JUST ... YOU KNOW ... THOUGHTS...

You people without children don't have any idea how good you've it, do you?

You can just drop away from society for 48 hours and it only takes you three shakes of a polecat's ass to get prepared and on the road.

Andrew's almost three.

We have to pack 90% of the kid's stuff in the van.

Well ... what's this "we" crap...I'm packing it. Susie's asleep in a hotel in Atlanta right now. We're going to go pick her up and then drive to Gatlinburg, Tennessee for a friend's wedding.

Seven hours in the car with a two year old.

One way.

Yeah.

This should be fun.

I mean that in the most sarcastic of tones.

My boy Mattie Gee came down last night and brought the cover of The Spicolis' debut disc. I've heard the whole thing and have a copy of the demo but the actual produced disc won't be out for a few weeks.

Dig?

Anyway, he brought our friend Bob over with him.

Bob makes my penis curl. Not that I check on a regular basis, but I'm a guy and trust me ... I know when my penis is curling.

That is something you women will never experience ... the feeling of a curled penis.

Unless, of course, you have six-inch long labia.

And if that's the case ... sweetie .... you've gotta slow down that whole "crankin' out babies" shit. Give that thang a rest, darlin'. Eight kids by three different daddies ... sweetheart ... it's high time you closed your legs for a bit and let those folds breathe for a couple of years without getting pounded like a frozen wad of pizza dough .

By the by ... am I the only one who's been getting tons of spam with variations of the phrase "Blast Your Girl's Coochie Loose!" in the subject line?

Hey, I'm used to the whole "Make Your Penis thicker, harder, fatter, slightly more grotesque, covered in mysterious little moles, and look like a twitching kielbasa" in the subject lines.

But in like the span of a week, that's all changed.

I now get all these "Pound that Pu55y" subject lines. "Beat her beefless", "Spin that Bitch Like She Was a Top" and my personal favorite "Stab my velvetty ... WRONG HOLE! WRONG HOLE, ASSHOLE! EXIT ONLY!"

I've heard that when you send a return email saying you wish to be taken off their list, several thousand school kids in Hong Kong begin cranking out mass emails telling every porn site on the web to start sending you spam that begs you to "Smack that slightly arthritic weasel, you sniveling coward whose only encouragement in life comes from the subject lines of common spam emails."

Speaking of which ... most of these subject lines are geared toward males.

I'm wondering ... do you women get your own type of sex spam?

Do your subject lines read "Accept his totem pole!"

Or "Graciously polish your tonsils with his throbbing muscle o' cock"?

It's simply not fair.

Anyway ... as I was saying ... Bob marches to the backbeat and snappy hi-hat of his own drummer.

Some are apt to say "That Bob. Holy crap. All that marching. Would it KILL the guy to walk like a normal human being for a change?"

I say ... let the poor son of a bitch march.

Life passed the guy by.

We've got to cuts the man some slack sometimes.

Anyway, we grilled out some steaks and ... one thing led to another and ... well ... as it turns out ... I shot the sheriff.

But I did not shoot the deputy.

Sorry.

Shitty old song just came on DMX's classic rock station.

So anyway...my whole point was that I'm packing us up for a weekend vacation this morning and having to pack all of Andrew's stuff like books and pencils and

1) bloody

2) catheter

A NUMBER OF SONGS THAT MUST BE SANG BY EVERYBODY READING THIS THE NEXT TIME THEY FIND THEMSELVES IN A KARAOKE BAR. OR ... FOR THAT MATTER ... ANY BAR.

1) "Mack the Knife" by Bobby Darin

2) "Summer Nights" from the "Grease Soundtrack"

3) That one song by that one guy about how he's in love with that one chick who dies from that one thing.

My heart goes out to a great deal of you guys on the east coast affected by Isabel. It looks like one tough mama on TV and I hope you all make it out of this as smoothly as possible.