OK, truth is not much of the weekend was filled with LOLZ, that is unless you get a kick out of watching a fat man mow a lawn that’s grown so tall that the federal government was offering me agricultural subsidies.
However on Sunday, I was rewarded for my Manuel Labour as we drove out to the Dorton Arena in Raleigh for a battle of brawn vs. beauty, lingerie vs. laminated floors and good comedy vs. good sense… In other words it was time for Roller Derby.
And let me tell you, the various teams of the Carolina Rollergirls are among the most organized and beautiful ruffians who have ever laced on skates. The show was well prepared and went off with hardly a hiccup much to our chagrin as we showed up late following one of my patented shortcuts.
However, it wasn’t for lack of good directions or easy access to the venue. No, I’m just too obstinate not to follow my own divine instruction, we’ll discuss all that at a later date, this is all about hot, tough broads in lingerie.
One thing I can say is, I will be the most fervent Roller Derby fan in the months ahead… Ok maybe not the most, there were some people there who definitely put the ‘fever’ in ‘fervent’. Many of them looked like rejects from a Troma film, not that this is a bad thing. Lloyd Kaufman, I still love you in a completely heterosexual fashion.
I don’t have to tell you the only thing that would make Roller Derby better.
That’s right…Hippies Rejoice, someone still likes you, however it’s still not me.
We decided to escape the fast paced world of banjo plucking on the porch in Durham to do some harmonica honking in the foothills of the Appalachian Trail in Beautiful Asheville. The last foothold in the south where tie-dye shirts aren’t considered probable cause for a little illegal search and seizure.
Yeah, that’s our little log cabin up on the hill, which is a big improvement from the one Amy got for us 2 years ago that was built in 1860 and felt like it. I fell in love with this one, I might have to buy my own, they come with wheels like a mobile home except made out of Lincoln Logs, how cool is that?
This log cabin was situated on a working farm, where I got to demonstrate that ALL farm animals are compelled to urinate in my presence, I’ll save you the dozen or so other pictures of cows, pigs, chickens and the other farm denizens relieving themselves at my feet. I will however say that there was no difference from two years ago in that I spent most of the weekend outside in the hot tub buck ass nekkid. It’s true… And to show you how awesome it was, here’s a picture of my cock…
(You can bet this cock is urinating right now)
On the way back we decided to take a detour into the Linville Caverns, by ‘we decided’ I mean Amy said “Turn Right HERE, we’re taking a detour”. However, our cute little guide Amanda made our underground expedition comfortable despite the cramped quarters. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no stranger to tight damp places but I promised myself I would try not to discuss vaginas for just one entry. Thanks for sticking in there.
OK, an anonymous person who may or may not be googling herself, let me know in no uncertain terms that the government of our great land of milk and honey, our bastion of freedom in a swirling abyss of anarchy, may not take kindly to some strange fat man expressing interest in any government scientists, especially while using the word ‘stalk’, even in jest.
So for the record… I, nor any of my many fictional personas, have ever actively stalked or participated in any stalking, real or imaginary. Furthermore, I promise to discurage anyone from showing any interest in scientists or Science in general. I will actively encourage everyone to run to church, renounce all reason and good sense, get baptized, and grab your “God Hates Fags” sign while protesting at soldiers’ funerals. This I would do to make sure that everyone knows I have no interest in stalking government scientists.
However if you aren’t convinced, and you wish to interogate my friends with any waterboarding techniques or any other Executive approved torture methods, they would all concur that I am the least likely person in America to be fixated any longer than it takes to look up someone on Google. However, I whole-heartedly encourage you to try, I will be more than happy to supply you with a list of people who I consider my bestest friends and deserve some serious water-boarding.
I usually don’t say much about work here, mainly because I have other outlets for that and I’d prefer to keep the two somewhat seperate. However I got some good news today that I would soon be moving to greener pastures, not that I would abandon these good people but to paraphrase Limp Bizkit ‘I’m doing it for the nookie’.
As such I had to share a little of what I come across in my day to day grind. Now mind you, this doesn’t come from my department, in fact it comes directly out of the FBI guide to concealable weapons which is so widely distributed its hardly a matter of national security, in fact I wouldn’t be suprised if it was somewhere on the internerd by now.
However, it was good for a giggle on a Friday afternoon. I just just had this ‘worst case scenario’ imagery of a feral biker gang of Alton Brown clones descending on a small town racing around wielding flourescent green plastic lettuce knives.
Sometimes I think the only reason Amy sleeps with me is so she can hear the fantastic dreams I retell in the morning.