A Little Something For Randal -or- Glaucus Revisited

I'm not sure at what point in my life I decided that I was okay with making an ass of myself, but I am fairly certain that it was early on. Here is a fine example. My buddy, Franklinton, has often stated that while my stories are wonderful, they really lack the punch if I don't read them myself. So I have reproduced one on video. As I knotted a bed sheet and slung it over my shoulder to settle in in front of the camera, Flannery laughed. "What?" I objected. "It's just funny how far you will go for your art," she snickered.

I was a little hurt, but after some thought, I realized she was right. I was going out of my way to make my little tale funny and if that involved wearing a bed sheet, so be it. I tried to straighten my hat hair and made sure that my nipples didn't show, and then moved blithely on.

Without further ado, here is The Singular Tale Of Glaucus, in two parts:




Doc

The Night I Tongued My Boss

I went to the company Christmas party on Monday night. It was held at Mulligan's, the pricey "Irish" bar by the mall. What do I care? They have Guinness on tap, and while I have to sit through Oprah and her special guest, I tough it out and wonder what the evening will have in store. I am celebrating Christmas with all of the ladies that I work with and they are an interesting lot, let me tell you.

The barmaid brought me a Guinness that looked like the beer of my dreams. I was determined to enjoy myself whatever came, but I was going to try to keep my mouth shut this evening, as I am blessed with the uncanny ability to put my foot in it long before I have considered what it is I'm saying. Apparently this isn't an uncommon gift, as I have met several people who are just as blessed.

Perhaps you have been to a few company Christmas parties and know the etiquette. I haven't, and I don't. I even had to look up the word etiquette to make sure I was using it right. After all, the only thing I know about company Christmas parties is how they can go horribly wrong and I learned that from cartoons in Playboy as a teenager. I am the only man amongst six women. Any faux pas I make will be repeated to perhaps two hundred people. My professional reputation could be at stake and I'm a little shaky in that department anyway. Stay-at-home dads don't carry a lot of street cred around here anyway, and it doesn't help at all that I talk funny anyway compared to the locals.

But I shut up and dinner goes just fine. The waitress seats us and asks for our drink orders. I have another beautiful Guinness and order the variety appetizer plate. Let me just say that the ladies I work with aren't small and they have healthy appetites. This was not something that any one of them would have ordered, but it almost came to blows when only the last few pieces were left, and even when it was gone they insisted that the rude waitress leave the dipping sauces.

I had a steak, baked potato and a salad. I was thankful when they brought the salad as it gave me an opportunity the stuff my mouth and just listen to the conversation. "Tell Doc the gum story," insisted my boss over dinner, but the girl declined. "Oh come on Flo," another joined in, "You've told everyone else!" And at that she conceded.

She began, "Well my husband and I were just climbing into bed and he asks me for a blow job, so I do. The next morning, he gets up and takes a whiz and comes back and asks me if I've lost something. "No, I don't think so..." she says and then he shows her the glob of bright green chewing gum that is caught in his pubic hair. All the ladies laugh and titter like school girls.

At the end of the meal, my boss asks the waitress to put in a carry-out order so she can take dinner home to her husband. The waitress informs her that it will be a thirty-minutes before her order is ready. "Well let's have a drink while we wait. My treat," I volunteered. We had a round of martinis and even the ladies who didn't drink had one.

The boss shared a chocolate martini with a friend and kidded me that I had a rich wife who could well afford to pay for my extravagance. (I don't.) When our rude waitress brought the carry-out order the party broke up, and since I was sitting by the aisle, they all wanted a hug goodnight. I put this down to the vodka working and decided to give out hugs, even though I am not a touchy-feely kind of a guy.

The boss was first in line and smiling sweetly. Now I have mentioned before that I weigh in at about 180 lbs, and she is twice my size. She clasped me firmly, she turned her head slightly and pecked my cheek. This kiss was as sexually charged as two elderly French men smooching, kind of like the kiss your great aunt might give out. The hug lingered and as it did I caught some of her long hair in my mouth as I breathed in. I turned my head away from her hair so that I didn't cough, but I had turned it to her face and she took this as an invitation. She planted one on me.

I was dumbsquizled. So I tried to make light of the situation, and here is where I made my most grievous mistake. "What? No Tongue?" I said jokingly.

When she kissed me again she used her tongue as if she was looking for her car keys.

I returned immediately to dumbsquizled, but just passed out "polite" hugs from there on out. I realize now, at the tender age of 37, that the Playboy cartoons I read years ago were right. Company Christmas parties can go wrong, and it's best to never speak of them again.

happy new year,
Doc

What Can I Say? I Faltered.

What can I say? I bought some beer. I broke down and bought some beer. I broke the pledge.

But there were mitigating circumstances.

We got our Economic Stimulus Check (read: Govt Bribe) and I have two nickels to rub together. Now if this isn't a reason to celebrate, I don't know what is. We didn't impeach him, so we get a kickback. Most all of this money is slated for bills, but I did make sure that a small portion of this money went to the betterment of the family. I filled my tank and purchased a five pack of strip steaks. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy bologna and Ramon noodles as much as the next person, but every once in a while you need to treat your family. I scored major points with Flannery the other night when out of nowhere I produce hot N.Y. strip with a garlic & black pepper crust, medium well. The next day at lunchtime, she is still telling me how good that steak was. I also made sure we were stocked up on batteries, light bulbs, and duct tape, as you never know when an emergency might arise. (Little did I know that Flannery had just purchased batteries and light bulbs, so we are doubly stocked now.) I purchased some things for the yard and a new lock for the shed. There was a fair amount of money spent but none of it was blown on frivolities, unless you count the six tacos we ate at the park.

I feel asleep early Wednesday and when I awoke at 12:33 am, I was up for the night. I read your blogs and played Solitaire. The kids were up early and I made them breakfast, but as the coffee ran out so did my steam. The children spent the morning at each other's throats, and I kept having to separate them with a reminder about Rule #1.

"Lucy, what is Rule #1?" I barked.

"do no harm..." she said softly.

"Punching Sister in the nose breaks Rule #1!"

"i'm sorry..." she purred. Twenty minutes later it was the same thing, only both parties claimed that they had been unjustly attacked. It was like trying to babysit two rabid badgers. I cleaned them, dressed them, and took them to the one place on earth that makes every kid bored: Home Depot.

Then we purchased tacos from Toxic Hell and went to the park. They left a fine mess for the birds to clean up and we hiked to the children's garden. I barely had enough energy to propel myself after my two little dynamos, but I managed to keep up, just. On the ride home, we stopped at the gas station. I went inside only after extracting a promise that they would be good for the rest of the day if I bought ice cream sandwiches along with the pack of smokes I stopped for.

The next few minutes passed in a sleepless blur, but I left the store with my pack of smokes, two ice cream sandwiches, and a case of Bud in cans that had miraculously appeared in my hand. I am not one to look a miracle in the mouth, so I took the cans home to see to their proper disposal.

Technically, I have broken the pledge, and for that I am truly sorry.

But the point of the experiment was to see how much money we saved, and I have managed to make it through one week of a two week experiment, all is not lost.

I have been spending $7.23 on a twelve pack of PBR, and purchasing four a week works out to $28.92. Double that figure for two weeks works out to $57.84. I spent $16.00 on the case of Bud and no one had to be throttled to within an inch of their life. I think the savings far outweighs my my minor transgression. $57.84 minus $16.00 works out to Doc not "being a dull boy" and flying off the handle at passers-by and being untolerable to his friends, family, and coworkers.

Besides, the experiment was taking a direction that I hadn't intended. It was not my intention to see how much beer I could mooch from my friends but that is what it was becoming. They couldn't sit and enjoy a beer in my company without feeling obliged to offer me one, and I'm sure that got old very quickly. No one wants a beer bum hanging about all the time, regardless how scintillating his conversation might be.

But the experiment isn't a total loss and I am not prepared to scrap it yet. I will continue to limit my beer and keep my expenditure under $41.87 until Wednesday when it ends. I will purchase less and try to make it last longer and therefore save money, which was the point of the whole experiment.

I hope you don't think less of ol' Doc because he fell off the wagon. In the immortal words of Billy Joel, "Every dog must have his everyday, every drunk must have his drink." Truer words were never spoken.

Doc

The kindness of strangers

"Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. "

Blanche DuBois, "Streetcar Named Desire".

Well, the holiday weekend has come and gone and I still haven't purchased any beer. Don't misunderstand me, I drank my share of beer but I have exhausted the last of it.

On Friday, after a rough day at work, I knew there was no cold brew to come home to. I mentioned my experiment to a coworker, and bless her heart, she bought me two large cans of Steel Reserve. She said she was thanking me for all the times I've given her a lift home, and in my mind, this more than made up for it.

I went to sit with Franklin at the Tiki Bar and enjoyed my precious gift. And try as I might, I couldn't make them last all evening despite my baby sips. "Come on," said Frank, "I'm out of beer too. Let's walk to the store." The hike there and back was hot and dry, punctuated by car horns and the acrid taste of exhaust. Frank bought an eighteen pack of Bud in cans and told me to grab a six of PBR for me, his treat. What a great guy. Unlike Blanche DuBois, I don't think you should depend on the kindness of strangers. It is much better to have old friends.

To plop down at the bar and take a long pull of an ice cold beer suddenly seemed so much sweeter than usual. We chatted the evening away and listened to the sounds of multitudes of fireworks going off around us, but the only sparkle we saw was the butt of a passing firefly. It was a wonderful holiday.

Saturday night I went back to Frank's and took the last of my six. We watched t.v. at the Tiki Bar and flipped back and forth between the Food Network and HGTV. It was interesting, as I don't watch much t.v., and when I do, it isn't either one of these channels. We saw two room makeovers, a cake show, and a cooking show, as Frank would fill me in about each host and what was good and bad about each program.

Sunday night I had no beer. It was a long evening. While I was reading on the computer, I kept reflexively reaching for an empty can that was sitting there. After the third time, I got up and pitched it. All night I was thirsty, and I kept getting a drink of water, then milk, then juice, and finally a coke. I seldom drink soda pop, but the coke seemed to help some. It satisfied my need for bubbles, but I had to lie to myself and kept saying it was a really dark sweet beer.

I have been true to my word and haven't purchased any beer, but I'm not looking forward to the next week and a half. There won't be any Tiki this week so that helps. I've been smoking less and have been eating better. I've been gardening. The corn is getting tall and the pumpkin vines are getting huge. I think they are going to take over the whole backyard like crazy "Invasion of the Bodysnatchers" pods. I've been thinking about taking up running and the Richard Simmons "Sweatin' to the Oldies" tape is starting to look good.

I must be cracking up.

Doc

I Have Taken The Pledge!

I have climbed on the wagon. I know. I am as surprised as you are. But for the next two weeks, as a financial experiment, I won't be buying any beer. Now that doesn't mean I won't be drinking the cold ones I already have, as they have been paid for. Nor will I turn down a free one if it's offered, but I can't purchase any. No beer, no wine, or spirituous liquor.

Flannery threw down this little gauntlet and I have taken it up. She wants to see how much money we will save if this "luxury" is done away with. I tried to convince her that canceling the cable was the way to go but I may as well have been talking to a brick wall. She wouldn't budge. So I will be passing my time parched while she sits through "Dancing With The Stars".

In some small way I'm looking forward to the experiment, as it will prove a challenge and a test for my flimsy excuse of will-power. The redness in my eyes will clear up. I will want to go to bed early, as there won't be anything better to do. I will start to rise early in the morning and I will catch up on all my chores. In short, I will become healthy, wealthy, and wise.

But I don't want any of those things. I want a cold frothy beer that will comfort me in my daily troubles and will welcome me home like an old friend. I want to listen to the choir of angels sing in every "psttt" of a freshly cracked beer. I want to feel it's cold wet goodness sliding down the back of my throat and the subtle soft sting of it's kiss.

This is going to be hard. I sure hope she is going to be feeling extra randy these next two weeks. I'll be up dating you regularly as to my progress, and if you have any words of encouragement, or suggestions, I'd love to hear them.

Doc

Do you have time for a few random thoughts?

Well the summer heat has just started to kick in with temps in the mid-nineties and the humidity at about the same, but some have found ways to beat the heat.

I think it has fried my brain. With that in mind, let me share some of my hallucinations, delusions, and general meanderings.

• I have a small scar at my hairline from a bad zit I had as a teenager. It bugs me.


• It is tough living with three artists in the house. There isn't a room in our house that does have an example of their art DRAWN ON the wall. The youngest won't quit drawing on the walls and playing her guitar really loudly at all hours. The oldest enjoys cutting things up with scissors, even things we wanted to keep, to create some of her art. While Flannery is a grand master at good conversation, wit, and sarcasm and it takes a lot out of me to keep up with her.


• I asked my dad once why they call a bottle opener a churchkey. He asked me, "What is there to steal in a church?". Well, nothing I could think of. "There you go, why bother to lock the door if there isn't anything to steal?" It didn't really answer my question, but I had it answered two weeks later when thieves broke into our church and stole three air conditioners, two computers, and the Minister's ivory chess set, but all of the robes and hymnals were still there.


• I have that "not so fresh feeling" more often than I care to admit.


• I hate advertising so much I quit listening to the radio, and I tape all four of the shows I watch on tv so I can skip the commercials, as well as canceling my subscription to the newspaper. I only wear clothing that endorses something that I would recommend to friends and loved ones (e.g. B.B. King, Harvard, Monopoly, Jimi Hendrix, Guinness).


• On Cap'n Ergo's visit, he took a photo of the books in our bathroom. Two Foxtrot collections, a Calvin & Hobbes book, as well as the new, revised Aristotle Reader. Three comic books and a philosophy book. I'm sure he did this for some future blog post, but what does this say about us?


• I never liked the phrase "chewing the fat" or "Bullshitting". I like "Shooting the Bull". It sounds like we are getting something done.


• I can honestly admit I have learned something, when to speak up. I'm still a little shaky on the keeping the mouth closed thing though. At any given time, I have at least six wrong answers to any seven questions.


• I have never been arrested for a violent crime. Wacky, stupid, and midly drunken -yes, but never violent. I've been busted and escorted home for throwing a water ballon. Funny story that is.


• Somewhere out there, you have a Doppleganger, but you are having much more fun than they ever will, look better, make more money, have a nicer place, much better taste, and a mysterious quality that just makes people want to be your friend. The only drawback is they have a cooler car and have a lot more sex, but they are never as happy as you always will be.


• Look in your silverware drawer. Do you have a fork or a spoon that you have no idea where they came from? I keep finding odd spoons and forks that just don't match our pattern and I don't know where they are coming from. And for some odd reason, it is never a butter knife. All of those are ours.


• The pumpkin patch is doing well. We have a contest going to see who grows the best with a case of Good Beer on the line. John and Meshell are the judges, but I know they can be be bribed with the right amount of Bud Light Lime finding it's way to the right fridge.


• A guy stops into his favorite watering hole after work and notices a new machine next to the jukebox and pinball machines. He asks the bartender about it and he tells him that it tells your fortune if you pee into a cup, but it costs $10. So the guy puts in his money and a little paper cup drops out like a coffee vending machine. He goes to the Gent's and takes a whiz and returns it to the machine and puts it in. The machine whirrs and beeps and in thirty seconds, kicks out a piece of paper. It reads, "You Will Be Confounded By The Future". "Crummy piece of shit," he pronounces, "I'll show it!" and he heads home. He has his wife, his teenage daughter, and the dog pee in a cup. To top it all off, he pours in some oil from his car and masturbates into it as well. He returns to the bar, inserts $10, and pours in his mixture. The machine whirrs and beeps for a good five minutes and kicks out a piece of paper. He snatches it up and reads, "You Wife Is Cheating On You With Your Best Friend, Your Daughter Is Pregnant By A Haitian Drug User, Your Dog Is Going To Have Puppys, Your Car Needs A Valve Job, And If You Keep That Up You Will Go Blind."


• Is it weird that I can understand why someone would want to have something pierced, but I don't understand the desire to get tattoos? A hole grows over if you don't use it, but tattoo's are for life.


• When are spats going to come back in style? Can anyone tell me?


• For every mosquito bite you don't get, thank a bat, a spider, or a duck.


• Some of my favorite phrases are, "You Win!", "The Money Is All Yours!", "Here...", "I've got a present for you," "Your turn," No, I'll pick up the check,"and "What would You Like Me To Do Next?' Runner-Up Phrases include, "Sir, I believe you dropped this $50 bill,", "Would you like a free one?", and "The name on the grave is Arch Stanton."


• I seldom give dictation.


• Have you ever found a bruise on yourself you can't account for?


• Why does cold beer in hot weather work so much better in you rather than on you? It doesn't really cool you off as much as you would hope, but you don't seem to mind the heat as much.


• I'm thinking of adopting a Slovenian, or an experienced teacher. Any suggestions?


• The older I get, the more I start wondering where and when I spent my misspent youth.


• Impeachment is not enough; A good spanking then a Firing Squad.


• Did anyone catch the weather? It's very hot here.


• I wish I had an automatic ice-maker. I'd fill the hot tub.


• I took Spanish in High School because I have trouble spelling English, why try French?


• A bottle in front of me is better than a Frontal-Lobeotomy.


• I cry at movies and it makes me ashamed of myself. Who cries at the end of a porno?


• "Ped" is Latin for foot & child. That is why we have pedals on a bike and pedophiles in jail.


• I hate the fact that our money is becomeing more colorful. Can't we just stick with green? I like green.


• Why would anyone file their teeth unless they were a cannibal? And if they were, I bet they only had a few close friends, and they didn't work in customer service.


• Do you own a bathing suit that you look great in? I don't, but somebody must. They keep selling them.


• Why have I never gotten one single telegram?


• Water Polo should be banned. It is tough on the horses.


• Join the fight against metrics. We don't want no Foreign Rulers.


• I'm addicted to reading bumper stickers even though my eyesight isn't that good. I'm apt to be a jerk and tail gate you for a mile or two just so I can read what it is you endorse. I'm funny like that.


• The new Indiana Jones movie was very good, almost as good as the first one.


• I have regretted eating squid, organ meats, and a small portion of Flannery's chili.


• I'm sure your mother had her faults, but she was a fantastic person, and everyone who knew her would agree, except this one guy in high school who hit on her and she wouldn't come across, but he is generaly ignored because it is understood that he is an asshole.


• I've played marbles for money.


• If you raise a shitstorm, it is best not to check the weather every five minutes.


• If you have been bitten by a dog, is it okay to bite him back?
  

Cheers,

Doc

Warning: You May Have A Lurker On Your Blog.

Could you have a lurker on your blog? When you sign in do you get the sneaking suspicion that someone has been perusing your latest entry and not said anything in the comments, even though they always have something engaging to say? As the screen pops up, do you notice a shadow skulking amongst your blog roll? Well then you may have a lurker. I know. I have one myself, and rather then inspiring paranoia, I find it deeply comforting.

I have a regular reader that lurks here at our little cyber-bar and for the most part chooses to remain silent, but that is alright, as it gives me a sense of being watched over and protected from the slings and arrows that some callous commenter might leave.

My lurker has a name. A name that inspires fear and awe in all who know this mischievous knave. He makes all the bad guys that James Bond ever faced look like a three fingered epileptic pickpocket. His name is Evil Genius, and someday he will rule the world. I'm lucky because I have gotten on his good side, sort of, if only by extension. This cold blooded Arch Villain has a soft spot for Flannery, and when the revolution comes and he ascends to his rightful position of power, I know that Flan and I won't have to stand by the wall with a bandanna and a Marlboro. We get a pass. I can only hope you will be so lucky.

So to give you all a chance to escape the horrible wrath of this beloved tyrant (he truly is beloved by all of his inner circle, just ask GetkristiLove) let us assume that he has completed his Doomsday device (weather controller, nukes, poison gas, cornered the world market on Diet Coke and condoms, etc.) and he has given you the chance to save your meagre life by composing a new national anthem for him or face your own painful demise. What would you write? Here is a small offering to get you started, but mind you I have no musical talent whatsoever, so don't count on this to keep you from being drawn and quartered. (Sung to the tune of a college fight song.)

Evil, Evil, Evil, Evil Genius,

All hail to thee,

Evil, Evil, Evil Genius,

Through His kindness we all are free!

Long live Evil Genius,

His beneficence toward us all,

For without it,

We must surely fall!

(Oh Vey!)

Beware all you traitors,

Ye enemies of the state,

You may lay your plans in secret,

While the Master baits!

(Yeehaw!)

I'm not sure the above would keep any of us out of the gulag, but you get the idea. Remember, you are writing for your life here so no amount of, "Hangman, Hangman, stay your hand awhile, I think I see my sister coming, riding many a mile" is going to save you, so be creative and start making lists of friends and neighbors that you can turn in to the secret police when they come knocking.

Doc

The Only Time I Have Ever Frightened Anyone.

There is a reason I have never taken a job at a haunted house. First, the pay sucks and it is hard to get forty hours a week, and I am not the least bit scary. If I raise my voice and growl as I contort my face into a gut wrenching grimace, even small children just giggle and pick their nose. I'm am as frightening as say, Mr. Rodgers. But one time in my life I scared the bejeezus out of one guy.

It was 1990 and I had just gotten out of high school when my mother took me to the dentist before I was too old for her insurance to cover me. The dentist told us that I needed to have my wisdom teeth removed pronto and scheduled me an appointment with the oral surgeon. At first I was delighted, as I thought that an oral surgeon just corrected peoples ability to perform oral sex and I felt that I needed all the help in that department I could get, but no, I was getting teeth yanked.


I was going to go by myself, but my mother went with me, as the surgeon said that I shouldn't drive afterwords. The hot dental assistants rubbed their large bosoms over me as they prepped me for my operation. The gray haired old codger of a surgeon came in and we laughed at some stupid BeeGee's song that was playing on the muzak. He put the mask over my face and asked me to count backwards from one hundred. I made it all the way to ninety-seven and drifted into the world of erotic dreams of a young teenage man who envisioned the dental assistants awakening him with their soft caresses that promised oh so much more.

I came to with a buzzing in my head that was accompanied by a numb pain as if I had been assaulted with a crowbar in the neighborhood of my jaw while I was out. I laughed and giggled as they lead me to an examination table that was wedged at the back of a storage room. This was my first experience with laughing gas. I laid there until they closed the door and left me alone. I stared at the ceiling as it kept spinning in a half circle only to snap back where it belonged, only to start over again. I sat up so I wouldn't be sick and stared at my feet hanging thirty yards from the floor. This was like being spinning kind of drunk but I was stricken with an overwhelming urge to giggle uncontrollably. I had to collect myself. I had to find something to focus on. My gaze wandered about the room and settled on a box of balloons, black ones, and I plucked one up and proceeded to inflate it. I had a hard time blowing it up between bouts of giggles but I managed. What I didn't know was that I was bleeding, a lot. I just thought that my spit glands were working overtime after having my mouth open for so long.

I heard the assistant coming and she was talking to my mother in a very business type tone as she opened the door. I glanced up with a madman's grin as they looked me over and announced that it was time to go. I gurgled my acknowledgement and let go of the balloon. It made three laps of the room spraying blood and saliva everywhere. The assistant was sorry to see such a hot young stud like me get away, but she hid it bravely by gasping in horror at the mess I made.

I remember putting one arm in the sleeve of my trench coat and spinning in circles like a dervish chasing the other sleeve until my mother helped me pull it on. The car ride was a pleasant blur as my mother explained that we were going straight home after a quick stop at the drug store downtown on the square to get my prescriptions filled. She told me to wait in the car and went inside. I sat and let my head loll from side to side until this had lost it's entertainment value. I was overcome with an irresistible urge for a cigarette and I didn't have any. But here was a drug store right in front of me. They would have them.

I got out of the car, closed the door and took a few faltering steps before my progress was halted. I spent three minutes figuring out that I had shut the tail of my trench coat in the door. I tittered as I freed myself. I went inside and hoped that I could walk right up to the counter, make my purchase and leave. Such was not the case. There was a small line of little old ladies ahead of me and by the time it was my turn, my mouth was flooded with blood to the point I couldn't speak and I just had to point and grunt until the startled cashier picked the unfiltered cigarettes I wanted.

I went outside and plopped down on a bench and basked in the late afternoon sunshine as I open the pack. I fished one out and looked up as I was lifting it to my lips. A tall, portly, gray-haired old man was walking past sporting a polo shirt, plaid pants and had the white leather belt and shoes to match. He smiled and said good afternoon. I was about to return his greeting when I realised that my mouth could no longer hold back the flood. I turned and spat on the sidewalk and created a dinner plate sized puddle of blood. I looked him in the eye and wished him a good afternoon through a blood stained smile.

He stiffened. He turned pale. His eyes opened wide and he high-stepped it around the corner two blocks away before I could wipe my chin on my sleeve. I'm sure to this very day he warns his grandchildren about the dangers of smoking and drugs and retells the tale of meeting some wild-eyed madman who spat blood and told him to have a nice day.

I lit my cigarette and laughed to myself until long after the gas wore off.

Doc

Salty Coffee

I am a chronic coffee drinker. Always have been, always will be. We have a water softener, as our water is like drinking limestone, and sometimes it doesn't always cycle all of the salt out of the lines. I don't tend to remember these sorts of things first thing in the morning as I am making that magic elixir that starts my day.

I made coffee this morning and it smelled so good. I poured a tall mug full. I added a little milk to cool it to just the right tempeture, and give it the creamy flavor I love so much. I snuck off to the garage and lit the first blessed cigarette of the day. I blew to first puff out and took a big swig.

I gagged. I coughed. I sputtered. It was like drinking sea water.

Needless to say, my stomach has been off all day, and I have been more than a little salty myself, all day.

Sombitch.

Doc

On Behalf Of The People Whose Stomachs Turned Over After Viewing the The Poo Posts...

...I offer up these images to focus on until you feel better: