Sampson

Why I Should Never Cut My Hair

I neglected to cut my hair from sometime in November 2006 until last week. The picture of health, normally, I've been dirty ugly sick ever since my hair took on its abbreviated appearance.

Who Sucks Today
Édouard Daladier and Neville Chamberlain - for signing the Munich Agreement this day in 1938. Peace for our time, not so much.

Thought of Revenge
I must find solace in knowing I'll stick it to some poor sap who buys my house ten years from now when I unload this money pit.

Pass the Sauce

(originally published 2007-09-03)

There are little voices given to each cell in our body. They have very limited vocabularies, perhaps just a few dozen words. There is this one word they cannot whisper. It can only be spoken with absolute abandon: Brisket.

Despite their singluar simple lives, these cells know what they speak. They aren't looking for some carnival braised nonesense. They want twelve-hour, no less, smokey ambrosia that is crying tender pink tears.

Today's Thought of Revenge
One day when the time is ripe, I will simply put the neigbor kid in a cardboard box, sealed, addressed and leave him (still breathing and all) on the porch of his home. Maybe then their parents will get the hint that I am not their personal day-night day care center.

Insomnia

(originally published 2007-09-01)

This has to be the leading motivation for blogging. Of course it is also the leading culprit when a blog is un-readable. I'll spare everyone the terrible read and go to sleep now.

Today's Revenge Idea
So my dad is getting married for the fifth time (or something like that). Entropy will take it from there.

Deep Fried Coke

(originally published 2007-09-04)

I went to the infernal Cheesecake Factory today for lunch with all the guys at work. I had the eggplant sandwich. I couldn't have been more dissatisfied; it was slimy and distinctly not tender.

A large dose of conversation was had in relating Texas State Fair experiences to each other. I mostly listened because I don't have any pleasant things to say about my experiences. When I blog, I complain, and when I have conversations with people I know, I stick to pleasant things. I don't think my capacity to see the sour-side of life is anyone else's business when they have no means to get away.

The one thing about that lunch I cannot let go is this Fair delicacy: Deep Fried Coke. Simply, how can it be? Cold fusion, I get it. Massive Parallel Processing, I get it. DFC, nope. All I can envision is a lead-in to an extended burn ward stay.

Then, as my life is always a series of all-too-convenient coincidences, my brother calls me up from Minnesota while he is at the - you guessed it - Minnesota State Fair. He recounts tales of deep fried Twinkees and other terrible delights. I had to run the DFC conundrum by him; maybe he'd seen it. Surely it had to be a national rage of some sort. But he hadn't seen it. He seemed similarily perplexed and our conversation trailed off until we both figured out we should hang up, get some sleep and think about DFC another day.

I'm sure there's an explanation for it on the Internet, maybe even some YouTube highlights to transport me first-person into the DFC cult. But, I'm just going to have to suffer and think about it until I see a way out of this deep dark thinking hole I've dug myself into.

Today's Planned Revenge Against My Children
When my sweet little girl grows up, gets married and drags her husband over to Mom and Dad's for the umpteenth cup of coffee I'm going to embarrass her by recounting how nightly as little girl she would psychotically hunt down her baby brother's infant blanket and cling to it before going to sleep.

Six Flags Blows

(originally published 2007-08-24)

So the summer is winding down and I need to pad my lead as Father of the Year. Yesterday, Six Flags for the family is the call.

Impulsively going on a Thursday was great idea. The place was as empty as I've ever seen it. And, if you know me: the less people involved - especially the smelly messy rabble of the deep south that makes to Six Flags - the better for my psyche.

Strike one. Being the Jetsons of Plano, we buy our tickets over the Internet. This nets us the same price as bringing in some sticky Coke cans that I'm certain will feed the silverfish population already thriving in my truck. To boot, we don't have to wait in the first line to buy tickets. Of course, Jane who pays for and prints out the tickets assumes the chain of custody has been completed when I breathe slightly on the tickets in the printer output bin. So when we stop the engine, parked in our our gold-embossed Six Flags $15 parking spot, we collectively realize that the tickets are still at home. This adds about two hours of driving, $8 in tolls and sperm whale's belly of gas. My kids get to see George swear and steam for about an hour during all the extra driving; I'm sure I surrended some FOTY points for that.

Strike two. The second ride we go on is a generic pukatronic that spins my tattered innards around until bile has been released throughout my body for the rest of the day.

Aside: on the way in we are welcomed with a Pink Thing price increase from $1 to $2. This alone, if you know my bitter vengeful nature, is enough to make me despise Six Flags forever.

The heat index is about 110F, so my drunken sailor flashbacks are in full force. Even the punk rides activate all my body's misery centers. My own body odor is irritating me, perhaps a first for me. I was looking at my cell phone clock, counting down when the park would close after only 45 minutes in the park. One ride, the dreaded Vibora, actually undoes three months of chiropractic healing in 45 seconds.

Strike three. Even though I successfully convince my kids to understand there's only one more ride to be had before the park closes without so much as a struggle - there's one more horror ahead of me. Spongebob Jenky Ride Pants, decides to torture me while offering the worst 3D theater experience possible. My wallet silently squirts out of my pants and onto slimey and frightening floor with which I'd been fearful of making direct eye contact.

Insult to Injury
I got the bots from whatever secret and potent chemicals they use when smoking turkey legs.

Blog everyday? I don’t think so.

(originally published 2007-08-21)

Favorite Thing Today
My little Danny called me at work and asked me sweetly when I was coming home. He almost sounded like he really cared. I'm sure he only phoned to subvert Destini's dictatorial rule somehow.

Shitty Thing Today
I had to drink office coffee today. I am certain it is made from very tense and overstressed monkey sphincters, but I drank it anyway.

Blog a little every day

(originally published 2007-08-17)

I know I should write more. Write more everyday. I want to write bibles and figure out new ways to play old games. But, I don't write. I let CJ and his rocket launcher be the poetry of my life.

Getting Started

The first batch of blogs is going to be republishing from my MySpace blog. I hate MySpace, so I started this.