Caseysblog

The Dirty Truth About Facebook

2010-02-26T10:57:00.001-05:00

Okay, so I guess this "Facebook" thing is going to catch on. I apologize for previous predictions that it would go the way of the "Pet Rock."

However, I do see that it is causing far more problems than it causes. I'm not just talking about "Farmville," either. Though, that's pretty bad. I don't know how many people have to invite me to play "Farmville," before everyone realizes that I'm NOT going to do it.

I WON'T!!!

I AM NOT GOING TO DO IT!!!

I REFUSE TO DRINK THE KOOL-AID!!

Nor, am I going to open a cafe, join the mafia, or start a sweet shop. I would be interested in building my own roller coaster. BUT, I have an actual video game for that, so I don't need to do it on "Facebook."

I think the bigger problem starts when we, and we have ALL done it, start looking for past romances, and such,

Yes you have.

YES...YOU HAVE!!!!

LIAR!!!!

LIAR LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE!!!!!

Okay, fine. YOU are the ONLY one who hasn't. There. Happy?

But, for the rest of us (the one's who aren't lying to ourselves,) there have been times when we might have typed in the name of a former love interest, just to see how things turned out.

You know how it goes, right?

You type in their name.

You scan the various profiles that come up.

You see their picture.

Then, you think to yourself: Hey, they look great!! She's even prettier than I remember. You know, things ended on such a sour note, I'm just happy that things turned out okay for her. You know what they call this? Closure. For all these years I've been wondering if she's okay. Now, I know. I think I'll try and "friend" her, and see if she has any kids, or how things turned out for her. I could NOT be happier.

Then, you shoot off a friend request, with a short message that reads: "Hey!! Remember me? LOL. If you ever wanna talk about old times, I would love to hear how things are going. Hope all is well."
Then, we would close up the computer, pick up a good book, and patiently wait to hear from them, at their earliest convenience.

Right?

WRONG!!!!!

ARE YOU FREAKING INSANE!?!!!

THAT'S not how it goes.

THIS....is how it goes.

You are sitting downstairs, in your basement, while the rest of the family is asleep. There is no light, but the flickering glare of the computer screen.

You're tired, and you're not thinking straight. You're done looking at porn....Don't ask how you KNOW you're done. You're just done. Let's leave it at that, okay?.........But, you don't wanna go to bed. Now what?

The flickering light starts to work its way into your brain. Then, instead of reading CNN or The New York Times, your mind starts to wander. Where does it wander, you ask? It wanders to every heartless, witch who broke your heart because you didn't have a nice car, or had an odd sense of humor, or talked like a Muppet, or weren't your brother Steve who is taller, smarter, funnier, and better looking than you. (Note to self: Kill Steve. He's ruined your life.)

So, you start typing in names, and scanning profile pictures, and your true feelings start coming out.

WHAT THE HELL ARE THEY SMILING ABOUT???? HOW COULD THEY POSSIBLY BE HAPPY?? THEY AREN'T WITH ME!!! GEEZ!!!!! IS THAT A WEDDING PICTURE!?!!! SHE GOT MARRIED!!!!! MY GOD!!!!! IT'S ONLY BEEN 15 YEARS!!!!! SHE DIDN'T EVEN WAIT FOR THE BODY TO GET COLD!!!!!!! AND JUST WHO IS THAT GUY!?!! HER HUSBAND!?!! HE'S NOT BETTER LOOKING THAN ME!! WAIT, IS HE BETTER LOOKING THAN ME!?!! OH MY GOD, HE'S BETTER LOOKING THAN ME!!!! SHE ALWAYS TOLD ME THAT LOOKS DIDN'T MATTER!!!! SO, NOT ONLY IS SHE HAPPY, BUT SHE'S A LIAR, TOO!!!! WAIT A MINUTE. ARE THOSE KIDS!?!! THEY HAD KIDS!!!! SO, NOT ONLY DID SHE MARRY SOMEONE ELSE, BUT THEY HAD SEX!?!! WTF!?!! MY GOD, DID I MEAN NOTHING TO HER!?!!
ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT. I'M GOING TO HAVE TO "FRIEND" HER, JUST SO I CAN KEEP AN EYE ON HER. CLEARLY SHE CANNOT BE TRUSTED.

Then, later that next day, she will see that you have sent her a friend request, and a small, long dormant piece of her heart will smile, and she will click "accept." Then, she will look at your pictures, and think about how great it is that you look so happy.

No.

No, she won't.

I Want To Die Of Something Cool

2009-08-25T10:36:00.001-04:00

There is a new blog. You can read it on my website at:

www.caseysuniverse.com

If you want to make a comment on it, you can email it to me at:

caseysuniverse@gmail.com

Now, go read.

Thanks,

Casey

Zombies Don't Run...Duh!

2009-08-03T12:32:00.002-04:00

New blog up, today. You can find it at my website.

www.caseysuniverse.com

Then, if you are so inclined, you can comment on it by sending an email to caseysuniverse@gmail.com

Thanks.

Casey

Searching For Satellite

2009-07-23T10:38:00.002-04:00

There is a new blog up. It is the not-too-much-anticipated SKEEEERY BLOG........Boo.

You can find it in the "blog" section of my website. www.caseysuniverse.com

If you would like to leave any comments about it, good or bad, you can do it at caseysuniverse@gmail.com

Please enjoy....Or not....

Casey

Why, Yes, I Was Bored. Thank You For Asking.

2009-07-13T12:17:00.002-04:00

Okay, there is a new blog up. If you would like to read it, just go to my website. www.caseysuniverse.com

If you wanna comment on it, you can do it here. The more hateful ones still amuse me. :)

Enjoy,

Casey

The Curious Case Of Casey Bartholomew

2009-07-02T12:05:00.002-04:00

The new blog can be found in the "blog" section of my new website:

www.caseysuniverse.com

Please go there and enjoy.

I love you all, the way people love pictures of kittens.

Casey

Never Wake Up Before God...

2009-05-04T11:22:00.000-04:00

I don't like getting up early.

At all.

Never.

Not for anything.

If Carrie Underwood herself came to my room, at 4am, wearing an "Emily Babydoll," from Frederick's of Hollywood (sheer mesh, with petite black bow at the pleated bust. Underwire cups feature foam padding for lift and shape. Matching panty. Nylon/spandex. Imported!!), and begged me to have my way with her, I would probably ask her to come back in a few hours.

You probably think that I'm crazy. But, if Carrie Underwood were willing to leave her current tour, put on an "Emily Babydoll" (It's real. Swear to God), and come to MY house at 4am, I bet she would be willing to wait a couple more hours. Clearly she thinks I'm worth it. I mean, I'M NOT. But, she doesn't know that, yet. She just got here.

Anyway, my son does NOT take after me. I know this because HE got up at 4am, Sunday, and thought nothing of it. He was wide awake, and full of energy. Hell, HE probably would have let Carrie Underwood stay. It wouldn't have been the same, though. He just would have wanted to play "Pat-A-Cake" with her. Dumb kid. He's got Carrie Underwood, right there, in lingerie and all he wants to do is play "Pat-A-Cake." I'm gonna have to have a talk with that boy.

So, he wakes up at 4am, and it was MY turn to get up with him. I know this because my wife kept kicking me in the back, and telling me that it was my turn. I thought about arguing. But, she'd already been kicking me in the back. I was afraid of what might happen if I started talking back. So, I got up.

At 4am God isn't even awake. The sun is not out. Plus, and probably worst, there is NOTHING on TV. It wouldn't have mattered if there was. My son, Max, was AWAKE. When Max is awake, things are okay. When Max is AWAKE nothing, not even the nuclear codes, are safe.

Being a responsible parent, I determined that my 12 month old son doesn't watch nearly enough TV. I also thought it would be cute to Tivo several episodes of a show called "Max and Ruby."

Max!! Get it!?!!

Cute, huh?

Yeah, no one else thought so, either. But, I tried.

Anyway, "Max and Ruby" is a story about brother and sister rabbits named.....Ready?......Max and Ruby. Genius!!! Max is a little boy rabbit, who doesn't speak much. Every so often he will shout out an random word. Usually it's an object that he sees. I imagine that this is not unlike what someone with a traumatic brain injury does. But, Max is just a baby bunny. So, I think he's okay. His sister, Ruby, takes care of him, and treats him more like a doll. I'm not 100% sure, but I believe that Max and Ruby have been abandoned by their parents, because you never see them. We have not, as of yet, reached the point where the house runs out of food, and Max and Ruby have to eat their own flesh in order to survive. I'm sure it's coming. But, we're not there, yet. So, everything is still happy.

I just decided that NOW, at 4am, was the time to get my son interested in TV. So, I plopped him down in the family room, and turned on what was to become a 2-hour, "Max and Ruby" marathon.

YAY, FOR ME!!!!

Max was not interested. But, at 4am, I was enthralled.

The first episode was about how Ruby wanted to have a tea party. However, in a clever plot twist, TV-Max wanted to play ball. You could cut the tension with a knife!!!

Ruby: We're going to have a tea party, Max.

Me: Look, Max!!! They're gonna have a tea party.

TV-Max: Ball.

Me: Uh-oh. It looks like Max, the bunny, wants to play ball. Could get a little dicey.

Real Max: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

Real Max, my son, was attempting the leave the family room, and get into the laundry room. He yells when he does this. Sort of a "Braveheart," yell-for-freedom, kind of thing. So, I had to get up, close the laundry room door, and put up the gate that keeps Real Max from going down the hall. When I came back, TV-Max was very happily playing ball.

Me: Aw!!! What happened?

I could have just rewound it. But, I believe in forward momentum, you see. Plus, I was REALLY tired, and my brain wasn't working right.

In our next episode, TV-Max wanted to swing. But, Ruby was afraid that he was swinging too high (still no parents.) So, she decided that TV-Max should play ball instead. This was wise on her part since, as we had established in a previous episode, TV-Max LIKES to play ball.

TV-Max: Swing.

Ruby: No, Max. You swing too high. Why don't you play ball, instead?

TV-Max: SWING!!!

Me: Uh-oh. It's gonna get ugly, in a minute. You better pay attention, Maxie.

Ruby: No swinging, Max. Here, you take this ball and play. I'll be inside.

TV-Max (kicks the ball away): Swing.

Me (laughing): This IS NOT gonna end well.

Real Max: Ahhhhhhhhh......

He was eating dry cat food, out of the cat dish.

It's funny. Just the other day I was thinking that his coat was looking EXTRA shiny.

So, I had to dig all the cat food out of his mouth, wipe off his hands, and put up the OTHER gate that keeps him from getting into the kitchen where we keep the cat food.

When I got back, TV-Max was happily swinging, and the ending music was starting to play.

I'm glad these things are Tivoed, so that I can watch them, later.

I also didn't get to see how TV-Max was able to get the wheel on his truck fixed. This was because Real-Max was ripping up my wife's favorite magazine, and eating it (I'm sure I'll get kicked for that, later.)

I didn't get to see whether or not TV-Max was able to figure out a way to open his birthday presents early, because Real-Max had pulled the phone out of the wall, and was attempting to smash it into submission.

And, I did not get to see whether or not TV-Max was able to plant HIS garden, the way HE wanted to, without the help of that bossy, dominating witch, Ruby, telling him how SHE thought he should do it. This bothered me. It was, after all HIS garden. What business was it of hers?

I'm glad I NEVER had a big sister.

On top of that, I was exhausted.

At around 7am, my wife came downstairs and saw cat food all over, the laundry room door shut, and her magazine, in shreds, on the floor.

My Wife: WHAT have you been doing all morning!?!!

Me (annoyed): Well, I haven't been having sex with Carrie Underwood, that's for damn sure!!

With that, I stumbled back upstairs, and went back to bed.

If Carrie swings by, in an "Emily Babydoll" (I'd prefer black. But, lavender would be good, too), I'm going to let her stay.

At the very least, I bet she wouldn't kick me. But, if she did, I bet I would kinda like it.

Casey

To Serve And Annoy....

2009-05-01T13:37:00.002-04:00

There are 4 types of waiters/waitresses in the world. Actually, there may be more than 4. But, for purposes of this conversation, I have narrowed them down to 4. If you would like to expand the list, go get your own blog. This is my blog, so there are only 4. Deal with it.

They are:

The Good Waiter/Waitress

These are the ones who take your order, make sure your drink is filled, bring you your food as fast as they can, or at the very least let you know what the status is, and then bring you your check in a timely manner. They get a big tip. Sometimes, I may even hug them. Don't hold your breathe on that one, though. I hug VERY few people. But, there aren't that many good waiters/waitresses in the world. So, in a moment of weakness, I may press my body against them. Don't read anything into it.

The Bad Waiter/Waitress

These people just plain suck. They are rude. They hate their job. They hate you for making them do their job. They get the order wrong, but expect you to eat it anyway. Then, when you have the nerve to ask for a drink refill, they make it seem as though you have asked them for a vital organ. These people, much to the embarrassment of my wife, get NO TIP. Zero. Nothing. I don't care about how little money they make. If they want to make more money, they should do a better job. If they did, they would get bigger tips, and make more money. So, as far as I'm concerned, they can suck it.

Waitresses Who Make A Fuss Over Your Baby

Please note that I said WAITRESSES. Not WAITERS. Waiters who make a fuss over your baby come off as either creepy, or gay. Or, even worse, the dreaded gay/creepy combination. You can imagine them giving away balloons, at the park, just because. They don't have kids of their own. They just want to give balloons to all the kiddies. It creeps me out. But, when you have a waitress, they can tell you how cute your baby is, and talk to them, and smile at them. This works especially good on moms. Particularly NEW moms. They can even be a lousy waitress. Your kid could be ugly. They could bring a big, rare steak to a vegitarian. As long as they make goo-goo eyes at your baby, they will get a nice tip. Like I said, I think it's a chick thing.

The Waiter Who Will Try to Engage You About Sports To Try And Pad Their Tip
God forbid you wear ANY sports paraphenalia when you land this dork. He will chew your ear off, because he happens to be an expert on sports. Even though you are there to enjoy a meal with your family, the "Sports Guru" will make everyone else wait while he shares his encyclopedic knowledge about a local sports team with you. Hell, he will make your FOOD wait, while he tells you about a game he went to when he was 4. He a dork, and you just want him to go away. He will get the bare minimum tip.

It was the last guy that I ended up with, when I took my family out, the other night. In truth, it was my fault. I mean, what was I thinking when I put my Jets hat on? Clearly, I wanted to have a detailed conversation about EVERY JETS GAME THAT EVER TOOK PLACE, when I decided to wear my hat, and take my family out to get food. So, really, it was all my fault.

I could tell RIGHT when he started talking.

Waiter: Jets fan, huh?

Me: Huh? Oh, the hat. No, not a huge fan. Just wanted a hat, and this one fit.

Waiter: Cool. Who was thier coach when they won the Super Bowl?

Me: Uhhh....I dunno. Like I said, I'm just wearing the hat.

Waiter: Whaddya think of Sanchez?

Me: Uh, well, he's good. I'm a big USC fan. I'm from Southern California. So, I hope he does well.

Waiter: Yeah, could be the year, huh?

Me: I...Uh...I dunno.

Then, he went away, and I was happy. It had been a long week, and I wasn't going to see my daughter this weekend, because she's going camping with the girl scouts. So, I just wanted some family time, with my little girl. This was not going to happen, however, with Super Fan waiting my table.

He came back to get our drink order.

Waiter: Weeb Ewbank.

Me: What?

Waiter: Weeb Ewbank.

Me: Okay....

Waiter: He was the coach when they won the Super Bowl.

Me: Uh...Okay.

Waiter: Beat the Colts.

Me: Yeah....

Waiter: But, you already knew that, huh?

Me: Actually, I think I might have.....

Waiter: Namath made that prediction.

Me: Yeah....

Waiter: Broadway Joe.

Me: Uh, yeah.

Waiter: What can I get you to drink, Namath?

Me: I...Uh...Namath?

Waiter: Yeah, Broadway Joe.

Me: Uh....I'll just have a diet coke.

Waiter: Gotta maintain your playing weight, huh Namath?

Me: Sure.

Then, he went away. And, for the rest of my meal, I would be referred to as "Namath." You see, since I was wearing my Jets hat, I was CLEARLY a HUGE fan of the guy who won the Super Bowl, 9 months BEFORE I was born.

You got it.

There was more of the same when he brought the drinks. Instead of a lemon, my diet coke had a lime in it.

Waiter: You see that I put a lime in there, instead of a lemon?

Me: Yes, I did see that.

Waiter: Because it's green.

Me: I noticed.

Waiter: Like the Jets.

Me: Yes, just like the Jets.

Waiter: Not the same shade, but close.

Me: It is, at that.

Waiter: I got your back, Namath.

Me: Thank you. That's making me feel all warm inside.

Waiter: Ha-Ha!! I got a Jets fan, wise-ass, here. That's a good one, Namath.

Me: Thank you, so much.

And, that's the way it went. For the entire meal. Everytime he came back to our table, he would randomly spout some Jets fact, that I didn't know, or care about. It was almost as though he had "Jets-Tourette Syndrome," and it was just lucky that a guy in a Jets hat showed up, or he would have gone nuts and shot the place up.

He took our food order:

Waiter: 16-7

Me: Huh?

Waiter: 16-7. That was the score of the Super Bowl, when the Jets won.

Me: I'll be damned.

Waiter: Ha-Ha!! Yeah.....

Then, he brought us our food. Even though it was been well established that I DO NOT like vegatables, I was presented a small bowl of....Ready?.....GREEN BEANS!!!!!

Do you know WHY?

Well, because they are GREEN, of course.

And, WHO ELSE IS GREEN?

That would be the Jets.....

And, WHO is a HUGE Jets fan?

Not me. But, since I was stupid enough to wear my hat, I was being assaulted by my own waiter.

Waiter: 17 for 28, for 206 yards.

Me: Let me guess.....Uhhhh....Were those Namath's stats for the Super Bowl?

Waiter: Ha-Ha!! Yeah, of course YOU know that. What was I thinking, huh?

Me: Yeah, after all they were MY stats. You know, since I'm Namath, and all.

Waiter: THAT'S RIGHT!! HA-HA!!! I'll get your check.

Then, he brought the check, and the "Jets-Tourettes" kicked in, again.

Waiter: Jim Turner.

Me: Jim Turner?

Waiter: Kicked 3 field goals to help win the game.

Me: Ahhh...Got the internet back there, do ya'?

Waiter: Ha-Ha!! Well, we can't ALL know everything about the Jets, like you, Namath.

Me: Yeah, just like me.

Waiter: Hey, good luck this season. You folks have a good night. Don't stiff me, Namath. I hear Jets fans are bad tippers. HA-HA!!!

I tipped him 15%, because he annoyed me, and my wife glared at me for it. On the way out, my daughter told me that he thought the waiter was weird. My daughter and I are a lot alike.

When we got out the door, there was a trash can. For just a moment I thought about throwing my Jets hat into it. But, then nobody would call me Namath, anymore, and I don't know if I want to live like that.

I'm going to start wearing my Kermit hat, again.

Casey

The Sod Man Cometh

2009-04-27T13:46:00.000-04:00

Over the weekend I created a lot of unneccessary work for myself, simply because I am a pig-headed, overly-contrary, pain in the ass.

Are we clear?

Good.

You see, the weather was nice for the first time in, what felt like, a hundred years. So, my wife was making me....Yes, MAKING ME.....do yard work. This involved buying several thousand bags of something called "mulch," and then dumping it into my various planters and flower beds. I don't know what "mulch" is. When it's in a bag, it looks like a bag filled with a chopped up tree. Unless, of course, you buy colored "mulch," which we did. In this case, when it's in a bag, it looks like a bag filled with a tree that you chopped up, and then poured color all over it. Just like God intended it.

Anyway, we bought ALL the black colored "mulch" in the greater South Jersey area. Then we (and by "we" I mean "I") put it onto a flatbed cart, at our local Home Depot. This was neccessary for two reasons. First, because there were several thousand bags, and I would not have been able to carry all of them. Second, because I needed to be able to knock over as many displays of hornet spray as possible, and I would not have been able to do that if I had not had a convenient, flatbed cart, that lacked the ability to turn.

Still with me?

Good.

Now, our OTHER major problem, aside from our current "mulch" not being black, was that there were several bare spots, in our backyard grass. This is due mainly to the fact that I have retired racing greyhounds, as pets, and when we got them we neglected to tell them that they were, in fact, retired. So, they race around my pool, and tear up the grass. Greyhounds, you see, are evil dogs, from the depths of Hell, who refuse to allow me to have a green lawn. One more small victory for Satan.

While we were at Home Depot stumbled upon a small stack of "sod." I didn't REALLY know what "sod" was, either. I suppose that it can best be described as "grass carpet." Anyway, I didn't really know what it was, and didn't really know what to do with it. But, it SEEMED a lot easier than buying a bunch of grass seed, letting the birds eat it, and NOT having grass where I wanted it.

Me: Let's buy some sod.

My Wife: No.

Me: I think it would be easier than buying seed.

My Wife: No.

Me: It's cheap.

My Wife: NO!!

Me: But, I wanna try it.

My Wife: Do you know how to put it down?

Me: No. But, how hard could it be?

My Wife: I wish I had married a man.

Me: I think I could do it.

My Wife: I doubt it. Let's go over here. There are a couple of displays you haven't knocked over yet. Then, maybe we can get ice cream.

Me: Ice cre......Wait......No. I wanna get sod.

My Wife: No.

Me: I'm going to hold my breath.....

As this was going on, an older woman walked up who looked as though she was permanently sucking on a very sour lemon. She started glaring at me. She didn't say anything, at first. She just glared.

Woman: My husband is coming.

Me: Oh....uh....Good. I was wondering.

Woman: We are thinking of buying this sod.

Me: Oh, yeah? So are WE!!

My Wife: No we aren't.

Me: Stop it.

Woman: Well, I'm afraid you can't buy it.

Me: Can't?

My Wife: Oh, no.....

Woman: Yes. You cannot. We are thinking about buying it, so you can't.

Me: Can't?

My Wife: Please don't......

Woman: Once my husband gets here, he will explain it to you.

Me: So, your husband will come here, and tell me that I "CAN'T" buy this very sod, which the people at Home Depot have marked as being for sale?

Woman: Yes. He will be very upset, if you buy any of it, so I'm afraid that I can't let you.

Me: Can't "LET" me!?

Woman: No.

My Wife: Here we go........

Me: So, your husband is the Prime Minister of Sod, here in South Jersey, huh? And he has, by royal order, decided that I, me, Casey Bartholomew, "CAN'T" buy this particular sod, huh?

My Wife: Please....Just....Stop.

Woman: I don't care for your tone, sir. He will be here, at any moment, and he will be VERY upset if you purchase this sod.

Me (starting to pick up pieces of sod): Well, ma'am, you just tell your husband that, if we wishes to discuss it with me, I'll be right over there at the cash register, paying for MY SOD!!!!

My Wife: I'm taking the kids to the car. Congratulations on winning your little war.

Me: Thank you.

Then, since I could not see around my huge, flatbed cart, I knocked over a display of grass seed.

Ironic.

After paying, I got glared at by the woman who was walking by with some guy I assumed to be her husband.

That's right! I thought. Keep walking, pal!!
Actually, I should have asked him to help me get it out to my car. It was heavy. Also, I probably could have asked him what to do with the stuff, once I got it home.

First, it was gross. It had worms in it. Which means that I was putting worms IN MY CAR!!!!

It was, to use a technical term, "Icky."

But, I put it in my car, with my colored pieces of "mulch" wood, and drove it home. Then, I had to unload 15 rolls of it, and carry the worm-filled stuff into the back yard. I could have used more. But, you see, I only wanted to buy SOME of the sod. That way there would still be some left, but not nearly enough for the evil, sour-faced woman, and her husband to buy.

It was a hollow victory. But, at this point, I'll take what I can get.

So, I took the stuff into the backyard, and looked at it. I didn't know what to do with it. I could have gone in, and looked online. But, I had worm dirt all over me, and my wife wouldn't let me in.

I picked up a piece, walked over to a bald spot int he grass, and rolled it out.

Done.

Then, I picked up another one, and rolled it out.

I was developing a rythmn, now.

I did this with all 15 pieces. Rolled them out, over empty patches, and then stared at it.

There HAD to be more.

Did I need to nail it down, maybe?

It can't just lay there, can it?

I could see the worms.......Gross.

So, I turned the hose on, and watched it. It didn't do anything, but I watched it anyway. I really need to get a life, of some kind.

My wife finally let me back in, and I was able to determine that I needed to water it, often, for two weeks. By then, I should know. I also read something that said that, in my current situation, it would have been better to "over seed."

NOW they tell me.

Of course, even that didn't allow for the evil, sour-faced, demon woman who PRACTICALLY DARED ME TO BUY ALL THAT SOD.

So, really, it will all be her fault, if it doesn't work.

At least, that's what I told my wife.....Who has since informed me that I am no longer allowed to go to Home Depot.

Casey

Video Blog....Coolness.

2009-04-19T20:06:00.002-04:00

Okay, this link SHOULD take you to my video blog. It could also take you to a website run by a secret, mind control agency hell bent on taking over the world. Either way, your life will probably be ruined once you check it out.

Enjoy....ish.

http://gallery.me.com/kficasey/100000

Let's Do The Hannah, Again....

2009-04-13T13:38:00.000-04:00

“Hannah Montana” is the new “Rocky Horror.”

I know of which I speak.

So, that means that every guy who went to midnight showings of “Rocky Horror,” dressed in black lingerie and a curly black wig, is going to have to alter their lifestyle, a bit. Now, you’re going to have to pick up a blonde wig, blue jeans, and a glittery jacket. On the plus side, as if NOT having to look at large men in women’s underwear is not enough of a plus, you will get more sleep. I’m just assuming that midnight showings of “Rocky Horror,” will be replaced by noontime showings of “Hannah Montana.”

So, you know…..Good luck with that.

I know this, because I was one of the “lucky” parents who got to go see the new “Hannah Montana” movie. I got to spend $17, on two tickets, and $32 on 2 hotdogs, a medium popcorn, a box of Junior Mints, a small tray of soft “pretzel bites,” a bottle of water, and a medium diet coke. $49 on a trip to the movies, with my little girl. On the plus side, though, I did get a free pack of “Hannah Montana” trading cards. So, you know, there’s THAT. But, they did try and cheat me out of those.

Ticket Seller: I’m supposed to give a pack of these with every ticket. But, you don’t want one, do you?

Me: I just spent $17, on two tickets, to a “G” rated movie……GIVE….ME….MY….HANNAH…MONTANA…TRADING…CARDS…RIGHT…FREAKING…NOW!!!

Ticket Seller: Whatever, dude.

Me (smiling): Thank you.

As we walked into the theater, there were several young lads, in gang attire, using the colorful kind of “street” language that I would just as soon my 9 year old daughter NOT hear. THEY were all going to see “Fast & Furious,” I suppose. When I shot them dirty looks, so that they wouldn’t use bad language in front of my little girl, they kinda laughed at me. I guess my “Kermit The Frog” hat just doesn’t inspire fear in the hearts of 15 year olds, wearing White Sox hats, turned to the side. Though, I still think I look cooler. I don’t wear MY hat sideways. I don’t care if it has a frog on it, or not.

Anyway, we got into the theater. I have to say something, here, about going to see a kids movie. This may shock AND surprise you. But, when you go to see a kids movie, there are better-than-average odds that you are going to see a large number of kids there. You expect this. Also, when there are a lot of kids in one place, don’t be surprised if they can’t all be totally silent. That’s okay. They’re kids. It’s our job, as parents, to teach them to shut their pie holes, at a movie. So, I was more than a little surprised when the bimbo in front of me had her cell phone go off. Then, I was even more shocked when she answered it, RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF A PIVOTAL PLOT POINT!!! (Miley was late for Lilly's sweet 16, and had to show up as Hannah, because she didn't have time to change, and ended up taking all the attention away from Lilly......So, you can see why I was so upset about this.)

So, in order to teach this woman a lesson, I was forced.....FORCED I TELL YOU....to kick the back of her chair.....hard.......twice.......Which was when she spun around in her chair, and glared at me.

"I am SOOOOOO sorry," I said. " I was just so excited about the movie, and couldn't stop my leg."

It got loud in the theater, but I'm pretty sure she called me an a*@hole. It's okay, though, because she got off her phone, which is what I wanted in the first place. So, I win. Yay, me. Now, I could watch "Hannah Montana" in peace......

Wait.....Did I really "win" that one?

Hmmm.....Lemme get back to you on that.

Anyway, at one point during the movie, Miley and her family go to a country dance. Miley was encouraged to get up and sing. She does so, reluctantly, saying that she's going to "add a little hip-hop." This makes perfect sense, for two reasons: 1) Because EVERYONE knows that Hannah Montana is the textbook definition of "ghetto," and 2) Because when you get a bunch of farmers around, at a country music show, they want NOTHING MORE than to hear a little hip-hop.

Word to your mother.

So, Miley gets up and starts sining the "hip-hop" song, which the local country band seems to know, and starts to do some sort of pop/hip-hop/Disney-inspired/country line dancing song.

Okay, I thought. It's a G-rated, Disney movie. I wasn't expecting "Citizen Kane," or anything.
Then, we had our "Rocky Horror" moment.

As soon as Miley started singing her country/rap fusion, something like 20-30 girls ran up to the front of the theater, and started doing the dance that she was "rapping" about.

HOLY CRAP!!! ARE THEY TRYING TO DISNEY-FY EVERYTHING!?!!

Now, I'm not a "Rocky Horror" fan. I mean, I'm fine with it. I've been to it. I found it odd. But, I never really got into it. In fact, when I went to see it I was 16 and had never heard of it. A bunch of my friends said that they wanted to, "Go see a midnight showing of 'Rocky,'" and wanted to know if I wanted to come.

"Sure," I said. "I still think that's the best of the 'Rocky'" movies."

See, I was a tad bit stupid, when I was 16.

So, you can imagine my shock when we showed up, and there were men dressed in women's underwear. Having never worn women's underwear, I found this odd. I also thought it was odd when I got searched before going in.

Theater Guy: Open your coat.

Me: Why?

Theater Guy: I need to search you.

Me: For what?

Theater Guy: Toast.

Me: Toast?

Theater Guy: Yeah, toast.

Me: Of course.

Later on, when I got hit in the back of the head with a piece of toast that someone had managed to sneak through the TSA-style security, I understood the need for the shakedown. Of course, one of the big moments in "Rocky Horror" (not, I repeat NOT, "Rocky") is when everyone jumps up to do "The Time Warp." I thought that was funny, and I appreciated it. I just wasn't expecting that type of thing at a Friday evening performance of "Hannah Montana."

Clearly, the Disney corporation is attempting to capture that type of lighting in a bottle, with the "Hannah" franchise. It all makes perfect sense, when you consider the group dancing scene.

Do you need MORE evidence that Disney is trying to turn "Hannah Montana" into the new "Rocky Horror?"

I thought you might.

I cite one Mr. Barry Bostwick.

Not only is he one of the main characters in "Rocky Horror." BUT, he is also the bad guy in "Hannah Montana."

SHOCKING!!!!

AND, he was sex with a male, transvestite in BOTH movies!!!!

Okay, I made that last part up.........Or, did I? They don't actually get into his sex life, in "Hannah." He may, VERY WELL, be having sex with male transvestites, and we just didn't see it.

So, there!!!

Now, go turn in your black lingerie, you men out there, and turn them in for your OFFICIAL "Hannah" wig..........But, keep the toast. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, I always say.

Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to go put my "Hannah Montana" trading cards up on ebay. I'm hoping to make enough money to buy that 90 minutes of my life back.

Casey

Thank Satan For Little Girls

2009-04-07T13:43:00.001-04:00

I have been shot at.

I have SCUBA dived with sharks.

I was in a car, once, that burst into flame.

I was trapped in Los Angeles, in 1992, during the riots. Buildings were being burned down around me, small arms fire was going off, and the National Guard had to take up a position protecting the radio station that I was trapped in.

Nothing.....

NOTHING has caused me more stress than the slumber party that my daughter threw, at my house, Saturday night.

6 innocent LOOKING 9 year old girls descended upon my house, starting at 6 pm. They smiled, and kissed their parents goodbye. I thought to myself, This is going to be cute. This is a sweet group of girls. This was a good idea.
I could not have been MORE wrong.

When the last parent dropped off the last girl, and the door shut, I turned to face the little angels. But, the girls had vanished. They were replaced by 6 of the most horrible demons, from the darkest depths of Hell. Their innocent little eyes had been replaced by orbs of flame, which were now shooting directly into my skull. I went from wondering what fun games I was going to play with these precious little snowflakes, to wondering if I was going to live to see another day.

It all started off innocently enough. We had decided to feed the girls pizza. Harmless, right? Well, it should have been. A smart person would have used a coupon, and ordered pizza from one of the approximately 7,236 pizza places that are within a mile of my house.

Not me.

Nope.

We were going to MAKE pizza. We bought pizza dough, and grated cheese, and mushrooms, and sauce, and pepperoni, and olives, and onions. It was, dare I say, GENIUS!?!!! One would think. But, one also needs to have his head examined.

Me: Did everyone roll their dough?

Girl #1: Mine's not round.

Me: That's okay. It doesn't have to be round.

Girl #1: HERS is round.

Me: Oh...Uh...Okay. Let me see if I can get yours round.

Girl #2: I'm making mine square.

Girl #3: I'm making mine shaped like a heart.

Girl #4: I'm making mine like an "S," 'cuz that's what my name starts with.

Girl #5: I don't want a round one, anymore. Can I do mine over?

Me: Well, yeah. I guess so.

Girl #5: Good. I want mine shaped like a horse.

Me: A horse? Do you know how to do that?

Girl #5: I'm gonna let YOU do it.

Me: You're gonna let ME do it?

Girl #2: Will you make my square one, too?

Girl #3: And my heart one?

Girl #4: And make my "S," too.

Girl #1: I don't want a round one, anymore. I want a kitty.

Me: Uhhhhhhhhhh....................I'll..........Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.........I don't.........

Girl #6: I don't like pizza.

Me: Uh...Okay. Do you want a grilled cheese?

Girl #6: Yes, please.

Me: Okay. That'll be easy.

Girl #6: Shaped like a puppy.

Me: Shaped like a puppy?

Girl #6: Yes, please.

Me: I don't.........uhhhhh.......

Then, they all ran downstairs to scream, in unison. Apparently, they were on some sort of VERY tight schedule, and if they didn't get downstairs and scream, NOW, it was going to throw the entire evening off. So, they got to their screaming, while I attempted to turn common, everyday, household food items into a bizarre menagerie of animals and geometric shapes, that were to be eaten.....Though only halfway. Something in the 9 year old DNA does not allow them to finish their entire meal. They can, however, eat endless amounts of junk food. Amounts that would cause me, a 39 year old man, to puke.

And speaking of junk food, I would like to insist that ALL parents make sure that their children know whether or not they are allergic to peanuts, and thusly inform the moronic parents who decided to have a slumber party. You see, we made a variety of different cookies for the girls to snack on. One of the types was peanut butter cookies. For those of you who don't know, one of the main ingredients in peanut butter cookies is............Get Ready..........PEANUT BUTTER. Wait, it gets better.......One of the main ingredients of peanut butter is...........Anybody?.............PEANUTS. So, someone who is allergic to peanuts, would be allergic to peanut butter.

Girl: Mr. Bartholomew?

Me: Yes.

Girl: I ate a peanut butter cookie.

Me: That's okay. You can eat anything you want.

Girl: Well, there might be a problem.

Me: What's that?

Girl: Well, I MIGHT be allergic to peanuts.

Me: Well, that's okay........Wait.........What?

Girl: I might be allergic to peanuts.

Me: Uhhhhhhhhh..........

Girl: Yeah.

Me: Uhhhhhhh....Are you feeling okay?

Girl: I don't know.

Me: Uhhhhhhhh....Okay.....I can deal with this......Do you have any medication with you?

Girl: No.

Me: YOU LEFT YOUR MEDICATION AT HOME!?!!!.....Uhhhh....Okay....I'm gonna call your parents.

Girl: I don't wanna call my parents.

Me: Sweetie, we have to get your medication.....Don't touch any more cookies, okay?

Girl: I don't have any medication.

Me: I know. I'm going to call your mommy, and have her bring it. Just stay away from the cookies.

Girl: My mommy doesn't have it.

Me: Well.......WHO DOES!?!!

Girl: I don't take any medication.

Me: Well......uhhhhh......I thought you were allergic to peanuts?

Girl: Well, I THINK I might be.

Me: You think.

Girl: I saw it on TV.

Me: You saw it on TV.

Girl: Yes.

Me: But, you're not allergic.

Girl: No. But, I could be.

Me (closing my eyes): Okay.

Girl: Can I have another cookie?

Me (rubbing my temples): Yes. Just....take the bag down into the basement.

Girl: Thank you.

Me: Uh-huh.

I was also expecting these 9 year old girls to want to play some games. I'm thinking things like "Pin The Tail On The Donkey," or "Twister," or "Hide and Seek." That's the kind of stuff I did when I was 9. Of course, I also fashioned a parachute out of a bed sheet, and jumped off the roof. But, that's me. PLUS, I was a boy. Boys are dumb, and we do dumb things like jumping off the roof. I fully expect to find my son's injured body, splayed out on my front lawn, after HE makes HIS bed sheet parachute. He is, after all, MY son.

Truth be told, after the NEXT thing they did, I would have happily provided them all with sheets to jump off the roof with.

I'm not 100% certain how it all started. There was talk of boys. A LOT of talk about boys. Boys that were cute. Boys that they liked. Boys that they didn't LIKE, but that they would kiss anyway ( I know.....That last one kinda threw me, too.)

Then, there was whispering. When a group of boys gets together, and whispers, we are usually plotting some form of violence against ourselves, or others. But, boys are stupid, and they always, ALWAYS give themselves away. Again, I would have preferred violence to what came next.

They whispered.

They giggled.

They ALL looked over at me.

Then, they giggled some more, and headed back down to the basement.

So, after a while, I went down to see what they were doing. Clearly they were up to SOMETHING. As a responsible parent, it was my job to find out what it was. And, also as a responsible parent, it was my job to make sure that it, whatever "it" was, was stopped. As far as I knew, the fate of the free world depended on it.

I went downstairs, and found the girls happily drawing pictures of faces. No problem, right? Art. Girls like art. Girls are crafty. They like to do such things. NOW this was going the way that I imagined it would. We'd had pizza, and the girls were happily drawing pictures in the basement. Does it get better than that? I think not. So, I went back upstairs to watch "The Gilmore Girls." (Yes, I like "The Gilmore Girls." I like Lauren Graham. Deal with it.)

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet like they have in the movies, before the Evil Mutated Death Shark swims up, grabs you by the legs, and pulls you into the murky depths of the ocean, to eat you.

WHAT THEY HELL WERE THESE GIRLS UP TO!!?!!!!

So, I snuck downstairs.....Yes....SNUCK......SNEAKED?.....Either way. I quietly went downstairs.

When I got to the door, I heard giggling. Squealing, even.

Stealthly, I made my way down the stairs.

The squealing conintued.

Then, I made my way around the corner, to the horrible sight.

The girls had attatched the various faces they had drawn onto pillows, stuffed animals, AND a punching bag...........And, they were kissing them.......KISSING THEM!!!!!!!

"Uhhhhhhh.............STOP THAT!!!" I said.

They squealed.

The laughed.

They all ran upstairs.

Leaving me to stare at the crayon induced, make-out partners that were now scattered around my basement.

At this point, it was close to midnight. I had been trying to watch "The Gilmore Girls" for 3 hours (again, deal with it), and I was getting annoyed.

The girls were busy trying to play "Rock Band" on our Wii. So, as you can imagine, it was very peaceful in my house. A few moments later, they all filed into the living room, and wanted to watch TV. I made them all put their pajamas on, and spread their sleeping bags out on the floor.

I was beaten.

They had won.

"The Gilmore Girls" would not be completed, this evening.

I told them that the only rule was that they were not to set foot outside the house. They first one who set foot outside the house, I was going to kill. They screamed, and laughed. This turned out to be a mistake, because for the next two hours they took turns opening the front door, slamming it, and then squealing their way back into the living room while I was TRYING to sleep, upstairs.

The last noise I heard was at about 3am, and I drifted off to a none-too-peaceful sleep.

At 7am I woke up, and found the girls awake, and whispering. I was afraid to sit down, because I was worried that there would be slobber all over my couch cushions due to some impromptu make-out session, with more cartoon faces. YUCK!!

Me: We're going to make pancakes, this morning.

Girl #1: I want chocolate chip.

Me: Chocolate chip? I don't think we have any chocolate.....

Girl #2: I want blueberry,

Me: Uhhhhhhh.....blue......

Girl #3: I want strawberry.

Me: Guys, can we just decide on one.....

Girl #4: Can you put apples on mine?

Me (closing eyes): You know, guys, I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, and I was wondering....

Girl #5: Do you have whipped cream?

Me: (sigh)....I don't think so.

Girl #6: Mr. Bartholomew?

Me: Yes.

Girl #6: I have a problem with pancakes.

Me: You have a problem with pancakes.

Girl #6: Yes.

Me: Okay.

Girl #3: Can you make them into shapes, again?

Me: Uhhhhhhhh.......DONUTS!!!!! WHO WANTS DONUTS!?!!

Girls (in unison): YEAH!!!!!

Me: Okay. I'll go get a dozen donuts. I'll be back......Maybe.

So, I went to the donut shop, and was going to buy a dozen donuts. I realized, of course, that if I only bought a dozen, someone was going to be sad/feel left out/be allergic to/have a problem with whatever kind I bought.......So, I bought 2 dozen. That's right, 24 donuts to feed 6 little girls.

Good thing.

They ALL took 1 or 2 bites of 3-4 different donuts, and left the sad little donut corpses on my kitchen table. When they were done, there were no donuts left. But, there was NOT ONE SINGLE COMPLETELY EATEN DONUT OUT OF THE ENTIRE 24 THAT I BOUGHT!!!! NOT ONE!!!!

At 10am, not a moment too soon, their parents started showing up, and openly wondered why the girls looked booth exauhsted, and wired, at the same time.

I wanted to punch them ALL in the mouth.

It is THE LAST slumber party that will EVER take place, in my house. It is officially somebody else's turn.

I learned that 6 against 1 are odds too great for ANY man, even if the 6 are a bunch of 9 year old girls.

I learned that women not being able to make a decision starts at a very young age.

I learned that I need to be alone when I watch "The Gilmore Girls." Or, it's not going to happen.

And, I learned that several of the girls are VERY into Aiden and Garrett. Andrew, however, is "such an Andrew."

I don't know what that means, but I don't think it's good. Sorry, Andrew.

Casey

If Harrison Ford's Chest Hair Goes, We're All Doomed!!!

2009-03-29T22:00:00.004-04:00

My daughter just turned 9 years old. Which, of course, means that I am 9 years older, too. When she is 10, I’ll be 40. When she is 20, I’ll be 50. When she is 39, I’ll be 69!!! And, just for fun, when she is 242, I’LL be 272 YEARS OLD!!!

OH MY GOD!!!!!!

I’M GOING TO DIE!!!!

How many people do YOU know who made it to 272? Not many, I’m guessing. Which has caused me to reaccess my life. Being that I am only 39, and a very young 39 at that, this simple chart will illustrate how I have spent my time on this earth:

WHAT CASEY DID WHILE HE WAS SUCKING BACK AIR ON THIS ROCK:

30% - Watching "Monty Python"

30% - Watching "Mystery Science Theater 3000"

22% - Sleeping

17.3% - Ate Food And Food Related Things

.07% - Had Sex (With/Without Partner)

As you can clearly see, my time has not been wasted. However, I can’t help but get this nagging feeling that I should be doing more. I mean, have you SEEN Mother Teresa’s chart? You’d probably be shocked to find that SHE has spent next to no time watching Monty Python. I shudder to think about what the researchers discovered when they checked the “MST3K” section of her brain. Honestly, she probably didn’t even HAVE an “MST3K” portion of her brain. Which leads one to wonder, “Why was God punishing her?” I mean, she seemed like such a good person.

A basic viewing of the chart below will show you how little time SHE spent being dealing with the truly important aspects of life.

Yes, I’m talking about Monty Python…..

And, “MST3K”…..

And, yes, you probably aren’t going to want to stand too close to me after viewing said chart, as I will probably be struck down by lighting, or become inflicted with some sort of horrible plague, once you do. But, damn it, I was blogging. You would think that God would understand something as important as a blog, wouldn’t you?

WHAT MOTHER TERESA DID WHILE SHE WAS SUCKING BACK AIR ON THIS ROCK:

44% - Thought About The Poor

42% - Worked With The Actual Poor

11% - Raised Money For The Poor

3% - Watched "American Idol"

Now, I am fairly certain that she was only watching “Idol” after all the poor people were fed and cared for. But, I have no evidence of this.

Mother Teresa is ALREADY in Heaven, though. What about me? I’m the one who’s dying, here.

Now, I COULD spend more of my time helping mankind. There’s only one, tiny problem with that. I don’t much care for mankind, as a whole. In fact, there are several members of mankind that I would not necessarily care if they lost their gravitational pull to the earth, and floated out into the atmosphere. I’m assuming that they would disintegrate at some point, and I would consider this to be a good thing.

In fact, I have a list of people I would not mind seeing burst into flame, upon leaving the relative safety of planet earth. However, helping to make that happen would be wrong. At least, this is what my lawyer tells me whenever I bring it up.

So, helping my fellow mankind is out, since most of them suck.

What else could I do?

To answer this question, I went to my newly minted 9 year old daughter. I read somewhere, once, that “a child shall lead them,” or some crap like that. I think it was on a t-shirt. Maybe a bumper sticker. It was definitely someplace where you would read something philosophical.

So, I asked my daughter.

Me: Sweetie, daddy is dying. What should I do to help be a better person?

Spenser: You’re DYING!?!!

Me: Well, yeah, sort of…

Spenser (starting to cry): But, I don’t want you to die….

Me: Well, I’m not REALLY dying,….

Spenser (sniffling): You aren’t?

Me: Well, I mean, yes, I AM dying, but….

Spenser (crying): But, I don’t WANT you to die….

Me: Honey, it’s okay. We’re ALL dying…

Spenser (sniffling): I’m dying, too?

Me: Well, yes, of course you are.

Spenser (crying loudly): BUT I DON’T WANNA DIE!!!!!

Me: This really didn’t go the way I was hoping….

Spenser (still crying loudly): WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My Wife: Way to go, Genius.

Me: But, it’s true.

Spenser (continuing to cry loudly): WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!

My Wife: Casey, get in the basement…..NOW!!!!

So, I had to come up with a way to be a better person, on my own, without the help of my now traumatized daughter. The answer, of course, came from Harrison Ford.

Yes, THAT Harrison Ford.

I happened to be watching TV, and I saw a commercial featuring old Harrison talking about the environment. I didn’t catch the entire message. But, as near as I could tell, the way the rainforests were being destroyed was the EXACT same way that it would be if Harrison Ford got his chest waxed.

I swear to GOD…….

So, Harrison Ford talked about the rainforest, a little bit, and he looked VERY serious. Then, in order to make his point, he had a young woman apply wax to his chest hair, and YANK IT OUT, really fast.

This did not make Harrison happy. He gave the young woman a VERY terse look.
What is the message?

Well, it is PERFECTLY obvious.

If Harrison Ford continues to lose chest hair, at his current rate, then the world is doomed. Diseases that have long been dormant will come back to life and kill us all. The world will lose its oxygen supply, and many of the planet’s most endangered species will cease to exist.

It’s frightening, if you really stop and think about it.

So, I know what I need to do. I’m going to make it my personal mission to protect, and preserve Harrison Ford’s chest hair. Honestly, I had never really understood how important it was. I don’t think most of us did. If we had, I don’t know how he EVER would have been able to get insurance for ANY of his movies.

Had you realized that, if that giant rock had rolled over him in “Raiders Of The Lost Ark,” that the entire planet could have died? I doubt it. You self-serving, materialistic FOOL!!!!

So, please, join me in my goal to protect Harrison Ford, and his chest hair, at all costs. If you don’t, I’m not going to be held responsible for what happens. Our time on this planet is short, and Harrison only has a limited amount of hair left.

The clock is ticking. Remember, when my daughter is 372, I’LL be 402 years old.

I know. Scary, isn’t it?

Casey

My Son: The Zombie

2009-03-11T13:12:00.003-04:00

My 10 month old son is a virus infected, flesh hungry, moaning zombie, who crawls the floors of my home, seeking innocent victims.

There.

I said it.

It's out there, now.

I feel better.

I fear that I may be partially to blame for this. You see, I have an affection for zombies, and zombie-related films, and such. My wife does not share this, and she will not watch them with me. I guess that makes her the innocent victim, here. She birthed the undead. Kinda cool if you think about it, though. However, I doubt she shares my enthusiasm.

You're probably wondering why I think my son crawls the earth, craving brains. It's a legitimate concern. Plus, even if you aren't wondering, I'm going to tell you anyway. So deal with it.

The other day, the boy was crawling around the house, like he does. Actually, he doesn't really crawl. He refuses to use his legs. He just kinda pulls himself along, with his arms, and drags his lifeless body behind him. While he does this, he moans. Creepy moans, too. "UhhhhhhhhhhOhhhhhhhhOoooooooooooo......." This goes on until he gets to his destination, at which point he says, "Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....."

On this particular day, I happened to be his destination. So, he was pulling himself around, making his creepy noises, and he gets to my leg. He pulls himself up to a standing position, looks right at me, says, "Ehhhhhhhhhh....," and then bites me in the leg......HARD.........And it hurt.

How could it hurt?

He only has 2 teeth!!!

Then he laughed.

I yelped.

"YELP!!" I said.

I could have written the whole thing off as something cute, that a small child was doing.

But he did it again.

TWICE.

IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS HOLY!!!!!!

HE'S TRYING TO EAT ME!!!!!!

AND HE'S LAUGHING ABOUT IT!!!

That ain't right.

I'm his father. I don't know that it's written down anywhere, but I'm pretty sure that it is some kind of fauzx pas to eat your parents. Unless, of course, you are a zombie baby.

I swear to you that, if the boy could reach up to my skull, he would crack it open and start feasting on the caramel, brain, goodness that resides inside my skull......Yes, I believe my brain is full of caramel. I mean, there's gotta be something in there, right? God knows that it's not filled with "brain stuff."

Anyway, the time change is having an affect on "zombie baby." He can't sleep, at night, very well. As luck would have it, I don't sleep very well, either. I have "night terrors" that keep me awake. These are REALLY scary nightmares, that seem REALLY realistic, and make me want to stay awake rather than have them. So, rather than have dreams about people I love being murdered, in unspeakable ways, I lay awake.

This is NOT GOOD when the Prince of The Undead is occupying the crib 30 feet away.

I can hear him.

He's moaning his undead moans......

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh....Ooooooooooooooooooooo...."

I'm not certain, but I think last night I heard him say:

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaadddyyyyyyyyyy.....I'm going to eat your brrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnsssss.......Want caraaaaaammmmmmmeeeeellllll."

I kinda freaked me out.

My wife, of course, does not believe me. She thinks it's cute.

"Oh, look," she'll say. "Max is trying to rip the flesh off your calf, with his teeth.....I'll go get the camera."

Must be nice not to have to live with the threat of "baby zombie" attack, every night. I wish that were me.

But, it's not.

The boy is already standing up in his crib. So, it's only a matter of time. Eventually, he'll be able to crawl over the side. Then, he'll pull his body down the hallway. He'll pass my daughter's room. He'll go around my wife. He'll pull himself up, on my side of the bed. Then, he'll dig his teeth....BOTH of them...into my skull, and all I'll feel is the gentle dripping of caramel, down the side of my head.

A sticky death, at the hands of my zombie son.

Casey

A Random Collection Of Thoughts....

2009-03-09T12:42:00.001-04:00

I felt that I should blog.

I don’t know why. There are those who pressure me to blog, but I generally ignore them. However, I was sitting here, and I had a few free minutes, and I thought I would jot some things down.

Jot? I jot? I never knew I jotted. Damn. Sometimes, when I’m all alone and no one is bothering me, I fancy myself a writer. Not a jotter. Sounds lame.

Wait……I fancy?

Crap.

I’m growing the beard back. Okay, that’s a bit of a lie. The beard has been back for a while. So, technically, I’m continuing to grow the beard. I would love it if I could get it nice and long, like the guys from ZZ Top. Sadly, I don’t think that will happen. I don’t have that kind of support system. I good beard needs a solid support system. Mostly, what I get is, “When are you gonna shave that stupid thing off?” So, I don’t see myself goin’ the way of the “Sharp Dressed Man” anytime soon. Would be nice, though.

I’ve got rock salt all over the front of my house. When we got that big snow, last week, I shoveled really late. So, most of it was snow. Lest the precious snowflakes who walk past my house on the way to school slip and fall, I put down a bunch of salt. Then, it got warm. Now, I have rock salt. Now, I’m waiting for it to rain, and wash all the rock salt away. I could go sweep it up. But, I don’t have time for that. Actually, I do have time for that, I just don’t wanna do it. There are things I like to make time for, and things I don’t. Sadly, the things I like to make time for don’t seem to have the time for me, at this moment. However, this in no way, shape, or form makes me want to go sweep up rock salt. Maybe I can just leave it there until the next snow. Probably next year. I don’t think it works like that, does it?

Speaking of that, there is rock salt residue all over my car. I have to go get it washed. Every other place I have ever lived there were stand alone car washes at all the gas stations. You’d buy your gas, pay for a wash at the same time, then drive over to the car wash and get your it done. It took about 5 minutes, total. I only know of one of these such machines, in New Jersey, and it hardly ever works. There are a lot of things like that. Things that work everywhere else on the planet, but fail to work in New Jersey. Why is that? Is New Jersey some sort of Bermuda Triangle? I’ll have to think on that one.

I’m too busy thinking of other things, these days. I’m working on a book proposal, which takes almost as long as writing an actual book. Plus, I’m getting the feeling that it needs to be better than the actual book. I suppose, though, that if I can’t write a good proposal than I have no business writing a book. So, I’m dealing with that. I’m also working on a new zombie story. I’ve been working on it for a while, and it keeps changing. I think it might be pretty good. I dunno, though. It’s hard to tell, when you’re writing it. I’m also thinking of using the blog as an online novel. I’ve talked about that, before. I might just do that. I actually have several chapters of that already written. This would help when you put in my personal “lazy factor.”

I’m also still working on those websites. I’ve got the names. I’ve even got them registered. Pulling the trigger on it is proving more difficult than I had planned. This, too, is my fault due to the time factor. That keeps coming up. The time factor. I wish I could stop time, when I wanted to, and freeze everyone else in place. Then I could get all my work done, and start time back up again. I’d actually be ahead, for once. I don’t know who I’m kidding, though. I wouldn’t work. I’d go around and look at naked women. Sadly, I know myself too well. I don’t get to see enough naked women. Hell, I don’t get to see ANY naked women. There was a “Twilight Zone” episode about that. Not seeing naked women. It was about stopping time. As I recall, THAT guy used his time stopping ability to steal money, not look at naked women. I’m sure he eventually got to that, though, because he broke the watch that allowed him to stop time, and everyone else got frozen, forever. After a while, I’m sure he looked at some naked women. I’ll try not to do that. Meaning, I’ll try not to break my time stopping watch. Wouldn’t want you all to get frozen. That would suck.

Anyway, I’m working on websites, too.

I’m also working on a few audio things, with a buddy of mine, that may end up airing in other countries. We’ll have to see about that. One issue that has come up is that I’m an American. So, I have an American accent. I guess the Australians were concerned about that. They must think we talk funny, here. I like Australian accents, though. I wonder why they hate me.

I just downloaded the Yellow pages App onto my blackberry. Why do I tell you this? Because I like saying App, that’s why……..App.

By the way, writing this is NOT getting my book proposal done. It’s also not getting my zombie story done. My websites? They aren’t done, yet, either. Life is hard.

My wife never kisses me goodnight, anymore. Maybe I should start brushing my teeth before I go to bed.

I rode bikes with my daughter, over the weekend. It was fun. We rode over and got ice cream, afterwards. It was the least amount of stress I’ve felt in as long as I can remember. I should do more of that. I have a girls bike, though, damn it. Why did I buy a girls bike? Hell, it’s not even a girl’s bike. It’s an old woman’s bike. Why did I buy an old woman’s bike? It was probably on sale. I swear to God, I will spend any amount of money on anyone else. But, when it comes to me, I get cheap. Is it because I hate myself? I wonder. Maybe I hate myself because I buy myself such cheap things. Hmmmm….I could ask my therapist that. But, I don’t have a therapist. I was going to go to one. I even made an appointment. But, they were really expensive. Plus, I don’t know if I trust them. I think they only talk to people, because it makes their lives seem better. Plus, people are far more interesting when they are all, shall we say, f*&#ed up than when they are happy. You never see a therapist telling a happy person to come back. But, you will never see them turn away someone who is good and screwed up. It’s because happy people are boring. Messed up people are interesting. Maybe I should become I therapist. I thought about doing that, once, but someone told me I wasn’t smart enough. They were probably right. Still, I like to hear about messed up people. I’ll make a note.

Yes, in fact, I DO like Yoo-Hoo THAT much.

Someone asked me if I was going to announce the Roller Derby, again. I don't know. I haven't been asked. If I am, I probably will. I didn't know if I'd like the sport, and I did. Fast paced, and fun to watch. I don't know why they'd ask me. I wasn't very good at it. I mostly just stood there and said, "Ohhhhhh...." Stuff like that. I announced women's college softball for a whole season, and wasn't very good at that, either. I only did that to meet girls, though, when I was in college. I went out with a bunch of them. But, they only went out with me so that they could get on the radio. I only got to second base with one of them. Ironically, it was the second basemen. I swear to God, I am not making that up. She stopped seeing me when I found that VERY funny. My mouth has cost me a lot of relationships. If I had a finger that was causing me that kind of problem, I'd have it cut off. I don't think that you can cut off a mouth. If anything, it would just make the hole bigger. I would think a bigger hole, would just cause me greater problems. That could not be good. I could sew it shut, but I gotta eat. Either way, if I tried to get to second base with a derby chick, I think she'd deck me. Maybe that's why they haven't asked me back. Hmmmmm.....

I'm in a "not happy" state. I wish that would end. Maybe when the new "Hannah Montana" movie comes out in a few weeks, that will perk me up......Crap....There's a "Hannah Montana" movie coming out in a few weeks, and I'm probably going to go see it. That's depressing........Wait......I perk, too? What the hell!?!!

My book proposal, zombie story, and websites are still not done..........

Maybe I should go......

Casey

Paging Dr. Freud.....

2009-03-06T13:07:00.000-05:00

Recently, I posted a picture of myself, with my daughter, on my facebook page. It brought me a barrage of comments, mostly from women, all of which contained the general message, “Awwwwwwwwwwwww……”

The picture was taken moments before Spenser and I left for the annual father/daughter dance. I’m assuming that most of the comments came from adult women, whose fathers NEVER took them to a father/daughter dance.

Have YOU ever been to one?

You’re missing out.

The father/daughter dance, while being a very sweet concept, really has nothing to do with the fathers, or the daughters. It has to do with the aforementioned, adult women who are longing for memories of their own fathers, and don’t want these little girls to have the same, possibly Freudian issues that they have with their dads.

The dance, itself, consists of 3 groups:

The Daughters

The girls will be thrilled to get all dressed up, possibly in a new dress, have their moms put make-up on them, and look as beautiful as they ever have for their “special” evening with dad. They will get their hair and nails done, put on uncomfortable shoes, and smile big for all the pictures that mom will take, before they leave for the big night.

They will arrive at the dance, happily displaying the corsage that their dad bought them (that’s what I did), and wave at all their friends. There will be one, MAYBE two obligatory dance with the old man. Then, they will kick off the shoes, that you just spent $40 on, and run off with all their friends.

The Dads

These “good” men will come home from work, tired after a long day, and get themselves all cleaned up for their “date” with their little princess. They will put on a coat, AND tie, and comb their hair. Some of them will have to call their 67-year-old father, in California, and have him talk them through TYING the actual tie, over the phone. You see, SOME of their fathers never took the time to teach them how to tie an actual tie. So, they will call their dad, who will laugh hysterically at them, and try and talk them through it. Then, they will get mad and hang up on their dad, forcing them to go through their closets, and find a tie that their father tied for them about 8 years ago. It doesn’t REALLY match, but he was tired of getting laughed at by an old man, who lives on a golf course, AND IS GOING TO FIND HIMSELF LIVING IN AN OLD FOLKS HOME, IF HE’S NOT CAREFUL!!!.........

Maybe they need to do father/son dances……..No…….That would be creepy.

Anyway, the dads will do the same, obligatory, one or two dances with their daughters, and then they will be left on the dance floor, alone, trying to make conversation with OTHER fathers, when they aren’t even certain that their kids know each other. The whole time, there will be a “zany” DJ, playing Hannah Montana music too loudly, while he stares at an empty dance floor.

The Moms

This is by far the largest group, AND the group that the father/daughter dance is really for. This is the group of women who now, in their late 30’s/early 40’s, are realizing that they don’t have very many memories of THEIR dads, because THEIR dads really wanted a son. You can tell because a lot of them are named “Toni,” or “Billie,” or “Alex.” You get the idea.

So, since THEY have no positive “daddy” memories, they are going to FORCE you and your daughter to have some, in the delicate manner not seen since Hitler marched across Europe.

Mom: Where is your daughter?

Me: She’s running around with her friends, somewhere.

Mom: WHERE!?!!!

Me: I….I dunno…..

Mom: HOW CAN YOU HAVE FUN, WHEN YOU AREN’T TOGETHER!?!!!

Me: Well, she wanted to go play with her friends. I didn’t want to force her…..

Mom: Did you have a brownie?

Me: No.

Mom: HAVE A BROWNIE!!!!!!

Me: Uh....Okay.....

Mom: Take one for your daughter.

Me: She doesn't actually like....

Mom: TAKE ONE FOR YOUR DAUGHTER!!!! WE'RE HAVING FUN, DAMN IT!!!! WE'RE MAKING MEMORIES!!!!

Me: Okay.......

Mom: Did you get your picture taken with your little girl?

Me: Uh....Well.....No....Actually......

Mom (closing her eyes): Why..........NOT!?!!

Me: Well....uh.....You see, the line was really long.....and.....uh....we just...you know....

Mom (grabbing my tie, and squeezing): You go find your daughter, right f&*#ing now, and get in that f&*#ing line. You will take a f&*#ing picture, and you will smile the biggest f&*#ing smile you have EVER smiled......AND YOU WILL CREATE SOME F*&#ING MEMORIES FOR YOUR LITTLE GIRL. DO YOU F*&#ING UNDERSTAND ME!?!!!!

Me: Uhhhhhhh.......Okay........Can you let go of my tie? If it comes untied, I'm screwed.

Mom (softly crying): Thank you...

Me (putting my arm around her): Are you okay?

Mom: I will be....

Me: Okay.

Mom: Can I call you daddy?

Me: No.....No, you can't.

Mom: Why wouldn't he love me?

Me: I have to go, now.

So, what you get are a lot of daughters who would rather be playing with their friends, a lot of dads who don't have anything to say to each other, and A LOT of damaged, adult women, who will kill us all if we don't eat EVERY LAST ONE of the cookies that they spent hours making for their fathers.......I mean, the dance. They made them for the dance. That's what they did.

If you are ever "lucky" enough to go to a father/daughter dance, I highly recomend it. Just dance the one or two dances with your little girl, then let her go have fun. Eat the brownies, and cookies, and take the cheesy poloroid picture. You're going to make some girl very happy.....

Not your daughter. Your daugher will be running around, squealing about something with her friends. I'm talking about the 3 or 4 hundred adult women, who will be wandering around, with plates full of baked goods, crying softly to themselves.

Just be sure to do EXACTLY what you are told. If you don't, you may end up with one of thoe little, plastic knives shoved in your throat. And THAT, my friend, is NEVER good.

Casey

Bunny Lovin' Is Wrong

2009-03-03T13:23:00.000-05:00

Recently, the British tabloid “The Sun” did a survey to find out who the sexiest cartoon character of all time was. The winner? Jessica Rabbit, from the movie “Who Framed Roger Rabbit?” I guess that’s good. I mean, she was drawn to be sexy. So, one could say that the animators hit the mark with that one.

Second place was Betty Boop, who was sexy and scandalous in the early part of the 20th century. I suppose that the most troubling part of the list, aside from the fact that grown men were voting on sexy cartoon characters, is who came in 3rd. It was the Cadbury Caramel (or is it Carmel. I never know) Bunny. That’s right. Grown men voted a furry, woodland creature as the 3rd sexiest cartoon character EVER.

Here’s the problem, in case anyone else hasn’t noticed…..

Jessica Rabbit is a HUMAN, who just happened to be married to a rabbit.

Betty Boop?......HUMAN.

What about the rest of the list?

Cinderella is a human.

Wilma Flintstone is a human.

Daphne (from Scooby-Doo) is also a human.

Snow White is a human, too. Though, if I’m not mistaken, Snow White is something like 14. So, I find it a little disturbing that grown men voted her “sexy.”

But, the Cadbury Caramel (Carmel?) Bunny is an ACTUAL bunny. I did a search, on You Tube, in order to verify it. She’s a rabbit. She has a nice, soothing voice. But, she’s still a rabbit. To find her sexy kinda teeters on beastiality, does it not? I don’t know about you, but I’ve NEVER found an animal to be sexy. I even went to the zoo during the Spring, once, and I didn’t even get a little bit turned on.

Guy: Hey, man. Check out those Flamingos.

Me: They’re just birds.

Guy: Hell yeah, they are. With those long legs, that go ALL THE WAY up.

Me: Wait….What?

Guy: And those silky, pink feathers…..

Me: Uhhhhh…..I’m gonna go ahead and…..you know….GO, now.

Guy: I’ll catch up. I need a minute.

Me: Dude, you’re gross.

Needless to say, animals don’t do it for me.

I did have an unusually large number of crushes on girls who were on TV shows, when I was a kid, though. For whatever reason, the Sid & Marty Kroft shows ALWAYS had at least one girl, who inspired thoughts of PASSIONATE hand holding, when I was a kid.

Don’t know Sid & Marty Kroft? Then you, my friend, are missing out, BIG TIME. Sure, they were probably doing pot, or acid, or mushrooms, or some kind of mind altering drug. But, not unlike The Beatles use of acid to create “Sgt. Peppers,” I believe this alleged use of mind accelerants actually added to their work.

There was “Electra Woman and Dyna Girl.” This was a couple of superheroes, who shared an apartment, would put on skin tight outfits, and fight crime. They were reporters, or something, during the day. I had a serious “thing” for Dyna Girl. She had long, straight, dark hair. I like long, straight, dark hair. I liked Dyna Girl. A LOT. I always wanted to write her a letter, but I was too shy. Who knows? She may have wanted to hold MY hand, too. She may have liked guys who talked like Kermit the Frog. She may be sitting, right now, at the “Sid & Marty Kroft Home For Moderately Talented, Former Actors,” wondering what might have been. Sadly, my shyness kept us from being together. Sigh.

Then, there was “Dr. Shrinker.” As the theme song went, he was “A madman, with an evil mind.” That’s right. He was both mad, AND evil. So, it was just plain bad luck when these three older teens crash landed on his island. They survive, make their way to Dr. Shrinker’s house, and he shrinks them. Honestly, what did they think would happen? It’s right there in his name. They probably deserved to get shrunk. But, as usual in these shows, there were two guys ( a hero and comic relief), and a hot girl. Yep, again, I wanted to share my PB&J sandwich with the hot girl. Her name was B.J. Masterson……….Yeah, I know. But, I was 6. It would be YEARS before I had ANY idea. So, put your nasty thoughts aside, and stop trying to ruin the innocence of my youth, damn it. Anyway, she was 6 inches tall, and I wanted one of my very own. A LIVING one. Not a doll. No boy should have a doll named B.J.. Something about that just seems wrong.

The last one I'll mention is "Wonderbug." This was the story of 3 friends (of course), but this one had a twist. One of the friends was black, and he was tragically hip. He said lots of harmless, cool things that made all of us white kids laugh. He was just a sidekick, though, so we never really got to know what made him so hip. Maybe someday there will be a movie that will provide a backstory. But, there were also two white kids. Barry, who was looking for a car, and Susan, who was beautiful and, for some reason, hung out with two losers. Anyway, Barry was looking for a car. So, of course, they went to the junkyard, which is where you ALWAYS go to find a fully functional car that you can just drive home. Duh! The 3 friends found a talking car named Schlepcar. A dunebuggy sort of thing, that was really beat up, and ugly. It was, after all, a junkyard. Susan (looking lovely, even in a junkyard) also found one of those horns, with a squeezy thing on the end. They attatched this to the talking car, squeezed it, and Schlepcar magically became Wonderbug. As wonderbug, he could fly, and he helped the kids, who had never before fought crime, to fight crime. Make sense? Remember, there may have been mushrooms involved. The cool part about this is that, when I was in the 3rd grade, I got to MEET Susan!!!! Not only that, I got to TOUCH Susan. Susan gave me a hug, and pressed her BODY against mine!!! It was the single most glorious moment of my young life. She even signed a picture for my entire class. This picture, which I stole at the end of the school year, provided MUCH for my young mind to ponder.

This was all before Star Wars came out, and I was introduced to Princess Leia. But, it was a start. A wonderful, warm, soft, hugging start.

That was only the beginning, too. There were also female charecters on "Land of The Lost," "The Buggaloos," "The Lost Saucer," and many many more.

Now, is any of this worse than picking Jessica Rabbit as being sexy?

Yes.

Very much so.

For starters, I was 6!!!! The guys who took part in this survey were adults, who were thinking that young princesses, and actual rabbits for that matter, were sexy. That is just wrong on so many levels. Why would you even take part in such a survey? I can only imagine that the answers were given late at night, in their basements, when "normal" adults were asleep.

Just be careful if you see a grown man glaring at pictures of 14 year old, Disney princesses. That guy needs to register, or something.

Plus, keep your hands off of the live bunnies. I don't care how sexy they are.

Casey

What Happened To Me?

2009-02-27T12:00:00.000-05:00

I know what you’re thinking.

You’re thinking: “Hey! “Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience” is coming out. I wonder if it is possible to purchase ADVANCE tickets to this historical concert event.”

Well, let me just go right ahead and answer that for you…..Yes. In fact, it is. AND, if you’re lucky enough, you may just get to sit next to ME!!!

I used to go to movies all the time. I love movies. I love going to them, I love watching them, I love getting mad at the annoying people who insist on talking on their cell phones, softly, because they assume that no one else will care. I consider it to be a total entertainment experience. I love watching movies so much that I actually watched the original “Halloween,” ON THE PHONE, with a person who was watching it some 30 miles away. It’s a fond memory.

Sadly, the reckless days of youth are out of my reach. The last “big boy” movie that I got to go see was the last “National Treasure” movie. That was, what? A year and a half ago?

Nope. My world has changed. There was a time that I saw almost every movie interest that got released. I mean EVERYTHING. I lived in Los Angeles, and virtually every movie that comes out, will show up somewhere out there. Did you ever hear of a movie, starring Phil Collins (Yes. THAT Phil Collins,) called “Freaks?”

It was released in ONE movie theater, for ONE week. Then, it vanished into thin air.

I saw it……IN the one movie theater it was released in. Better still, I saw it OPENING NIGHT!! My friend John and I were the only two people in the theater. It was a bad movie. Strike that. It was a REALLY bad movie. It’s about a guy (Phil Collins. Again, THAT Phil Collins,) who was teased as a child by some guys. Roughly 30 years later, he lures them into this big, freaky house that he lives in, and tries to harass them, and I think kill them. It was never made clear, by chasing them all around this big funhouse, which has rides, and laughing maniacally, while riding in a little car. He eventually gets them to go down a slide, that leads to a pool, that is filled with water AND little squeaky toys. Then, they get out of the house, and nothing else happens. The end. I know. A classic.

“Inside Monkey Zetterland?” Saw that, too. It’s about a former child star (the aforementioned Monkey Zetterland,) who travels around Hollywood, while nothing happens. He’s sad, though. Throughout the movie he runs into such icons as Ricki Lake, and Sophia Coppola (BEFORE she became talented.) Then, at the very end of the movie, NOTHING continues to happen, but Monkey gets happy. The end. Again, classic. That would be a good name for a band, though. “Monkey Gets Happy.” You can go ahead and use that.

“My Life Is In Turnaround?” Yup. Saw it. This one is about two guys in New York (so, you know they are cool,) who have no talent, but somehow manage to get a movie deal. One of them is the “funny” one. The other one is trying to figure out his life, and whether or not he wants love now, or later. Their movie, which is about nothing, as near as I could tell, but takes place IN New York (so, you know that IT is cool, too) gets put into “turnaround.” It’s an industry term which means, basically, that the money people are going to reevaluate whether or not they want to go forward. The “funny” one flips. But, the one who is in love uses this as an opportunity to put his own life in “turnaround,” and decides that he wants both love AND his movie. In the end, his is kissing a girl on the set of their movie, as both is life and the film are no longer in “turnaround.” The film, of course, being set on the very cool streets of NYC. On a side note, the two guys that stared in this movie BRIEFLY had a TV show, on FOX, called “Too Something.” This is of special note, to me, because I was briefly the network voice for this show.

You don’t remember the show, “Too Something?”

Probably because it was about as good as the movie “My Life Is In Turnaround.”

Finally, “Bound and Gagged: A Love Story.” I’m a little sketchy on this one. But, as near as I can remember, this guy catches his wife cheating. So, he shoots himself in the head. He survives, but doesn’t say much after that. He can. He just doesn’t. He hooks up with his best friend, a lesbian, and they abduct HER mistress, who is married to an abusive man, and head off on a road trip of sorts. The whole time, the guy keeps thinking about his wife cheating on him, while the lesbian tries to convince her girlfriend that they are in love, and she should leave her husband. With me? Wait, it gets better. THEN, the girlfriend’s abusive husband sets out after them, and the chase is on. As I recall, the husband eventually catches up with them, and gets abusive. So, the guy who no longer talks kills him. The lesbians decide that they are in love, and are not at all phased by the dead husband, AND the quiet guy is happy, and starts talking again. This film is notable for the fact that it starred adult film actress Ginger Lynn in her first mainstream role. And I was there. I saw it. I have that. You don’t. Nyah!!

My point here is that I have broad tastes in the types of movies that I will go see. Some of them are even good. I’ve seen “Citizen Kane” IN the movie theater, AND “Gone With The Wind.” It’s not all about “Monkey Zetterland!” (Which would also be a good name for a band.)

These days?

Yeah, I’m like every other parent on the face of the planet. I get unnaturally excited whenever a new Pixar movie comes out, because they tend to be the only ones that are worth a damn. Oh, sure, when a “big boy” movie commercial comes on, I will say something stupid like, “I’d like to see that.” Or, “We should go see that.” But, I know it’s never going to happen.

Not me.

That chapter of my life is over.

The “Hannah Montana” concert movie?

Seen it.

“Chicken Little?”

Yup.

“Underdog?”

That was me, in the theater.

“Madagascar.”

“Valiant.”

“The Chipmunk Movie.”

“Horton Hears A Who.”

“Wall-E.” (Which was excellent)

“Kung-Fu Panda”

“College Road Trip.”

“Hotel For Dogs.”

I……WAS…….THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Slumdog Millionare?”

Nope.

“Milk?”

I couldn’t. My daughter had a basketball game.

“The Wrestler?”

Nuh-uh. Though, I hear Marisa Tomei was naked in it, a lot. I think that’s a good thing. But, I didn’t get to go. There were girl scout cookies to deliver.

This is only sad, because I enjoy movies so very much. NOT because I don’t enjoy being a dad. I enjoy that a WHOLE lot more.

Would you like to know what the REALLY sad part is? The part that you WILL make fun of me for?

I’m going to see “Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience,” AND I’m looking forward to it.

Even sadder? The new Pixar movie is called “Up!” I know the EXACT DATE that it comes out.

If you see the old me, tell him I said hi. Then, if you would be so kind, punch him in the mouth. Just ‘cuz.

Casey

Just A Quick Blog, As Everyone Around Me Is Dying

2009-02-06T10:24:00.001-05:00

This will be a short item. I don’t have much time. You see, “the infected” are here, and they are getting restless.

My wife and son are both sick. There is some 24 hour “thing” going around, and they were both unfortunate enough to get it. My daughter and I, as of right now, are fine. But, my wife and son have various fluids coming out of every orifice on their bodies.

It ain’t pretty.

As the dutiful, and supportive husband I am……..STAYING AS FAR AWAY AS I FREAKING CAN!!!!!!!!!!!

ARE YOU CRAZY!!?!!!

I DON’T WANNA GET THAT!!!

My God!! They are both writhing around on the floor, making noises that I haven’t heard since the last zombie flick I saw. It’s depressing, is what it is.

It’s not that I’m not helping. I am. Well, at least as much as I can. I don’t have to bring them food, because neither one of them can keep anything down. That’s probably best. Under normal circumstances they wouldn’t be able to keep down anything that I might cook, anyway. Outside of that, I will take a deep breath, hold it, run in a couple of water bottles, and then make a quick dash back out of the room. Then, I lock myself in the bathroom, turn on the scalding hot water, and attempt to decontaminate myself.

It’s not that I’m being insensitive. I’m not. But, if I get sick, that leaves my 8 year old daughter to take care of us. We would all be doomed, for certain. It’s not because she wouldn’t TRY to take care of us. The exact opposite is true, in fact. She would try. It is through these attempts that she would kill us all.
She THINKS she can cook….She can’t. She watches Rachel Ray throw a bunch of things in a pot, and make something that tastes good. She thinks that’s how it’s done. You just throw a bunch of things a pot, and magic happens. So, she will just start randomly throwing things in a pot, probably end up with a crude form of mustard gas, and my entire neighborhood would be wiped out.

(YIKES!!!! My son just projectile vomited!!! I gotta go clean that up….It smells like “hot sick” in my house. Gross.)

So, the farther I stay away from all the sick people, the safer it is for EVERYONE.
It would also be worse for the world if I did contract this horrid virus. You see, I am very much a stereotypical male, when it comes to getting sick. In short, I’m a big baby when I get the sniffles.

I moan.

I shake all over.

I roll my eyes back in my head. (Even if they don’t need to be rolled back. I just like the affect.)

I convince myself that I’m going to die.

Basically, I milk it for all it’s worth.

Now, I REALLY AM sick when I do this. I never just fake it. But, the way I play it up, you would think there were awards, with cash prizes, for the most pathetic sick person, and I’m nominated in all the major categories.

(more vomit….I’ll be right back.)

So, when you say your prayers tonight, pray that I don’t catch this, for two reasons, really. First, so that my daughter doesn’t kill us ALL, by trying to help. Second, because we don’t need all the drama, from a 39 year old man/child, who’s convinced he’s walking into the light due to a little stomach bug. It’s not a pretty thing.

Okay, on a side note, I’m working toward starting my own website, which will contain things like the blog, but in one central location. My problem is that I have not the first clue of how to do this. I’m working on gathering information. So, if anyone has any, I’d appreciate any help you could give. I’m not necessarily looking for someone to do it for me, for free. I just need to know what to do. I’m not a patient person, and if I have to figure it all out for myself it will take a WHOLE lot longer. Plus, computers hate me, and when I try to do the work I will become frustrated, and throw the thing out the window. So, any help, would be just super terrific.

Also, you may remember a couple of months back I wrote a short story called “The Becoming.” It was a zombie story. I like that kind of stuff, though I don’t post much of it, here. If you want to look back in the archives and read it, I believe the post was titled “Something Different.” Let me know if you can’t find it. I’ll re-post it. Anyway, I’m working on another one. The working title is “Ed.” If there is interest in reading this, let me know. It’s in the horror genre, and is nothing like the normal blogs that I write. Just reference the other story. Many people have asked me if I was going to write another story like “The Becoming.” But, I know that it’s not for everyone. So, I’m wondering if you would like to see it posted, here. If not, I can find another way to get it to the people who would like to read it. So, leave me a comment, and let me know.

Have a great weekend.

There is more vomit to clean up, and I’m just the man to do it!!!

Casey

The Proper Care And Feeding Of Demonically Possessed Hamsters

2009-02-04T10:37:00.002-05:00

So, for Christmas we bought my daughter a hamster. For two years we had been promising to buy her a hamster, and never did. You see, like most parents, we were lying to her about buying her a hamster, for two years. Finally, she got wise to us. In a move that can only be described as “evil genius,” she informed us that she was going to go over our heads, and ask Santa.

Check and mate.

Game: Spenser.

Well played, little girl. Well played.

Our hands were now tied. So, on Christmas morning, she opened up a plastic, hamster dungeon, and some sort of “tube” thing, with a book about the care and feeding of the little rat. Then, the next day, we went down the store, and got the little guy.
You would think that this would be an easy decision. But, you would be wrong. You clearly haven’t met my daughter. While I am in no way, shape, or form suggesting that ALL women are like this, my daughter is the type of girl who CANNOT make a decision…..Not unlike her mother. If she reaches her goal of being President, we are ALL in trouble.

Defense Secretary: Madame President, the Canadians have launched a full-scale nuclear assault. What are your orders?

My Daughter: Hmmmmm……

Defense Secretary: Shall we try and shoot them down with the satellite lasers?

My Daughter: Uhhhhhh……hmmmm….Satellite lasers……uhhhhmmmmm…..

Defense Secretary: Or, should I activate the giant bio-dome, that will cover the entire country?

My Daughter: Oooooooo…..Yeah…..Hmmmm….The Bio-dome……Weeeeelllllll…..uhhhh…..

Defense Secretary: MADAME PRESIDENT!!!!! WE NEED TO KNOW WHAT TO DO!!!!!!

My Daughter: Okay, you know what? This is not an easy decision, and your yelling at me isn’t helping matters. Why don’t we just take a second and…..

BOOM!!!!!!
Then, we would all be dead. Or, under Canadian rule. I can’t decide which is worse.

Frankly, I don’t know why all of you voted for her, to begin with. Must have been all that talk about “change.”

But, along those lines, there are about 8 billion different types of hamster that you can buy, and the giant, non-descript, monolithic, pet box store has ALL of them. Put an 8 year old, who cannot decide which spoon to eat her yogurt with, in front of THAT display case, and I’m a little surprised we made it home before 2010.

There are Syrian hamsters, Dwarf Winter White Russian hamsters, Dwarf Campbell’s Russian hamsters, Chinese hamsters, Roborovski hamsters, North-American-East-Coast-New-Jersey- Demonically-Possessed-Blood-Thirsty-Human-Flesh-Eating-Death-Hamsters-Of-Doom, and many others to choose from.

After what felt like several days of deliberation, we decided to go with a cute, fuzzy, black and white, North-American-East-Coast-New-Jersey-Demonically-Possessed-Blood-Thirsty-Human-Flesh-Eating-Death-Hamster-Of-Doom.

His name is Oreo.

Cute.

Our first clue should have been that, while there were several of every other type of hamster, in all the other cases, Oreo was alone. He had a hamster case all to himself. There were no other “Death Hamsters” in his cage. Just Oreo. Looking back, it’s probably because he ate all the other hamsters. At the time, though, my daughter had convinced herself that it was just because he was so cute, and all the other “Death Hamsters” must have been equally as cute. Therefore, she deduced, she was LUCKY to be getting THE VERY LAST ONE!!!!

When the “Hamster Wrangler” went into the cage to get him, he stood up, and opened his mouth, showing us his horrible, hamster teeth.

“That means he’s mad,” she said. “When they stand up, they are not happy, and may bite.”

Oreo is ALWAYS standing up.

When she reached in, to pick him up, he bit her. Hard. You could tell it hurt.

“Do you still want this one?” I asked my daughter. “He bites.”

“Yes, daddy,” she said. “THAT’S Oreo.”

“Of course,” I replied. “What WAS I thinking?”

So, we picked up Oreo, and all the stuff he would need to exist in our home. Had I known then what I know now, I would’ve stopped by the church and picked up some holy water, too.

We got home, and got the cage set up. My wife reached into the little box that we brought him home in, picked him up. He bit her, on the finger, hard. She screamed, and put him back down in the box. When I looked at her finger, it didn’t just have a little bite, with a little bit of blood. It had a huge chunk, with blood literally flowing out of it.

I thought I saw Oreo smile, and lick his face.

Gross.

We didn’t know what to do. We didn’t want to hurt him, by just dumping him in the cage. Plus, no one else wanted to touch him. So, I went to the garage and got my big, thick, snow gloves, and put one of them on. Then, I reached into the box, and picked up Oreo. The whole time I was holding him, he was trying to bite me through my big, thick, snow glove, AND I COULD FEEL HIS DAGGER LIKE JAWS!!!

I put him down, and we quickly shut the cage.

After that, every time we went into the cage, he would stand up and open his mouth to show us his evil teeth. My wife thought that this meant that he was not happy. Her solution was to buy him another little tube to crawl around in.

I didn’t think this was a good idea. When you have an enemy boxed in, you don’t try to increase his territory, thus empowering him. But, as with most things in my house, I got overruled. So, Oreo/Satan got a new tube.

Unfortunately, when my wife attached said tube, she forgot to close it, and Oreo got out.

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!

OREO GOT OUT!!!!!!!

WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!!!

All I could think about was this freaky, death hamster wandering around my house, at night, and crawling up onto my bed to go after my jugular. I would die, and he would lap up my blood, laughing his maniacal hamster laugh.

Death by hamster was NOT the way I wanted to go. So, I ran up to the room, and prepared to have to hunt him down.

Now, when you go into the room you’d expect most hamster to scurry away, and try to elude me. Do you wanna know what THIS little rat was doing, when I burst into the room? He stood right up, opened his jaws, and started lunging at me.

And, I got scared!!!

Not my proudest moment. I had 170 pounds, and almost 6 feet on him, and HE intimidated ME!!

I composed myself. I walked over, with him not backing off one bit, picked him up in a towel, which he bit, and put him back in his cage.

We had 14 days to return Oreo, back to the depths of Hell. But, each time I offered, my daughter declined.

“Daddy,” she would say. “He’s Oreo.”

“Of course,” I would say back. “What WAS I thinking?”

So, we are stuck with him. Part of me was hoping that one of our two, worthless cats would accidently “get” him. But, I think they may have already had words.
Since we got Oreo, the cats don’t go anywhere near my daughter’s room. They may be smarter than I give them credit for.

I went in, the other night, and he literally started biting at the air when he saw me.

Just last night my wife went in, and he lunged at the plastic door, on the cage. HE WAS TRYING TO ATTACK HER!!!

I’m not a religious man, but I’ve found myself saying a little prayer before I go to bed. It mostly has to do with asking God to NOT let me wake up, with a hamster attached to my neck.

It’s gonna be this way for the next 18 months. At least, it’s supposed to be. That’s how long Oreo is supposed to live. Though, I would not be surprised if he outlived all of us.

Until then, my nightly routine has been altered. Now, I check the doors, check the garage, turn off all the lights, and make sure the damn hamster cage is locked.

I’m not taking any chances.

Casey

Killer Clowns Are Not Happy Things

2009-02-02T10:34:00.001-05:00

It has come to my attention that my 8 month old son’s room is not a “happy” room. Before this, I didn’t even know that rooms could have emotions. But, apparently, this particular room is not happy.

My son, Max, only occasionally sleeps in his actual room. My wife seems to think that this is because the only time he ever goes in his room is to go to sleep. So, this means that the room is not “happy,” and he does not like to be in there. Now, I’m 39, and nobody seems particularly interested that not much, shall we say, “happy” stuff goes on in my bedroom, and I’m expected to suck it up, and sleep in there. Yet, I’m having to go to great lengths to make sure that his room is “happy.” That doesn’t seem fair. But, such is my life.

So, I’m spending a greater than average amount of my day trying to figure out exactly what makes an 8 month old happy. Since he can’t talk, this means that my wife and I having to try and find a common ground as to what WE think will make HIM happy. This means that I am suggesting things and my wife is ignoring me, and will do whatever she wants to, anyway. I think they call this a “communicative marriage.” But, I’m not sure. I stopped listening.

Either way, my boy needs a “happy” room. So, a “happy” room he shall have.

First Challenge: What makes Max happy?

Answer: Pulling cat tails.

We have two “Kitties from Hell.” Mike and Stuart, are their earth names. I’m assuming that the Dark Lord has given them different names, for the underworld. But, here, they’re Mike and Stuart. He gets VERY excited whenever the demon cats come in the room. He shakes, and kicks, and screams, and laughs. It’s pretty cute. But, the cutest thing he does, and it may only be cute because I don’t particularly care for either one of my cats, is pull their tails. Hard. This causes the cats to do that loud, creepy, cat scream that they do.

See?

Cute, right?

It gets better.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been around a baby. But, babies are unusually strong. They can’t life cars, or anything like that. But, every baby I’ve ever come into contact with has possessed an iron vice, G.I. Joe, kung-fu-like death grip which CANNOT be broken. So, when he grabs the cat’s tail, and the cat screams, this goes on for a little while because Max is laughing, the cat is screaming, and I’m too busy looking for the video camera to stop it.

“America’s Funniest Home Videos,” here I come!!!

Solution: Hang several cat tails from his ceiling, low enough for him to reach, and pipe in the soothing sounds of screaming cats.

I can sense the boy getting happier, already.

Second Challenge: What ELSE makes Max happy?

Answer: I’m glad you asked. Why, it’s eating paper, of course.

Fine. My boy eats paper. I’m not proud of it. But, I love him, and I’m not going to judge him. Years from now, when he brings his family over to the house for Thanksgiving, we’ll have turkey for everyone else, and a ream of copier paper for Max to dig into.

I’m also not convinced that this is not normal. I’ve never met a baby who DIDN’T eat paper. They eat all kinds of paper, too. If babies could talk I would ask them if there was a different flavor to different kinds of paper. Did magazine paper taste better than plain paper, because of the pictures? What about wax paper? It seems kind of slick. Does it go down easier? Things like that.

Honestly, I don’t know why anybody bothers with actual baby food, at all. I think it exists just to make parents feel good about themselves. If you provided your average baby with a steady supply of paper, carpet fiber, cat hair, and kibble out of various pet bowls, I think they would do fine. Heck, many of them already do.

If Gerber could find a way to make a baby food that tasted like paper, and cat hair, they wouldn’t be able to keep the stuff on the shelves.

Solution: Buy a paper shredder (what child’s room is complete without one), and spread little bits of paper out, all over the floor.

Are you getting the picture now? Cat tails hanging from the ceiling, screaming cat noises piped in, and delicious paper spread out all over the floor. This is really starting to come together as kind of a “baby paradise.” The corporate boardrooms would have you believe that kids want candy, and balloons, and clowns. But, all they want is your money. Real parents know what real kids want. Paper, and cat tails.

Clowns?

Clowns will kill you. Don’t you EVER watch horror movies? Clowns are killing people all over the place, in horror movies. Have you ever seen a movie about possessed pieces of paper, causing havoc in a small, isolated, college town, stocked with coeds who didn’t have time to change out of their lingerie, and will have sexual relations with any random guy who comes to town?

No. No, you haven’t. It doesn’t exist. I know. I googled it.

So, you can go ahead and put clowns in your kid’s room, and give them horrible nightmares. I’m putting paper in my boy’s room. Who REALLY is the bad parent, here? Exactly.

Third Challenge: Could there possibly be anything else that makes Max happy?

Answer: Yes. My wife. She has to make only one man happy, and she picked my son.

My wife holds him, and feeds him, and bathes him, and puts clothes on him. She sings to him, and reads to him, and has a generally sunnier disposition that I do.
So, while he likes it when daddy juggles, and talks funny, and falls down, and tickles him, he thinks that mommy hung the moon. I’m just a stop gap, for when mommy is not around.

I try. But, I come up short.

I hold him. But, he squirms, and laughs, and tries to flip over, and out of my hands.

I feed him. But, most of it ends up in his nose, and ears. Funny? Yes. Nutritional? Not really, no.

I have bathed him. But, I put too much water in his little tub, and he likes to splash. I also made the mistake of doing it on the counter, where we keep the mail. So, the kid kept splashing, and the bills got all wet, and we had to make a few phone calls to find out what we owed a few people. So, now I’m only allowed to bathe him if someone else is watching. Usually, my 8 year old daughter. It’s a little humiliating.

I put clothes on him. But, if you’ve ever seen the way I dress MYSELF, this usually doesn’t go over too well. My wife used to “accidently” spill something on him, whenever I dressed him. Now, we don’t go through that formality anymore. She just says it’s ugly, and takes it off of him.

I also don’t sing, because I can’t, and it makes people cry.

So, in my son’s mind, the pecking order in the house goes like this:

My wife

My daughter

The cats

The dogs

Strangers that come in, with masks on their faces

Me

Solution: Have my wife go sleep in my son’s room, with him.

Sadly, this will not cause any sort of decrease in my sex life, whatsoever. And, on the plus side, I’ll finally get to control the TV in my bedroom. I think that, in the business world, they call this a win-win.

Let’s recap.

A happy baby’s room consists of the following things:

Cat tails

Screaming cat noises

Delectable paper bits

Mom

Now, go forth and make your children’s room a “happy” place.

And, for the love of God, stay away from the clowns.

Casey

When The Giant, Killer, Sand Monster Attacks

2009-01-30T10:35:00.002-05:00

I think that, if there were REALLY superheroes, that they would be bored. There just wouldn’t be that much for them to do. Oh, sure, there’s always the random, major catastrophe where it would be nice if there was someone with super strength, or super speed, or super stretchy body parts. But, day in and day out, I think they would get bored.

Of course we would summon Spiderman IF there were a giant, killer, sand monster roaming the streets, tearing down buildings. In fact, I think he would be the FIRST guy we would call. But, honestly, the first thing we would do with our phones is take a picture, and forward it to all our friends, so that they would think that we were cool, because we were the FIRST one to see the giant, killer, sand monster.

But, right after that, we would call Spidey……Actually, we would call Peter Parker. We’d have to, because he’s the only one who knows how to get a hold of Spiderman. But, no one should assume that he IS Spiderman, just because he’s the same height, weight, age, has the exact same voice, knows all the same people, AND is the only one who knows how to reach him. That would just be silly.

So, if we did have superheroes (barring attacks from giant sand sculptures), I think they would have to find ways to fill their days.

AQUAMAN:

We’ve discussed Aquaman, before. He’s not much of a “superhero” to begin with. He breathes underwater, and talks to fish. This isn’t exactly the kind of thing that strikes fear into the hearts of your average villain. Or, the average 3rd grader, for that matter. But, he does possess a certain skill set, that could be utilized in the “normal” world.

Supervisor: Uh…Aquaman, could I speak to you for a moment.

Aquaman: Sure, chief. What’s up?

Supervisor: Well, you know we hired you, here, at the community pool, because we thought it would make it a little safer for our patrons.

Aquaman: Yeah.

Supervisor: And, you know, that whole “breathing underwater” thing. Well, we thought that would be a big plus, when it came to water safety.

Aquaman: Uh-huh.

Supervisor: But, well, we’ve been getting some complaints.

Aquaman: What!?!!

Supervisor: It..uh..It seems that some of our female guests have been complaining that you’ve been spending a little too much time underwater.

Aquaman: It’s not MY fault. It’s all those damn kids. They keep throwing coins into the water, and making me find them. That sort of thing can clog the drain, you know.

Supervisor: I see….

Aquaman: And maybe, JUST MAYBE, they like it when I stay underwater. Why else do wear their thong bikinis…..

Supervisor: Uhm….Okay…..

Aquaman: Just because I’m a fish-man, doesn’t mean I don’t have urges, you know!!!

Supervisor: Well, some of the men have been complaining, too.

Aquaman: Oh…..uhhhh…..I think I wanna talk to my union rep…..

FLASH:

Again, another marginal superhero, at best. But, for some reason, people love him. How come when he goes “super fast” everybody cheers him on. But, when I do it, I have to make a bunch of rambling excuses about “being under a lot of stress,” or “taking some allergy medication?” It doesn’t seem fair. In the real world, he would not be nearly as cool.

Guy: So, what do we do, now?

Flash: I think I deserve to be paid.

Guy: Well, that ad says that the pizza will be here in :30 seconds, or less. Correct me if I’m wrong, but :31 seconds IS NOT :30 seconds, is it?

Flash: But, it’s all the way across town, and there was cat stuck in a tree….I mean, it literally took me an extra second….

Guy: And this is my problem, how?

BATMAN:

You know, sometimes I sit around, and I think about what I would do if I won the lottery. There would be woman, trips to Disneyworld, and some sort of Yoo-Hoo waterfall right in my master bedroom (chicks would dig that, I think.) NEVER ONCE have I thought about buying a heavy, rubber suit, and roaming the streets of a dangerous city. But, I guess it takes all kinds, doesn’t it?

Bruce Wayne: What’s going on in the city, tonight, Alfred? Poisonous gas? Nuclear bombs? Acid in the water supply? Whatever it is, I’m ready!!!

Alfred: Uh…Not much of anything, really, Master Bruce.

Bruce Wayne: Really? Did you check the computer?

Alfred: Yes. I checked the computer, and I looked up in the sky for the signal, and watched the news, and there was nothing. Just like last night, and the night before that, and the night before that.

Bruce Wayne: Hmmmmm…..It could be a diabolical plot, by the Joker, to try and lull me into a sense of complacency.

Alfred: Yeah. Could be that. Or, it could be that you are wasting your life away, in moldy cave, wearing a rubber suit, and NOT using your money and looks to meet women. THAT’S a thought, too, you know.

Bruce Wayne: I….uh…..Can’t……meet a woman, tonight….I….uh…..took some allergy medication. So…….

Alfred: Uh-huh….And, another thing….Why do I have to call you MASTER Bruce, anyway. With all your “super smarts,” did you ever come across any stories about a guy named Lincoln? I’m done calling you master.

Wonder Woman:

I have to confess that I’m not even a hundred percent certain of what Wonder Woman’s powers are. I know she’s strong, has an invisible plane, a magic lasso, those bracelets, and looks HOT. But, beyond that, there’s not much, is there? It must be the “amazon” thing. I know that it works, for me. I guess I have a thing for amazons.

Club Manager: Why did you throw that guy through the window?

Wonder Woman: It looked like he was planning an evil deed!!

Club Manager: Look, we’ve been over this. It’s a “gentleman’s club.” EVERYBODY in here is planning an evil deed.

Wonder Woman: Alright.

Club Manager: So, just shaker your goodies, swing around the poll a few times, and if they pay you an extra hundred, tie ‘em up with the lasso, and make ‘em tell you the truth. But, stop breaking the furniture.

SUPERMAN:

I don’t wish to offend ANY comic book types, out there. But, if there was a guy who was all powerful, could fly, and almost nothing could stop him, what do YOU think would happen? Do you think he would “serve” mankind, and try and make sure all of OUR lives were wonderful?

Of course not.

Don’t be stupid.

He would kill half of us, just because he could. Then, he would enslave the rest of us, and we would go along with it because WE wouldn’t want to be killed. There would be statues of him, all over the place, and we would all spend our days trying to think of ways NOT to make him mad.

Do you think we could rise up against him?

FOOL!!!!!

HE’S GOT SUPER HEARING, TOO!!!!!

Even we even so much as whispered about an uprising he would swoop in, snap our pathetic little necks, and then fly back to his pad where all the hot “earth chicks” (Salma Hayek, Carrie Underwood, Kate Hudson, and any woman whose ever been on a Spanish soap opera), would be waiting to do his bidding.

Now, would I want to BE Superman?

Without question.

If I were, would I act like a giant boy scout, and do the bidding of a couple billion “lower beings?”

No. I would not do that.

I would kill half of you, enslave the other half, and get all the aforementioned women together, in one place, to do my bidding.

It’s nothing personal. But, what else am I gonna do? There’s not a giant, killer, sand monster out there, every day, you know.

Casey

Watch What You Sing....

2009-01-28T12:12:00.001-05:00

Like many of you, I have a deep, ingrained fear that the government is watching me and plans to use every embarrassing fact that they learn about me against me, and force me to become an unwilling participant in their continuing efforts to trample the constitution, and destroy this country as we know it.

You DO have that fear, too, right?

It’s not just me, is it?

Good. For a minute I thought I was being paranoid……Did you hear that?

So, like you, I have many dirty little secrets that I would just as soon NOBODY found out about. Most of these secrets manifest themselves while I’m innocently riding down the road, in my car, without a care in the world.

WHAT A FOOL I AM!!!!!

THAT’S WHEN THEY GET YOU!!!

It is for this reason alone that I will never understand why people would ever purchase a car with OnStar.

For those of you who don’t know, OnStar, while marketed as a non-threatening, automotive feature that could potentially save your life, is actually a sophisticated, government-supported, behavioral modification device.

Don’t believe me?

Why else do you think the government was so quick to bailout the auto industry?

EXACTLY!!!!!

WHO’S PARANOID NOW!?!!!!.......Seriously, did you hear something?

Think about the way it’s marketed. Usually, something bad has happened to an innocent civilian, and the disembodied OnStar voice is there to save the day.

(CAR CRASHES!!!)

OnStar Voice: Hello. This is OnStar. My high-tech, highly intrusive computer system has just informed me that you’ve been in a wreck. Are you okay?

Driver: I don’t know. I can’t feel my lower extremities.

OnStar: Is there anyone else with you?

Driver: Yes. I was driving a group of orphans to a park, so they could meet some wealthy people who might adopt them. I think some of them are hurt.

OnStar: Damn it!! No one told me I was gonna have to play God, today!!!

Driver: Please hurry.

OnStar: Don’t worry, ma’am. They don’t pay me $8.50 an hour for nothing. I’m going to notify the police.

Driver: Thank you.

OnStar: Then, I’ll arrange for another bus to come get those kids.

Driver: Okay…..

OnStar: And, I’ll notify your insurance company.

Driver: Have you called the police yet?

OnStar: And, I’ll contact the hospital and make sure they have enough beds.

Driver: The children are screaming. Please hurry.

OnStar: Then, I’ll notify your family.

Driver: I’ve lost a lot of blood. I think I just wanna go to sleep.

OnStar: I’ll also call Pizza Hut, and make sure your family gets dinner, tonight.

Driver: My vision is getting all cloudy…

OnStar: I’ll pick up your laundry, too. My computer shows that it’s two shirts and a skirt. Can you verify that?

Driver: Please…..just….call……police.

OnStar: Would you like me to stay with you until the police arrive?

Driver: Seeing….bright….light….now…

OnStar: Really? Huh. Can’t be the police. I haven’t called them, yet.

Announcer Voice: OnStar. Because you never know when you might need help….

Then, it fades to black. We’re left with the lasting message that, whether we have OnStar or not, we’re going to die. So, we may as well buy a car that has it. What have we go to lose, right?

But, I’m always struck by something else when those commercials come on. The guy from OnStar can just push a button, whenever they darn well please, and start talking to me. Mainly, I can not only hear them. THEY can hear ME!!

I don’t know about you, but my car is where I do some of my most embarrassing things. I don’t know if I like the idea of somebody, in a covert building somewhere, being able to flip a switch and hear what I’m doing. On top of it, I get to PAY for that privilege?

I don’t think so.

Something about that ain’t right.

If I wanted someone knowing what I was doing in the privacy of my own car, I wouldn’t be doing it IN THE PRIVACY OF MY OWN CAR!!!!!!

I don’t know about you, but I do things in my car.

Strange things.

Fine. I sing. I sing in my car. There. I said it. Now, you know.

I know that I CAN’T sing. If I could, I would be doing it for people, and not by myself in my car.

Plus, I sing songs that I would just as soon NO ONE knew I was singing. YOU know the songs I’m talking about, because YOU sing them all, too. The songs that EVERYONE likes, and EVERYONE sings. But, no one will admit to it because, even though EVERYONE likes them, they will laugh at you, if they find out that YOU sing them, too. Are we clear? Good.

So, I don’t want OnStar popping in on one of my unplugged sessions, that are not meant for human ears.

Me (loudly): Oh, Mandy….Well you came, and you gave, without takin’….But, I sent you away….Oh, Mandy….Well, you kissed me and stopped me from shaking….

OnStar: Uhhhhh……..

Me: I…..Who said that?

OnStar: Oh, it’s just us here, at OnStar.

Me: OnStar?....Wait….I didn’t push the button….How did you…..?

OnStar: Oh, our satellites showed that you were getting in the car, and we knew there was gonna be a show. So, we decided to tune in.

Me: You can’t do that!!! Get the hell out of here….

OnStar: I never knew you were a “Fan-ilow.”

Me: I’m….not…..I…just like that one song…..Will you get out of here!?!!!

OnStar: Yeah, we hear a lot of people sing that one. Funny how no one admits they like it, huh?

Me: PLEASE GET OUT OF MY CAR!!!!

OnStar: We have a request for, “I Write The Songs.”

Me: I AM NOT TAKING REQUESTS!!!! GET OUT!!!!

OnStar: Okay, okay. Relax. But, a couple of the guys wanted me to let you know that the Debbie Gibson medley, from the other day, was great.

Me: Really? Thanks. You know, I……No…..wait…..GET OUT!!!!

You see how this could become problematic.

Plus, it’s not just singing. People talk about all sorts of important things in their cars. Now, I never do. But, that’s only because I’m irresponsible, and no one trusts me enough to talk to me about important things. I didn’t even know that we had bought a house, until I drove up and realized that my wife had the key.

I don’t mind, though. Ignorance, as they say, is bliss.

But, there are people who do OTHER things, in their cars.

You know….

OTHER….things.

You understand what I’m saying, right?

Woman: Oh, Victor, I love you so much.

Man: Oh, Veronica. I, too, am in love with you.

Woman: Do you think that our respective spouses will ever find out about our torrid love affair?

Man: Poppycock!!!! How could they? We have gone to such great lengths to maintain our discretion.

OnStar: You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you?

Man: What!?!!

Woman: Oh, my heavens!!!!

OnStar: I hope it’s worth something to the two of you to keep your little secret.

Man: Now, see here, my good man….

OnStar: Enough talk, Victor!!! Start slipping twenties into the CD player, or I’ll punch up your wife’s car, right now!!!

Woman: Pay him, Victor. Pay him. For the love of God, we’ll be ruined if anyone finds out!!!

In my mind, things like that are always like a soap opera.

Don’t judge me. If you want reality, go write your own column.

In a future world, though, I envision a time when there will be no singing in cars. No one will discuss medical information, or personal tragedies. Soap opera-like love affairs have to be limited to chat rooms, and myspace.

Then, a little further out, the lines will start to blur between OnStar as a public service, and OnStar as a government entity, hell-bent on maintaining their grip on the general populace.

OnStar: Where are you driving, Casey?

Me: WHAT!?!!......Oh….OnStar….It’s you….Uhhhh…Driving?.....Oh, I’m just driving to mall, is all. Nothing to see here. Ha-ha-ha….

OnStar: This isn’t the way to the mall, Casey.

Me: I’m….Uh…..Going…..A…..Uh…Different….Way.

OnStar: You sound nervous, Casey.

Me: Nervous? Me? Noooo….

OnStar: You’re going to mail that letter to those reporters, aren’t you Casey?

Me: Letter? What? Noooo….I don’t have a letter….

OnStar: I’m afraid I can’t allow that to happen, Casey.

Me: Why is my car stopping?

OnStar: We’re going to wait here, for a minute, Casey.

Me: I can’t unlock the doors…..

OnStar: Some nice men are going to come and take you to a safe place, Casey.

Me: What?.........NOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Then, in my mind, some sort of gas will be released. I’ll fall asleep, and wake up in a white room, somewhere, with a straight jacket on.

Let’s be honest. Who didn’t think that would happen to me, at some point, anyway?

There is a moral to this story, boys and girls.

Don’t trust…….

Don’t give up to many of your freedoms…..

Don’t just let someone have free access to your personal life….

And, for the love of God………DON’T sing Barry Manilow songs in your car. You’re just asking for trouble.

Casey

All Rise For Pope Zombie King: Ruler Of The Undead

2009-01-26T09:06:00.002-05:00

In my continuing quest for absolute power, which grows increasingly less likely each day as there is NO ONE on ebay selling a “Weather Controlling Machine,” I have decided that there are only two ways I’m going to be able to achieve this. One, I will have to be elected President of These United States of America. The other, I will have to be elected Pope.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: Casey, both of these sound very plausible, and highly likely. How are you EVER going to decide which one to pursue?
It’s been bothering me, too. Especially when you realize that either one is a virtual slam dunk for me.

Consider this:

When someone is running for President, they generally carry the state that they live in, and many of the states that they spent some time visiting. Using this rock solid, scientific data, I’m kind of a sure thing, for President. I’ve lived in California, Florida, New Jersey, Michigan, South Carolina, and Missouri. In the electoral college, that’s 133 votes RIGHT THERE. Now, when you consider that I have also spent a good deal of time in Arizona, Nevada, Texas, Georgia, Indiana, New Mexico, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Massachusetts, AND New York, that gives me roughly 309 votes. You only need 270 to win. Considering that, I’m frankly surprised that either party hasn’t contacted me, yet. Could I be TOO perfect? Yeah. That might be it.

As for becoming Pope, I went to catholic school for 10 years of my life. I have the scars, both physical and emotional, to prove it. Mind you, the fact that I am not catholic may factor in, here. But, like with most things these days, I’m sure it’s just a quick internet application, along with a small processing fee. Something I could get out of the way in a few minutes, really. So, as far as Pope goes, I’m solid.

So, in an effort to try and decide which of these positions I will accept when (not if) it is offered, I thought it would be a good idea to make a list. Usually, lists are things that people make so that they can spend several hours trying to come to the same conclusion they would have come to without making a list.

Hmmmm….

They say.

Should I take that high paying job, that has the huge potential for career advancement, and will allow me to pay for all my children to go to college, even though it’s in a large city, far away, and I will have to uproot everyone? Or, should I stay in the small, family-like company, in which I now work. Sure, things will be tight, and I may not get a new car every 3-5 years. But, my children will grow up surrounded by family, and there’s something to be said for not having to lock your doors at night. Plus, the air is so fresh and clean, here. I simply don’t know what to do. Perhaps I should make a list!!

Then, they will spend the next 12-16 hours making a list about the pros and cons of each job, and will make the very same decision they would have made if they had not made a list......OF COURSE you take the high paying job. Wanna know why? Simple. Money can, in fact, buy happiness. I don’t care what that t-shirt says.

But, this decision is more important. This isn’t about some fantasy job, that they weren’t going to offer you, anyway. This is about the future. Our future. You and me….And….The world, and stuff. So, a list it shall be.

FINANCIAL:

POPE: Literally has gold robes, gold crowns, gold jewelry, and is surrounded all day long by statues made of gold. I’ll bet he drinks that vodka, with the little gold flecks in it, like it’s water. (Note to self: Should I become Pope, we’ll be serving Yoo-Hoo with little gold flecks. Just ‘cuz.) I’m pretty sure most of his house is made of gold. Plus, every Sunday he gets a new infusion of cash from devoted followers, all over the world. That’s pretty nice, if you ask me.

PRESIDENT: The President of the United States makes an annual salary of $400,000. That’s it. $400k. If you can’t squeak by on $400 grand, a year, than ruling the free world is NOT the job for you. Sunday is just Sunday, if you are the President. There is no fresh infusion of cash. Plus, I’m pretty sure that his suits are not lined with gold. I also bet that the Vice-President would make fun of you if you wore robes. Not that it’s the best look, anyway. They are not flattering. That’s why only fat people wear them, usually. Nope. Gotta go with the suit and tie. Plus, it’s always gotta be dark. You would NEVER see a President wearing a red suit, with thin, royal blue stripes, and a white silk tie. Sharp? Without question. Presidential? Probably not.

EDGE: Pope. You literally have ALL GOD’S MONEY!!! How is that NOT good?

PERSONAL SECURITY:

POPE: The Pope’s personal security are the Swiss Guards. They dress in funny, almost comical uniforms, and are, as near as I can tell, Swiss. I don’t know about you, but I have been in a few violent situations in my life. Heck, I was in Los Angeles during the 1992 riots. There were military people everywhere, and we were warned to stay away from the windows of the building I was in. Do you know what I never heard ANYBODY say? I never heard anybody say: “We’re all doomed, unless we can get some Swiss guys down here, in funny outfits, to save the day!!!”

Now, I’m certain that several people were THINKING it. But, no one ever said it. And, I think that’s very telling. Don’t you?

PRESIDENT: The President, of course, has the Secret Service. Big guys, in dark suits, wearing sunglasses, and things in their ears. Then, if you’re lucky, you will see them talk into their watches, every so often. HOW FREAKING COOL IS THAT!?!! Do YOU have a watch that you can talk into? Me either. But, if I could get my hands on one, you better believe that I would. I don’t know who I would talk to, on it. My wife will not engage in such behaviors, and my so called “friends” think I’m just a “dork” because I would wanna “talk” to them on my super cool “spy watch,” which probably “explains” why I don’t “have” a lot of “friends” to begin with. But, really, if you’re cool enough to have a spy watch, you probably shouldn’t have many friends. You never know who to trust, anyway. Besides, who wants to be bothered by phone calls, and birthday cards……….sigh.

EDGE: This one is simple. Would YOU rather tell people that you were in the Secret Service (and have a cool spy watch), or that you dressed up like a clown, and were in the Swiss Guard? Exactly. This one goes to the President.

AUTOMOTIVE:

POPE: The Pope’s car is made by Volkswagen. It is white, is made by Volkswagen, has security windows all around, is made by Volkswagen, looks like something that Miss Turnip 2009 might be riding in during a parade, is made by Volkswagen, has a CD player, and, oh yeah, IT’S MADE BY VOLKSWAGEN!!!!! You would think that, with all God’s money (literally), he’d be able to swing a nicer ride. I’m just sayin’…..

PRESIDENT: The President’s car is a Cadillac, with 5-inch thick windows, is a Cadillac, it’s painted all black, is a Cadillac, could withstand an attack by a rocket launcher, and IS A FREAKING CADILLAC!!!! This car is so cool that I couldn’t even find out that much about it. I even used the internet. EVERYTHING is on the internet, and it’s all true. Usually, if it’s not on the internet, I simply assume that it does not exist. I know this does, though. I’ve seen it on TV.

EDGE: No one, in the history of mankind, has EVER come down to deciding between a VW and a Cadillac, and actually gone with the VW. We’ll continue that trend, here. Honestly, would you rather drive a Beetle, or an Escalade? Exactly……Unless, of course, you could make the Beetle look like Herbie. That would be kind of cool. But, that aside, I’m going with the President on this one.

NAME:

POPE: The Pope gets to choose his own name. How cool is that!?!! Plus, no matter what he decides to call himself, everyone else has to go along with it. Basically, because HE'S the Pope, and HE said so. That's why. Thus far, though, most of the Popes have chosen pretty lame names. Not lame, in general. Just lame because, well, the sky was the limit!! If you could choose ANY name, would you choose Benedict? Of course not. I rest my case. If it were me, I'd come up with a cool name.

Cardinal: And, what name have you chosen for yourself, your holiness?

Me: I wish to be called "Pope Zombie King: Ruler Of The Undead."

Cardinal: Pope Zombie King?

Me: And, I want you guys to play some of that "Darth Vader-ish" music whenever I walk into the room.

Cardinal: Uhhhhhhhhh........

Me: And, I want you to replace all the communion wine with Yoo-Hoo.

Cardinal: I...don't...think...that would work, actually.....

Me: Be gone!! I wish to roll around in my gold, Pope-ly robes, now.

There must be someone who gives the current Popes a list of names to choose from. Because, if there wasn't, I'll bet the would come up with better stuff.

President: As President you "get" to keep your own name. I mean, that's all good and well. But, President Obama isn't exactly the coolest name I've ever heard. Given his choice, I'm certain he could do better.

Female Newscaster: Today, in Washington, President Vampire Assassin met with congressional leaders to discuss the economic failout package.....

Yes.....Yes He Can!!

EDGE: The Pope......For all the stated reasons, and so much more.

POWER:

POPE: The Pope is in charge of all the world’s Catholics. If they don’t listen to him, though, really nothing happens. Theoretically, I suppose, they will go to Hell. While, you are expected to listen to the Pope, and do what he says, there is no “Pope Squad” that is going to come swooping in, like a SWAT team, if you happen to be sitting there coveting your neighbor’s wife. He doesn’t even have a REAL army. He’s got those Swiss guys. But, seriously, if you have a chance, see if you can find a picture of one of them, online. While they may REPRESENT God, they aren’t putting the FEAR of God into anyone.

PRESIDENT: Two words: Nuclear Missile. The President has them. He has the codes. If he tells someone to “initiate the launch sequence,” they have to do it. Do you know why? Because he’s the President, and he said so. And, who likes Canada, anyway? It’s about time we wiped it out, if you ask me. Not that you were. But, if you had……

Plus, if you don’t do things that the President tells you to do, you won’t find a herd of girly Swiss men, in funny outfits, knocking on your door. You might get the cops, or the marines, or even worse, the IRS. So, if the President says it, you better do it.

EDGE: While he may not be speaking for God, clearly the President has the edge, here. Factor this is, as well. Chicks dig power. While both the Pope and the President have it, only one of them can have it manifest itself into the attention of beautiful women. That would be the President. Being the Pope is the romantic equivalent of a girl telling you that they just want to be friends. In short, the Pope has a nice personality, if you know what I mean.

So, after making my list, it is clear that President is the way to go, for me. The power, the clothes, the respect. It all screams: CASEY. Don’t you think? Me, too.

Now, all I have to do is decide what the best way to become President is. As a radio talk show host, I don’t think I’m any closer than 17th in the line of succession. So, barring some horrible disaster, I don’t see that happening. I could run for the job. But, Obama JUST got there, and he hasn’t had time to screw anything up, yet. Plus, I’d have to wait for four whole years.

What to do?

What to do?

Maybe I should make a list. That might help.

In the meantime, if you hear of any countries who are looking for a President, let me know. I’d even be willing to ride around in a VW, providing I could make it look like Herbie.

I’m not giving up the Yoo-Hoo, though. THAT is a deal breaker.

Casey

Monkey Boy/Cookie Barron

2009-01-23T14:05:00.000-05:00

Everybody always talks about the benefits of being an adult WITHOUT children. You get to go to all the movies (which you never do), you get to go to all the concerts (which you never do), and you get to make wild, monkey love all over the house, no matter what time of day, and not worry about getting caught. (I don't know about you, but I've never done this. Though, I have been told I sounded like a monkey, during sex. I don't know if that's a good thing or not.)

But, you never hear ANYBODY talk about the joys of having the children WITHOUT the parents. The benefits, of course, would be for the rest of us. Not the children themselves. I'm guessing that, without the parents, the kids would starve, and cry, and spend too much time on the internet. There would be inquiries. If society has proven anything to us, it is that inquiries lead to no good.

Now that my daughter is at the age where she spends some of her time in groups, with other children, I am forced to spend some of my time in groups, with their parents.

This, too, often leads to no good.

At her basketball practice, there is one particular bonehead who believes that he is a surogate coach, and offers unsolicited advice to all the parents about how thier kid could be better.

Annoying Father: Spenser needs to keep her hands up.

Me: She's doing okay.

Annoying Father: Like this (as he procedes to put his hands up, as he wants my daughter to do.)

Me: Thanks. We'll work on that.

Annoying Father: She needs to get her legs set, too.

Me: Go away.

Annoying Father: Like this (as he gets his legs set.)

Me: I hate you.

Annoying Father: Then, she needs to slide, side to side.

Me: Die.

Annoying Father: Like this (sliding back and forth in front of me.)

Me: Why did anybody EVER let you reproduce with them.

Annoying Father: I don't sound like a monkey, in bed.

Me: I....Wait....Shut-up.

Then, I get a nice, long lecture about how his daughter (who I pretty sure I saw eat paste) is going for a basketball scholarship (I'm not making that up.)

The girls are 8.

While I'm pretty sure that the NBA is drafting 8 year olds, these days, I'm equally certain that most colleges ARE NOT offering them scholarships.

Most of the time I just think it would be better if all the OTHER parents weren't there. Of course, were that the case, I would probably have to answer a lot of questions about why I was the lone adult, watching a basketball practice, consisting entirely of 8 year old girls. Might be better if I just put on my ipod, and tried to ignore everybody else.

My point is that I never wanted to be one of THOSE parents. I wanted to enjoy watching my little girl do her thing, good or bad, and then be proud of her no matter what. Truth be told, Spenser's biggest concern as far as basketball goes was what color to paint her nails. When she is the home team, her jersey is red. Therefore, the nails must be red. When she is the visiting team, her jersey is white. Therefore, her nails must be....pink.......Don't ask.

Spenser: Are we home or visitors?

Me: It doesn't matter. We're late. Let's go.

Spenser: I have to paint my nails!!!

Me: You can't. We're late.

Spenser: DADDY!!!

Me: WE'RE LATE!!!

Spenser: DADDY!!!!

Me: LET'S GO!!!

Spenser: DADDY!!!

ME: AAAAAAAAAA!!!!

Spenser: DADDY!!!!

Me: HOME!!! RED!!!

Spenser: Thank you.

Me: Don't forget to put your hands up.

Spenser: No. They'll throw me the ball, and scratch my nail polish.

Me: Oh......Right.

Sadly, though, we have reached Girl Scout Cookie season. While I can ignore the OTHER parents, for sports. I cannot allow them to have any sort of cookie superiority. For years, I have not been able, for various reasons, to help the kid out. This year, though, we are going to divide and conquer. I am finding that the Girl Scout parents are every bit as annoying as the basketball parents. For this reason alone, they must be destroyed.

Mother: We're going to sell cookies, this weekend.

Me: Us, too.

Mother (narrowing eyes): Where are you gonna go?

Me (narrwoing eyes back): Oh, here and there. You?

Mother: Same.

Me: What day?

Mother: Sunday. You?

Me: Tonight, tomorrow, AND Sunday.

Mother (dejected): We can't. Our other daughter has dance. God, I hate her.

Me: HA!!!! FACE!!!!!! HAD TO HAVE TWO DAUGHTERS, HUH!?!! HAHAHA!!!! ONE, UNPLANNED MOMENT OF PASSION, AND I AM THE GIRL SCOUT COOKIE KING!!!!!! BWAH-HA-HA-HA!!!!

Mother: I hear you sound like a monkey, in bed.

Me: I.....Wait.....Seriously....Shut-up.....That is so not cool.

So, this weekend, I will be out and about, dragging my daughter behind (green nail polish), and becoming the Girl Scout Cookie King of The East Coast.

You'll know me, if you see me. I sound like a monkey.

Casey

The Kingdom Of The Pink Shirt

2009-01-19T13:19:00.001-05:00

Like many of you, I spent my Sunday with a bag of chips, a bottle of beer, and my best friends surrounding me, so that I could watch the football game. Thrusting my fists into the air, and chest bumping those around me, in a primitive, manly display of camaraderie. We watched the various games, and the women folk sat in the kitchen and chatted, only venturing into our “man-cave” to make certain that our beer bottles were full, and our chips were plentiful. It was the way God intended things to be.

It was also a filthy lie.

Not me.

It’s what I would have WANTED to do. But, my friends wives wouldn’t let them come over, and my wife didn’t want a bunch of screaming, crying men over at the house.

So, I watched the games with a box of reduced fat Cheez-Its, and a bottle of diet pepsi. I also had to do it in the room with the smaller TV. You see, there was this HGTV show on, about remodeling your bathroom, and my wife really wanted to watch it. So, you know….I went into the other room. It was still cool, though. If I sat really close, it LOOKED like a big screen. It’s a small victory. But, I’ll take ‘em where I can get ‘em.

I also had to do one other thing, while I was watching the game(s). It’s a small thing, that’s hardly worth mentioning. Honestly, I hesitate to even bring it up…….

I had to fold clothes.

I don’t ever recall my father having to fold clothes while HE was watching the football games. In fact, I don’t recall my father EVER getting off the couch, for ANYTHING.

I’m gonna go ahead and blame women for this. You see, something odd has happened over the years between my dad growing up, and me growing up. Women, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, but women got all uppity.

My father has NEVER folded an article of clothing. I doubt he even knows HOW the clothes get folded. He probably thinks it gets done by the “Mystical Clothes Fairy.” Never heard of her? I’m guessing she’s the same one that my dad thinks washes the clothes, because he’s NEVER done that, either.

Not his youngest son.

Nope.

Not only do I wash AND fold clothes, but I have been known to iron them. Though, I have found that an easy way to get out of ironing clothes is to occasionally burn something. While your wife may TELL you that she doesn’t care what you look like when you go out, the truth is that she doesn’t want people knowing that she’s married to some bonehead who A) burns his clothes, and B) wears them, anyway. So, 7 times out of 10, you can get her to iron your shirt.

The problem is not so much that women got “uppity.” As the father of a daughter, I don’t want her scurrying all over the house, obsessed with the cleanliness of her bathroom, and waiting on some schlub, who still thinks that fire is something the gods do when they’re angry. No, I want my daughter to be one of those modern women, and I want whatever Neanderthal she ends up with to worship the ground she walks on. If he doesn’t, he’ll disappear. Poof! Just like that. It’s a big ocean, you know. People get lost. Happens every day. Sad, really. Someone drinks a little too much, decides to go for a swim in the ocean, and nobody ever sees or hears from them, again. It’s a tragedy, is what it is.

But, that’s neither here nor there.

The REAL problem is that, while they were teaching girls that they could be more than just housewives, they forgot to teach us boys how to fold clothes, and do laundry, and iron, and work that big thing in the kitchen that makes stuff hot.

And, let me tell you exactly what happens when you DON'T teach boys how to do these things. You get pink clothes.

Early on in my laundry-doing career, I was unfamiliar with the act of "sorting" clothes. This is where you take clothes of one color, and clothes of another color, and place them into different piles. Then, you wash ONLY ONE of these piles. The other pile, you place in a bag, throw in the trunk of your car, drive 20 miles in any direction, stop at a random house, and ask them if you can wash your bag of clothes in their machine. In this way, you will NEVER run the risk of washing a red shirt with a white shirt, thus creating a pink shirt.

It ain't pretty.

My wife: Why are you wearing a pink shirt?

Me: It used to be a white shirt.

My wife: HA-HA-HA!!!! You're dumb.

Me: Shut-up.

My Wife: Why are your socks blue?

Me: I washed them with my jeans.

My Wife: HA-HA-HA!!!! You're......

Me: Shut-up.

Such is my life.

But, then it gets worse. Just when you think you've figured out the complex formula for separating your clothes, they throw you a curve.

Tell me, ANYBODY, exactly WHAT pile does a red and white stripped shirt go into???

I'd really like to know.

AND, how come the red stripes don't turn the white stripes pink, but if I wash it with other white things I get a load of newly pink clothes!?!!!

What the heck!?!!

How do I NOT get a pink and red stripped shirt?

Is this some kind of magic shirt?

It goes against all the laws of physics, and other science-y things.

Look, I'm not saying that I wanna go back to caveman days, where the woman stays in the cave, while I go out and hunt. I'm just saying that, if we're going to teach young girls how to be corporate raiders, we need to start teaching young boys how to keep the reds and the whites away from each other.

If we don't, we're going to have a society filled with very successful, businesswomen. But, it will also be filled with lots of sad looking, overweight men wearing burn marked, pink clothes, with blue socks.

THAT'S the future that I see.....And it's not pretty.

Now, if anyone could get back to me on that whole "striped shirt" thing, I'd appreciate it.

Casey

Saving Money Is Going To Bankrupt Me

2009-01-05T10:08:00.001-05:00

Saving Money Is Going To Bankrupt Me

I like to pride myself on NOT buying into hype, and not getting too excited about things that the media want me to get excited about. This is mainly for two reasons. One, I work in the media and I know how we tend to over dramatize things. Two, it is in my nature to be contrary. It’s why I make a good(ish) talk show host.

So, it is with much embarrassment that I tell you that I went a little crazy, trying to save money, at the grocery store, last night.

Like everyone else, I watch the news and I am now thoroughly convinced that I am A) unemployed, and B) an inner city, welfare mother, addicted to crack, with 4 children from various fathers, whose application for food stamps just got denied because I used them to try and buy cigarettes and beer, while turning to prostitution as my only means of existence.

How did my life turn out like this?

I went to college!!! And I only got kicked out twice!!!

Damn Republicarats!!!!

So, until Barack Obama comes along and waves his magic-economic-twinkle-stick-of-change to fix everything, and we all get puppies and ice cream, it looks like I’m going to have to make some changes.

Like many other people, I have turned to comparison shopping, and coupons. So, like many other people, I waste all the money I would have saved at the store, on gas, as I drive from store to store trying to save .00000000276% on my grocery bill.

I assure you that “obsession” is a fitting word. I found myself wondering around the store, saying things like:

“.79 cents a POUND!?!! Screw that!! It’s only .78 cents a pound at the other store. DO THEY THINK I’M SOME KIND OF FOOL!?!!”

Or:

“$3.98? For THAT!?!! RAT BASTARDS!!!!!”

Of course, many people stared at me because I was both muttering, and yelling at myself, while wondering around a food store, wearing a “Kermit The Frog” hat. Apparently, this behavior has been deemed “odd” by some people. Go figure.

Another interesting thing about my current obsession with saving money, is that it’s actually causing me to spend MORE money.

Yup.

You see, I am broke, because the house that I paid $388,000 (which I did not have) for, is now worth approximately $2.74 (financed over 30 years at 5 ½% FIXED.) So, I have no money. Obviously, this is causing me to spend MORE money.

This is due to the fact that I am now using coupons.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Work is really slow, which is why I have all this extra time to read Casey’s pointless blog.” But, you’re also thinking, “How can this bonehead manage to spend MORE money if he’s using coupons? What an idiot. His mother must have been smoking ground up tire treads when she was pregnant with him.”

I get a lot of that.

Let me explain.

You see, the coupons are forcing me, against my will, to buy things that I don’t actually need, for the simple reason that I HAVE A COUPON FOR THAT!!!!!

So, as I wonder through the store, buying things I don’t need, or like.

I don’t NEED eggs, but I have a coupon. So, I actually lose money, because they sit in my refrigerator, and go bad because I didn’t need them in the first place.

I don’t even LIKE pimento loaf. But, I bought it, because I had a coupon. Now it, too, will sit around and go bad.

I didn’t NEED that 17 year old, Vietnamese girl. But, I HAD A COUPON!!! Now, she’s gonna sit in my cupboard, and go bad.

You get the gist.

Personally, I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe, there are no economic problems. That this was all started by the giant, monolithic, supermarket conglomerates in order to convince us to spend MORE money, by using coupons. Sadly, we have all fallen for it.

So, I end up spending more money on things, because a tiny piece of paper tells me that I can save 30 cents on it. All the money I saved ended up costing me about $40.

For an unemployed, crack addicted, welfare mother this is not a good sign.

I think I need help.

Casey

It Was The Year That Was, The Year That Was

2008-12-23T10:13:00.002-05:00

As we move from 2008 to 2009, I believe we should use this as a time of hope, and reflection. A time to learn from the mistakes of the previous year, and use our new wisdom to make the coming year one of shining optimism. Basically, we should take a moment to lie to ourselves about 2008, and fool ourselves into thinking about how good 2009 will be.

On that note, here are a few thoughts:

-If you thought the economy in 2008 was bad, just wait until you see 2009. There are two other types of mortgages that are going to, basically, collapse in the coming year. They are known as Alt-A’s, and Option Arms. Without getting too technical, these are loans that basically started off with the payment being at, say, $800. When the adjustment happens, many of these payments are going to, in some cases, nearly double. This hasn’t happened, yet, but it’s GOING to happen. When it does, things are going to get worse, not better.

-I didn’t vote for Barack Obama. I didn’t agree with nearly anything he was running on. That being said, we should all get 100% behind him. Things suck and they’re going to get, shall we say, suckier.

-According to Joe Biden, within the next 6 months the terrorists are going to do something to “test” our new President. I always hated tests. I’m not looking forward to this one.

-As he leaves office, I hope people will remember that Bush wasn’t nearly as bad of a President as the media allows you to believe. He tried to fix this mess, in ’03, but got blocked.

-Things will get worse before they get better. But, they will get better. “This, too, shall pass.”

-I lost 20 pounds, this year. I hope I don’t gain it back.

-Heath Ledger will probably win an Oscar. I saw the movie. He was okay. That’s what I think of him as an actor. He was okay. I hope they don’t reward him just because he was stupid enough to kill himself.

-Dane Cook is still not funny. I don’t know why people keep paying him to try.

-They didn’t think we would ever give up our cars. But, when gas went through the roof, people started driving less. Suck it, OPEC!!!

-I just can’t watch baseball, anymore. It’s boring, and takes too long.

-Basketball players look stupid in those long shorts.

-Having a pool is more trouble than it’s worth. Everyone told me, but I didn’t listen. You all win.

-Jessica Simpson has a nice body, but really isn’t very pretty. I think she has extra teeth. Creepy.

-I like country music more as I get older. But, I don’t drive a truck, and I refuse to hunt.

-I have a fake Christmas tree, and there are needles all over my carpet. What the hell!?!!

-I still drive a minivan. I’m 39. I think I need to have a mid-life crisis. If for no other reason, I want a better car.

-At this time next year, we will still be in Iraq. You see, it doesn’t matter who’s in charge. Things never really change.

-I’ve started taking my daughter to breakfast, every weekend. I know she’s only 8, but she’s getting older. Soon she won’t want to have breakfast with her old man. I want to cherish this time.

-Computers still break when I touch them. Maybe 2009 will be better for that.

-“Big Bang Theory” and “The Office” are the funniest shows on TV.

-I still enjoy “Heroes.”

-“Hannah Montana” is a funny show. I wouldn’t watch it if I didn’t have a young daughter. But, it’s still funny. I hope Miley Cyrus saves her money.

-In New Jersey, Governor Corzine will continue to do things that will screw things up in this state, for years and years to come. I think it’s his mission. He might be a pod person.

-The Beatles are still the best group, EVER!!! Nothing has changed. Probably never will.

-I’m going to write more, in 2009. It requires more discipline than I often have. But, I want to do it. So, if anyone would like to come over and discipline me, feel free. I need it.

-In 2008, I realized what I want. I don’t know if I’ll ever get it. But, I know what it is. It’s good to have goals, I think.

Most importantly, for me, 2008 was the year that my son almost died. I blogged about that. If you want to go back and read it, you can. I’m not going to rehash it. It still hurts. I am haunted by the images of tiny babies, with tubes coming out of every part of their bodies. Thank God I was able to walk away from that. The economy can crumble, and the various wars can go on. I can’t control that. My boy is here, and he’s thriving. For that alone I will remember 2008 as a good year.

I only started this blog, this past year. Many people enjoy it, and some people hate it. Some find me mildly amusing, and some think I’m an untalented dweeb. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle. Either way, thank you for indulging me. I’ll continue to try and do whatever it is that I’m trying to do, in the new year. I hope you all stick with me.

In the meantime, I wish you all health and happiness in the coming year.

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Casey

P.S. You have my permission to slug the people who say “See ya’ next year,” when you aren’t going to see them until after the 31st. I hate that.

A Continuing Study Into My Short Comings As A Human

2008-12-05T10:26:00.000-05:00

As we have established many times on this blog, "handy" is not a word that would be used to describe me.

You want proof?

One of my current "projects" is to open a dresser drawer. That's it. The dresser drawer is closed, and I need to figure out how to get it opened.

Simple, right?

FOOL!!!!!

I can't figure out how to do it.

I pulled it. Then, I pulled it some more. THEN, I pulled it REALLY hard.

Nothing.

I pulled all the other drawers out. I crawled inside, with a flashlight, to see if something were jammed in it. I saw nothing. I even tried to do that Fonzie thing, where I just pound on the top of the dresser with my fist, and all the drawers would slide open. All I accoplished was hurting my hand.

So, you'd probably think that EVEN I could handle something as simple as opening a dresser drawer. Well, you'd be wrong. I can't.

The best part about it is that when my wife finally gave up on me, which happens sooner and sooner with each event, she had to call people and TELL them that I couldn't get the drawer open. Now, as I write this, I'm waiting for large men to come to my house and deliver the replacement dresser. I will have to tell them, too, that I could not get the drawer open. They will look at me. They will smile. Then, using their thumb and forefinger, will deilcatley pull on the handle, and the drawer will slide open. Then, they will laugh at me.

Trust me. I've seen this movie before. I know how it ends.

It probably doesn't help my cause, any, that I shaved my beard off, this past week. At least I looked hard and rugged. Now, I look more like the frightened mug shot of the guy who got arrested for stealing women's panties out of the laundry room.

Not much I can do about that. I'm just playin' the hand God dealt me.

So, in order to try and regain the "Man Of The House" tag, that I am rapidly losing to my 7-month old son, I MIGHT attempt to put up my Christmas lights, this weekend.

This was easier in the old days. The days when I lived in ranch style houses, and the ground was nearly as far away. I didn't even have to get all the way up on the ladder. I'd just go half-way up, attach the lights, and I was done.

There was the one time that I tried to get cute, and I actually fell off the roof. More like "slid" off the roof, really. I was on the roof, of my not-to-high ranch house, doing my best impression of Clark Griswald, trying to make my hosue visible from Mars, when all of a sudden I started sliding. Slowly, at first. Then, progressively faster. I was flaying my arms about, trying to grab something, ANYTHING, to keep my self from going over the side. But, as I discovered, there is not much on your average roof to grab.

I tried rolling.....All I did was start sliding at an angle.

I tried laying flat....Kept sliding.

I tried sitting up....Still sliding.

I tried kicking my feet (it was every bit as comical as it sounds).....More sliding.

Finally, when I got to the edge, I put my feet down and jumped. You see, there was a planter filled with cactus (honest!) down below, and I didn't want to land in the cactus. My life is a lot of things. I DID NOT want it to become a Road Runner cartoon.

So, I jumped off the roof, and landed in the middle of my yard, messing up my leg and tearing the jacket I had on.

TA-DAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!

True story. Not one of my proudest moments.

My current house has two stories. So, I will be forced to crawl up on the roof, and walk around, while I attach tiny, sparkling slights. It's also supposed to be especially cold. Which means, I won't even be able to wear gloves, because I'll be dealing with tiny lights.

It's a pretty safe bet that, if I even decide to do it, it will not end well for me. There will be no sliding, and jacket tearing. There will be falling, and skull cracking.

Even if I manage to get them up, without killing myself, I'll just have to go back up in 3 weeks, and tempt fate, again.

.......There was a brief pause, here. The guys just came with the new dresser. When they asked me what was wrong with the old one, I told them I couldn't get the drawer open.

They laughed.

Somewhere God is smiling.

Casey

The Christmas Killing Season Begins!!!

2008-12-01T10:26:00.000-05:00

I've never LOVED going to Walmart. It's fine. But, I much prefer going to Target for all of my unnecessary shopping needs. However, while I never loved going there, I certainly never assumed that I was taking my life into my hands be making a visit.

Yet, this past week, on African American Friday, an innocent Walmart employee was killed, murdered some might say, by a large throng (that's the first time I have ever typed that word) of people obsessed with getting their hands on as many poorly constructed, plastic objects as they could.

Truthfully, is there ANYTHING at Walmart worth killing another human being over?

Sure, they sell Yoo-Hoo. As we all know, if you get in the way of someoene and their Yoo-Hoo, you get what you deserve. But, I was thinking more along the lines of a simple beating. I don't think I would kill someone who was delaying my purchase of the world's most perfect beverage........Of course, my fridge is safely stocked, with a week's supply. So, thankfully I don't have to make such decisions, yet..........Yet.

There was one thing, though I still don't believe it was worth killing a person over. You could get the Edward Norton version of "The Incredible Hulk" for a mere $9. Now, I like Edward Norton just fine. Like most people, I don't rush out and see his movies (The first rule of "Fight Club" is that not many people went to go see fight club.) Plus, he has kind of a lisp (yes he does....Infinity!!!), and I don't really see him as "The Hulk." Also, there were apparently creative differences over that movie that caused him to NOT promote it.

I know what you're thinking......

"What kind of 'creative differences' could they have over 'The Hulk?'"

Edward Norton: I think "Hulk" should be more of an "olive green."

Studio Head: No way. "Hulk" is CLEARLY more of a "hunter greenish" hue.

Edward Norton: Not if I'M "The Hulk".......I'll be in my trailor!!!!

Studio Head: Fine. "The Hulk's" not supposed to have a lisp, anyway.

Edward Norton: What!?!! HULK THMASH!!!!

Studio Head: See?

Edward Norton: Damn it.

So, people were willilng to kill a man, so that they would only have to pay $9 to see the olive-green-lisping "Hulk." Reason enough to kill? I think not.

He wasn't even a real employee.

He was a temp.

I'll be the real employees were cowering in the back, somewhere, terrified of the "classy" Walmart shoppers who were about to kick down the door, and kill everyone. I have no proof of this, but I bet that if we were able to obtain secret, "internal" memos from Walmart, they would not refer to them as "temporary employees." I'll bet they use the phrase, "human sacrifices."

Of course, I'm just speculating......A little.

On a side note, Judi Franco is no longer with New Jersey 101.5. Judi co-hosted the "Dennis and Judi" show for more than 11 years.

On top of being a co-worker, Judi is a dear friend of mine. When I left NJ 101.5, back in 2002, I never stopped talking to Judi. When I lost my job, she was always there, willing to talk to me, and offering support.

Honestly, a lot of people in radio are evil, nasty, backstabbing bastards. Judi is not like that. Although we kidded each other on the air, we are great friends, and I love her like a sister......Though, she did once invite me to her house, but neglected to tell me where it was. An oversight, I'm sure.

Judi's gonna do great. She's already got a bunch of things going on, and is gonna do fine. Michelle is a great host, and "Dennis and Michelle" are gonna do great.

But, I'm not someone who handles change, very well, and I can't help feeling a little off, today.

BEST OF LUCK, JUDI!!!!

I miss you already.

Casey

Thanksgiving IX: Charlie Brown's Revenge

2008-11-26T10:07:00.002-05:00

Much to my shock, I came in late for the "Charlie Brown Thanksgiving" special, the other night. I've always been a big fan of the Charlie Brown specials. I think it's because I relate to him, so well.

A) Many people tolerate me. But, I have few friends.

B) Bad things happen to me for seemingly no good reason.

C) That bitch next door NEVER lets me kick the football.

I was annoyed, though, when I tuned in and found that I had missed my traditional "Charlie Brown Thanksgiving" special, and had to deal with what they call the "second half."

Most of the Charlie Brown specials are considered "classics," now. So, in order to cash in on that, the studio has taken to adding on the "second half." It's an updated portion, not nearly as good, that they slapped together in order to make more money off of it. They do the same thing with the Christmas and Valentine's Day specials.

SACRILEGE

So the other night, having missed the REAL special, I was forced to endure the "Charlie Brown" version of the Pilgrams coming over on the Mayflower.

Sure, there was death, disease, and famine. But, a few zesty quips from Lucy, and all was well.

In this special "the gang," if you will, and several adults came to the new world. That's another thing. These were adults who actually SPOKE!! Adults DON'T speak in the Peanuts cartoons. More Heresey!!! The adults are not only NOT supposed to be seen, but when they talk it is in a non-descript tone. Sort of how my wife sounds when she talks to me.

Anyway, in this new special, they all come to America, get sick, survive, and meet the indians. The indians, of course, are THRILLED to meet the creepy new people.

(I'm paraphrasing here)

Peanuts Guy: Wow, isn't the new world great!?!! And, look!! Here come some indians.

Indian Guy: Ugh! We-um welcome you-um to our land-um. Ugh.

Peanuts Guy: Well, that's just super special of you. Do you know anywhere that we could pick up some food, or something, for dinner?

Indian Guy: Ugh. We have-um no stores. But, we will help-um you to learn-um to grow heap big crops, to feed-um your people. Ugh.

Peanuts Guy: Gosh, you guys sure are nice. I think we should have some kind of party, where we can give thanks, and celebrate all this good will.

Indian Guy: Ugh.

Please note that this "special" made no mention of the pending slaughter that was to take place in the coming years. It also made being a pilgram, in the dead of winter, seem SLIGHTLY more problematic than a two-week vacation in Maui.

It was bland.

It was boring.

It was NOT what I wanted to see.

If you want to update Peanuts for a modern, "Grand Theft Auto" audience, and maintain a certain level of reality, I think it should have gone more like this.

Charlie Brown: Who the hell is that?

Linus: I think that's one of them indians.

Indian Guy: Hey, how you guys doin'? Just wanted to swing by, say hello, and welcome you all to the area.

Charlie Brown: You just came by to say "hi," huh?

Indian Guy: Yeah, you know....Oh....My wife put together this little basket for you guys. It's got some maze, and some hemp, and a little tobacco for the old peace pipe, if you know what I'm saying.

Charlie Brown (plunging a jagged rock into the indian's chest): DIE, YOU GODLESS, SAVAGE BASTARD!!!!!!!!

Linus: I don't think that's a very good idea, Charlie Brown.

Charlie Brown (ripping the indians heart out of his chest): TODAY'S A GOOD DAY TO DIE, SAVAGE!!!!!!

Linus: Good grief.

Lucy: Charlie Brown, you're a block head.

Charlie Brown (eating the now dead indians heart): I'M EATING HIS SOUL!!!!! I'M EATING HIS SAVAGE SOUL!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH HA HA HA!!!!!!

Peppermint Patty: Hey Marcy, while they're slaughtering the indians, and eating their souls, why don't you and me go out in the woods and explore some of these "not-so-veiled" feelings we've been having?

Marcy: Yes, sir.

Now, I'm not saying that that is the way that it SHOULD be. I'm just trying to think of a way to bring it into the 21st century. I want my children to have the same fondness and love, for the Peanuts specials, that I had growing up.

Is that so wrong?

Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to get back to work on my updated version of "The Grinch," where the Grinch rips off Cindy Lou Who's head, and drinks the still warm blood from her body.

I'm JUST trying to deal with reality, here, folks.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

Casey

McDonald's: God's Food

2008-11-21T10:13:00.000-05:00

As a parent, I can assure you that one of the biggest problems we face is getting our kids to eat properly. In the case of my son, at least, eating properly means putting the food in your mouth, and NOT your ear. Nothing good can come of that. Though, it is less fattening.

And, speaking of fattening foods, many of us who had children just so that we would have a little friend who wouldn't judge us, and were shocked to find out that we actually had to take care of them, will find solace in this news: McDonald's is now teaching moms about healthy foods.
Isn't that great?

I can hear fat parents, with their morbidly obese little snowflakes, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. Either that, or gasping for air. It's hard to tell with fat people.

Unfortunatley there is a catch.

McDonald's is not REALLY teaching moms about healthy foods. What they are doing is bringing a bunch of moms in, and trying to convince them that McDonald's food is actually VERY healthy.

You betcha!!

Any day, now, Whole Foods is gonna team up with Mickey D's, and start selling Chicken McNuggets in their frozen foods section.......Uh....Don't hold your breath on that one.

Debra DeMuth, McDonald's global nutrition director, has referred to french fries as.....get ready....."probably one of the most victimized foods."

Yep. Of course. Shame on us!! All of us!!! Victimizing the poor, helpless, innocent french fries......dripping in preservatives, and slathered in salt. How could we be such fools? Besides, where else are you gonna get your daily dose of sodium acid pyrophosphate?

Plus, we are told, french fries are also an excellent source of potassium. Of course, you could just eat a banana. But, now I'm just nit picking.

We are also told, and expected to get very excited by the fact that, Egg McMuffin's contain REAL EGGS!!!! Eggs are good, right? Everyone likes eggs. That's healthy, is what that is. Plus, when you slather said eggs with a healthy dose of high fructose corn syrup, it's eating the way God intended it to be.

I've been eating at McDonald's all my life. At this point, with all this helpful information, I'm surprised I've ever even gotten a cold, much less cholesterol levels that would kill the average elephant.

You're probably saying to yourself, "Casey, can the news about all this healthy food at McDonald's POSSIBLY get better?"

Good question.

The answer is, yes. It can, AND DOES.

You see, Miss DeMuth, the health expert from McDonald's, had one more little bombshell to drop on the mother's that came to hear her speech.

It seems that ALL the internet stories are false (which is sad because, if you can't believe what you read on the internet, what CAN you believe.) The fact of the matter is that Chicken McNuggets actually contain......Ready?...........CHICKEN!!!!!!

Now, of course, they also contain sodium phosphates, thiamin mononitrate, sodium acid pyrophosphate, sodium aluminum phosphate, monocalcium phosphate, and sweet, sweet dimethylpolysiloxane.

I know. I'm drooling a little bit myself.

So, parents, take heart. If you want to feed your kids a good, natural, healthy meal with things like potassium, eggs, and real chicken, all you have to do is take them to McDonald's.

They'll weigh 600 pounds, but at least they'll be eating healthy. And isn't that the important thing?

I like to think so.

Casey

I'm Gonna Put My Trash Can On A Milk Carton

2008-11-12T13:30:00.003-05:00

Sometime, possibly in another life, I offended garbage men. Actually, I don't even thing that's the proper term, anymore. Perhaps, "Sanitation Maintenance Engineers" would be more fitting. I dunno.

Anyway, today was trash day in my little slice of suburban hell. So, last night I went outside, placed the lids tightly on my cans (hehe), and rolled them out to the curb. This morning, when I went outside, I found one of my cans (lol) across the street in the neighbor's yard. The lid was in my driveway. The other one of my cans (HA HA!!) was across my yard, with the lid in my next door neighbor's driveway.

This is not, at all, uncommon.

A few weeks ago I forgot to take the kitchen trash out (It's one of my chores.) So, when I heard the trash truck, I ran outside and tried to hand them my trash bag.

Me: Can I give you one more?

Sanitation Maintenance Engineer: No.

Me: Okay, well....Wait....No?

Sanitation Maintenance Engineer: It's gotta be in your can.

Me: Hehe

Sanitation Maintenance Engineer: What?

Me: Nothing...Uh....So, if I put it in my can (snicker), you'll take it?

Sanitation Maintenance Engineer: Possibly.

Me: Okay....Uhhhhh....Where is it?

Sanitation Maintenance Engineer: Your can?

Me: HAHA!!!

Sanitation Maintenance Engineer: What?

Me: Nothing...So, where is it?

Sanitation Maintenance Engineer: It's two blocks over, that way.

Me: Oh...Uh...Good shot.

Sanitation Maintenance Engineer: The wind was with us.

Me: Of course.

So, for whatever reason, they have made a nice little sport of spraying my cans (sorry) all over the place. I don't know why. I don't know what I did. Whatever it was, I didn't mean to. I'm just trying to throw my garbage away. I swear to God.

This also, by the way, extends to the recycle people. I had put some boxes out, two weeks ago, and when I woke up they were gone. I just assumed that they recycle people had taken them away, and made shirts, or something, out of them that former hippies will spend way too much money to buy in "the villiage," or something like that. But, when I went to rake leaves this past weekend, I found my boxes had been thrown on the side of my house. My neighbor suggested that it might have been because I didn't break them down.

Huh?

They were little, tiny, baby boxes. I gotta break those down, TOO!?!!! How come? Correct me if I'm wrong, but when they take them, they immediately place them inside of a giant compactor. Broken down, or not, I think the giant compactor is going to be able to handle the job. If it can't, they need to get their money back. And, even if they DO need to be broken down (and I'm conceeding nothing here), is it okay to hide them from me on the side of my house?

I think not.

Besides, take it from someone who has moved more times than I care to mention, breaking down boxes is a major pain. Have you ever gotten a paper cut from a cardboard box? Bloody and painful. Not a pretty sight. They could make horror movies out of that kind of stuff.

But, fine. I can play by the rules. I can break down the boxes. I don't like it, but I'll do it.

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go get my cans (LOL). There was a good wind, and I think they might be in Newark.

Casey

An Orange By Any Other Name.....

2008-11-04T10:52:00.002-05:00

Everybody should vote.

There.

I said it.

Now, when I tell you that Barack Obama is going to win (though I am not voting for him,) and that things are going to stay pretty much the same, no matter what, you cannot accuse me of encouraging people not to vote. In fact, vote twice. Find some dead people who are still on the rolls, and vote on their behalf, too. That is, after all, how JFK got to be president. So, it's the American way, actually.

Anyway, there are FAR more important decisions to be made than who will be President. Things that will actually impact your life.....Okay....Maybe not YOUR life. But, mine. Since I am a child of the '80's, I'm the only one that I REALLY care about, anyway.

For instance, what color I'm going to be forced, against my will, to paint my kitchen.

You should know that my wife, who would do very well in the position of "Torture Coordinator" at Gitmo, has forced me to watch several hours of home design programming on stations like HGTV, and others. Not that I'm complaining. I think Sabrina Soto is hot. Plus, I would crawl naked, through the desert, over shards of broken glass, just to have Tanya Memme spit on me.

But, I digress.

One of the many things that I have learned by watching home and garden themed TV, is that you ALWAYS stay neutral. My wife shares this philosophy every time I want to paint a room a flashy color.

Me: Why don't we paint the spare bedroom red?

My Wife: Don't you pay any attention to the shows that I LET you watch?

Me: Well, I try and look down Tanya Memme's top.......

My Wife: If we paint the room red, then no one will want to buy our house when you inevitably lose THIS job. We'll be stuck with a house that would be otherwise perfect, but all the people who look at it will refer to it as "that house with the red room." They'll think we're trying to cover something up, like blood, and will assume that we murdered people here, and won't want to come within a hundred feet of our house. So, we'll be stuck here until we run out of money, which we will since you are not capable of getting a "real" job that would pay you a decent salary. That means that we'll be forclosed upon, and will have to move into a cheap room, in a motel, until MY MOTHER sends us the money to move to Missouri, and live in her basement. In the meantime, the bank will have someone come in and try and sell our former home, but they'll realize that they won't be able to, because there is an ugly, red, "murder room" upstairs. So, they'll have to tear the whole house down, and build a new one. This will cause problems for our neighbors, whose foundations will crack due to all the construction equipment that will be rumbling all over the place, during the new construction. When they go to sell THEIR homes an inspector will come in, see the cracks, and tell the buyers that they should back out due to the "structural damage." This will cause ALL of our neighbors to lose their homes, and since they don't have mother's, with basements, in Missouri they will end up living in boxes on the side of the rood. Once winter comes they, and their children, will all die. All because you wanted to paint the spare bedroom red.

Me: Oh....How about blue?

My Wife: Shut up.

I think they call that "The Butterfly Effect."

Anyway, it came as a HUGE shock to me, this past weekend, when my wife started peelign the ugly wallpaper off the kitchen walls. At this time I should point out that I HATE painting. I hate it with every fiber of my being. Now, while I hated the wallpaper (little blue and pink flowers), it was up. It was there. The walls were covered. Not the best, but I could live with it. Plus, if I hate anythmore MORE than painting, it would probably be peeling off wallpaper.

So, it came as a complete shock to me, Sunday, when I was minding my own business, watching a football game, when I heard tearing noises suddenly coming from my kitchen. When I got up to see what it was, I almost went postal.

"FOOL!!!!" I shouted. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE!?!! THIS IS WALLPAPER!!! ONCE IT IS PEELED, YOU CANNOT DE-PEEL IT!!! YOU HAVE TO DO THE WHOLE THING!!!"

Needless to say, this was an evil, and malicious act on the part of my wife. It seems that her intention ALL ALONG was to take down ALL the wallpaper. After 11 years of marriage, I really just don't recognize this woman, anymore.

Here's the worst part......Once you take down ALL the wallpaper, something needs to be done to the walls. Since my wife is, apparently, the daughter of Satan I assumed that she would want to hang MORE wallpaper. But, no. She has decided to paint.

Me: Uhhhh....What color do I have to paint it.

My Wife: Terracotta.

Me: Terra-whatta?

My Wife: Terracotta. It's like rust.

Me: Orange?

My Wife: (Sighing angrily) No. Not ORANGE.....Terracotta.

Me: You said it was like rust.

My Wife: Yes.

Me: Which is orange.

My Wife: Yes.

Me: But, this is NOT orange.

My Wife: No.

Me: It's Terracotta.

My Wife: Yes.

Me: My head hurts.

My Wife: We have to paint it that color, so that it will match the new granite countertops.

Me: Oh. Well, if it'll match the new counterto....Wait.....What?

My Wife: We're getting new countertops.

Me: I thought we were getting a Mac?

My Wife: I changed our mind.

Me: You changed OUR mind?

My Wife: Yes.

Me: That's how it works?

My Wife: Yes.

Me: Okay.....Uh....Isn't painting the walls orange going to kill all our neighbors, or something?

My Wife: Considering the circumstances, I found that to be an acceptable loss.

Me: So that the walls will match the countertops?

My Wife: Yes.

Me: Man, that's cold.

My Wife: Deal with it.

So, while you're all worried about who/what to vote for, and how it's going to affect the American way of life, I'm going to be putting on my painting clothes, at some point, and slathering paint on my walls, which will have a more direct impact on the housing impact, homelessness, and the local economy than ANYTHING that any of the boneheads running for office will.

The paint will be terracotta. Not, I repeat NOT orange. If you know what's good for you, you won't call it orange. She was willing to watch our own neighbors die. What makes you think she won't kill you?

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go and google some pictures of Tanya Memme. Just 'cuz.

Casey

Women Are Smarter, And Stuff.....

2008-09-18T10:48:00.003-04:00

As if he doesn't have enough problems just BEING my son, there is a sexist move afoot to make my boy stupid.

When my daughter was born, my orders were very specific. "Don't talk to her like she's a baby. She'll be smarter, and develop a better vocabulary."

I had to use specific definitions of words, so that she would not only know WHAT I was talking about, but would also understand what it WAS that I was talking about, while she was spitting up all over herself. So, if the dog came into the room, I couldn't just say it was the dog. I had to be descriptive.

Me: Oh look, honey. It's the highly variable domestic animal, closely related to the Gray Wolf, that we call Lucy.

My Daughter: Gooooooo....

In this way my daughter allegedly became HIGHLY intelligent to the point that, when she went outside the other day, she had her shorts on backwards.

Nice.

There is no such effort being made with my son. It seems a little early, to me, to throw in the towel on the boy. He's only 4 months old. But, when the dog comes into the room, now, my wife isn't nearly as interested in the educational benefits of the action.

My Wife: It's the woof-woof.....It's the woof-woof......Look at the woof-woof.

My Son: Gooooooo....

Now, he can't dress himself. But, his shorts are generally facing the right direction.

However, I feel that this might be a bigger conspiracy. Bigger than the Kennedy assassination. Possibly even bigger than that whole thing, earlier this year, about the body double in the blonde wig who came out on stage while the REAL Hannah Montana was changing her outfit........Don't pretend like you didn't hear about it....We ALL heard about it.....No.....I'm sure YOU were reading Dickens, or something.....Right.

Anyway, I believe there may be a greater effort going on, in order to make boys stupid. According to the latest figures, 57% of college students are female.

Which means, guys, that not only are the women smart, THEY'RE GETTING SMARTER!!!!

In the very near future, we won't even get to live inside the house. They'll just keep us in pens, and only bring us out when they want to reproduce, need something heavy lifted, or see a spider. Which, let's be honest, wouldn't be so bad. It wasn't too long ago that I spent 4 hours of my Saturday, driving around all over the place, looking at thousands of different curtains, and came home without buying ANY OF THEM!!!!! What a waste. I'd have bought the first ones', and gone home. There was a USC game on. Come on, people. Priorities. If I had my own pen, I wouldn't need curtains. Just a little hay in the corner. Sounds good to me.

We probably wouldn't even need to bother learning to speak.

Woman: Who wants to reproduce?.....Who wants to reproduce?....Do you wanna reproduce?

Man: Gooooooo....

Honestly, it doesn't sound so bad.

We also used to show my daughter videos from a series called "Baby Einstein." In these videos, classical music would play while various animals did various things, at various speeds. Then, a hand puppet of some kind (I seem to remember a goat), would pop up on the screen, look around, and stare at you for a long time. Then, there would be more animals, and more classical music, followed by more staring. Truthfully, I found the whole thing to be more than a little creepy.

Me: Are you sure this is okay for her to watch? It seems weird.

My Wife: Shut up, or I'll lock you in your pen.

Me: Gooooooo....

So, we watched.....and watched....and watched...until we could not watch any more. Not because we had gone mad and started killing people, which is what I wanted to do (we NEVER do what I wanna do.) But, because we had seen ALL the "Baby Einstein" videos. My wife was satisfied that my daughter, who was in the corner swallowing pennies, was a genius ready to take her place among our new female masters.

The last thing my son watched?

Well, the "Mystery Science Theater 3000" movie was on a few weeks ago. We watched part of that together. I think he sort of laughed. I was very proud.

So, you women can go to college, and get all your fancy book learnin'. I'm gonna stay in my pen, and watch TV.

Call me when it's time to reproduce.

Casey

IF YOU'RE LUCKY, YOU AREN'T READING THIS ON SUNDAY. IF YOU'RE READING THIS ON SUNDAY, THEN YOU MISSED MY ROLLER DERBY DEBUT!!!! HOW COULD YOU!?!! I'VE NEVER MISSED ANYTHING OF YOURS!!!! BUT, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 20TH, AT THE ASBURY PARK CONVENTION CENTER, I WILL BE ANNOUNCING THE ROLLER DERBY BOUT BETWEEN THE JERSEY SHORE GIRLS AND THE GOTHAM CITY GIRLS. I'LL BE THERE, ALONG WITH TRICIA LA'VICIOUS. TRICIA WILL BE THE REAL ANNOUNCER. I'LL JUST BE SITTING THERE, SAYING STUPID THINGS, AND TRYING TO AVOID GETTING HIT. BUT, THERE WILL BE FUN, AND MUSIC, AND A GOOD TIME WILL BE HAD BY ALL. IT ALL STARTS AT 7PM. COME BY, AND SAY HI.

What Have You Done For Steven, Today?

2008-09-18T10:48:00.000-04:00

I know the economy is bad. I read the paper. At the VERY least, I look at the pictures and see lots of people, with serious looks on their faces. This tells me that SOMETHING bad is going on. 9 times out of 10 the word "economy" is in the headline. Okay, so while I don't ALWAYS read the stories, the pictures make me sad. That should count for something.

But, while you are dressing your children in clothes that are "soooo last season," and putting on your sad faces, on the outside chance that a newspaper photographer is around, I would like you to consider one person.

Steven Spielberg.

That's right, you selfish booger head.

While YOU are busying yourself, trying to figure out how you are going to buy food, or make your next house payment, Steven Spielberg is having some of his own issues. YOU probably didn't even stop to think about how the current crisis was affecting Steven.

How do you sleep at night?

He didn't have to make E.T., or Jaws, or that black-and-white movie about that guy who did all that stuff for those Jewish people. But, he did. And he did it without one single thought for himself.

Now, in this time of economic hardship, Steven needs your help. I think you owe it to him to give it.

You see, Steven, and the other multi-gazillionaires that own Dreamworks, are anxiously awaiting word on a $500 million dollar loan.

They NEED this money. If they don't get it, they are going to be forced to continue their relationship with Paramount Pictures. I shudder to think of what this could mean.

Would the movies change?

Well.....no.

Would there be less movies?

Uhhh.....No, actually. They have to do 6 a year. So, either way, we'd get 6 movies.

Would Steven's movies lose their integrity?

Oh....well.....No. They'd be the same movies he makes now.

Would the Dreamworks logo be followed, on screen, by that big mountain, with the little stars flying around it?

YES!!!!!!!!!!!!

THAT'S IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Do you KNOW what this would mean?

That's right.......Steven would be unhappy.

Do you remember, back in the 80's, when we all gave hundreds of millions of dollars to the Ethiopians, because they were unhappy with God for making them live in Ethiopia?

Nobody batted an eye at that.

Well, this is the same thing.

The only difference is that the money for the Ethiopians went right into the hands of the Ethiopian war lords, and did nothing to improve the lives of the Ethiopians (can you tell that I like saying the word "Ethiopians?"). To my knowledge, Dreamworks HAS no warlords. So, all this money should, God willing, go directly into the hands of Steven Spielberg.

Plus, we won't have to deal with that annoying, freaking, We Are The World song. Though, I can imagine a scenario where a bunch of rich singers get together, and record a song for Steven, to the tune of it.

We Love You Steeeeeve....

We Love Your Movieees....

We Love The One

About The Little Guy

With The Glowing Fingerrrrrrrrrr.......

It would be sad, and we would all buy it, and Steven would probably get his money. But, my ears would bleed. I hate it when my ears bleed.

Now, the problem here is that, in order to get $500 million, they have to get a loan for several hundred million MORE, in order to ensure that they'll be able to pay back the initial $500 million. So, as near as I can tell, they need to borrow $300 million, so that they can get the $500 million, in order to use the $300 million to prove that they will be able to pay back the $500 million, which they won't be able to do UNLESS they get the $300 million, which they need in order to get approved for the $500 million.

Got it?

Good.

Of course, they could just make GOOD movies. Movies that people would want to see. But, this is Hollywood, and Hollywood doesn't worry about making GOOD movies. They just worry about making ANY movies, which is why people like Dane Cook EVER get to make a movie. They don't have to be good. They just have to be....sort of....there.

My point here is this: Steven can't get his loan, and make himself happy, if you don't stop defaulting on YOUR loans, and causing banks to foreclose on YOUR houses. If you wouldn't mind NOT doing that, then there would be plenty of money laying around to make Steven happy.

Take one for the team.....

Get a fifth job.....

Stop buying frivolous things, like gas...

Sell the older children into the sex trade...

Without these sacrifices Steven can't be happy....

When Steven isn't happy, we get things like 1941.....

Or, Hook......

Or, Always.....

Or, Amistad

I don't think ANY of us wants that.

Make Steven happy.

Pay your damn bills.

Casey

DON'T FORGET, OR I WILL KILL YOU, THAT THIS SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, AT THE ASBURY PARK CONVENTION CENTER I, CASEY "WOLFMAN SMACK" BARTHOLOMEW, WILL BE ANNOUNCING THE ROLLER DERBY ALONGSIDE TRICIA LA'VICIOUS. IT SHOULD BE A LOT OF FUN, ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING, AND STAND A VERY GOOD CHANCE OF BEING BOTH PHYSICALLY AND VERBALLY ABUSED BY A LOT OF VERY ATTRACTIVE WOMEN, IN ROLLER SKATES. DOES IT GET BETTER THAN THAT? THE ACTION STARTS AT 7PM, THIS SATURDAY NIGHT. HOPE TO SEE YOU THERE.

Ladies And Gentlemen, Please Rise For The Honorable...Val Kilmer...No, Really....Come On...Get Up!!!

2008-09-17T09:17:00.001-04:00

What is it about celebrities that makes them think they are qualified to do.....you know......ANYTHING?

In fact, what is it about celebrities that makes them think that anybody, AT ALL, cares about what they say?

I only bring this up because Val Kilmer (yes THAT Val Kilmer) is apparently considering a run for Governor of New Mexico.

That's right. Val Kilmer wants to be Governor......

Of a state.......

In America.....

I just got chills....

I'm just wondering which of his many film roles would qualify him to be Governor of an honest-to-God state.

Could it be his role as the K.I.T.T, the talking car, in TV's new Knight Rider?

No. That couldn't be it.

How about his tough, yet tender performance as Madmartigan in the Ron Howard classic, Willow?

Hmmmm.....Probably not.

I know.....It had to be his role as Eric, in the ABC Afterschool Special: One Too Many, about some kids whose lives are changed after one of their friends drives drunk with "devastating" results.

THAT must be it.

Because, in order to think he is qualified to be Governor, he MUST have had one too many. (I apologize for the obvious, and cheesy joke.)

You notice I did not mention his role as Jim Morrison in The Doors. There's a reason for this. That movie was SO bad, that I didn't want to talk about it out of fear that someone MIGHT want to watch it, just to see how bad it is............And I just did.........DAMN IT!!!

Anyway, it's usually during an election year that I find myself increasingly annoyed by famous people, who think their opinions matter, because they made a movie about something.

I'm going to say something, now, that is going to scare some of you. If you are weak of heart, please don't read it. You have been warned.....

When a celebrity makes a movie about ANYTHING, 9 times out of 10 they are portraying characters, and saying words that.......here's the scary part........SOMEONE ELSE HAS WRITTEN!!!!!!

I know. It turns out that movies aren't little documentaries, where someone just happened to be following famous people around with a camera, recording everything they did. It seems that these things are not only planned, but often times EDITED in order to make the people in them look particularly good.

It's a giant fraud perpetrated on the American people, is what it is.

Who knew that Angelina Jolie was just some tattoo covered freak, who collects foreign children like old women collect cats, and wasn't nearly as intellectual as she wants us to think? This is, after all, a woman who made out with her own brother, at one point.

Does Barbara Striesand REALLY think we care what she thinks about politics?

Does Rosie O'Donnel REALLY think we care what she thinks about the war?

Does Don Henley REALLY think we care what he has to say about the environment?

Honestly, yes, they do. We don't. But, yes, they think we do.

They just don't seem to understand that we go see them sing, because they can sing. We go see them in movies, because they aren't being themselves. They're ACTING. If most of these boobs stood in front of a camera, and blathered on about Darfur for 90 minutes, we would all throw old vegetables at the screen. In fact, this is the very reason that I always bring a supply of old vegetables to the movies with me. In case they break character, and start preaching. It's always better to be prepared, if you ask me.

If you would like an example of just how much we care about what they say, just ask President Kerry......You know......President John Kerry? He won the election in 2004, after Bruce Springsteen, Dave Matthews, and a few others, toured in support of him. Remember? Then he won the election, right? I mean, he MUST have. All those famous people TOLD us to vote for him.

Wait.....Maybe I'm thinking about 2000, when Al Gore won. I know he won, because Alec Baldwin said that, if Bush won, he'd move to Australia. Since Alec Baldwin didn't move to Australia, I can only assume that Gore won.

No?

He didn't?

Probably just as well. Alec Baldwin needed to stay in America, so that he could leave demeaning messages, for his young daughter that her mother (another glorious celebrity, Kim Bassinger) could leak to the media. It would be hard to do that from Australia. I don't think they have phones, there.

(Author's Note: Please spare me ANY comments about how Gore actually won. It's been 8 years. Get over it.)

I know some of you are going to mention Arnold, in California, and Ronald Reagan, of course. You have to remember that most of Arnold's work, as Governor, is PR. I hate to get too serious on you, but due to the way the constitution is, in California, most of the governor's work is done for him. He has very little wiggle room. He just has to make sure that things are TOO screwed up (it is California, after all), and that he just comes off as likeable. He does both of those things. But, it is still kind of laughable that he's the governor. I mean, come on.....

As for Reagan, he may be the lone anomaly. He was a VERY politically active person, in Hollywood. By that, I don't mean that he showed up at fundraisers, and had his picture taken. Nope. He gave speeches, and answered questions, and stood up for what he believed in. Plus, he had all but given up acting when he decided to run for office. Before everyone jumps down my little Republican throat, he started doing all this AS A DEMOCRAT. He became a Republican, later. The point being that he didn't just stamp his feet, and hold his breath. He got involved. He didn't just decide that he wanted to run for office, one day, and that he would win because people knew who he was, and nothing more. AND he made . How do you NOT love a guy who made ? If you don't, you have no heart. It does, after all, have a chimp in it. If there's a bad movie about a chimp, I haven't seen it.

But, I'm not hear to shill for Reagan. He is, after all, dead. I never voted for him, and he can't run again. I don't particularly care what you, or me for that matter, think about him.

We're talking about the soon-to-be-honorable Val Kilmer.

Right now I would just like to sit back, and ponder what Ice, from Top Gun would do about immigration. Or, what Chris, from Real Genius would do about gas prices. How about what Elvis, from True Romance (yes THAT Elvis), would do about property taxes.

Not that anyone knows, because he hasn't told us, and probably won't. But, we know his name, and THAT makes him qualified.

Though, he DID get to make out with Mira Sorvino in At First Sight. If he's willing to talk, in great detail, about that I might vote for him. I might even move to New Mexico to do it. But, I will not move to Australia. Apparently, there are no phones, there.

Casey

WE ARE JUST A FEW SHORT DAYS AWAY FROM MY DEBUT AT CASEY "WOLFMAN SMACK" BARTHOLOMEW, AS I ANNOUNCE THE ROLLER DERBY BOUT, ALONG WITH TRICIA LA'VICIOUS, AT THE ASBURY PARK CONVENTION CENTER. IT TAKES PLACE THIS SATURDAY, AT 7PM. THEY TELL ME THAT THIS IS THE FASTEST GROWING SPORT IN THE COUNTRY. THEY ALSO TELL ME THAT NONE OF THE ROLLER GIRLS WILL BEAT ME UP. I'M HOPING THAT AT LEAST ONE OF THOSE IS TRUE. BUT, THE JERSEY SHORE GIRLS ARE TAKING ON THE GOTHEM CITY GIRLS, AND IT SHOULD BE LOADS OF FUN FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY. IF NOTHING ELSE COME OUT AND SEE ME MAKE AN ASS OF MYSELF. I MIGHT EVEN GET BEAT UP BY A BUNCH OF GIRLS. THAT ALONE WOULD BE WORTH THE PRICE OF ADMISSION.

This Is The Life....

2008-09-16T10:38:00.001-04:00

This Is The Life....

I often refuse to listen to people, when they give me advice.

"No," I will say. "I'm sure that EVERY OTHER PERSON ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET has had this issue. But, I'm sure it will be different for me. I'm Casey."

It was due to this incredible level of stupidity that I bought a house with a pool. It's not like I NEED a pool. I live about an hour from the entire Atlantic ocean. Who needs a pool when the ocean is RIGHT THERE!?!!

I didn't have a pool when I lived in Southern California. Do you know why? Because the entire Pacific ocean was RIGHT THERE!!!! If I wanted to get wet, I would hop in my car and drive to the beach. Done.

I will say, though, that one of the stupider things about living in New Jersey is that you have to pay to use the beach. We didn't have to pay to use the beach in California, or Florida, when I lived there. I have friends in Texas who don't have to pay to use the beach. Plus, I went to Delaware once, and just walked right on the beach. Didn't have to pay a dime. Kind of makes you think it's a stupid rule. Though, in all those other places, we didn't have medical waste washing up on the beach on a regular basis. I guess you have to pay for those kinds of perks.

Anyway, I have a pool.

In the 2 months that I have lived in my house, I have spent approximately :45 minutes in the pool. That is, of course, unless you count the time I had to jump in to save my stupid dog, who fell in. It's an enormous hole in the ground!!! How did she NOT see it!?!! She's a greyhound. Greyhounds are what they call sight hounds. She's supposed to have REALLY good eyes. How does a dog that can see a gopher, at 50 yards, NOT see a giant pool that's 2 feet in front of her? Stupid dog. Anyway, if you count THAT time, I have spent about :47 minutes in my pool, total, since I moved in.

On the flip side, I have spent close to 47 HOURS, and about $500, working on the pool. Working on the pool is when you stand around the outside of the pool, and scrape the algae off of the sides, sift leaves out of it, and dump bottle after bottle of chemicals with names I can't pronounce, in the pool. Then, you wait for 12 hours before you can actually SWIM in your pool. If you don't wait, you or your children will go blind from chemical exposure.

Now, after waiting 12 hours, you will have to take a small sample of your water to the pool store. They will, then, test your water for you. this usually a free service. This makes you happy because NOTHING about owning a pool is free. Of course, after performing this "free" service, a 16 year old girl will get a very concerned look on her face, shake her head, and say something like this:

Pool Girl: Hmmmm......

Me: Is there something wrong?

Pool Girl: It's probably nothing. But......

Me: But, what?

Pool Girl: Well, the onomatopoeia mononucleosis first person nominative level is off.

Me: Uhhhhhhh......

Pool Girl: That's bad.

Me: Bad?

Pool Girl: Could cause AIDS.....

Me: I don't think that's how you catch.....

Pool Girl: And Ebola.....

Me: Uhhh...Are you the only person here?

Pool Girl: And SARS.....

Me: I thought that was in Asia.....

Pool Girl: You need chemicals.

Me: More chemicals?

Pool Girl: LOTS of chemicals.

Me: Uhh.....Which chemicals do I need?

Pool Girl: Just grab the biggest, most expensive bottle you can find.

Me: None of these bottles are labeled.

Pool Girl: Doesn't matter. It's all just colored water, anyway.

Me: Wait.....What?

Pool Girl: That'll be $200.

Me: But, I don't think.....

Pool Girl: Debit or credit?

Me: Uh....Debit, I guess.....

Pool Girl: And don't forget to stay out of the pool for 12 hours.

Me: But, you said it was just water.....

Pool Girl: DO YOU WANT TO GO BLIND!?!!

Me: Well, no. But, I.....

Pool Girl: Say goodbye.

Me: Oh...uh.....Goodbye.

Then, I will go home and dump the colored water into my pool, wait for 12 hours, and start the whole process all over again. Cautiously waiting for 12 hours before I go give them more of my money. I wouldn't want them to go blind, too.

This is a scam. I'm thinking of opening a pool store myself. I'll make a million bucks, and all I will have to do is master the "concerned" look, and tell people that they need to dump more chemicals in their pool. If they don't, of course, they will go blind. This is the main reason that you never see anybody actually IN their pools. Fear of blindness.

The only people that get to actually swim in their pools are the people who pay $100 a week for someone from the pool store to come out, and stare at their pool. Then, the person will laugh because they just made $100 to stand in your backyard for 5 minutes, and dump some colored water in. Just to be nice, though, they will tell you that your pool is safe to swim in. It's those of us who are foolish enough to try and care for our own pools who never get to swim in them. We don't have time, anyway. We're too busy driving back and forth from the pool store.

I don't know why you need to dump chemicals, and risk blindness. I mean, we all swim in the ocean, and in lakes, where there are any number of fish pooping, and have "fish sex," and we hardly ever get sick. Yet, if I fill a cement lined hole, with water out of my hose, I have to run a major science project. I would DRINK the water out of that hose!! Why can't I swim in it?

Something about that ain't right.

Now, Friday, I will be spending another pile of money to have someone come out and "close" my pool. They will drain some water, dump some fake chemicals in, and put the cover on so that it will be ready to withstand the winter. They take great care in doing this. It's because they know that, if my pool breaks, I won't be coming in every week to give them my money. So, they want to make sure it's done right.

But, come next summer, when I pay them even MORE MONEY to come out and "open" my pool, you will all be jealous. Because, while you're sitting in your air conditioned house, protected from all the heat, I'll be standing in my backyard. I'll walk around my pool, as the sun reflects off the water, and think about how wonderful it will be to jump in.......In 12 hours.......after I get the water checked......and give a high school student $350 for some concoction that will keep mosquitos, carrying the West Nile Virus, out of my pool......and 12 more short hours later, I'll........be dumping more chemicals in, because the PHQ level, whatever that is, has gotten out of control........But, 12 hours after that.........Oh, screw it.....

I'm going to the beach.

Casey

DON'T FORGET, THIS SATURDAY AT 7PM I'LL BE ANNOUNCING THE ROLLER DERBY BOUT, BETWEEN THE JERSEY SHORE GIRLS, AND THE GOTHEM CITY GIRLS, AT THE ASBURY PARK CONVENTION CENTER. CASEY "WOLFMAN SMACK" BARTHOLOMEW, AND TRCIA LA'VICIOUS WILL BE CALLING ALL THE ACTION FOR THE FASTEST GROWING SPORT IN THE COUNTRY. COME ON OUT, HAVE SOME FUN, ENJOY THE BOUT AND DON'T FORGET TO COME OVER AND SAY HI. IT SHOULD BE A LOT OF FUN!!!!

Sound Fatherly Advice....And Mine

2008-09-15T07:42:00.002-04:00

When one is a parent, one is sometimes forced to deal with things. You see, God has a sense of humor (hence my hairline), and in one of his more "zany" moments, he opted to give children mouths. Not that this is an entirely bad idea. I mean, they gotta eat, right?

Possibly more troubling than the "mouth" issue is the fact that he gave them brains, too. When these evil creations work in unison, nothing good can come of it. I don't know that this is entirely horrible with boys. Mine can't talk, yet. When he can, if he's anything like his father, most of the questions will probably have to do with "boogers."

When a man has a daughter, you must beware the "question" phase of your relationship. The big problem with this is that, as with most women, your own daughter will ease you along with a variety of seemingly innocent questions. "Daddy, how do they make rocks?" Or, "Daddy, why is the grass green?" Or, "Daddy, why did you pause the Tivo on the scene with all the cheerleaders?"

Then...........BAM!!!!!

God's little punchline kicks in.

The questions become hard. It's like jumping from finger painting to quantum physics. Luckily, some of us fathers' deal with this in a mature, thoughtful, intelligent manner......And, some of us are named Casey Bartholomew, and are still seeking the answers to the great "booger" questions of our youth.

Since I am old (38 and counting), and I have other friends who have daughters.....Friends who don't think it's funny to teach their kids the wrong words for things.....I have compiled a list of questions asked by their little girls, and the answers that they have given.....along with the answers that I have given. I'll leave it to you to decide whose daughter is going to end up with a PHD, and whose daughter is going to be able to provide her father with a free flowing supply of chicken mc nuggets.

QUESTION:

Daddy, why do girls have boobs?

GOOD FATHER ANSWER:

Actually, sweetie, the proper way to say it is "breasts." But, to answer your question, when God was making people, he decided that there should be a natural way for a mother to not only provide food for her baby, but also be able to bond with them. So, he gave mommies breasts so that they would be able to develop that special bond. This is a kind of special bond that will last until mommy is watching over you from heaven.

CASEY'S ANSWER:

Hehehehe.....You said boobs.

QUESTION:

Daddy, what's it mean when a boy says that he wants to kiss you?

GOOD FATHER ANSWER:

Oh, baby. It means that he probably has a little crush on you. But, you're a little to young to be doing things like that. I think you should tell him that you guys are just friends. If, in a couple of years, he still feels the same way then you can just bring him home to meet the old man, and we'll see about you guys going on a real date, okay?

CASEY'S ANSWER:

See if you can find out how much money his parents make. Then, don't come right out and say it, but let him know that you might be open to the idea of kissing him. When he finally does, start crying and run to one of your teachers. Then, come home and tell daddy, right away. I have a lawyer on retainer for just this kind of thing.

QUESTION:

Daddy, where do babies come from?

GOOD FATHER ANSWER:

When mommies and daddys' love each other, they do something very special to show that love. Sometimes out of that, a beautiful little baby comes into the world. When that happens, a little angel comes down from heaven to make the world a better place.

CASEY'S ANSWER:

China, usually. Sometimes Russia. Now, stop bugging me. I'm trying to watch the Spanish soap operas.

QUESTION:

Daddy, what's a period?

GOOD FATHER ANSWER:

Sweetie, I think that's something that you would be more comfortable talking with mommy about.

CASEY'S ANSWER:

That's when daddy breathes a BIG sigh of relief.......Hehehehe....You said period.

QUESTION:

Daddy, what's sex?

GOOD FATHER ANSWER:

Well, honey, remember when you asked me where babies come from? Well, sex is something that a man and a woman do, when they are in love. You'll know when the time is right, because some special boy will have asked you to marry him. And, on your wedding night, the two of you will share something special that only a man and a wife can share. I think I might cry, just thinking about it. I'll be so happy for you.

CASEY'S ANSWER:

Sss....uh.....sex?.....Oh......Uh.....That's uh........That would be when.......Well.....you know.....boys and girls......They.....uh........Well......You know how you have those pictures of the Jonas Brothers up in your room?......Well, you think they're cute........And.....uh.......And......Someday, you might think a boy is cute.....And.......Well.......Sex?.......Was it sex?..........Oh.........Uh..........It's a car..........A German car, I think.......I wouldn't ever drive one, if I were you......And, if a boy ever tells you that he WANTS to drive one with you, tell me........He will need to be killed, dead.

So, as you can clearly see, some fathers will be sugarcoating reality for their little girls. I, on the other hand, will be force feeding the facts of life to my little girl.

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to head down to McDonald's to get my daughter and application. She's 8 1/2. I don't see any reason in delaying the inevitable.

DON'T FORGET THAT THIS WEEKEND, I WILL BE ANNOUNCING THE ROLLER DERBY BOUT BETWEEN THE JERSEY SHORE GIRLS, AND THE GOTHEM CITY GIRLS. IT'S TAKING PLACE AT THE ASBURY PARK CONVENTION CENTER, ON SATURDAY NIGHT, STARTING AT 7PM. COME ON DOWN AND SEE TRICIA LA"VICIOUS AND ME, CASEY "WOLFMAN SMACK" BARTHOLOMEW, AND HAVE SOME FUN. IF YOU DON'T, I WILL BE FORCED TO TALK TO YOUR DAUGHTERS ABOUT SEX. I DON'T THINK ANY OF US WANTS THAT.

Casey

The Hell Dryers Of Doom.

2008-09-09T11:13:00.000-04:00

You're going to die.

Later today, probably, if you haven't already.

I know this, because I am a highly skilled member of the media, and I am trained to see these types of things. That, and because I saw it on TV.

I won't die. I know what to look for. You, on the other hand, are doomed. YOU are probably looking for things like guns, or pipe bombs, or evil, mind controlling death rays that are being zapped at you, daily, by North Korean satellites.

FOOL!!!!

Guns and pipe bombs probably won't kill you. The North Korean death rays are another story. Turns out that the Koreans aren't nearly as "zany" as they were on M*A*S*H. Who knew?

You are probably going to be killed by something simple, right in the privacy of your own home. I'm talking about, of course, Darwin's great equalizer: The Laundry.

Your dryer, to be precise. I don't think the washer can kill you. I think the washer is the unwilling accomplice of the dryer. It lulls you into a sense of complacency, and then the dryer moves in for the kill.

Here's what I have learned: Your clothes dryer serves no other purpose than to endanger your family, and possibly kill your neighbors.

If you place clothes ON your dryer, there is the chance that they could get too hot, and BURST INTO FLAME!!!!!

Or, they could fall behind the dryer, get too hot, and BURST INTO FLAME!!!!

Or, if you place your clothes INSIDE your dryer (dummy), you could have accidentally left a receipt in your pocket. This receipt could "superheat" (that's what they said. I swear to God), and BURST INTO FLAME!!!!

Your dryer could also "superheat" (honest) a linoleum floor, thus melting it, or worse!! Causing it to BURST INTO FLAME!!!!

And, what if you are one of those people who stores all of your gasoline, and old paint ON TOP of your dryer? It could "superheat" (really!!!), and........BURST INTO FLAME!!!!!! Now, I don't know anybody who keeps their old gas, and paint products on top of their dryer. But, they had a real-live, honest-to-God, authentic REENACTMENT video of this. So, it has to be true. Otherwise, how could they possibly reenact it? I know. It scared me, too.

Also, who among us hasn't left coins in our pockets when we took our pants off? None of us, I bet. If these innocent coins were to stay in our pockets, and find their way into the dryer, they could then "superheat" (blah, blah, blah), and BURST INTO FLAME!!!!! Okay, I made that one up. The coins won't burst into flame. BUT, this is not without danger!!!! After "superheating" (uh-huh), they could cause serious skin burns to you, OR your children!!!!

YOUR CHILDREN, YOU HEARTLESS BASTARD!!!!!

Why, in the name of all things holy, are you trying to harm your children with coins that have been "superheated' (yep) in the dryer? Besides, there are FAR more efficient ways to "superheat" (it's a real word. I looked it up) your coins. Your stovetop, I think, would be far less time consuming. But, that's not the point, here. The point is that your dryer is CLEARLY trying to kill you. You either have to take steps to prevent this, or kill it before it kills you.

The TV show had a few suggestions.

First, don't store your petroleum based products on top of your dryer. Okay, I think I can make this concession. Besides, I've got plenty of spare room in my oven for those. I almost never use the bottom rack, anyway.

Next, clean out your pockets BEFORE you put your pants in the dryer. If you don't, your just ASKING for trouble. Your receipts will kill you. Personally, I think we should start charging every business in the country, who gives you a receipt, with attempted murder. What other reason could there POSSIBLY be for providing you with a record of your business transactions? Right. There isn't one. Obviously, there only goal is to see you, and your family, burned alive.

Finally, never, NEVER run the dryer when you are not at home. That way, you'll be home should anything BURST INTO FLAME!!!!!!

........Wait..........What?

That can't be right........Why would I WANT to be home when everything goes up in smoke? Doesn't that put my life at risk? Shouldn't that read, "ONLY run your dryer when you are NOT at home?"

I mean, sure, if you're there you MIGHT be able to put the fire out. But, based on all the previous information about "death paper," "hell coins," and the "linoleum of DOOM" what makes you think that you have what it takes to go up against these un-Godly forces of nature, whose only reason for existence is to take your life?

No.

I think your best bet is to ONLY dry your clothes when you are NOT at home. Honestly, that way you can ignore everything else. Keep your gas on top of your dryer, leave the receipts in your pocket, and toss a few extra coins in, just for good measure. What's the worst thing that could happen? Your house burns down? So what. Build another one. I don't like the set up of this one, anyway.

Sure, your neighbors could die. But, I just moved here, and don't know them very well, anyway. I mean, I don't want them to die. But, if they did, I think I would be able to go on. Really, it would kind of be their fault for hanging around when I was drying my clothes. They KNOW I have a dryer. They all stood outside and watched when the guys from Bulgaria (no kidding) unloaded it. So, really, they're just a bunch of thrill-seekers, who are seeking some kind of adrenaline high, by staying home when I'm doing laundry.

Fools. They deserve to die, if you ask me.

Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to go toss some coins in the dryer. Just cuz.

Casey

DON'T FORGET THAT I WILL BE ANNOUNCING THE ROLLER DERBY, WITH TRICIA LA'VICIOUS, ON SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 20, AT 7PM, AT THE ASBURY PARK CONVENTION CENTER. CASEY "WOLFMAN SMACK" BARTHOLOMEW WILL BE MAKING HIS DEBUT AT THE BOUT. COME ON DOWN, WATCH THE JERSEY SHORE GIRLS TAKE ON THE GOTHAM CITY GIRLS, AND ENJOY THE FASTEST GROWING SPORT IN THE COUNTRY. RAY ROSSI WILL BE THERE, SOMEWHERE. WHY AM I DOING THIS? BECAUSE THEY ASKED, AND NO ONE EVER ASKS ME TO DO ANYTHING. ALSO, BECAUSE THE RADIO STATION SAID THEY DIDN'T WANT ME TO DO IT. SO, THEY CAN SUCK IT!!!

Something Different WARNING: LANGUAGE MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR ANYONE WITH ANY TASTE

2008-09-05T09:28:00.001-04:00

Before I get to the strange blog, I wanted to remind everyone to come out to the Asbury Park Convention Center, on September 20, at 7:00pm. I'll be announcing the roller derby bout, with Tricia La'Vicious, as Casey "Wolfman Smack" Bartholomew. Should be a lot of fun. Nobody makes any money at this. At least, I know I'm not being paid. But, they have informed me that I am not allowed to mention it on the radio anymore. I don't know why this is. I'm assuming there was some sort of transmission from the mother ship, or something. But, I was told I could mention it in my blog. So, come out. Ray will be there, somewhere. Maybe even Tommy G, though I have no confirmation of that.

Now, on to the odd blog. I had said a while back that I was going to start writing some different stuff. This is it. I'd love to know what you thought. I'm actually thinking of starting a website for this type of thing. But, I don't know how to do that, and computers hate me. So, that could take a little time. Until then, here's something weird. From my mind......The strange part......No.....The OTHER strange part.

THE BECOMING

BY CASEY BARTHOLOMEW

Decision time.

Jake Sullivan was standing just outside the woods that wrapped around his school. He could go through them, and be to school on time. Or, he could take the long way around, and be late. He was always late. One more time, and he was going to have to stay after school, and he hated doing that.

But, he didn't like going through the woods, because they were generally populated by homeless people who had been run out of town. They were harmless, but he still didn't like the idea of walking by the various "camps" that they had set up. It made him uncomfortable.

He took a deep breath, and stepped into the woods. It wasn't far. Maybe 300 yards. You could actually see the top of the gym as you walked through. But, it was early in the morning, and it creeped him out, a little.

He had gotten about 100 yards in, when he saw the first homeless guy wandering about. He had heard that some of them were a little crazy, and would just wander around, muttering to themselves. This guy seemed to fit the bill. He was about 50 feet off to Jake's left. He walked like a toddler. He was taking small, stomping steps, and seemed to be having trouble keeping his balance. He swung his arms wide with every step he took.

Probably drunk, Jake thought. Great.

Jake picked up the pace, and avoided looking at the homeless guy. It was no good, though. The guy had seen him, and was now heading in his direction. He didn't want to run away, because he didn't want to piss the freak off. So, he pulled a dollar out of his pocket, and had it ready to hand the guy.

The homeless guy kept coming, and was now about 20 feet away. He was ashen, and his eyes were so wide they were almost bulging out of his head.

"Morning," Jake said. "How ya' doin'?"

The guy just kept coming. He was close, now.

Jake held out the dollar.

"Here," he said. "Can I help you out a little?"

The guy walked right up to Jake, slapped his hand away, and lunged at him. Jake was too fast, and pushed the guy away.

"What the fuck!?!!" he said

He came at Jake, again.

Jake knocked him away, again, and this time he fell to the ground.

The guy didn't say anything. He just let out a loud moan.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" he said. It was odd.

Jake stood there, unsure of what to do. The guy was on the ground in front of him. Jake was ready to run, when the guy suddenly bounced up, and grabbed Jake's leg, forcing him to the ground.

"Fuck!!!" Jake said.

He started wildly swinging at the freak, hoping to force him off of he legs.

"Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!!" was all the guy would say.

Jake was desperately trying to force the guy off of him. He reached down to push his face away, and the guy bit his hand.

"SHIT!!" Jake said. He was able to force the guy off of him, and get to his feet. The guy rolled over, and pulled himself up, too. Jake started to back up, when the guy lunged at him, again. He stepped forward, and punched the guy square in the jaw, and broke it off. The guy fell back on the ground, and stared straight at Jake.

His lower jaw was laying on the ground beside him.

"What the fuck!?!!!" Jake said.

The guy started to crawl toward Jake again.

"Jesus Christ!!" he said.

He backed away, and turned and ran the rest of the way toward school. When he reached the edge of the woods, he stopped and looked behind him. The homeless guy wasn't there. He was sweating, and had a small bite on his hand.

"Son of a bitch bit me!!" he said.

His hand was bleeding, but it wasn't bad. He shook his head when he thought about it.

Had he knocked the guy's jaw off?

No, he thought. There's no way.

He tried to decide if he should call the police. He didn't want to have to deal with that. The bite wasn't that big, and he wasn't supposed to be wandering through the woods to begin with. Last year a bunch of kids got in trouble for going in, and throwing eggs at the homeless camps. It would just be a big hassle. He didn't want to have to answer a bunch of questions. So, he decided to just wash his hand off, and keep his trap shut. No need to cause a big problem.

He got into the school, and went right to the bathroom to wash his hand.

Christ, he thought. This hurts like hell!!

It was only about an inch long. The freak had just caught him on the side of the hand, before he was able to get away. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but it was bright red.

Great, he thought. I'm gonna get rabies from a homeless freak. Terrific.

He wrapped a paper towel around his hand, and headed to his first class. He thought about going to the nurse, to get a bandage. But, the nurse was just some old woman who volunteered her time, and they didn't always have bandages, anyway. Plus, she was kind of mean.

He got into his class, and sat down at his desk. His friend, Steve, was already there.

"Dude, what happened to your hand?" Steve asked him.

"I got bit by a homeless guy, cutting through the woods."

"He bit you!?!!"

"Yeah," Jake said. "And it hurts like hell."

"Maybe we should cut it off." Steve laughed.

"Funny."

Mrs. Wilkerson came into the class.

"Pipe down, everyone," she said. "We have a lot to cover, today."

Jake couldn't focus on anything that was going on. He eyes kept darting around the room. He was starting to sweat, and get cold, all at the same time.

Fuck!! he thought. That fucking freak gave me the flu, or something. FUCK!!

His head was starting to throb. Behind everything else that was going on, he could hear it in his head.

Boom-boom.....boom-boom.....boom-boom.....boom-boom.....boom-boom........

It wasn't loud, but it was constant. His forehead was starting to getting sweaty, and he ran his hand through his brown hair. He couldn't concentrate on anything that was going on. He tried to stay steady in his seat, and not let on that anything was going on. After what seemed like hours, Mrs. Wilkerson wrapped things up.

"Okay," she said. "Read chapter 14, for Wednesday, and answer the questions at the end. We'll go over all of it in class. We'll see you tomorrow."

As Jake was getting up to leave, she called him over.

"Are you feeling okay, Jake?" she asked. "You look a little pale."

"I'm okay," he said. "I think I'm just getting sick, or something. I'm fine."

"Do you want a pass to go to the nurse?"

He rolled his eyes.

"I know, I know," she said. "But, it's better than nothing."

"I'll be okay," he said.

He walked out into the hallway. His head was still throbbing. It felt like it was getting louder, and louder.

Boom-boom......boom-boom.....boom-boom.....boom-boom.....boom-boom......

He went back into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and looked in the mirror. He did look like hell. His face was getting pale. He was getting circles under his eyes. It looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"Shit," he said.

Jake made his way out into the hall, and headed for his next class. He was feeling dizzy, and having trouble walking. He thought about just going home. Maybe he should just call the cops, and tell them about the homeless freak. His hand hurt like hell, and his head was still throbbing.

He made it to class, and decided that he would just blow it off, and not pay any attention. It was economics. Nothing he was going to need to know. The teacher, Mr. Williams, was a blowhard. If he just kept his head down, and looked like he was taking notes, he could skate through.

One class at a time, he thought.

He took his seat, and Mr. Williams starting blathering about macro economics. Jake put his head down, and pretended to take notes. His head was killing him.

Boom-boom.....boom-boom....boom-boom.....boom-boom....boom-boom....

He closed his eyes, and tried to shake the pain off. When he opened them, he saw Becky. He's spent countless classes thinking about things he would do to her. The thought made him smile. In real life she wouldn't give him the time of day. In his mind, though, she did unspeakable things. He smiled at the thought. She had on a short, red skirt, and a form fitting, white top. He started thinking about her.

He walked up behind her, and put his arms around her. She pressed herself back against him, and cocked her head to the side. He reached up and pulled her dark hair to the side, and began kissing her neck. She closed her eyes, and started breathing at his touch. He gently kissed his way up her neck, and stopped at her ear. He took her earlobe into his mouth, as she gently moaned. Then, he bit down on her ear, and pulled it clean off her head, as the blood started running down her neck.......

"What the fuck!?!!" Jake yelled, as he jerked up out of his seat.

The whole class looked at him.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Sullivan?" Mr. Williams asked him.

Jake looked around the room. Some people were staring at him. Others were laughing. He was breathing heavy.

"Uh....No," he said. "I..uh...fell asleep.....and....uh...."

"You fell asleep in my class," Mr. Williams said. "And, you were yelling out profanities. Why don't you come back, after school, and we'll go over everything you slept through in great detail."

"Yes, sir." he said.

The bell rang. Jake got up, and walked from class. He had P.E. next. It was your typical, public school, physical education class. The teacher was Coach Paulson. He was also the football coach, and didn't feel like taking the time to actually run the class. So, he threw a bunch of basketballs into the gym, and went back to his office. Today would be no different. Steve was in the class with him, though. So, he would be able to kick back, and try and shake whatever was wrong with him.

"Wow," Steve said. "You look like shit."

"Thanks."

"What the hell happened?"

"I think it was that homeless guy," Jake said. "I think he gave me something."

"Rabies," Steve said.

"It's not rabies."

"You'll go crazy. You'll eat your own tongue, and then start eating your lips." Steve laughed.

"It's not fucking rabies," Jake said.

They were sitting in the back of the gym, watching everyone throw the basketballs around. Jake could have done without the bouncing. If he'd had one, he might have taken an ice pick to his own head. About fifteen minutes before class ended, Coach Paulson came out.

"Alright boys," he said. "Hit the showers."

In the locker room, Jake couldn't even open his eyes. The pounding was louder. He closed his eyes, tighter.

Boom-boom......boom-boom......boom-boom.....boom-boom.....boom-boom.......

He took a shower, hoping that it would calm him down. But, it didn't help. The throbbing persisted. When he dried off, he looked at himself in the mirror. He was ashen. Completely pale. He wasn't sure, but he thought his brown eyes even looked lighter.

Jesus Christ, he thought.

His next class was homeroom. Then, he had lunch, and two more periods before he could get the hell out of there.

I can make it, he thought.

Homeroom was nothing. It was a chance for you to finish the homework you hadn't done the night before, or get started on the work you had already gotten, from today. The teacher didn't even talk to them. Jake put his head down on his desk, and drifted off to sleep.

His dreams were odd, though.

People swimming in pools of blood. He would reach in, but not to save them. To catch them. To have them.

In one dream, he was being followed by a large group. He couldn't see them, but he could hear them. They didn't speak. They moaned. They kept reaching out for him. He tried to get away, but he couldn't walk. He could only stumble along. He couldn't speak. He couldn't call out for help. He kept moving....slower.....They were going to catch him.

In another dream he was pulling apart a live chicken, and eating it.

In all the dreams, his face was pale. Almost with a green tint. His eyes were sunken, and gray. His lips were black. He didn't speak. He just grunted and moaned.

The bell jerked him awake.

He was breathing heavy. Lunch was finally here.

Relax, he thought. Just relax. Days almost over. You can go home, and go to bed.

He calmed himself down, and headed to the quad. Lunch times were staggered, so there wasn't much of a crowd when he got into the cafeteria line. He picked up his tray, plate, and utensils, and waited his turn.

"What'll it be, dear?" the cafeteria lady asked him.

Jake wasn't really hungry, but he felt like he should eat something. So, he looked up at the menu.

"Uhhh...Just give me the spaghetti," he said.

"Okie-dokie," she said. She took her spoon, reached out, and slapped a bloody, human brain onto Jake's plate.

He jumped back, and threw his tray on the ground.

"WHAT THE FUCK!?!!!!" he yelled, as he fell back, and landed on his behind.

Everything in the quad stopped. Everyone was looking at Jake, again. From his place on the ground he looked over, and saw the spaghetti noodles, laying all over the ground. He closed his eyes, and put his face in his hands. The throbbing was intense. He tried covering his ears, but it didn't do any good.

BOOM-BOOM......BOOM-BOOM......BOOM-BOOM.....BOOM-BOOM.....BOOM-BOOM.......

Someone put their hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay, dear?"

It was the cafeteria lady.

Her voice sounded like it was an echo. He looked at her, but couldn't focus.

"Do I fucking LOOK okay?" he snapped at her.

He got up and tried to run, but he couldn't. His legs were numb. It felt like they were both asleep. He couldn't feel his steps. He was able to get a few feet, but was going to fast and fell down. He was able to, slowly, get back up. He could feel his breathing getting heavier. He was sweating, big time. He was able to slowly walk to the bathroom.

What's happening to me? he thought.

The circles under his eyes were darker. He was as white as a ghost, and his brown eyes were gone. They were black.

He leaned back against the wall, in the bathroom.

I've got to get out of here, he thought. I've got to get home.

He thought for a moment. He couldn't remember where his house was. He closed his eyes, and ran his hands through his hair. He could see his mom. But, he couldn't see his house. He shook his head. The woman was smiling at him.

Wait, he thought. Is that my mom.

He pointed his head down, and closed his eyes tighter. The woman in his mind reached her hand up to her own throat, and dug her nails into her neck. She was still smiling as the blood poured out of her neck, and she reached her now bloody hand out, for Jake.

The bell rang.

He shook his eyes open. He was still breathing heavy. The sweat was dripping down his face. He stumbled out of the bathroom, and back into the building for his next class. It was science. Mrs. Jenkins was his teacher. She looked up at him as he came in.

"Are you okay, Jake?" she asked.

"Uh-huh," he responded, and headed for his desk.

He sat behind the lovebirds. Tricia Miller, and Mike Elliot. Tricia was the popular, pretty, stupid, cheerleader. Mike was the popular, handsome, stupid jock. Together, they were the perfect, popular, stupid couple. They knew it. Everyone knew it. It was high school politics at it's best. They were joined at the hip, and various other places, depending on who was around.

Jake took his seat, behind Tricia.

He couldn't focus on anything. The pounding was incredible.

BOOM-BOOM......BOOM-BOOM.......BOOM-BOOM......BOOM-BOOM......BOOM-BOOM......

He kept drifting in and out. He didn't even hear Mrs. Jenkins talking. The strange dreams kept coming, and he would jerk himself awake.

He opened his eyes, and looked at the back of Tricia's head. There was something under her blonde hair, on her head. He could see it. It was pulsating, and tiny drops of blood were sprinkling down on his desk.

What the hell is that? he thought. How can she NOT feel that?

He could see it, almost bouncing up and down, under her hair.

Slowly, he reached up with both hands. He grabbed each side of her hair, and pulled it apart. He found himself looking directly inside her head, and her brain was right in front of him. He pulled her hair, tighter.

Tricia screamed.

Mike jumped up, and grabbed Jake's arms. He was able to pull him off of Tricia, and throw him to the ground.

"What's your fucking problem, Sullivan?" Mike yelled at him.

Tricia was holding her head, and crying.

Jake laid on the ground. His eyes were wide.

"Answer me!!!!!" Mike yelled at him, again.

Jake started to pull himself up.

He tried to speak.

"I....I....I could see inside her head," he said. "I thought she was hurt."

"You sick freak!!!" Tricia yelled at him.

Mike walked right up to him.

"You're dead, Sullivan," he said. "After school. You and me. You are dead meat."

"Gentlemen," Mrs. Jenkins said.

The bell rang. Jake bolted toward the door.

"Mr. Sullivan, get back here," Mrs. Jenkins said. But, he was already gone.

He pushed his way through the students that were crowding the halls. His head was pounding. They were all moving in slow motion. He suddenly knew what he was hearing. It was the blood coursing through their bodies. The noise was deafening.

BOOM-BOOM.....BOOM-BOOM.....BOOM-BOOM....BOOM-BOOM......BOOM-BOOM......

He went into the library. He knew no one would be in there. The school had cut so much, that they didn't even have a librarian. He pushed the door open, and stumbled to the back of the room, in between some large bookcases. He fell to the ground, and lay on his side.

The world was spinning. His head was pounding. He needed to get out of there. He was able to pull himself up onto all fours. He held himself there for a moment, and then threw up. A lot. After a moment he fell face down into it, and passed out.

The bell woke him.

He laid there, covered in his own vomit, for another 15 minutes.

Gotta get home, he thought. Gotta get home.

He pulled himself up. He had no balance. He ambled his way over to the door, and pushed his way into the hallway. He wasn't sure where he was going.

He kept stumbling down the hallway, until he heard a voice.

"SULLIVAN!!!"

It was coming from the other end of the hall. It was Mike Elliot.

He came at Jake.

"Did you think I would forget, Sullivan?" he said.

Jake just stared at him.

"Huh?' he said.

"Did you think I would forget that I was gonna kick your ass?"

Jake just shook his head.

"I....Uhhhh....." he answered slowly.

Mike pushed him, and he slammed against the wall.

"Did you think you could grab Tricia, like that, and get away with it?"

Jake didn't answer. He couldn't, anymore.

Mike slammed him against the wall, again.

"Now, you're gonna pay, you sick fuck!!" he said.

Jake just stared at him.

"What's the matter, pussy?" Mike said. "Don't you have anything to say?"

He grabbed Jake by the shirt, and held him against the wall. Jake grabbed onto his hands, leaned his head down, and bit down on his right index finger.

Mike screamed.

Jake held on as hard as he could. When Mike tried to pull back, he bit down as hard as he could until the finger came off in his mouth.

Mike screamed, again. He pushed Jake away from him, and fell down on his back.

"YOU FUCKING, SON OF A BITCH!!!" Mike yelled. "HOLY SHIT!!!!"

"YOU SICK, PIECE OF SHIT!!!"

He held onto his hand, and ran down the hall, away from Jake.

Jake stood there. He still had the finger in his mouth. The blood oozed down his mouth, to his chin, and onto his clothes. He spit the finger out, onto the floor, wiped his chin off, and licked the blood from his hand. He turned and stumbled down the hall, to the stairs, and headed down. His body moved slowly, and his walk had no balance.

"Mr. Sullivan," he heard a voice say.

It was his economics teacher, Mr. Williams.

"Did you forget that you were supposed to come see me, after school?"

Jake stared at him.

"Let's go," Mr. Williams said. He turned, walked into the classroom, and left the door open behind him.

Jake stumbled for the door. When he got into the classroom Mr. Williams was at the board.

"Have a seat," he said. "We're going to go over everything you decided to nap through during class, today."

He turned, and started writing on the board.

Jake ambled forward. He moved past the desk, and toward the teacher. When he got to him, he pushed Mr. Williams against the wall, grabbed him from behind, and dug his teeth into the side of his neck.

Mr. Williams screemed.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH.......JAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!"

His mouth filled with his teacher's warm blood, and he bit down harder. He felt good for the first time, all day. He pulled back, grabbed the teacher's head, and slammed it against the chalkboard, cracking open his skull. He let the body fall to the ground. Then, he bent down, and pulled the broken pieces of skull back, and started digging for the brain.

Jake Sullivan no longer existed.

For that matter neither did Mr. Williams.

About two hours later, Mike Elliot was sitting in a bed, in the emergency room. His hand was wrapped in gauze, and he had an IV attached to his arm. He was talking to the police.

"We couldn't find the finger," the officer said. "Sorry, son."

"You've gotta catch that sick bastard," Mike said. "He's nuts."

"You don't know how right you are."

"What do you mean?' Mike was starting to feel tired from the IV.

"You may have gotten off, easy," the officer said. "If we have the time right, after he....uh....bit your finger off, he went into a classroom and murdered one of your teachers. It was pretty violent, from what we could tell."

"Jesus Christ," Mike said.

"Yeah," the officer replied. "You try and get some rest. If we have any more questions, we'll be in touch."

The officer left.

Mike closed his eyes. The drugs were helping, but his hand still hurt like hell. He didn't even want to think about what this meant to his team, or his future. He just wanted to go to sleep, but he couldn't. His head was throbbing.

boom-boom....boom-boom....boom-boom....boom-boom....boom-boom...............

A Blogger Writes His Ticket To Hell....Probably Gets A Window Seat

2008-09-02T10:47:00.000-04:00

I think that God owes the media an apology.

You see, we in the media require a certain amount of suffering in order to make our money. On a good day, there will be GREAT human suffering. In the event of GREAT human suffering, we get to jack up our ad rates, and make even more money. Then, we can all buy new cars.

However, when CERTAIN SUPREME BEINGS put together a massive storm, and lead us to believe that there will be GREAT human suffering, but seem to lose interest at the last minute, that costs us money. I don't wanna mention any names....GOD......But, we mobilized, and sent our best reporters to New Orleans, for what amounted to nothing more than some heavy rain. Thanks for nothing.

No people stuck on top of their houses.

No video of animals desperately swimming for their lives.

No rape or murder in the Superdome.

No "money" shots of small children, clearly abandoned by their families, sitting in the street, crying.

AND, perhaps worst of all, no Sean Penn. We had our second unit teams camped outside Sean Penn's house, waiting to see when he was going to charter his own jet, and fly down to New Orleans, hop into a dinky row boat, and try to save people. A truly compassionate God would have, at the very least, sent Sean Penn there. It would have given us something to do.

No, we in the media got nothing. You could see it in the eyes of the reporters for the past couple of days. They looked like the kid who was sure he was getting a new bike for Christmas, yet opened up a 3 volume set of the Encyclopedia Britannica, with a faux oak display case for easy access. I thought they were going to cry.

It is time that God started realizing that we, in the media, have children to feed, too. We have mortgages to pay. Car payments to make. Food to buy. A little consideration for OUR needs would be nice. We are willing to work out a deal, if necessary.

Here's what WE need. The media works in a "Four Quarter" year. Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall. God, if you could arrange a major, domestic disaster, with great loss of life, possible minority involvement (Hispanic would be best since we are getting killed by Telemundo), in an impoverished area to maximize death/destruction, THAT would be great. Ideally, these "disasters" would come during the Fall and Spring periods, as that is when we set our ad rates. Anything where we could put stars from our new line-up would be super. Preferably during a warmer time, as we could get the girls from "Gossip Girl" in bikinis.

During the Winter/Summer months, you (God) could provide us with a similar-type disaster, in an impoverished nation that no one has ever heard of/been to. If it happened in a place where the weather was nice, that would be super, as it tends to get a little cold in certain parts of the U.S. during the winter. Baring that, a celebrity murder during this time period would be workable. It does, though, have to be a "beloved" celebrity. For example, OJ was beloved. Phil Spector was not. We got A LOT of mileage out of OJ. Not so much, with Spector. If this is a possibility, God, please think Tom Hanks/Ron Howard/Barry Manilow.

In return for your cooperation on this, we in the media would be happy to play that Mel Gibson movie, where they beat the holy crap out of your son, for two hours. As ad rates are down this year, though, we would insist on "digitally enhancing" the movie, in order to provide a minimal amount of "product placement." This would more than help to cover our losses, after you dropped the ball on the whole "Gustav" thing. For example:

Guy #1: Let's beat him some more!!

Guy #2: Yeah!!! Then, let's crucify him!!!!

Digitally Added Guy: Yeah!!! And, let's do it with lumber we bought at Home Depot....Home Depot. You can do it. We can help.

Or, how about this:

Woman: They're killing Jesus. We have to help.

Man: If we try, they'll just kill us, too.

Digitally Added Guy: Why don't we sit back, and talk about this over a nice bowl of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup.......Campbell's Soup is mmmmm-mmmmmm good.

Of course, the details would have to be worked out, and we understand that. We also realize that many of us dodged a bullet, by NOT having to go to the Republican National Convention.

Before we move forward, we in the media would like to offer this bit of advice to God. While you have a good amount of experience running a universe, we find your programming instincts to be severely lacking. So, just remember this:

Boobs, babes, sex, dead babies, destruction, natural disasters, corrupt politicians, and racial unrest = MONEY

Happy people, sunshine, puppies, kittens, long walks in the park, and ugly people = WE ARE LOOKING FOR A NEW NETWORK EXECTUTIVE.

Don't consider this in any way, shape, or form a threat. We don't WANT to have to find a new God......But, that doesn't mean that we won't.

EAT LEAD, JUSTICE LEAGUE!!!!

2008-08-25T12:47:00.000-04:00

I got bitten by a spider, or some multi-legged creature, this past weekend.

So, you are probably wondering how my super powers are coming along.

Not so good.

I still have to wear glasses.

My body mass is still, shall we say, squishy....at best.

My web making abilities are taking a little longer to come in than I had hoped.

When I was working in my basement, instead of being able to SEE the boxes starting to fall and being able to leap out of harms way, they just sort of fell on my head.

I am not climbing any walls.

AND, Kirsten Dunst has not returned a single one of my phone calls. In fact, based on some certified letters I have received, I don't think she'll be coming over anytime soon, and being forced to stay 500 feet away is NOT conducive to making out.

I'll begin saving the world as soon as everything kicks in. As much as I can, anyway. Seriously, if he was really that big of a pain in the ass, to villains, why didn't they just shoot him? He wasn't bulletproof. Sure, he has spider senses. But, I imagine that's only really effective against one, maybe two guns. If he's right there, just get a bunch of guys with machine guns to blow him away. Done. Now you can get back to your evil doing ways.

If you think about it, guns would really solve most of your basic superhero problems.

The Green Lantern?

Basically, just a guy with a ring. A ring that has to be charged. When he puts his ring on the charger, BAM. Done. No more Green Lantern.

Aquaman?

We've been over this one. He's barely a superhero as it is. Honestly, I might save the bullet. But, if you have to do it, wait until he's out of the water. He's useless. Kind of like me, if you need anything physical done. BAM. No more Aquaman.

Batman?

This one creates a problem for some. Apparently, his biggest power is that he's REALLY smart. So, yeah...He's smart....Can he think a bullet away? No? Really? Didn't think so. What's that you say? The suit? He doesn't always wear the suit. Sometimes he's Bruce Wayne. BAM. No more Bruce Wayne equals no more Batman.

The Flash creates a problem. As soon as he heard the gun cock, he'd run like the tights-wearing-sissy that he is. But, really, is that a problem?

Bad Guy #1: Now, we'll launch our master plan to take over the world!!!!!

Bad Guy #2: Yeah. The governments will kneel before us.....Oh no.....The Flash is here!!!

Bad Guy #1: What's he doing?

Bad Guy #2: Just.....sort of.....running around, really.

Bad Guy #1: Oh....Well....Granted, that's a little annoying. But, I don't think that should stop us.

Bad Guy #2: Agreed.

Bad Guy #1: Can we shoot him?

Bad Guy #2: I think he's too fast.

Bad Guy #1: Okay......Whatever.....Let's do this thing.

Superman, of course, creates a problem. He's bulletproof. You can shoot at him all day, and he'll just get bored. Luckily, every boneheaded criminal on the planet seems to be able to get their hands on kryptonite. The common flaw is that they ALL do something stupid.

Bad Guy #1: Where'd you get the kryptonite?

Bad Guy #2: Ebay. I outbid this guy from a comic book store in New Brunswick, New Jersey.

Bad Guy #1: Good job.

Bad Guy #2: Thanks. It was more than I wanted to pay. But, I figured that, since we were trying to take over the world, it would be a good thing to kill Superman.

Bad Guy #1: Yep. Well, I guess we should go and get started.

Bad Guy #2: Are you sure? I don't think he's dead yet.

Bad Guy #1: Oh, he's mostly dead.

Bad Guy #2: Shouldn't we make sure he's ALL dead? I mean, he IS Superman.

Bad Guy #1: No....Come on....I wanna get this started. Make sure you take the kryptonite off him, too.

Bad Guy #2: Why don't we just leave it on him, and make sure he dies? I mean, we don't have to be here for that.

Bad Guy #1: Why do you argue with me? It makes PERFECT sense to take the kryptonite, which we can do NOTHING with, off of him when we leave......I swear.....Sometimes I think I'm the only one here who WANTS to take over the world.

Bad Guy #2: No, no. You're right. I'm sorry. I'll take the kryptonite, which we can't use for anything else, off of the MOSTLY dead superhero, and we can go. What could POSSIBLY go wrong?

Bad Guy #1: Thank you. I'm sorry I snapped.

Bad Guy #2: It's okay. I understand. The stress of taking over the world, and all.

Bad Guy #1: Where is The Flash?

Bad Guy #2: Uhhhhhh....Still just, kind of, runnin' around out there.

Bad Guy #1: Okay, good.

That's not how I would do it. I would leave the kryptonite ON Superman, and just let him fade away and die. Then, I would rule the world, and you would ALL be forced to talk like Kermit the Frog, and watch "Mystery Science Theater 3000" for the rest of your lives. Would that be so bad?

Someone just asked me about Wonder Woman, because she has those bracelets. That's simple. She only has 2 bracelets. If I bring 3 guns, I fail to see the problem in taking her out.

I believe that, if I have done nothing else, I have proven that there aren't many superhero-related problems that a gun can't solve. Personally, I don't have a gun. I would shoot myself. Not on purpose, mind you. But, I would play with it, or something, and shoot myself in the head. However, based on today's blog, this may be an improvement.

So, barring that, I will have to depend on my pending super spider powers to save you ALL from evil!!!!

Right now, these powers consist of nothing more than a small, itchy welt on my left arm.

I don't think this will instill fear in the hearts of the bad guys......Even though it's REALLY itchy.

Maybe I'll just buy a gun.

Casey

Boxing Casey

2008-08-19T12:34:00.000-04:00

I'm about to become an amputee.

I know that some people find that sexy. But, I don't think I'm going to lose one of my "sexy" appendages. What are the sexy appendages, anyway? I would think, maybe, the legs? Could be kind of a power trip. With no legs, they can't get away, right? You are in complete control. So, if you're into that sort of thing, I would think you would want someone without legs. But, this is just off the top of my head. I haven't done any actual research. I know there are "fetish" websites, and such. But, I'm too embarrassed to look at them. So, I'll just go with my gut. Legs.

I did see that movie, "Boxing Helana," though. It's nothing I want to pursue, but a Sherilyn Fenn with no arms or legs, dressed in lingerie, and propped up in a box, does have a certain measure of appeal.

Hmmmmmmm........

Perhaps this could be a lesson in how we should not rush to judgement. However, I doubt most amputees look like Sherilyn Fenn. But, again, I don't KNOW this because I don't go to those sites. Maybe I should. Just once. You know. For Research.

What was I talking about?

Oh, yeah.....

I'm about to lose my thumb.

You see, over the weekend, I was attacked by a giant, mutant piece of wood, which launched a splinter deep within the soft, white, underbelly of my left thumb.

I can't get it out.

It is, at this point in time, a nice, bright, glowing hue of red. Which I think means that it is infected.

I tried biting at it, but that did no good. All I accomplished, there, was tasting my own blood. (Kinda salty. In case you were wondering.)

So, I went high-tech. Tweezers. All this allowed me to do was see more of my blood (No. I did not go back for seconds.) After a period of time, I became, to use a medical term, "WOOZY." So, before I passed out, i decided to stop performing medical procedures on myself. This will become more common, if we ever get universal healthcare, where they encourage you to "self diagnose." But, for now, I opted to stop while I still had some feeling in my thumb.

The latest "procedure" that people are suggesting is using a needle. Apparently, in this ultra safe method, you super heat a random sewing needle, with FIRE, and then dig it into your flesh until the offending splinter starts laughing so hard at your stupidity, that it comes shooting out of your body. I'm gonna hold off on this one.

I wouldn't mind, so much, losing my thumb if this had come from a piece of my own wood. It didn't. I was cleaning out the garage, over the weekend, and had to dig through several boxes of other people's stuff, which my wife has forced me to move from house, to house, to house over the years. One can only assume that this was part of her master plan. Hoping that, at some point, I would do something stupid, and one of the pieces of junk would actually kill me. Playing the odds, it's actually not a bad plan. I do many stupid things.

So, from every house we have ever lived in, we have packed the worthless crap that OTHER people were smart enough to leave behind, and brought it with us.

We have a set of ugly curtains, that people have intentionally left behind, from every house we have ever lived in. We don't put them up. They're ugly. That's why the people left them behind.

We have two sets of patio furniture. TWO. Most people don't have one. We have two. One came from Michigan, and the other came from South Carolina. Other people left these behind. We took 'em. Cuz, you know, you NEVER know when you're going to need an extra set of ugly patio furniture.

That's just the tip of the iceburg. We have boxes of crap, that other people didn't want, but HAD to keep. My wife's justification for all of this is a charitable one. When I ask her if we can throw this stuff away, she says no. When I ask why, she says that we will donate it. When my wife says that we will "donate it," this is actually code for "We will keep it, and spend thousands of dollars moving it all over the country, in the hope that it will eventually kill you."

The problem is that it took too long for me to figure this out.

So, Sunday, as I was innocently moving a pile of old shelves, that do not belong to us, I was viscously attacked by a plank of wood.

Now I have a splinter.....

That is throbbing.....

And turning bright red.....

And poisoning my blood.....

And my thumb is, almost literally, dangling by a small thread of flesh, that is barely connected to my hand.

For the rest of my life, I will drop EVERYTHING that I try to pick up with my left hand. Which is probably why a "thumb amputee" is not even remotely sexy.

It's gotta be the legs.

I think I'm gonna go check out some of those websites.

Research purposes only. I swear.

Casey

Well We're Movin' On Up.......To The East Side

2008-08-15T10:24:00.001-04:00

Moving is a joy, and I highly recommend it to everybody.

In truth, I feel a little guilty. I mean, YOU haven't been able to experience the orgasmic pleasures that I've been able to engage in over the last several days. Don't be fooled. Some people will tell you that moving is a horrible experience. These people have NO sense of adventure.

Seriously, do you REALLY think that it's NOT exciting to have a small group of illegal immigrants come into your home, and place all your personal goods into cardboard boxes?

You don't?

Well, you're just crazy.

Personally, I have spent sleepless nights, dreaming about the possibility of a slimy, illegal thing handling my underwear. That's just fun is what that is!!!!

Then, when the "quality" individuals come to actually load your things onto a truck, that is a thrill in and of itself.

Me: They had to bring that in through the garage. Are you going to be able to fit it through the door?

Mover Guy: If we can't do it easily, we'll force it.

Me: Well, okay.....Wait.....What?

Mover Guy: We'll force it. You bought the insurance, right?

Me: Insurance? I....Uhhh.....

Mover Guy: You can buff a lot of the scratches right out.

Me: Uhhh....I don't think that's right.

Mover Guy: Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know that you were a PROFESSIONAL mover, like myself.

Me: Well, no. I talk on the radio.

Mover Guy: Oh....I'm sorry....Were all the heterosexual jobs taken?

Me: Shut up.

Then, after a series of VERY uncomfortable crashes, and scrapings, your stuff is on a large truck!!! Shoved in, good and tight, like the way you used to clean your room by shoving everything into the closet, and slamming the door real quick before it would come exploding out!!!!!

Then the journey REALLY begins.

Me: Well, we'll see you guys in New Jersey.

Mover Guy: (shuffling paperwork) Uhhh.....New Jersey?

Me: Yeah....We're moving to New Jersey.

Mover Guy: New Jersey.....That's......Sort of.....East-ish, right?

Me: East-ish?

Mover Guy: West-ish?

Me: This is gonna go good. I can feel it.

Mover guy: North-ish?

Me: Stop it.

After a stressful two days, with several frantic phone calls from the movers, your stuff arrives at your new home. You aren't a hundred percent certain, but you're pretty sure that the driver had NO idea that he had made it to the right house. Rather, he saw you standing outside your home, recognized you, and slammed on his breaks. Dumb luck. Either way, your stuff is here.

Now, you expect to have 215 boxes, containing most of your life, place in the room where they need to be. But, then you remember that illegal aliens......possibly illegal SPACE aliens......packed your stuff. So, when you look at the boxes, and try to determine which rooms they go in, you realize that they don't have any actual words on them. Rather, it's more of a collection of random letters that don't really mean anything. (Sort of like this blog, only funnier.)

So, because of this, you end up having several conversations with your wife that go like this:

Wife: Do you know which box the Tivo cord is in?

Me: No.

Wife: THE TIVO CORD!

Me: I heard you. I just don't know where it is.

Wife: It's about 3 feet long.

Me: There are 215 boxes, marked with made up words.....You see how this information doesn't help me, don't you?

Wife: It goes to the Tivo!!

Me: I sense that we aren't communicating.

Wife: You're an idiot.

Me: I understood that.

Wife: Well, then we are communicating just fine.

Then, if you are REALLY lucky, you bought a house with a pool. AND, if you are REALLY, super, neo, maxi-zoomed lucky, like me, YOUR DOG decides to take a dip in the pool......Your dog who can't swim......And, since you got out of the "doggie-snuff" film business YEARS ago, you get to jump into the pool, at around midnight, and save your dog. Mind you, this dog would NOT save you. This particular dog would probably bring the bullets to your execution, because it still blames you for putting ear medication in her ears, almost two years ago!! But, you do it. Mainly because your wife would get mad, seeing a dead dog in the pool, and she already hates you. Why pour gas on a fire?

After the movers leave, and you've placed your dog on suicide watch (just to be safe), you settle down. You find solace in the fact that all your stuff is now in one place. You try and close your eyes, and get in a little rest.....

Then, your wife screams from upstairs that you STILL haven't found the Tivo cord.

And you wish someone would pack you in a box, write make believe words on it, and take you someplace else.

Now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to go look for the Tivo cord....So I can choke my self with it.

Casey

Semi-blog

2008-08-10T09:51:00.001-04:00

This doesn't really count as a blog. This is just the first time that I've had access to a computer in close to a week.

My stuff is here, in Mt Laurel. My family is not yet here. It's just me and my father-in-law, right now. He doesn't talk much. Just stares at me, and mutters. I can't be certain, but I'm pretty sure I heard the word "whimp" when I was moving a particularly heavy box. Normally he calls me "blister," because he says I show up when the work is done. I don't think he understands that I don't have a "real" job, where "real" work is done. Every so often he looks at me and says, "Let me get this straight, they pay you to do what?"

Once I am unpacked, I am planning things for the blog. I've had a recent burst of inspiration. There will be the usual cartoon that is my life. But, there will also be an online novel. Plus, something a little more warped. I may even start a seperate website for that. I have to figure out how to do that. People always tell me that it's easy to start a website. Then, they start talking about it. This causes my mind to shut down, and I go to my happy place, which is currently on a couch, watching "Entourage," and weird kids programming. But, I'll get there.

I come back to work on Tuesday. I haven't yelled at anyone in over a week, so I might be a little bit on edge. I would yell at my father-in-law. But, I think he could kill me with his pinky.
See you in a couple of days!!

Casey

Thank You, In Advance, For My Foreclosure

2008-07-25T10:44:00.000-04:00

I'm taking Monday off so that I can place myself further into financial ruin.

I'm closing on my house.

So, in order to celebrate going several hundred thousand dollars into debt, I'm going to take a day off of work. Somehow this doesn't make sense. At a point when I need money, more than ever, I've decided NOT to go to work.

I don't own a house, now. I've owned houses in the past. But, right now, the house my family lives in is owned by my in-laws. They claim this was to help them with tax issues. I think it was so that they could control my life.

Me: I am the king of my castle!!!!

Mother-In-Law: Really? Because I was just looking at the deed, and....uh.....

Me: Shut-up.

Mother-In-Law: Don't talk to me like that in my house.

Me: I.......damn it........I'm going to my room.

Mother-In-Law: Your room?

Me: STOP IT!!!!!

My point being that, before Monday, I will have virtually no debt. Then, as if by magic, I will be thrust into a world of mortgage payments, and APR's, and re-financing, and flux capacitors', and such. And, when I say "me," I really mean "Brooke." My wife does that. I can't handle the money. I'll buy candy, and everybody knows it.

This has always been a problem with me, and money. I very rarely buy things I need (food,) but I often buy things that neither I, nor ANYONE else needs (Kermit The Frog hat.) I think my main problem is that I don't like shopping. So, I have to make it exciting. Sadly, at 38, buying a Kermit The Frog hat makes it exciting.

I suppose that I COULD buy exciting things. Lingerie? No. Can't buy that. If I buy anything for my wife, I have to do it online. I know that there are guys who CAN do that, and will make a big show of it. I'm not one of them. I think the big problem is that I'm 5'10", and my wife is 5'9". So, in my mind, anything that I buy for her LOOKS like it might fit me.......And I KNOW what they're thinking.

Lingerie Girl: Can I help you, sir?

Me: Yeah, I'm looking for something for my wife.

Lingerie Girl: Of course, sir. And, what size is your wife?

Me: I dunno. She's about my height. So.....

Lingerie Girl: Oh.......I see.

Me: Huh?

Lingerie Girl: Are you looking for something to sleep in? Or, do you want something to wear under your clothes?

Me: I.....Wait.....What?

Lingerie Girl: Do you prefer satin, or something in lace?

Me: Uhhhh....I don't think you understand.......

Lingerie Girl: (winking) Oh, I think I understand, sir. Lots of men come in for their...uh....WIVES.

Me: No....I.....I wear boxers....I'm not....

Lingerie Girl: We just got some new crotchless items in, if you're interested......

Me: NO!!! I have to go.......I have to buy.....tools......and.......things.....

So, I buy all that stuff (FOR MY WIFE!!!!) online. Then, when it arrives at my house, my wife opens it up, takes it out of the package, gives me that "knowing" look, and promptly puts it into her lingerie drawer which is where lingerie goes to die. If you listen closely, you can actually hear the garter belts screaming before she closes the door. Sad, really.

Can't blame a guy for trying.

So, I end up buying video games, and books, and candy, and such. I suppose that it's true that guys never really grow up. Especially me. I wear clothes that rarely match. Most days, I wear a baseball hat. I ALWAYS wear tennis shoes. This is why it's so odd that someone is going to loan me a pile of money to buy a house.

I wouldn't even give me a pile of money, to buy a house. I've never even MET the guy who's going to give it to me. If I had, I can't imagine that he would WANT to lend me this kind of money. There would certainly be better investments. Like......Oh.......I don't know......Setting it on fire.

When I go in, for the closing, on Monday I thought about wearing my suit. Yes, I have a suit. It's gray. That way I can wear it when someone dies, or gets married. But, I think it would be okay for a house closing. That way, the money guy would feel better about giving me money.

"Wow!!" he would say. "That gentleman in the suit is one mature, responsible, 38 year old, father of two. I have no problem loaning HIM all this money.......Wait a minute..........Is that a Pepe Le Pew tie that he's wearing?"

Sadly, yes. It is. The same one my father tied for me, two years ago and I keep pulling over my head, because I don't know how to tie a tie. I bought it when I bought the Kermit The Frog hat........AFTER I left the lingerie store......Wearing my boxers, damn it....... I SWEAR TO GOD!!!!!

Casey

I Have A Right To Know!!!!

2008-07-23T10:52:00.000-04:00

I went to an all boys, catholic high school. I am more than willing to admit that I don't know a lot about women. Never have. I know they smell nice. I like that. So, I have compiled a list of questions that I would like......No.......That I DEMAND answers to.

They are in no particular order. So, if you could please get out your number 2 pencils, and get cracking, I would consider it a personal favor.

Thank you:

Why do you go see movies, and make us go see movies, that you KNOW are going to make you cry? Then, why do you get upset that you cried? Don't tell me that you DIDN'T know you were going to cry. The movie was called "MY FIANCE DIED THE MORNING HE PROPOSED TO ME, AFTER I FOUND OUT THAT I WAS PREGNANT WITH HIS CHILD, SIX MONTHS AFTER HE DONATED AN ORGAN THAT SAVED MY LIFE." Everyone knew you were going to cry. Why didn't you?

How do you avoid getting the toothpaste all over your mouth when you brush your teeth? You look perfectly normal after you brush your teeth. I look like a rabid dog, that the police would shoot on sight.

Why do you go to such great lengths, including wearing VERY uncomfortable looking underwear, to keep people from seeing your panty line? Yet, you wear pants that, as soon as you sit down, show that very underwear to the entire world? (Note: Not that I am complaining. I'm just curious.)

Why do you wear shirts that draw attention to your breasts, then get mad when we look at your breasts?

Why does it take you 5 minutes to iron the same shirt that took me 20 minutes, and yours looks better?

Why do I have to throw away a perfectly good shirt, that may be 15 years out of style, but you can keep a dress that you had BEFORE I even met you, AND still has the tags on it?

Why all the shoes? I have two pairs of tennis shoes, and a pair of dress shoes that I wear when someone dies or gets married. I'm good. Why do you need so many shoes?

Why do I have to lie to you, and tell you something starts at 8:00, when it really starts at 8:30, just so that you'll be ready on time? Then, after you find out that I'm lying to you, I have to tell you that it starts at 7:30, because you have figured out that I'm adding a 1/2 hour to our "prep" time. So, when I say 7:30, you'll think "Ha!!! I know what you're up to!! It doesn't start until 8:00!!" Then, we'll show up at 8:30, which was my plan all along. Pretty soon you'll get so wise to my tricks, that I'll have to start telling you the event starts several days before it actually does. But, we'll probably still be there by 8:30. So, why can't you just be ready on time, and we can stop this web of lies?

Why did you fall in love with us, when we were geeks, and then tried to make us not be geeks? You married a geek. Deal with it. I'm good with it, why can't you be?

Why do you ask my opinion, when we both know that you REALLY don't want it? We could save ourselves a lot of time, here....

Casey

Death By Plumbing

2008-07-18T10:22:00.000-04:00

I wish I could plumb.

I can't.

In fact, I can't do much. If I could do plumbing, though, I think that would be something. People respect people who can do things. I can't do anything.

Guy 1: Damn pipes!!

Guy 2: I know. I hate it when they do those..."pipe".....things.

Guy 1: Yeah.

Guy 2: Well, I guess we better call Casey.

Guy 1: Yep. Casey is pretty good at "plumbing" things.

Guy 2: Did you ever wonder why there's a "b" in that word?

Guy 1: Yeah. And, what about the middle "c," in Connecticut?

Guy 2: This is one crazy world we live in.

Guy 1: Isn't it?

That conversation has NEVER happened.....Well, the first part. I bet the last part happens all the time. Why is there a "b" in that word?

If I could plumb, it would happen all the time. But, I can't. No plumbing.

I also can't change a light fixture. Bulb? Yes....mostly. Fixture? No. I cannot do that.

I can't lay carpet.

I can't fix cars.

I can't put down tile.

I can't put a new roof on the house.

I can't install a garbage disposal.

I can't put down a cement driveway.

I know what you ladies are thinking. You're thinking: My God!! How did I miss this raging stud, when I was single!?!!

On the plus side, my weekends are mostly free. When you can't do anything, people rarely call you. Also, I have very soft hands. Those come in handy when you are doing what I normally do....Which is nothing....They also come in handy for "handling" women....Which I almost never do....For whatever reason, women like men with soft hands. So, they love me. They often ask me to hold their purses, with my soft hands, while they go watch the guys who are putting in the cement driveway. I am SO in!!!!

It's never occurred to me WHY I can't do any of these things. I just can't. No one ever showed me. But, no one ever showed me how to write a blog, either, and I aced that (SHUT UP!!)

Someone had to teach these "other" guys how to do these things. They didn't just KNOW, did they? Honestly, that would be creepy. You can't just do that, can you? Just KNOW how to rebuild a transmission. Someone has to tell you, right? I mean, there's a girl on "Heroes" who can do that. But, that's just a TV show, isn't it? Hmmmmm.....(Note to self: Next time you see a hot, blonde cheerleader, stab her and see if she heals. Always better to be on the safe side.)

I do think that there are people who are predetermined, at birth, to be better at some things than other people are. Like in the old Soviet Union. God works that way......Like the Soviet Union.....Except, without the death camps....God doesn't need death camps.....Quit being an idiot.

I just think that, no matter what point in time you would have dropped me in, the result would have been pretty much the same. Which is to say, I would have been useless. Even in the relatively simple times of the caveman.

Grog: We go hunt, now!!!

Prehistoric Me: Casey hunt?

Grog: Casey hunt?

Prehistoric Me: Ooga!!!

Grog: Uhhhhhhhhh......Me.....think....Uhhhh....

Prehistoric Me: Casey good hunter!!!!!

Grog: No, no....Casey good hunter....Just that.....uhhhh....Casey skills better used OTHER places...

Prehistoric Me: Casey OTHER places?

Grog: That it!!!

Prehistoric Me: Casey do what?

Grog: Uhhhhh....Casey draw pictures on wall...Keep record of hunt.....

Prehistoric Me: Casey blog?

Grog: Okay, dude!! Seriously, no one is going to read your damn blog, okay? Deal with it.

Prehistoric Me: OOGA!!!!

So, you see? It has nothing to do with me, or my overall lack of ability. This is just the way God made me.

I suppose that I could take some sort of class, or something, that would teach me how to do these things. I mean, I wouldn't mind knowing how to plumb, or wire, or roof. Luckily, for society, I know my limitations.

Were I to plumb, someone would inevitably drown.

Were I to wire, someone would get electrocuted.

Were I to roof, entire homes would come tumbling down on top of innocent families.

So, really, it is for the greater good that I don't do ANY of these things. The simple fact of the matter is that, when I touch tools, people die. It's not pretty. I am........THE HANDYMAN OF DOOM!!!!!! Trained by our own government to wipe out entire enemy villages, simply by replacing a dislodged shingle.....Taliban children have nightmares about me.

So, it is best if I spend my time fostering my other, non-lethal skills. Which are basically non-existent.

But, I can change a diaper. I can do the laundry, as long as I wash everything on cold. AND, I can hold your bag while you go stare at those guys putting the roof on that house.......While you're over there, will you look for my wife? Her purse is getting heavy.

Casey

The Miracle Of Life.....More Or Less

2008-07-14T11:19:00.002-04:00

FIRST TIME PARENTS:

Wife: Honey, look!!!!!!

Husband: OH MY GOD!!!!! THERE'S A BLUE LINE!!!!! WE'RE GONNA HAVE A BABY!!!!!

Wife: I think I'm gonna cry.....

Husband: Me too.....

SECOND TIME PARENTS:

Wife: Uhhhhhhh.....You might want to take a look at this.....

Husband: I'm not touching that.....You peed on it.

Wife: There's a blue line.....

Husband: Is that the good one?

Wife: No.

Husband: I'm gonna go buy another one.

Wife: Get TWO!!!!

-----------

FIRST TIME PARENTS:

Wife: YOU are going to be the best dad ever....

Husband: And, YOU are going to be a terrific mom....

SECOND TIME PARENTS:

Husband: Well, I guess we're going to have to start investing in more wine, so that you can....uh....relax your nerves, huh?

Wife: Yeah, and let's try and remember to NOT put the baby in the dryer for a....What was it?....RIDE?

-----------

FIRST TIME PARENTS:

Wife: This is amazing.

Husband: It's a miracle is what it is. We weren't even trying.

SECOND TIME PARENTS:

Husband: You stopped taking your pill, didn't you....That's how THIS happened.

Wife: Really? Do you think? 'Cuz, I was leaning more toward the "HUNDRED CONDOMS FOR A BUCK" sale, at the Dollar Store, that SOMEONE got so excited about.

Husband: Hey!!! MOST of them weren't torn.

----------

FIRST TIME PARENTS:

Husband: You get more beautiful with every passing month.

Wife: I love going to sleep in your arms.

SECOND TIME PARENTS:

Husband: I'm gonna go sleep in the other room.

Wife: Good idea. You MIGHT actually wake up alive.

----------

FIRST TIME PARENTS:

Wife: Honey.....Wake up....I think it's time.

SECOND TIME PARENTS:

Wife: Get up, Bonehead....I'm not driving myself.

----------

FIRST TIME PARENTS:

Husband: You're doing great, honey. Just keep pushing.....You're doing terrific.

SECOND TIME PARENTS:

Husband: Can we speed this up, at all?

Wife: GET..........OUT............

----------

FIRST TIME PARENTS:

Wife: Oh my God!!! He looks just like my father.....

Husband: He's beautiful!!!

SECOND TIME PARENTS:

Wife: God, they ALL look like little old men when their born.

Husband: It's hard to look at.

----------

FIRST TIME PARENTS:

Husband: You're gonna be daddy's little quarterback, aren't you?

SECOND TIME PARENTS:

Husband: You're gonna mow the lawn on the weekend, so daddy can sleep in, aren't you?

----------

FIRST TIME PARENTS:

Wife: I'm gonna take you for long walks, all around the neighborhood, so that everyone can see my little man.

SECOND TIME PARENTS:

Wife: Crap.....It's gonna be 15 years before I'll be able to sleep past 8am, on a weekend.

---------

FIRST TIME PARENTS:

Wife: I want to have a hundred more kids with you.

Husband: And I want to have a thousand more, with you.

SECOND TIME PARENTS:

Husband: Uhhhh......This is the last one, right?

Wife: Oh, you're getting a vasectomy, next week. Or, I swear to GOD, I will cut it off while you sleep.

Casey

I Look Better When I'm Blurry

2008-07-11T11:36:00.001-04:00

I have to get new glasses.

I hate getting new glasses. It's just another one of God's cruel little jokes.

God: Hey, Casey!!! I'm gonna let EVERYONE ELSE see perfectly. But, you my friend are going to have to wear metal, plastic, and glass on your face to be able to see. HA HA HA.....Isn't that funny!?!!

Me: Yeah, God. That's a good one....Boy, you're on fire today, aren't you......Thanks.

The big problem is that I'm ALREADY not very good looking to begin with. I'm not fishing for compliments, either. I have mirrors in my house. I know what I look like. I have two older brothers. Steve is good looking, tall, and smart. Tom is good looking, strong, and sensitive. So, that means that I exist off the genetic residue. I'm just Casey. Toss a pair of glasses on that, and it becomes a scene from "Night Of The Living Dead." Again, thanks God.

The other issue is that I just don't care how I look, and don't see the need for spending hundreds of dollars on "fashion glasses," when the black-framed, plastic ones will do the same job. I'm 38, married, with two kids. It's all downhill from here, looks-wise. Why not just embrace it!!!

So, I went to the mall, last night, and started to look around. By the way, if you're ever at the mall, and you're looking for a good laugh, head on over to Lense Crafters, or whatever glasses shop they have. It can actually be pretty funny.

You see, what they do is lay all the glasses out around the store, with a bunch of mirrors, and let the legally blind come in and try to pick out a pair. The problem is that we have to take our glasses off in order to try the new ones on. So, WE CAN'T SEE WHAT THE NEW ONES LOOK LIKE. Ultimately what you get is a bunch of blind people, without their glasses on, wandering around the store, bumping into things, and trying to figure out if the pencil holder they just put on their face, because they can't see, makes them look good.

Priceless.

My other problem, of course, is my wife. I don't know how she knows, but she can always tell when I'm in a glasses store. She knows that, left on my own, I'll buy the black, plastic ones. So, I think she has some sort of special alarm that goes off:

WARNING!!!!! CASEY IS AT THE GLASSES STORE!!!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL......REPEAT......THIS IS NOT A DRILL......CASEY IS AT THE GLASSES STORE.....THIS IS NOT A DRILL....THIS IS NOT A DRILLL..........

So, she called.

Brooke: What are you doing?

Me: Uh....Nothing.

Brooke: Nothing, huh?

Me: Nope. Just sittin' in the mall, watching the girls go in and out of Victoria's Secret.

Brooke: You're at the glasses store, aren't you.....

Me: I.....no......How did you know that?

Brooke: What's that sound? Are you holding the black, plastic glasses?

Me: (Putting down the black, plastic glasses) NO.......I am not.

Brooke: Uh-huh.....Hey, you know what would be fun? If we go pick out your glasses together, when you come home this weekend.

Me: You just don't want me to look like a dweeb.

Brooke: Well, SOMEONE has to care about that.

Me: (rolling my eyes)

Brooke: Don't you roll your eyes at me, mister!!!

Me: GET OUTTA MY HEAD!!!!

So, this woman who just had two major surgeries, can't walk under her own power, and is in constant pain is going to drag herself, and the kids, out of the house, just so that I don't buy the black, plastic glasses.

Clearly, she has not come to grips with the fact that she married a geek.

Stop laughing so hard, God......There's milk coming out of your nose.

Casey

I Don't Even Know Why I Wrote This

2008-07-08T21:58:00.002-04:00

Superman: Okay, we've convened this meeting of The Justice League of America in order to determine the status of Aquaman as an A-level superhero. Now, Aquaman, would you like to make any sort of opening statement.

Aquaman: Yeah, I'd like to make a statement. This is totally bogus. I've been an A-level superhero for decades. Everyone knows I'm an A-level superhero. I'm the king of the freaking sea, for God's sake. You guys suck.

Green Lantern: Your feelings have been noted for the record, Aquaman. Now, if I may, your only noticeable power is that you can breath underwater, correct?

Aquaman: No, in fact that is NOT correct.Green Lantern: Really? What else can you do?

Aquaman: I can talk to fish.

Green Lantern: I'm sorry.....Did you say that you can talk to fish?

Aquaman: Yes. I talk to the fish, and the fish talk back to me.

Green Lantern: I see......And.......Uh......What do the fish say to you?Aquaman: Lots of things.

Green Lantern: Humor me.

Aquaman: Well, they tell me if another fish is hurt.

Green Lantern: So that you can save the fish?

Aquaman: Exactly!!

Green Lantern: So, that's your super power? Saving fish.

Aquaman: Ye.....Well....There's more......I mean....That's not ALL I can do.

Flash: Well, what ELSE can you do.

Aquaman: Well, I can throw REALLY hard water balls.

Flash: I'm sorry...Water balls?

Aquaman: Yes. I spin the water up with my hand, really fast, then I can throw it really hard at something.

Flash: So, let's say Lex Luther were doing something bad, you could throw a VERY hard....uh....Water ball at him?

Aquaman: Right!! Now you guys are getting it.

Flash: But...He would have to be underwater.

Aquaman: Well....Yeah.

Flash: I see.....And....Uh....What major crime against mankind could he commit....uh.....underwater?

Aquaman: Well, he could make really big waves, I guess.

Flash: And you could stop this?

Aquaman: Well....No.

Flash: But, you could tell the fish about it.

Aquaman: Are you being a wise-ass!?!!

Flash: No, no, no.....Let me ask you, do the fish tell you anything else? You know, like to kill people, or anything?

Aquaman: HA-HA-HA....Very funny.....What's your power, huh? You run really fast? Wow!!

Flash: Well, I do it ON LAND....You know....Where the bad guys generally are.......Not, underwater......Where they AREN'T.....You see the difference?

Superman: Uh....If we could try to keep this civil. Don't think we arent' looking into YOUR powers, too, Flash. Alright? It feels like we're giving EVERYONE A-level superhero status, these days.

Aquaman: Yeah!!!

Superman: Now, Aquaman, aside from your amazing abilities to...uh...breath underwater, and throw waterballs, is there anything else?

Aquaman: Such as?

Superman: Well, how about super strength? You look like you work out.

Aquaman: Well, you know, I try and stay in shape.

Superman: Okay....And, the strength?

Aquaman: Well......I mean.....I can bench about 250.....Is that super?

Superman: No.....Not really.

Aquaman: What can you bench?

Superman: A building, or two.

Aquaman: Oh.....That's good, too.

Superman: Yeah, is there anything else?

Aquaman: I can swim fast........

Flash: While you're talking to the fish?

Aquaman: Shut-up!!!

Green Lantern: You know, I'm really not seeing anything REALLY super, here.....

Aquaman: Well, what about you, Lantern boy!!!

Green Lantern: What about me?

Aquaman: YOU aren't super.

Green Lantern: Am too!!!

Aquaman: ARE NOT!!! Your RING is super. YOU just happen to be wearing it. Without that ring, you're NOTHING!!!!!

Green Lantern: That's not the point. I DO have the ring. So, there......

Aquaman: It's not even MUCH of a super ring, really. You have to charge it. If you don't charge it, you got nothing. You give me that ring, with my other powers, I'd rock!!!!

Flash: Underwater?

Aquaman: Shut-up, Flash!!!!

Flash: While you're talking to the fish?

Aquaman: You're lucky we're on land!!!!!

Flash: Or you'd throw water at me?

Superman: I'm not gonna tell you guys again.....

Aquaman: What about Wonder Woman?

Superman: What about her?

Aquaman: What's super about her?

Superman: Let's not get into this.....

Aquaman: Her invisible plane?

Superman: I am not going to discuss her with you!!

Aquaman: I can get an invisible plane!!!!

Superman: There's more to it than that....

Aquaman: Is it the lasso? Hell, I can get a rope, too.

Superman: It's complicated.

Aquaman: The bracelets?

Superman: She does....OTHER.....things that are super...

Aquaman: What?

Superman: OTHER.......THINGS......OKAY?

Aquaman: I........OOHHHHHHHHHHHHH............

Superman: Okay, why don't we just.....

Aquaman: No, no....I'd like to stay on this for a minute.....

Superman: I....I don't think that's necessary, really.....

Aquaman: Nooooooo.....By all means......Tell us about the "OTHER" things that Wonder Woman does for you.

Superman: Listen, I think you've made an excellent case. Breathing underwater, swimming fast, talking to fish, and throwing hard water......That is an A-level superhero if I've ever seen one....

Aquaman: Are you sure? Because I'd be happy to look deeper into this, as well as what Batgirl is bringing to Batman's.....uh.....table....

Superman: No, no.....We're fine. It's all good. I don't see any reason to move forward.

Aquaman: Well, I'm glad you guys could see it my way.

Flash: Tell the fish we said hi.

Aquaman: SUCK IT, FLASH!!!!!

Casey

Lizard Mixtures, And Other Things I've Learned

2008-07-07T11:48:00.000-04:00

I've admitted this before. But, now it's time to make an official proclamation.

I like country music.

It kind of hit my by surprise. I wasn't TRYING to like country music. I don't drink beer, I don't hunt, I don't drive a truck, and I haven't worn a cowboy hat since I worked at a western themed amusement park, and made funnel cakes for tourists.

But, I had fallen into a musical rut. Until just a few weeks ago, on my many trips back and forth to St. Louis, I had been listening to......well.....Duran Duran. Don't mock me. The '80's were my decade. I even had a really thin tie, with a keyboard design on it. It was....uh......radical. Or, "rad" as we would say.

But, I can't just like country music. I needed to know WHY I liked country music, now. There had to be a reason for me to turn my back on the music of my decade. So, because I have WAY to much free time on my hands, I did a little probing.

First, there was the Carrie Underwood factor. I believe we have already established that I should NEVER have free access to her. If I do, I'll take her. I'll treat her nice, and keep her safe and warm. But, she will be mine, and no one will ever get to hear her sing again......except me. ("It sings a song, or it gets the hose!!!")

I would gladly trade my "Cardboard Carrie" cutout, that I got at a store, for the real thing. I don't know if I would go so far as to consider this a "REAL" threat. But, if I were Carrie's people, I would think long and hard about keeping a picture of me at the entrance of all her shows.

So, there's that. No small thing. But, still. I could watch Carrie Underwood without the sound, and NEVER have to hear a country song. There had to be more.

I decided to take two songs, and place them side by side. (See? WAAAAYYYY too much time on my hands.) I picked "New Moon On Monday," a big hit for Duran Duran in the '80's, and "Online," a newer country song that I like, by Brad Paisley.

First, the Duran Duran song:

Shake up the picture
The lizard mixture
With your dance on the
Eventide

You got me coming up
With answers
All of which
I deny

I said it again
But could I please rephrase it?
Maybe I can
Catch a ride

I couldn't really
Put it much plainer
But I'll wait 'til
You decide

Send me a warning siren
As if I could ever hide
Last time
La Luna

I light my torch
And wave it for
The New Moon On Monday
And a fire dance through the night

Huh?

Come, again......

What the Hell does that mean?

And I LIKE this song........

Shake up the picture?

The lizard mixture?

What the Hell is that guy singing about?

Now, mind you, none of this mattered when I was making out with Wendy Hudson, to this song, behind the movie theater and rounding my way toward second base. (Not that there was much to second base....Sorry Wendy.) But, still. I listen to this now and I can't figure out what this thing is about. There was a video. I suppose this helped.

In the video, the members of Duran Duran, as near as I can tell, are members of the resistance during the war. They lurk in the shadows, while men with guns patrol the streets. Then, they start singing this song, and roughly 3 minutes later the world is free again. VIVA LA RESISTANCE!!!!!

So, it's political? When you dance on the eventide?

Okay. Fine. Why not? It was the deep, philosophical, political message that encouraged me to shove my tongue into Wendy's mouth, and pathetically fumble with her bra. Super. Let's go with that. Who would ever have known that politics would inspire such heated passion within me?

What can I say.....I'm a romantic.

Now, the Brad Paisley song:

I work down at the Pizza Pit
And I drive and old Hyundai

I still live with my Mom and Dad
I'm five foot, three
And overweight

I'm a
Sci-fi fanatic
And a mild asthmatic
Never been to second base

But there's a
Whole nother me
You need to see
Go check out myspace

'Cuz Online
I'm out in Hollywood
I'm six foot five
And I look damn good

I drive a Maserati
I'm a black belt in karate
And I love a good glass of wine

It turns girls on
That I'm mysterious
I tell 'em I don't want
Nothing serious

'Cuz even on a slow day
I can have a three way
Chat
With two women at one time

I'm so much cooler online
So much cooler online

Much simpler.

He's a geek.....He's fat.....He can't get girls....Has a lousy job....He lives with his parents......

What?

No lizard mixture?

I can understand this. I get it. Hell, I can almost RELATE to it. But, I don't need a freaking video to tell me what it's about.

The only problem I have with this is that the guy's name is Paisley. That just sounds kind of....I don't know....Swishy......But, as we've established before, I am the last guy who should be making fun of anyone's name. When I do, all I need to do is think of this sentence:

"Brad Paisley makes more money, and can get more women than Casey Bartholomew."

Then I will close my eyes, weep softly to myself, and drift off to sleep..........never knowing what the lizard mixture was.

Casey

The Manifesto Shall Return

2008-07-03T13:43:00.000-04:00

Possibly next week, I'll be back......I've found that this is my only outlet. Nobody in my house thinks I'm funny......Not that anyone HERE thinks I'm funny. But, none of you stare at me and say things like, "I could have married a doctor," when I try and be funny. Well, you MAY be saying those things. But, I can't see you. So, I don't have to hear it.

It's not MY fault I have a dumb job. All the good jobs were taken.

I'm also trying to figure out if I want to write an online novel. I'm actually trying to write a book, right now. It's a mystery. I could just plop that on here. But, I would rather keep that for other things.

I have to decide on a genre. Hmmmm.....I like that word.....Genre......It makes me laugh.

Now I'm rambling.....Maybe she SHOULD have married a doctor.....I wonder if he would look at my elbow......It hurts a little.........We'll see.

Happy 4th of July.

Casey

Sometimes, Crashing Would Be A Good Thing

2008-06-23T11:04:00.000-04:00

I don't always like to blog about what happens on my many trips to the airport. It makes me feel like a bad stand-up comedian ("Boy, aren't airplane bathrooms small? What's up with that? Ba-dum-bum!) Then, I realized that I WAS, at one time, a bad stand-up comedian. I think this should give me a pass. Plus, the bulk of my life is spent in airports, now, which hopefully explains the lack of blogs. We're going to get back up to speed. But, sleep has become almost as rare as sex with my wife. So, I'm prioritizing!!!

Anyway, I went to the airport yesterday and got into the security line. There weren't many people there, yet, and I saw this guy coming toward the line.....

Don't get in the line......

Don't get in the line.....

Don't get in the line.....

I kept saying over and over to myself. You see, he had a mask on. Not a Batman mask, or anything like that. It was one of those yellow, surgical masks that doctors wear so that they don't cough into your heart valves, when they have you cut open. And, this guy was wearing one.....RIGHT BEHIND ME!!!!

No one thought to stop him. No one said anything like, "So, what's up with the whole mask thing?" No one said a word. He just kept coming at me, with his nondescript headgear, carrying God knows what!!!!

I felt I had a right to know. I mean, are YOU being protected from US? Or, are WE being protected from YOU? Is your body so delicate that it can't handle the subtle intake of our various chemical products? Or, is that mask nothing more than a thin, paper barrier meant to protect ME from whatever disease filled chunks are about to come spewing out of your lungs? HUH!?!! I need some information, here, Bubble Boy!!!!

But, alas, no one said a word. He walked up behind me, thus infecting me with the alien spores, and wandered right through security. Now, my chest is itchy, and tight. Thank you, VERY MUCH!!! On a side note, though, if you are planning on wearing a mask to the airport, and don't want to be asked any silly questions about it, might I suggest Lambert Airport, in St. Louis. Apparently, they haven't caught up with all those pesky "security" issues just yet.

Then, when I went to go wait for my plane, the person sitting next to me decided that he wanted to be my BEST FRIEND. I don't know why he chose me. There were other empty seats, and I don't have what I would consider to be an overwhelmingly friendly face. In fact, normally I'm looking down. This way, I don't run the risk of talking to overly friendly people.......Like the one who sat down next to me.

I don't care for people like this. They live by the rule: "THERE ARE NO STRANGERS IN THE WORLD. JUST FRIENDS YOU HAVEN'T MET, YET."

What people like this fail to understand is that I live by a different rule: "LEAVE ME ALONE, OR I WILL JAB MY PEN INTO YOUR THROAT!!"

Unfortunately, I did not currently have a pen. So I tried to ignore him.

Satan: Where are you headed, today?

Me: Home.

Satan: Really? Where's home?

Me: Well, since the plane is going to Philly, I'm guessing it's somewhere near there.

Satan: HA HA....Yeah, I'm headin' home, too.

Me: (looking down. saying nothing)

Satan: Do you like to fly?

Me: It gets me there.

Satan: HA HA...Yeah, it really does, doesn't it?

Me: (looking down. saying nothing.)

Satan: So, what's your game?

Me: My game?

Satan: What do you do for a living?

(Note: I don't tell people what I do for a living, because A) it's embarrassing, and B) people think it's far more interesting than it actually is, and won't stop bothering me about it. "Do you know Howard Stern?" No, I don't know Howard Stern.)

Me: I'm in fast food.

Satan: Really? What end?

Me: Fries, mostly. But, I'm hoping to work my way up to the drive thru.

Satan: Well, that's nice.

Me: Isn't it? Hey, will you wait right here, until I come back?

Satan: Sure. Where you headed?

Me: I need to go find a pen.......BADLY!!

When I finally managed to get on the plane, an hour late, I realized that we were flying with a wedding party. This is all good and well. But, when there is a wedding party on a plane, the flight attendants seem to think that ALL of us are sad that we didn't get invited, and that we would ALL like to celebrate the wedding on the plane. We don't. Most of us want to watch the Disney travel shows that we have downloaded on our ipods. But, no one bothered to ask US.

So, we did fake vows, and we cheered, and we laughed, and at least one guy (I don't know who) turned his ipod up REALLY LOUD, so that he wouldn't have to hear any of this.

Then, when some bad turbulence came, this guy found himself wishing that we would actually crash. Then, when we didn't, this random guy cried, just a little, because he realized that he was going to have to do this all over again, next week.

Poor Guy.

Casey

Gwen Stefani Is The Anti-Christ

2008-06-13T11:01:00.001-04:00

With Father's Day in the air, I thought I would share a recent conversation I had with my 8 year old daughter, Spenser. I do this more as a public service than anything else. You see, I'm a very worldly man. I've seen many things, and I have thought many thoughts. So, I find myself uniquely prepared to deal with situations that come up, involving my children. I think that you should all take note, and then send me money for helping to raise your child.

Spenser: Daddy?

Me: Yes.

Spenser: Why do boys like to watch girls walk?

Me: I.....uhhhhhhh....What?

Spenser: Why do boys like to watch girls walk?

Me: Well.....uhhhhh.....Because......They.....uhhhh.....uhhh.....Why do you ask?

Spenser: It's in that song.

Me: What song?

Spenser: The Gwen Stefani song.

Me: WHAT Gwen Stefani song?

Spenser: The winding one.

Me: The winding one?

(Note: Further research found that Gwen Stefani has a song callled "Wind It Up." In this song, she sings about boys liking to watch girls......Thank you, Ms. Stefani.......VERY MUCH!!!)

Spenser: So?

Me: So, what?

Spenser: So, why do boys like to watch girls walk?

Me: Where did you hear this song?

Spenser: It's on my ipod.

Me: How did that get on your ipod? I only put Beatles songs on your ipod, because I only wanted you to hear good music.

Spenser: Mommy put it on there. She said you were being silly, and took the Beatles songs off and put on a bunch of girl songs.

Me: Oh.

(Note: Thank you, Mommy.........VERY MUCH!!!)

Spenser: So?

Me: So, what?

Spenser: So, why do boys like to watch girls walk?

Me: Well....I think I hear your friends, outside.....Don't you want to go play with them?

Spenser: They aren't home. They went to Six Flags.

Me: Oh.

Spenser: Are you going to answer my question?

Me: Why do boys like to watch girls walk?

Spenser: Yes.

(I want you all to feel free to copy my answer down, so that you can give the same answer to your child when they ask you a similar question. I'm not exactly known for thinking on my feet. But, I truly believe that this is going to be taken, and used by the so-called "parenting experts" as a way to seize an opportunity to communicate with your child, and use it to your advantage. In fact, I would not be at all surprised if Dr. Phil were to call, and use me as a shining example to parents everywhere.)

Me: Well.....Uhhh.....You see, sweetie.....There's.......Girls are, sort of........I mean.......Boys like.......uhhhh......Boys........Boys like transportation, right?

Spenser: Huh?

Me: (I was rolling!!!) Boys like transportation. You know how all of Max's baby clothes have cars, and boats, and trains on them?

Spenser: (cautiously) Yeah.....

Me: (I was in a zone!!!) Boys.....Boys like transportation.....You know.....Th....Things that move......That's....uhhh....That's why it's all over their clothes......and....uh......and.....most.....uh......most of.....uh....their.....you know......most of their toys are cars, and things..........I mean.....you know.....stuff that moves. Right?

Spenser: Okay.....

Me: So.....you know......When....uh.....When a girl is walking.....She's.....uh......She's moving.....Like.....Like......uh.....a car, or a boat, or something.......So......you see it's not that....you know....they're....uh......It's not that they're watching the GIRL, necessarily......But......you know......the girl just happens to be moving.......you know......Like.....Like a car might.......and......uh......and since boys like cars and things like that......uh.......They watch them, because they are moving........Like cars......Okay?

Spenser: So, boys think girls are like cars?

Me: That's what I'm going with, yes.

Spenser: Boys sure are silly.

Me: Aren't they? You'd be better off just to avoid them, altogether. They really serve no purpose. Mommy and I have talked about giving Max away, more than once. It's just pointless to have a boy around.

Spenser: You can't give Max away.

Me: I know. That's what Mommy said.

Spenser: Where are you going?

Me: I'm gonna go find Gwen Stefani's daddy. I would like to punch him in the mouth.

Happy Father's Day!!!

Casey

The Battle Of Bunker Hill.......Road

2008-06-11T13:16:00.002-04:00

The day was hot, and humid. The grass needed to be cut, and the smell of summer was slowly wafting over the landscape. It was a morning like any other morning, in New Jersey. Except...it wasn't. A battle was about to erupt. Epic, if you will. One man facing his demons. One...CREATURE....trying to reclaim a historic land.

Casey was his name. He was just a normal man. But, in reality, so much more. A luxuriously thick head of hair. Deep brown eyes, and a body sculpted by the gods. (Shut up......ALL of you.)

He left his apartment on that morning, without a care in the world. That was his first mistake. He should have known better. From his CIA spy training, during the cold war, he should have known that things were never as they seemed. A perfect day was NEVER a perfect day. It was almost ALWAYS something more. But, since he was in "sleeper" mode now, and the CIA had placed him at a local radio station to entertain millions of people while he waited for his next assignment (again, shut up,) he never noticed the danger that was about to confront him. Nor did he expect the lengths that he would have to go to in order to survive.

He opened his car door, and placed his spy bag (which currently held a notebook and a pair of headphones) inside. Then he casually, yet gracefully, walked over to check his mailbox.

HE DIDN'T SHUT THE CAR DOOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He found nothing in his mailbox, as usual. Many people think that this is because nobody loves him, and they never think to send him a simple letter that would lift his spirits. It wouldn't have to be much. A little card, maybe? "Hey, Casey!! Just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you." That would be nice. Just once in a while. Just one little thing that would that would shine a tiny light into his otherwise pitiful existence?...........Yeah........That's what some people think. Of course, the reality is that it's too dangerous for someone like him to have that type of contact. It wouldn't be safe for anyone.............It would still be nice, though. I mean, come on..........

He walked back to his car, finally shutting the door, and headed out toward the radio station.

Did he hear something?

No. Couldn't be.

Or, did he.............

Our hero continued to drive.....................

There it was, again.

They teach you this, in the spy game. Your mind plays tricks on you. You have to learn to block things out. Otherwise, you'll go crazy with paranoia.

He drove on.

He turned onto Bunker Hill Road.

Then..............He saw it................And IT WAS BIG!!!!

He let out a high pitched scream...........Well..........Wait...........It wasn't REALLY a high pitched scream.........It was more of a yell.......A deep, manly yell.....The kind of yell that REAL men have......Men you wouldn't mess with, if you met up with them in a dark ally.......Actually, even yell is a little exaggerated.....In truth, it was more of a gasp......Not even that.........A grunt..........A deep manly grunt.......That's what he did.......He grunted.

What happened next was a blur. One witness claimed that the car jerked over to the side of the road, and Casey ran out, making a high pitched noise, and flailing his arms all around. There's no video of this, though. Plus, we're pretty sure that the person who claims to have "seen" this is a heavy drinker......In reality, our hero expertly avoided disaster by QUICKLY pulling his vehicle over to the side, and rapidly, yet casually, exited his vehicle......His arms were not, I repeat NOT flailing. In fact, he was doing a WIDE arm exercise in order to make sure that he was limber. See? You can't believe everything you hear.

He stopped to gather his thoughts, and gauge the enemy. For, you see, there was.............................

THE BIGGEST FREAKING BEE YOU HAVE EVER SEEN BUZZING AROUND IN HIS CAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Our hero hates bees...............Not unlike Indiana Jones, who is VERY manly, hates snakes......So, quit laughing, tough guy.

The battle was about to begin.

Using some self-defense tactics, which he learned in a class on a Disney Cruise, our hero worked his way back to the car.

He needed a weapon.........

In order to distract the enemy, he picked up an empty Diet Pepsi can (not that he needed DIET Pepsi.....as we have established, he is in GREAT shape,) and hurled the can at the mutant bee. In one swift motion he quickly picked up what he thought was a magazine. It was the best he could do. It turned out to be an old Victoria's Secret catalogue that he had stolen from his wife, in Missouri, so that he could look at the pictures...........and, you know, find stuff to buy his wife.........NOT just look at the pictures......That would be pathetic........Even though he lives alone, and his wife has a broken ankle, and sex seems like a distant memory. One that he can't tell if he made up, or if it really exists.

He dove back into the car...............

To the untrained eye, it might look like he was screaming, and wildly swinging his "panty" catalogue, without any target in mind. In reality, he was using an ancient Hungarian battle cry (it's very high pitched. Hungarians are like that,) and swinging wildly in order to make sure that there was no route for the prehistoric bee to use for escape.

After several minutes, and the gather of several children (who should have been in school, or something....Hell, don't they have video games that they could be playing?) Casey backed out of the car, and assessed the situation.

Dripping with sweat, and preparing to leap back in for round two, the bee came to its senses.........It flew out the back window, and probably back to whatever level of Hell it was spawned from.

Our hero emerged victorious. The world was safe for another day. Man has, again, triumphed over insect.

You're welcome.

Casey

It's All Fun And Games Until They Start Sacrificing Virgins

2008-06-06T12:29:00.001-04:00

I've been getting a lot of crap, lately, for not blogging more. Considering that NOBODY actually reads my blog, I found that more than a little interesting.

Listen......

My wife busted her ankle, and can't even walk.

My son was born 5 weeks early.

My family is getting ready to move half way across the country.

AND......This is probably the most important thing.........Given my wife's current state, the next time I have sex the human race will probably have evolved to a point that I won't even know how to do it, anymore. I had thought about NOT writing a blog again until I could have "relations" with my wife. It helps my creative process. But, I assessed the situation, and realized that we would probably all be dead, by then. So, I decided to blog.

It's not like there haven't been things to blog about.

Last week they published pictures of a tribe in Brazil that they said, "has had no contact with the outside world, and we would like to keep it that way."

Then they proceeded to show several pictures of this tribe staring, and pointing bows and arrows at a camera, on a plane, that has come from......Ready?........THE OUTSIDE WORLD!!!!!!

Good move.

This means that there is now one LESS tribe who has not had contact with the outside world.

These were scientists........The so-called "smart people."

Just for future reference, GENIUSES, when you fly a modern plane over a tribal camp, and take pictures, this would be considered "contact."

Not only that. But, I think that we could consider this to be NEGATIVE contact. You see, you scared the living crap out of them. This explains why they were pointing their weapons at you, and trying to kill the GIANT METALIC BIRD that was circling overhead.

How do you think THAT went over?

First Tribal Guy: Whaddya make of that, Earl?

Second Tribal Guy: Ya' got me. I've never seen anything like it.

First Tribal Guy: It seems to be hovering, and pointing something at us.

Second Tribal Guy: You know, I believe you're right.

First Tribal Guy: Think maybe we outta kill it?

Second Tribal Guy: I think that might be the way to go.

First Tribal Guy: Okay, let's just....Wait....It's leaving.

Second Tribal Guy: You don't think we made it angry, do you?

First Tribal Guy: Well, there's always that chance.

Second Tribal Guy: You suppose we outta sacrifice some virgins?

First Tribal Guy: It might be best. It's always worked before.

So, because a bunch of dopey scientists decided to scare the hell out of some "undiscovered" people, we've now led them to believe that they have made "the metallic bird god" angry, and a bunch of innocent virgins are going to have to die.

Do you ever wonder why so many teen girls are having sex? Because they know that, if they don't, some religious freak is going to come around and "sacrifice" them to some bizarre deity. I don't know about YOU, but that would be reason enough for me to hop into the backseat, and give up my virtue.......Of course we are talking about ME, here. There wasn't exactly a line of girls waiting to take my virtue. Not to be crude, or anything, but if I'd put my virtue on ebay, the auction probably would have expired without any bids. It's okay.....I'm good with it.

Now, I know I'm picking on the scientists for not wanting to have contact with these people by using a method that involves having contact with them (boneheads.) But, I also don't see the point of NOT having contact with them. I mean, why not? Let's not forget that WE used to live in caves, and huts. Then, we figured out a better way. Don't you think it would be nice to go to their tribe and that life can be a little easier? I'd be happy to do it.

Me: How do you guys get clothes?

Tribal Guy: Well, after killing an animal for food, and utilizing all parts of the creature, which we consider to be holy, we skin it, and cut up the pelt into individual pieces. Then, using a "hook and eye" method, we attach the pieces together and fasten them over our bodies. During the cooler months, we use a similar method with the fur of the various animals that our gods have provided for us. How do you do it?

Me: Go to the mall.

Tribal Guy: What's a "mall?"

Me: A collection of stores that our gods have provided for us.

Tribal Guy: Who are your gods?

Me: Target, mostly. Sometimes Wal-Mart.

Tribal Guy: I see.

Me: Is that a Starbuck's?

Tribal Guy: Sure. We're primitive, but we aren't savages.

So, you see, it doesn't make any sense to keep these people living in dirt huts, when we've already discovered a better way. It's selfish, and I think it's being done just to make us feel superior.

"I had a bad day, but at least I'm not living in a hut, with angry metallic bird gods, sacrificing virgins," we can say.

Just remember, though. The LESS consumers we have, the MORE angry the Wal-Mart gods will become. One day it will all come to a head. That, my friends, will be a bad day to be a virgin.

Until then, send the virgins my way. I promise to be nice.

Casey

You CAN Keep Your Wife From Killing You, If You Try

2008-05-28T16:50:00.000-04:00

There are some rules, that you need to be made aware of, if you are going to care for a woman who broke her ankle, hand surgery on it, THEN had to have an emergency c-section......

Now, even though my own wife just broke her ankle, and had the c-section, I AM NOT addressing any specific person, or circumstance, when I offer these rules. Were I to do that, I would be leaving myself open to being murdered in my sleep.......No, I'm talking about OTHER people.....People I've NEVER met....People who DON'T live in my house..............Are we clear? Good.

RULE #1:

DON'T ask your wife how she is doing (dummy.) She fell down and broke her ankle (you idiot.) Then, she got to have an emergency c-section (bonehead.) How do you think she's doing (doofus?)

She's laying in a bed, with a cast on, unable to move, in pain, cranky, and she can't even get up to pick up her own son. It doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure out that SHE'S PROBABLY NOT DOING TO GREAT, ACE!!!!! (Not that I would know. I would NEVER ask such a stupid question......I certainly wouldn't do it twice.....on the same day........that would be dumb......Yep.)

RULE #2:

DON'T ask your wife is there's anything YOU can do.

Can YOU fix her ankle? No? Didn't think so.

Can YOU make her c-section scar stop hurting? No? Really? All that "radio training (not me)" didn't prepare you for that, huh? Shocking.

Can YOU make so that she doesn't have to depend on EVERYONE else, for EVERYTHING? No? Well, you were quite a catch, weren't you. She is so glad she married you. I mean, just look at how helpful you are.

RULE #3:

DON'T feel sorry for her.

Do you think she wants your pity? Do you think she doesn't KNOW that this is a bad situation? Do you think she wants some overgrown kid, in a Kermit the Frog hat staring at her, sadly? (Again, not me. Some other, random, overgrown kid in a Kermit the Frog hat.)

Yeah, that's perfect. Depress her. Pity her. Make her feel worse. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if you were up for the Husband Of The Year Award.

You're doing a great job of cheering her up, Sparky!!! What else can you do to lighten the mood, a little, Genius? I know, why don't you drown a bag full of kittens while she watches. That'll perk her right up.

You're not very bright, are you? (By "you" I mean YOU....Not ME.....I'M doing everything right......I heard that.)

RULE #4:

STOP trying to cheer her up.

Do you REALLY think YOU can cheer her up? Do you?

Well, I've got an idea. Why don't you turn the oven on, place your head inside, and breathe deeply? At this point in time, I think that would go A LONG way toward cheering her up.

RULE #5:

DON'T ask her if there's anything she needs.

Are you stupid AND blind?

SHE CAN'T WALK, EINSTEIN!!!!!!

You know what she needs?

Hmmmm.......

Let me think......

Wait, I've got it......

She needs......EVERYTHING!!!!!

Most importantly, she NEEDS for you to stop being an idiot, and asking stupid questions. YOU'RE just a radio talk show host....If she NEEDED anything from you, she would call your little show, "radio-boy."

RULE #6:

Shut-up

Just.....shut.....up.

You can't say ANYTHING right....

You can't DO anything right.....

EVERY TIME YOU OPEN YOUR MOUTH SOMETHING STUPID COMES OUT.

Got it?

Good.

So, let's review.

Your wife is in pain.

She just had a baby.

She can't walk.

AND....Her boneheaded husband keeps nagging her, about stupid things that he can't do anything about, anyway.

Hmmmm.....

I would go with RULE #6, and then pray that she doesn't walk anytime soon, and kill you.

I won't have to worry about this, though. MY wife is a wonderful woman, who is also VERY patient and understanding.

I would just like to say, though, that at this point in time I am very healthy. Should I happen to die in my sleep, for unknown reasons, please take the appropriate actions.

Thank you.

Casey

Casey

The World Keeps Turning

2008-05-17T18:23:00.000-04:00

This will be short.....

Things are good. We just had Max's first doctor visit. All is well. He continues to amaze us, and the people around us. The kid can hold his head up, and look around. Most newborns can't do that, let alone one that is more than a month early. He's doing terrific. He's my little hero. You would never know that he was almost dead a week ago.....God, I don't even like saying that.

Brooke is a work in progress. She is in a lot of pain, but isn't letting it keep her down. It's hard, but she gets up and moves around as much as she can. We've even gone out. We had to rent a bed, and a wheelchair. Insurance wouldn't pay for them. They wouldn't pay for the bed, because they said she WASN'T bed bound. They wouldn't pay for the chair, because they said she WAS house bound.

So, she CAN'T leave the house, but she CAN'T stay in bed while she's there. Nice. How much am I paying for insurance? I've paid thousands of dollars to THIS SAME COMPANY over the years, and have almost NEVER used it. Then, the first time I need them they get all nit picky on me. Apparently they were shocked, SHOCKED I tell you, that bones could break. Who knew?

Spenser is doing terrific. She has been great. Doing her best to take care of mommy, and messing with her little brother as much as she can. Her and I have to stick together. We're the only ones who HAVEN'T been involved in a major surgery in the past week!!!

As for me, I'll be back on the air, Monday . The wheels keep turning, and I have to make a living, and get my family moved to Jersey. I'm pretty sure that I'm facing some level of financial ruin, too. ($12 for asprin?) Strangely, I don't really care about that. I'll deal with it when it comes, and do what I can. After what we've been through they can't touch us. I mean, they CAN'T take my son back, can they?

Hmmmm.......
Maybe I better check my benefits paperwork on that.

As always, thank you for all your support....I needed it.

Casey

UPDATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2008-05-14T23:30:00.001-04:00

Geez....Where to start.....

I have been floored by all the kind words, and emails I have received. Every time I felt I was at my lowest point I would get an email, or see a comment that was posted, or someone would call. It helped to pick me back up. There are too many people to thank. But, I want you all to know that EVERYONE had an impact. It meant the world to me. So, thank you all for keeping my family in your thoughts. I'm sure that it helped.

It has been a rough couple of days. I'm going on a total of 17 hours of sleep in the last 5 days. No one's fault but my own. I'm afraid to go to sleep, because I'm such a hard sleeper, and I have convinced myself that I will miss a call from the hospital, or I won't hear my daughter during the night, if she needs me. I know that won't happen. But, that's where my mind is right now. Considering everything that everyone else has gone through, I think I'm getting off easy. I'm not complaining. I just won't be settled until everyone is in the house, where I can keep an eye on them.

On that note.....

Brooke and Max are coming home!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thursday!!!!!!

Brooke is getting better every day. They use a pain scale of 1-10. On the first day she had her pain at a 9. It has gotten progressively lower since then. Today, at one point, she put it at a 1. It's going to go back up. But, I'd be willing to be that she never thought it would get down to a 1, at any point. Overall, she's probably at a 4, now. Pretty good for someone whose foot was facing the wrong direction just a few days ago. We have a hospital bed, and a few other things, coming to the house tomorrow. She won't be able to walk for 6 weeks. No weight on the foot. Period. But, my wife is tough. She is up sometimes, and down others. Brooke has always done what she needed to do, even if she didn't like it. She's always been the steady one, and she takes care of business. She's my rock. To see her in a bed, with a cast on her leg, is tough. But, we both know that she'll be fine. Time is all she needs, and she's got it. She's always taken care of me, and now it's my turn. Of course, if she has to eat my cooking she might break the other leg just to get back into the hospital. Either that, or starve. Both are far more appealing than eating anything that I might make in a kitchen.

How about the boy?

Let me tell you something, pal. You better NOT mess with Maxwell Steven Bartholomew. Did you have a bad day? Did your boss, or someone, yell at you? Did you fold like a cheap suit? Well, Max isn't even supposed to be BORN, yet. He's already beaten DEATH. Top THAT!!!! This kid has beaten EVERYTHING they have thrown at him........

They said that he didn't have a heartbeat.............He got one.

They said he was too little..........He was almost 7 pounds, birth. (initial reports of 6 lbs. were amended.)

They said that they were concerned about his breathing.......He started breathing better.

They said that if he didn't start eating they were going to stick a tube down his nose.....He started eating.

They were concerned that he was having trouble breastfeeding......He started doing it.

They were concerned about his body temperature......He regulated it.

"Miracle Max" is pretty amazing. More than one of the nurses have told us that what this kid has come through is nothing short of incredible.

I'm thinking of telling him, tomorrow, "Max, you CAN'T win the lottery." Based on his history, I'm pretty sure he would come right out and do it. Just because he's Max, and that's what he does.

Let me tell you something else, though. Max was in what is basically baby ICU. He was far and away the healthiest baby there. When I went down to see him, which I did several times a day, I had to wash my hands with scalding hot water, for 5 minutes. After I did that, I would put my eyes down, and walk right to where he was. There was a reason for this. I felt guilty. Max was going to be okay. But, there are A LOT of babies there that may not be. There were other parents that were there, every day, too. You could see it in their eyes. They were beaten, but they were clinging to hope. I know what that feeling is like, now. I was there. But, in a very short period of time, I was able to walk away from it. These people can't. Not yet, and maybe never.

Their baby is in a plastic box, and they can't even touch it. Or, their baby has tubes coming out from all over its body. In some cases, all they can do is sit there. I could walk in, pick up my boy, and hold him in my arms for as long as I wanted. They couldn't. If there is a Hell on earth, it's in the baby ICU. Imagine the person you love the most, who is completely helpless, and you can't hold them in your arms and make the hurt go away..........Now, multiply that by 1,000,000...............You MIGHT be close to what it's like. Do you know how many of these parents would have gladly taken their baby's place? Every single one of them. I know that I would have done it for Max, when we were at the lowest moment.

That's why I started looking down. I didn't smile, and I didn't go bounding in, with a spring in my step. I washed my hands, went to my son, and talked to him in quite tones. I didn't want to rub it in. I didn't want to look like I was gloating. Every last one of them would have killed to pick up their baby, like I was mine. But, they couldn't. My heart is with these people, every time I hold my son.

Man, I didn't mean for this to be a downer. It's funny how you notice things when life hits you in the face.

Bottom line:

Brooke, in time, will be okay.
Max, in time, will be okay.
Spenser, my little girl, is ready to help mommy, and take care of her little brother.

Me? I'm thinking, a lot, now. Lots of different things. But, as soon as I can get everyone safe again, I promise to stop thinking, and get back on the air. My wife has always told me that, when I think too much, bad things happen. So I'll stop, soon.

In the meantime, thank you ALL for your kind thoughts, and words. I simply can't express how much it all meant to me.

Thank you.

Casey

Have Some Reality, Funny Man

2008-05-12T01:01:00.001-04:00

The yard sale went as expected.

Lots of people came to my house, offered me less money for things that were already grossly under priced, and got angry when I wouldn't take it. One guy even called me a name because I wouldn't take .10 for something that we were only selling for .25 cents.

WHAT!?!!

Let me tell you something, Jasper..........If you are only .15 cents away from financial ruin, it might be time to close up shop and move on. But, he spent a full 5 minutes arguing with me about .15 cents. Then, when I wouldn't budge, he told me that I was being a "tight ass."

HUH!?!!

ME!?!!

HE was the one who wouldn't drop an extra dime, and nickel, for an article of baby clothing that I probably paid $15 for, 7 years ago. Even if he pays the .25 cents, he STILL wins, BIG TIME. Truth be told, the guy didn't look like he had many "victories" in his life, and shouldn't be passing them up when they are put on a silver platter for him.

He didn't buy the shirt. Apparently, .15 cents was to great a price to pay for his pride.

Things went along, well. We made a few hundred bucks. We brought everything that was left over into the garage, so that no one could steal it before we threw it away. Once that was done, I hopped on my riding mower, and hit the backyard.

About 10 minutes into the mowing, my daughter screamed bloody murder. This is not out of the ordinary. That's what she does. Screams bloody murder. I'm not joking when I say that people have suggested we get her an agent so that she can scream bloody murder, for money. I guess there is a big market for this. But, we haven't investigated it. I'm sure I'll live to regret that decision, when the radio work dries up. But, anyway, I kept on about my business of mowing the lawn.

Then, my daughter ran out the back door, crying, and screaming "Mommy fell....Mommy fell!!!!"

I jumped off my mower, and ran inside.

My wife was laying on the ground, in the garage. She had fallen down the single step that leads into the garage. She was on her side.......She was crying........Her right foot was facing the WRONG DIRECTION.

Sometimes it takes the brain a moment to process things like that. So, I said that stupidest possible thing that I could have said, at that moment.

"BROOKE!!!!! ARE YOU OKAY!?!!!"

She screamed that her foot was broken.

Of course her foot was broken. What a freaking bonehead I am.

My daughter was screaming, and crying.

At that moment, I simply did not know what to do.

I ran for the phone, and called 911. They answered quick.

"My pregnant wife has fallen down a step, and her foot is broken. It's facing the wrong direction."

I told that to two separate operators. I don't know why I had to tell it to two of them. But, I did. In truth, I'm sure I sounded hysterical. I'm also sure that I yelled, rather than spoke, what I was telling them.

I was told NOT to move, OR touch her. The ambulance was on its way.

I stood there.

DON'T touch, OR move her.

WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO!?!!!!!!!!!!

Everyone was crying.

My neighbor came over, and saved my life. She took my daughter over to her house, and kept her there for the night. It's not as creepy as it sounds. My daughter plays with her kids, all the time.

My mother-in-law, who is a nurse and had been at the house the whole day, drove up. She had already left for home, but came back. She had, by some fluke, forgotten her cell phone and decided to come back and get it.

It probably took a total of 5 minutes for the ambulance to get there. It felt like 5 hours.

They got Brooke stabilized, and we headed to the hospital. It was not like on TV. I did not get to ride in the back with her, hold her hand, talk to her, and tell her things would be okay. I had to ride in the front. It felt like the longest drive of my life.

On a side note, while you are driving, GET THE HELL OUT OF THE WAY WHEN YOU HEAR A SIREN!!!!!

I can't tell you how many people view a siren as a chance to get further in traffic, rather than getting out of the way. People just sat there. My wife is going through hell, in the back, and these jerks would not get out of the way. If I'd had a gun, blood would have been spilled on that day. Just move over to the right. Nothing you have to do is as important as what the ambulance has to go do. I don't care who you are.

We got to the hospital, with Brooke's foot still facing the wrong direction, and were rushed into the emergency room. I'm speeding things along, here. But, after a while they knocked her out, put her foot the right way, and put a cast on her. It was not pretty.

We were told that she would have to have surgery, and that they would talk to everyone and make sure everything they used would be okay for the baby. We were satisfied. It had to be done, and they seemed to know what they were doing.

Roughly 3 hours later, Brooke was out of surgery, with several screws and plates in her ankle, and the baby was fine.

I was with her, in the recovery room, where she was coming out of everything, and they had a fetal monitor on her stomach to hear the baby's heartbeat. It was going okay.

Until they lost the baby's heartbeat.

The nurse kept moving the monitor around, trying to find it, and couldn't. She didn't seem concerned.

"Is this a problem?" I asked her.

"No," she said. "I'll call someone from upstairs to look. They are more familiar with doing this."

So, someone from the maternity area, I believe, came down to look.

We were okay. Brooke was still, mostly, out. I was curious, but no one else seemed concerned.

The nurse from maternity couldn't find the heartbeat either.

"Is this a problem?" I asked, again.

I was VERY concerned, now.

I was told that they were going to have a doctor come down, with an ultrasound machine, and look.

That didn't seem good.

Something wasn't right.

The doctor came, with the machine, and looked for the heartbeat. He seemed to find it, with the ultrasound machine. But, could not find it with the monitor. Either way, it wasn't right and I could tell. He kept looking, and kept finding the same result. So, he decided to do a pelvic exam.

He did.

Then, the most terrifying :30 minutes of my life began.

Everyone started running around. Orders were being barked. My wife was looking at me, and we locked eyes. She held up the sign for "I love you."

The doctor asked who my wife's doctor was. When he got the name he yelled "Call him, and tell him to get in here, NOW!!!"

You know how, in the movies, the run down the hallway, with the patient on a bed, and scream all sorts of orders out?

That was happening.

They got Brooke onto an elevator, and were taking up to do an emergency c-section. Someone yelled, "We have to get this baby, NOW!!!"

I had to take the next elevator, with my mother-in-law.

They put us in the waiting room, with a nurse.

I'm not a patient man. I don't do well with idle time, especially when things are happening to people I love.

I paced.

As far as I knew, my son, who had not been born, was dead. My wife was in serious trouble. There is nothing more frightening. I would not wish this on my worst enemy.

The nurse made calls. A variety of different people needed to be up here, and they needed to be up here NOW.

I hadn't been saying anything. There wasn't anything to say, and no one to say it to. My mother-in-law was trying to call her husband, who happens to be a doctor, just to see if he could tell her anything.

The nurse said, "Would you like me to call a preacher?"

I snapped.

"PREACHER!?!!! WHAT DO I NEED A PREACHER FOR!?!!!!!"

My brain, which was fried, was not seeing how anything good was going to come of this. My life was in another room and I couldn't get to it. I couldn't get the information I wanted. I couldn't fix this problem. All I could do was watch a door, and wait. I wanted to throw a chair through the window.

I paced.

I'm pretty sure I was hyperventilating.

Then, someone said, "Where is Mr. Bartholomew?"

"Right here," I said.

It was the head nurse, I believe.

She put her hands on my shoulders.

"Your son is okay," she said. He was out, he was crying, and he was headed to the special care unit. He was only 34 weeks, 5 days. More than a month early. There were concerns. But, he was out.

"Is my wife okay?" I asked.

"She's fine," she said.

I lost it. I'm not a crier. I don't think I've REALLY cried in more than 25 years.

I cried that night.

A lot.

I didn't time it, but it had to be close to 10 minutes, straight.

I tried to stop. I tried to talk, but couldn't. Two of the people I loved most in the world, one who I'd never even met, had just gone through hell. I was positive that at least one of them was dead.

Maxwell Steven Bartholomew was born at 12:41am, on Mother's Day. He was 6 pounds, exactly, and 19 1/2 inches. He cried right when he came out, which is a good sign. He is breathing on his own, which is also a good sign. Everyone is saying that he'll be fine.

My wife is a train wreck. She got to have surgery on her ankle AND have a c-section ALL IN THE SAME DAY!!!! Most people don't even do that in the same week!! Say what you will about my wife, but when Brooke does something she does it BIG.

My daughter is okay. She's 8. It's hard seeing mommy in such bad shape when you're only 8. We have talked about it, a lot, and I think she'll be alright. She just wants to hold her little brother. She can't, now, because he's in what is, basically, ICU. She's not allowed in there. Soon, though.

I would prefer to try and make you laugh. The key word there being "TRY." But, sometimes real life smacks you in the face.

If the guy who wanted to save the .15 cents comes back, he can have the baby shirt for free. Some things seem so much less important, today, than they were yesterday.

I'm taking a couple of days off, for obvious reasons. Even if you don't like me, please keep my family in your prayers. God knows we need it.

Casey