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09:18:38 - 2001-01-09


I really HATE bad drivers.

In the grand scheme of things, I probably hate bad drivers more than I hate ... ummmm ... well ... I definitly hate them worse than former teen star Corey Feldman.

Do I hate them worse than spoiled milk??

No. I hate spoiled milk worse.

But this isn't about my general disgust for spoiled milk. It's about my hatred for bad drivers.

Case in point:

I was driving down our local bypass yesterday, just minding my own business, talking on my cell phone and checking out the skies with carefree abandon ... when a woman pulled out in front of me going an average speed of about one mph.

I slammed on my brakes and contorted my face into such a grimace that it's truly a modern day miracle it didn't stick like that.

As our bumpers narrowly escaped each other, it was obvious that the woman was oblivious to what she had just done.

Therefore, it was my duty to inform her of the brouhaha that she had just caused.

I shifted into the left lane, pulled up alongside of her, and let her know in broken sign language that she had almost killed us both.

Then again ... I may have been telling her that I had successfully ordered a small cow from Ebay. My sign language certainly isn't up to snuff.

She looked at me as if I was choking.

So I decided to convey the message via mime technique.

I pointed behind me to the original scene of the crime.

I pointed to my chest and pretended to be driving along peacefully.

I pointed to her, tipped an imaginary liquor bottle to my lips, chugged some imaginary liquor and then pretended to zigzag across lanes of traffic in an erratic fashion.

I then pointed back at myself and pretended to slam on the brakes and scream.

I then pointed back at her, took another imaginary sip of the imaginary liquor, stuck my tongue out the side of my mouth and then let my head slump against my chest to insinuate that she was a drunkard.

I then glanced forward, slammed on my brakes, and came inches from slamming into another car at a red light that I had completely forgotten about.


I hate bad drivers.


I am now, officially, the king of all print media.

I've held a job at a newspaper for ten years, writing hundreds of columns.

My first book recently came out.

I am the king of the internet if you don't count Al Gore.

...And of yesterday ... I'm apparently the editor of a new magazine.

Newspaper, books, internet and magazines.

Baby...I've done it all.

Recently, Mattie Gee and I have been helping out an old buddy get his feet on the ground with a new hunting magazine called Buckshot.

It's geared toward hunters and fisherman who need something to read while on the toilet.

It's a decent little magazine, thanks to the Mattie Geester. He has taken great pride in making the book look good, while I've been busy editing the horrifying essays on hunting that these amatuers call "writing".

These stories were B-A-D.

I guarantee you ... anybody reading this right now...YOU could have done a better job writing about deer hunting than any of these people did.

There were three stories that I rewrote EVERY SINGLE SENTENCE of, so that the stories flowed properly and were written above a second grade level.

It took me quite a while to get these stories finished. Two days to be exact.

But...doing that made me the official editor of the magazine.


Says so right on page two.

And I've got a pretty hefty paycheck that emphasizes my new position.

So I'm now editor of a newspaper as well as a magazine.

Go me.

King of the literary world, I am.


Andy slept in our bed last night, huddled up next to mama's naked boob all night.

I slept in the guest bedroom.

I remember the days when I used to sleep in the bed huddled up next to mama's naked boob.

Damned kid.


I had Triscuits for dinner last night.

Operation Diet 2001 is in full effect.


Watched a few minutes of the American Music Awards last night.

I've never really been into the AMA. It's always just been a cheap rip-off of the Grammies in my opinion.

Still ... I wanted to see Marilyn Manson.

I'm not an official FAN of Marilyn ... I don't own any of his discs.

But I do like to watch him perform. He's just so damned creepy and goofy.

Parents get all in an uproar over the guy ... but he's just the latest incarnation of Alice Cooper.

Who was the latest incarnation of Jim Morrison.

Who was the latest incarnation of Elvis Presley.

Who was the latest incarnation of Frank Sinatra.

Every generation has one musical icon that can bear the burden of carrying the downfall of society on his back.

Yes ... at one time...parents were in an uproar over Sinatra and his lewd lyrics.

Now it's Marilyn Manson.

By the time my boy is a teenager, it'll be Shitski McAsshole entertaining the masses with antics like simulated circumcisions and throwing shit-covered turtles into the audience.

And the kids will eat it up.

My boy will wear his Shitski McAsshole t-shirt until it's faded and gray.

He'll buy all of Shitski's discs and know all the words to songs like "Brutal Ass Blues", "There's Blood In My Stool" and the number one hit "Granny Humper".

And this is okay with me.

Society needs at least one public freak to hang all of its problems on.

As long as Andy knows that Shitski is a business man who is taking advantage of disenfranchised youths and reaping millions in the process, I don't have a problem with him listening to the Shitster.

Just like I don't have a problem with Marilyn Manson.

I like the guy.

But I'll be DAMNED if I ever let him step foot in my house and scare my wife and kid.


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