HAPPY BOMB IRAQ DAY!

Okay.

First off, if you didn't read my Saturday entry, you MUST read that first before continuing with this entry because this entry will make no sense unless you read that other entry first.

So go do that now. It opens in another window for your convenience and everything.

Go do that.

Seriously.

Go read it.

Look you stupid bitch ... GO READ IT.

I'm serious.

I've gotta go pee. While I pee, you read that. Granted, I'll be done first, but I'll wait.

Now go.

DAMMIT!!

I'm f'n serious!!!

LOOK YOU SCRUNCHED-UP SQUIRREL FACED WHORE FROM HELL...I'M NOT STARTING THE FOLLOW-UP UNTIL YOU'VE READ THE SATURDAY ENTRY. IT'S TOO LENGTHY TO RECAP HERE AND IF YOU DON'T DO IT, YOU'LL BE SITTING HERE THINKING ... "HUH?"

Now then.

Have you done that?

Good.

Sorry about the "bitch" and "whore from hell" remarks. But sometimes you just really get on my nerves when I ask you to do something and you think you're too damned cool to not do it.

Anyway...so I thought Billy had really screwed up this girl's life, right?

(See? If you DIDN'T read Saturday's entry...you have no idea what I'm talking about with that last statement, do you? Feel lost yet, you ignorant hermaphrodite-wannabe??)

It turns out he managed to partially save the day.

He got to the wedding reception right at 5 p.m.

What he had FAILED to mention to me on the phone was that he had all his deejay equipment in the van with him ... it was just all torn apart.

He went in there and explained the situation to the groom, who promptly blew up in Billy's face, making him feel even shittier than he already felt.

Billy decided that even though he had no clue as to what he was doing, he would bring all his equipment into the ballroom and start trying to assemble it.

I think I wrote an entry here last week about me waiting for the plumber because I have no idea how to fix things with my hands.

I'm not "mechanically inclined" as those people who are like to call it.

Neither is Billy. His deejay equipment is all wired together and in a case so that when he goes to a gig, he plugs one cord into the wall, flips the switch and it magically comes on.

Now he had about three dozen cords and had no idea where to connect them all.

The reception started at 5.

He struggled with putting it all together until 6:45.

At that point, he had sound.

He said the bride handled it very well and didn't let it ruin her day.

The groom on the other hand, was being as mean as he could be to Billy...telling Billy that he had ruined the entire wedding with his idiocy.

You really have to know Billy to appreciate this story. As mean-spirited and evil as Uncle Bob can be...Billy is the exact opposite. He is without a doubt the nicest, most positive guy I know. He's sweet, caring and has zero enemies because he treats everyone with respect.

But he told me he almost lost it with the groom.

He got everything up and running, and went straight into the music that the bride wanted to hear rather than the first two hours of filler music that we had planned on playing.

See...at wedding receptions the first hour or so of music is background music that people can eat and hobnob over and all that jazz. You're playing stuff like Pachabel "Canon in D" and James Taylor's "You've Got A Friend" and Kid Rock's "Fuck U Blind".

Which, by the way, if you've never heard, you must download and listen to in order to fully appreciate the joke here...

So Billy jumped right into "The Rose" and Kelly Clarkson's magnificent new wedding song for a new generation "A Moment Like This" and Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You" and Steppenwolf's "Born To Be Wild".

The day was saved. The bride danced with her father, the groom danced with his mother, the grandparents danced to Glenn Miller. The bride's garter and bouquet were thrown. Elizabeth Smart was found alive and rice was thrown at small kids' faces with deadly accuracy.

The bride thanked Billy for pulling through.

The groom sneered at him silently.

Billy charged them nothing for the gig and told them to take the money that they would have paid him (actually...me) and spend it on their honeymoon.

They didn't argue that point.

So everything worked out great.

Granted...I'm still out $300 for the gig.

But I'm glad that he managed to save the reception from being a complete disaster.

We're getting ready for a yard sale now.

Which means we're opening boxes that haven't been opened in years and seeing if we need the stuff or not.

Technically ... we don't. If it's been in a box for years, we simply don't need it.

But I'm biting the bullet and am selling some of the board games that I've collected over the years.

You know...like the "Star Wars" game from 1977.

That's one I'm actually debating on. It's in great shape, considering its age. And I could probably make more money selling it on Ebay than I can in a yard sale.

But I bought it at a yard sale ten years ago. And now I want to pass the joy of finding such an item to some other lucky bastard.

I've got an "E.T." game. Two "Dukes of Hazard" games. An old "Bewitched" game from 1965. A "Charlie's Angels" game that my former evil boss Wendigo gave me years ago.

I'm just at the point in my life where the less clutter, the better.

I was a pack rat for several decades, holding on to everything.

Now...I desire the space that these items take up rather than the actual items.

Especially since they're just sitting in boxes, waiting for the day when I throw all caution to the wind and say "I'm opening up a vintage toy store!"

...Without completing the sentence with "...And promptly losing my ass because nobody in this godforsaken state wants to buy vintage toys!"

Vintage toys are big in the north.

In the south...not so big.

But I've got 5,000 vintage toys in about 300 boxes in my garage.

It's time to bite the bullet and start selling them.

So I'll put a few board games out in the yard sale.

If somebody pulls up and scoops them all up...then I may quietly beckon him to the garage and show him the inventory and see if he'd be interested in taking them all off my hands.

It's called "simplyfying your life".

And it's something I should have done eons ago.

Sooooo...remember how I said Andrew was a picky eater and only ate certain things like chicken nuggets, bread and pizza?

Add "dimes" to that one.

He's fascinated with coins. If he finds a penny, he carries that bad boy around with him for days. He's learned how to keep coins in his pocket and does that quite a bit, but takes the coin out every 30 seconds in order to feel its cold copper against his lips and make his Daddy freak out and say "Andrew! Don't eat that penny!!"

So yesterday, while we were preparing for the yard sale, he found a dime.

Carried it around for hours.

At one point, he needed a diaper change and Susie took him inside to change it.

She said he was laying on the changing table and put the dime on his lips.

Susie told him to take it off his lips.

While she's focusing on his nether regions, she hears him choke and the dime is gone.

She tried to get him to cough it back up, but to no avail.

So for once, we're kinda jazzed about changing the boy's poopies. It's kinda like opening a box of Cracker Jacks and wondering what kind of prize you're going to get.

Except the prize is covered in baby shit.

Just like everything else in my life...I'll keep you informed of the outcome.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Make sure you don't wear anything green so people will pinch your nipples all day!!

Oh...and Happy Bomb Iraq Day!!

Make sure you don't wear a veil or turban so you don't get your ass kicked by Vengeful Texan Presidents all day!!