Bye Bye Bush Bash!

For family, friends and tolerably behaved friends of said within driving distance of St. Petersburg, mark your calendars for the evening of January 24th. It's the first Saturday after the Inauguration, because who has a party on a Tuesday?

Enjoy a hand-mixed libation or two. Wolf down moderately tasty hors d'oeuvres, then throw them up on the trampoline. Or try your luck at the shoe toss and maybe win a prize.* And yes, the disco ball should be operational. Fireworks to chase off late nighters and faint of heart.

Don't anger the Tiki Gods! Be there. Starting at 6pm. Contact Eric for directions, advice or whatnot.

* Disclaimer- prizes may be limited to more hors d'oeuvres.

Santa's Slide

Dear Travis,

Well my old friend, we've nearly wrapped up another one. How's your behavior been this year? Will old St. Nick be in a jolly mood when he slides down your chute this winter? Or will you awaken to a stocking full of coal? I myself wouldn't mind. Price of coal is up, and practical gifts are en vogue this season. A last minute blitzkrieg of penitence is one way to go if you're not so inclined.

I already know what gifts I'll be receiving from the family this year, having bought and stashed them out in the shed myself for the little woman to wrap. A tractor battery and a bottle opener. Granted the bottle opener is made to look just like a Craftsman tool, so my sense of childlike wonder isn't completely dead. The only wild card of course is the fat man in red.

I feel that Santa is getting cynical in his old age. Guess that's what happens when you spend your days holed up in a snowed-in compound with no one to talk to but "elves". I can partly relate. Can you imagine that guy by the time December finally rolls around and he's got a case of cabin fever that would put Jack Torrance to shame? Nothing to do day in and day out but downing Cheese-Whiz and scotch and playing William Tell with the reindeer in his long johns.

Last Yule the bunker must have caught him on the tail end of his miraculous jaunt. Whether he was slap-happy with exhaustion or worn ragged from too many trucker's pep pills I'll never know. I was feigning sleep as I could feel him standing over me, whispering dirty jokes into my ear. His breath brought a tear to my eye, but I dared not move out of pure terror. A dead man couldn't have slept through his crude, giggling antics. He tripped over the rug as he was stealing away and put a fist through my closet door. He swore like a longshoreman.

After I was sure he was gone I looked under the tree. A menacing puddle beneath it reeked vaguely of urine and vomited cookies. Fighting nausea I picked up a partly crushed box wrapped in ragged comic pages. Inside was a collection of factory second blouses from The Fashion Bee. At first I figured there'd been a mix up, but everything was a perfect fit and my initials had been stitched hurriedly into each piece. I guess I'm obliged to be thankful. The poor, poor bastard. The War on Christmas is warranted.

Yours in Christ,
Eric

74 year old injured imitating stunt from “Jackass”

Birmingham, AL- Longtime Meadowlake nursing home resident and retired engineer Laurel Anderson was hospitalized Thursday after sustaining injuries to his back and head, the result of a crash on his 3-wheeled motorized scooter.

According to witnesses, Mr. Anderson had built a crude ramp consisting of a plywood board and a tall pile of bricks. The ramp had been placed at the bottom of a steep incline, behind which fellow Meadowlake resident Clive Buckner, 79, had laid. Although he successfully cleared both the ramp and Mr. Buckner, the 74 year-old Anderson lost control of the scooter upon landing, flipping over the handlebars.

“We’re just happy he’s still alive” said Anderson’s son Richard Anderson. “I don’t know what he was thinking, but we’re very disappointed.” Mr. Anderson (Jr.) expressed concern that the event was rumored to have been filmed by other residents at the home. “Surely someone should have stood up and seen this was a bad idea” he said. Police report that when they arrived at the scene, a large crowd of nursing home residents scattered back inside.

One nursing home resident believes the men probably got the idea from Buckner’s visiting grandson, who often described to them stunts from “Jackass”, the 2002 MTV film depicting outlandish, often crude stunts.

A spokesman for Lark Industries, makers of the Rascal Sport model used by Mr. Anderson, said that although their manuals clearly illustrate the safe use of their scooters, such accidents have become an increasingly common trend. “Right after Jackass, we were getting 4 or 5 calls a month from customers curious if there was a way to speed up their scooters” said Norm Jabowski.

“Now the big thing is customization- air horns, extra batteries, custom rims” added Jabowski. “And from time to time you get one of these daredevils trying to relive their youth. Unfortunately when you have seniors pent-up with nothing to do all day, this can be the result.”

In one of the film’s scenes, cast members had themselves disguised as elderly men before taking to the streets and performing a number of dangerous stunts on similar scooters. “What Mr. Anderson failed to understand” said Jabowski, “is not only are those guys in a lot better shape than he is, they were also riding souped-up Cyclone Turbos.”

According to Jabowski, the Cyclones are known commonly in the industry as ‘the Cadillac’ of personal mobility scooters.

Ordinarily, the top speed of most scooters is 4-8 mph. Preliminary results from the investigation indicate that Mr. Anderson’s scooter had to have been traveling at more than 20 mph to have cleared the jump as he did. Jabowski says that although frowned upon by more reputable dealers, a few shops are willing to radically alter a scooter’s drive train to achieve speeds higher than 30 mph.

Dear Wal-Mart Trampler

I've never understood the psyche of the mad-rush shopper. Never could fathom why anyone would be so frantic for a store to take their money that they'd wake even before the guy who makes the donuts to stand in a windblown parking lot waiting for the doors to open. But to each his own. Me, I wouldn't do it even if they were giving the stuff away for free. Want to know why? Because I'd have to stand next to hundreds of people like you.

What does the name Jdimytai Damour mean to you? You didn't know him long. Just maybe a second or two as he passed beneath your feet, I'd understand if you didn't catch the name tag on his smock. He was the poor schmuck you and a trainload of coffee-fueled bargain hunters with nothing better to do than stand in line for hours at fucking Wal-Mart smashed beneath your eager, prancing feet. As you helped shove the crowd further into the depths of cheap flat screens and half-priced Larry the Cable Guy DVDs, did you consider what that figure curled into the fetal position beneath your Adidas might be thinking? My hope is he was planning to haunt you throughout his afterlife.

I don't blame the store. I don't blame the economy. I don't blame human nature. I blame you, and hope that some of my voodoo finds you as you fondle your bargains, safe back at home untrampled.

May every other driver out there cut you off, may you get lousy parking spaces. When you do find a good space may your car be the target of every bird within a 5 mile radius, and may it be berry season. May everything be one size too small, and may you not find any of the receipts. May you be the one to step in the gum, and may your cell phone's battery die just when you need it most. May you find yourself lost and alone in Newark after dark, and may no one offer to give you directions. May they stop making your favorite brand of cereal and may you suffer a lifetime of severe dandruff, acne, and halitosis. May you get passed over for promotion time after time, and may you lose your hair. May you never shed that last 10 pounds, and may all your classmates at the reunion notice your decline. May the last ticket be sold to the person just in front of you, and may your umbrella always do the thing where it flips backward and breaks in the wind. May you forget where your keys are daily, and may you never find Waldo. May your steak be tough and may your beer be warm. May you be the reason for so many warnings on fireworks and may that ringing in your ears never completely go away. May a disorder be named after you, and may a cure be found shortly after you succumb to it. May you never be let off with a warning and may your attempts at various hobbies fail miserably. May your parents leave all their estate to charity, and may your fifteen minutes of fame be during the local crime report.

May Santa stuff coal in your stocking. Preferably he'll set it ablaze as you doze this Christmas eve. Happy holidays.