Best story ever

Gotta give some love to the Pacific Northwest for pulling this off, but this is the story about a woman who was on an Amtrak train from Oakland to either Portland or Seattle, who was kicked off for talking on her cell phone too much, and too loudly.  Now we’ve all been in this situation before, where we’ve been on some sort of transportation, and there’s someone who’s speaking way too much and too loud, that we really wish would shut the fuck up.  But never, is anything actually done.  Until today.  Not only did the train stop in in the middle of a train rail intersection in Salem, Oregon, it had police waiting for it, to go in the train and physically remove her from the vehicle.  Whatever the highest medal of valor is for policemen is, the guy in the picture fucking deserves it.

And speaking of pictures, talk about “worth a thousand words.“  It’s like when I saw the headline for the story, my mind already had some assumptions, and when I saw the photograph for the first time, it’s like I’d already seen it before.

It would be nice if other rail systems took note of this, but knowing Atlanta and MARTA, it’s the Lakeysha Beards of the south that are the ones in charge and/or driving the trains in the first place.  But one can wish.

Photos: Jerry “The King” Lawler at Myrtle Beach Pelicans game

While at the beach for Andy’s bachelor party, we made a visit to BB&T Coastal Field, to catch a game between the current Myrtle Beach Pelicans, as they took on the former Myrtle Beach Pelicans, who now go by the Lynchburg Hillcats.  But more importantly, we wanted to see and meet WWE Hall of Famer, Jerry “The King” Lawler.  It was cool to meet the King, but I couldn’t shake the feeling in the back of my mind that it seemed like he didn’t really want to be there, and was more or less just there for the paid appearance.

But anyway, details behind rest of the bachelor party, as they should be, are more or less not really worth talking about.  Lots of drinking, and a whole lot of goofy shit at the dime of the groomsmen who hope they don’t have to do this shit again for this fucking homo.

A weekend at the faire – And the winner is…

Oh baby, is that a broadsword, or are you just happy to see me..?

Naw, sweet cheeks … that really is a broadsword, but it doesn’t mean I’m any less happy to see you.

Oooh, I can’t resist a man who carries a broadsword, and wears a Kurt Warner football jersey to the Renaissance Faire… kiss me now! /dives in for spontaneous make out session

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A weekend at the faire – One cougar, to rule them all

After Sarah and I watched the teenage pregnancy couple walking away, our eyes did not go bored again much longer, because this immaculate specimen came into our lives very shortly afterward.  All weekend long, I had been singing the Cougarlife.com jingle that I had been hearing on Sirius since I’ve gotten it, and therefore, all women with semblance of children, or looked like they had children were being labeled cougars, all weekend long.  This one, we ended up calling the Queen of Cougars (who ranks just below the Fairy Godcougar whom was unphotographable), despite the fact that we saw that she was technically married still, which meant that she was not the definitive, divorced mother cougar, but it certainly didn’t mean she didn’t go on the prowl looking for sex with younger men.  Didn’t matter though, because she was a total cougar, whether or not she realized it.

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The new world, off kilter

Superman screamed across the Atlantic, going at a speed undetectable by human eyes.  He got a late jump on the missiles, and he actually worried if he would make it on time.  Superman narrowed his eyes and focused hard on trying to fly faster, thinking if he could hit the speeds in which he could essentially turn the Earth the opposite direction on its axis, and turn time back to just a few minutes ago, to where he could hope to prevent the launch of these nukes.  But as hard as he flew, he couldn’t catch up.

He was within visual sight of the first two mushroom clouds that emerged from Moscow.  Superman slouched in failure, as the savior of the world couldn’t prevent such destruction.  This moment of desperation was ill-timed, however, as screeching right past his head were several more missiles, headed in the opposite direction, at an amazingly fast speed.  Superman took off, hoping to intercept these Russian missiles, but again, his moments of hesitation proved to be costly.  By the time he got within visual of the remains of the New York skyline, all he saw were clouds of smoke, and dark skies.

I wake up in my dad’s old Caprice Classic station wagon.  My family is together, my mother, father, and sister.

“We’re here,” my dad says.  Where is “here,” I’m thinking?  It’s our new home, it’s explained to me.

New home?  What happened to my old home?

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