Checking in

Sorry, I haven't posted in a while.
I took on several new projects, then I got sick.
I'll be posting again as soon as I can get a few of my extra irons out of the fire.

Help Me Help Me My Posts won't publish!!!
-bert.

Where are ya when we need ya, Duke?

I just heard that the movie that has the most nominations for Golden Globe awards is a flick called "Broke Back Mountain". How it got all these nominations I don’t know, because I can’t find anybody who’s seen it. Doesn’t that count for anything? I mean for a movie to get bunches of awards shouldn’t it be a movie that lots of people have gone to see? A lot more people went to see Mel Gibson’s Jesus movie than are ever going to hear about "Broke Back Mountain", but did Mel get any positive recognition from Hollywood? Nope. Of course, Mel can sit back on the half BILLION dollars he made off his movie & tell Hollywood to bite him.
I know why this movie is getting all these awards. It’s because the movie is about gay cowboys.
Hollywood hates America. More specifically Hollywood hates heterosexual white conservative male christians. And there are few things that are more heterosexual white conservative male christian than cowboys. Heterosexual white conservative male christian are the only discrete group left in the world that it’s still okay to hate and ridicule, but that’s okay because heterosexual white conservative male christians are the only group left that can take a little ridicule without bitching about it. But, I’m afraid the line must be drawn at cowboys. There are no gay cowboys. Never have been, never will be. I’m not gay bashing, or anything here. Anybody who knows me knows I could give a shit who you’re boning. I’m just saying there are no gay cowboys. Just ask John Wayne.
Where are ya when we need ya, Duke?

Help me understand!!!!!

Over the weekend a friend of mine told me of a new cosmetic fad sweeping the nation. The treatment was so incredibly asinine that I thought I was being lied to. I thought it had to be made up. No one would ever do something a stupid as having their asshole bleached. But, I did a Google search on it and, sure enough, people are getting it done! WHY!!?? How many people are really ever going to see your butthole? And, of those people, how many are going to care if your poopshute is too dark? I have long been fascinated by the stupidity of the population at large, but this takes it 100%. Even after visiting several sites advertising it (some with before & after pictures) and finding out that it is actually available in my local area, I still have difficulty believing it. My mind boggles. If any one has any insight into the thought process that would bring someone to do this PLEASE comment here.
I realize now that I can not ever remember seeing my own asshole.
I wonder what color it is.

Bluetick Hound

One Sunday morning, maybe twelve or fifteen years ago I woke up on the couch in a friend’s living room. The TV was still on. There were beer bottles, and other detritus from the previous night’s party strewn around. I got the trash can from the kitchen, and made a half hearted attempt at straightening up. No one else was awake yet.
I left the house. It was early, but late enough that all the church folks had their asses securely planted in pews.
There was no traffic at all.
It was late in October. The air was cool. Not that breath stealing, mildew inducing, clammy cool that Mississippi can get in the fall, but a clean, dry, lung cleansing cool.
There was a little shred of breeze here and there.
My head was still kind of fuzzy from the night before, but over all I felt pretty good. The cool air seemed to fill up my lungs to capacity, and clean me out from the inside.
I started off toward seventh street. I kept on the sidewalk because I had a hole in my boot, a dime sized spot of cold on my left big toe.
I was coming up to Hercules Powder Company. The big gun powder plant where they don’t make powder anymore. They make insecticide. I think they make pine cleaner too. I crossed the street to walk along the sidewalk next to the elementary school.
That’s when I saw him. There was a bluetick hound trotting down the sidewalk on the other side of the block. He was going the opposite direction from me, sniffing the ground the way dogs do. When he drew abreast of me, I guess he felt me watching him, he looked up. We both stopped and stared at one another.
That’s when I knew who that dog was. It was the Devil. He had slipped on a dog skin, and gone out for a trot on a cool Sunday morning in Mississippi.
The look in his eyes was both inviting, almost friendly, and unfathomably malevolent. I could see the heat coming off of him. Shimmering waves rising from his body, and distorting the houses on the other side of the road. He was perfectly still. Then, he wagged his tail. One slow deliberate movement, and perfectly dog like. His tail swung to the left, and then to the right, then back to the center, one smooth natural movement.
I could see that he and I were thinking the same thing. How fast could that dog with the Devil inside of him cross this playground. It was about thirty yards. There was some playground equipment between us. Monkey bars, a jungle gym, stuff like that. Nothing that would slow him down. On my side of the block there was a chainlink fence, only about waist high, nothing a dog his size couldn’t be over in a running leap.
The dog stood on the opposite sidewalk. The grass next to the walk around him was beginning to turn yellow, and scorch a little from the heat coming off the dog.
I don’t know how long we watched each other. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. But, it seemed like quite a while.
Then, he put his nose to the ground, and trotted off around the school building. His paws left little, smoking scorch marks on the grass.
I stood there for a moment trying to figure out what to do. I couldn’t think of anything better than walking home, so I did.
And, that is the story about the first time I met the Devil.
I think that there are some places in the world, like southern Mississippi, where whatever it is that separates us from Heaven, and Hell is worn a little thinner than other places, and seeing the Devil out for a walk in a bluetick hound isn’t really that unusual.

Facial Fashion

The reason people shouldn’t put their head in a Hewlet Packard scanjet 5470c.
I was resently persuaded to shave my beard, but I’m keepin’ the foomanchu & the soul patch damnit. I don’t think men look right without some sort of facial hair. They look larval, or unfinished, or something. I know there’re millions of nekid faced guys out there that disagree with me, but that’s their problem. There are so many possibilities for facial fashion that I don’t understand why more guys don’t go with at least a moustache, or sideburns or something, a full beard may be going a little far for some folks, but you could go with that Amish things like a beard with no moustache, or what about just a little soul patch? You know. just a little fuzz on your bottom lip just to prove you’re a male mammal. Some people call it a love brush, or a flavor saver, or (my personal favorite) a "Bourbon Street Boullion Cube. So, come on guys let’s start cultivating a little chin cabbage going out there.

Horoscope

Just a not to inform y'all that I finally updated Bert's free horoscope.
December is out now, but I did it fast & dirty & I didn't proofread so astrologize at your own risk.
Hope you enjoy!

Filet-O-Fish

Today I would like to extol the virtues of the Filet-O-Fish Sandwich. I just got back from McDonald’s, and now have one of these piscine gems in my possession. I purchased meal combo #10 which consists of the aforementioned sandwich plus a small coke and a small fry for $3.98.
I don’t eat the fries. I give them to Terry, my retarded co-worker. He doesn’t have any teeth, so he has trouble with some sandwiches.
I eat far more fast food than I should, but I work in a place called "Petal" & the culinary options here are limited.
Back to the Filet-O-Fish. It starts with the soft warm steamed bun, steam slowly wafting from it’s sweet moist surface. Inside a perfectly symmetrical half inch thick slice of Cod (at least I think it’s cod, but who cares it’s yummy) lovingly battered, and coated with crumbs by a huge stainless steel Cod battering crumb coater, fried in the fry-o-lator, and laid like a voluptuous courtesan upon the couch of it’s bun, then coyly covering her nakedness as a sunny, orange slice of homogenized, and pasteurized American cheese food product is allowed to melt over the fish just before being cooled by a dollop of McDonald’s finest tartar sauce. Then the entire layered masterpiece is encased, not in a mere paper wrapper, but a genuine cardboard container so that the immaculate fit and finish of this gustatory delight will not be marred. 46% post consumer recycled content. Oh, the sybaritic joy of that first mouthful of fast food glory. The utter, near ejaculatory satisfaction of the last greasy little bite. Oh, Filet-O-Fish, my soul weeps for those unable to attain your flaky goodness.
I need a bi-carb.

Sunday Brunch

Yesterday we has Sunday Brunch at 206.
A good time was had by all.
Sunday brunch is a wonderful tradition for those of us who would rather drink Mimosas and eat pastries than attend our local religious institutions.
206 has an incredible breakfast menu (I had the shrimp & asparagus omelette with polenta on the side & an alfredo sauce) I am particularly fond of the Cinnamon rolls & Roasted apples that come free with your meal
Mimosas and Bloody Marys are 2 for one.
The Bloody Mary are made with a mixture of garlic & other savory vegetables that they roast down in the kitchen & throw in a blender behind the bar. The Mimosas are made with fresh squeezed orange juice. Another favorite drink of the usual suspects is the "Southern Baptist" a shot of Bourbon in a tall glass of sweet, iced tea with a lemon. (It's named after the old joke: Q / How do you tell a Baptist from a Methodist? A / A Methodist will say, "Hey." to you in the liquor store.) Mississippi is notorious for our closet drinking Baptists. A friend brought their kid, so we all had coloring books & Hot Wheels cars to play with.
There was a new girl there who apparently has a blog, but I can’t seem to find it, so, if anybody out there knows what I’m talking about drop me a comment.
It was a nice sunny day spent on the Terrace of 206 overlooking lovely downtown Hattiespatch.
Y’all all need to come by next Sunday & hang out.
We’ll be waitin’ for ya.

'Twas A Redneck Night Before Christmas

That's right, this year I'm pickin' on the Rednecks.
Enjoy!

‘Twas the night before Christmas
and all ‘round the double-wide.
Rednecks were drinkin’
fryin’ turkeys outside.
One whupped his woman,
and one snorted meth,
and one sang a carol
with rum on his breath.
One hick suggested,
brain muddled with beer,
"Hey, guys grab your shotguns
let’s spotlight some deer!"
So, off went three rednecks
wired, drunk, and well armed
With any good luck
no wildlife would be harmed.
But as fate would have it
they spotted a herd.
They ducked out of sight
without saying a word.
They crept t’ward the deer
drinking down by a brook.
They peeked ‘round a pine tree
to take one more look.
Then leapt out, and opened fire
Pow, pow, pop, bang!
When they ran out of ammo
one redneck said, "Dang!"
All eight of the reindeer
stood there quite unharmed.
Looking straight at the rednecks
not even alarmed.
But, there on the ground,
lying next to a sled.
Was a fat bearded guy
the rednecks had shot dead.
"Holy shit." said one redneck
disbelieving his eyes.
"I think we shot one of those
bell-ringer guys!"
They checked out sled,
and they found in the back,
a fortune in toys
in a red velvet sack.
One of the rednecks
gave a snap to the reigns,
and off of the ground
the deer & sled came.
From down by the brook,
to the top of a ridge.
They dropped off the body
beneath Monhed bridge.
You know, an awful lot of dead, fat guys seem to show up there.
They flew to a pawn shop,
and hocked all the toys.
Ruining Yule Tide
for some girls, and boys
They spent all the money
on booze, and on meth.
Then one of the rednecks
fell to his death.
While trying to hood surf
at two thousand feet.
The other two waved,
and yelled, "So, long Pete!"
Their landing on River Road
tested their mettle.
Then they got busted
at a road block in Petal.
A cop asked, "Which one
of you’s drivin’ this rig?"
A hick pulled a pistol,
and aimed at the pig.
But, the cop drew his quicker,
and blew him away.
He made a wet thump
as he fell from the sleigh.
The last redneck left
popped the clutch, and lit out.
And, sideswiped the cop
as he fled on his route.
Through Perry County
To-wards Runnelstown.
Then five miles further,
he turned to the side.
And, fled down the dirt road
to his double-wide.
The sole surviving redneck
related this yarn.
When I disbelieved him
he strode to the barn.
He opened the doors,
and what did I see?
But, eight fuckin’ reindeer
prancing with glee.
I noticed that one critter
was missing a limb.
I asked the redneck what
had happened to him.
The redneck said to me
with a gleam in his eye.
"Dammit boy! You just don’t eat a flying reindeer all at once!"