Duck Fight

Life has taken a few twists and turns over the past month. I guess that is why I haven’t been writing as frequently as I used to. But yesterday afternoon I had a bit of a creative awakening. I have been so self-absorbed I really missed the chance to notice life around me and get my usual inspiration from random happenings. Then I witnessed what few, I believe, have witnessed.

Driving through my neighborhood I pass a few man made lakes. Or maybe they are ponds. Actually I am going to go with small lakes. Anyway I noticed a lot of splashing and commotion in the center of one of the lakes. I immediately pulled over and rushed out to the dock to see exactly what was going on. Within a few seconds it became clear that I was witnessing a real life duck fight.

It was brutal and for a good 30 seconds there was nothing but splashing, quacking and feathers. But it wasn’t like watching two dogs fighting or bears defending one’s territory. It was actually ridicules and a little bizarre. Much like watching a Disney character go bad. I know that is a stretch but it elicits the same response from me. I’ve never seen a duck death match.

Well, after a few seconds it became clear that these two mallards were not giving up until one of them was flappers-up. So I, and I have no idea why, decided to break up the quarrel. Throwing acorns at them and shouting, “break it up ducks, you are embarrassing yourselves” I rapidly became disconnected from my present setting. Little did I know two ladies with a stroller stopped directly behind me and witnessed my efforts to stop the fight.

Between the well placed acorn throws and shouts of desperation to stop their duel, it worked. One duck flew one way and the other in the opposite direction. It didn’t seem that they accomplished anything more than proving to all other living creatures that much like a middle aged man on a scooter, duck fighting is something to lose respect over. So, with a sense of accomplishment I dusted off my hands and turned to walk off the dock towards my car. Then, to my surprise, I caught eyes with the two stunned soccer moms. Mustering my composure I walked past them with a purpose and said the only thing I could think of.

“It was a duck fight.”

9

Me And Murf

 

My whole life I have tried to make the right decisions only to find that there was a much better decision I could have made staring me right in the face the whole time. I’m not saying that every one I made was the wrong one but usually there was an easier way if only I took the time to think and not shoot from the hip. There are certain people in life that can take a 50/50 chance and almost every time get it wrong. I am one of those people and I have come to accept that. When there is a fork in the road, gut feelings are not to be trusted because Murphy and I are so close he allows me to call him Murf. Let me give you an example.

This afternoon I went to the basement to hunt down the elusive Christmas tree ornament box that weighs between 45 and 500 lbs  based on how high on the shelf it is. This year it was located on the tip top of the back self in the darkest corner of the basement. My mission was to retrieve it, lug it upstairs with minimal damage to the eggshell white walls and Ethan Allen furniture obstacle course between the basement and living room tree. Assessing the height, weight and angle the Rubbermade box I needed a stable platform to reach it. Looking directly at a step ladder I immediately decided that was no good and the half crushed cardboard box was just perfect to stand on because it was closer to the Christmas box.

I crawled up on the box and dispersed my weight evenly on both sides. Laughing to myself for being so clever Murphy heard me and came calling. Just as I pulled the tonnage of ornaments to the point of no return the box below gave way and we all came crashing to the cement floor. And then I woke up after dreaming about jell-o salad and a backyard Luau. No shit, I knocked myself out cold! I have only involuntarily fallen asleep a few times and that involved a needle, the smell of rubbing alcohol and blood. So now I don’t want to fall asleep because I may slip into a comma. Is that right? Concussions lead to comas? I think that’s right so it looks like a long night of VH1 Classic Rockfest.

I need to find comfort in my dilemma so I turn to the Wold Wide Web. I know my blog mates are smarter than I am so I can’t turn to them. Thanks YouTube. Again.

Did you see the ceramic Elvis at the end?

9

My Head Is Out!

Ok, I’m back. I am sorry for the long break but I needed one. If you stick your head up your butt it really is amazing how long it takes to get out. But the important thing is that it is out and now I can continue providing people with the weird and macabre outlook I have on life. I have all sorts of great topics to write about and I am less of a retard with a rubix cube about Photoshop so now my imagination will come with pictures. Like this one. Pig Horse.

2

Radio Sh*t

                                                                    

I’m going to start this day with a reflection on RadioShack. I hate RadioShack with a hatered that is rarely witnessed by many who know me. If someone was to udder words like crap, shit, stink pile, poo, junk, dump, pewtrid, funk or sounds like blap, ploop, or shlllapsspspsp, the first image in my head would be the RadioShack sign. Why I feel this way is primarely because of a Christmas present I recieved in 1985. It was a silver Ferarri remote controlled car and it was the most spectacular thing I had ever seen. You can tell by weight and size of a wrapped gift that it has to be cool. Rectangular packages leave out the possibility of clothes or books so it was kept for last to unwrap and to a seven year old it was not a disapointment
I could hardly wait to pull that thing from the box, put in the 6 D baterries and tear up the driveway with the Italian dream machine. But little did I know it was bought from the one store that sells only electronic dog shit. When the car was prepped and charged and I was dressed for the inclimate, damp day outside, it was time to test drive.
  I remember approximatly ten full minutes of remote control fun and then it came to rest, rolling out of control against the garage door. With a mechanical inclination of a seven year old I feverishly banged the remote. There had to be a simple answer to why the car is not responding! So with mouth agape, arms limp and a slouching stride I walked to the disabled car and examined the undercarriage. I can’t remember what I was looking for but I had a gut feeling it was bad. I needed to take to Mr. Fix-it. You know…Dad.
  With careful inspection my father was too perplexed with why the car decided to shit the bed so soon. He expected it to last at least a week. He turned to the one avenue I would never and that is the instruction sheet. This led to my worst fears and that was the long list of what the car could not drive on and if you own it then the joke was on you. Turns out the car could not operate on pavement, lanolium, carpet, grass, dirt or anything else besides a wooden track. Dad looked at me with sympathy and we decided to bring it back to RadioShit on the most dreaded boxing day to see if there was a way to return the car. This is the beginning of my hatered towards RadioShack. But I was cool for now. I had other toys to break.
  So we got up early and took off to Perimeter mall. My memory is fuzzy because I probably blocked out most of that day but I’m sure it was a mad house. With the car back in the original box my Dad and I walked into the RadioShack store to stand in line behind other equally pissed off customers. He thought this was a great platform for me, as a seven year old, to gain some real adult expirience and ask for a Ferarri exchange by myself. Now that I think about it he probably was banking on a cuteness factor to make the exchange less painful. Either way, cuteness or life lesson, it backfired and the bitch clerk took one look at me and decided to make me an example.
 

Now to this day I am positive that all RadioShack emloyees ar given a training handbook full of Nazi propaganda. They take great joy in selling little kids shit for Christmas presents, have them go through the pains of the present breaking and forcing them to come back to the store to recieve an ass chewing. Why I believe this? It only makes sense to me because it happened to me. The snot, chick employee assessed the situation before her and in a loud voice said, “Let me guess, you didn’t read the instuctions and now you want a new one?”


  I remember my ears turning hot and humiliation set in. With a scornful look she snatched the box out of my arms and went to the “employee only” section. I looked for my Dad but he was standing by the cassette players lost in geek world. Before Icould go to him for protection the “employee only” door kicked open and the female Gerbles waddeled her way to the counter. She wasn’t done with her power talk. Not by a long shot.
  “I am going to let you exchange this but I had better not see you back here whining about how it is broken.” I hope she felt good having a power trip on a seven year old. Maybe it was the fact she had to work on the holidays or I was customer number 3,000 with an exchange but I feel she saw me as an outlet for her shitty RadioShack customer service skill.
  Walking out the store my Dad peeled away from HiFi extacy and saw that mission was accomplished. I was still in shock from having my ass handed to me. We made it to about the parking lot before I broke down in tears. I was a protected kid growing up. My folks never yelled at me and my elementary school was something from Nickelodeon so getting chewed out by a stranger really shook me up. It must have because I am writing about it 22 years later. Dad didn’t really think that much about it. We got into the car and went to Ihop for “feel better pancakes.”
  By the time we got home the feelings of shame and embarasment subsided and the excitement of a new remote Ferarri took center stage. But when I took the box from the bag the bitch from the store had salt for me wounds. Istead of a shiny ass kicking ass kicker sports car I got a remote controled pickup truck. That’s all I’m going to say about that.
  I have not been to a RadioShack since. I refuse to shop there and I even tell others to boycott the company. My visceral hatered towards RadioShack will never be squelched and everytime a new store opens a puppy dies. So up yours RadioShack. Up yours.

11

Black Friday: 20 Things

  I took a little break from the blogging world this past Holiday weekend. For one reason I wanted to detatch myself from the computer long enough to speak to my family without using cyber lingo. The other is I voluteered for Atlanta’s Open Hand and on Wednesday and Thanksgiving morning I helped prepare meals for people who have been strickened with a terminal illness and are spending the last months in private away from the hospital. I quess I’m a bleeding heart because I couldn’t find anything to write about after that expirience. But it did change me a little and now I think my Saturday mornings will be spent doing the same. I’ll write about it in the next blog.

  I really want to talk about last Friday morning and how I braved the “Black Friday” shopping madness. For years I laughed at the poor souls who subject themselves to long lines, parking frustrations and rude people only to save a little money in exchange for their sanity. Well, the joke was on me and I was forced to spend a few hours in shopping Hell and the entire time I made a mental list of what I would rather do or be strickened with than be there. Here it is in no particular order.

  1. Only able to knock on doors with my face
  2. Get in a spitball war with Rosie O’Donald
  3. Drink a cup of laxetives and get interviewed on the Larry King Live show
  4. Pass out in public and get sexually ravaged by a toy poodle
  5. Legally have my name changed to Pumpy
  6. Take a back road mountain drive in a 67′ beetle, no AC and drink luke warm milk as a passenger.
  7. Forced to only dress in Hip Hop apparel.
  8. Eat 5 microwavable sausages, look on the back of the box and find out it is a proud sponser on the 1996 Olympics.
  9. Have to “shot gun” all canned drinks.
  10. Can only brush teeth with small rodents. (The good ones, ie. hamsters or gerbils)
  11. Have the same name as someone on the terrorist watch list.
  12. Have a quantum leap only to find out that I am the hot dog eating champion on race day.
  13. Find out Santa isn’t real.
  14. Take political advice from anyone in Hollywood
  15. Get into a serious conversation with someone who has a bad stuttering problem and try not to crack a smile.
  16. Actually work retail on Black Friday.
  17. Only watch the Hallmark channel, Lifetime and Women’s Entertainment forever.
  18. Spend a weekend trapped in a walk-in closet with Steve-O from Jackass.
  19. Streak at an Iranian soccer game
  20. Eat cereal out of the box and half way through feel something furry.

  Now I am serious about that list. From now on I will only shop online and if you do too, please use X-Entertainment’s Amazon link so Matt can afford his annual Advent calender. If you are unfamiliar take some time to read it starting in 2002. It is quite possibly the funniest and most creative thing I have ever read and it wouldn’t be Christmas without it.

10

Up ↑