Monday, January 31, 2005

Fun with Blackpowder

The scene...

Sunapee Lake, May of 1985.

The characters....

Me, a pound of blackpowder and a pack of matches.

The result.....

a trip to the hospital

Here is my story....

First, a little background. My family has owned two houses on Sunapee Lake up here in NH for 30 odd years now. My grandparents built one and my uncle built the other. Now that my grandparents are gone, their house is owned by my other uncle. The houses have been the "family" vacation spot forever. We would always go up for Memorial Day, Labor day, and most importantly....The 4th of July.

The 4th of July was always the "can't miss event" of the summer. All the grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles etc. never missed that one. We all went there for one thing....blowing shit up. That's what we did and we did it well. We actually had people drive their boats over to our place just to watch. We blew up everything that you can think of....

toy boats
toy trucks
the dock
a 12 foot aluminum rowboat
toy airplanes, among other things...

... pretty much anything that you could pack blackpowder into.

Led by my crazy Uncle Bob we used to all sit around the table and create mostly multi-stage rockets and "yinga's" (big ass firecrackers). You know, good wholesome family fun.

I just want you guys to understand the general environment that I was in. That environment and the fact that I'm a moron led up to my failed experiment as a demolition expert. Did I mention that I'm a moron? Ok, just wanted that to be clear.

So one morning I get up quite a bit earlier than everyone else in the house...right around 5am. I wander down to the dock, get in my morning fishing fix and then find myself back at the dining room table bored after having had breakfast. So as I'm siting there my eyes wander around the room and something red catches my eye. Yes!! It's two 1 pound cans of gunpowder!!

My thoughts went approximately like this.....

Wow! Someone left the gunpowder out. That could be dangerous.

I can't believe that no one is awake yet.

Jesus, I'm bored. (walking out to the deck)

What is this pack of matches doing out? Must be from the BBQ last night. I'll put them in my pocket so they don't get lost.

I still can't believe that no one is awake yet. I wonder how soundly that they are sleeping? They do have their doors closed...

(walking back in the house) That gunpowder is still there. I should move it to a safer place.

(reaching for the cans) I'll do the right thing and put the gunpowder away.

(lifting the 1st can) Wait a minute, isn't this the can of powder that just fizzles and sparks instead of blowing up?

Boy, there is an awful lot of powder left in this can.

It sure is quiet in here.

I wonder if anyone will notice if I take some?

Nah, I shouldn't use any without proper adult supervision. (ok, I made that last part up)

Where does Grandma keep the plastic bags?

And off I went outside with the better part of a pound of what I didn't know was blackpowder in a ziploc and a pack of matches. The houses are at the bottom of a fairly steep hill that is cut out of some rocks. Very similar to what you would see on the highway. I figured that if I went up over the top of the hill, the sound would be muffled.

So, I get to where I think is a safe spot and proceed to make a fairly sizeable pile of powder on the ground. Now, thinking that it is just going to fizzle and spark I didn't bring any cannon fuse (which we had plenty of at the house...we have cannons too, but thats another story for another time) with which I could have stood at a safe distance when the powder ignited. So I did the next best thing...I flicked a lit match at it. The first couple went out before they even hit the pile. I was trying to be safe afterall. The 4th or 5th one landed right on top of the powder and continued to burn until it was out. I then lit another match and made sure to drop it directly on top of the pile. That one also just sat there and burned on top of the pile of explosive powder. At this point, I thought that the matches and the powder had conspired against me and that they were openly mocking me. All it ended up doing is pissing me off and making me more determined then ever to have a pyrotechnic event of grand proportions. So in my infinite wisdom (did I mention that I'm a moron?) I bent over closely to help the explosion on its way by sprinkling some powder on top of the burning flame....

The next thing that I remember was that there was a loud foomp! noise and all I saw was white. The noise was probably quite a bit louder than that, but I was about 12 inches away from the explosion so my ears were ringing immediately. After my vision cleared, I realized that something was not quite right. I had a buring sensation on my arm.

Shit! My arm is on fire!

After expertly putting the fire out (I believe it blew out while I was running around in circles waving my arms like some sort of retarded sparrow) I noticed that there was a HUGE plume of smoke drifting perfectly down to both of the family houses where everyone had their windows open. It was as I ran down the hill back to the house to not only change my now scorched shirt but to also explain how "Those damn neighbors were lighting of fireworks so early and waking everyone up!" that I noticed that my hand had a funky coloration and stink to it. I didn't think much of it and added a quick trip to the bathroom to wash the funky colors and smell off of my hand to the mental checklist. That was until I got to the first step of the front door....

Then the pain hit.

Now, if you have ever been burned badly, I don't need to tell you that it FUCKING HURTS LIKE HELL!!! It literally feels like your burned area is in a constant flame. With no relief whatsoever.

Being 11 years old, I immediately panicked. Surprisingly, my instinct for self-preservation was still intact. Knowing that my mom was going to be P-I-S-S-E-D I decided to wake up my grandmother instead. As I banged on her door she said "Hold on a minute". My reply "But Grandma, I'm burned".

Now, this next moment was the only highlight of the day...

The door flew open, my grandmother was standing there with a look of concern and my grandfather was behind her in his underwear. If I wasn't hurting so bad it would have been funny as hell. I guess you needed to know him to understand that. I digress...

The rest of the day consisted of me keeping the pain bearable by having my hand in a bucket of icewater. When that didn't work, the icy glares from my mother were quite sufficent.

My mother and I ended up going home early so I could go to the hospital. While we were there she made me tell every nurse and doctor exactly what happened when they asked. Man, talk about feeling like a complete and total moron. It's one thing for me to know I'm stupid, but to pass it along to everyone else at the hospital was almost as painful as the burn itself.

I ended up having mostly 2nd, with a small patch of 3rd degree burns all over my right hand. I had bandages on my hand for 6 weeks. The only nice thing about it was that I got paired up with a couple of cute chicks to do my work for me at school and I was also exempt from homework. Which didn't matter that much because I didn't do it anyways, but the thought was nice.

I also burned half of my hair off (which really pissed me off, I had just received a great haircut 2 days earlier), all of my right eyebrow and eyelash, and about half of each on my left. All that and a ruined shirt. It wasn't one of my prouder moments.

Later on a couple of family members walked up the hill to the scene of the crime. A big piece of scorched pavement was all that remained. They said it was actually quite impressive.

In following, I wish I could say that I haven't burned myself again (and again) with various forms of explosives/fire but that would not be true. I guess "once a moron-always a moron" certainly applies here. My most painful burn received lately was when my spudgun wasn't closed all the way and it burned the shit out of my knee. But that's another post for another time....

Sunday, January 30, 2005

Tunnel Rat Tales

Yes, I am aware that I spelled it the wrong way.

These will be just a random sampling of my various interactions/consequences/adventures before or after hanging out with the Tunnel Rats. They are a punk band out of New Hampshire that hurts not only themselves, but everyone around them. You can check out their story and/or music by clicking here. Incidentally, my brother is prominently involved in the band. I may need to refer to him from time to time to fill out a story or two as there are copious amounts of alcohol involved in every story. I can't stress that enough.

The first story...

So, there I was. Day three of a bender/Tunnel Rats practice and I was in Dover, NH... somewhere. Maybe Duke's (lead singer) house? Now that I think about it, I must have been there at some point.

My roommate Billy and I had met up with Bface and Duke at the bar, had a few and went back to Duke's place for band practice where we had a few more. At some point later on (after I witnessed a chick eat a WHOLE LARGE PIZZA!! shit) I decided that I had to go home to the wife and the kid. I only had one at the time, I think.

Yeah, yeah, yeah MADD. I know. Not smart.

Anyways, fast forward to me (somewhat) driving Billy's jacked up Dodge pickup ( key point: with his 4-wheeler in the back) home. As I was chatting with the wife, I see the flashing blues. I continue to chat with the wife on the cell phone for a few while keeping a wary eye on the cop car behind me all the while wondering what the fuss could be about. In a moment of (brief) clarity I realize that Mr. Police-Man wants moi to pull over and I concur. That's when the fun begins.....

I tried to hang up with the wife but I couldn't find the cradle (this was a real car phone) in the cab of the pickup so I just whip it towards the floor. I pulled over all nice and neat and I then proceed to watch "The Man" wander up to the truck window all the while wondering how I am going to explain the DWI to the wife.

This is a transcript of the conversation that followed....

Cop- "What took you so long to stop?"

Me- "What took you so long to catch up?"

Why he didn't arrest me on the spot, I'll never know.

next question...

Cop- "Have you been drinking tonight?"

Me- "Yes. But just a few and it was a while ago."

No roadside sobriety check.

Cop- "Where are you headed?"

Me- "Home"

Cop-"Where is that?" (without looking at my license that I had so eagerly provided to him)

Me- "Portsmouth."

Cop- "Well, you're going the wrong way."

Me- ".........."

Still, no sobriety check.

Several uncomfortable seconds later...

Me- "I must've missed my turn while I was arguing with the wife" (pointing to the cell phone now wrapped around my feet, the gas pedal and the gear shifter)

Cop- "Right by that red light that you ran?"

Me- (eagerly) " Yeah! That was it. Damn wife is a pain in the ass!"

...a few moments then go by as he checks out my license and Billy's registration...

Cop- "I need to check out the registration on the 4-wheeler to make sure that it isn't stolen. Where is it, on the fender?" (as he walks towards the back of the truck)

Me- INCREDIBLY STUPIDLY "Oh, I'll show you!!"

I then hop out of the truck and two (out of about 15 in the cab) beer bottles fall out of the truck, land on the ground and start to slowly roll under the truck sounding like a fucking freight train all the way! Seriously.

I grab them as quickly as possible, throw them in the bed of the truck, turn around and say "These beers are......."

He never noticed.

He was busy trying to step on the back bumper to hike his 5'4" frame up to see the 4-wheeler. When I threw the bottles in the back of the truck, the 4-wheeler blocked his view of me doing it.

To make a long story short, I was "Yes sir, no sir" the rest of the traffic stop and then got the fuck out of there.

Heading in the right direction this time.......

Saturday, January 29, 2005

7 days....

...24 hours and 8 mins (as of the start of this entry) to kickoff.

I wonder how many more subjects that the sports writers can come up with in this next week? They have pretty much run everything that they can. They must have been dancing a jig when they saw Freddie Mitchell on ESPN the other morning. The fucking clown was running his mouth. Yeah, he's a former 1st round pick with a grand total of he 22 catches this year. 1 1/2 a game and he says that he is a "difference maker". He may be right, if he is talking about the difference between a good receiver and a loud-mouthed-asshole one. At least T.O. backs his shit up. And to call out Rodney Harrison... real smart, shithead. Hell, Rodney would smack the hell out of him with his vehicle if he saw him in the players parking lot just for fun. Just plain dumb Freddie, dumb.

Onto other matters...

My eldest son was gone most of the day today. What a friggin' relief! I can't believe the difference between having 3 kids in the house and having 2. Remind me why I had the 3rd one again?....oh yeah, couldn't keep it in my pants. Well I sure as shit don't have that problem now. My wife and I have sex....hallway sex. We say "fuck you!" as we pass each other. Good times, good times.

Is it morally wrong to trade kids for alcohol and/or guns? Not that I have any morals at all..but bear in mind that it is for a lot of alcohol and/or guns.

You gotta love people that move into your town and then start bitching about the industry around them. Case in point...this rich bastard bought a half million dollar condo down the road from me. Now, when he bought the condo the NH Port authority was directly across the street just like it has been since its inception. Not only that, there is a small scrap metal yard at the Port Authority that also has been there for eons. When I say scrap metal, I mean that they unload about 3 loads a year from small barges and that the metal sits in a nice little pile on the corner of the pier until it is loaded out. Not the colossal clusterfuck of rusty shit that used to be there years ago. Anyways, he moves in and decides that the pile of metal is blocking his view of the river. The same pile that was there when he bought the place. Of course, since he has money our suckass town listens to him. The douchebag has the ear of the local (hippie) paper. Without that metal pile, the fish pier (which I am quite fond of having worked on boats down there all of my life) and the Navy yard this town wouldn't even be here. Now we have cocksuckers from Boston in their Mercedes telling us how to run our town just because they grossly overpaid for some glorified apartment. Don't even get me going about the rich-rich-rich assholes that bought the place under my Mom's pad. All I have to say about that whole situation is that she is a better person than I. I would have made things a bit more say the least. Unfortunately, flames burn upward. Then again, I don't have to live there. As usual I have no point but don't fuck with Momma-Face.

And another can't even shoot a gun anymore! I had the cops come to my house about a year and a half ago because some blind old hag down the way "swore" that she saw someone running through the parking lot with a rifle. The cops came to the door innocently enough but when I told them "Yes, I own guns" after they asked, you would have thought that I told them that I had several children tied up in my basement. Their hands went straight to the butts of their pistols and they started badgering me w/questions. Of course me being a total asshole with a complete lack of respect (and possessing some knowledge) for the law, I was a wiseass. It didn't go well from there....

One more reason as to why I hate people...

Another time I popped a squirrel that was pissing me off. When I went to grab it my neighbor happened to be outside walking her dog. She gave me a huge smile and said "Hi!"...until she saw the dead squirrel in my hand. She didn't talk to me after that. I was married at the time so I didn't really care but I actually expected a cop car to come cruising up within moments. Hell, around here they would probably call in the SWAT team. (which ironically enough, my father started when he was a cop...for 23 years) Geez, wouldn't that be fun? Me going down by the SWAT team. Hmmm....

Well, on that note I'll go....

Later and GO PATS!!

Friday, January 28, 2005

Views from the Deep

You know that you live in a small town when kids with BB guns are worthy of an article in the local newspaper.

Man, enough snow!

3 weeks until pitchers and catchers report. My man-crush on Jason Varitek will be in high gear right out of the gate.

THE WORLD CHAMPION RED SOX!!.....damn, still doesn't sound right.

WORLD CHAMPION PATRIOTS!!...rolls right off the tongue (insert joke here).

Do you think that the wife would notice if there were only 2 kids at for dinner, instead of 3?

Do you think that she would notice if there was another wife there? Yeah, you're probably right.

Jim Morrisson was no poet. He was just a hippie with a constant buzz. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Can we enact a law that murders anyone who creates a new "reality" show? Geez, the fucking things are like hookers. They are everywhere and they all suck.

If my kids destroy another cd-rom drive by putting something inappropriate in there, I will hang them by their toes. We now need to buy #4.

I brought them into this world, I can take them out.

Man, Danny Secretion looks good in a white leisure suit.

Bface in a tutu...not so much.

There should be a law where you are allowed off one person a year. My only problem would be narrowing down my list.

I've been saying this for years....there needs to be a one day killing, er, I mean hunting season for seagulls. I would sit there with a case of beer, a case of shotgun shells, and about 200lbs of herring to lure them in and have at it.

You haven't lived until a seagull has shit in your mouth.

I'd tell you guys what we used to do to them but PETA would probably light my humble abode on fire. Then again, that would give me a reason to shoot back....yet,I digress.

Watching a Blue Shark go completely nutty and start attacking anything from seagulls, to hoses, to Hi-Flyers (picture a lobster buoy 10 ft tall with concrete on the bottom) is pretty cool....unless they bite your net in half.

Even cooler is tying (hooking) into a fish that can swim 60mph and can rip your arm off in a split second. Giant Bluefin Tuna are a lot of fun. Especially when you get around $30 a pound.

Here is a picture of my 1st one. She was about 700lbs when we caught it.

notice the studly dude with the orange glasses at age 16 Posted by Hello

Thursday, January 27, 2005

I found this in the clearance bin. Who would have known? Posted by Hello

Dans day in court.  Posted by Hello

Monday, January 24, 2005

will the madness ever end? Posted by Hello

You think that you know someone... Posted by Hello

Dan's REAL allegiance. Posted by Hello


2 feet of snow and the Patriots win.

A good day all around.

More later....

Wednesday, January 19, 2005


It's 4:30 in the morning and I haven't slept one minute tonight. Even if I were to fall asleep, I need to be up at 6 for the kids.

Maybe I'll go down a bottle of Nyquil.
Nah, it would probably keep me up....

Oh yeah. It's also -4 degrees outside.

I'm going to be much more useless than normal tomorrow, er, today.

Fuck me.

** update **

It's now 19 hours later and I'm still awake.

I haven't slept.
I didn't get any.
My back hurts.

I should stop complaining.
It's better than having my face photo-shopped on a Yankee player....

We'll get his ass for that. It was totally uncalled for.

Yes, I do realize that exactly two people know what I'm talking about.
Well....that's pretty much the standard for any post that I make.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005


Just when I think that people can't become any more stupid than your average human, I see a couple of quick stories in the news today that reinforce my faith in the degradation of intelligence. While neither story is anything major or out of the ordinary, one had immediate consequences and the other will have have definite repercussions, of one sort or another. I'll get to the 2nd in a moment.

The first invloves some dumb broad in North Fort Myers, Florida. As if the "north" before "Fort Myers" distances them. Anyways, she decides in all her infinite wisdom, that she wanted to be a Flying Wallenda. Well, she got the flying part right. She decided to do a handstand on her 2nd floor balcony railing. Did she think that if she fell that she would be like a cat and land on her feet? If she did, it didn't work out so good. Just before attempting this "trick", she called out to a friend "Watch to see what I can still do!!" What you can do is be carted away in a Ziploc bag instead of the standard body bag. Moron.

The second is from that flaming homo Richard Hatch who failed to claim his $1 million prize on his taxes in addition to another $321,000 in appearance income from a local radio station. I mean, what was he thinking? Did he think that they wouldn't check? As much as I hate that (and all) reality shows, I know enough to claim the money because MILLIONS OF PEOPLE ARE WATCHING!! Egads, what a moron. Well, maybe he wanted to go to jail for the "benefits" (wink wink, nudge nudge).

Don't fuck with the IRS.

I know from experience.

Sunday, January 16, 2005


So, there I was. Me, the family, The Patriots and the GREATEST OFFENSE THAT EVER LIVED!! A.K.A. The GoHomeEarlyAfterLosingToBelichickYetAgain Colts

If that was the G.O.T.E.L. then I am a millionaire sporting some serious wood. Anyone who knows me knows that either of those last two options have a ZERO CHANCE of ever happening.

(Please send your letters of condolence to Mrs. Cod@should've stayed with my

Peyton Manning sucks. 3 points. Way to cement your status as the biggest choke artist your side of the New York Yank-me's. The biggest clutch performance of Peyton's career is when he nailed his "Cut that meat!" line in his last commercial. If Bill Belichick was the director then Peyton would have said "Err, um, uh....ack! ack! (various choking noises) CHICKEN!! Yeah, Chicken....right?"

If you live in or around Indy, run while you can. You could always move to New England. Then again, you idiots would probably get lost (after 2 interceptions/wrong turns) and end up in Philly. At least they have reached the championship game the last 4 years.

Buffalo Bills Central, anyone?

Next week.... Patriots vs The Steelers.

Patriots 27

Pittsburgh 21

Wanna bet?

Saturday, January 15, 2005

Cod Tails....

This is the first of a bunch of random happenings/embarrassments that have happened to me over my 30 chaotic years.

These next events lead up to a most glamorous day in the life of a Cod....

It all started in 1985 when I was 11. I got my first real "job" delivering newspapers. I had a fairly decent sized route to begin with. A little while later some dweeb (not like me, Mr. Cool) that was doing the neighboring route quit because he couldn't cut it (the pansy). I picked up his route as well as my own. I didn't mind the extra work (or the $) at all. It kept me out of the bars and away from the prostitutes. But little did I know that another addiction would soon rear it's ugly head.

Baseball cards.

Yes, baseball cards.

They are the crack cocaine to unsuspecting 11 year old kids.

There I was, Mr. Innocent (don't laugh!) 11 year old. I had a pocket full of money and nothing to spend it on. (Remember, I'm not in the bars with prostitutes attention!!) Innocently enough I offered to help my Mom (aren't I sweet?) with the shopping. Actually, she dragged me out of the house kicking and screaming, but that is neither here nor there. In between temper tantrums and cruising for chicks I saw a pack of baseball cards and decided in all of my innocent childness (is that a word?) that it would be fun to purchase a pack of my sports hero's with MY OWN MONEY. Little did I know that it would turn into a terrible obsession....

I found that I couldn't buy enough baseball cards. I would be extra nice to the people on my paper route just to get more money for cards. I really didn't like any of them...well, maybe that chick with the great boobs at 17 Birch Road. Maybe I should move on...

I would look through the couch for spare change to buy more cards. I would use my lunch money for cards. My most lucrative spot for extra money was on top of the dryer where everyone would put the change that fell out of everyone's pockets. I would do anything for cards. CARDS CARDS CARDS!! I would buy pack after pack with every spare penny that I had "earned". I think that the time when I realized that I had reached my lowest point was when I got up an hour before school, rode my bike 4 miles to the only store in town that had a whole box, unopened. What a feeling! It must be like a crack whore finding one more piece of rock wedged in the copper wool from the night before.

To make a long story short, I collected roughly over 2000 cards in a year and change of collecting. At the age of 12-13, I realized that there are much better things to spend money women. And lord knows that I have been spending every freaking dime on women since then.

All that crap has been a preface for a short story that will begin here...

So, there I was....the summer of 2001. My eldest son had just turned 9 and had become an avid baseball player. He had recently been given his 1st pack of baseball cards (not by me!! I know better). He innocently asked me if I had ever collected baseball cards. "Of course" I said. I then regaled him with glamorous stories of action and adventure. After he rolled his eyes at me for a happened. He asked to see them.

Fast forward to later that afternoon....

I had previously stored all 3 boxes of my personal effects (I am married, they aren't allowed in the house) in the attic/crawlspace. I had previously borrowed a ladder to put them up there, but that day I didn't have access to said ladder. So, being Super Dad I used a chair! Yeah, smart fucking move on my part.

I got up there ok. I had to have the wife hold the chair while I stood on the back of it. I then put one foot on a shelf in the closet and launched myself up. No problem. The problem surfaced while I was coming down. Stupid me, I tried to come down the same way that I went up. Let's just say that it didn't go to well.

I lowered myself down through the hole and then rested my foot on the shelf. In full disclosure, I am not exactly petite. I can't believe that those 6 drywall anchors wouldn't hold 200 pounds! The shelf then let go and down I came....sort of. I had wisely, or stupidly... your call, decided to hold on to the edge of the attic (a vertical piece of particle board that is used to box in the insulation that is blown in between the joists). Here I come, crashing down....swinging like Tarzan the whole way. I looked like I was doing an event at the Olympics. I'm not quite sure but I think that I may have done a triple sowcow at one point. Of course, after the landing I realized that I had ripped the palm of my hand off and dislocated my shoulder.

So there I am, lying on the floor with the drywall dust settling all around me wondering how to put my hand back on with my arm hanging at some weird angles. What was Mrs. Cod doing, you ask? Laughing like a fucking crazy person. I thought that she was in convulsions.

That's my wife.

What a gal.

Yeah, she loves me.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

Doc B-face

This test was originally given to Oprah by Dr. Phil. Normally, I wouldn't use the tv guide listing for Dr. Phil or Oprah as toilet paper, but I want to be a full-service blog.

This version has one more answer per question that Dr B-face came up with after many a long night of "research". I find that the extra answers are more applicable for not only me, but pretty much every one that I know....all 3 of them.

You can take the original test here, if you must. Billy, I'm looking at you!

The Dr. B-face Test
version 1.0

1. When do you feel your best?

a) in the morning
b) during the afternoon ∧ early evening
c) late at night
d) After I've jumped out of the bushes and chased the paperboy down the street in combat fatigues, camouflage facepaint, and my homemade flamethrower consisting of a Maxwell House can, rubbing alcohol, and garden hose, screaming at the top of my lungs about the Boston Herald's left-wing conspiracy

2. You usually walk...

a) fairly fast, with long steps
b) fairly fast, with little steps
c) less fast head up, looking the world in the face
d) less fast, head down
e) very slowly
d) toe-to-heel along the white line, arms outstretched, reciting the alphabet backwards

3. When talking to people you...

a) stand with your arms folded
b) have your hands clasped
c) have one or both your hands on your hips
d) touch or push the person to whom you are talking
e) play with your ear, touch your chin, or smooth your hair
d) put my beer between us so they can't touch me with their disease-ridden bodies, then realize they're breathing on my beer, so I cover it with my beer with my hand, then realize I just shook their germ-hand with my beer-hand, so I drink the beer as fast as I can to get as much alcohol into my system as possible so as to destroy any airborne pathogens I may have sucked up, and blame them and loudly demand that they buy me another beer.

4. When relaxing, you sit with...

a) your knees bent with your legs neatly side by side
b) your legs crossed
c) your legs stretched out or straight
d) one leg curled under you
e) the door to my inpenetrable, miles-deep steel-reinforced lead-lined bomb shelter locked, sitting on a special centrifuge specifically designed, once armageddon starts, to mix my DNA with that of beautiful women, whose DNA I've collected over the years from discarded napkins and cigarette butts, and my M-16 (it's still in the mail, something about the ATF, so I make do with a rubber band and paperclip) trained on the doorknob. I'm usually only disturbed by my wife coming in with a load of laundry, telling me to get the fuck off the washing machine.

5. When something really amuses you, you react with...

a) big appreciated laugh
b) a laugh, but not a loud one
c) a quiet chuckle
d) a sheepish smile
e) suspicion. Quiet, sneaking suspicion. Or confusion. Yeah, that's it, confusion. No wait, suspicion. What are my choices again?

6. When you go to a party or social gathering you...

a) make a loud entrance so everyone notices you
b) make a quiet entrance, looking around for someone you know
c) make the quietest entrance, trying to stay unnoticed
d) pick out the most popular person in the room, drink about a fifteen beers, and then loudly berate them about absolutely anything at all, usually their guilt in the situation in the middle-east, call them a nazi every time they start to respond, do the timeless "lampshade-on-the-head" classic theatrical dance routine, grab a hooter or two and tell them they "want it", and odds are I'm eventually escorted out, conscious or otherwise, and sometimes even airborne.

7. You're working very hard, concentrating hard, and you're


a) welcome the break
b) feel extremely irritated
c) vary between these two extremes
d) when I get up for another, hit my knee on the table, and my beer-can pyramid falls down

8. Which of the following colors do you like most?

a) Red or orange
b) black
c) yellow or light blue
d) green
e) dark blue or purple
f) white
g) brown or gray
h) you forgot magenta, muave, pink, and fuschia. I also have a lovely boa in teal. Or is it aquamarine?

9. When you are in bed at night, in those last few moments before going to


a) stretched out on your back
b) stretched out face down on your stomach
c) on your side, slightly curled
d) with your head on one arm
e) with your head under the covers
f) scrambling under the bed like a pale-white spider in my boxers, with my aluminum-foil helmet, short-wave radio, a map of the booby-traps I set up in case I have to take a leak in the middle of the night, and bottle of Jim Beam, wondering if I alien-proofed the windows with Saran-Wrap

10. You often dream that you are...

a) falling
b) fighting or struggling
c) searching for something or somebody
d) flying or floating
e) you usually have dreamless sleep
f) your dreams are always pleasant
g) On top of a tower in Texas with a .30-06 (scoped), doing what needs to be done to rid this country of radioactive commies. They're everywhere, man. They even watch you through your computer monitor. They're watching you right now. That's why I stretched duct tape across mine, shot it, and dumped it in the Charles. They can prove nothing.


1. (a) 2 (b) 4 (c) 6 (d) 10
2. (a) 6 (b) 4 (c) 7 (d) 2 (e) 1 (f) 10
3. (a) 4 (b) 2 (c) 5 (d) 7 (e) 6 (f) 10
4. (a) 4 (b) 6 (c) 2 (d) 1 (e) 10
5. (a) 6 (b) 4 (c) 3 (d) 5 (e) 2 (f) 10
6. (a) 6 (b) 4 (c) 2 (d) 10
7. (a) 6 (b) 2 (c) 4 (d) 10
8. (a) 6 (b) 7 (c) 5 (d) 4 (e) 3 (f) 2 (g) 1 (h) 10
9. (a) 7 (b) 6 (c) 4 (d) 2 (e) 1 (f) 10
10.(a) 4 (b) 2 (c) 3 (d) 5 (e) 6 (f) 1 (g) 10

Now add up the total number of points.

If you scored 100 points, you're ok. Live to read another day.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

One quick note....

This was taken from a web poll on

Who has the edge on the sidelines?

87.4%Patriots: Bill Belichick
12.6%Colts: Tony Dungy

That'll be the difference.

Monday, January 10, 2005

Coffee N' Smokes

You guys need to check out Alex's site. I know that he will be changing his schedule soon, but it is still worth a look, dammit!

Rock n' roll!

Money, Money, Money Mo-ney!...and football

So, Mr .267 got his $117 million dollar contract. Good for him and good for his Everything-That-Ruins-Sports agent Scott-The-AntiChrist-Boras. Between Pedro and Carlos Beltran the Mets will be paying out at least $30 million a year for the next 4 years. Give or take a few mill.


Blair, I feel bad for you, my friend. I know that this may be the shot in the arm that your team may need (at least on the back pages), but jeez..... Pedro at $13-14 mill a year? Beltran can almost be justified because he is fairly young (27...right now). Although I did see a disturbing stat on Sportscenter that compared him to Bobby Bonilla. Their stats are very close to being the same at the time when they both signed on with the Metropolitans. At least Beltran can run. The only thing that Bonilla ran for was the buffet, and cover, while dodging Vince Coleman's driver (golf, people) all the way. Punctured eardrums, anyone? (yes, I do realize that exactly two people will get that being one of them)

On a quick is not a coincidence that no matter how good the player may be, God (aka Bill Belichick) will not even consider signing a player that is represented by that scum-sucking pond scum Scott Boras.

Moving on....

Derek Lowe, 4 years and $36 million. That'll be about a million an emotional breakdown on the mound, Dodger fans. Although I do wish him the best, I can safely say that he used to drive us Sox fans fucking crazy!! One day you will get 8 innings/3 hits/and 0 walks against whoever may be in first place at the time and then just when you thought that he had turned it around he will throw a 3 inning/10 hit/8 run/4 walk (with 1 big nasty, bleeding blister on his thumb) shitbomb at you against the likes of Milwaukee and Pittsburgh. You guys figure him out. We're through trying. Thanks for the (scatterbrained) memories.

Onto more pressing items like my beloved Patriots.

As well as Mr. Cut-That-Meat! played last weekend, I will never be a believer until he beats the Patriots in Foxboro. But as the Indy fans say "(insert Charlie Brown's teacher's voice here)wahwah-wahwah-wahwah". The last time that I checked you didn't win a championship by beating anyone during the season. Although, THE PATS wouldn't be included in that category anyways, so I guess (as always) I have no point. Hopefully Edgerrin-MrFumble-James will show up again and all will be well. If...and that is a big if, they beat my Pats, all that will do is turn it into a rivalry, instead of us always kicking your asses every year. I don't care what all of the "experts" say. I am the only expert here. The Patriots will not lose. If they do, well hell....I already have all kinds of reasons why. No Ty Law, Richard Seymour is hurt, Tyrone Poole is out, Troy Brown is on defense.

Spoken like a true Red Sox fan, eh?

In Belichick, we trust.

My prediction: Pats- 35.....The Mannings- 31

Friday, January 07, 2005

Man, oh man

Please tell me that I just didn't see a clip of Ted Kennedy admonishing Alberto Gonzales for "allegedly" knowing about interrogators holding detainees' heads underwater until they think that they are about to drown and then pulling them out. Personally, I have no problem with such tactics. Anything to save the life of a fellow soldier, but that's another story for another time.


I'm paraphrasing here but what Ted said was along the lines of "As a human being I couldn't do that to another person".

Chappaquiddick, anyone?

What a douchebag.

Monday, January 03, 2005

Playoff Time

I need to begin this with full disclosure. I have been a Patriots fan all of my 30 years. I rooted for them before we were the first team ever to win three straight on the road in the playoffs to make the Superbowl (1985). I rooted for them when I went to the game that featured the smallest crowd ever ( '92? was so cold, I think that I dun gitted dain bramage). I was there when we almost won it with Bledsoe, Curtis Martin and the "Snake", er, I mean"Tuna". I was there when Pete Carroll took a SuperBowl team and destroyed it in 3 short years with a major assist from Bobby Grier. Let's just sum it up by saying that I am not the scummiest of scum....the bandwagon jumper.

So in following, my beloved Patriots made it to the playoffs yet again. Without a doubt, they are the team to beat. Not only in the AFC but in the whole damn No Fun League. Screw all of you Pittsburgh fans. You crybabies are continually (is that word too big for you to understand?) the kings of the regular season along with your homo neighbors, the Philadelphia Eagles. Maybe you all drink from the same state reservoir of suckdom? Dumbass Pitt fans say "Yeah but we beat you and Philly this year" ...blah-blah-fucking-blah. Let me know when you morons get your faces out of the trough full of scrapple and win a superbowl. Do you realize that you (still) have a gap-toothed moron from Louisiana (Terry Bradshaw) as the face of your organization? He was in Cannonball Run for chrissakes. If he is what you would like your team to be represented by, than so be it. I just didn't realize that Pennsylvania was inhabited by total, and complete, idiots. It's supposed to be the epicenter of this country's history! Hell, a Pittsburgh fan probably dropped the Liberty Bell.

The NFC as a whole should be DQ'ed, minus Philly, for being an embarrassment to all football fans across the country. I mean c'mon! An 8-8 record gets you in the playoffs? Pure shit. As long as we are on the subject of Philly, let me know when you guys get down off of the bridge and realize that the end is not tomorrow. Hell, you haven't even lost the NFC title game..... again.... yet. Guys, I relate. I was born a Red Sox fan. If they can win it all, you guys can too. In fact, I'll be rooting for you if the Patriots get knocked out (an absurd notion, I know) before the Superbowl. Either way, you're doomed. Hey there is always next year. Us Red Sox fans just let our trademark rights expire on that saying. Maybe you guys (and mustachioed women) can get Jaws back. I hear that he has been getting in shape.

On a somber note, Grandma Cod is on her way to the deep water ledge in the sky. Swim in peace.

- Colin

Saturday, January 01, 2005

A New

So, another year has come and gone...whoop-dee fuck. The only good thing about it is that the kids are one more year closer to moving out, becoming millionaire's and taking care of me for the rest of my life.

If you'll excuse me, I'm off to make sure that my sons have finished their workout regimens and have started their 4-hour batting practice sessions. That's only after they have a precisely measured protein shake. I'm not mean, afterall.

Who says that a 6 year old can't throw a curve?

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