Wednesday, November 30, 2005

TSA to Allow Scissors on Planes. Decision on Rock and Paper Expected Soon.

In a surprise decision, TSA officials have announced that airline passengers will be allowed to carry scissors onto planes, delighting children who travel by air. One TSA official, speaking on the condition of anonymity, said that the decision would allow them to focus on more crucial aspects of their job, such as harassing women with under wire bras and military veterans with metal plates in their heads.

Six-year-old Johnny, a frequent airline traveler, was thrilled by today's announcement. "Oh, this is awesome," he was quoted as exclaiming! "Hopefully, TSA will also raise restrictions on rock and paper, so me and my brother Timmy can play one of our favorite airplane games. On a flight last year, we both called 'scissors.' The flight attendant confiscated our fingers, and threatened to kick us off the plane, saying that we smuggled dangerous weapons through airport security."

TSA and airline representatives have refused to comment on Johnny's allegation, citing their policy of silence during an ongoing investigation.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Was A PhD Required to Figure This Out?

I read an article today entitled "Longer Needles Needed for Fatter Buttocks." I wonder what rocket scientist first figured this one out? Oh wait, it was probably a medical doctor, and he probably got millions of dollars in funding from the government in order to help reach this stunning conclusion. I don't know what part of this article is worst... the fact that this "study" was needed in the first place, the fact that the government quite possibly funded this "research," or that our illustrious media actually believed this piece of gross common sense was actually newsworthy.

I think I'm going to ask the government to fund my study to determine if hitting your thumb with a hammer causes pain in that thumb. I will need several million dollars for the research, a few thousand hammers, and a few thousand subjects willing to repeatedly strike their thumbs with a blunt instrument. You'll know what my results are when Reuters publishes them on page one.

Monday, November 28, 2005

An Open Letter to my Nephew

I was talking to my brother recently and found out that my nephew is turning into one of those “troubled teens” that you hear about. I know the chances that he’ll read this are minimal, but I feel like I’ve got to say something, so I guess my blog is good as anyplace to give him a piece of my mind. Here goes...

Dude! WTF are you thinking!? You’re only fourteen years old! You’re not old enough to drive, but you seem to think that you’re wise enough to start smoking cigarettes. You’re too young to vote, but you think you’re smart enough to 'know' that smoking pot at such a young age isn’t going to cause you any problems. You think you’re too smart for school, but you’re failing your classes. You think you’re too slick for the cops, but you’re on probation. You surmise you don’t need your dad, so you disrespect and alienate him. You don’t believe that rules apply to you, so you stay out late with your loser friends. I can tell you where you’re headed, but you’re at that age where you think what I say won’t apply to you… because you think you’re smarter than that.

Bullshit! Listen up kid, and listen good. I’m going to tell you what you don’t want to hear. Not only am I going to tell you what you don’t want to hear, but I’m going to tell you so there’s no mistaking what I’m saying. I’m going to tell you this in plain English, so even if you choose not to listen to me, you won’t be able to say ‘Nobody told me' when the shit I’m going to say happens to you. Hey! Pay attention to me boy! I’m over here, not on that damn video game! Get your ears out of that MP3 player and focus on your uncle. Your mom may let you tune her out, but I'm not your mom. Your dad may let you walk away from him, but I’m not playing that game. You’d better lock your nasty little eyeballs on my face. You’d better forget about the skate park, and get your attention on my words. That’s better. The sooner you listen to me, the sooner we’ll be done with this talk. The sooner you start doing what I’m talking about, the less you’ll suffer. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.

How do I know what I’m talking about? Well, I’ve done most of the shit you’re doing right now. I smoked for 20 years; for several years I thought that pot was the fifth food group; I was a criminal. I did shit that I won’t talk about here, because your grandma still doesn’t know. I did shit that I won’t talk about here because I might still get into trouble with the law. I know what I’m talking about, because I did the shit you’re doing right now. I know because I saw people around me die – yeah, that’s right, die because they went down the path you’re starting to head down. I know others that went to jail; some of them will never come out. That’s right boy, some of these people I know are serving life sentences. So shut your hole, and open your mind boy, because none of these kids thought bad shit would happen to them either.

You need to quit the cigarettes boy, and you need to quit them now. You may think that you can quit any time you want, but try going more than a few hours without one. You’ll start getting nervous; you’ll start getting cranky; you’ll lose your concentration; before you know it, the only thing you’ll be able to think about is that next smoke. Then you’ll cave, come up with some rationalization about how you made it long enough to make your point… about how you were really stressed… about how you can quit any time you want. You’ll say all of this as you light up, freezing your ass off because you’re smoking outside during the winter, and coughing up chunks of dark brown shit from your lungs, because you’re inhaling cancer. How do I know? Kid, I smoked for 20 years. I’ve quit dozens of times, and I always caved, using the same rationalizations that I just gave you. It took 20 years before I finally quit for good. I'd like to save you that pain.

You need to quit the dope, boy, and you need to quit it now. I’m going to be straight with you, I don’t think that pot’s super bad. In fact, I think that both alcohol and tobacco are worse than pot. But I’ll also tell you this. You’re too young to be smoking the ganja. Your brain is still developing physically, and intellectually. If you start putting that shit into your brain now, your brain will suffer. Not only will your brain suffer, but you’ll live for the next high. You’ll get to the point where you only want to smoke up. You won’t want to go places, you won’t want to do things, and you won’t want to see people… unless they’re your tokin’ buddies. And oh yeah, you’ll want to eat. But you already know that shit, don’t you? Here’s the problem… if you spend all of your time getting high, you’re not learning things… you’re not growing as a person… you get to the point where you think that just getting high is enough, but letting your intellect go unused is uncool.

Get your ass back to school. And don’t just get your ass back to school, get your ass back to school and learn. I sure as hell don’t spend my tax dollars on school so you can skip. I spend my tax dollars on school so you can learn… so you can do a little better for yourself than I did for myself… than your dad did for himself… just like my dad did, and his dad, etc. Do you want to sling burgers for minimum wage and no benefits for the rest of your life? Do you want to live in a one-room shit-hole apartment, driving a vehicle that never runs right, collecting the welfare checks? Because that’s where you’re headed. Shit boy, you’ve got to go to college if you want a snowball’s chance at being anything other than a bum. And the way you’re going won’t get you into college.

I know you’ve already heard this shit before. But you’ve been getting lectures from people that don’t know like I know. They’re spouting shit they’ve read somewhere else. I lived the shit boy. I smoked tobacco for half of my life. Quitting was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I smoked a lot of pot, and wasted a lot of my life. I had the dirtbag friends, all of whom ditched each other when the going got tough. These idiots aren’t your real friends. I, on the other hand, get it. I get the allure of where you’re headed. It’s a lie. I, despite how pissy I sound now, am telling you this because I truly love you, kid.

Now that I’ve said all of this, I want you to know that I’m not going to spend a bunch of time lecturing you from now on. I’ve said my peace. You can go get high now, or you can go smoke your cigarette, or you can go hang out with your dirtbag friends… the ones that’ll ditch you when the shit hits the fan. I’ll be waiting here, for when you want to talk… for when you want to just hang out… for when you’re ready to get your shit together. I’ll be here because I was there, where you are now. I’ll be here because I’m your uncle and I love you. Don’t make me wait too long, okay?

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Shower Faucet Repair - Epilogue

I was so pleased with the results of my shower repair that I tackled my kitchen faucet a few days later...

The sprayer in my kitchen sink hasn't worked for over a year. During the last year, I had replaced the sprayer and the sprayer hose; neither replacement fixed the sprayer. I looked into replacing the guts of the kitchen faucet, but decided against it.

Being emboldened by the success of my shower faucet repair, I decided it was time to tackle the kitchen. I bought a new kitchen faucet and just replaced the whole damned assembly. I had it successfully done in about an hour. I got the sprayer working again just in time to use it over Thanksgiving.

Shower Faucet - After

I repeated the process for the cold water handle, except I had everything I needed up front and knew what I was doing, so it only took 20 minutes instead of four days. I also bought a new shower head, and new flanges.

Instead of caulking the flanges on this time, I caulked under the flanges, and let the flanges float. This will prevent the rust you saw at the beginning of the project.

Shower Faucet Cartridge Reassembled

The shower faucet cartridge has yet another new gasket on the end (the first flat one got really chewed up by the old pitted shower faucet seat), and the threads are coated with teflon tape to prevent leaking.

Taped Shower Faucet Seat

The new seat is covered with teflon tape, ready to be re-installed into the shower faucet.

New Shower Faucet Seat

Here's a picture of the new shower faucet seat.

Shower Faucet Seat

This is the shower faucet seat. The surface that made contact with the gasket was pitted from years of corrosion.

Shower Faucet Tool

Day four...

This is the third time I've taken this thing apart. I'm getting pretty good at it now. I'm taking this slow for the following reasons...

-There are no leaks, so other than the fact that the women-folk have to take a shower in the "creepy" shower, there's no reason to rush.

-I want to do it right, but I don't feel like making several special trips to the hardware store. I'd rather drop by on my way to or from work.

-This way the house isn't without water for an extended period of time.

But anyway...
This is the third time I've taken the cartridge out of the shower. I look at the flat gasket and see that it's been chewed up, so I went to the hardware store and bought the tool you see in this picture, so I could remove the shower faucet seat.

Digressing a Bit

This repair work actually took place over the course of four days. I did the preparatory disassembly on Wednesday.

I made my first attempt at repairing on Thursday. The repair stopped the leak, but I could tell by feel that the repair wasn't right. That's what I get for taking Mendards' advice instead of going to a reputable hardware store.

Friday I disassembled things again, and took it to a hardware store. The hardware store guy told me what was wrong the first time (the wrong-shaped gasket), and told me about the seat located inside of the shower assembly. I got the right gasket and found out what to do next if that didn't fix things...

Shower Faucet Cartridge Disassembled

The shower faucet cartridge disassembles even further. I've got no idea why.

My next step was to go to Menards to see if they had a replacement shower cartridge. They didn't. They did, however, recommend that I replace the rubber gasket on the end of the shower faucet cartridge... they gave me the wrong one.

They gave me a cone-shaped gasket, when I needed a flat gasket. After re-assembling everything and testing it out, I found out that the leak was stopped, but the faucet didn't feel right. I stopped work for the night.

Shower Faucet Cartridge

The shower faucet cartridge has been removed from the shower.

No More Chrome

The chrome sleeve came off by hand. The brass internal parts needed to be removed with a wrench.

This should be a no-brainer, but I'm going to say it anyway... turn off the water before you remove this piece.

The piece is referred to as a shower faucet cartridge.

Moving Right Along

After removing the handle and flange, I went to Menards for advice. They recommended that I remove this chrome shaft.


Of course I've got to do the disclaimer...

This series of entries is designed to discuss my experience. I'm not a plumber, and you folks probably don't have the same type of faucet as me. If you try to repair your faucet, you can feel free to use this as a guide, but it's not an instruction manual. If it helps, great. If not, don't come crying to me.

Now that the disclaimer is out of the way, look at this picture. I removed the flange and the handle.

Amateur Plumbing

Today's entry will chronicle the journey of repairing a leaking shower.

I've got two showers in my house... the downstairs shower that nobody uses because the girls think it's "icky," and the main one. The main shower has had a leaky faucet for about a year or so. You know the type; you can stop the leak, but only if you really crank the handles. I finally got tired of hearing "drip... drip... drip" in the middle of the night. I finally got sick of the puddles in the bathroom. I finally got fed up with the wasted water and decided to do something about it...

On with the adventure.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Police Hit Man in Genitals With Taser


The following article was lifted from AP

---Begin Original Article---
FORT MYERS BEACH, Fla. - Police accidentally hit a naked man in the genitals with a Taser after he was caught breaking windows and asking women to touch him, authorities said.

Jeremy J. Miljour, 26, tried to run away when sheriff's deputies approached so one of them shot their Taser, said Cpl. Matt Chitwood. But one of the gun's prongs accidentally hit Miljour's genitals and got stuck, Chitwood said.

"The Taser is relatively accurate, but when someone is moving like that, it doesn't matter if you have a Taser, or a pistol. (Officers) can't aim," Chitwood said.

Miljour was treated at a hospital before being taken to the Lee County jail. He was charged with indecent exposure, resisting an officer and criminal damage.
---End Original Article---

I just wanted to use one of the word verification words in a real world context.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Getting out of Iraq?

Yep, it’s time for me to get back on my soapbox about Iraq. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I think it was a mistake to go into Iraq. It’s not that I believe taking Saddam out was a mistake; I think we did the right thing there. It’s got very little to do with the whole WMD issue; The fact is, Saddam did everything he could to keep us guessing. While there is reasonable doubt as to whether or not he had a lot of weapons of mass destruction, there should no question that he came across as a despot who possessed chemical and/or nuclear weapons. Saddam Hussein not only presented an image of someone who had WMDs, he also proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was capable of using such weapons – against his own countrymen! No, I don’t have a philosophical problem with going into Iraq in and of itself. I think the problem was mainly a matter of timing.

There was never any doubt in my mind that President Bush was using pretenses for going into Iraq. I’ve always been firmly convinced that his reason for going into Iraq was either for personal reasons, or to send a message to the world that we’re not going to tolerate terrorism. Good message, but bad execution. We were already committed in Afghanistan. By going into Iraq, we opened a two-front war, and we proved to the world community that we’re nation-builders. Fighting a two-front war has proven itself a strategic mistake time and again. Forces are spread too thin, and the military is less capable of achieving its objectives. I’m not against nation-building per se, but I am against the idea of forcing our ideology onto sovereign entities.

That said though, we made the decision to go into Iraq. We were told that it would be tough. We were told that it would be expensive. We were told that it would cost human lives. We chose to go anyway. Lo and behold, a couple of years later, we’re acting surprised as we discover that the war in Iraq is difficult, expensive and costing human lives. Well, I hate to tell you this folks, but that’s what happens in war. What you’re experiencing is the logical, forewarned consequence of a choice you made when you authorized the President to declare war against Iraq. So let’s see here, it’s getting a little tough and you want to bail now? What the hell are you thinking? Do you want to make a bad situation worse?

If we leave Iraq, what kind of message are we sending to our enemies – all of our enemies – current, former and future – all enemies – what kind of signal are we sending them? Oh, America’s tough, but only at first. If you can last more than two rounds in the ring with ‘em, you’ll be able to outlast ‘em. They’ll throw in the towel after that. Is that what we want? Because if we leave Iraq now, that’s what we’ll get.

How about the “timetable” idea? Bad. It’s more of the same “get out of Iraq,” just taking a bit longer, and having a slightly tougher face. The only difference is that we’ll show that we’re lasting three rounds instead of two, that we’re telling our enemy our exit plan, and that we’re letting the enemy know how long they need to wait. Again, bad idea.

What I recommend instead is that President Bush tells our country what his end objective is, and gives America quantifiable milestones that must be reached on the way to that objective. This way we know what to expect, and the enemy understands that we’re not leaving a job unfinished. This way we understand that the Bush administration has a coherent plan for winning the war, and the enemy knows that they can’t just wait us out. And no, saying “We want a stable Iraq” is not a sufficient answer. That’s good for the end goal, but we need to see milestones, so we know that the President knows what he’s seeking… so we know what the President’s seeking… and so we know that the military knows what their objective is.

The partisans in Washington have both got it wrong. The “trust us” right has squandered away that trust based on the political missteps of the last year. The “get out now” left is trying to pander to us, in order to get themselves back into power. The real answer is in the middle… we made a bad choice by going into Iraq when we did. Now, we’ve got two options… see things through and minimize the repercussions of our initial bad decision, or turn tail and go home, making a bad decision worse. That’s not my answer. My answer is to achieve the victory we set out to achieve, but make sure that everyone understands and agrees on what “victory” is. Going in when we did was a bad decision. Let’s not compound things by leaving now.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Our Business Here is Done

"Our Business Here is Done" is the Seventh and final installment of an Interactive Serial Novel, inspired by the word verification feature of blogger. The story is centered around "words" that were created by the word verification feature of blogger, but defined and submitted by readers of this blog. You may want to refer to the dictionary from time to time as you read this story.

Click Here for Part I

Click Here for Part II

Click Here for Part III

Click Here for Part IV

Click Here for Part V

Click Here for Part VI

Between the excitement of the day, and the ‘entertainment’ of the evening, it took me a while to drift off to sleep. But once I was out, I slept like the dead. The next morning, I was awakened with a startle by my body’s new co-host.

“Wha..?” Then I remembered what had transpired over the last day. “I thought that was a dream.”

“No, that was very real,” my inner voice assured me.

“Hey! I thought we needed to use the salt and vyrioclr for you to be able to communicate,” I observed.

“No. That’s a one-time procedure that aligns our essences. Now we can communicate freely.” In fact, if you don’t want others to hear, you can just will the thought, a voice in my head explained. Wow! That’s COOL! I answered.

“It is, isn’t it,” my voice finished?

“It’s what,” Tammy asked quizzically?

“Well, I found out that my body’s new co-host and I can communicate telepathically.”

“Isn’t that just special,” quipped Tammy’s boyfriend? “Speaking of that, we need to figure out a way that we can tell when you are talking and when it’s talking.”

“Oh, I hadn’t though of that. I guess it had been pretty clear to all of us up to now, eh?”

“How about if I talk like Yoga from Star Battles,” my inner voice offered. The imitation was crappy, but we all got the point.

“Okay,” we all agreed.

The next several months were spent training me in the ways of the intergalactic superhero…

“…You must vipyu before you actually use your superpowers…”

“….Oooooh, that one was particularly flowery. You smell like a lilac bush…”

“… You can’t use the maxazaps setting – whether it’s your fafkmno’s laser, or your power of flatulence, unless your life is directly in danger. If you are not in danger, you must only seek to incapacitate…”

“… So many rules…”

“… So much concentration…”

“… You must hold your pinkie up when you drink a fjdaq…”

“… You need to save civilians in this order. The kuwrty women are first. They get us the most headlines. Children are second. They will tell our story and propagate our legend. Old people are third. They are grateful. Men are last. They should be able to take care of themselves. This one is more of a guideline than an actual rule…”

“… How will I remember it all…”

“… You must maintain focus at all times…”

Before I knew it, I had my first assignment – A local franchise owner required his female employees to wear DQXiers, and it was impacting the cleanliness of the store. I scoped out the establishment; after days of undercover work (Tammy really enjoyed that part of her new job) we were ready to strike. I boldly entered the store when the manager was there, pulled some zyzax out of my utility belt, and cleaned a large film of piieul from the counter.

“Mr. Manager, this must stop. Your women are so uncomfortable in their DQXiers that they can’t perform their jobs. Your establishment is becoming unsanitary, and you are driving away customers. You must renounce your ways of poor fashion sense – for both you and your employees – or you will drive yourself out of business and into madness.” The manager was dumbstruck.

“Wow! You’re right. I had never thought of it like that.” The manager had seen the light. “Ladies,” the manager continued, “effective immediately, you are no longer required to wear your DQXier. In fact, if you’d like to, you may go out to the dumpster and burn them. And oh yeah, who wants to cut my mullet?”

“Allow me,” I offered, pulling out my handy-dandy shears. I belched the scent of pumpkin pie, to put him at ease, and before he knew it his mullet was gone. In its place was a beautiful coiffe, created by yours truly.

“That’s soooo much better,” one of the franchise’s young women cooed.

“I know. Well, Tammy, our business here is done. Zbugi!”

“But wait,” cried the manager, as we stepped into my fafkmno. “I must know who you are.”

“I’m Fashion Avenger Guy. You can call me FAG for short.” I actually felt fwufx inside as I drove away from my first successful endeavor.

Since then, I’ve been known as FAG, and I’ve been dedicated to truth, intergalactic justice, and the fight for great fashion sense. The five gay guys you see on TV? They’re my agents. I know that my tenure in this job will be limited. There have been many FAGs before me, and there will be many FAGs after me. Eventually, I will grow older, start wearing last year’s clothing, and eventually {gasp} start wearing golf clothing, and dress socks with sandals. At that point, the spirit will leave my body, find a new host, and break in a new FAG. But at least I’ll get to keep my fafkmno as part of my retirement package.

Author’s Notes:

I’ve read several books where the author writes a few notes to readers, so I figured I’d do the same. It’s not that I consider myself an author per se, but since I’ve gone to the effort of taking a full week to write something, I guess that gives me some semblance of authorship, and dammit, I’m going to take advantage of it while I’ve got a chance.

First and foremost: This is NOT a serious piece of work. The whole thing was created in response to the nonsensical “words” created by Blogger’s word verification feature. It all started when one of my readers told me that my blog’s word verification called him fuckwagy. I decided to randomly assign it a definition, and from there it took off. I told people that if I got a list of 100 words that I’d write a whole story around the list of words. Thank God I got impatient and wrote the story at 50! Otherwise, I’d quite possibly have been involved in writing a story that I’d actually have to keep track of, and it would have kept me busy for a month. I think a week is plenty of time to devote to a nonsensical non-event.

For the record… I had no idea where this story would go until I started writing it. Okay, that’s not quite true. I knew that it would have to involve some sort of aliens, time travel, or alternate universe in order to incorporate the words. But other than that, I didn’t know what would unfold. On day one of my writing, I sat down and wrote the day’s story from start to finish, and posted it. Throughout the rest of the day, I got a very basic idea of how the next day’s plot would unfold. The next day came, and I wrote that day’s story, start to finish, and posted it. The entire story was written that way. I knew basically what would happen the next day, but that’s it. The story was written around the words that were submitted. Nothing more, nothing less.

I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I hope you were as surprised as I was by the events that transpired. Maybe someday down the road we can conspire to write another absurd story.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

It’s Not Exactly Flying

"It's Not Exactly Flying" is Part Six of an Interactive Serial Novel, inspired by the word verification feature of blogger. The story is centered around "words" that were created by the word verification feature of blogger, but defined and submitted by readers of this blog. You may want to refer to the dictionary from time to time as you read this story.

Click Here for Part I

Click Here for Part II

Click Here for Part III

Click Here for Part IV

Click Here for Part V

“If you’re going to be a superhero – especially an intergalactic superhero – you need an image,” my voice continued. “And even a superhero needs behind-the-scenes help.” The creature turned my head and looked at Tammy and her boyfriend hopefully. “What do you say, will you help us rid the world of evldnzn and mullets?”

“Okay,” they both said, somewhat reluctantly.

“I’d much rather have been the superhero,” Tammy’s boyfriend lamented.

“Great, now let’s work on the image. Any thoughts,” my voice queried?

“Well, I kind of need to know the extent of my power,” I interjected. “Before we work on the specifics of my image, I need to know what I can and can’t do. Can I fly?”

“Yes, you can use your flatulence to propel you through the air for very short distances, but it’s not exactly flying. It’s more accurate to say that you can slow your fall to an extent where you won’t get hurt.”

“What other powers do I have?”

“You’re familiar with the ozukma. You can also deafen your opponents by loudly channeling your gas. You can nauseate your opponents into submission using particularly pungent gasses, or you can pacify them by generating fragrant odors. Use the anal cavity to employ these powers on a large scale, or orally for a powerfully channeled employment of your powers.”

“So wait a minute, you’re saying my shit doesn’t stink,” I wryly inquired?

“Not if you don’t want it to,” my voice confirmed.

“This is gonna be fun! Since I can’t really fly, I need some sort of transportation. Something cool like the Bratmobile.”

“How about a horse,” my inner voice inquired?

“Well,” Tammy countered, “It’s pretty tough to configure a horse for intergalactic travel. Besides, have you looked at the equteg on those things lately?”

“Yeah, besides, I don’t want to end up bow-legged. Nothing cornier than a bow-legged superhero,” I finished. “How about a fafkmno? I’ve always wanted one of them. Just imagine the awe we'll inspire in our fans, and the terror we’ll instill in our enemies when we zzseiyrn by them, on our way to another fashion emergency! Besides, it’ll be really easy to load it up with all of the qozxras it’ll need for intergalactic travel. If we want to really trick it out, we can drop it a few inches and drive with a really good ianvew. I’ve Uftwnt a dropped fafkmno.”

“That sounds pretty cool,” Tammy and her boyfriend agreed.

“How about a catchphrase,” my inner voice wondered.

Zbugi,” we all said in unison.

I noticed that I was becoming incredibly tired, and started to drift off…

“HEY!” my inner voice screamed. “Can you not everozp? We’re trying to turn you into a superhero, here!”

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“How about a kltbonho as part of your costume,” asked Tammy’s boyfriend? “I’ve always been really fond of kltbonhos,” he finished.

“I don’t think so,” I countered. If I’m going to end up doing any semblance of flying, I don’t need people distracting me from the task at hand by looking up my kltbonho. Besides, isn’t that kind of giving your opponent a peek at your… ummmm… arsenal?” I couldn’t help but grin at my own pun.

“Ohhhhhh. That was just awful,” Tammy and her boyfriend exclaimed, trying to suppress a laugh of their own.

“Look, I’ve had a long day and I’m kind of tired. Can we pick this up tomorrow?”

“Sure,” my inner voice agreed. “Tomorrow, we’ll discuss the rules of engagement, and do a couple of practice drills.”

“Rules of engagement? That may take a while for me to learn. I’ve always been podrmy,” I said hesitantly.

“We’ll worry about that tomorrow,” my inner voice offered. “For now, let’s have a fjdaq and nyhltosv to the end of crappy galactic culture.”

“To the end of crappy galactic culture,” we toasted.

After finishing our fjdaq, we all laid down and started dozing off. At least I was dozing off. Tammy and her boyfriend decided that they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. “Get a room,” I complained.

“You’re in our room,” Tammy rebutted.

Jssllupyo,” I complained. They giggled between kisses, and I pulled the pillow over my head. I wanted to sleep, not listen to their sloppiness.

Drop by tomorrow for the seventh installment.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Lick This Salt

"Lick This Salt" is Part Five of an Interactive Serial Novel, inspired by the word verification feature of blogger. The story is centered around "words" that were created by the word verification feature of blogger, but defined and submitted by readers of this blog. You may want to refer to the dictionary from time to time as you read this story.

Click Here for Part I

Click Here for Part II

Click Here for Part III

Click Here for Part IV

“Sorry, you won’t be making the aqvra tonight,” Tammy answered, as we pulled into the parking lot of a run-down motel.

“Let me guess, we’re here.”

“Yes. We’re in room 13, Tammy added.”

“How did I know that? You do realize this is like something out of a cheesy comic book, right?”

“I assure you, this is very real,” Tammy quipped, opening the door to room 13. “Take a seat,” she instructed as she walked through the door. “This won’t hurt a bit, but it’ll feel a little… weird.”

“Oh come on! This is too much. You’re not even using your own lines. That’s like something out of The Maytricks… where Mobius says that to Nemo before they go into the white zone.”

“We do realize that what we’re saying is a little cliché,” Tammy’s boyfriend retorted, losing his patience a little bit. Would you rather we just do what needs to be done, without warning you what’s coming up?”

“Ummm… I guess not.” He did have a good point.

“Now… As I was saying,” Tammy continued. “This isn’t going to hurt, but it will feel strange. I need you to lick this salt, and then we’re going to use the vyrioclr on you. This will put you in a state of semi-consciousness, so that we can communicate with the being.”

I had no sooner gotten the salt to my mouth, than Tammy’s boyfriend had pulled out a handkerchief and put it over my face. I reflexively gasped, and instantly found myself losing awareness of my surroundings.

XXALKK!!” The sound came unbidden from my throat. “What do you want,” continued my voice?

“We demand that you release this man from your evil possession immediately,” demanded Tammy.

Evil!?! I’m not evil,” my voice protested.

“Then why, when you possessed me, did I become so angry, jealous and possessive,” demanded Tammy’s boyfriend.”

Aajshsi!!” My body convulsed.

Blsyi,” Tammy and her boyfriend responded in unison.

“I was allergic to you,” my voice said to Tammy’s boyfriend. “Look, my voice continued. I’m not evil. I don’t possess and take over people’s bodies. In fact, I’m an Iuhnanu. My race strives for peace, love, and intergalactic understanding between the intelligent species of the universe. We achieve this peace through the eradication of crappy social culture. We seek to bring universal harmony by doing things such as eliminating evldnzn, any hair style that uses oeagojel, and the use of gpeivrbs; and by promoting healthy alternatives such as penkgx, boaeismg, and drinking fjdaqs with good friends.”

“Really,” gasped Tammy? “But we had always heard that your species was malevolent!”

“That was just bad publicity by some of our arch-enemies, like the Bad Hair Bandit and Macarena Man. They want to destroy the universe by promoting mullets and line dancing. They’ll do anything they can to destroy us. Fortunately, we can fight back,” my voice continued.

“How,” I asked, a little surprised that I could use my voice in this semi-conscious state?

“I’m glad you asked, my potential host,” my voice carried on. In return for allowing me to co-exist in your body, and assisting in our quest for galactic harmony, I can confer to you certain powers that make you special among your species.”


“Yes, really,” my voice continued. You will have enhanced abilities, based on your bodily functions. For example, you can control the volume and specific scent of your flatulence. You can also eructate in a similar manner, thus giving you the ability to employ multiple ‘weapons’ simultaneously.”

“But aren’t farting and belching in public crappy social culture, and against your doctrine for achieving galactic peace,” I countered?

“Only in the unenlightened societies. In advanced civilizations, people realize that burping, passing gas, urinating, and defecating are merely bodily functions, and are not looked down upon. They do, however, still appreciate a good fart joke.”

“That explains why I destroyed the hospital walls when I took the leak,” I surmised.

“Yes,” my voice continued. “Are you in?”

“Yes,” I surprisingly found myself immediately agreeing.

“I guess we all learned a little something tonight,” Tammy’s boyfriend observed.

Drop by tomorrow for the sixth installment.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

My Getaway Car is a Pinto

"My Getaway Car is a Pinto" is Part Four of an Interactive Serial Novel, inspired by the word verification feature of blogger. The story is centered around "words" that were created by the word verification feature of blogger, but defined and submitted by readers of this blog. You may want to refer to the dictionary from time to time as you read this story.

Click Here for Part I

Click Here for Part II

Click Here for Part III

I pushed the debris off of me and stood up. Once standing, I looked at the carnage I had created. I was surprised that I wasn’t hurt by all of the rubble that had fallen on me, and by the fact that I was so easily able to push it out of my way. But considering that I had recently destroyed a room by taking a whiz, I was a little less surprised by anything that had transpired in the last couple of minutes.

Just then, the door to my hospital room burst open. I turned around, ready to explain what had happened…

“Come with me,” the voice urgently demanded. It was Tammy.


“You heard me, let’s go,” Tammy commanded.

“Why would I go with you?” This whole thing kept getting weirder and weirder.

“Because if you don’t come with me, the doctors will literally test you to death, but never be able to tell you what’s going on. I, on the other hand, can explain everything. I may even be able to help you.”

“But how…”

“Here, put these on,” she continued, throwing me my clothes, “and hurry, someone will be here any second. After all, you caused quite a ruckus.” I silently obaead her.

In short order, I was dressed, and we managed to get out of my hospital room before anyone had noticed. In retrospect, I’m kind of glad that I wasn’t really sick at that hospital. If it took them several minutes to arrive when I literally brought the room down around me, I wonder how long it would have taken them to respond if it had been something a little less serious – like a heart attack. That’s the last time I go to a county hospital.

Once we were out of my room, we casually strolled out the front door. I continued following Tammy to the parking lot, where she headed toward a run-down Pinto in the back corner of the parking lot. That was when I noticed her boyfriend sitting in the driver’s seat of our… getaway car?

Remembering our last encounter, I was a little uncomfortable about running into Tammy’s boyfriend again, but I wasn’t going to let a little thing like fear stop me. “I could always pee on him,” I thought. That’s about the time that I was completely overcome by the sheer lunacy of my situation. I pictured myself as a superhero whose superpower was a superhuman stream of urine. I started laughing. “Maybe I could call myself the Golden Penis,” I thought. Soon, my mental imagery overcame me and I was doubled up in the parking lot, the gffuhz spewing from my belly.

Tammy stood over me, and I was jerked back to reality. I stood back up, still chuckling.

“Get in,” Tammy directed, opening the door. Apparently I was going to sit in the back seat. I hate sitting in the back seat, but considering that Tammy’s a big girl, her boyfriend was driving, and I had no idea where we were going, it was the best option.

“What I’m going to tell you will be a little tough to believe,” Tammy continued once we were all in the Pinto.

“Ummmm…. Let’s see here,” I retorted. “I got knocked out by a wimp, my shattered jaw healed in an hour, I destroyed a hospital room with my urine stream, and my getaway car is a Pinto. Let me guess at what’s next. You’re aliens, and my body has been taken over by some uncontrollable force that’s given me super powers.”

“Exactly,” her boyfriend confirmed, looking over his shoulder from the driver’s seat.


“The force,” Tammy continued, “isn’t really a force per se. The best way to explain it in terms you’ll understand is like a cosmic combination of virus, spirit and parasite.”

“That’s why we’re here on your planet,” Tammy’s boyfriend carried on. “It entered my body a while back, and we came here to either control it or remove it from my body. In order to do this, we need a specific combination of salt and vyrioclr. The problem is, vyrioclr is only found on your planet, and even here, it’s very difficult to obtain.

Soairsa alien in me?”

“Yes,” Tammy confirmed.

“But how did it get from his body to mine,” I inquired?

“Funny story, that.” Tammy’s boyfriend answered. “Before I answer that though, sorry about hitting you.” I rubbed my jaw, remembering that punch.

“That was quite a wallop,” I grudging acknowledged.

“Yeah, that was the parasite. When it entered my body, it made me an incredibly jealous and angry creature. I’m not usually like that,” he finished apologetically. “Anyway, when I punched you, it must have jumped from me to you.”

“Am I going to end up like that?”

“We don’t know,” Tammy answered. “It acts a little bit differently in every host it enters.”

I started feeling a little sick at the prospect, and before I knew it, I had yaqd in the back of the Pinto. “Sorry, about that.”

“That’s okay, this isn’t our car."

"I've Got to tell you two, this is a bad time to have my body invaded. I've got tickets to see the aqvra tonight."

Drop by tomorrow for the fifth installment.

Saturday, November 12, 2005

My Fire Hose was a Fire Hose

"My Fire Hose was a Fire Hose" is Part Three of an Interactive Serial Novel, inspired by the word verification feature of blogger. The story is centered around "words" that were created by the word verification feature of blogger, but defined and submitted by readers of this blog. You may want to refer to the dictionary from time to time as you read this story.

Click Here for Part I

Click Here for Part II

The next thing I remember was opening my eyes and looking directly at bright fluorescent lights. I’m smarter than your average bear, but it still took me a second to realize what was what. (They say that tends to happen when you get your ass knocked out… whoever “they” are.) Yep, you guessed it; I was in the hospital.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I heard an unfamiliar voice say.

“Oh shit,” I thought. It’s never good when you’re lying in a hospital bed and you hear ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ I propped myself up on my elbows, determined to figure out what they were talking about. For someone who was lying in a hospital bed, after just having the crap knocked out of him, I felt surprisingly good – almost J-Mode good. I did a mental scan of my body. No aches, pains, bumps, bruises, scratches… nothing. “Never seen anything like what,” I queried as I sat up? The others in the room, apparently startled a bit by my unexpected interjection into their conversation, jumped a bit and turned to face me.

“Hello. I’m Dr. Jasper, and this is my colleague, Dr. Whitfield.” We were just discussing you as a matter of fact. How’s your jaw feeling?”

“Fine, why do you ask?” That’s when I remembered what happened at the pub. “How long have I been out?”

“You’ve been here for an hour or so. That’s part of what we were talking about. When you arrived, you had a concussion and your jaw was shattered. But by the time we had started wiring your jaw shut, it had zmoau started healing itself, right in front of our eyes. Within fifteen minutes, it had completely healed… and I mean completely. Your X-Rays look as if your jaw had never been broken. Your concussion is healed too.”

“So I’m healthy? In good shape?”

“We’d like to run some more tests on you, just to make sure.”

“But you just said there’s nothing wrong." Doctors are such bystrdos.

“Yes, but we’d like to make sure. And I’ll admit, we’re also a bit curious as to how you healed so quickly.”

I got up and started dressing. “Nope. I’m not your lab rat. Let’s just chalk this one up to a freak incident.”


“Thanks, but no,” I insisted as I headed for the bathroom.

Once I was in the can, I realized that I had to go. Of course, as soon as my ass hit the porcelain, I realized there wasn’t enough puapp. Damn, I hate when that happens.

“Ummmm…. Doc?”


“Could you get me some more puapp?”

“Will you let us run a few more tests?”

“No, but if you don’t get me some more puapp, I’ll be forced to use my hospital gown, the towels in here, and if it’s bad enough, maybe even the shower curtain, to wipe my ass. We don’t want that, do we?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Thanks,” I said, as I relaxed my muscles. “Oh, doc?”


“Could you bring me some of the good puapp? The stuff that makes you TPRubPrr?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

This is where it starts to get really strange. Now, you know how it is when you sit down to take a crap, right? You usually end up taking a leak at the same time. Well, this time was no exception. I felt the urge to ease the pressure in the bladder and the bowels. I must have really had to go, because when I cut loose, it was like an ozukma; and no, I’m not speaking figuratively. My fire hose was a fire hose. I actually shattered the toilet bowl with the pressure, which of course caused me to fall on the floor. (After all, I was sitting on it at the time.) Naturally, I was caught completely off guard, which is how I ended up peeing on the ceiling and walls, causing them to crash in all around me. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. Here I am, lying on the floor, in a puddle of toilet water, watching the ceiling and walls collapse around me… all because I took a leak. And I’m so freaked out by this whole experience that my ozukma is still spraying out of control, causing still more damage to my hospital room. Finally, I gathered my wits, stopped the ozukma stream, and laughed at the utter absurdity of what I had just experienced… and caused. I can only imagine the damage I could have caused if I had gotten around to letting the torpedoes drop. I changed my mind and decided to let the doctors run a few tests after all.

Drop by tomorrow for the fourth installment.

Friday, November 11, 2005

She Was Running Commando

"She Was Running Commando" is Part Two of an Interactive Serial Novel, inspired by the word verification feature of blogger. The story is centered around "words" that were created by the word verification feature of blogger, but defined and submitted by readers of this blog. You may want to refer to the dictionary from time to time as you read this story.

Click Here for Part I

I did a double-take. “What,” I asked!? I hope I didn’t betray the fact that I was surprised she actually had a boyfriend.

“That’s him, coming in the door now.”

When I saw him, I instantly understood how they could be an item. The guy was a little too tall, had greasy, messy black hair, and was waaaaay too skinny to be healthy. When I mentally pictured them together, I saw the proverbial thin man and fat woman from those circus sideshows. Tammy grew a little pale as her ostrich of a boyfriend came emuobn across the room.

“What’s the matter,” I inquired?

“My boyfriend is kind of jealous, and tends to get mad when he sees me talking to other guys.”

“What a zpwud,” I retorted. “Why don’t you just tell him the truth? Tell him that nothing’s going on, that we’re not flirting, and that we’re just talking. Let him know the main reason we started talking in the first place is because your friend was interested in my friend.”

“Well, he’s usually pretty jealous when I talk to guys, regardless of why I’m talking to them.”

“Don’t worry,” I replied with a grin “I won’t hurt him.”

“It’s not him that I’m worried about,” she grimly responded.

I was a little taken back by that last statement, but determined not to let my discomfort show. “Who was she worried for,” I wondered, “Her, or me.” There wasn’t really time to ponder the question though, because the ostrich arrived at our table seconds later. Each of us spent a fraction of a second sizing the other up. I certainly wasn’t intimidated. There was only one word that could adequately describe the guy… wimp! After sizing him up, I surmised that she was worried about a fight after she got home, or something like that. One thing surprised me though. I’d assumed that he’d be a little intimidated by me. But if he was, he certainly didn’t let the pressure show.

“Hi honey, this is…” That was when we both realized that she didn’t know my name. I learned hers, but had never gotten around to giving her my name. I extended my hand and opened my mouth to introduce myself, and it happened. I saw the wimp’s face twitch ever-so-slightly, my sixth sense screamed DNGRXX, and his fist slammed into my head with the force of a brick. That punch came out of nowhere! Just as I registered the blood trickling from the corner of my mouth like ptygoo, and readied myself to kick this guy’s ass, the next blow came. I didn’t even see it, but I sure heard the wasuoof. As the thvkn ran off with my consciousness and the blackness closed in, the last thing I saw as I looked up from the floor was the dremu, decked out in her dalpkj. During my last instant of consciousness, I saw that she was running commando, and I was content. What can I say? I’m a guy, I notice these things.

Drop by tomorrow for the third installment.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Bologna in My Pants

"Bologna in My Pants" is Part One of an Interactive Serial Novel, inspired by the word verification feature of blogger. The story is centered around "words" that were created by the word verification feature of blogger, but defined and submitted by readers of this blog. You may want to refer to the dictionary from time to time as you read this story.

It all started innocently enough. My buddy Drake dropped by my place and asked me if I wanted to join him at a new corner pub. Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking… “What the hell are you doing going to a corner pub with a guy named Drake? That’s almost as bad as bad as going to a biker bar with a guy named Percy!” Well, I’ll concede that you’re right to some extent. Going to any bar that doesn’t have an Ivy League-sounding name, with a guy named Drake, is trouble waiting to happen. But the fact is, I really do like the guy. He’s smart, funny, and charming, so he’s got no problems getting the fuckwagy women. Hell, they hit on him so often that I usually end up with his slightly-less-fuckwagy castoffs. That in itself is enough reason to hang out with him at least occasionally, right? Throw in the fact that he’s rich and always buys the drinks, and you should now understand why I like to party with the guy.

Per our usual modus operandi, we got to the pub a little early so we could get a good table… you know the type of table we were looking for… close to the bar, so we didn’t have to walk too far if the waitress was slow… close to the bathroom, so we didn’t have to walk too far to get rid of the old beer… close to the door, so we could see the babes as soon as they walked in… but far enough away from each of them to get a good 360 degree view of the whole room, so we could figure out which of the women were available for a night of meaningless romance. Despite the fact that we got there early, there were already several people in the establishment. Fortunately for us though, we spotted a table that suited our needs, and immediately commenced with the liver calisthenics.

By the time we had downed our third drink, the pub was jumpin’. The place was full of fuckwaggies, and I figured that Drake and I would surely be hooked up before the night was out. As soon as that thought finished running through my head, this stunning little waif of a blonde accidentally brushed Drake’s shoulder, flopping her hair and giving a flirtatious apology as she momentarily stopped. Drake, being the playa that he is, wasted no time in introducing himself, and invited her to join us.

“I’d love to join you,” she replied. “Let me go get my friend first,” she continued, twirling a finger through the end of her long blonde locks. Drew and I couldn’t help but stare after as she walked across the bar to get her friend. This gal was a knockout… a real dremu! Then it happened. She got to the table where she and her friend were sitting, and I instantly understood why I hadn’t noticed the dremu before now. Her friend was UVKLREY! A real WVhog! She was so unattractive that my manhood instantly became bologna in my pants.

“Oh well, at least I’m still drinking for free, “I thought, as I resigned myself to the role of wingman for the evening. As the evening progressed, I dutifully played Drake’s straight man, made him look as good as possible to the dremu, and kept the uvklrey chick occupied, giving Drake plenty of time to get in with the dremu. Believe it or not, I began having a lot of fun as the evening progressed. Though I was definitely NOT interested in her physically, I found myself getting along with the uvklrey friend very well. After a half hour or so of truly animated and stimulating conversation, I was even interested enough in her to get her name – Tammy.

Like I said, Tammy was nothing to look at, but she was witty enough to keep the conversation going, with surprisingly few of those awkward lulls that wing-people experience when talking to one another so their friends can hook up.

“Oh shit,” Tammy exclaimed!


“It’s my boyfriend.”

Drop by tomorrow for the second installment.

Let the Story Begin

The noble quest began last month. Paulius unwittingly opened a creative can of worms by off-handedly telling me that my word verification called him 'fuckwagy,' and from there it progressed. Over the last four weeks we've all submitted some great words... none of which are actually words. Rather, they're letters thrown together in a random order, and assigned a particular meaning based on our imagination and creativity. Though I originally asked for 100 words, I'm thoroughly convinced that I can spin an adequate tale using the 50 that have already been submitted.

I had an idea of what I'd be writing about by the time I had the first ten words submitted, but held off on actually scripting the saga until I had all of the words I'd need. I'm glad that I waited. By the time I had finished my first paragraph today, I knew the story was nothing like I had originally planned.

By the time the second paragraph was completed, I understood that I would be unable to post the whole story in one day, so I've also changed course on how I'm writing this. Instead of doing one gargantuan post, I've decided to post this a little at a time, over the next several days.

I've got a loose idea of how the story will progress today and tomorrow, but beyond that, I'm not sure where the story will go. Based on this uncertainty, and because this tale will be written in serial format, I've decided to make it interactive. What does that mean to you? I'm glad you asked. I will post my first installment today, and I welcome your input in two ways. First, let me know what you think of the story. Second, let me know what you'd like my character to do, and how you'd like to see him -- and consequently the story -- develop.

Our collective linguistic adventure continues to grow and evolve...

Saturday, November 5, 2005

It's All About the Food

This is the final installment about our honeymoon.

(Originally written Friday, October 28)
We've done some shopping and a lot of eating while we've been down here. The shopping has been mainly for souvenirs... I got a T-Shirt from Nikki Beach and a linen dress shirt, a T-Shirt for my friend Greg, a piece of wall art that looks like an Aztec mask for my friend Antoine (to go with the mask he got from another friend during a trip to Jamaica), Hot Wife got a couple of T-Shirts and a silver banded necklace. Mainly we shopped for the kids, buying a lot of silver trinkets. Silver is pretty cheap down here. I'd say that it's about half what it would cost in the States.

What we've really been doing though is eating. I mentioned the meal at Bianco, so I won't go back into that. But we had fish tacos at a taco stand, and a full compliment of tacos at a local restaurant. I prefer flour tortillas to corn tortillas, and the tortillas down here are smaller, yet thicker than tortillas in the states. But overall, I'm not about the tortillas, I'm about what's in them. The fillings were great. We've had blue marlin, shrimp, pork, chicken and beef. The shrimp and chicken were my favorite, but I love saying that I ate the fish tacos in Mexico ;)

We had an awesome meal at the Blue Shrimp. The Mrs. had Mahi Mahi in a mango sauce that was really tasty. I had Portuguese Shrimp, which was one of the best meals I've ever eaten anywhere. It's jumbo shrimp wrapped in bacon, served with a mild cheese sauce. Not only was the food itself incredible, but the presentation was equally breathtaking. The shrimp was served on a half papaya, on skewers. It looked like a miniature pirate ship. It looked so good that I had a hard time bringing myself to eat it. But damn, I was glad that I got around to tasting it. The ambiance was cool at the Blue Shrimp too. It's kind of like being in an underwater cove. Tough to explain. I hope the pictures turn out, so you can see some of the stuff I've been talking about. Here's how impressed I was with the place... I got done eating, and noticed that the staff was giving free samples to passers-by. One couple had stopped to try a sample and appeared to be talking to the sample lady. I was impressed enough with the food that I actually got up from the table, darted outside and told the potential customers that they had to stop and try the food! A couple of the staff thanked me for the spontaneous endorsement.

Tonight we have reservations at a beachside table at La Palapa. I've been told about this place by about a half dozen people, so I'm anxious to see what they've got to offer. Rest assured, I'll fill you in when I get back.

And I never did mention what we ate when we were at Louis and Carlos' place. We had red snapper, covered in sauteed vegetables, garlic shrimp, mashed potatoes, and a healthy salad. I've got a special fondness for home-cooked meals, so this was probably my favorite. We dined at a table like something you'd see in a Trump home... long, black marble table, modern decoration, and the table was large enough to easily seat twelve. The food was tremendous, the house was stunning, and the conversation was fun! And the portions... there was so much food that I couldn't finish ANY of it. And anyone who knows me will be able to testify that I'm not one to leave any food on the plate, much some of everything. In the end though, all of it was so good, albeit for completely different reasons, that it would be almost impossible to choose which was my favorite. I'd say for formal elegance, I'd have to choose Bianco, hands down. For a whimsical atmosphere and creative presentation, I'd select the Blue Shrimp, and for the piece of home, I'd select dinner at Louis and Carlos' place.

And this doesn't even address the stuff we ate at Nikki Beach. I never thought I'd say it, but they've got great french fries. I also tried their oriental spring rolls, (some with tempura shrimp, and some with beef) and their shrimp quesedillas. All were great in their own way... awesome beach food that goes great with beer, margaritas and mixed drinks. Again though, none of them match the restaurants or the home-cooked meal. After I eat at La Palapa tonight, I'll give you a review on that place too. After all, it's all about the food.

(This part is being written as I post.)
La Palapa was the perfect way to spend our last night in Puerto Vallarta. We had reservations at 8:00 PM, sitting right on the beach as the sun went down. It was definitely the most romantic, enchanted evening we encountered. Sitting on the beach, lit by tiki torches, overlooking the fishing boats anchored a little ways offshore, children playing and laughing in the background... It was magic.

The food wasn't as good as the Blue Shrimp or Bianco, but it was a grand experience nonetheless. If you're looking for a romantic evening, I'd highly suggest La Palapa.

Thursday, November 3, 2005

La Vida Rico

The title was my attempt at saying "The Rich Life" in Spanish. Did I succeed? After reading today's post, you'll understand that today's title is appropriately named...

(Originally written Thursday, October 27)
The next day, we hung out on Nikki beach again. We ALL fell asleep on the beach (luckily for us, we were under the umbrellas, so we didn't cook in the Mexican sun), drank too much, ate too much, and basically acted like beach bums. I called us seals... cuz we ate, sunned ourselves, drank, swam, and repeated as necessary.

As the evening approached, we made plans for the evening. Inna has a friend who retired here. Richard (Inna's friend) was a stage producer in the Caribbean and in Las Vegas during the heyday of stage shows. Between his shows and other investments, Richard made a pretty penny, and has an absolutely stunning piece of property in the foothills of Puerto Vallarta. Richard gave us all a tour of his property, which was like nothing I've ever seen in person -- like something out of Architectural Digest -- and we had coctails and chatted for a couple of hours. For the most part, I listened to Richard and Chris chatting about life experiences, investing, history, the stage, and thoroughly enjoyed the ambiance.

Next, we were off to the home of the owner of the restaurant I mentioned earlier. It turned out that Richard knew Louis (the owner of the restaurant) and Richard had planned on joining us once he found out that we all knew each other, but plans fell through. I'm a bit disappointed about this. I had planned on listening to some more of Richard's stories, and I didn't thank Richard for his hospitality before I left his place, because I expected to see him again at Louis' house. I hope that someday I can see him again, so I can thank him for the hospitality.

But when we got to Louis' place... Man! Words can't describe it. He's got a house that's four stories, with a full bar that's got its own liquor license! The kitchen and dining room are almost as big as the first floor of my house! He's got permanent, dedicated staff on the property to take care of the place as he goes traveling around the world.

The picture above is part of the pool. The water flows over the side of the pool, down a tile wall like a waterfall, and gently splashes into a wading pool one story down. You can see into the living room, the bar, and the balcony from the pool. Absolutely incredible!

I've got to take a moment to mention Carlos. Carlos is Louis' right-hand man. They live together, and are an absolute RIOT together. They act like an old married couple, but at the same time like best friends... they're kind of like the odd couple, with a generation gap and a Mexican flair.

But here's the thing... Louis (from what I understand) is old money. Carlos is from a relatively modest background, and by the graces of Louis, has come into money. They've got wealth beyond my wildest imagination, and they took Chris, Inna, the wife, and me into their home as if we were long-lost friends. I can't remember the last time I was so at home and overwhelmed at the same time. I mean here we are, sitting with true global jet-setters, chatting as if we had met a while back at the local pub a while back and had become friends. As I'm writing this, I'm still getting butterflies over how REAL these guys were... both Richard and Louis. No pretenses. No hoity-toity attitude. No condescension. Just real people who happened to cross paths and enjoyed each others' company. For one night, we lived the lifestyle of the truly rich and famous, and we were treated as equals. It's a memory I'll take to the grave.

After that night, Chris and Inna left, and the pace slowed down a bit for the wife and me. I'll tell you a little more

about that in my next installment.

Wednesday, November 2, 2005

And Now for Something Completely Different

The driver of this truck almost got his ass kicked. At first, I thought he was talking about my wife. Fortunately for him, he was able to convince me that "Bimbo" is analogous to "Hostess" in America. We all had a good laugh about it over a few cervesas, except for my wife, who wasn't totally convinced.

Sorry honey, I couldn't resist. You still love me, right? I'm not, ummmmm.... cut off.... am I? Oh crap! There's another Loraina Bobbit reference I didn't need.