It's Derby Week!

Damn rain.

It's rained for 14 out of the last 15 days and it promises to rain more. This is sad because as one employee put it this morning, this is supposed to be the "happiest week of the year."

Come on! It's Derby Week.

This is the week where every Louisvillian should be skipping in the sunshine and drinking Strawberry Crush and amaretto. Where kittens frolic in poppy fields on the backs of unicorns. A week where work should be a place you check into for an eight hour nap. We should all be punching cops in bars at 4 a.m. and running around huffing paint thinner.

Instead this year, we've been met with depression, flooded basements, flooded streets and canceled events. (Most disappointing to me is the Todd Snider show tomorrow night which looks very tentative at this point.)

Even though the sun is supposed to shine bright on My Old Kentucky Home on Saturday, the infield of the Kentucky Derby is going to look like Aunt Mable's Beef Stew—kind of brown, vague and with hints green things here and there.

So how do we fight back against this rainy tyranny?

I say crank it up a notch. Refuse to play "The Game". Prove to the rest of America that the Kentucky Derby Festival, at least the week that remains, is not to be messed with.

Here are a few things I'll be doing to prove that the rain isn't the boss of me and that the Kentucky Derby still means something around here in this soggy bottomed village. Feel free to join me.

• Streak. Why wait to streak the Derby? Streak now. Streak Main Street. Streak the Chow Wagon. Streak the Kentucky Derby Post Position. Streak your office. Ditch those clothes and let your fun bits fly.
• Burn something. What would a party be without the one person who takes things a bit too far and sets fire to a couch or a roll of toilet paper? Get on it.
• Gamble on anything that walks. Morbidly obese dude gonna make the closing elevator doors? Five bucks says no. Number of times that the annoying 23 year old in your office says, "like" in a five minute conversation? I say 15. Number of strippers at PT's Showclub named Crystal (Krystal, Crystil, Cristal, Christeal are also acceptable)? How's eight sound?
• Gallon of Whiskey. Just buy one. See how far you can get into it and proceed to the nearest facility with bouncers. Test your new found strength.
• Fireworks in the office. Face it, it's too wet outside to enjoy all your 4th of July leftovers.
• Seersuckeritup! Run to your nearest thrift shop, elderly relatives closet or vagrant outpost. Buy anything you can find in seer sucker. Put it on, even if it doesn't fit—cut it off, sinch it, belt it—what ever it takes. Now wear it for the next 5 days. Sleep in it too, it looks better wrinkled.
• Pee outdoors. Who needs toilets? The rain will wash it all away.
• Burn something else. Once all the couches and toilet paper have gone up in smoke, find something else such as: paper towels, old wood, your buddy's hair. Nothing keeps a party going like a pyro.
• Challenge somebody. Doesn't matter what it's to. Corn dog eat off, pushing a Cadillac down Main Street (which I did this morning) or throwing stuff out your office window.

Don't give up. Get rowdy and tell the rain to suck it.

It's 4/20.

What's up stoners?

I hope you're happy. Your pot smoking has caused a national underground holiday. A monumental shutdown that has placed this country in the throws of uncertainty and disrepair.

Lazy, lay about, no good, drug-dealing sons of bitches. You're the reason Al-Qaeda is winning.

I blame you for the $14.3 billion deficit and medical conditions like aspergers. You're also the reason my lettuce won't stay fresh even though the expiration date is three days from now. It should be fresh. But nay, it has the rot.

Thanks a lot. You people make me want to throw myself under a fast moving, southbound train.

And that whole state of California, with their lose morals and medicinal marijuana. Whole ding, dang state is going to sink into Satan's Ocean. What are the doctors and dispensaries thinking? Do they realize they are creating a pandemic of mellowness and drifters? Unemployable deadbeats and the next generation of land pirates.

Because of their irresponsible "chill out" attitudes they've endangered generations of children against the hoards. THE HOARDS I TELL YOU!

This is a battle. Our national supply of Twix and Doritos are at stake. Wake up! Do you want some foreign marauders invading our pearlesque supermarkets and raping our bag boys? Taco Bell's will surely be next to fall. They'll suffer a wrath unseen since the devil's army tap danced on Jesus's grave.

Oh, whoa is America.

Thanks potheads.

Georgia Outlaw

Often when I start these posts, I have no idea what I'm going to write about. This is a bad habit. If I bothered to structure these things, they would probably be more coherent and less rambly.

Today is one of those days.

After the success of the Saturday Evening Post—Dong Bang, I didn't know what to toss up here. So I dug into the files and found this photo above.

So what the hell do you do with this? Yes, I could make a comment about how some white trash, hillbilly, Mountain Dew swilling, high school dropout probably wrote this in the grout. That would be my normal post and you the reader would learn nothing.

So we can either leave it at that or, we can google this shit. Which led me to this on youtube...

As you can see,  Junior is some kind of a vagabond, clown wrestler and a shitty one at that. His opponent is some meathead named Jesse James aka, the "Georgia Outlaw" who probably spends his days looking at Hustler and watching reruns of Two and Half Men. I'm not sure which arouses him more.

Let's just say this thing gets weird. I mean real weird. I watched all 10:33. And so you don't have to, here are some of the highlights:

• Junior is from "way out in left field"
• This is a "Sesame Street Fight". If only this was true. Muppet fights get stabby.
• The whole fight is over the "Georgia Outlaw" owing Junior tokens to Chuck E. Cheese.
• Random screams from the audience include "you look gay". Way to go Appalachia!
• There's some beating with a led pipe, couple of shots to the groin and blah, blah, blah for 5 minutes. 
• Finally towards the end a hillbilly version of Rosie O'Donnell shows up.  Gets hit with a baking sheet and proceeds to fall down dead. Only to miraculously rise again when the bell rings.

Jesse James ends up winning, which is a shock. How could a hobo wrestling clown lose?

I demand a recount.

For more amazing video Search Appalachian Championship Wrestling on Facebook.

The rare Saturday Evening Post—Dong Bang

Never dropped a post before on at Saturday night, but what the hell. Seems like as good a time as any to talk about DONG BANG.

Let's get it on.

As you may have noticed, this isn't the traditional Shit Talking Post. It is however an amazing picture of the best name Oriental Grocery and Gift store ever–Dong Bang!

I snapped this on a recent trip to Georgia. The store itself is located in Marietta, Georgia and man the neighbors must laugh it up over this one.

I also realize that by posting this, I've gone completely juvenile. But somehow on a chilly April, Saturday night, this just seems right. So right before you lay your partner down by the fire tonight and get it on, whisper these sweet, sweet words in her ear, "Ah, yeah, Dong Bang."

Go ahead, try it.

Homophobic Wednesday!

Irony or ignorance?

Today's post is gonna be short as I've got to get on the road.

I grabbed this from a Bonnaroo port-o-potty a couple of years ago.

It's odd that anybody who goes to Bonnaroo would shit talk this on a wall. Either way, it's stupid.

Seacrest out.

Danny, I understand what you're going through.

"Danny likes to get skull fucked."

What a horrible weekend.

After a week that averaged 4 hours of sleep a night, I awoke after 10 hours of sleep Saturday morning to feed my cat. Down the steps to his food dish I go, only to find about 3 inches of standing water. The torrential downpour that hit Louisville and sounded like God at ceramic breaking festival had turned my basement into the world's largest domestic water park. There were sharks and bass and lampreys and driftwood and a 10-foot waterslide—they used to be stairs but it's amazing what you can do with an old cafeteria tray.

Just a fucking mess.

So called a company to come help me pull the plug on my new pool and they showed up a few hours later. When they got there, they started pulling water out of the carpet. Only to ask me if the basement had flooded before. Which I replied yes it had but not for 3 years. Our basement flooded 3 times in the first 4 months we lived in this house—don't ask.

The lead guy in the crew, John, then ripped off the baseboard to show me mold, dirt, gunk and rot. Turns out the guys we'd used before to dry out our basement hadn't bothered  to look behind the baseboard for damage or moisture.

Great. So now what?

John, then informed me he was going to have to cut the wall. Yeah, it's as scary as it sounds.

5 hours later, my basement walls essentially looked like they were wearing a mini-skirt. OVER 1/3 OF MY WALL IS MISSING IN 4 ROOMS OF MY FUCKING HOUSE. All of our furniture is crammed into one corner of our basement. My studio looks like a homeless shelter. Our cat is mad because he can't eat in peace away from the dog. We have virtually no clothes left to wear because they had to completely disconnect the washer and dryer. It's a shit show.

Anyway, turns out the leak sprung from a pipe that the FUCKING BASEMENT WATER REMOVAL SYSTEM DIDN'T BOTHER TO CAULK. (Think B-Dry or Drylock, but not these guys, they're okay in my book.) And the force of the all the rain knocked it loose. Seriously, some dipshit doesn't caulk a joint together and the Mississippi River shows up in my house?

Anyway. Danny, I now know what it's like to get skull fucked. 

If you need me, I'll be in my basement with a mop and a gun.

Oops!

Got dang!

Running a blog, even one that doesn't get that much traffic can be a weird, weird experience.

Besides CWWI–Cyber World War I–with the Italians, there are a bunch of kooks and chuckleheads that end up coming to this site. Many come straight from Twitter which is my main feeder of people. But others, according to the analytics, get here some odd ways.

I know this might sound techie and geekie but hear me out, this stuff if pretty funny.

Here are just a few of the odd ways people are finding me on the interwebs.

One person searched google and came to this blog after they typed in "just take a load off shit". I'm not sure if somebody was looking for advice on how to take a shit after they got off from work or if they were looking to for lyrics to "The Weight" by The Band—"Take a load off Annie, take a load for free;
Take a load off Annie, And (and) (and) you can put the load right on me."

Which now, if you apply my first reasoning for why people got here searching "just take a load off shit" sounds reallllllllyyyyyy gross. Cleveland Steamer Ahoy!

Another person came here after searching for "stacy & bryan". I've never mentioned either name on this blog. Much less do I know a couple named "stacy & bryan". Both are retarded ways to spell your name. Get with it Stacey & Brian.

Two. Two people ended up here from howtoattractwomentips.net. Really? What the hell? How? What kind of mouth-breathing, spineless, sweaty, pasty basement dwellers are coming here? Are fucking 12 year olds reading this site? If so, then I probably shouldn't have said "fucking 12 year olds" a sentence back. And now that I've said "fucking 12 year olds", I'm sure this site is going to blow up with pederast traffic. Great. Thanks howtoattractwomentips.net you're responsible for covering my next set of court costs.

Every month. EVERY month at least two people search for Andre LaDuke. Andre, please tell your mom where you've relocated to.

Here's one more odd thing about my site, which I have to figure out how to fix. This is what you get if you search for my blog through Google. I rank fairly well, but read the description "hello, I've been alone with you inside my mind. And in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times, just shit talking."

I HAVE NEVER WRITTEN THAT SENTENCE. And if I did, I'd be really embarrassed. I need to work on my meta description so people again don't think I'm "fucking 12 year olds" with shit like this.

Dammit.

Okay pederasts, have fun with this site let me know when you're done.

White Sox Eat Mule Cock!

And so it has begun, another baseball season. (Sorry for taking a week to notice.)

Another season of watching the Chicago Cubs tack up another "Wait 'til Next Year" banner.  This should make #103, if I'm counting correctly. We currently have more of these championships any other team—suck that Yankees!

So, did we make the right trades in the offseason? I'm going to go ahead and guess no.

Is Mike Quade merely a cheap bridge until we can overpay for the next used-to-be great manager on his way to retirement? I'm going to go ahead and guess yes.

All this said and I still love the Cubs. Have since my first Keith Moreland baseball card slid out of its wax paper wrapper along with that famous pink cardboard stick of gum. Have since they fell apart in 1984. Have since I moved 300 miles away from home so I could live 5 blocks from them. Have since I worked the door at the Cubby Bear across the fricken street from Wrigley.

Every Cub fan has a million stories like these. Stories of disappointment and woe. Horrible, breath stealing, daggers to the lungs stories.

Every Cub fan also has a million endearing stories of Wrigley. Skipping work to catch a 1:20 game and drink whatever red colored hell in a plastic cup they serve under the bleachers. Punching some drunk in the face after a Cubs loss. Cramming onto a Red Line train, with no A/C in July, with 5000 half-juiced, booze sweating fans. Dancing with Vince Vaughn at some over crowded sports bar after a win.

So, does the good outweigh the bad? Does the debauchery, the fun and the insanity of being a Cubs fan out shine the losses, the bad management and the bloated paychecks of semi-washed up players and players that just don't pan out?

Millions of Cubs fans have died since they last won a championship. And millions more Cubs fans would like Steve Bartman's head on a spit.

Sure this may not be our year. Or maybe it will be. Agree or disagree, the one thing we can surely all agree on is... The White Sox Eat Mule Cock!

Best/Worst Thing You Stolen From You?

Over the course of my life I've had a lot of shit stolen from me.

– Watches
– CDs/DVDs
– Giant unicorn jumping over a naked lady in a field of daisies paintin
– Stereo out of my Jeep (Twice)
– Lunch (bully)
– Tennis warm up jacket
– Headphones (cleaning staff who later returned them on a co-workers desk)
– Small amounts of money
– Wedding ring
– Digital camera

But the one thing that takes the cake—a 2001 Huffy Bandit.

Broke as hell and in Chicago, for $88 bucks I went to K-Mart and bought the cheapest, nastiest bike I could find. I rode the thing for 4 years all over the city. And for a cheap-ass bike, it was awesome. I hit curbs, hit parked vans, hit cabs with it that hit me (I launched it through one cab's windshield once).

But somebody finally stole it from me in the most insulting way.

I U-locked it at a CTA stop, popped off the seat and went to work. When I got off the train after work, somebody had jacked it. Not just jacked it, but picked the U-lock and relocked the U-lock to the bike stand.

Just insulting. I still have the U-lock.

Whenever I think of the bike, I think how awesome it would have been to see somebody trying to ride this thing without a bike seat. Painful.

So what's the best/worst thing stolen from you?

Racism Wednesday Returns. Now in Faux 3D.

(Click on the picture and take a stare. I have to stop taking photos while falling down.)

Racism sucks.

Except when it's in faux 3D! (Okay it sucks then too.)

What shocks me about this nice little chunk of racism isn't the use of "niggers" or "jews"—two groups stupid white folks have hated forever—but the lack of the writer of this nasty little piece, completely ignoring "arabs".

Come on Johnny Racist. Hating "niggers" and "jews" is old school. Slip into the now. Toss up slander towards our Middle Eastern friends.

What would your inbred brothers back at the Klan rally think of you if they knew you missed the chance to add, a comma and the word "arab" onto this port-o-pot wall?

Well hell, an action like that might get you called a sympathizer. It might even get your fine Aryan blood questioned. Next thing you know, you're defending the "little mulatto who serves you coffee down at the diner," turning off Rush Limbaugh and applying your Calvin pissing window decal to the back of your Toyota Camry.

Nooooo way José. You need to step up your game.

Overall, I give this attempt at racism a fail. Until you hate everybody else, go back to the port-o-pot and think about what you've done. Then and only then can you leave America.