WARNING, WARNING...Rob Booth is another libertarian Republican wack job. He's also from Houston and older. Gross. -- Thanks Terri!



Tuesday, March 20, 2007

A few conversations you could have overheard

1. Matty B.: So, you all don't celebrate St. Patrick's Day?

Me: No, not really.

Matty B.: Because you're a Kven?

2. Me: I'm telling you, trailer in the country, lots of cats, and I'll sit on the front porch with a shotgun and keep the world at bay.

The missus: That's starting to sound good.

3. Me (an internal monologue): We could fly to London, take the train to Chester or Wolverhampton, catch an EPL match, then see the reunited Squeeze, all in one weekend. How much could that be?

[Mouse clicks, keyboard clicks, several "hmms" later]

$3,000 is a little steep for an adolescent obsession and a weekend. They better come to the States.

4. Pete: I tell people I'm 40 and they act surprised. Then I tell them I'm immature for my age and they agree.

5. The missus, upon Spencer appearing on the screen: I think I just threw up a little in the back of my mouth.

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Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Damn you Quentin Tarantino; or, Went back to Cali

Like for sure man.

The missus and me are back from our trip to California. NorCal, dude, we hit Oakland, Carmel, San Francisco, and Napa Valley. I asked how they get the wine into the box, but they just looked at me funny.

More to follow on a wonderful trip.

Right before I woke up this morning I had the strangest dream.

Quentin Tarantino was using a backhoe to demolish my house. I was worried about him hurting the cat, so I jumped up into the cab and beat the crap out of him. I took the keys to the backhoe and as he walked away he shouted, "I have another set of keys and tomorrow you won't be able to beat up who I send."

The next day I hear the backhoe start up so I run outside. There's two ten-year-old girls working the backhoe as it is breaking through my roof.

I jump up to the cab and the little girls look at me and say, "Our daddy said you wouldn't hurt us."

I looked at the girls and their sweet little eyes and said, "Your daddy was wrong" and I beat the crap out of them. Then I took the backhoe and drove it to Johnny Cash's backyard and got it stuck in the mud next to his tractor. His dad looked on wide-eyed.

It must have been something in the artichokes that made me dream like that.

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