"Mother Did it Need to Be So...High?"

Hey Geese and Ganders, what's cluckin'? I'm not going to apologize for my lack of posts. As I said before, I'm not a reporter, nor do I want to make this a diary. That would suck and bore me and you. Also, I haven't had the passion or inspiration to write for a very long time. Startin' to scare me. My last post, hell, that was written roughly fifteen years ago. I just finally had the nerve to let someone read it.

I will however mention that it's that time again. Day of Debauchery is this Friday. As always, everybody I tell about DOD thinks it's the best idea ever and say they want to participate. Then, when it's time, they bail. Texas Elvis thinks that people are scared of the drinking all day concept. Look, do we drink all day? Yeah. But are we drunk all day? No. We really want as many people as possible. We're thinking kickball, movie, and bar patio drinking. Don't worry, all activities are low key. None of us have played kickball in at least 25 years! Maybe some Frisbee golf or putt putt too. After this last gloomy weekend, we could all use the sun. Ask those who have joined in before, it's a good time. Give any of us a call and we will tell you where we are.

I'm really hoping Rhino gets to come out and play. We miss you and that lovely lady of yours. And Dingleberry Finn, I know you have a new job, but maybe after work, you and Laura, (forgot your nickname) could jump in. As for the rest of you, give me or Tracey, or Rudy a call and we will give you the details.

Hope to see ya on Friday!

"Now I Rock a House Party at the Drop of a Hat, I Beat a Biter Down with an Aluminum Bat..."

  What's up people? I was told a few weeks ago that I need to post more. I've been trying to post at least once a week now. The problem is most of my posts rely on DOD updates or shit that's happening in the news. Well, nothing interesting is going on, at least to me, and DOD isn't till next month.
  So today I'm going to give you something I wrote quite a few years back. Make sure you let me know what you think, either here, email, or on Facebook. If you like it, tell a friend. I will put up more of my random BS. I have a ton more in my vault. Vault? Who do I think I am, Prince? And even if you think it sucks, let me know. I can take it.

...Drinks almost gone, lights come on, and once again the poets alone. I rattle the ice in my sad little glass trying hard to be cool as I post up on the bar like a fool, waiting for  the tight shirt bouncer to push me to the door. "You aint staff or sleeping with the staff, get the fuck out!" Muscle head thinks he's a poet, with his tired rhyme he says all the time, wasting my time as I spend my last dime trying to get one last drink on the down low. Sweet little slinger of drinks smiles with pity at my pathetic little ditty as she says with her eyes, "get the fuck out!" I turn in a way like that cowboy in that movie with that one guy about that other guy, you know the one. Fuck that bartender.
  A gaggle of whores, excuse me, young ladies stroll by shakin' their asses hoping I'll look but callin' me a pig if I do..and of course I do. "Pig!" "Whore!" Hit the door dame, hit the bricks, keep walking, don't make me call you something we'll both regret. Damn if she was a little less, how can I put it, ugly. Yeah, that's the word for that bird.
  Back to that cowboy thing. 'Cept I aint no cowboy! I'm an Indian! I'm Rick James bitch! hehehehe. I laugh to myself cuz I know no one's around to hear the clown sounds coming from my mouth. Hell, I don't think I even said it out loud. Postin' up lookin' hard as my body is a soft puddle of booze and self pity. But that's how I roll.
  My eyes scan the bar. What a shitty lookin' place it is with the lights on. One corner presents one of my guys tryin' hard to get digits from a big booty freak that from this distance reminds me of a mailbox. Short. Boxy. Yet, with a convenient little slot. Hehehe. Again I giggle to myself. Fuckin' Dangerfield. If only someone heard that. Corner number two features another member of the crew grinding on himself.
  Coming back round my gaze takes in this dirty sick maze and then BAM! Those eyes. Those thighs. What the French call...Fucking Hot!! Least that's what my intoxicated, self medicated, over inebriated interpetation is of this fine little kitten. And me here without my mittens. Hehehe. Damn I gotta write this shit down.
  Back to the girl. Scratch that. She's much more than that. Sleek as a cat, not thin not fat, just...listen to me rhyming like a second grade Romeo. Nice legs do that to a guy. She wiggles in her chair when she catches my stare as I focus on my path to her side. Cowboy style, I mean Indian style, like a warrior on the war path. More like a buffalo hunt, specially 'cause that's what this little philly probably looks like in the light. Who cares, I don't fuck in the light anyway. Even I don't want to see me naked.
  Sorry, that last drink is kickin' in, spinnin' me deeper towards sin and look at me here without a coat. Back to the hot bitch's thighs. Check the breath stud: mix between well gin and desperation, perfect. Time for this poet to skid on over like a dog named Rover lookin' for a bone. 'Cept I aint that slick. Lookin' more like Mr. Roeper or maybe more like Mr. Ferley in search for his ascot. No matter, this shit be fate. This is destiny. This be the mating dance of the hopeless single male. Scientific name: Hairypalmusis Rex. How can she say no anyway, iza a funny motherfucker. Least in my head.
  "Everybody needs to head for the door, bars closed!" Silly meathead. He's not really that muscular. He's just wearin' his little brothers t-shirt and walking bow-legged. Still, my time is passin', and I'm no closer to my long legged Venus. Here it is, moment of truth, moment of clarity, hopin' for charity, but would settle for some digits.
  Scan the room lookin' for my boys. Clown number one is still playing post office with the gigglin' teapot. Clown number two is now on a table dancing to the music in his head 'cause the dj stopped about ten minutes ago. I look around to make sure there isn't something hotter to hit on. I mean really, no need to settle, right? "Pig!" "Whore!"
  Anyway, calm down. Keep it together man! What's the worst thing that could happen? Shoot you down? Send you into a tailspin of self-loathing and depression? That happens every friday night. Deep breath. Think cool. Poet. Cowboy. Indian. Mr. Roeper. Rick James. I leave my post and get my stroll on. How can she possibly deny this? Got my pimp walk goin', you know that walk, cross between a strut and a little kid with a load in his Huggies.
  Ten feet away. Five. Two. One. Last chance to bail, don't fail little puppet! Here it is, curtain rises, hush falls on the crowd, spotlight on our hero. I make eye contact. And then those words leave my lips, the ones I have uttered a hundred times before...Holy shit, you're a guy?!
  Oh well, there's always next friday. Time for a skillet. "Let's go clowns."



Strange I know. Let me know what you think. Be honest, I can take it.

peace.

"If I'm Crazy Then its True, That its all Because of You, And You Wouldn't Want Me Any Other Way..."

What's up all you ashy headed mofos? Happy Ash Wednesday. I forgot to give our Texas Elvis a shout out yesterday for Fat Tuesday. It is named after him you know? Just kidding Davo, don't cry on your big pillow. Or fly on Southwest for that matter. They be kicking fatty's off their planes left and right. Bastards. Poor KS.
Anyway.

During my daily two hour drive around town yesterday, the topic of religion came up on the radio. Then today, a few people made comments on facebook as well. This had me thinking all day about the big man in the sky. No, that isn't another reference to Kevin Smith. Leave the man alone. I was just wondering if God laughs his/her ass off when he sees the bullshit we do in his name. I think I might have touched on this before so I'll try not to make the same stupid comments. But if I do, so what? It's my blog dammit, I do what I want!

Most of my friends and readers already know my take on organized religion. I'm not an atheist and definitely not as angry as Bill Mahr on the subject. If it's a part of your life, good for you. I just don't get it. I believe in God, but that's about it. I see the Bible as a great novel. A little long and dry in some parts, and kinda preachy (pun intended). But I see it as more of  a book of fictional stories to guide you along the moral path to being a good person, not an instructional manual to life.I don't take its contents as gospel, (again intended).
Anyway.

I was taking my daughter to school this morning, (a Catholic school, I know right, my kid in a Catholic school) when she reminded me it was Ash Wednesday. She then asked me what I was giving up for Lent. To answer her question, nothing. But that's not entirely true. For those of you that don't know, I decided last December that I was going to test my will power in the coming year. You can call it a New Years Resolution if you like, I don't, but you can call it whatever you want. With work and kids  and the economy and blah, blah blah,  I realized that I really don't have any control of shit. So I thought of something that would be solely under my command. Something that isn't effected by the rest of the world. What I cram in my pie whole. That means what I eat Jess, nothing sexual you perv.

Diets come and go, and by looking at me you can tell I really am not in control of that. So this was a little different. I decided that every month this year, I was going to give up something different for the entire month. I wasn't going to do it for weight loss, but that would be nice. I also wasn't going to do it for health reasons either, but I am curious to see if I feel better or worse. I'm doing it to show myself that I'm still in control of something. Tracey jumped on board and we planned our attack. I wanted to do this myself, but quickly realized her involvement makes it easier.

In January, we decided to give up meat. If you know me, that's a big deal! (insert your gay joke here) We weren't going to go Vegan, we still ate cheese and eggs, just no animal flesh including fish. It was hard but we did it. What you realize right away is that this damn near eliminates fast food. That's a plus. Also, you really need to plan ahead. For full time veggie-heads, this is no big deal. But I was raised that every meal revolves around a meat dish. Sure, I would have salads and meatless meals from time to time, but never went that long without. We learned a lot of new recipes. doubt I'll ever eat them again, but learned them just the same.

This month is dairy, sweets, and pop. not too hard except I really like cheese. That sucks! The next few months we're thinking coffee (my hardest), alcohol, breads and pasta, and who knows what else.

So when an armchair Catholic asks if I'm giving anything up for Lent, I'm gonna tell them to suck it!

Peace Bitches!

PS. My friend Laura has started a blog a few weeks ago. It's http://www.lauralieff.blogspot.com/
Check it out. And thanks Laura, you inspire me to write more.

"I'm Not Waiting on a Lady, I'm Just Waitng on a Friend..."

This is not going to be a typical Dan blog. If you crave, and can only tolerate my irrelevance, tune in next week, I'll have some cheese for ya. No, today I'm just going to write down some thoughts I've been having the last twenty four hours.

Last night we had to put our dog Sandy down. Tracey actually did the sad job with the help of our friend Shauna, whom I thank very much. Sandy was twelve years old. She was the first dog Tracey picked out herself and was hers. Sandy was a Shepherd/Sheepdog mix, but she looked just like a sheepdog only a light sandy color. Hence her name. She was a loving yet timid dog that would rather sit at your feet than go running in the yard. As she got older, she developed a shake. This was due to a hyper thyroid problem that would have her on meds for the last three years of her life. About a month ago, Sandy developed a mass in her mouth just below her teeth. It grew to the size of a plum and was causing her pain and discomfort. A cleaning and antibiotics couldn't fix the problem, and that as well as her age led to Tracey having to make the tough call. She was a great dog and will be dearly missed.

Now, we all can say that when someone we know dies, we all in our own way, think about death and people we have lost. Sandy's death though had me thinking about dogs in general. We love them and treat them like a part of the family. But I don't think even the best owner gives to their dog, what their dog gives to them.

If you give a dog even the slightest amount of love, they will give you ten times more in return. That dog will love you unconditionally. They don't care if you're rich or poor, skinny or fat, tall or short, ugly or pretty. To them, you are the world. Unless you beat them, they don't hold a grudge. You yell or discipline them, and they are truly remorseful. Try getting that from your kids. Their loyalty is unmatched. I love my wife to death but I don't jump up and down every time she comes home.

For the cat owners out there, they rock too. I have two, and I love them just as much. The difference is, cats are punks. They're closer to humans than dogs. They have attitudes. Little bastards. But they rock nonetheless.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: People don't deserve dogs, and dogs, well they deserve more than us.

Til next week, go love your animals, even if it's just your son sitting on the couch eating all the chips.

bye.

"A Friend in Need's a Friend Indeed, But a Friend With Weed is Better..."

Happy (merry) HannaKwanzMas!

Do not start complaining about the tardiness of my post or I will snap! It took me and the Mrs. over an hour to just login to the damn site, and now it won't let me use the bold or italic keys. So it is now up to you, my flock, to remember where I usually bold/italicize shit and just pretend you can see it!
Anyway.

This Friday, December 18Th for you slow people, is our winter Day of Debauchery!!! I know you all have tons of shit to do, parties, shopping, work, but I don't care. None of your shit matters in the grand scheme of things. What does matter is D.O.D.! Tell your boss to suck it! Let the bastards in your life know that you didn't have time to shop for them mainly because you rather think of your own happiness. And really, would some other holiday party be better than D.O.D? No.

This is usually where I tell you that you need/deserve/want this blah,blah blah. I'm too bored to do that. If you need convincing, go back a few blogs, I'm sure I put some kind of bullshit rantings about that.

Also this weekend, we are going to have another movie marathon on Saturday! We will be featuring the great Chevy Chase!!! Yes I heard he is an ass in real life but I don't know him personally so I don't give a fuck. He makes funny movies. Unfortunately,we have to limit it to five movies or it would have to take three days to get in all his classics. Instead, we will be watching: Vacation, European Vacation, Vegas Vacation, Fletch, and Caddyshack. If you have a complaint about the movies chosen you can bite me. These are the ones I want to watch. We will start around nine-nine thirty. Yes it's early, but we have comfy couches and coffee and breakfast burritos. Alcohol, snacks, and other meals will be available throughout the day. This is the perfect way to deal with your D.O.D. hangover.

As if this weekend wasn't hectic enough, my mom is having her annual Xmas/chili beans party on Saturday. This will be at her house and start around 5 or 6, nobody told me the time. Maybe I'm not invited, I don't know. This is always a fun time and everybody is invited. Yes, this will disrupt the movie marathon, but we can go over as a group, eat, drink, mingle, then head back and finish up back at my house.

So remember, stretch, hydrate, notify next of kin, and leave your morals at home. We start Friday morning at nine a.m. at my house with shots of tequila. As always, where we go from there is up to the herd.

So you better not shout, you better not cry, you better not pout I'm tellin' you why. Why? Cause if act like a little bitch, the rest of the Debuacherists will slap you like a little bitch!

And to all a good night!

" I Don't Want to Start any Blasphemous Rumours, But I Think That God has a Sick Sense of Humor..."

Oye, como va?

It has taken me the whole summer to muster up the energy to entertain you bastards. I type my little heart out, download pictures, verify movie quotes, and phrase and rephrase jokes. And for what? Nothing. I hit the publish button and sit back and wait for the comments. And wait. And wait. My wife will always comment, but only because she is my wife and gets sick of me crying. When I finally get tired of waiting, I call you up individually and ask if you read it.
"Oh, I haven't got to it yet." Or 'yeah, it was funny. So anyway, what are you guys doing this weekend?'
You guys suck. Eskimo recently started sending out emails to a few of us with info on supplements and vitamins. In true monkey form, he included large doses of comedy intertwined with facts. It took people forever to reply, and I was the only one to acknowledge his comedic efforts. Now you know how I feel fucker!
Anyway.

I (my wife made me) signed up on Facebook about a month or so ago. I'm not really about networking. I have all the friends I can handle right now, and I'm not taking any new applications at this time. Nor am I in a band like Rhino who uses the site correctly to announce up coming gigs. I'm also not interested in tracking down old high school classmates mainly for the reason that I still talk to the same three people I did back then. So my sole purpose for logging on everyday is to talk shit and make snide comments on other people's posts. Believe it or not, I try not to be rude, just funny. But I usually just get ignored. Wait, I'm sensing a theme here.
The reason I bring this up is, I'm thinking of starting a D.O.D. facebook page. Just cause. It will probably have the same eight people that read this minus Elvis, Eskimo, and Ru who aren't on it yet. Damn. Maybe I won't bother. We'll see.
Anyway.

The summer is almost over, which means the fall Day Of Debauchery is upon us. We will be celebrating on September 18th. That's like next week already. Now, the D.O.D.'s this year have been a little strange. In March, we spent most of the day trying to get everybody together. It was fun, but the only significant detail is we got back in touch withe Reuben. The June one didn't really happen at all.

Now I know that you clowns are going to say you had a long summer and you could go for a mellow D.O.D.. Fuck you! I'm tired too dammit but we broke the rules and tried that last time. As always, we all could use a little madness to shake off this old age we're feeling. Even if what we do that day is on the mellow side, we at least need to attack it with force. We need to have a strong turnout. This summer, we all have had a lot of other things going on, picnics, bbq's, parties, and trips. We lost touch with fellow Debaucherists. But that happens. Believe it or not, some of us have lives. Not me, but some of you. So now we regroup and terrorize the locals. Get everybody back on the same f'd up page. Labor Day was last weekend and to most is the end of summer. But not for Debaucherists. We are true pagans. Our fall D.O.D. will be the last hurrah. As is tradition, we will start at my house at nine a.m. with a Tequila shot. Don't be little bitches, it's only one shot then we head out for breakfast.

Some will say that they have to work but will catch up later. That rarely works. So use those damn sick days. Don't waste them on days your really sick.

I'm outta here, Hyundai 400, or something like that.

"Out on bail, fresh outta jail, California dreamin...."

I wanna go back to the beach! Seriously, work sucks and the mountains are overrated. At least to me anyway. I live here only because this is where I was hatched. Don't get me wrong, I love Colorado. I love that we have four seasons. I just wish we didn't have to see all of them in one week. The beach life is for me. Anyway.

This Friday is the summer Day of Debauchery. But I gotta tell ya little campers, I'm just not feelin' it. May sucks! Way too many of you little fuckers have B-days then, too many graduations (though I am extremely proud of Lumpa), and then we went on vacation. I'm beat, broke, and broken. I don't have the will to live much less the will to drink all day. I know what you're thinking and fuck you. You all feel the same way.


No more yanky my wanky, the Donger need food!





So I spoke to my inner circle (Popeye, Eskimo, Rhino, and Ru) and we agreed that it wouldn't be right to skip it, but it would be okay, just this once, to celebrate on Saturday and make it a DOD lite. No nine AM tequila shot, no breakfast, and no strip club. That last one is debatable as the day progresses. We were thinking lunch, a movie, a couple drinks on a bar patio somewhere, then a nap. If we wake up, we might head down to the Loft where Ru has a solstice party happening. If not, oh' well. Damn it sucks getting old.

On another topic, I want to post more, well posts, but I don't because of a lack of topics. Now I have a lot to write about, but it might not be what you normally expect here. We all remember the last time I wrote something that I wanted to write about instead of trying to make you laugh. Fuckers. I got blasted and laughed at. I really didn't care about the criticism, I crave that, I just think you bastards just tuned me out and yelled 'dance monkey!'.

So in the next week or so I plan on posting more inane shit. If you like it, write a comment. If you hate it, write a comment. And tell one of your friends to check it out too. Like I said, I crave attention as well as criticism.

Bring it on bitches!!!

Ciao