and then your day would be bad as well...

However, if you have a magic decoder ring and x-ray specs, you can read it.

Just Another Day In Paradise!!!

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

tucker does tuesday!

 1.Taylor Swift (sings with barney the dinosaur)
2.Mariah Carey (very hot)
3.John Travolta (battle field earth II?)
4.Jennifer Carpenter (eats ants)
5.Hormone therapy (does not work)
6.Scarlett Johansson (is related to me)
7.2,400-year-old soup (seriously? f*ing soup?)
8.Reverse mortgages (are going to cause the next recession)
9.Michael Vick (is now a dog lover)
10.Stuxnet virus (can be cured by turning off your computer...and just walk away)

hi. im tucker. daddy calls me TuckMonster. i do not know why. i am cute. cute.cute.cute. everyone says so. being cute means you can lick daddy's mug with brown stuff in it. the brownstuff he drinks in the morning. not the brown stuff he drinks at night. i don't drink his candyian wiskers any more. it is yucky.yucky.yucky.yucky.

but his morning brown stuff is good. he calls it coffee. he says it wakes him up. i don't think it wakes him up. i wake him up. by licking his whole face. licky.licky.licky. yup. i like to lick people. they taste all salty and yummerry. and i like to wake daddy up. i wake him up whenever i want. cuz i can.

today is daddy's day. some people call it a birthday. daddy just calls it daddy day. he says he is 25. that makes him like 3 and half in dog years. i don't think so. he's so slow and old he is more like 7 dog years, and he is getting white on his jowls. that is what happens when dogs get old. he is old. old. old.
daddy and i fighting for a bone...btw i won....daddy is so old...

every day is daddy day. he gets up and does daddy things. i want every day to be tucker day. daddy says that every day is tucker day, but i do not think he is right. i do not get to go chase bunnies and squirels and play with other dogs. all day long like daddy. and  he does smell like other dogs some days. and somedays he smells like abner cat, who lives down the street.

today daddy took me with him. we went it was fun! we went to the big orange store. i went to see my girlfriend bella. we went to pick up a window. and we went to some other places, but they all look the same. i had fun. i stuck my head out of the window. it was smelly-wonderful. i licked daddy's face a whole bunch of times. and i also licked his mug of morning brown stuff. a.lot. and he doesn't even know.

i got daddy this card for daddy day. because it is true. i hope daddy appreciates the card.

mommy and mylibean and me, (tucker) bought daddy a pie. he loves cherry pie. i heard him singing this wierd thing...

"she's my cherry pie, cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise" over and over and over again. and then he laughed. daddy is so silly. but he is also so old. so we don't say much...

see you next week when i talk all about me and satan santa

Monday, December 13, 2010

opie pulls a fast one...

final installment (of some random chapter...) of the yet to be completed  WISDOMS V book see Me and barney fife and cro-magnon-man

1.Obama approval rating (slip sliding away)
2.shool lunches (are getting better...than McD's)
3.Brett Favre (send more pics of his junk, and NO ONE CARES)
4.Jennifer Grey (up next on dirty dancing with the lost stars NEW SHOW!!!)
5.Pink Floyd (BEST band OF ALL TIME!)
6.Gay Veterans (suing for reinstatement)
7.Paul McCartney (the Beatles are BACK!)
8.ETFs (even babies can do it!)
9.Road closures (make for jackassery)
10.Credit cards (rates drop again! if you are paying more than 5% on your card...psych! just kidding)

I awoke the next morning around 11 am. I was not dead. Life is definitely better than the alternative. I may have not been physically dead, but I have felt better, than this particular morning. Dead prolly felt better than this. I was thirsty. I looked in the refrigerator for water. There was one full, and one partial. That is a plus. (red wines are truly evil...)

I grabbed the partial, tossed it back and cracked the full bottle. Parched. Arid.Extra.Dry. Yeah, something like that.

It was a Saturday. I could hear the din of traffic and people. I moved a curtain and peered out the window of the van. The parking lot was nearly full. Holy f*ck! The Pep Boys was rocking! And I needed to drain the weasel, if you know what I mean. Oh, yeah, and I needed to get my van fixed. I may have forgotten about that what with all the wine. And the pissing urgency. Intensified by the bottle and half of water.

I threw on a tee-shirt, some PJ pants, sandals, and grabbed my wallet. I trundled up to the Pep Boys. There were so many people milling around I thought I may have been transported via some twilight zone dimension aberration to a flea market. I wanted to get into the line for service, but again, I had to piss like a race horse. I had to keep my priorities in line. That line could wait.

After taking care of business, I got into that line. Now, mind you, I did not really think this thru, as I jumped outta my van looking like I had my hair  done by Einstein’s hair dresser and I was wearing clothes that were, arguably, seriously pajama’s-ish. In my haste I had forgotten to grab a hat. I am normally very man-pretty...Now, not so much...

I got into my place in that line and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, I was up at the serviced desk.

“Waddaya need?” The clerk asked.

“I need a new alternator.” Was my reply.

“Well, We need to run a diagnostic.” Said the clerk.

“How much will that cost?” I asked.

I think I heard. $75.00

“I don’t need a diagnostic. The alternator is bad. I need an alternator.” I repeated.

We need to run a diagnostic before we do any work.” Said cashier guy.

“But I know I need and alternator. And that is all.” I said, more calmly than I felt.

“If it is electrical, WE need to run a diagnostic.”

Okay.. let me get this straight, I need to pay for a diagnostic? Is that correct? Cuz I do not think I heard you the first three effing times.

“I just need an alternator, and how much do they cost.” I was losing my patience.

I think I heard $250.00. Labor and material. It seemed really high. But I needed it.

“How much for just the alternator.” I repeated.

“Sir, WE do not allow people to wrench their cars in our lot.”

I quickly did the math in my head. $325.00. For an alternator. Seemed very high.

“Sir, do you want us to get your car in?” asked Mr Diagnostic seller guy.

I hate when I am beholden to others and have to bow to their whims. The van was not running, and I could replace the alternator with a butter knife and vise grips, but I needed the alternator. And it did not look like the corporate service monster behind the counter was going to let me just get the alternator.

“I guess so.” I said. The pissed-off-ed-ness roiling just below the surface of my Hagar-esque locks.

I had about $75.00 in coins, S125.00 in singles, and a credit card with a $300.00 limit and no idea how much credit was left on the card…And I still had to drive to Michigan. I was in Fort Lauderdale-ish area near one of thousands of Martin Luther King Boulevard.

It was not looking good for the kid.

The bill came to around $300.00. Turns out I had about $200.00 left on the card. And after all the shit came down I would have about $100.00 dollars to get back to Michigan. There would be no splurging, no egg McMuffin mornings. Grilled cheese and water for the trip up. Okay. The little money left would fill the tank a couple times, but it would not get me home.

Whatever. I needed to hatch a plan "B". I thought about who I knew between here and home.While waiting, I called a friend in St Louis. He said he could give me a hundred bucks cash to help me get home. It was a bit out of the way, St. Louis, but hey, it was just another part of the adventure. And I could crash on the couch and get a quick shower...
My van sat out in the lot for about three eternities. It was finally done around 5 pm. I was happy to get out of there. It sucked. And it took I paid the balance in $75.00 in change and $25.00 in singles. Take that Mr. Diagnostic Seller Guy!

Once on the road, though, everything was fine…Or at least until I got into Tennessee.


I saw the red and blue.

In the rear view.

And I was pulled over. By Opie Taylor.  I did not know they allowed such young people to drive, let alone be PoPo, but hey I was still in. the. south. (no offense to my southern BIA's)
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” Opie queried.

“No sir, I do not.” I responded.

I had no f*ing idea why on earth I would be pulled over, it’s not like I was letting the dog, Busker, drive.

“You were driving awfully slow. I clocked you at 54.”

The minimum legal speed was 45mph. By my calculations I was going 9 mph over the minimum.

“I was looking for an exit.” I replied.

“Where are you heading?” Opie asked.

“St. Louis.” I said.

“You are going the wrong way.” Said Opie.

“Yes sir. And that is why I was looking for an exit.”

No f*ckin Shit Sherlock…

“You prolly ought to speed it up.” Was all that Opie said.

"Roger-wilco, f*ing Opie"

"Yes sir." I replied.

No ticket, no driver license and registration BS. No sobriety test. No outta the car long hair... Simply a request to speed the f* up.

That's a first.

I got back on the road, found an exit, and turned around. A while later, I found a place to crash for the night. The next day I saw my friend in St. Louis. We hung out for a couple days. And I headed north.

I came back to 12 inches of snow and cold.

I really should have turned around and headed back.

No. scratch that. I never should have left Key West.