a community service, y’all

Not that I think Ollie North is a man of great integrity or anything, I don’t really know enough of the details of the whole Iran Contra situation, but he’s penned a very interesting letter addressed to Kerry – which I thought was a good read. I like the fact that he didn’t get into questioning the whole award-validity thing, making it seem like he’s taking the high road, of sorts. Anyway, I found it interesting, and, if anything, it at least sounds less venomous and fanatical than most political attacks I’ve read. I tend to like things on an inverse scale to the amount of foaming-at-the-mouth political fervor associated with them. If you present me with a well-thought-out, rational, and most importantly calm argument, I’m much more willing to listen to you than if you’re one of a million boobs wearing purple-heart band-aids at a group masturbation for God incarnate. I guess, under the microscope, everyone has some pretty nasty crap in their past that they’d rather stay under the rug or in the closet.

While getting dressed this morning, I came up with my idea for today’s blog. I got struck with a the urge to write after reading the Ollie North letter, and whipped up the intro paragraph in five minutes. Then when I got home from work I got started on the media to backup my story. So, here goes.

Know how I know my wife loves me? She irons patches on all my drawers. Yup, whenever I get a new six-pack o’ boxers, she steals them away and irons little patches and crap on ’em. Some might say this is done, not out of love, but rather as a protection mechanism. The thinking being that, in the heat of the moment, when I’m alone in my hotel room on one of my many business trips and a cute girl has not only managed to Houdini her way through my triple-locked door but also to convince me to drop trou – the unmistakable insignia of a doting wife will convince the aforementioned she-devil to release me from her spell. I mean, for real, what man-ravaging vixen with even an ounce of conscience could continue seducing her prey once she notices a cute little bunny or stately giraffe on her intended-victim’s undies? No one, that’s who! Whatever the motivation, I’m glad my drawers are personalized.

But, what would a blog entry about iron-on patches on my underwear be without pictures of my actual shorts? So, overwhelmingly demanded by the silent majority, I spread before you the cornucopia that is my skivvies. Feel free to take a gander, but don’t stare too long lest you be called by the sirens of my underpants, only to crash unfulfilled on the rocky shoals of my manhood. Feast:

T-rex, my personal fave.	A poodle, with matching blue face.		Little pig.
Speak no evil. See no evil. Hear no evil.	A long-neck giraffe.		A pink bow.
N-I-C-E.		Yup, that does indeed say “Diva.”

And no, I am not embarrassed at the gargantuan size of my shorts – does not the elephant have the largest cage at the zoo? Has not Hollywood taught us that even the largest and mightiest of cages cannot stop hairy beasts from taking women, rampaging the city, and fighting off biplanes while scaling tall buildings? I liken my boxers to these cages, holding back a fury that will only be safe within confines large enough to house it. These boxers are doing a community service, y’all – we should give them a merit badge and put them in the newspaper. And to the overly-scrutinous, I have absolutely no idea what those stain-looking marks are on the giraffe and the bow – I pulled them out of the dirty clothes that way, I swear.

Being that I want my Halloween decorations up about two weeks prior to the actual holiday of holidays, and that it’s already the 2nd week of September – that only gives me one month to plan and construct this year’s Halloween display. So, today I set about the task in earnest. I picked up a 20,000cfm fog machine (nearly eight times the volume of fog from the machine I bought last year) on the ‘net, and Ben and I did some brainstorming on this year’s “big” prop. In the end, I think we’ve hit upon a great one: something I like to call a Winch Witch.

Think this mounted on a track on the roof, using the force of gravity to roll on a track down to the roof’s edge, all the while being lit by eerie light and accompanied by a cackling soundtrack. The “flight” of the witch from the roof peak to edge will be triggered by a garage-door light-beam circuit. When someone breaks the beam, the light will turn on, the soundtrack will play, and the witch will fly on her broom from her hiding place near the top of the roof right up to the roof edge near the unsuspecting trick-or-treaters. I’m most happy because the idea to make the witch prop dynamic is all our own, and we’re already acquiring the components to make it happen. I mean, with a plan like the one below (Kentucky Fried Chicken grease spots and all), how can it not succeed?

Man I love multimedia-rich entries like this one, I wish I had the time and ideas to do them more often. Surf on over to Ben’s site to see pictures from our weekend excursion to Smith Rock, Oregon this weekend. But, I gotta ramble y’all… have to unpack and air out the gear from this weekend’s camping trip… there’s a new Aqua Teen Hunger Force on the TiVo, and I need another bloody mary.

Oh, and you guys know from my former rants that I’m not one to usually go for this kinda crap – but several respected message boards I fequent, as well as trusted publications, have huge threads where people are saying this is real. I’m not sure, but I’m gonna put a link here and see what happens. You have to sign up for some crap “trial” offers at the end, but maybe I can get a free ‘Pod. (I’ve heard ancestry.com is the easiest to cancel after the trial period, and I’m kinda interested in what data they’ve got on my fam anyhow…) Whateva.

G’night, Dave out.

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• one thing or another - 2023
• hey john, you can have your trail - 2008
• full of stuff today - 2006
• grammar is hard - 2005