Well Clog My Arteries!

 Last weekend in passing a friend said that AM/PM Mini Marts were now selling donut sandwiches:  A meat patty with cheese pressed between two donuts.  God lord, I thought.   In a country already overrun by overweight people, now this?  Must be all about money 'cause it sure isn't about healthy eating.

I checked this out on Google and could not find anyone selling these monsters other than....who else? ...but Krispy Kreme. 

Here's the bottom line:  Way too much of everything.  Take one look at these babies in person and your arteries will be screaming, OH NO YOU DON'T!!!

Then I get an e-mail from KFC this morning advertising a hALLOWEEN Colonel Sanders look alike contest.  Goes like this"

"Need a Halloween costume idea that's "So Good"? KFC has a recipe for the ultimate costume idea that includes a potential tasty prize. In honor of the Doublicious sandwich and as part of a year-long campaign to celebrate founder Colonel Harland Sanders' life and legacy, KFC is inviting fans to dress as the Colonel's Doublicious Double for Halloween. One lucky "double" will win free KFC Doublicious sandwiches for life! "


Win free Doublicious sandwiches for life and your life span might become shorter than you had planned. 

Doesn't look much healthier than the Donut Sandwich, does it?

What next?

Bitch Slapping & Fighting

It was McDonald's after Wednesday's Giant's game in San Francisco.  A fight.  Bitch kicking, slapping, throwing chairs, screaming.  Then it all stops.  Then it starts again.  More bitch kicking, yelling, screaming, hitting, slapping.

It was reported that none of the drinking holes around the park had issues just lots of happy drunks.  Apparently "I'll take a Big Mac with fries" are fighting words.

A guy who blogs for the San Francisco Chronicle wrote this about the video:

"This was taken at the McDonald's right next to AT&T park. Some chick was arguing about their order, the chick with the yellow thong tells her, she shouldn't talk like that in front of her daughter. Chick says she's not my daughter and throws soda at the yellow thong chick. then all hell breaks loose.


No kidding. The fighting was done by women, with the exception of one large Latino man and mosly white, Hispanic, and a few African American women. Why the black women got involved in the fight is not clear, but one of them to jump into it throwing punches, then was helped by her friends as they hit another woman to the ground, then they backed off.


Not too long after that, a blonde haired woman threw what seemed to be a chair at the woman in yellow. Then, the rather heavy-set Latino man got involved again and punched someone else. Shortly after that, and next to him, two other women started fighting each other.


Wild.


Then the camera, and we, are taken out of the McDonald's as you hear sirens in the background - the SFPD is on the way.


It's sad that people can't just enjoy the first World Series game played since 2002, but overall this blogger has noticed a "mean climate" around the baseball events. But it also depends on where you go. None of the bars I went to had this problem."
 
Damn, I just love a good chick fight.  If they only had a little mud to wallow around in . . . . .

Check it out:

MORE THAN 7 INCHES!

Alright, get your mind out of the gutter.  More than 7 inches of rain.  That's what I'm talking about...since 5 p.m. Friday through 11 a.m. Sunday.  The ground is saturated and it's all running off.

It's noon and it's still raining cats and dogs!  MEOW!  WOOF!!  Hear it?

Made me think of this song:



And this one...but first, you should know that it's not Ella singing Stormy Weather here but Kay Star.  Whoever posted this on You Tube made an error that's not been corrected.

Now That's A Spicy Ah Meatball

Last night we drove an hour north to Mt. Shasta accompanied by two friends to have an Italian dinner.  We must have really wanted that dinner because it rained cats and dogs on the drive up and the drive back.  Like rain came down in sheets making driving up in twilight not so bad but in pitch black 9 at night made it a bitch to drive even in the truck . .. poor visibility, stupid ass drivers driving too fast for conditions, semi trucks giving off dirt and spray that made passing them a feat of skill.

This looks like an old menu that was on the Internet.  Prices have changed a bit from then  but what was served has not.  Wifey and her girl friend each ordered a filet topped with mushrooms cooked with lots of oil and garlic.  I asked for fried chicken with ravioli.  The boy friend wanted spaghetti with meatballs. 

So that we could watch the Giants/Philly baseball game dinner was in the bar close to a big screen TV instead of the dining room.

Family style dining:

Large bowl of minestrone soup.  More than enough for four.

Large plate of salad.  Just enough for four.

Very large plate of antipasto (salami, olives, cheese...etc)

Huge basket of French bread.

There was so much food we had to be rolled out of the restaurant.

Decent food...a 7 on a scale of 1-10.  Great atmosphere.  Friendly.  Homey.  Many local families dining together.  We'll go back.  When it's not raining.

After You Hit a Home Run:

A Guide for Major League Baseball Players.

BY Kate Hahn

1. Point to God.

2. Kiss necklace.

3. Kiss your hands, biceps, and shoulders. Kiss each finger, individually.

4. Begin running.

5. At first base, stop, mount podium your agent has rolled out for you, and make thank you speech.

6. Kiss your own mouth, for making such a beautiful speech.

7. Run slowly, very slowly to second. Raise your hands in the air to make the crowd cheer louder. Fist pump! Monster face! Gorilla gallop! Back flip! (Kidding, you're not in that kind of shape.) It's like you are the only player who has ever hit one out of the park!

8. At second base, call agent on cell and demand endorsement deal with God.

9. Between second and third, tackle opposing team's shortstop and ask him, "Who the man? Who the man?" Dance on his chest, pointing to the sky.

10. At third base, build a small church. Invite select group of international dignitaries to attend your first sermon. Preach about how God will make you rich if you follow the right path, especially if it's an uninterrupted path around a major league baseball diamond.

11. Refuse to cross home plate until you have warmed up for your happy dance.

12. Jump on home plate and do happy dance. This should be a signature move that fans associate only with you, or it can be from Footloose, which everyone loves. Either way, it should include pointing at the sky.

13. Do a chicken-walk toward the dugout, emphasizing a head nod at the catcher. This shows the fans you have a sense of humor about yourself. Plus it subtly reminds them to buy your bobblehead doll.

14. Enter dugout. High five your teammates. One high five is not enough! Allot ten minutes. Refuse to come out of dugout again until your agent has gotten you the endorsement deal with God.

Love Me Love My Issues

I borrowed the photo from Miss Maggie's blog because I thought it was so existential.

A lot of people whine that their lot in life is because of what had happened to them somewhere along life's path.  "I've got issues!"  Ever hear that one.  Supposedly claiming that one has issues is to excuse piss poor behavior.  Like having issues makes it okay to be an asshole?  Tell that to a cop next time they put the bracelets on you.  "I HAVE ISSUES!  I CAN'T HELP MYSELF!!"  Right buddy, now tuck your head down so we can tuck you safely away in the back of our squad car.  That's about how far any claim that your issues made your break the law.

Do you have issues?  We all have to some extent.  Take me for example. Every shit ass thing that happened to me in my life had some influence on my life but in the end I made up my mind to be . . . to become . .. who I am today.  And whatever issues I have played some part but I didn't let them get in the way . . .

This whole where I ended up deal was planned out.  Every detail.  No kidding.  I did.  Starting at about 8 or 9 years old I lay awake at night . . . on how I would never live my life and where I was going.  Step by step.

Military.

College.

Job.

Redhaired wife.  Great marriage.

Save money and invest it.

Do lots of stuff (travel, recreation)

Live well.

You get the picture. 

Sure, there were forks in the road where I got forked.  All minor interruptions and irritations.  Like taking a road trip from San Francisco to New York there's gonna be detours.  And that's what they were.  Still got to New York.  Just took a bit longer.

This is not to say that a life lived is not a life unscathed because it was.  Sure, there are issues.  You've got them, I've got 'em.  Do they interfer with life.  Not so much . . . life is about adjustment and if you can't adjust you're up a creek without a paddle.  Life will be miserable.   When it's that time of the month and you're on the rag it doesn't do any good to trash the house, shoot holes in the roof, get drunk and drive over a cliff in a foggy stupor.  Get's you know where.  So you adjust.  Grin and bare it.

Love me, love my issues.  Anyone around me knows this.  This means that in return their issues need to be understood and that I need to love them back in return (while I grit my teeth, damn it!).

 A squeaky wheel sometimes gets oiled.  If it keeps squeaking it's replaced and sent to the junkyard.  No one likes a wheel that can't be fixed.   

Don't end up in the junkyard of life just because your issues got the best of you. 

IT'S THE WEEKEND!

Gotta great weekend lined up.   A little dining.  A little dancing.  A little banging the gong!

SO?!  Get it on!!

Wifey the Dancer

Here's a video that included Wifey when she was in the business of dancing.  The girl could rock out. 

Wifey is a front row dancer on the right wearing glasses.  Ain't she just the cutest thing you ever did see?

After this was filmed the two of us went out for dinner . .. a place where all the movie stars dined then we drove to the ocean to watch the submarine races.  Don't know which sub won but inside the car it sure was exciting.  It was definitely not anti-climatic. 

Anyway, enjoy Wifey's dancing.  It's what dancing was all about back in the day, don't ya know?

HEART ATTACK GRILL!

Chandler Arizona, the Heart Attack Grill.  There's always a way to make a buck and here's an example of just that.  Huge burgers.  Fries cooked in pure lard.  Most everything on the menu is supersized.  Place decorated to look like an ER.  All the employees dressed up like nurses or doctors.

If you're hefty you'll eat for free.  Every day.  All day.  Like already fat people need more fat people food?  And for free?!  If you're 350 pounds or more, live in Chander Arizona, you'll never go hungry. 

Their burgers do look tasty....

"Nurses" take your order and serve up the food.  But before you eat you must pass a physical.  Bet they don't ask the guys to turn their heads and cough.

Whatta way to make a living.  Whatta place to have a burger.  Not sure I'd eat the lard fried french fries though.

If you order and eat their largest burger then you're loaded onto a wheel chair and rolled out to your car.  Now that's what I call curb service.

I gotta go there.

KNOCKERS UP!

They don't make 'em like this anymore. .. .I'm talking boobies and bras people, not slide projectors.  Pointed boobies are a thing of the past. . . and made men conduct conversations with comely women while looking below the neck and not above.

I guess that's why I like watching Madmen, the cable TV program.  It's about the 60's and those who worked in the advertising business.  One of the actors, Christina Hendrix, is close to a carbon boobie copy of this photo.

Don't you wonder what Bell and Howell was thinking when they approved this ad as concocted by their ad agency?  Did they really think the ad would stimulate business?  Heck, it definitely stimulated a lot of inner urges in our red blooded American male population that had nothing to do with buying slide projectors.

I wonder where Sabrina, the model in the ad, is today.  Probably looking all used up living in a trailer somewhere in the deep south . . . boobies no longer looking like knockers up but looking like raisins on a string.  You get the picture.  Gravity rules:  What goes knockers up has to go knockers down some time or another.

 Isn't life grand?

Lizard Girl

Got Cahonas?

CNN on air celebrity Rick Sanchez is the latest to show that he has no cahonas.  You know what I mean.  Say something that's really true but may not be politically correct then realize you've just committed professional suicide and renege on it. 

I'M SOOO SORRY.  I DIDN'T MEAN WHAT I SAID. ...YOU TOOK IT OUT OF CONTEXT.  I WAS JOKING..... etc.

I'd love for someone to stick to their guns and not chickenshit/weasel out of their rant.

Yeah, I said it.  So what?   I'm not going to apologize.  EVER! 

Ever hear anyone say anything close to that?  Nope.

Damn, our men are without backbone.  Say what you mean and mean what you say. . . or shut up!

It wasn't long ago that I booted an idiot out of my office.  This guy was a dope with no respect or manners.  I can only take so much.  And I did.  What I had enough I booted him.  He was pissed that I had the CAHONES to make him leave.  Really pissed.   But he left.

My board had me on the carpet at their next meeting for tossing this bum out of my office. They wanted answers.

Was I sorry?  No.  Would I apologize?  No.  Would I do it again?  Yes.  Did I give a shit what the board thought?  No.  They should have known if not quick to learn that it's my way or the highway.

That wasn't the first time that I had committed a politically incorrect act, stood my ground. . . not taken the shit, . . . not stood there and grinned and bared it, ready to take the consequences of whatever it was that was said or did.

Much, if not all of what Rick Sanchez said is, in my opinion, true.  Too bad he had to wimp ass up and beg forgiveness when Rick should have stood his ground and not taken back what he had said. 

What a sorry ass you are Rick Sanchez.   You're a piss poor excuse for a man.  You're definitely missing one or both of your cohonas.     

Bed & Breakfast?

The house up the hill and around the corner sold this last spring.  A couple bought it using an inheritance.  With the couple came an extended family of 3 or 4 young men and their derelict autos.  There's like 8 cars in all parked in and around the house. They're all beat run cars.   The front of the house looks like a wrecking yard.   The new family has certainly been a blight on the neighborhood.  Garbage, crap, dirt, rocks . .. you name it, they've placed it in the front yard, in their drive and in the street.

One of their neighbors talks to me regularly.  He stops to chat during his "walk the dog" mornings.  He's livid on the change to the neighborhood.  What used to be a nice, quiet, orderly neighborhood has in part turned into the ghetto.  I don't blame him but there's not a lot he can do to make the mess go away.  Basically he has to grin and bear it.

This week the family piled two old mattresses into the back of their small red pickup.  It's used as a haul it to the dump vehicle.  Only thing crap sits in it for days or weeks on end until they take time to make a dump run. 

So my neighbor pal walks by the house yesterday.

Me:  It's nice to see there's a new bed an breakfast in the neighborhood.

Him:  Really?  I didn't know.  Where is it?

Me:  It's across the street from you.  "That" house is now a bed and breakfast.

Him:  NO!

Me:  YES!  They only have one bed to rent out.  It's in their spare bedroom located in the back of the red pickup parked in front.

Well, I thought it was funny.

Under Cover

 I'm a firm believer in caring for anything bought that's worth something.  At 14 mom and dad bought a ski boat and were content to leave it outside and uncovered.  It was a nice little boat, an expense for my parents who no doubt made time payments to buy it.  Yet they didn't think it important to spend a few bucks for a cover to protect their purchase.  So I did that using money earned from my paper route.

The fifth wheel was bought in 2004 and encased in a cover from the get go whenever it was not being used.  It's paid off as the finish has not faded, the rubber roof is like new, the seals around the tipouts and windows look like they did when the trailer was purchased.

The trailer was moved to an RV storage area this last week....that's it just to the rear of Wifey's rear.  After it was set in place Wifey and I covered all 32 feet of it with a cover bought several years ago.  The cover is beginning to show wear from exposure to the sun.  There are places that are pretty thin compared to others. 

We patched the thin spots and the holes knowing that a new cover will soon have to be ordered from the RV supply store.  The cover is 3 and maybe 4 years old.  It's time to replace it.

Stretching the cover out in the parking lot, making repairs and talking some talk with Wifey was actually fun.  And to boot our RV storage lot is right in line with the glide or take-off path for incoming or outgoing aircraft.  Watching aircraft taking off or landing a mere 900 feet from where we were standing added something cool to an already pleasant outing.

It's fun doing stuff like this with your very best friend.  This would definitely be What About Bob's All About...........


BTW:  THIS POST 1,450! 

They Shaped My Life

Around They Go!

Gracie's school held their annual Jog-a-thon last week.  Each of the students garnered pledges for each lap they ran.  Our girl ran 10 laps and earned $110 for her school.

It's not unusual for this event to yield more than 25k for the school.  What's brought in is used to buy things the school could not normally purchase. 

Gracie inherited Wifey's long legs.  For a little shit she can really kick out.  Run Grace, run!

Ten go rounds later Grace is smiling, happy and feeling good knowing that she ran her little heart out in the name of helping her school.

A Monster



It's been taken from the deep. . . this monster of ours.  Three people three hours later, Sparkle Plenty was loaded onto the trailer and readied for a 10 minute drive home.  And there she sits.  A trailered SP parked at home makes a 6' high cedar fence look small.

Marina Bob and I made plans on how best to pull the monster out of the lake.  We're trying our best to make it look like we knew what the hell that we were doing.  In the meantime Wifey patiently waited in the truck and ready to back it down into the water.

Little did Wifey know but in order to set the boat on the trailer she had to surround the truck in water deep enough to submerge the rear wheels and part of the bed completely in water.  Once in position  water was lapping around all four doors of the truck.  Had Wifey opened any of the doors it would have been SPLISH SPASH!  SHE'S A TAKING A BATH!  time.  The interior of the truck would have definitely filled with water.

Judging by the photo Wifey snapped in the driver's seat it's easy to see that she's taken the truck deep into the water.  While she waited for "the boys" to figure out what they hell they were going to do Wifey snapped artsy photos like this.  Like my legs?

It took some doing to secure the boat onto the trailer.....it was just not deep enough. .. the grade of the ramp as just not enough to get the job done.    We could not take the truck any deeper without flooding the interior and causing damage to the engine.  So, it had to be muscled, all 5 thousand pounds of her, onto the trailer.  Not an easy task.

While I look high and dry in this photo it took a quick swim to the rear of the trailer to get to the winch. 

I quickly found that even in 6' of water the damn thing still didn't float onto the trailer. . .  it was all about the length keel of the boat and not enough water under it.

Sparkle Plenty will sit alongside the house until March/April.  There will be lots of repairs, polishing and upgrading from now until then.  We'll raise the mast as some point and just in time for Christmas.  The mast, top to bottom side to side will be covered with multi-colored lights to celebrate the season. 

Come time to put her back into the lake we'll do a few things differently to make the job a lot easier.  I like to work smart and not like yesterday's stupid.

But as Marina Bob said, we got the job done in three hours, no one was killed, no one was hurt, and we didn't have to duke it out.  That my friends, is the world according to Marina Bob.   

Work To Do

Busy day.  I've got work to do. 

Take the dogs for a haircut.

Tow the utility trailer home from storage.

Drive to the marina to prepare Sparkle Plenty for Wednesday pull out.

Check the tires of the boat trailer, fill with air as needed.

Rearrange the side yard shed to make room for sailing gear.

Rake leaves, clip shrubs.

Haul "white elephant" crap to the Lodge for their upcoming garage sale.

Shop and then drop.

Dinner tonight with friends at their house.  That has to be the bright spot in the day.

But before then I've got work to do...

Indian Summer?

That was yesterday.  The wireless temperature gauge outside the master bedroom read 97.7. Today it's reading just over 101.  Is this autumn weather or is it an Indian Summer?  And just what is an Indian Summer and where did that come from?  Why isn't 101 the end of September a Donna Summer? . . . you know, the old Disco Queen.  She was hot and now in the autumn of her life . . . just like it is in Cowtown on September 27th.  Autumn.  Hot.  Just like Donna Summer.

When the sun goes down and it's a bit cooler we retreat outdoors to a place just outside the family room.  It's private.  It's cool.  It's not in the least bit a Donna Summer time of the day.  We play games.  Strip poker is popular.  Hide the salami on the appetizer plate another.  Duck, duck, GOOSE! is all mine. 

In our little outdoor space carved into our large one acre backyard we eat.  We drink.  We laugh.  We romp with the dogs.  We don't answer the phone.  We talk about what was and what could have been.  Then we count our blessings and become overwhelmingly thankful for what is. 

In the chapters of life (which chapter are you on?) is this the autumn of our lives or is it our Donna Summer? 

If it's a Donna Summer then Wifey's a Bad, Bad Girl, Love Love You Baby, Hot Stuff, Last Dance, She Works Hard for Her Money (that would be Wifey) and I Feel Love . . . all over my rapidly decaying little body. 

Sums up this lad's autumn chapter of life?   Maybe.  Just maybe.  Whatever the case I'm sticking to it. 

Should I add that it's all good?  Well it is.  And that's a fact, Jack!

By Any Other Name

 "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

 - William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet.

Roses from the backyard.  Summer's last hurrah.

Next Year

Gotta do it.   Sparkle Plenty is being taken out of the water Wednesday.  The mechanism to tilt the motor up and down needs repair.  There's no way to sail without having access to power when needed. I could make do without it but it's just not safe.

Wifey, Marina Bob and I will pull her out and tow SP to the house where she'll spend the winter in our gated RV parking space.  We'll make repairs (there are more than a couple), shine her up and launch her for another season come March/April. 

Having the boat at home will also remove the need to travel to the marina several time a week to make certain all is secure.  Winter storms often loosen or break mooring lines and there's always the possibility of water seeping into the cabin.  Both scenarios did occur during several severe storms this last winter.

Look!  Look!   Wasn't that a sea monkey jumping out of the water!   Marc is looking at Wifey who's taking this photo and thinking, "There's Bob spouting his bull shit again just to impress my girl friend."

Ya think?

Worth a Thousand Words

Marc, Capt. Bob, Wifey.  Photo by Trudi.  Wind and rain made us smile, at least on Sunday.

It doesn't get any better than this.

What you see here is a fine example of the old saying:  "A picture worth a thousand words".

Need I say more?

Stormy Weather

Sunday on the lake with friends.  It was overcast and chilly but each of us were bundled up in warm clothing ready for another day sailing.

We motored out of the marina at 7:30 just in time to set the anchor at a spot close to the highway to watch the Whiskeytown Relays.  While the many runners passed by the four of us downed hot coffee, scarfed on breakfast rolls and munched on freshly picked apples.  Music from the the boat's sound system added to a most pleasant breakfast.  It was just down right civilized.

Once the last runner passed by I hoisted the sails and pointed the boat for open water where there was definitely a lot of wind.  The photos taken yesterday don't reflect how much wind there really was on the lake.  Believe me there was enough wind to whitecap the lake and heel Sparkle Plenty wayyyy over. 

Shortly after hoisting the sails it began to rain.  Wifey and the two friends went down into the cabin to keep dry and be warm.  Capt. Bob remained at the helm who was soon soaked head to toe.   In spite of the elements the Capt. maintained a shit ass eating grin on his face as evidence that he was indeed loving every minute of sailing. 

The two friends, having downed a fair amount of coffee had to hit the "head" during the storm.  Be this fair warning to anyone planning an outing on Capt. Bob's boat:  He delights in heeling the boat as far over as possible when anyone is sitting on the head.  And he howls with laughter when he does that.  When each of the guests exited the head Capt Bob yells out:  How's that head working for ya?  hahahahahah.

Taking a leak on Sparkle Plenty can be an experience in itself.

After being thoroughly drenched but nonetheless willing to keep sailing, it was apparent that the two guests even though smiling were ready to call it a day.  I prepared to lower the sails and hit the switch to lower the motor so the engine could be started.  The tilting motor whined but the motor remained in the upright position.  Regardless of what was tried the motor would not budge.  Oh, oh.  Bad news.

There we were.  On the lake.  Powerless.  Yes, I could have sailed Sparkle Plenty back into her slip with no problem at all.  But our guests were miserably cold and wet and sailing back to the slip would have taken at least an hour or more.  I got on the radio and call Marina Bob for help who quickly motored from the marina to SP's location in less than 10 minutes.  Wifey found a fix it in the out-board's manual . . . a relief screw that would allow the motor to tilt back into the water . .. an accessible only by someone to the rear of the boat and Marina Bob was at exactly that spot.  A twist of the screwdriver and the motor eased back into the water.  Whew!

We motored back to the slip.  We said good-bye to our friends and spent the next 20 minutes putting the boat back in order and covering her up.

Marina Bob and I will spend time today checking the tilting mechanism on the outboard and determine what, if anything, needs to be repaired.  Owning a boat is wonderful . . . maintaining it is yet another. 

Comes with the territory. 

Another Day At The Office

Yeah, yeah.  Life is tough.  Here I am at the office hard at work.  Looking for wind here.  Looking for wind there.

As it was on this day last week there was a slight north westerly wind.  As you can see the mainsail is back winded and pushing Sparkle Plenty south east.   From one end of the lake to the other in less than 30 minutes.

A day at the office is can be tiring.  Sandwiches to down, chicken wings to bite into, drinks to chug.  No beer on the water, though.  Not good, not good, not good.  Back in the day beer anywhere was good, good, good.  No more.  Save the beer for the sitting at home in the Lazy Boy.  Yup.

I should hire a secretary for my office.  Take a letter, I'd say.  No, hold that, I would add.  Bring up some chicken wings.  Please.  I might have to say to my secretary, "I think it would be a good idea if you put your bikini top on before we enter the marina.  Don't want to freak Marina Bob out with those 36DDD's of yours."

While at the office I'd probably get a call from Wifey wondering how the secretary is working out.  That conversation could get a little dicey so I'd have to really think about what to say before I say.

Me:  Hi Wifey.  Everything is fine.  Yes, the new secretary is working out fine but the boat seems to be a little top heavy with her on board.  Can't figure out why.  I'll probably have to massage this matter for a while to find out why we're top heavy."

Yeah, I need a secretary. There's just too much office work on Sparkle Plenty for one person to manage.

I could get used to sailing a top heavy Sparkle Plenty in  a heart beat. I could, I could, I could.

Why?

Have you seen it?  It's KFC's new sandwich.  Bacon.  Cheese.  Mayo.   All between two slathered and fried chicken breasts.  It doesn't even look remotely appealing.

In a time when some of us are thinking healthy eating KFC thinks bottom line revenue and comes up with this.  If America wasn't still hungry for and buying food like this you'd never see a Double Down KFC sandwich.  America is fat and getting chubbier by the minute.

I read yesterday that a Disney amusement park has made alterations to one of its rides to accommodate overweight people.  It seems they wouldn't fit in any of the seats on this ride.  Now, thanks to the adjustments, they'll fit.  I'm wondering what Disney will do when people become so rotund that they no longer fit in the seats that were altered.

Where and when is our gluttony going to end? 

Don't get me wrong.  I love fried chicken, especially what can be had at KFC.  But it's not an everyday or even once a month deal.  It's an every once in a while deal.  Even at that I peel the fried skin off of the breast meat and discard it.  Yeah, tasty as it is I just can't come to put anything into me with that much fat.  But it's ohhhhh so good.  Damn it!   How can anything so not so good for you taste so great?  The salt......has to be the salt. 

Take this sandwich . . . like 1,380 milligrams of sodium.  Whew!  That's a bunch.  Calories are close to 540 clocking in with 32 grams of fat.  This shit would definitely get your arteries humming.  Downing a cup of Crisco would probably be better for you.  Whatta thought.

The American Heart Association recommends a daily intake of 1,000 calories with sodium at 1,000 mg's per day, too. 

Need I say more?

High 10!  Low Dough!

I've got the dynamo of volition
With po-pole position
Automatic transmission with lo-ow emissions
I'm a brand new addition to the old edition
with the love unconditional


I'm a drama abolitionist
Damn no opposition to my proposition
Half of a man, half magician
Half a politician holding the mic
Like ammunition
And my vision is as simple as light


Ain't no reason we should be in a fight
No demolition
Get to vote, get to say what you like
Procreation
Compositions already written by themselves
Heck is for the people not believin' in gosh


Good Job
Get 'em up way high
Gimme gimme that high five
Good time

Get 'em way down low
Gimme gimme that low dough
Good God
Bring 'em back again
Gimme gimme that high ten
You're the best definition of good intention

I do not answer the call if
I do not know who is calling
I guess the whole point of it all is
That we never know really
I'm tryin' to keep with the Joneses
While waiting for guns and the roses
To finish what we all suppose is gonna be
That shit was so lame

Oh, fist like pumpin and wrist lock
twisting up a rizla
Kid Icarus on the transister
Nintendo been givin' me the blister
I bend over take it in the kisser


Best friends are hittin' on my sister
Try to tell them that they still wish-a
'Cause she already got herself a mister
And besides that's gross to want to dis her
Didn't I say, didn't I say


Good Job
Get 'em up way high
Gimme gimme that high five
Good time
Get 'em way down low
Gimme gimme that low dough

Good God
Bring 'em back again
Gimme gimme that high ten
You're the best definition of good versus evil


I do not keep up with statistics
I do not sleep without a mistress
I do not eat unless it's fixed with
some kind of sweet like a licorice
My home is deep inside the mystics
I'm known to keep diggin on existence
I'm holdin' in the heat like a fishstick
My phone it beeps because I missed it
I do not answer the call if
I do not know who is calling
I'm making no sense of it all
Say, can I get a witness

I'm only a boy in a story
Just a hallucinatory
Trippin' on nothing there is
Living in the wilderness
With a tiger spot on my back
Living life of a cat
I just wanna relax here
And write another rap tune
Driving off on your blind man's bike
You can say just what you like
Or nothing can stop you


Good Job
Get 'em up way high
Gimme gimme that high five
Good time
Get 'em way down low
Gimme gimme that low dough
Good God
Bring 'em back again
Gimme gimme that high ten
You're the best (x7)



Good Job
Get 'em up way high
Gimme gimme that high five
Good time
Get 'em way down low
Gimme gimme that low dough
Good God
Bring 'em back again
Gimme gimme that high ten
You're the best definition of good intention (x3)
You're the best around

All Over the Board

When it comes to music I'm all over the board.  You name it I not only like it but I probably have your favorite genre in my CD collection or on the computer. 

It's the beat, tempo, feel, composition . . .. etc. etc. etc. . . that attracts my interest in a particular piece of music.  Most like a song because they identify with not only the music but the lyrics, too.  I'm more about the music . . . lyrics?  I usually don't identify with what's sung.  Take this one for example.  Great tune.  Lyrics mean nothing.  Enjoy this one for whatever reason you like it . . . or not.

In Passing

There were services today for the thirty something daughter of a friend who passed awayseveral weeks ago.  The chapel of the mortuary was packed:  Standing room only with many people forced to stand outside.  There was like parked cars from hell to breakfast.  No room inside.  No room to park.

A recorded song was played at the beginning of the service.   No doubt the song had special meaning to the family.   Each of us listened.  Each if us probably reflected.  And most likely most in attendance thought of another song we'd like played at our memorial service.  There's those of us who don't think there's not ever going to be a memorial service for them because we're going to live forever.  Like those vampire people on HBO.  That's what I'm talking about.

Well, hell.  A song popped into my mind during the service and thought it would have been a much better choice today.  If I die (and I'm not) the memorial plans would be to:

Have the memorial service at the homeless rescue mission.

A steak dinner and a bottle of Jack for everyone.

After dinner everyone is directed to stand up, put their hands together, and dance a few steps to this one.

Better than any sermon about and for Bob. . . .

Turn up your speakers.  Stand up, put your hands together, dance a little boogie to this one.  And take my IOU for the steak dinner and bottle of Jack.  Bob ain't dead yet.

Don't Bother Knocking

Ding-dong, ding-dong.  It's someone ringing the doorbell.  The dogs go nuts.  I go nuts knowing that I must be polite to some stiff selling something and trying to make a living.  The answer is always, No thank you.  Door shuts.  That's it.  Waste of their time and mine.


Two weeks ago it was a guy selling insulation.  Last week it was two guys selling solar panels.  This week it was two people wanting to fix any windshield cracks we might have for FREE but only if we give them our insurance ID card.  Yeah, free alright.  Free today, insurance rates rise tomorrow.


I want to place a sign somewhere close to the front door that reads, No Solicitors.  Wifey forbids that I do that.  It's so unfriendly, she says.  Well I say it's so unfriendly that I have to get up off my ass and answer the door knowing that the answer will be always the same, No Thank you.  Slam.


Ding.  Lightbulb goes on.  Hell, a No Solicitor sign is not necessary.  I'll put up a sign by the door that makes a simple statement.  THANK YOU BUT NO THANK YOU!  Damn, I'm brillant. That should be polite enough to satisfy Wifey's civilized, love thy neighbor and whoever rings the doorbell side of her.


But I know Wifey.  It's all about getting to chat with whoever happens onto our doorstep.  Wifey loves to talk.  Wifey says that she knows that I'm a man of few words, that I'm stoic and can always cowboy up when the going gets tough . . . but doesn't chat a lot about it.  Yeah, that's me.  Man of action, few words.


But when it comes to solicitors over 16 years of age I have no patience.  Peddling Girl Scout cookies, school raffle tickets and cookie dough is one thing if you're 16 and under.  Love kids.  Love seeing them on the doorstep.  They're exception to Bob's Rule of Thank You But No Thank You.


If I put a sign like this up the older folks will no doubt read it and do an about face.  Kids who read this sign usually don't take Thank You But No Thank You! for an answer and ring the bell anyway. 


That's what I just love about the younger generation.


Thank you for visiting this blog today and ringing my doorbell.  Was anyone home?

Wifey Mixes It Up

Wifey mixes up each of the dressings used on our salads.  Caesar.  French.  Curry.  Just to name a few.  Recently she prepared French dressing and thought the mixure should be photographed.  So Wifey arranges some of the stuff on the counter around the pitcher of dressing and VIOLA!  Here's her compostion. 

Baby You Can Drive My Car

Two peas in a pod.  That would be Wifey and Gracie.  Together they're always on the move, always busy doing something and happy in whatever it is that they do.   A grandchild/grandmother relationship if often very special.  This relationship is strongly bonded and one that is extra extra special.

Grace spent the weekend with us several weeks ago.  Washing Wifey's car is how the two kicked off their Saturday.  The girls didn't want to ride around Cowtown in a dirty car. 

Gracie is holding a small brush designed to clean the inbetween places on car's alloy wheels.  She's pretty good at things like that.

Our girl has it all planned out that one day the BWM will be hers.  It's well cared for, has low miles and probably will still be shiny and perky in 8 years . . . and just ready for a new driver to take the reins. 

I wonder, will there still be any gasoline left for her to put in it?  Hmmmmm.......

Red Faced Bob

Yesterday morning it was an early drive to the lake.  It was me on Sparkle Plenty at 7 a.m. to open her up, remove the sail,wheel, winch, motor, and cabin covers, warm up the outboard, ready the mooring lines for casting off, wash her down a bit, hoist the American flag, tighten the life lines, and connect the mainsail to its halyard.

Soon after friend Marc arrived.  He climbed aboard.  We cast off, hoisted the sails and with a wind of around 10-15 miles Sparkle Plenty began to do her stuff. 

It was just not a day for sailing but one for talking, eating, drinking and sunshine.

Five hours later the wind calmed.    I pulled the sails down and motored back to the marina.  Marc jumped off the boat, smiling and mumbling as he made his way down the dock, "I should have slathered a little sunscreen on my face."  Ha, I thought.  Ain't no thang.

It takes a while to close the boat up.  It was hot.  94 degrees.  30 minutes later I too walked the dock back up to the truck.  After starting the pickup and turning the a/c on high, I glanced in the rearview mirror and mumbled, "I should have slathered a little sunscreen on my face."  Arms and legs looked mighty tan.  But the nose, cheeks, chin and neck didn't fare was well for they were red all over. 

After all of those years on the water you'd think I'd be wiser and apply a little protection before sailing.    Never entered my mind. 

Case of old dog no new tricks?  Nawww.  Certainly a case of stupid is as stupid does.